#until sam finally lets dean die and he's cursed to drive around by himself for eternity lol

[queerstudiesnatural]

these guys' real curse is that people keep dying and killing themselves for them, but no one will let them die

[hoboal87]

Storm

Title: Storm

Pairings: Dean x F!Reader, mentions of Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, F!Reader, minor mentions of Sam and Eileen, unnamed OFCs

Word Count: ±2.1k

Warnings: anxiety, car accident, major injuries, angst, fluff, blink and you’ll miss it pre-smut, post 15x19, more spoilers will be in the tags.

A/N: Requested by a nonnie: “Hi sweetie, I adore your writing especially dean fics. Can I pleaaase request a flangsty one shot of dean x reader where they get into a car crash and she's the one who's badly injured?? And maybe they are stuck in a snow storm or something so help would take forever to come and dean is just trying to keep her alive? With lots of worried and gentle dean?? But I don't want her to die pleaaase 🥺🥺 thank you so much. And no pressure if you don't want to write it ❤️”

A special shout-out to @deanwinchesterswitch​ for taking time during her #BlogAppreciationBounce to beta this for me! Thanks Kym, you’re the best!

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You walk through the aisles of the grocery store, pushing the ever-growing cart in front of you. You and Dean had finally moved all of your belongings into your new home, and now you needed to stock it full of food. Dean is like a kid in a candy store, grabbing so many unnecessary items that you can only shake your head and suppress your giggles.

A thunderclap from outside makes you jump slightly; spring in Kansas, a woman just a few feet in front of you notes, you politely smile as she suggests stocking up on bottled water and canned goods. When you were living in the Bunker, severe weather wasn’t even on your radar. It was a fortress, with all sorts of magic protecting it. But now, you and Dean are living in an ordinary, run-of-the-mill house, and Kansas is smack-dab in the middle of tornado alley.

Dean meets you at the checkout counter, two pies in hand, and you give the cashier a small smile. Another thunderclap makes you jump, and Dean immediately wraps his arms around your waist, calming you, reminding you that it’s just a little rain. Thunderstorms had made you anxious ever since your family was attacked by a wendigo when you were a teenager. Every storm dredges up memories of you and your family fighting for your lives as the creature used a storm to hide in the shadows and the sounds of thunder to cover its inhuman screams.

Rain begins to fall as you load bag after bag into the trunk of Baby, empty now that Dean has retired. A large bolt of lightning strikes, brightening up the sky, making the heavy, dark clouds visible for a moment.

As Dean pulls Baby out of the parking lot, rain has begun falling; scattered droplets softly thumping on the roof of the car. You and Dean live away from town, out in the middle of nowhere, your closest neighbors being Sam and Eileen, owning the property next to yours, but their house was still being built, so for the time being, it was only you and Dean for nearly five miles. It didn’t seem like a lot of distance when you first chose the property; in fact, you originally wanted to buy both pieces of land so that you and Dean could have all 10 acres to yourselves.

Dean drives past the Gas n’ Sip, the closest business next to your home, and turns down the road that would eventually lead to your new house. The five-mile distance shouldn’t seem like a lot, but now, as the rainfall becomes heavier, you wished you’d chosen a home closer to town.

The thick, heavy rain makes it almost impossible for you to see anything more than a few feet in front of you. You take a long, calming breath, trying to keep your nerves intact as lightning strikes again in the distance. Dean notices your nerves starting to get the better of you and reaches over to give your knee a reassuring squeeze before bringing the car to a stop.

“You wanna wait out the rain?” He asks, taking your sweaty palm into his own.

“Food’ll spoil,” you counter, trying to cover your growing nerves.

“S'just food, sweetheart,” Dean unbuckles himself and slides closer before reaching over to do the same to you. “We can get more tomorrow.”

Dean wraps his arm around your shoulders as the storm seems to grow even stronger. He places a gentle kiss on your lips and reaches to the back seat, grabbing a blanket to cover you both. Under the worn blanket, Dean’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, inching closer to your covered core. This wouldn’t be the first time that Dean’s tried to get frisky in the Impala; hell, not even the third or fourth but with your anxiety running on high, the last thing you want is to fool around.

You don’t have to say anything, just gently intertwining your fingers with his and he seems to get the message. You curl up against him, basking in his familiar warmth and smell, praying that the storm would soon be over. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest as the wind howls with enough force to cause the Impala to rock slightly on the road.

After you’ve calmed, Dean suggests heading on home. You nod slightly, wanting nothing more than to crawl into the comfort of your bed. He slides back over before shifting the car into gear and slowly starts accelerating.

Pain. Cold. Wet.

Steam rises from Baby’s engine, and thunder claps again. The last thing you remember is a horn honking and Dean slamming on the brakes before everything went dark. Your body lies limp on the hood of the car, glass shards from the windshield surrounding you.

The Impala’s front end is crushed, and the heat from the engine warms you as you try to piece together what happened. You can hardly focus on anything; there’s another car a few yards away; it must be the one you collided with. You try to move your body, but it’s then you realize that you can’t feel anything below your waist. You groan as you desperately try to move, hoping that you can will yourself onto your feet and find Dean. You can barely make out a low moan through the sound of the rain hitting the metal. You want to turn, but you can't; pain radiates throughout your body, at least the parts you can still feel. You try to call out to Dean, to anyone for help, but you can't find the words to do so. Your brain and mouth aren't connecting, and the only sounds that you manage to make are whimpers of pain.

A figure appears in the rain, cursing as he seems to take in your broken figure; he's almost yelling at what you can only assume is some 911 dispatcher.

"Shit.. one of the passengers…conscious? The driver? I'll try…"

The man appears at your side, and you can still see the phone attached to his ear.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" He asks cautiously, you want to nod, but you're too afraid to move your head, afraid that you could accidentally hurt yourself further. "Her eyes are open; she's breathing," the man relays into the phone. "Uh.. ragged. There's blood… Ma'am? I'll try that. Blink if you can hear me."

You slowly but deliberately blink your eyes. The man breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Y/N!" Dean's voice comes from through the broken windshield. The man hurries away from you and towards Dean. You can only make out the muffled noises as the man tries to convince Dean to stay inside Baby, but you know he won’t; he’s too stubborn to listen to anyone.

The rain begins to let up, and the man tells Dean that an ambulance is on the way. The sound of Dean’s boots on the wet concrete put you at ease, knowing that he’s, at the very least, in better shape than you are. You count the strides that Dean takes before he’s beside you, frowning slightly at the large gash on his forehead. Dean’s eyes rake over your body, and you know something is going on that neither man is telling you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s hand gently cups your cheek, and you know that he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “Help’s comin’ baby, okay? You’re gonna be okay, y’hear me?”

You try to mumble a response, but the words still don’t form. The rain is now nothing more than a sprinkle, clouds shifting to reveal the night sky. Numbness has taken over the rest of your body as Dean keeps his eyes focused on you, assuring you over and over again that you're going to be okay. Off in the distance, you can hear a siren, and Dean squeezes your hand tightly as he tells the man to grab two flares from the trunk.

“Help’s almost here, Y/N.”

“De,” you barely manage to mumble out, “’m tired.”

“I know, baby.” Dean looks relieved at the sound of your voice. “Gotta stay awake, Y/N, please. Y’can’t go to sleep, baby, not until help gets here. Promise me you’ll stay awake.”

“Love you,” you murmur as your eyes close, and every breath becomes more difficult to take.

“Y/N, baby, I need you to open your eyes,” Dean begs as the siren grows closer. “Please, honey, just a coupla minutes. Please Y/N, you have to fight for just a little while longer; lemme see those pretty eyes, baby.”

With all the energy you can muster, you slowly open your eyes, focusing on Dean as he breathes out a sigh of relief. His face is wet; whether it's from the rain or fallen tears, you can’t be sure. Dean offers you a pained smile before leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Red and blue lights illuminate the sky, and a handful of overlapping voices fill the air. A paramedic replaces Dean, who refuses to leave your side until a firefighter drags him away. Your vision blurs as the new person begins quickly examining you while another puts a brace around your neck. A team of paramedics turns you over, and slides a board under you before lifting you off the hood of the Impala and putting you onto a stretcher. You can barely register what’s happening around you, and you want to cry out as they load you into the ambulance.

The collar around your neck keeps your head facing up, and you try desperately to look for Dean. Your eyes frantically search from side to side before Dean comes into view. He reaches forward, and you feel the familiar calloused hands rubbing against yours. Voices are flying, asking Dean question after question; is she allergic to any medications? Did she lose consciousness? Any prior existing conditions? Blood type?

Your hearing becomes muffled and your vision becomes tunneled as Dean struggles to answer each question.

“She’s seizing!”

A steadily beeping heart monitor awakens you. There’s a tube down your throat and you’ve seen enough Dr. Sexy to know it’s a breathing tube. You cough as you try to breathe and the heart monitor’s beeping becomes more rapid. A nurse is in the room quickly, telling you to keep calm before calling someone else in to help remove the tube. She orders you to cough again and again until the tube is out.

“D’n?” Your throat sore and raspy from the tube being down your throat for who knows how long. “‘Ere’s D’n?”

“He’s gone home, Y/N,” the nurse, Rebecca, tells you calmly. “Visiting hours ended a while ago. We’ll call him as soon as we get you a work-up.”

“S’okay?” You hate that your brain and mouth aren’t working together, and you can only speak in half-formed words. Rebecca nods, smiling as she takes your vitals and calls for an orderly. “How l’ng out?” You struggle to ask, but she seems to understand your question.

“Six months.”

Hours later, you’ve been poked and prodded by too many doctors to keep count of. Words may take a few days, but you’ll get them back, a neurologist assures you, just keep practicing.

By the time they’ve returned you to your room, Dean is there, eyes glistening as Rebecca wheels you in. You want to stand up to meet him, but your limbs, like the rest of your body, don’t want to cooperate with you. Dean crouches down to meet you, the skin on his forehead slightly red from where you remember seeing the gash. He leans forward and presses a kiss on your lips.

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

Dean and an orderly help you back into bed, and he takes a seat in the chair next to you, taking you by the hand and rubbing the back of your palm gently. A team of doctors explains everything to you and Dean—that you’ll have a long road of recovery, you’ll need physical therapy for your limbs, you’ll most likely need a speech pathologist, but with hard work, you’ll be back to your old self in a matter of time.

“You’re very lucky, Y/N,” one of the many doctors says as the others clear out of your room. You let out a scoff, you’ve been in a coma for six months, and you’re lucky?

“Honestly, I’d call it a miracle,” he remarks before leaving, and for a moment, you swear his eyes flash red.

Feedback is appreciated!!

[lookforanewangle]

hold on a little longer || spn || 2k || ao3

tags: blood, injury, broken bones, hurt/comfort, and forehead touches! also protective dean and protective cas

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

or, Cas's grace is dwindling, Dean is dying, and both of them are too protective of the other for their own good.

a/n: inspired by this post by @letsboldlygomotherfuckers and @rainbowscas

also, I’m also playing in my hci verse here a little bit; all you need to know is that chuck turns to this universe after the show's canon (and yes, I believe in the chuck won theory, it's the only thing that makes sense), and tries to mix things up a bit. cas is introduced when dean is 13 instead of 28? 29? there are a lot of other changes, but those don't play into this scene, so I'm not gonna spoil anything else ;) this bit wouldn't come in until fic four or five anyway. idk if I'll ever write that far, but here's hoping!! (fic one is like.....a little over halfway done. I think. we have a long way to go lmao)

Between the spells, and the warding, and the combination of grace and Rowena's power, they thought they had been prepared.

Chuck, however, always seemed to be one step ahead of them.

"How?" Cas bites between waves of pain, arms bound tight behind him. There's blood dripping down his face, a shoulder dislocated, maybe a rib cracked, but his pain is nothing close to what Dean must be feeling.

Dean, who is just a mess of broken bones and skin on the floor.

“Because, see, I already know what’s going to happen,” Chuck says, pacing leisurely around them, tilting down towards Dean's unconscious form as he speaks. His footsteps are quiet in the vast emptiness of the warehouse, but each step seems to pound in time with Cas’s own injuries, pain driving higher at each step. For all Cas knows, Chuck could be doing that on purpose.

“Your brother will come racing in to save you,” Chuck continues, gesturing as he speaks, “and Jack will be there, too. They’ll make some valiant effort to save the two of you, try to beat me at my own game, but it’s not going to work. I’ve written every possibility, every scenario that could ever happen. Each one, I win. It's literally impossible for me to lose!” he says with a giddy grin, arms spreading out to his sides in victory.

Cas strains against his bonds, wrists tied much too tightly against the small of his back, eyes never leaving Dean’s too-still form on the floor.

“Dean,” Cas calls, but Dean doesn’t stir. His limbs are bent at awkward angles, the whole of him a heap atop blood splattered across the ground. Too much blood. Cas would almost think he was dead if not for the wheezing emanating from Dean’s chest at every shallow breath, every minuscule rise and fall. If he could just get close enough—

Chuck’s fist hits his face, and Cas crashes to the ground with a grunt.

“I never did get you figured out,” Chuck says, crouching in front of him. He tilts his head as he observes Cas struggle back into a sitting position. “Whatever changed, whatever you did in the last universe bled over into this one, and now we’re at the same end here as we were there. Well, almost. Close enough, anyway. You, grace failing and doing everything you can to save Dean, nearing death at every second. Dean will follow soon after, no matter what you do,” Chuck says with a helpless shrug. “It’s just how it’s supposed to go. Then again, if you hadn’t broken script…”

He trails off suggestively, and Cas’s blood runs cold. No. No. Dean’s coming death couldn’t— wouldn’t— be his fault.

“Dean’s not dying today,” Cas says, determined, voice gravelly.

“That’s not up to you,” Chuck counters. He reaches his hand out towards Cas and squeezes. Cas’s chest constricts in pain. He gasps, doubling over, feeling his grace ebbing further and further from his reach.

“Dean was always meant to die,” Chuck says, slowly twisting his wrist. Cas cries out in pain, tucking his head towards his chest, trying and failing to pull away from the pain radiating through every cell. “Even if you hadn’t saved him all those times, he still would have gone out in that stupid blaze of glory he was always glorifying.”

Chuck releases his grip on Cas’s grace. Cas goes limp with a gasp, limbs weak and trembling. Chuck hums.

“Wish I could just kill you now,” he says glumly. “But of all the drafts, killing you and Dean slowly in front of Sam and Jack is just...so much juicier. The pain is so much more intense when you make them watch. Especially if you're first. Dean watching you die just never gets old,” he says, fond smile on his face.

Cas wants to throw up.

“Well, then!” Chuck says with a sigh, eyebrows raised. He slaps his thighs and pushes to his feet, turning towards the entrance. “I’ll be back in, oh, however long it takes for Sam and Jack to show up. Depends on how they decided to travel here. There’s six different drafts just for their transportation. So, you know, don’t go anywhere,” Chuck calls over his shoulder with a wink. He snaps his fingers. Cas screams as his shin shatters. The door slams behind him and the sound reverberates through the warehouse, thunderous in Cas’s ears.

Cas takes a moment to get his ragged breathing under control, fighting down the little amount of grace he has left. He can’t let himself heal. He has to get to Dean first.

Dean is not dying tonight.

Cas grits his teeth against the pain, rolling over onto his stomach. He clenches his fingers in their binds and squeezes tight as he uses his good leg to push himself across the concrete towards Dean, biting back a cry as his leg is jostled. His brow furrows and he pushes on, refusing to let the pain get in his way.

“Dean,” he calls out as he draws near, desperate to hear his voice.

Dean doesn’t answer.

Cas pushes the final few feet and rolls to his side, heaving for air. He tugs at his bonds again, but until he’s able to heal his leg there’s no way he’s breaking out of the enchanted chains tying him back. He lets his eyes slip closed and leans forward, pressing his forehead gingerly against Dean’s bloody brow. He channels any scrap of grace he has left through that connection, hoping with everything he’s got that he reached him in time. Broken bones will heal on their own; he focuses his energy towards anything vital—damaged organs, severe trauma around his skull, and whatever else he can heal, remaining grace and breath leaving him in a rush. Dean’s wheezing has gone away at least, his breath steady and sure, and Cas sags, exhausted.

“Dean,” he whispers, voice weak. He pushes his brow against Dean’s forehead just enough to feel the pressure. He doesn’t have the strength for much else. “Dean. Please.”

Dean stirs slowly, and Cas fights with everything in him to stay awake. He has to make sure—

“Cas?” Dean breathes. Dean is still coming to, but Cas can feel darkness seeping in at the edges of his own consciousness, startling him back into awareness. Not yet, he begs desperately, blinking hard. Please not yet.

“Dean,” Cas answers, his voice so weak he’s not even sure that Dean heard it. Dean shifts against him. Cas concentrates on breathing through the pain, waiting for Dean to realize—

Dean inhales sharply and curses under his breath.

Cas is beginning to drift again, but he can hear Dean scramble into a sitting position, grunting against some pain Cas’s dwindling grace couldn’t reach. But he’s alive, Cas reassures himself in relief as the darkness grips him tighter. He’s still alive.

For how much longer, he can’t guarantee, but just for now is good enough.

Dean grabs his face between his palms then, fingers holding him steady, squeezing gently. Cas's eyelids flutter, exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

“No no no, hey,” Dean says in a rush, words quiet. Cas can hear the desperation in every syllable. “Come on, Cas, stay with me, man.”

Cas grunts softly in response.

“‘M here,” he rasps. Dean sighs, tipping forward to press their foreheads together.

“Okay,” Dean says under his breath, thumb swiping across Cas’s cheek. Cas is almost certain that was more for Dean than himself, reassuring himself that Cas was alive. Cas wants to reach up and grab him, intertwine their fingers, and assure Dean that he’ll be all right. But everything hurts, it’s difficult to breathe, and he’s not going to be awake for much longer; draining his grace like that wiped him out. Survivable, but dreadfully exhausting.

“Okay,” Dean says again, firm, shifting to move Cas, “let’s get you up.”

White hot pain explodes as Dean brushes against his leg, ricocheting into every other pain across his vessel. His back arches as he shouts, eyes clenching tight, teeth clenching.

“Ngh! Don’t—”

“Okay, okay,” Dean says, voice pained as he changes direction, lifting Cas's head into his lap. He settles and slides a hand into Cas's hair, brushing through slow and careful as he scans him for injuries. Cas is sure his leg is a mess, but the other injuries aren’t as obvious. Cas gasps, breaths shuddering in and out of his chest as he sags, the pain dulling back from the sharp flares at being moved.

“Are...are you all right?” Cas says as the pain fades to the background, eyes slipping closed as he rolls his head against Dean’s thigh towards his stomach. Dean barks a laugh, disbelieving, and shifts the hand in his hair to cup his face.

“Am I all right? Cas, you’re a mess.”

“Are you all right,” Cas repeats, straining through the tightness of his chest. He opens his eyes to look Dean over, searching for any sign that he's lying.

"Yeah," Dean says quietly, sobering as he meets his gaze. He swipes a thumb across Cas's cheek, eyes flicking back and forth across Cas's features. "Yeah I'll live, no thanks to you."

Cas exhales, breath rushing out in relief.

"Good," he whispers. "Good."

They sit like that for a moment and just breathe, pipes clanging in the distance. Cas shifts uncomfortably, arms pinned beneath him.

"Gotta get you up, Cas," Dean murmurs, apologetic, and slowly tugs Cas up and into his arms. Cas fights back a cry as he's shifted, Dean apologizing softly as he goes. Once up, Cas's head lolls against Dean's shoulder. He exhales slowly through his teeth, pushing the pain down and away as best he can. Dean presses a gentle kiss to his hair and turns his attention to Cas's wrists. He tugs at the bindings single-handed, his other arm holding Cas to him. He grunts in frustration as the chains only tighten at his efforts, Cas tensing in his arms. He shifts his hand to Cas's back, rubbing his hand up and down Cas's spine soothingly.

"We're gonna get you out of here, okay? We're gonna make it, Cas," Dean promises. "You hearing me?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas breathes. Everything hurts.

"Just, don't—" Dean takes an unsteady breath, fingers tightening on Cas's shoulder. He buries his face in Cas’s hair, eyes squeezed shut in agony. His voice is hoarse. "Don't you leave me again, Cas. Please. I can't...I can't go through that again. One more time and I'm done. I'm just done."

"Dean—"

"You don't have any idea, man," Dean whispers. "You have no idea what you do to me every time you leave. If I have to go through that again, I—"

He cuts off with a shuddering exhale. Cas's chest aches.

"Dean," he whispers, breathless. He presses his crown to Dean's throat. Dean tips his cheek against Cas's hair and sighs deep. Sam had told Cas in not so many words how hard Dean took each of his deaths and disappearances, but to hear it from Dean himself hurts Cas worse than any physical injury.

"I'm not leaving," Cas promises, voice weak from pain. He's fading again, clinging to consciousness with a death grip. He has to make sure Dean understands. "If we can...can defeat Chuck, I'm not leaving, Dean."

Dean's arm tightens around his back.

"I'm not leaving," Cas whispers again. "I-I want…I want nothing more than to stay by your side."

Dean shudders.

"Cas," he breathes. "I—"

A door bangs open somewhere in the warehouse. The two of them tense, breaths frozen. Dean scans the room for his gun, reaching out with his foot to pull it towards them. Once in his grasp, he pulls it to his lips, murmuring something against the metal, and aims it towards the sound, cocked and ready.

"Dean," Cas starts, but Dean shushes him, pulling him closer.

"We're gonna be fine," he says, reassuring. His eyes are steely as he waits, hand steady on the gun. "I'm not letting him take you away from me.

"Never again."

----

tagging some mutuals who may be interested!! @hashtagbravo @demenior @redriotted @leviathancas @starrynightdeancas

[queen-rowenas]

destiel december 2020 - doing this thing hosted by @jellydeans and @galaxycastiel

day 10 - mistletoe (wc - 1.3k)

“I think we might have a problem,” Dean said, walking into his—secretly their—bedroom, holding up a sprig of mistletoe.

Cas set his book down, a deep frown on his face. “Is it cursed?”

“Wha—No, it’s just regular mistletoe.”

“Oh.” Cas stepped closer, looking from the bundle of leaves to his boyfriend’s face, and kissed him. Dean immediately melted into the touch, smiling against his lips before forcing himself to pull away.

“No. I mean, yes, but...” Dean shook his head, that stupid smile still on his face. “I mean, these are literally everywhere. I think Sam hung them all over the bunker.”

And yes, they were everywhere. Sam had left early to help Charlie and Stevie on a hunt, but he had obviously been busy that morning. Dean and Cas combed through the whole bunker and almost every doorway, light fixture, and shelf had mistletoe.

“I think he’s finally snapped,” Dean said, looking up at the sprig hung at the bathroom door.

“I think we need to tell Sam that we’re romantically intimate now.”

Dean grinned because they were romantically intimate and of course Cas would call it that. They were going to wait until Christmas to tell Sam, make it like a Christmas present. It would be fun, and it would be one less gift for him to buy.

“Or.” Dean’s grin grew bigger. “We could mess with him.”

Cas nodded, his face serious. “He did use some of the plants from my garden for a spell recently.”

“Exactly! Let’s get him back.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Dean laced their fingers together. “Now, it’s gonna take like a lot of self-control...but we can’t kiss.”

Cas glanced up at the mistletoe. “You want to make Sam think his plan has failed.”

“Yeah, it’ll drive him crazy.”

“So I can’t kiss you under the mistletoe?” And the pout that formed on Cas’s face was nearly enough to make Dean call it off then and there.

Instead, he pressed him up against the doorframe, ghosting his lips over his. “Let’s get it all out of our system before he gets back.”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The first time it happened, Sam and Dean were about to head out on a case with Cas. Something about a vamp nest taking out carolers.

As Dean shrugged on his jacket, he became aware of Sam lagging behind him a few steps. And just as they rounded the corner...yep, there was Cas and there was the mistletoe. Dean’s mind raced to what he and Cas had talked about in the midst of their mistletoe make-out: the Elf Contingency.

Just as he was about the reach the doorway, Dean whirled around. “Oh! Almost forgot my keys. You guys go on ahead.” And he jogged back down the hall towards his room, trying hard not to laugh at Sam’s loud sigh behind him.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

It really came down to timing, strategically entering rooms at different times, avoiding areas with an especially high concentration of mistletoe. But sometimes there were a few miscalculations.

Like when Dean, Cas, and Sam all ran into each other at the kitchen door. Cas just stared at Dean, mouth hanging open but at a loss for words, and Sam had the audacity to smirk at the two of them.

“Well, I’m not kissing you,” Sam said, giving Dean a pointed look.

And that’s when Dean switched to the Die Hard contingency because desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Good,” he scoffed and clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You two have fun.” And then he turned and walked into the kitchen.

Sam sputtered behind him, but Dean kept his focus on the box of cereal on the top shelf. After a beat, he glanced back to see the most awkward kiss on the cheek in history and two scowls pointed at him.

Sam left with a rough cough, and Dean could only grin as Cas immediately advanced on him. The angel waited until Sam’s steps had receded before pushing Dean up onto the counter.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

“What the hell, man?”

Dean froze where he sat in the library, books and lore spread out on the table in front of him, as Sam came charging in, his giant moose feet stomping.

Here we go. Dean looked up at him. “What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Sam gaped at him. “Have you not noticed all the mistletoe I put up?”

“Yeah, man. But listen,” Dean grew serious, turning to face his brother fully. “I don’t think you need to worry. I mean I think Eileen is pretty into you, so you don’t really need it.”

Sam looked about one push away from losing it, judging by the vein in his forehead. “What—It’s not—We’re engaged!”

“I know, and I’m not judging.”

Dean briefly thought about moving his research in case Sam flipped a table because Mr. Vein was really making an appearance.

Just as Sam opened his mouth to speak, Dean’s phone rang. Saved by the bell.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The next few days went about the same. A lot of close calls, one loud cheek kiss from Dean to Eileen, and more sightings of Mr. Vein. The thing was...the plan to counter Sam’s Operation Mistletoe was starting to backfire.

Because Dean had no problem taking advantage of all the mistletoe with Cas. The two would pass in the hall and Cas would already be smiling whenever Dean dragged him to the side. And the chance of being caught added a new thrill to the already thrilling experience of kissing Castiel.

But too often now, Cas would have Dean pressed into the wall or vice versa, and the sound of Sam’s moose steps would echo down the hall, and Dean would throw himself through the door or Cas would disappear with a flap of his wings.

It was becoming really inconvenient.

Dean dropped into the seat across from Cas at the kitchen table, trying to straighten his hair where Cas’s fingers had been running through it. “I think maybe we didn’t quite think this through.”

Cas nodded. “Sam has sat down to explain to me the mistletoe tradition three times now.”

Giving up on his hair, Dean dropped his hands with a sigh. “We gotta tell him.” He pointed at Cas. “Because I want to kiss you.”

Cas leaned across the table, his face hovering just in front of Dean’s, and Dean was helpless to do anything but meet him halfway.

A scuffle of footsteps sounded at the door, and Dean broke away, whipping around to look.

“Are you kidding me?” He groaned and dropped his head on the table.

Eileen raised a hand to cover Jack’s eyes. “Finally,” she said, signing with a tired hand, “Can you tell Sam before he goes crazy?”

“We’re trying!”

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

Sam didn’t get back to the bunker until later in the evening. Dean was hunched over some old book on Norse mythology with Cas beside him texting Jody.

“Any idea what they’ve got in Sioux Falls?” Sam asked, readjusting his hold on the grocery bags in hand.

Dean didn’t even glance up, only muttering, “Maybe, we’re still working on it.”

“Huh, well I can check the archives once I put these away.”

Just as Sam starting to leave, Dean’s head shot up. “Wait!” He lunged across the arm of his chair, took Cas’s face in his hands, and kissed him hard.

Dean dropped back in his seat and threw out his arms. “There! We’re together. Happy?”

Sam looked back and forth between the two before heaving a sigh, his whole body sagging with it. “Finally. I’ve been busting my butt trying to catch you guys.”

“You’re tired? We’ve been trying to not get caught kissing for days.”

“Well.” Sam smiled, something warm and soft. “I’m happy for you guys.”

Dean looked over at Cas as the angel laced their fingers together, and he smiled. “Thanks, man.”

“But I don’t want to catch you guys making out in the hall now.”

“Well, too bad.”

[spnwriter]

I lied, apparently

Summary: The reader goes on a hunt alone despite the boys protests. She get his with a spell and, the boys help her out. 

Warnings: Language, Foursome, Oral (Female reviving) Unprotected sex, (Wrap it before you tap it) Anal, sexual harassment (Kinda), public masturbation, voyeurism, Dirty talk, 

A/N: as promised, this is the nastiest fic I’ve ever written. I hope you like it :)

Sam was right. He told me not to go on the hunt alone. Even though I had been hunting just as long as he has, he begged me not to go. I was stubborn. I broke the golden rule of hunting, never hunt alone. It was one witch. I hunted alone before I met the brothers. I didn't see a problem with it. Dean even protested the idea. Dean didn't argue with me as long as Sam did. Sam followed me around while I was packing. He felt the need to tell me all that could go wrong if I went alone. Before I left, I promised him that it would be perfectly fine. I promised him that I would come back in one piece and, not cursed.

I lied, apparently. Before I shot her, she threw purple powder at me. Whatever she threw at me hasn't affected me yet. I know it will eventually. I had planned on staying at the motel until whatever this is passes. Sam called. He didn't want to sound worried but, I could tell he was. Cas asked to talk to me. He told me to come home before the spell starts to take effect. He said he could sense my anxiety. I hear Sam cursing in the background. I knew I would get the I told you so. It was only a few hours drive from the motel. On the ride, I started to sweat. Like more than normal. I strip off my flannel as I drive. I suddenly regret the choice of wearing jeans. I blast the AC in attempts to cool off. Dear God, it's sweltering in here. I tied my hair up messily. I did whatever I could to cool off. I'm sweating threw my jeans. Why am I so hot? I groan as I try to crank the AC up. It's on full blast. I pull in front of the bunker. I need a change of clothes. I need a cold shower. I grab my bag before locking my door. I slowly walk down the stairs. Sam is waiting for me at the war room table. As soon as my boots hit the floor, Sam is on his feet. He wraps his arms around me tightly. "I was so worried. What happened?" He asks. "She hit me with something before I shot her. I'm fine, Sammy." I reassure. His hands move to rest on the small of my back. Arousal shoots down my spine. It's not unusual for me to be turned on by Sam. The massive secret (not so secret) crush on him. I push the thought out of my mind. "I knew you shouldn't have gone alone."  Sam utters. His grip tightens on me. The feeling of his hands on me feels better than normal. God, does he always smell this good? He lets go of me but, I don't let go. "Uh...Y/N?" Sam asks. I run my hands down his back. He's so muscular. How can someone have muscles on their back? My hand grazes the top of his ass. He flinches and, jumps away. Suddenly, I realize what I'm doing. "Oh God, Sam. I'm so sorry." I step closer without realizing it. It's like I'm craving his touch.My skin feels less on fire when he touches me. He grabs my hands to keep me from touching him. "Y/N? What's wrong?" Sam questions. "I don't know. I just need you." I whine. "Want to touch you."

Sam calls for Cas while he's fighting to keep me at arms length. Cas and, Dean come running from somewhere. I'm too focused on trying to touch Sam. I want to run my hands all over his body. "What the hell is happening?" Dean asks loudly. "She said she got hit with something." Sam explains while I try to move my hands to his crotch. He catches my hands. "Someone help me." Dean walks over. He picks me up under my thighs. I wrap my legs around his waist. My hands run down his back. I caress as much skin as I can. He sets me on the war table. My legs tighten around him. I run my hands through his short hair. "Hmmm. Have you always been this attractive?" I ask Dean as I nuzzle into his neck. My lips graze his pulse point as he physically unwraps my legs from around his waist. He jumps away from me. "What the fuck is wrong with her?" Dean turns to Cas. Cas steps between my parted legs. I grab him by his tie to pull him closer. Has his lips always looked this good? I bet they'd feel amazing on my skin. I pull him in for a kiss. He freezes at the action. He pulls back as quickly as he can. He takes a step back as he observes me. "She's been hit by sex pollen." Cas informs.

"Fantastic." Sam rolls his eyes. I whine as I reach out for Cas. "Please. I need it." I cry. The three of them exchange a look. "No." Sam exclaims "She can't consent. Her judgment is clouded."

I need someone to touch me. While the trio argues, I slip off my jeans. I have no shame as I begin rubbing myself from outside my panties. I moan as my fingers catch my clit. All three of them turn their heads to look at me. "Fuck." Dean whispers. I look at them as I put my hands into my panties. I whine as I slip in a finger. This is what I need. Dean steps closer but, still out of reach. "Sweetheart, you need to stop. I know you need it but-

I cut him off. "Dean, Please. Touch me." I moan. "I bet your fingers feel better than mine." I hear him groan. Obscene sounds fill the room as I continue to play with myself. It feels good. It's not enough. Dean stays grounded as he watches. I turn to the younger Winchester. "Sam." I moan loudly. "Please. Need you to touch me." His hands clenched into a fist. I can see both their resolve breaking.I look to the angle. He's already looking at me. He visibly swallows. "She does need it." Cas voices. I notice the obvious bulges in the boys pants. They all stay in place staring. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum." I announce. My back arches as I let go. The fire in my stomach didn't die down any. As I'm coming down from my high, I feel warm hands wrap around my waist. I get pulled into a hard body. Lips start nipping at the hollow of my throat. I don't care who it is. I just want someone to touch me. "So pretty when you cum, sweetheart." Deans breathy voice says. "Dean." I moan as his hands reach the edge of my tank top. He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. He's silently asking for consent. "Please. I whimper. He yanks the tank top off my body. I vaguely hear the sound of ripping fabric but, I don't care.  Dean reached behind me. He clips my bra with one hand. Fuck, if that ain't hot. "Always wanted to see what these beauties look like." Dean groans as my breast bounce free from the bra. He doesn't hesitate to take them in his hands. God, his hands feel amazing. He hasn't touched me yet. I feel sated already. I feel a second set of much larger hands run up my thigh. Dean takes that moment to suck my nipple into his mouth. I look to my right and, see Cas standing there. He slowly lowers his lips to the side of my neck. Dean moves to make room from him. "I want to taste you." Cas says in my ear.

"Yes." I answer quickly. This spell has reduced me to a bitch in heat. I don't care who's touching me. I want to be touched. Dean pulls me from the table. He presses himself behind me. He's holding me still while Cas gets on my knees. Cas runs his hands up my thighs teasingly. Has his eyes always been this beautiful? He nibbles at my hip. He gently slides my panties down my legs. He flings them behind him. I see Sam sitting in a chair where Cas had slung my underwear. Sam leans forward to grab them. He lifts them to his face and, inhales deeply. There's something so incredibly hot about the dirty action. Cas picks up my right thigh. He drapes my leg over his shoulder. "She's so wet." Cas moans. Dean reaches down from behind me. He dips his fingers into me. God, I was right. His fingers feel amazing. Dean brings his finger to his mouth. He sucks my slick off them. "Wet and, sweet." Dean hums in my ear.

Cas buried his head in between my thighs. He's nibbling lightly on my clit. He's using his long tongue to fuck me. He's sucking at my lips. When he pushes a single finger inside me I lose it. "Fuck, Cas." I yell as I cum. Dean's holding my still while I come down. His hands run down my sides. Cas is rubbing my thighs. "You okay, sweetheart?" Dean asks. He's asking if I'm up for more. I push my ass agianst his hard-on. He groans in my ear. "You want something?" Dean questions. He takes my ear lobe between his teeth. "Want you." I moan as he grinds his impressively big hard-on against me. He comes around to face me. He gives me the patented Dean smirk before he presses his lips to mine. His tongue caresses my mouth. Fuck, he's a good kisser. I didn't even notice him moving me back to the map table. He pulls away as I push his flannel off his shoulders. He pulls off his shirt as I unbutton his pants. I press kisses down his throat as he slips off his jeans. His length is resting on my lower stomach. Dean pulls back. He runs his cock through my slick. Who knew he was packing this much? Seven inches and, thick. "Cas," I whine at the angle. "Want you in my ass." The angle appears beside me completely naked. He has a bottle of lube in his hand. I don't even question it. Dean lifts me off the table. "Wrap your legs around me." Dean grunts. "Gonna fuck that pussy while Cas gets you ready for him."

Dean slowly pushes in. "Fuck, sweetheart. Maybe we should have opened you up. You're so fucking tight." Dean moans as he pulls back. The response I had died on my tongue as I feel Cas' fingers circle my tightest hole. I had only done anal once. It wasn't a pleasant experience. Somehow I trust Cas to make this feel good. Dean slowly pressing more of himself in me and, pulling back. I don't know what to focus on. The stretch of Dean's cock or the feeling of Cas' fingering my ass. Finally, Dean gets all the way in. He lets out a grunt at the feeling. "Shit. I'm not going to last long." Dean groans as he pulls back. Cas begins pressing into me from behind. "God, neither am I." I moan loudly. They work in perfect sync. Dean pulls out, Cas pushes in. I lean back against Cas. "Fuck, Dean. Right there." I whimper. He's perfectly hitting my g spot. "Yeah, you like my cock in you baby?" Dean asks. "Fucking love it." I respond. "You feel so good." I hear Cas say from behind me. Cas reaches around to thumb at my clit. "Are you getting close?" Cas asks in my ear. I nod unable to talk. It just feels so good. I moan loudly as my climax hits me. Dean groans into my neck. He bottoms out one last time before he cums. Cas grasps me from under my thighs.   "Where do you want me?" Cas asks with his voice wavering. "In me." I groan as Dean pulls out. I feel his release trickling down my thighs. "In your tight little ass or in you pretty little pussy?" Cas questions as he pull on my ear lobe. I've never heard the angle talk like that. Fuck, that's hot. " I don't care." Cas pulls out of my ass. He presses into my wetness. Shit, he's thicker than Dean. His length is shorter but, thicker. The stretch feels amazing. "Even after Dean fucked you, your still tight."

Cas thrusts three more times before he cums. He shouts my name as he releases. I've never felt so full before. Cas pulls away slowly. "Sam," I whine at the youngest Winchester. "Want you." "Look at that, Sammy. Our little cum slut wants you to." Dean taunts. Sam stands from his chair. His length is already out. Holy shit. He's fucking packing. Nine inches and, thicker than Castiel. He wraps his hand around it. He smirks as he sees me eyeing him. He picks me up effortlessly. He sets me back on the table. "You want this, baby?" Sam runs his tip through my lips. He stops to tease my clit. "Fuck. Please." I whine. "Not satisfied yet, are you?" "No, sir. Want your cock." Sam moans at the tittle. "Hm, you are a little cum slut. Aren't you?" He snickers. "Yes, Sir. Love being so full."

"I'm not going to last long." Sam warns as he slowly presses in. "Shit." I whine. He pauses. "Are you okay?" I nod frantically as I grab his hips to pull him closer. "So fucking big." "I'm not even in all the way yet." He groans as he bottoms out. "Shit. Such a tight little pussy." Sam moans in my ear. "Hm, maybe we need to fuck you lose." My response comes out as a loud gasp. Sam had pulled all the way out and, slammed back in.He pauses. My head thrown back. "You feel so good." He takes that as his cue. He continues his rough pace. The obscene sound of skin slapping skin fills the room. "You like it rough? Huh, baby?" "So good." "Yeah, you like my cock? Like having everyone fuck you like the whore you are?" "Yes. Fuck. Use me." "Yeah, you like being our little fuck toy?" I moan his name loudly as I climax for the final time tonight. Sam isn't far behind. "So fucking tight. So fucking wet. God." Sam groans as he slams into me one last time. I feel his release paint my walls. He rests on my chest while he catches his breath. Suddenly, I'm clear of the mind. The realization of what just happened hit me. Holy shit, I just slept with all of my friends. What does this mean? Will it affect our friendship? Sam slowly pulls out. He places a loving kiss on my lips. "Don't overthink." He whispers. Dean hands me his flannel to cover myself. Sam disappears into the kitchen. The pair get dressed quickly.Dean wraps his arms around me. "Don't worry, Y/N. This doesn't change anything." He whispers as he presses a gentle kiss on my cheek.

Cas takes Dean's place when he steps back. He runs his finger through my matted hair. "Dean's right. This doesn't affect your relationship at all." Cas kisses me on the side of the head. "I won't protest to a repeat performance." Dean smirks. "Keep it in your pants, Winchester." I joke. He laughs loudly. Sam comes back into the room. Dean and, Cas leave. Sam gently spreads my legs. He takes the damp, warm rag in his hands and, wipes away the mess between my legs. He's careful to avoid any sensitive areas. He sets the rag beside us. I reach out to grasp his flannel. I never did get him naked. That's something I would have loved to see. Of course, I like Sam. I think I may have ruined everything by sleeping with his brother while he watched. I don't know how I'm going to be able to look him in the eyes. Sleeping with Dean and, Cas didn't mean anything to me. I happened because I needed it. That stupid fucking spell may have just ruined my chances with the guy I'm in love with. He gently picks me up. He carries me bridal style to the bathroom. He sets me on the cold ground. "I thought you'd like a shower." He says while he rubs the back of his neck. Alright, now or never. Don't be a wimp. This maybe your only shot. I give Sam the most seductive look I can manage. I drop the flannel to the floor. He looks at me with wide eyes. "Why don't you join me?" I ask as I play with the hem of his shirt. "If that's what you want." He utters. "What I want is you." He looks at me with surprise on his face. "What?" "Before all of that...which we'll talk about later. I had feelings for you. I know I may have just messed that up back there but, I had to let you know. I felt like this was my only shot." He's silent. He's just looking down at me. "Sam. Say something, please." I beg. He grabs my hips and, pulls me into his hard chest. He dips down to capture my lips in a passionate kiss. He allows his tongue to roll with mine for a while before he pulls away. "You didn't ruin anything. If I'm honest, it was kinda hot." "Oh, someone likes watching." I tease "I like watching you." "Come watch me some more then."

[cursed-or-not]

Suptober Day 11: Rock and Roll

Music heard so deeply / That it is not heard at all, but you are the music / While the music lasts

(T.S. Elliot, “The Dry Salvages”)

Cas thinks that of everything humanity has made, music has to be the best.

There have been more impressive creations—buildings meant to reach the stars, codes of law that formed the first societies— but not all masterpieces last.

Humans have never stopped making music.

Cas has always appreciated it for its longevity, but he doesn’t truly understand it until he pulls Dean Winchester from Hell.

It’s a process. At first, Dean can’t make sense of Cas’s voice, a voice that doesn’t sound like music but like martyrdom, like Heaven and holy wars, but slowly, Cas starts to understand the pitch that Dean lives in.

He doesn’t realize that Dean is starting to understand him, too, until later.

“Don’t ever change,” Dean finally tells him, and Cas thinks this was the first time their music converged.

…

They’re sitting in a bar, and Dean is wincing. Cas still doesn’t understand entirely, because he knows Dean likes this song, but Dean keeps saying something about cover bands and bleeding ears, and Cas just smiles along.

“You’ve been quiet,” Dean accuses after another string of complaints about the band, and Cas tilts his head in confusion.

“I don’t want to talk over the music,” Cas says simply.

Dean’s expression holds something soft but fleeting.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t music.”

Dean’s words just confuse Cas further.

“I thought… you liked this song,” Cas says, wracking his brain for the memory of this playing in the car.

Dean shakes his head.

“No, no, no,” he begins, “If you think this is the same as what I made you listen to, then I didn’t teach you very well. Trust me, there’s a difference between a classic song and a shitty garage-band cover of it.”

“Oh,” Cas says in response. He still doesn’t understand.

“Oh?” Dean prompts, seeming to notice Cas’s confusion.

“It’s just… wouldn’t you rather hear a bad version of a good song than nothing?”

Dean considers the question.

“I mean, on principle, no. But you might have a point,” Dean responds. “I guess I’d have to really like the song.”

“And this one? Do you like this one enough?”

Dean thinks about it before responding, “You know, I guess I do.” He huffs a laugh. “I guess music is music, no matter how shitty.”

Cas looks at Dean through startling blue eyes and tries not to think cursed or not.

…

Sometimes, Dean wishes he could hear everything that Cas does.

He wishes Cas spent less time marching to his own beat, to the orders he hears on angel radio, to the music only he can hear.

They try to share it with each other, sometimes. It’s why Cas spent so much time trying to make Dean understand and why Dean spent so much time on a mixtape. But sometimes, they just can’t find it in themselves.

This time, it’s about the nephilim.

Cas is convinced that Lucifer’s son will do something good, something great, even, and Dean isn’t willing to take the chance of him doing the opposite.

It’s hard to be angry.

He knows Cas isn’t lying to them about the future he believes in. When Cas talks about this kid, about the future he saw he could make, something in Cas’s expression turns so hopeful that it makes Dean ache.

It’s not that Dean doesn’t think Cas believes he’s doing the right thing; it’s that Dean can’t convince himself of it.

Whatever brave new world Cas thinks will come from this kid— Dean just can’t see it.

Cas hears music that no one else does.

…

When Cas dies, Dean doesn’t listen to anything for weeks.

The cassettes in the car stay untouched, the records unplayed.

There’s a boy with the blood of Lucifer who they have to save now, too, but Dean doesn’t care because he couldn’t save anyone when it counted, so what’s the point now?

Jack doesn’t know music. It’s not even that he doesn’t know good music; he’s never even heard the bad kind. Someday, someone might teach him, might show him how to drive with it playing and hum it while he fishes, but for now, he doesn’t ask, and no one offers. Dean doesn’t talk to him.

Jack misses Castiel, too. He’s the father he never got to meet, his unknowable savior, and maybe, just maybe, Cas could have taught him. Now, though, everything is silent.

They don’t know where angels go when they die. No one knows, Sam told him, but all that Jack knows is that it has to be somewhere, and he just wants his father.

When he cries out, the universe hears.

Somewhere, there’s music still playing.

…

It’s Thanksgiving, and the bunker buzzes with life.

They don’t do this, don’t celebrate normal holidays, but with the end of the world looming over them, now’s as good a time as any to start.

It’s not just them. Jody and the girls agreed to come, and they’ve made a mess of the kitchen, but no one seems to mind. Garth brought his family, too, and the babies have been looking wide-eyed at the bunker since they arrived. Eileen is due to arrive any minute.

There is happiness in the air, but Dean is terrified.

He knows about the deal.

Today isn’t the first day he’s known, but it’s brought up a whole new wave of fear and grief.

Giddy voices sing from the kitchen, and it’s a song Dean knows he recognizes—something by Pink Floyd—but he can’t bring himself to hear any of it. He’s standing in the doorway of his room, anger preventing him from joining. He feels like he’s living with one foot in and one out.

Cas stands across from him.

“Dean, I know why you won’t join,” Cas says, and Dean lets out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, I’m sure you do.”

Cas’s brow furrows, and he asks, “Are you angry?”

Dean shrugs, but the way his shoulders move jerkily answers the question.

Cas begins, “I know you think this will make me happy enough to—”

“That’s not the only thing, Cas!” Dean interrupts, and anger has seeped into his voice.

Cas stays silent, waiting for Dean to continue.

“It’s— yeah, I’m worried that today’s gonna make you happy and you’re gonna die in the middle of eating a piece of pumpkin pie,” Dean says, frustrated. “But what about the next time? And the time after that? Are we just gonna make sure you’re always miserable so you don’t die?”

Cas looks at Dean with sadness written on his face.

“Well,” Cas begins, and the calm of his voice contrasts starkly with the sharpness of Dean’s, “I think I’m safe at least until we beat Chuck.”

Dean makes a sound of disbelief.

“So, what then?! We just keep trying to find a way to dust God, and we ignore that it’ll probably kill you?”

Cas blinks.

“Yes,” he responds, and Dean’s face twists with anger.

“If you’re not gonna be around when we save the world, then what the hell are we even fighting for?!” Dean shouts.

Dean’s voice is loud, too loud, and now he can hear a baby crying from the other room. He’s not sure if it’s baby Sam or Castiel, but in the next moment, Jack’s voice filters in from another room where they left him watching the twins sleep. He keeps his voice soft and soothing.

“Shhh, shh, it’s okay. It will be okay,” Jack says gently, and Dean can’t see him, but he’s sure Jack is holding the baby as he speaks. In the next moment, the crying has stopped.

The music from the kitchen is still playing.

“Them,” Cas answers then, and any frustration has melted from his voice. “We’re fighting for them.”

...

Some days, it all comes back to the mixtape.

It doesn’t matter what else there is; it doesn’t matter that there’s still God to fight or a deal to cheat, and it doesn’t matter that there’s fear and grief or anything other than love. On days like this, it all comes down to the music between them.

They’re in the car together, and they’re on the second to last song of the mixtape, but Dean doesn’t think he’s heard a single word of it.

It’s not that they’re speaking over it; every time they play the mixtape, Cas listens like he’ll never get another chance, but just because there are no actual words drowning it out doesn’t mean there’s nothing distracting Dean.

Something hangs in the air between them that’s louder than the music, and when Dean finally catches Cas’s eye in the passenger seat next to him, the notes all shatter.

“Cas—”

“I know.”

It’s a simple response, and Dean almost has to laugh at it because of course Cas knows.  

Before Dean can tell him anything else that he already knows, and before he’s quite sure what he’s doing, Dean’s pulling the car over.

If Cas already knows, then—

“Cas, can I—”

“Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

There’s a moment of waiting, a break before the chorus, and then they meet in the middle.

It’s soft where they come together, but it’s not so tentative that Dean doesn’t feel his heart race. Neither intends to waste a second of this, and when they draw back for air, their cheeks are flushed.

“I’m sorry,” Cas blurts as they pull away, and for the life of him, Dean can’t imagine why he’s apologizing.

“You’re sorry?” Dean questions, still not quite trusting himself to string too many words together.

“The mixtape,” Cas says, still breathing heavier than usual. “You made me the mixtape, and I never got you anything in return.”

Dean almost laughs at Cas’s sincerity and timing, but when he responds, Dean’s voice is low and just as sincere.

“Don’t say you never got me anything,” Dean breathes, and then he pulls Cas in for another kiss.

It’s short and gentle, but Dean already can’t imagine how he’s gone so many years without this.

“Kisses aren’t an actual gift,” Cas says skeptically, but the way he leans closer to Dean takes away some credibility from the statement. “Not like the mixtape.”

“Cas, I hate to say it,” Dean responds, “but you’re better than rock and roll.”

It doesn’t matter that the song’s almost over, or that they still have a world to save, because Cas’s hand is in Dean’s. Maybe there’s the Empty waiting around the corner, but here, there is music. 

For now, this is enough.

[dickspeightjrs]

Hope (2.2k words)

sequel to Despair (I’d recommend reading that first, it’s only short)

Chuck had been defeated.

Cas was still gone. 

Those were the thoughts going through Dean’s head since the day they managed to remove Chuck from the universe for good. 

As usual for Dean, he kept on a front for the sake of Sam and Jack. He showed his relief at Chuck finally being gone, but in the privacy of his own thoughts, he was overwhelmed with a fresh onslaught of despair. 

The day Chuck died, everyone who he had taken appeared outside the bunker. It seemed as if Chuck had been playing with them like toys and dropped them as he met his demise in the warded bunker dungeon. 

Dean, Sam and Jack had stepped outside the sheltered door of the bunker to find a sea of people going on for what seemed like miles. Many of them were strangers who were innocent to the reason for their disappearance. But peppered around were also their friends and family. 

Bobby. Charlie. Donna. So many more. 

Only, as he scanned through the array of faces, Dean couldn’t help but be more and more disappointed that Castiel wasn’t among them. Why would he be? His death wasn’t anything to do with Chuck. Though it didn’t stop Dean hoping. 

It was a few days until everything settled again. 

The boys helped people return to their homes and tried to give them an explanation that wouldn’t be too traumatising. Sam had led the way - he seemed born for it, being a leader. His soft demeanour despite his towering height made people warm to him. Especially compared to Dean’s stormy face and body language. 

Jack still stayed quiet most of the time. Poor kid was taking Castiel’s death hard. Dean honestly regretted being so tough on him at times. He regretted saying Jack wasn’t family. He was. Of course he was. Castiel loved Jack like a son and that made Dean love him now too. 

There were times during the busyness of the bunker that Dean and Jack’s eyes would meet and he’d give Dean a look that told him that he was thinking of Cas too. That he missed him too. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the people inhabiting the bunker were gone and it was left in a more calming silence. 

Donna and Charlie had just left together, both giving Dean an extra hard squeeze as they said goodbye. He knew what the hug was for and he was grateful neither of them had brought up Cas while they’d been there. Dean didn’t know how he would have reacted. 

Once the two women were out of sight, Dean hunched even further into himself and mumbled to Sam that he was going to bed. He didn’t care that it was the middle of the day. He was exhausted and needed refuge from his thoughts. 

Sam responded with a look of shock, which Dean wasn’t surprised by. Dean hadn’t slept properly - as properly as a hunter could anyway - since Cas died. Instead, he’d fall asleep in the library while he’d been looking through lore books. 

(Sam and Jack thought he’d been helping to look for ways to bring down Chuck but he’d actually been looking up anything that might even slightly mention the Empty. He’d thought he’d been secret about it until one day he woke up to find a new book on the table next to him, open to a chapter on a possible way to summon the Empty. Dean didn’t know who put it there, Sam or Jack, but he was grateful for their quiet support.) 

Dean trudged tiredly to his room. Truthfully, he’d been avoiding it ever since Cas died. It wasn’t even like they’d spent much time in there together but he couldn’t handle being alone in a space that was meant to bring him joy and comfort knowing that he’d never see Cas again. 

He’d never had the chance to feel the angel lying next to him and yet he missed it with his entire being. 

Dean’s head ached with a consistent, dull pain. It had been constant since he’d started visiting the woods to speak to Cas. He’d only been back there a couple of times but the night before they killed Chuck, Dean had vowed to Cas that he’d do it and get it right this time. He still looked around for any sign that Cas had heard him but there was nothing. Only the beginnings of a throbbing headache. 

Blinking slowly and shaking his head slightly to try to relieve the pain, Dean finally collapsed onto the bed and let sleep take him. 

Sleep started as a dreamless slumber but, at some point in the night, he felt that same pain again like a punch through his brain. It woke him up, panting and sweating, but when he sat up the pain was gone. And with no memory of what he could have been dreaming about, Dean lay there fighting the spindled fingers of sleep around his mind, determined that he’d never sleep again if it meant not having to feel that pain. 

Of course, it was impossible to maintain having no sleep, even for Dean Winchester - King of sleep deprivation. 

The minute Dean fell into a deep sleep he would be shocked back awake with a burning pain in his head. 

This continued for almost a week after Chuck’s death. Until one night, when Dean shot up in bed, sweat cooling on his skin, he remembered. 

He’d dreamt about the woodland clearing he’d been buried in when Cas had returned him from hell. The dream felt so real it was like he could smell, touch, taste the Earth around him as he ripped himself from the ground. 

Cursing his mind for adding to his never-ending torture, Dean left his room and got himself some coffee from the kitchen - determined not to let himself fall asleep again until he absolutely had to. 

Dean reached his breaking point a few days later. 

He’d been tired and irritable, snapping at Sam and Jack whenever they so much as looked at him. Knowing he couldn’t continue living like this, he let sleep take him once more, bracing himself for the inevitable pain. 

The pain came, but not before Dean saw fleeting images of the woodland again. Only this time, it was like he was a bird flying high above and he could see fallen tree trunks arranged in almost perfect circles. And in the centre was a figure, a person, hunched over on bent knees as if they were praying. 

The person moved to stand on their feet and as they were about to turn a white, burning heat coursed through Dean’s head. 

The pain didn’t shock Dean anymore but the recurring image of the hunched figure replayed in his mind. 

Dean thought what he’d been seeing in his dreams had been disjointed memories of the time he pulled himself out of that grave. But it couldn’t have been. There was never anyone else there when he’d risen to the surface. He’d walked for miles with no soul in sight. 

So who was this hunched figure? Why was Dean dreaming of them? 

And why was every fibre of Dean’s being telling him to get in his car and drive all night until he reached that very spot? 

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, Dean climbed out of bed and shuffled to the kitchen. 

When he arrived he was surprised to see Sam sitting at the table with a pot of coffee, freshly brewed if the rolling steam coming off it was anything to go by. 

“What’re you doing here, Sammy?” Dean asked, taking a seat opposite his brother. 

Sam pushed a cup of coffee towards Dean. “Waiting for you.” 

“Okay… trying not to be creeped out that you’re sat waiting for me in the kitchen at 3AM…” Dean replied. 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I wanted to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me and Jack for weeks now. And I noticed you come in here at night sometimes. So I took a chance tonight.” 

Curse his brother for knowing him so well.  

“I don’t know what to tell you, man.” Dean shrugged.

“How about the truth?”

Ha. There was no way Dean was ever telling Sam the truth. If nothing else, Cas deserved to be the first person Dean told about his feelings. And if he never got the chance to do that, well, the secret would die with Dean. 

But Dean really did want Sam’s opinion on the dreams he’d been having. Telling Sam about the dreams didn’t count as telling him the whole truth, did it? 

Dean cleared his throat. “I’ve been having these… dreams, I guess.” He sighed. “I just keep seeing the forest where Cas left me when he raised me from hell. But it’s not a memory because it’s like I'm seeing it from above and there’s this person there.” 

Sam nodded, encouraging Dean to continue. 

“I don’t know if I’m just going crazy but it feels real. Like something deep inside me is telling me that this is important.” Dean avoided Sam’s gaze. “And I get these pains in my head, it’s fucking agony.” 

After a few moments of silence, Dean raised his head to meet Sam’s eyes. 

They held nothing but warmth for his older brother. 

“Look, Dean, I know you haven’t told me and Jack the whole truth of what happened when Cas d-, when he left, but I know more than anyone what it’s like to lose someone you love.” 

Dean felt all the blood in his body rush to his face.

“Come on, Dean. You can’t be surprised that I know how you feel about Cas. Anyone who has ever seen you two together knows that you’d tear apart the Earth for each other.” Sam stated, simply.

Suddenly, Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t deal with this knowledge that apparently everyone had known about his and Cas’ mutual feelings before they even did. 

He got up from the table and stalked to the door, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

Sam just let him go but just as Dean was about to escape to the quiet of his room, he spoke up. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, waiting for Dean’s attention to turn back on him. “Those dreams you’ve been having? I don’t know if it’s the same but I just know that I thought the visions I had of Jess were just dreams and I’d hate for you to make the same mistakes I did.” 

Dean swallowed and nodded once at Sam before exiting to his bedroom. 

Within the hour he was hurtling along the highway in the Impala. 

*  *  * 

Dean’s skin tingled with electricity as he approached the clearing. He hadn’t been back here since that day all those years ago. 

He didn’t know what he hoped to find. For the entire journey there, he’d second guessed himself a million times but ultimately he had to know. 

He had to know if he was simply going crazy or if this was some kind of sign of something else at work. 

Finally, he made it to the large expanse of fallen trees. The electricity running through his veins increased as he spotted a figure sat in the dead centre, curled in on itself. 

His heart raced to a speed he would surely die from but Dean kept carefully placing one slow foot in front of the other. 

Until he heard a crack under his foot. 

He looked down to see that he’d stepped on a twig, which snapped under the pressure, sending a ripple of sound across the clearing. 

The hunched figure went ramrod straight where they were. 

Dean swallowed and continued walking ahead. 

Only, he was stopped in his tracks when the figure turned, a slow agonising turn. 

Dean felt sick. He’d come this far thinking, hoping, praying that this would somehow be something that led him back to Cas. But what if he had come all this way only to be disappointed? He didn’t think he could handle the heartbreak. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes and stayed rooted to the spot. 

“Dean?” 

Dean felt euphoria storm through his every atom. 

He opened his eyes and was met with the sight of Castiel, angel of the lord, standing in the middle of fallen trees, staring back at Dean like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. 

Wasting no more time, Dean broke into a sprint, running faster than he was sure he’d ever done before. 

Self-doubt tried to battle its way through, telling him that this was a trick. Castiel couldn’t possibly be back. But he ignored it. 

Dean could have been running into the arms of a devil in disguise and he’d still do it just to have one second in Castiel’s embrace. 

When he reached Cas he pulled the angel as close to his body as could be physically possible. 

“Dean.” Castiel spoke again. And, god, Dean could have cried hearing his name come from the lips of his beloved once again. “Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, still holding Cas tight in his arms. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“I just didn’t know what else to do.” Castiel sobbed against Dean’s shoulder.

“I don’t care. I don’t care.” Dean said, sternly, gripping Castiel against him. “I could barely let myself hope that those dreams were you, Cas. You have no idea how fucking happy I am right now.” 

Castiel pulled away from Dean slightly to look him in the eyes. “I couldn’t find any other way to find you Dean. I wasn’t even sure you’d still be alive. I used the last of my powers to project myself into you. I didn’t truly know if it would work but I hoped.” Tears poured down his face. “Coming back here was the only place I knew that you’d recognise was ours.”

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay. I’m here now. And neither of us are going anywhere without the other again.”

Castiel nodded and smiled, placing a delicate hand to Dean’s cheek. “Is it too much to hope that this means I was wrong, and you do actually return my feelings?” 

A laugh ripped through Dean in a way that it hadn’t in years, even before Cas had been taken by the empty. “Castiel, angel of the lord, ever since you saved me from hell, I’ve never been the same. You changed me. And I am hopelessly and completely in love with you.” 

Not letting a second more go to waste, Dean didn’t wait for a response from Cas. He pulled the angel into a deep kiss that he hoped told Castiel everything that there weren’t enough words in the world to say. 

(Tag list below - if you’d like to be added or removed, let me know!)

@rambleoncas @eccentriccas @joharvele @tearsofgrace @starrynightdeancas @aurastiel @dreamnovak @good-things-do-happen-dean @ccstiel @destielle @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @bend-me-shape-me

@thechaosthatismybrain @rusted-peopleskills @castiel-enthusiast @wheniwrite28 @fandomsofafeather @ripreptaytion @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @writtenmemxries @gum-believable @breathingdestiel @squintingg

@thefourthheadofcerberus @professorerudite @harmonyhelms @babyinabelstaf @monipotty @tinyroolove7

[percywinchester27]

A lot like ‘Us’ (Part-17)

Word count: 5.3K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Warnings: ANGST, miscarriage, accident, graphic descriptions of blood, detailed/spoilery warnings in the tags.

Series Summary: Y/N Y/L/N is eager and honestly, still in awe that she managed to get herself an acceptance from Stanford Law School. On the face of it, her life seems as put together, mysterious and independent as one might hope for. On the insides, she carries the burden of past that haunts her till date. Seemingly, she’d left it all behind; that is until she sets foot in the class of the Law School’s youngest, most promising professor.

A/N: Here it is guys, finally. I know most of you already know what’s going to happen but please please heed the warnings. If you have triggers please check the tags, I’ll put in everything I can think of including the spoilery warnings. I had a hard time writing this, so here’s to hoping I managed to convey the emotions.

The story employs two different timelines. The present timeline for the story takes place in 2014. Please let me know what you guys think :)

Beta: @deanssweetheart23. You da best <3

A lot like ‘Us’ masterlist

24th April 2009

“I’ll be fine, really,” you said on the phone. “It’s only seven.”

On the other end Jo sighed. “Y/N, it’s starting to rain again, and it’s getting really dark outside.”

“Weird that it’s already raining in April,” you murmured. “I’m just around the bend of Clinton lake.”

“Why did you even leave the house?”

It was Sam’s birthday in just a little over a week. You really wanted to get him something. Sitting at home wasn’t giving you any ideas, so you had decided to go around to the other side of the big lake and try your luck at the engraving shop there. It had worked and you ended up placing an order for an engraved pen. It was a simple black fountain pen, part of which was made in obsidian, so your message could be engraved. Even if Sam used it regularly, it was supposed to be very durable and you were extremely pleased. You were also particularly proud of the quote you had picked. It wasn’t romantic in any way, but you had heard Sam read it out to you from your favourite book many times in that lovely voice of his.

You hoped Sam would carry the pen to work. Things were hard for him in New York right now, living by himself. He wouldn’t tell you if he ever had troubles at work, but you knew enough of the profession to know that it was ruthless, and sometimes hard. You couldn’t be there with him to tell him that things would be alright. Maybe if he looked down at the pen, the quote would remind him of that.

“Y/N? A storm’s about to hit that side, ” Jo fretted, slightly frustrated on the line. “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you said, peering into the horizon just beyond the lake, beyond the pitter patter on the glass. It really was getting dark. “I’ll be home in a few minutes. In fact, I’ll come over directly to your place. I think Dean could use another apple pie.”

“No!” Jo shouted. “You go to your house.”

“Oh-kay.” Not suspicious at all. “What’re you not telling me?”

“Nothing!” 

Jo’s voice was too high to be believable. Either way, it wasn’t the best idea to stay out any longer. 

“I’m parked at a shoulder,” you told her. “I’m gonna hang up on you so I can get back on the road.

“Okay. Drive carefully.”

“See ya in fifteen,” you grinned as you cut the call on her vague protests. She really did want you to not visit her. Maybe she was throwing you that surprise baby shower afterall. 

“Looks like you and I have to pretend to be surprised, Chirp,” you muttered. 

Slowly, you reversed the car and eased it back onto the road, thinking about how cold it seemed to suddenly feel. Maybe you should turn the heat up further. 

It came out of nowhere. The blow. One minute you were sliding the car onto the road, next minute you were sinking, drowning, the shock not even letting you register what had happened. There was a bright, blinding yellow light- straight in your eyes at first, from a direction it shouldn’t have been coming from. The confusion just spiraled when the road which should have been beneath you was over your head, and then you were spinning out of control. You closed your eyes, unable to understand what was happening till the water hit. Then you started thrashing, trying to get the seat belt to loosen, to get yourself out of the vehicle, but even with all the whipping around, you couldn’t free yourself. The water rose higher and higher in the darkness as you struggled to strain your neck to rise above it… until you couldn’t.

Seconds… then your throat was hurting. No- it was burning. The world was turning upside down and you were in a torrent of water. Frantically, you tried to unbuckle yourself, but your swollen middle made it hard. That thought cleared your head more than anything else and you doubled, tripled your efforts to get out, finally managing to free yourself of the seat belt and open the door. For all your effort, it wasn’t soon enough because the van rolled in the dark water and hit something, plummeting you to the side, against what could only be jagged metal and pieces of glass.

You wanted more than anything to just go to sleep now. Maybe then the cold will seize and so would the sting. Everything was stinging. The cold water was biting into your skin like a thousand knives and the cold was so cold it burned, it set you on fire. But the shards, they were a different kind of ripping, tearing- outside on your skin and… inside.

No. You opened your eyes, and with every last ounce of strength, made your limbs move. There was pain. You knew it deep down that you were in a lot of pain, though right now you couldn’t feel anything beyond the haze in your brain and the ice under your skin. The burning in the throat was dulling, but you used it to remain conscious, to propel yourself up, because there was something infinitely more important in this world than your life. You had to force yourself to swim to protect that thing. 

The ripping once more and a stab… It was gut wrenching to keep pushing the water down with your hands, the consciousness was slipping again. Another convulsive spasm from the inside now… to the point where you felt something other than the cold… you felt it, you felt the pain, primal and devastating inside of you. The blackness overwhelmed you.

Something was patting your face and then something soft was on your lips. Soft and warm. 

“Jesus Christ,” a voice hissed, desperate, then shouted away from you, “She’s not responding! Jesus!”

“Stop with that, you moron,” another scared, deeper voice in the distance yelled. “Get the water out.”

“I-I can’t… I can’t roll her over on the stomach. She’s… she’s… Fuck.”

“Press her chest. We’ve got to do something till the ambulance comes. Slap her face again.”

pat pat pat.

The rain was thudding hard around you, hitting your face like arrows.

“Fuck, I can’t,” the first voice answered. “Her lips are blue and all this blood. Shit!”

“She’s not even shivering.” The other deep voice cursed. “Move aside, you idiot.” A different set of hands replaced the ones on you.

Pumps on your chest and then something on her lips again.

The first man, far away now, was shouting. “She’s gonna die… she’s gonna die… and they’ll think we did it. That bastard drove off and you- you had to stop driving.”

The voice near you growled in frustration. “Oh, fuck off!” He said urgently in your ears. “C’mon dammit! Keep fighting.” The pumping continued, but you didn’t fight to live. You knew it in your frozen bones that the reason you had been fighting for was gone. It was in the blood seeping from your middle, the blood rapidly staining your already drenched pants. It was in the glass and metal sticking out of your body. It was in the unbearable pain and the bone crushing cold, it was in the scared and defeated voices over you… he was gone. 

Pump. Pump. Pump.

“C’mon! Fight!”

You fought, yes. But not to live. You fought to go under, to never resurface ever again. What was the point? 

“Check her wallet,” the man over you commanded. “She’s married. See if you can get a hold of the husband.”

Sam.

“I can feel a beat. Fuck. Thank God.”

The tensed, shrill voice yelled from far away. “I think I hear the ambulance.”

“You hear that?” The voice, soft now commanded. “Stay with me!”

You heard it… you heard the siren… farther and then closer. The pain felt sharper now, agonising like hellfire burning in your veins. More voices, more pain… and then nothing.

***************************

26th April 2008

“Sam?”

“Sam, seriously. If you stop responding, I’ll slap an answer out of you. I swear I will.”

He looked up at the girl standing over him. Jo was scowling down at him, her voice high pitched and reedy.

“You need to eat something.”

He said nothing.

She grabbed him by the shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle. “Are you even listening to me?” Jo might have tried to shake him, he didn’t notice it. “Mom’s sent some food.”

“I’m not leaving her.” 

Jo’s body relaxed just a bit at his response. At least she had gotten one. He felt her take a seat next to him, without letting go of his shoulder. 

“You’re not helping her by starving yourself,” she said. “You think Y/N would want you to torture yourself like this?”

“I wouldn’t know what Y/N would want now, would I?” His voice sounded muted, dead, even to his own ears.

She sighed. “There’s nothing you could’ve done. The baby… Y/N…. you couldn’t have done anything.”

There’s nothing you could’ve done.

They were only words. His brother had said them, and Jo and Ellen; so many times that they had lost meaning to Sam now. Not that they had ever held any to begin with.

“Why’re you doing this to me, Jo?” He asked flatly, without even the intention of an inflection.

She took a deep breath. “Because Dean’s losing it, Sam. He’s fucking losing it seeing you like this. I’ve never seen him look this… this…” Her hands flailed in the air. “Crazed! He’s blaming himself for everything.”

For the first time, he turned to look at her and actually see her. Jo’s hair was coming out of the plait that she hadn’t combed out of for almost two days. Her face was grimy and blotched. Her eyes were red and nose shiny. She looked on the verge of tears still.

“It’s not Dean’s fault.” 

“It’s not yours either,” she yelled, exasperated,

“I should have been with her! Maybe then she wouldn’t have gone out.”

“It was a perfectly good day to drive. She was barely even out of town and it wasn’t her fault that a trailer doing ninety miles decided to make a bend on the wrong side of the road.”

Sam flinched.

The hand on his shoulder slid down and wrapped around his waist. “It was a freak accident. I know you’re hurting, Sam. I have to be blind to not see what this is doing to you, but think about what you’ll do to Y/N if she sees you like this.”

“I thought I lost her, too,” Sam whispered. “The way she looked.” A shudder ran through his body and Jo threw her other arm around him, as if to protect him, as if she could shield him from what had passed and what was to come. 

Sam had stayed with Y/N as long as they would let him. However, no one was allowed in the ICU, so he was forced to remain in the waiting area outside. Be that as it might, no one had been able to move him from here since that wretched phone call.

It felt like eons ago- Sam had paced the living room in their home impatiently, waiting for Y/N to come back from wherever she had driven to. Jo had arranged for a surprise baby shower, and to add to it, Sam had flown in a day early. It was a wonder to see her look of sheer joy each time Y/N found him home! He had spent the hour fixing that one odd joint in the crib, and then another trying to get the rainbow mural stuck on the wall opposite to the crib. Y/N would be so proud. He had been congratulating himself when the shrill ring of the phone interrupted his reverie. The phone call that had changed everything. 

“Y/N’s tough, Sam,” Jo whispered in his ears. “You heard the doctor, right? He said no one that far gone had managed to pull through all in one piece. She had a cardiac arrest from the hypothermia and she’s still with us.” Jo rubbed soothing circles into his back. “Shhh… it’ll be alright. She’s tougher than she looks, that one.”

“I don’t know how to tell her… how to face her.” Only when Sam’s voice broke did he realise that he was already crying. “I can’t see her in pain, Jo. It will kill me.”

“No, it won’t. You need to let others in. Let people help you first, so you can be there for her tomorrow. If you let yourself go to pieces, who’s she gonna turn to?”

Sam simply shook his head as the tears overwhelmed him. He knew he couldn’t stay weak, couldn’t afford to be fragile… especially not now.

Someone cleared their throat and Jo pulled back to reveal the nurse standing in the hallway. “Mrs. Winchester just regained consciousness.”

************

“Y/N, Darling.”

Sam’s voice. The only sound that could mean anything.

“You said she was awake,” he spoke, voice sounding farther.

“She is…” said another doubtful voice. A woman’s voice. “At least she was.”

“Y/N, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His voice was dim and strained. You didn’t need to open your eyes to see the expression on his face.

“Doctor,” he said, frantic now. “What’s wrong with her?”

Cool hand pressed against your wrist, then another lightly prodded at your eyelid, trying to pry them open. You turned your head to the side, not willing to look.

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Darling?”

“Mr. Winchester, could I please request you step outside while I examine her?”

There was a pause, then the door opened and closed. 

“Mrs. Winchester, my name’s Richard Hawke and I’m your doctor. Could you please turn your head this way?”

You did. 

Against your hazy vision, much couldn’t be made out about Dr. Hawke except his kind eyes. “How’re you feeling? Is there any pain?”

You shook your head. Physically, you only felt numb. Your throat felt scorched, but that pain was welcoming. You needed it to feel something.

“Do you remember what happened?”

One dip your head.

Dr. Hawke looked at you for a long moment. “You’ve been through one hell of a trauma, Mrs. Winchester. It’s a miracle that you survived.” He gave you a compassionate smile.

You knew what his words really meant. ‘Be grateful that, at least, you survived.’

He studied the file he was holding, then said. “We had to perform a surgery when they brought you in. Thankfully, there are no fractures, just deep lacerations on your stomach, back and chest. To let you heal from the surgery and for the stitches to hold, we had to keep you under sedation for over a day and half.”

Dr. Hawke waited for you to give a sign that you understood, when he didn’t get one, he continued. “You need complete bed rest for a couple of days. That means no moving around or even standing for too long. If you’re in pain, please immediately call for the nurse.” His voice softened. “Do you want me to send your husband in?”

You looked him right in the eyes and very deliberately shook your head. 

He nodded and you closed your eyes, not wanting to see a world where your baby would never exist.

***************************

30th April 2008

“Y/N, do you want to take a walk?” Jo asked, trying to make her voice bright. “The doctor said you need to move around a bit, sweetie.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean added, in the same tone. “There’s actually sun outside today. No more gloomy, rainy weather.”

Sam felt himself stiffen and Dean shot him a wary glance. No one had mentioned rain in front of her. Their careful exchange was lost on Y/N though, just like everything else had been up until now. For all they knew, she hadn’t heard a word of the conversation. Her gaze was fixed, unseeing on the blinders of the window, through which some of the sunlight that Dean was talking about trickled in. The expression on her face was blank, exactly how it had been since she had first opened her eyes.

No one had told Y/N that she had lost the baby… she had already known. Not that she had told anyone that she knew. Hell, she hadn’t spoken a word in the four days since gaining consciousness. But it was just there, in that hollow look, like a blackhole. Each time Sam looked at her, the pit in his stomach would grow deeper, threatening to swallow him whole. His heart, which felt heavy in his chest beat frantically like its beats were numbered. It scared Sam… it made him feel as if the cataclysmic loss wasn’t behind him, rather it was in front, drawing close with every second that Y/N didn’t speak, didn’t look at him.

Forcefully, Sam shook his head, dislodging the thought. He got to his feet and walked over to the window Y/N had been looking towards. Slowly drawing the blinds away from the glass, he let the sunlight flood the room. He turned around to see Y/N closing her eyes. 

Over her Dean and Jo exchanged a distraught look, then looked at him. Their expression made Sam realise that he hadn’t been meant to see their exchange.

“Okay, rest up, then,” Dean said, in a low, kind voice. He bent down to kiss Y/N on her forehead. “We’ll be waiting outside.”

Jo ran her fingers through Y/N’s hair, then with one dejected sigh, followed Dean out of the room. It didn’t miss Sam’s attention that his brother gripped her hand tightly on their way out.

Sam took his place on the steel chair next to Y/N’s bed and reached out to take her hand. She didn’t shirk it away like she had for the first two days. Now, it lay there, dead, without any movement. Sam might as well have been holding the hand of a marble statue. Cold and hard. The doctor had said not to touch her skin at first… that it might be painful for her after the hypothermic attack, but even after they were sure that it might have passed, Y/N had recoiled from his touch and it had hurt like the lash of a flaming whip against his raw, exposed skin- her rejection. It had been the only visible reaction she had shown to his presence or even his words at first.

Sam had tried, he knew that much. He had tried with every ounce of his soul to put on a smile and call out to her. He had dried his eyes of the last drop of moisture, rid his expression of the last spasm of pain and smoothened it into a smile for her. If it was the only thing he could do now- bury his pain- he would do it for her. He would do it all. If only he knew that he was getting through to Y/N, if only she would spare him just one glance. When he forced himself in the way of her gaze, she would simply look through him. He could touch her and he could kiss her, but it was showing love to only her inanimate body, not his Y/N. She didn’t seem to be in there.

Bile rose to his mouth each time he skimmed his fingers along her cheek, and not even her eyes blinked. The heat didn’t rise to her cheeks. Nothing happened. 

Now, Sam sat next to her, reading out loud, “… Jem finally realized that he had been done in by the oldest lawyer’s trick on record. He waited a respectful distance from the front steps, watched Atticus leave the house and walk toward town. When Atticus was out of earshot Jem yelled after him: “I thought I wanted to be a lawyer but I ain’t so sure now!””

He stopped when the nurse came in with a bowl of soup and placed it on the table next to her bed. “Here’s some soup for you, honey.” 

“Thank you,” Sam murmured, placing the copy of To kill a mockingbird on the table.

“You’re welcome,” she said in a pleasant voice, giving Sam a pitying look before exiting the room.

“C’mon, love,” Sam coaxed, helping her into a sitting position. He settled besides her with the bowl in his hand, dipped the spoon into the thick soup and brought the spoon to Y/N’s bruised lips. She didn’t resist as he tipped it into her mouth. She never resisted anything. Sam wished with a yearning that was acute to the point of pain that she would just raise her eyes and look at him. Look and actually see.

His hopeless longing had led him to tilt the spoon sideways and a line of soup dribbled along her chin. Sam hurried to wipe it off with the folded sleeve of his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N hadn’t even noticed. 

Slowly, she finished the soup, one spoon at a time. 

“That’s my girl,” Sam encouraged, cleaning the last of it from her lips, and raising a glass of water. 

“Do you want to go out?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the despair out of his voice. This time, however, Y/N shook her head and hope, even more painful than the yearning, roared through Sam’s chest. She sometimes reacted to his words, something she never did for anyone else. And that was the one string he had clung to…. one golden string of faith.

“Later, then?” It was there in his voice, too… that same hope.

Slowly she nodded, then turned her head away and closed her eyes again. Sam knew she wanted to be by herself.

He almost bent down to peck her on the forehead, that unsettling fear of impending loss, urging him to do it… but then he thought better of it and stepped outside. When Y/N was ready, she would come out herself. She had said so… she would have to. 

In the strangest way, without even having known her, Sam missed his mother. He knew that if she had been around now, he would have hidden his face in her lap and allowed himself to cry to his heart’s content. He loved Karen, and she loved him, too… but it was different with her. She felt like his favourite aunt. Dean had called both Bobby and her to let them know what had happened. They wanted to come over immediately, but one look at Sam’s face had made Dean decline their offer. Sam didn’t think he could pretend to be alright for any more people than he already had to. 

Everyone else could afford to show weakness. In fact, they did. Jo had broken down more than once right in front of Y/N, and Dean could clench his fists and grind his teeth in frustration about how unfair this was. Ellen was so defeated, she could hardly even be around Y/N without crying. Sam, however, couldn’t show a flicker of what he truly felt. It didn’t look like she registered most of what was happening around her… but on the off chance that she did, Sam would die a hundred deaths before let her see what the grief was doing to him.

He slowly walked to the seating outside, crumpling on the bench at the corner. How was any of this happening? What deity could have been so cruel as to hurt the purest person to ever breathe? Sam had never gotten over how infinitely good Y/N was. For as long as he had known her, she’d never said one mean thing about anyone. Never. He knew he wouldn’t ever stop marvelling at her goodness. He would marvel as long as he loved her… as long as he lived. And yet, if something this horrifying could happen to her? What hope did the rest of the world have? 

There must be no God, Sam decided. There must be no higher power that weighs good and bad in the world, that takes one look at a person and decides how much suffering or happiness they deserved. Because no such entity would be so callous, so stone-hearted to sentence Y/N to this! 

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and Sam felt his brother drop into the seat besides him. 

“How’s she doing?”

Sam shrugged. “Much the same.”

“Did Bobby ever tell you that I didn’t talk until I was six?”

Sam turned to his brother with what must have been a look of shock. 

Dean’s eyes tightened, as he stared straight ahead. “He didn’t? I could swear the old man loved to tell that one.”

“I didn’t know.”

Dean tilted his head. “Well, I didn’t talk for two years after the fire. Honestly, I don’t remember it all that much, but death and trauma does that to a person, I’ve been told.”

“She doesn’t even know the extent of it, Dean,” He gasped, his heart doing that thing again where every breath seemed to labour it. 

“Will you love her less for it?”

Sam whipped his head, angry. “Of course not,” he spat. “Nothing would make me love her less!”

Dean sighed tiredly and Sam realised that it had been a rhetorical question. Sam put his face in his hands, speaking into his palms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that something feels essentially broken inside her. And I don’t know how to fix it… fix her. It makes me feel helpless.”

“You’re not a frickin’ miracle man, Sam! And there isn’t a magical solution for this. Sometimes you have to let grief run its course.”

Dean was making sense, Sam knew that… but he also knew Y/N. Better than anyone alive. He was sure of it… the blankness behind her glassy eyes wasn’t the type that complied with sense or logic. It was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t explain- not even to Dean, that there was something terribly wrong with her. That it wasn’t simply grief holding her vacant, it was something incomprehensibly beyond that.

“I know you want to be there for her,” Dean said, quieter now. “I know you’re worried, but you’re grieving, too, man. You lost your kid.” His voice broke. “That’s not something you can sweep under the rug.”

Sam bit back the ‘watch me.’ 

He felt too tired, too weary and too scared. 

“How am I going to tell her?” He whispered, staring at the floor in horror. “How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again? That they had to remove parts of her body because they were too damaged, crushed? She’ll lose it, Dean. You don’t know how much she loved Ch- Ch… “ He choked up… The name just wouldn’t come out. “It was her dream to have her own family.”

She’d whispered it at night, in a awed, hushed voice, under soft sheets about how she had never really had a family. Just Gran and her- two souls shouldering the burden of memories of people they would never see again. Is that what Y/N would think when she found out? That she and Sam would become two such souls?

“She’s coming home tomorrow, right?” Dean said. “We’ll do everything we can to make it okay. With time…”

Even now, with his brother’s hand on his shoulders and his words in the air, Sam knew that this was not the type of grief he would ever get over. No amount of time could bury the dreams and expectations of the little life they had both yearned for. Sam knew that someday it might get easier to bear, even if it seemed impossible right now. However, it would never truly go away. 

With a fierce resolution, he vowed to love Y/N twice as hard! He would do whatever it took to get that smile back on her face, the light back in her eyes. He knew it in the depth of his being that if they were going to make it through this, he had to figure out a way to get her back first.

What Sam didn’t know was that he wouldn’t get the chance. What he didn’t see was the slight figure, standing at the far corner, behind the door, fingers clutching the frame till the knuckles strained. If he had turned, Sam would have known that Y/N had listened to him after all. She had come out for a walk… seen him slumped over in agony and heard his words of anguish. 

She had heard other things in the short nineteen years of her life. Whispers had followed her everywhere since her parents had died in the car crash. Awful words…

“… Her parents didn’t even live to see her sixth birthday…”

“… It starts before that. I heard she wasn’t even three months old when poor Gertrude’s husband passed away…”

“… Girl’s a jinx if I saw any… No survivors… ”

Sam had heard some of it at her Gran’s funeral, and it had boiled his blood. But he hadn’t dreamed, hadn’t estimated for how long Y/N had heard them, how word by word, piece by piece the rumours had lodged themselves in her mind. They had been lost in the recent bout of happiness, but very much there, waiting to cut her open the moment she tripped. She’d never spoken of them to him, afraid that she might really jinx her luck… terrified, in fact. Now she knew that you couldn’t jinx what you didn’t have.

“…How am I ever going to tell her that she can’t be a mother again.,.”

Sam didn’t see her turn around. For now he let his brother hold him, feel some of the grief ebb away from him into the vastness of his brother’s love. Sure, Sam didn’t have a mother, and he might miss the idea of having her, but he hadn’t ever missed that unconditional love. Dean was there, always had been and always would be.

Sam would need his brother more than ever tomorrow, when in the ten minutes that it took him to park his car in front of the entrance, the private room where his wife had stayed would be deserted. He would shout her name till his throat was sore, and lose his mind trying to look for her. There would be a missing person report filed which would soon be disposed off, because CCTV grab from the Hospital cameras would show her walking out by herself with the bag that they had brought for her. It had some of her clothes, her wallet recovered after the accident with her identity proofs. There was nothing left behind, not the book, not the brush, not even a note. She had left willingly and without a word.

They wouldn’t believe it, though… He, Dean, Jo and Ellen would all get into their cars and drive for a day and a half, checking all hotels, bus stops, gathering spots, showing her picture to see if anyone recognised her and despairing when no one did. Sam would push himself into a craze over finding his wife, the closest he would come to insanity.

When two days later- having driven almost across two states into Texas- Sam would return home, he’d find the gift delivered to him on the correct date- 2nd May. An etched, black obsidian fountain pen, wrapped in fine silk; the note over it proudly proclaiming: “With undying love- Y/N Winchester.”

The etched inscription on the pen would be seared into his soul:

It’s not time to worry yet - Atticus Finch

Sam didn’t know any of it. For now, he was simply allowing himself to be comforted by his big brother. Surely finding some peace again wouldn’t be that impossible, right? Surely this agony would have to end sooner or later. Everything seemed possible in Dean’s arms. 

***************************

A/N 2: Not gonna lie, this chapter was VERY hard to write. I rewrote it twice and edited it thrice. I can only hope that I did justice to their pain and suffering. This is the first time I’ve ever written something so irreversible in a series… and boy, was it painful!

Anyway, we can finally return to happier times! Next chapter takes us back to a very hungover Y/N! Who’s excited?

I’ll try to post the chapter early. You guys can brush up on Part 12 for hints and clues about what is coming ;)

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[jawritter]

Saving Grace

Summary:  Some things are worth fighting for, even when they think they’re not. You can either roll over and die, or you can pick yourself up off the ground and go get what you want. That’s the place Y/N now finds herself in.

Warnings: Angst, so much angst, heartbreak, breakup, language. 

Word Count: 1335

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Prompt: 15: The red tail lights was the last thing she saw.

A/N: This fic was written for @jay-and-dean 2k To Be Continued celebration! Congrats on your new milestone hun! Since this challenge is called the “to be continued” challenge. I thought it best to leave this one in a bit of an open ending **Inserts evil laugh here**. This fic is totally unbeta’d and all mistakes are my own! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you guys enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist! If that’s not enough join me on Patreon, and get exclusive fics and series first!!

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The red tail lights was the last thing she saw. Still, Dean saw a much worse view. The view of her tear-streaked face cast with an almost eerie red glow as he pulled out of the mud slick driveway, and onto the main road. He watched the rearview mirror until he couldn’t see her anymore. 

His dad had always taught him never to show emotions. “Real men don’t cry,” he’d said. It took everything in Dean to hold the burning wave of tears back as he refocused his eyes on the road, leaving yet another piece of his heart behind. 

Sam watched his brother closely. He could see the strain in his neck and shoulders and he kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and a death glare on the road. Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him, even though Sam dared not say anything to his older brother. 

That was the longest drive to the bunker he’d ever made in his life, and fighting the inevitable breakdown was getting harder and harder with each passing mile. All he could see was her. That hurt look on her face. Her heart, breaking into pieces. He’d done that. He’d caused her more pain. He didn’t want to cause her any more pain. That’s why he fucking told her they couldn’t keep doing this. That’s why he told her that it was over. 

“It’s for the best, she’s safe now,” he told himself over and over again, but it was getting harder and harder to convince himself of that right now. 

With each step he took into the grave-like silence that filled the bunker his chest felt heavier. He got as far as the map table before the first tear slipped down his face. He refused to acknowledge the weakness, and when Sam’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, he jerked away hard, murmuring something about getting some sleep. 

Sam wanted to help him, that’s all, but there was no fixing this. There was no putting Dean back together this time. He didn’t really let himself cry in earnest until he was safely locked in his room, with an open bottle of Tennessee's finest. 

This was it, his curse. Some cruel joke Chuck had slapped on him his whole life. Loneliness. He tried to drown it in alcohol, and when he was younger he tried to drown it in young women. It never filled the void the way Y/N did, it never will. 

Dean pulled out his phone and started looking through the photos of the two of them over the last six months, and damn if that didn’t rip yet another fresh whole in his chest.

Her smile was his everything. It was his reason for getting up in the morning, and the only reason he’d kept going this long, and not given up and taken the easy way out. She loved him, really loved him. She’d woken a part of him up that he never knew could exist inside the fucked up, broken shell of the former man he once was. 

Now… Well, now that man was dying, and fuck if that didn’t hurt worse than anything he’d ever lost in his life. 

Over two hours south of where Dean was now, Y/N sat in the driveway with the rain beating down on her already soaked clothes as if it could wash away the crippling heartbreak she felt right now. 

The mud she was kneeling in from where she hit her knees the moment those horrible red taillights were no longer in sight. She’d been there for almost two hours. She couldn’t cry anymore. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t even think clearly for nearly two hours. She just knelt there in misery. 

If he would have been man enough to just pull his gun and shoot her in the head it would have been more merciful than what he’d just done to her. It would have been quick, painless even. But no, he decided to leave her a half-dead shell of a human, kneeling in the pouring rain, unable to even pick herself up from where he’d left her standing. 

“It’s better this way sweetheart,” he’d said. “You’re safer without me. I'm poison baby, you don’t deserve to follow me down this road that’s only going to end up in more hurt and heartache. You don’t deserve that.”

Well, fuck if he wasn’t wrong. She would have taken death for him, and taken it gladly. Torture couldn’t put a dent in what she was feeling right now. She feared no monster, no demon, she could and had faced all those things, and came back stronger. This was different. This was inescapable. This was going to kill her. 

“No,” she finally said, grabbing the tale gate of her old Nissan V6 that she’d been kneeling by and using it to force herself to stand.

She knew Dean was hell-bent on “keeping her safe,” but dammit she’d been keeping herself safe for the last 15 years she’d been a hunter. So what gave him the right to make the decision that he wasn’t worth whatever pain was to come? 

Once she was inside the house, she quickly changed her clothes into something dry and dialed Sam’s number. She knew Sam almost as well as she knew Dean, and she knew he thought his brother deserved to be happy. He was happy with her. Sam had told her so, and Sam wouldn’t lie about that.

She’d just slammed the door to the old truck, and pressed the clutch to the floor, starting the engine with a roar as she tried to force the old truck in reverse quicker than what it really liked when Sam answered the phone. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asked as you pulled onto the blacktop, shifting gears as you gained speed, heading for the bunker as fast as the old truck could go.

“I’m fine, how’s Dean?” she asked, her chest tight with panic. She knew him, her Dean, and if she was in this bad of shape, then she could only imagine what he was going through. 

“Not good,” Sam answered simply. That was it, all she needed to hear. 

“I’m on my way Sam, he’s not going to get rid of me that easily.” 

Sam let out a huff of breath that you could tell was the first real one he’d taken all night long. 

“Thank God,” he breathed as she hung up the phone, that old truck roaring in the background as she sped their way as fast as it could carry her. 

He knew his brother was hurting more than he’d ever seen him hurt. He’d been sitting in the hall or almost an hour listening to him cry himself to sleep, something he’d rarely ever heard him do maybe only once, and that was when Mary had been taken away from him the second time. He needed Y/N, and she needed him. 

Thankfully she seemed stubborn enough to keep him from destroying the only good thing he’d ever had. So he pulled himself up from the floor and cracked the door open to see Dean on his stomach with an empty whiskey bottle in his hand, and his mouth slack with sleep. He slipped inside, and removed his boats, and put them down beside the bed, pulling the covers over him knowing Y/N would take care of the rest when she got here.

This life wasn’t easy, and Dean didn’t need to make it harder on himself when there was finally someone that was willing to fight for him the way he deserves, and Y/N was just that person. 

“Hang in there Dean. She’s almost home,” he said as he tucked the covers around his brother’s sleeping form and went to wait in the library for what he was convinced would be his big brother’s saving grace.

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[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Frenzy

Summary: After Sam gets involved in a car accident Dean finds himself in an utter frenzy. Thankfully Cas shows up just at the right time.

Word Count: 1830

Tags: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Written for the @writersofdestiel​‘s “The Day They First Met” Prompt Week

It's been five days.

Five days since Dean got the call from the hospital informing him about the car crash his little brother got involved into because some asshole ignored a red light. Five days since he dropped everything and rushed to Sam's side in a hurry, almost ending in an accident on his way there himself 'cause panic and fear nearly blinded him for anything else.

Five days since he got told by doctors that Sam was “in a serious but stable condition”. Five days since he didn't allow himself even a minute of rest.

They left Sam in a coma for the first three days due to his head injuries. Dean sat with him the entire time and actually snarled at people when they tried to bring up things like visitation hours or self care or whatever. He probably would've even forgotten to eat something altogether if the nurses wouldn't have pushed some food and water into his hands from time to time. He just had no time to think about anything else but his baby brother looking so small and vulnerable in that sterile hospital bed.

By the third day they woke him up and even though Sam remained quite loopy for a while he recovered remarkably quickly. At least fast enough to start scolding Dean for not wasting one single thought on himself.

On the fifth day they finally managed to kick him out of the hospital. Dean was, of course, rather reluctant at first, but when the doctors, very rightfully, mentioned that Sam could be out quite soon and would need someone to look out for him in the right environment because someone with a concussion and two broken legs, which would require him to use a wheelchair at least for a little while, needed extra care Dean eventually found himself driving back to his apartment to prepare for that event.

His place might not be all that much, but his complex's got a rather spacious elevator – contrary to Sam's nerdy loft downtown – and his apartment allows enough room at least in the most important spots for Sam to maneuver. Bathroom, guest room, living room. Only the kitchen might be a problem, but since Sam is prone to set an oven on fire just by looking at it Dean isn't really keen on letting him inside that room anyway, no matter the consequences.

So it comes that he's currently changing the sheets in his spare room when the doorbell rings.

Dean is inclined to ignore it at first, so not in the mood to deal with anyone at this point, but the person on the other side of the door is rather persistent and eventually even switches to an impatient knocking, making it absolutely impossible to blend out.

Dean growls and swiftly opens the door, more than determined to let out all the frustration and anger from the last few days on the person in the hallway because he's just classy like that.

But the words die in his throat as he sees himself face to face with Cas.

“Cas?” he croaks, so overwhelmed by the expected sight of his best friend he doesn't even know how to cope.

“You tried to ignore me, didn't you?” Cas narrows his eyes before pushing himself inside, suitcase right behind him. “You're getting way too predictable.”

Dean simply stares after him in a daze, wondering if he's dreaming or not.

“Aren't you supposed to be in Alaska?” he blurts out in the end.

Cas casually parks his suitcase in the hall before walking to the living room. “I was, yes. And now I'm here.”

For a moment Dean gapes at the luggage, frozen on the spot, and eventually follows his friend. “Did you just come right from the airport or do you intend to move in here?”

Cas' lips curl upwards. “Both.”

Dean blinks in confusion. “What?”

Cas sits down on the couch and pats the spot next to him in invitation. Dean considers refusing at first, to keep some distance between them, but in the end he's utterly helpless against the pull drawing him near this man who became everything to him somewhere along the way.

Not that he ever dared to voice that out loud, though.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to come back home,” Cas says as Dean drops onto the sofa cushions beside him. “I actually wanted to set out the second I heard about Sam, but the whole thing turned way more complicated than I anticipated.”

Dean clears his throat, chiding himself not to say anything stupid. “But … what about your book tour?”

Cas had been touring the US and the better part of Canada for several weeks now. And even though Dean had missed him terribly he's been so happy and proud of Cas' accomplishments. Cas had been rather successful with his writing for quite a while now, but his latest publication went through the roof faster than anyone could've imagined and he became high demand more or less over night. The book tour only one of many things on his tight schedule.

“You weren't supposed to be back for another four weeks,” Dean points out because yes, he kept a close eye on these things. “I don't want you to miss out –”

“Do you really think a book tour would be more important to me than Sam and you?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. “No, of course not,” he hurries to clarify. “But as I told you, Sam's gonna be alright –”

“I can easily reschedule the rest of the tour,” Cas cuts in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Didn't you hear? I'm a world famous writer now, I can do whatever I want.”

A laugh bursts out of Dean's chest.

The first one in five days.

Damn, how he missed having Cas around.

“So … you wanna move in?” he wonders, nodding at the suitcase in the hallway with a question mark on his face.

“Naturally,” Cas agrees. As if that's the most normal thing in the world. “Sam told me you want him to stay with you until he recovers. And considering your apartment would be very accommodating for a wheelchair that's quite the wise choice, I have to say.”

“So you –”

“I want to stay and help out as well,” Cas says with a shrug. “Don't worry, I'll just take the couch.”

Dean feels something warm blossoming inside his chest and for a moment he's barely able to breathe. Because Cas is wonderful and selfless and if Dean wouldn't be such a chickenshit he would've confessed his freaking love a long time ago.

“Cas, man, I really appreciate it,” Dean answers, his voice a bit shaky. “But – like I said, Sam is getting better – I'll be able to manage it myself –”

“I want to be here for Sam,” Cas insists. “But I also want to be here for you!”

Dean raises his brows.

“Because I know you,” Cas goes on before Dean is even able to come up with a follow-up question. “I mean, just look at you. You seem like you hadn't had a minute of rest since all of this happened.”

Dean grimaces. Of course he's totally right about that, but Dean seriously doesn't want to confirm that. Not with Cas assessing him like that.

So he mumbles, in good old Winchester fashion, “I'm fine …”

Cas instantly rolls his eyes at him. “You're not fine,” he claims. “I talked with Sam, you know? You barely ate or slept, you didn't even think about telling your employees what was happening. You just rushed out of the garage and never returned.”

Dean grimaces.

Right.

He knew he forgot something.

“Shit,” he whispers, rubbing his temples and cursing his past self.

“Well, at least you remembered to call me,” Cas states. “And when he didn't hear from you Benny reached out to me to learn what's going on.” As Dean immediately opens his mouth to dig further about that, Cas adds right away, “Don't worry, I explained everything. He's managing the garage in your absence.”

Dean can't help feeling incredibly guilty all of a sudden. He noticed several messages and missed calls on his phone, some of them from Benny, but he ignored all of them because he didn't have the strength to deal with any of that. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and urges himself to call Benny pretty soon.

“I didn't mean for you to feel bad about this,” Cas apologizes immediately as he notices Dean's expression. “I just wanted to point out that you're a selfless person. And an idiot.”

Dean scowls at that. “Hey!”

“You always go out of your way to take care of anyone else,” Cas continues, a gentle smile on his lips. “You're a natural nurturer, Dean, and that's one of the things I love about you.”

Dean chokes on air at the nonchalant use of such a powerful word and can't help a fierce blush.

“But you're horrible in regards to yourself,” Cas accuses. “Be it either to take a step back to get a little rest or see yourself a patient in the first place. Remember the last time you had the flu? I basically had to chain you to the bed.”

Dean's flush only grows as he recalls Cas actually ending up sitting on top of him to keep him warm and cozy underneath the covers. That memory has a very special place in Dean's mind.

“So I'm here to help you,” Cas summarizes. “To help you not to work yourself to the ground.”

There is another protest forming on Dean's tongue, eager to get out there, but it gets stuck in his throat as Cas' hand suddenly cups his cheek. For a minute or two everything else ceases to exist apart from that soft touch and Dean almost whimpers, it feels so good.

And he doesn't even know how it happens, but just a moment later he finds his head nestled in Cas' lap.

Dean's heart runs wildly, making him go dizzy in the process. But at the same time he feels weirdly relaxed, Cas' familiar smell letting his muscles loosen up all on their own. Like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders.

And when eventually fingers card through his hair, Dean sighs in contentment and knows for sure that nothing could ever feel any better than this.

“Just rest,” Cas whispers. “Let go for a while and recharge your batteries.”

Dean looks up, right into Cas' eyes. They're tender and filled with emotions and Dean realizes he's the luckiest guy on the planet. And if he'd have a bit more energy he'd heave himself upwards and kiss those inviting lips.

As it is right now, though, Dean merely smiles lazily and whispers, “I'm glad you're here,” before drifting off to sleep.

And just before unconsciousness takes over he believes he hears a heartfelt, “I'm not going anywhere.”

[gabrielbigbang]

POSTING DATE: March 29th

AUTHOR: @senoritablack​

ARTIST: @casslastheaven​

STORY TITLE: Miscellaneous Drawer, Two Toothbrushes

BANG SIZE: Mega

RATING: Explicit

SHIPS: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel (Background), Sam/OC (Briefly) 

TAGS: Humor, Fluff, Slow Burn, Obliviousness, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst, Domesticity, Canon Typical Violence, Canon divergence, Continuity errors, TW for mention of depression, TW for mention of homophobia,  Top!Sam, Oral, Handjobs

SUMMARY: When Sam finds out that Gabriel's been resurrected and lying low in the bunker for months, he goes through the all stages of grief. There's denial, some anger, a brief stint in bargaining, but he skips depression and is forced into acceptance. Sam's so preoccupied with how Gabriel shouldn't fit into his life, that it takes him a year to realize that Gabriel's shown Sam that he does. Somewhere down the line all of Sam's routines change and it's all because Gabriel grossly overstays his welcome. 

Excerpt below the cut...

EXCERPT: Sam expects old aches in new places. New grays are a non-issue. He accepts the latest latent hang up, re-emerging like a stalking piranha, biting him in the ass and holding on until he is so hurt and uncomfortable with himself, that he’s sighing curse words into the crook of his elbow before stubbornly hurling himself into the day. Sam will fix his bed, take a leak, then, and despite his aging body’s protest, there’s a quick warm-up before an hour sprint. Teeth brushing, showering, drying off and dressing is a short affair because his stomach will remind him that he’s fasted for 8 hours. He goes for something lean if he’s heading out for work. It's 3 eggs scrambled in an unforgivable amount of butter and the deli meat of the week between toast, if he’s to be at the bunker. 

All to say, Sam's mornings come with little to no thought at all, pass with zero surprises and don't usually involve the reflection of a bare-ass archangel presumed to be dead. They don't include a seemingly not-dead archangel turning towards a shocked Sam at the counter to—without so much as a flush or hello—wash their hands and leave just as insouciant as they’d sauntered in. Matter of fact, Sam never stubs his toe trying to compose himself. He doesn’t, ever, make sounds like an angry chihuahua whose paw has been stepped on and doesn’t usually have reason to go for the gun strapped under the sink. So, he's never been prompted to limp after an assailant at ass o’clock in the morning, and in no instance beyond that, has his welcoming shot been responded to with an uninterested, “Oh, hey, Sam.” 

The bullet falls to the polished concrete of the bunker with an almost comical ting and the sound reverberates in the silences that hangs between them. 

“Who the hell are you?“ Sam asks after a beat.

Then he's not waisting anymore time, never lowering his gun as he toes towards his chest of drawers. He snatches the silver blade that lies there. The being wearing Gabriel's vessel has the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I get that I didn't replace the toilet roll the other night, but you didn't have to shoot." It says. 

“I thought that Dean had—hold on—no, who are you?” Sam asks again. 

“All archangel, kid, but sure, have at it.” The being says, extending a hand. 

Sam pulls the being closer by the wrist and drives the sharp blade across the offered palm. There's blood but somehow the being looks more inconvenienced than in pain. Sam frowns. Then fixes his shoulders. He drags the being a few steps towards his bed, diving under his pillow for the holy water he stores there and washes over the already healing cut. But still, nothing. Not a demon either? 

“What are you?” Sam demands this time. 

“Already bored.”

“I won’t—” Sam says, backing the being into the closest wall with his forearm. 

He presses deep into the being’s neck, waiting for it to choke, to splutter, to fight back. But it doesn't. 

“Kinky.” It gurgles and goes slack against Sam’s increasing pressure. 

“—ask again.” 

The being frowns. Sam relents some.

“Company be damned, you come in any closer and I can’t be reliable for how my dick responds.” The being says. 

 Sam looks down and quickly back up again. His neck goes hot.  When Sam rectifies the situation with some distance, he clears his throat.

“There's no way.” 

“There was one way, obviously. Mean, I’m here aren’t I?”

“How? Was it another trick? How did you fool Lucifer? Were you in hiding all this time? What.”

“Does it really matter?" It asks. 

“You're kidding right, yes! Yes, yeah, it matters, dude. If you're really who you say you are, how the hell are you here?”

“Well after saving your asses from being deity chow—you're welcome by the way—and having my own bro put me down for the long nap I sorta just… woke up.” It makes a a vague, sweeping gesture that does nothing to clarify what it's saying. 

“You woke up—okay, sure, whatever. So was it Norse magic? Was it angelic? God himself? You’re not giving me a lot to go on.”

The being shrugs and with a snap, the room around them turns. The beings in a heavily pillowed wicker loveseat and Sam’s lying on a fold-out that’s a foot too short for him. 

It's the snap that keeps Sam from protesting again, triggering a thunder of emotions, because he's momentarily thrusted into a reel of memory. Lewd suggestions and apparitions, and ludicrous just desserts. Cartoonish deaths, strawberry syrup, a steak, a plea, and finally, a Wednesday.  Playing an angsty doctor, arrogant cop, game show contestant, playing their roles and winning.  Thinking it’d been Loki, figuring out different. Figuring out what that meant. Sam remembers Gabriel. Gabriel the archangel, who’s mask they had confiscated all those years ago when they had trapped him in that holy oil, a mask they held in their hands well until they met again at the hour of his last jest. Before his more cunning brother saw through the trick and took his life. He gave Dean, Cas, and humanity a chance. He gave Sam a damn chance. And Sam felt like there was finally an x in the map, and all he had to do was stick to the trail. He felt hopeful. And Sam’s finding the rings again, thanks to Gabriel. He's saving the world. But then he’s falling. Burning. Despondent. Waking, remembering and not caring what he was. Waking, forgetting, uncovering and hating what he was. 

When Sam’s brought back from the memories, he’s sure they’re the same being. Sam didn't expect to grieve Gabriel's death. But he did. He wasn’t a friend. He was barely an ally. He simplified it to empathy, in the end, knowing what it meant to acknowledge every mistake but not live long enough to correct them and stoped being confused by the feelings. Eventually, he stopped wondering about Gabriel's what-ifs all together. Still, it's been years. Sam swallows down the mixture of new and old hurt, keeps in everything he wants to ask, to argue. He bolts upright, stares at the being, after Gabriel, because even as experience gives reason enough to deny all this, his instincts won't let him. It’s totally Gabriel. Gabriel with all his five foot eight of inexhaustible condescension, looking at Sam with familiar honey-colored haughtiness, lips curling as if he knows all of the embarrassing thoughts and misgivings that Sam wakes up to. Gabriel, using humor as his sword, aflame and so bright, that it wards off anyone who can’t be bother to wait long enough. But Sam had waited for the fire to die down before. He could wait again.

[kagesdumpsterfire]

Jensen about 18 and Jensen responded by validating people who thought that Castiel’s confession was platonic.

Rando pop-up nonners, is that you? If it is, my my you've been busy the past couple days. Or are you perhaps the Jpad stan that found their way on to my blog? Either way, Imma handle this ask as pleasantly as possible.

I'm pretty sure the only official capacity that Jensen spoke about the scene in, was an interview with EW, in which the confession itself isn't discussed. He talks about the handprint and how during Misha's speech it finally started to hit him that it was over and he had a hard time holding it together as he watched everyone around them start to cry, but no mention of the confession. (I can't remember the whole interview now, and could only find snippets but the portion about that scene had no mention at least)

If you are referring to the fan account on the birdapp of their M&G with him (which second hand tellings should always be taken with a grain of salt) then I believe what he said was something along the lines of Dean not knowing if Angels could feel love like that. The words not wanting to put a label on it were thrown around. I'm not sure I remember 100% ( it was a crazy time) but I'm fairly certain the word "platonic" did not occur. He spoke on Dean's opinion of it (which is his right, it's his character). But the confession wasn't Dean's.

It was Castiel's. And as Misha is Castiel's actor, and has said several times that it was a LOVE confession, I'm going to assume he knows what he's talking about. Not to mention the other cast and crew who agree with that sentiment. Now, you can go a head and believe it was platonic on Dean's part, that's on you. I won't argue with you because you won't see it my way I wont see it yours. That's just how it is. But we're talking about Castiel's feelings here.

If you are among the camp who believe Cas told Dean he loves him because they were about to die, and that was the only reason, well you are kinda wrong. He knew his death would save deans life. He knew the empty wouldn't let him die until the deal was complete and he didn't want Dean to die. So he sacrificed himself. He knew what would make him happy and he did it. To save Dean. He died BECAUSE he told dean he loved him. Now, if just telling his bro "I love you bro" made him happy, then he would have been dead when he and the Empty made the deal, because he's told Sam and Dean he loves them before. Multiple times. No, this wasn't like those times at all.

Now, I don't know about you, but if I start a speech to someone with "The one thing I want, it's something I know I cant have." Then continue to wax poetic about how they are the most kind, loving, caring human being I have ever met and they are the only reason I care about ANYTHING and then end that speech with "I Love You.".... uh, that's not something I'm saying to a bro. That's something I'm saying to someone I am in love with.

Again, you can believe whatever you want about Dean's feelings, I'm not gonna stop you. I think you're wrong (and you obviously think I'm wrong), but I'm not going to stop you.

However, you don't get to erase how Castiel felt because you don't like it. It's funny that you use the word "validating" while ignoring the validation that scene gave thousands of other people. Believe what you want but don't belittle other people's feelings and experiences. And don't come into a discussion with a "he said/she said" account and present it as fact.

And just incase you want receipts:

"....When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me forever.....I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I wondered what it could be, what... what my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer. Because the one thing I want... it's something I know I can't have. But I think I know... I think I know now. Happiness isn't in the having. It's in just being. It's in just saying it......I know. I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You're destructive and you're angry and you're broken. You're... you're 'Daddy's Blunt Instrument.' And you think hate and anger, that's... that's what drives you. That's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met and ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean .......I love you. Goodbye, Dean." - Castiel

Yeah, super platonic sounding isn't it ( that was sarcasm btw, incase you couldn't read the tone)

Anyway, I'm sorry for the long answer but this is one of those asks that just begs for a proper response. If you don't want to hear my thoughts then I suggest you stay off my blog.

I Hope you have the day you deserve. Buhbye.

[shirtlesssammy]

15x16: Drag Me Away (From You)

Then:

Castiel confesses a bombshell to Dean

Now:

We pick up right where we left off. Dean and Cas are about to share mutual I love yous and ---. A man checks into a motel late at night. The man is nervous entering the room, but reassures himself that he “can do this.” He sets up shop, and by “shop”, I mean he starts hitting the bottle. 

Travis gets a text from Caitlin asking him why he would go “back to that place.” The creepy ring he grasps as he tells himself it was never real tells me it was VERY REAL. Get out of there, Travis! 

Alas, it’s very real and he’s murdered by Closet Ghost Boy. 

Sam and Dean are on the case!

Oh wait, I guess they knew the guy back in the halcyon days of their youth and they’re actually heading to his funeral. Sam recaps recent events, including Cas bailing on the fam. Then he asks if Dean and him are fighting again. 

AND IT SENDS ME. #SamKnows

Dean denies knowing anything (AHEM. I sense DRAMA by the end of this episode --I’d normally say this would be left for the end of the season, but we’re really at the end of the season and the END OF THE SHOW...what’s with all the manufactured drama??) Dean then gets a text from Cas asking if he’s told Sam. 

That’s a negative. 

*Flashback Alert*

January 1993

Dean’s about 14 or 15 and Sam is 10. They’re dropped off by John to chill at a motel while he heads out on a hunt. Sam’s hiding something under his coat, and with a little prodding from Dean, it’s revealed to be a college guide. 

#NerdAlert

Also, angst alert, I guess. This sets up the rift between brothers. Sam wants a normal life, Dean’s happy being a good little soldier. (Hmmm, something tells me neither of them will be in The Life when this is all said and done…) 

Sam laments his life but unpacks his bag anyway. 

Dean, meanwhile, heads to the vending machine to grab dinner. A young girl and her younger brother catch him stealing and introduce themselves as the mysterious Caitlin and Travis. And the young Travis is the DEAD KID. 

They exchange life stories and Caitlin insults Dean’s Precious. 

Present Day Sam and Dean meet up with Caitlin again. 

(Mid recap mind-melt: THERE ARE FIVE EPISODES LEFT! What are we doing here????) 

She tells them that the funeral was last week, but she needed them to help her. “I think she’s back.”  

*Flashback Alert*

Travis was her first “victim”. He attempts to get a candy bar from the vending machine, and her gnarly hand attacks him instead. Travis DOES NOT deal well with it. 

The group gathers in the motel room and Travis is upset that no one else saw the old lady in the candy machine. Dean tells Caitlin and Travis that monsters are real. Dean asks if weird things are happening in the town. 

Apparently kids go missing in this town. 

And in the present day, Dean tells Caitlin that he killed the thing that preys on children, so Travis had to have killed himself. 

Team Youth start their investigation.

They think they’ve got things figured out, and Dean is IN CHARGE...or a dumbass even at 14. He heads out alone to fix things. Caitlin follows. (Insert Lucille Bluth gif: Good for her!) 

Sam and Travis stay behind to play Boggle. #nerdalert

But seriously, now they’re setting up the idea that SAM might die at the end? No.

Dean and Caitlin continue their explorations, and Caitlin takes their endeavors less than seriously. GIRL. They find a nest, and something Dean freaks out about and pushes Caitlin to leave the area. 

Sam and Travis start to spell out very grim Boggle results, when the game shakes and the room goes dark. The hag appears in a tangle of gnarled hair and dirty robes and heads straight for them. Dean and Caitlin burst in just in time! Dean chops off her fingers and gives her a bit of a stabbin’ and the witch evaporates into dust. Her ring is left behind on the floor.

Grown up Dean paces through the motel and encounters a ghostly version of his younger self. Young!Dean mocks him, tells him he failed, and hands him a knife. “You know what you have to do.” Dean sinks to his knees, the knife poised to slice into his heart. 

When Sam interrupts him, Dean discovers that he’s been hallucinating everything - even the knife. 

Later at the bar, Dean confesses to Sam and Caitlin that he saw the monster’s nest when he was hunting her as a kid. It was full of dead kids around their age. Sam’s horrified and asks why Dean never told him. Sweet bby Sammy, you know why! Though he tried to forget, the experience cursed him with nightmares for a long time. “We were both just kids,” Sam says to Dean’s BIGGEST GUILTY FACE MY GOD. “We used to keep a lot of secrets from each other!” Sam assures him. But that’s toooootally not the case now!

At the adjoining cafe, Dean orders dinner to go when Billie appears. “Working a case? NOW?” she asks. (Mmmmmm yes Billie lay it on us!) She’s fresh from the last of the alternate universes, having just watched it burn alive. (Guys, it was probably squirrel-verse but Boris saved Team Free Squirrel 2.0 for us!) Billie warns Dean that Chuck’s only days away. Amara’s on board and Jack’s ready so...let’s go Team Free Destruction! Dean asks her how she convinced Jack to turn himself into a bomb. Billie flips that right back on Dean. She told Jack that destroying Chuck and Amara (and incidentally, himself) was the only way to earn Dean’s forgiveness. And just...YEESH EVERYBODY.

Anyway, Billie’s not in Chuck’s book again until the very end, so she bids Dean a broody farewell. “This is on you, Dean.” No presssuuuuure! “I don’t like loose ends. I don’t like disorder,” she scolds. She orders Dean to come clean to Sam about Jack.

At the motel, Sam and Caitlin research monsters. She wonders whether he wants a normal life. GURL there ain’t no normal in Winchester-land. Sam stumbles across an article on Baba Yaga. She wears a ring which contains her heart, and is the source of her power. Caitlin recognizes the ring as belonging to her brother. Her mom had given it to Travis from the lost and found years ago. She heads outside to her car to find it.

In her trunk sits a box of Travis’s belongings. She can’t find the ring and is soon confronted by her dead brother holding the ring and grinning maniacally.

Dean returns with dinner, only to find Sam ready to hunt Baba Yaga and find the now-missing Caitlin. Because the attacks have all been at the motel, they prowl from wing to wing. Dean heads to room 214. 

He walks inside, and I am momentarily agog at the wonders of these perhaps final motel rooms of the series. I love that the floor tiles in the rooms echo the Patchwork logo from the prior episode and that the quilt square design itself emulates tradition and family. And all the eyes in the wallpaper!

For Motel Room Science:

Ahem. Anyway. Dean heads inside, only to be instantly trapped behind the slamming door. Suddenly, he’s not in the motel room anymore. He’s back in the cannery, prowling its quiet spaces. He finds the site of the nest and flips back the tarp, only to reveal young Sam’s face lying there. Rattled, he tries to leave. Travis confronts him, but of course it’s not him. Baba Yaga tells him that she’s hungry for delicious people, and starts to throttle Dean.

Sam hears the struggle and heads in, stabbing the witch. Stabbing is distraction enough that Dean can yank the ring off her finger and smash it with the butt of his gun. 

Later, Caitlin bids Dean farewell. He confesses to always being afraid and she smiles. “The old you never would have admitted that. What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because lies...they don’t make anything better.” Okay, first of all, literally nobody says that. Second, thank you for this theme acorn - I shall settle on my haunches to eat it! Nom nom nom.

Flashback to Dean and Caitlin parting ways as children. Dean hands her a phone number to call if she ever encounters trouble. So...typical kid stuff.

Young Sam asks if anyone ever found the missing kids. Baby Dean lies to his face and tells him that they were never found. John pulls up in the Impala and honks to beckon them out. The boys head out, a team for the moment.

As adults driving in the Impala of Feelings, Sam tries to call Cas. Dean orders him to hang up because he’s got a confession - I mean, update - to make. Billie visited him and told him that it was time to fight Chuck. “And there’s something else,” Dean adds. Jack’s going to die from the encounter and he’s ready and willing to sacrifice himself. Furthermore, Dean tells Sam that he learned this a while ago from Cas before he left. 

Sam’s outraged that Dean would keep this from him. “I knew you couldn’t handle it,” Dean shouts at him. “You raise these ethical questions.” (I perk up.) He tries to justify it, but Sam shouts him down in turn. 

They drive into the fade-to-black in brooding silence.

Brooding Quotes Lay Fragile Eggs:

I thought your imaginary friend told you it was bad to steal

Don’t you want a partner?

Hunting usually means going to gross places

Shoved it down the ol’ memory hole!

Not to make light of the death star galactic genocide, but what else is new?

I’ve seen this movie before

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[oncethrown]

SPN Deserved Batter 1: Found Family

Imagine boy who loses his family at 4 years old. 

His mother dies in a fire and grief drives his father to be a different man, not a father so much as a commander. His baby brother, who he carried from the fire in his tiny arms even as his mother roasted on the ceiling, is left in his clumsy care as he spends his life moving from motel to motel and school to school. 

He never has a relationship, and the couple attempts he makes don’t pan out. He’s too wild. Too unusual. Too dangerous.  But it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t matter that it’s not true, because he’ll always be out of their lives in a couple weeks. A month at the outside. 

And then, the little brother he raised, fed, cared for, had to be mother and father to- leaves. Just when they were getting old enough to be peers. Leaves their father and their lifestyle more than he leaves Dean, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

And then Dean’s father starts to leave him behind more and more. Splitting up in Montana for a couple weeks. Berating him for missing an easy kill when they go after werewolves together in Oregon and then taking off to deal with a lead on a demon. 

He joins forces with other hunters now and then. People who crash his case without a disguise as good or as useful as his. Idiots who only think they know what their doing. Lee Webb, for a while. A friend... or something. But it can’t last. 

And then, finally, his father goes on a hunting trip, and he doesn’t hear from him for days, and Dean is so alone, he breaks his promise to himself that he would let Sam go on and live a normal life. And he brings Sam’s life crashing down around him, and goddamn it, he’s a little relieved when it gets Sam back in the car. Back on the road. 

They hunt. They hunt for years. and they find themselves at the center of the battle between heaven and hell. They lose their father. They gain an angel. 

Their work is dangerous. Their enemies are powerful and merciless, and there is a version of this story where every new friend, ally and supporter dies. Where Sam and Dean only ever have each other to fall back on. Where they push too hard and sacrifice too much and have to watch the people around them die over and over. 

But. 

There are more things in heaven an earth than they have dreamt of. 

They learn that there are people who have been hunters for generations, and not just hunters who were born in fire and tragedy like they were. They find a roadhouse full of people who know the truth. Who work as hard as they do. They aren’t in Nebraska all that often, but it’s a safe place to have a drink and bunk down when they are there. They reconnect with Bobby Singer, who becomes more of a father to them than John ever was, though it’s still hard for Dean to admit it. 

Castiel, the angel who Dean hated least, becomes a friend. More than a friend, Almost a brother, Dean thinks. Someone... someone he can love differently than he loves Sam. Someone he, as an adult, as his own person, can choose to care about and take care of. 

And there are still worlds left to conquer. Every year there seems to be a bigger threat, more of the world in danger, but every year they have more people to rely on.

To love. 

They check in with Jo Harvelle when they are in the Northeast now. She’s mostly going to college, but still hunts here and there. 

Gordon... they work with Gordon when they have to. He’s dangerous... but you don’t bring a knife to a gun fight and hunters are not, by and large, cuddly. Gordon is at least more reliable than Bella, who is about as likely to help you as she is to double cross you, and every couple years they always need her too much to say no when she calls. 

Jody Mills calls when she knows she needs back up, and Dean and Sam don’t talk about how nice it is to be put up in her guest room and welcomed to her leftovers when they are there. 

The nerdy redhead surprises Dean. Charlie, who worms her way into his heart so fast. 

He thinks about her, sometimes, even in Purgatory, as he and Benny hunt for Castiel, and Benny stops asking who this angel is to Dean that makes him so important. 

When Dean escapes purgatory, but loses Cas, and doesn’t know what to say to Benny, he tries to find her, but lets go when he realizes that she might be the one person he can’t find if they don't want to be found. 

Years go by, and it turns out Hunters aren't the only monster hunters. Some hoighty-toighty bunker douche bags tried their hand at it too, and Dean finds himself, suddenly, with a home. 

It’s a creepy underground 50′s bunker... but it’s big. It’s even big as it starts to fill up. 

Castiel takes the room next to Dean’s. Sam doesn’t say anything when he picks a different wing of the barracks. 

When Jo drops out of college again, she comes to stay for a while. 

An encounter with spell work and fairies at a Larp Weekend bring Charlie back into the fold, and she grabs another one of the rooms in Sam’s wing. Claire Novak runs away to them more than once. 

It’s not as though it’s ever bustling, but it’s not as though it’s quiet. Jack, a child in a teenager’s body and a nearly all powerful being in a tee shirt, certainly keeps things interesting, but even he isn’t the strangest piece of their little compound when Gabriel comes back to life and Rowena, mother of the king of hell have... one bedroom, at least until they swindle, and possibly murder their way into a penthouse someone far away from the midwest. Charlie, after an extremely strange night, starts dating Dorothy from the wizard of Oz, and Sam’s side of the barracks fills up just a little more. 

And then, here and there... a monster. 

When Garth becomes a werewolf, he doesn’t know where else to stay. When Sam’s kitsune friend from junior high is being hunted, they hide in the bunker. They don’t stay forever, but they retreat there. To Sam and Dean. And Castiel. And Charlie. And whoever else might be a spare bedroom at that point. 

Dean doesn’t notice how much he’s changing until Amara brings back his mother. 

And suddenly he feels like he has to hide how he talks to and touches Castiel when she’s in the same room. And Charlie wants to talk to him about it, and he doesn’t know how. 

He finds himself telling Mary about John, and realizing that when he talks about his life with John... there is nothing else in it. 

Motels and monsters.

No learning to make old fashioned to get Cas to try whiskey. No sitting with Charlie at the computer for hours while she patiently explains something that she could do in her sleep. No Rowena smuggling cursed bones into the library when she promised she would stop. No trying to explain Scooby do to Cas, or reading a book that Cas leant him on their very infrequent days off. 

And then Sam meets a girl on a hunt. Eileen. And Dean can see how he lights up around her, and the way she smiles at him, and the way people look at Sam and Eileen, and then at him and Castiel, and then anywhere else. 

But it’s not the focus of their lives as they have to defeat the men of letters. 

and then another dimension opens up, and all of them are confronted with who they could have been. Hard, ransacked versions of themselves. 

Dean’s relieved he doesn’t exist in that dimension. He’s starting to think he knows what the version of himself would look like. He thinks it’s probably the version of himself who sold his soul for Sam. 

A man he no longer is. 

Eventually they win. 

Or almost win, because now, after everything, they have to fight god. But they do go home. They call everyone, and everyone starts driving to Kansas. 

But Dean goes to Charlie’s room, and he’s ready to talk about it, and she’s happy to hear about it. 

And then, even though it’s late, he goes to Cas’s room and he says something he’s barely been letting himself think. 

He stays there with Cas. All night. 

In the morning, they walk into the kitchen together, where Sam and Eileen are rather conspicuously drinking Bloody Mary’s very slowly, and Charlie and Dorothy are playing footsy under the table and going through some research with Pamela. Bobby is bent over a book and chugging coffee. So is Mary. Jack is eating some kind of sugary cereal the way a cat eats a bread bag tie, hunched over it like he’s worried someone’s going to take it away from him when they realize he isn’t supposed to have it. 

Dean sees Cas smile out over the room, and the way that all of them smile back. And he takes Cas’s hand. 

It takes time and work and struggle. But they do defeat God. They do win their freedom and their lives back. 

All of them. 

[rizlowwritessortof]

Black Velvet - Chapter 9

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2204

Warnings: (for the series as a whole) Demon!Dean (he deserves his own warning, dub-con, rough sex, smut, angst  

The atmosphere around the bunker is subdued, almost melancholy. You and Sam go about your days, each lost in your own introspection and self-recrimination. You go through the motions, searching for answers to questions that may not even exist any longer, digging for solutions to a problem that you have no control over, but there is no other compass to guide you. Dean is the heart that has left a gaping hole in your chest and in Sam’s, but the search for him has been futile.

The last few nights have been almost sleepless for you, your brain finally shutting down out of sheer exhaustion by the early hours of the morning. Tonight you give in, take a couple of shots before you even lie down, hoping against hope that you’ll just be able to fade into nothingness for a few hours, no thoughts of him to torment you for just a little while.

You’re actually starting to drift off, turning to your side, warm and drowsy beneath the comforter, when you sense him. There’s been no noise, it’s pitch black in the room, but you know he’s there. Strangely, there is no fear. You open your eyes, staring into the darkness as you speak softly.

“How did you get in?”

You hear him take a breath, silent for a beat before he answers. “Same way I got out of those cuffs. The more human blood Sam pumped into me, the less power the demon sigils had over me. So all the warding he had Cas do – waste of time.”

“Why bother coming at all? I mean nothing to you – remember? ” You know the bitterness, the hurt, is coming through in your voice, but you just can’t make yourself care about whether or not it will set him off. You hear him move, and then he’s standing next to the bed looking down at you. You snap at him, keeping your voice low. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it. Get it over with. I’m done fighting you.” You hear yourself say the words, and somewhere in the back of your mind the thought floats through that you have reached the bottom.

You feel the mattress dip as he sits on the edge of the bed, and you close your eyes, waiting for the blade or the hands on your throat. His whisper is intense, quietly desperate. “What did you do to me?”

Your eyes fly open, and you stare up at the shadowed form above you. “What?”

“Did you use a spell? A curse?” He takes hold of your shoulders, and your heart rate begins to speed up.

“I did nothing to you. We shot you up with sanctified human blood.”

He leans down, close to you, and the edge to his quiet words is scaring you. “No. There was nothing wrong with me. Not until you. Not until I was with you. What – did – you – do?” His grip is tightening, becoming painful, and you take a shaking breath, fear roaring back to life in your chest.

“Dean, you have to believe me…”

“You haunt me every minute of every day.” His teeth are clenched, the words forcing themselves out, and you let out a small sound as his fingers dig like talons into your upper arms. He bends closer still, and you can feel his breath on your face, his lips nearly touching yours. “My blood is on fire. I crave you.”

Then he is kissing you, crushing his lips to yours, greedy, voracious, until you can’t breathe, struggling under the onslaught until he stops for just a moment as you gasp for air. He rips the comforter from you and kisses you again, his hands roaming your body, and slowly your arms raise to pull him closer. You whimper into his mouth as one hand moves between your thighs, holding you tight for a few seconds before rubbing over you hard, up and down as your body responds to his touch, thrusting up against him.

Suddenly he raises his head, spinning you sideways on the bed and pulling your legs off the edge as he drops to the floor between your knees, ripping your panties from your body. A low moan vibrates in his throat as he buries his face in you, and then you feel the hot, wet press of his tongue as it enters you briefly before laving over every secret part of you while you squirm under him. He slips one arm beneath the small of your back, angling you up to him as his lips suck lightly at your soft, yielding flesh before moving to your throbbing clit. “Deeeeaaan,” you groan obscenely, and he holds your body tight as he ravages you, not letting you escape from the intensity. You can’t breathe, every cell in your body is poised on the brink of detonation, and the sensation of two thick digits slipping inside you to stroke over your sweet spot sets you off.

You desperately claw at the pillow next to you, biting into it as you let go a muffled scream, your legs quaking, muscles contracting, pulling him even closer. He is moaning, wild, uncontrolled, his fingers curling, rubbing over that sensitive place within you while his tongue and lips consume you. He finally slows when you go limp beneath him, a second orgasm leaving you helpless, too spent at the moment to do more than whine softly.

He’s kissing the insides of your thighs, your lower belly, nibbling along your ribs. He stops long enough to stand, moving your legs back onto the bed, and you hear him undressing before you feel him crawl over you. He pulls at your shirt, working it up and over your head, the hot length of him a brand against your cool skin. His mouth is at one breast, his hand cupping the other, kneading at it rhythmically as your fingers grasp at his hair. Then he is guiding himself into you, a slow, sweet penetration that drags moans from both of you. He holds himself in to the limit, and he is so still that you can feel him pulsing within you. It’s bliss and torment at the same time, and you think you will die if he doesn’t move.

And then he does move, sensual, languid, sending ripples of pleasure through you, radiating from your core and spreading through you, every nerve alive and singing. He holds himself above you as he rocks into you, and you curl your legs over his, stretched out and meeting every thrust. He shifts just a little, drags over your sweet spot, exhaling sharply as you constrict around him, and you feel the muscles in his thighs tense as he slowly picks up momentum.

He gathers you in his arms and moves quickly, rolling to his back, and you let out a soft cry. His hands move to tangle in your hair as he pulls you in for a kiss, drinking you in desperately. You break from him, almost reluctantly, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you draw your legs up, gyrating over him as he throws his head back with a low growl. He is in the deepest part of you, and you feel as if he is piercing both body and soul as you move together, sinuous, as one. You feel his hands glide up the length of your thighs, caressing, grasping, and you begin to tremble above him as the tension builds within you.

“Dean… please…” you whimper softly, and he moves suddenly, quickly, clutching you to his chest and rolling you over again to your back. He hesitates for only a heartbeat, then begins stroking into you smoothly, harder with each thrust until he is driving into you with purpose. He raises up on his elbows and fucks into you hard as you begin to make inarticulate noises, your nails digging into his biceps, your legs clenched around his hips, straining to meet him. When he reaches between you, one touch sets you off, and you throw your head back, a violent shudder quaking through you, your teeth clenched to keep from wailing out his name. He loses his rhythm as you tighten around him, and with a few more hard strokes he is flooding you with heat as he comes, his face buried in your neck.

You are both slick with sweat, breathless, and he heaves himself off of you, collapsing to the mattress beside you. There is no sound for a time but labored breathing as you both let your bodies cool, slow down, become calm.

He is stretched out beside you, silent, unmoving, and you are reluctant to be the one to break that silence. You hear him draw a breath, hold it for a moment, then exhale before he speaks quietly. “Is this… were we like this? Before?”

You reach for the covers, pulling them up around you as you answer. “Yes.”

“This is how you feel… how you felt… about me?”

He sounds so hesitant, bewildered, and you feel tears well up in your eyes. “This is how I have always felt about you. It’s not magic, or a curse. I love you, Dean. Then and now. That’s what you’re feeling. And the human part of you needs that.”

He turns to his side, and you know he can see you in the darkness, can see the tears spilling from beneath your lashes, because he brushes the first of them away with gentle fingers. “Finish it.” He says it so softly that you freeze, unsure that what you heard was real.

“You mean…”

He sits up, moving to the edge of the bed and standing. “Yeah. Call him.” He grabs his clothes from the floor, walking towards the bathroom, your voice stopping him.

“Dean… are you sure?”

“Do it,” he answers, and he goes in, closing the door behind him as you lay there stunned for a moment. Then you reach for the lamp, turning it on and grabbing your phone.

By the time Sam gets there, you’re dressed. He looks a little wild-eyed, his hair a rumpled mess, and his gaze darts around the room as he approaches you. “Where is he? Are you all right?”

“I’m here, Sammy.” Sam straightens to his full height, one arm in front of you as he tries to push you behind him. You grab his hand, looking up into his worried face.

“Sam, it’s okay. He wants this,” you say, squeezing his large hand comfortingly before moving away to sit on the edge of the bed. You look to Dean, almost able to read his thoughts from the fleeting expressions on his face, and for a moment you think he’s going to bolt. But then he takes a deep breath and moves to sit beside you on the bed. You look up at Sam, watching as he swallows hard, pulling the cuffs from behind his back, but you stare resolutely into his eyes and shake your head. He blinks, hesitant, then tucks them back away and opens the small cooler containing blood-filled syringes.

You reach for Dean’s hand, threading your fingers through his, watching as he gnaws at his lip for a moment before stretching his other arm out, fist clenched, then slowly opening. You squeeze his hand, and he glances over at you, then nods. You look to Sam, and he approaches carefully, hunkering down in front of his brother, inserting the needle into the vein to administer the shot before standing back up.

“How many more?” you ask softly, and Sam shakes his head.

“Not sure.”

Dean’s grip tightens around your hand as the fire begins to burn through his veins, and you watch helplessly as his face contorts in agony, his eyes going black.

It’s been almost a month since you got him back. It took four shots in all to finish cleansing the demon from Dean, to bring those green eyes you love so much back for good.

You will never forget that night, the pain he went through, holding him as his body seized with violent spasms, sweat pouring from him as he thrashed in your arms. You still carried a mark where he had sunk his teeth into your shoulder in the height of his agony, and you hadn’t flinched away, almost glad to share a tiny fraction of what he was suffering.

He still has a hard time looking you in the eye. He’s back, but he’s not. Because he knows he’s still on borrowed time, still carrying the Mark of Cain on his forearm, still cursed. You and Sam have forgiven him, but he is less forgiving of himself. As usual, he carries the weight on his shoulders, not willing to share the burden. And he refuses to listen to any plan to free him that might possibly unleash another possibly greater evil on the world.

You’ll be here with him through it all. You would have gone to hell with him had it been the only option. You will be here with him through this hell. And you will help him be free from it, somehow, someday, or die trying.

[cherryblossomflowers]

dean winchester where she dealt with him going to hell

Moving Forward

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester

Summary: This is set in Season 3. After getting possessed by Lillith and watching Dean get torn apart by a hellhound, YN must face the world without him.

Warnings: Cursing, Possession, Angst, Blood, Death, Slight Depression

A/N: Thanks @sutton2001 for the ask! This is a little bit longer of a one-shot than normal, but I just had to add the scene right before Dean's death. I literally listened to a clip of the Season 3 finale and tried my best to type the dialogue used. I also tried to make it more my own, so in this version, the reader is possessed by Lillith. But I hope you like it! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Dean: 30 Sam: 26 YN: 28

Here is the link to the YouTube clip I used: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFzzexz0qtI

***ASK OPEN***

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"Give me the knife, maybe I can fight it off," YN said to Sam.

Sam was confused by her boldness, "What?"

"Come on! That dust won't last forever," YN held her hand out to Sam for the demon knife.

Just as Sam was about to hand the knife over, Dean stopped him, "What?"

YN glared at Dean, dumbfounded, "You want to die?"

Sam turned around, questioning Dean's outburst.

YN stood tall with her hand still out to Sam.

Dean took a step back when he realized something, "Sam, that's not YN. It's not YN!"

When Sam turned back around to YN, he was pushed against the wall telekinetically, dropping the knife in the process. YN then telekinetically pushed Dean back until he fell against the table.

Dean sat up and stared at YN, "How long have you been in her?"

"Not long. But I like it," YN's eyes flashed white, revealing Lillith, "It's all grown up and pretty."

Sam growled, "And where's YN?"

"She was a very bad girl, trying to plead with me to save the love of her life. So I sent her far, far away in the back of her own mind," Lillith said, cracking her neck as he eyes returned to normal.

"I should've seen it before. But you all look alike to me," Dean voice was strained as he smirked, "Now get out of YN!"

Lillith smiled as she turned to Sam, "Hello, Sam. I've wanted to meet you for a very long time."

Then she grabbed Sam's face and pulled him in for a kiss. Sam was trying to pull away from Lillith, but he was pinned against the wall.

Dean was trying everything he could to get up and grab Lillith, but he was stuck. It broke him seeing YN and Sam kiss, but he had to keep remembering it wasn't YN.

Lillith whispered to Sam, "Your lips are soft."

He kept trying to move away from her hand, but she kept petting his cheek.

Sam then said in a low voice, "Alright, so you have me. Let my brother and his girlfriend go."

Lillith smirked, "Silly goose. You want to bargain, you have to have something that I want. And you don't."

Dean took the opportunity to interrupt the two, "So is this your big plan, huh? Drag me to hell, kill Sam, and then what? Become queen bitch?"

"I don't have to answer to puppy chow," Lillith winked at Dean.

She watched Dean struggled on the table as she walked towards the door were the hellhound sat waiting.

Right before Lillith opened the door, she smiled at Dean and said, "Sic 'em, boy."

The door opened and the hellhound sprinted over to Dean. Dean was then dragged off the table and on to the ground by the hound. Lillith stood laughing as Dean was screaming in pain.

The hellhound began ripping into Dean's body. His legs, his chest, his back, everything was gushing blood. Dean was screaming and yelling as the hound tore into him.

Sam yelled at Lillith, "No! Stop! No! Stop it!"

Lillith just stood and watched, laughing at Dean's misery and Sam begging her to call the hound off.

Dean had stopped yelling in pain as the hound ripped into his chest. Sam and Lillith watched as Dean was dying, and Sam could do nothing to stop it.

Sam just kept on yelling, "No! Stop it! No!" as he begged Lillith to stop.

Then Lillith raised her hand to Sam, "Yes," and a flash of light came from her hand, directed right at Sam.

The flash of light covered the room. Nothing could be seen.

After a while, the light began to fade away as Lillith stood tall with her white eyes. She lowered her hand as her eyes rolled back to YN's eyes.

What Lillith saw in front of her shocked her and scared her.

Sam sat cowering in a corner, unharmed by her blast. He looked up and noticed how worried Lillith looked. When he scanned his body, he took note that nothing happened.Slowly, Sam stood on his feet and walked towards Lillith.

She raised her hand at Sam, "Back!"

Sam took another step towards her, the anger clear on his face.

Lillith took a step back, scared of Sam, "I said back!"

Sam bent down, picked up the demon knife, and reared back, "I don't think so!"

Right before he could stab her with the knife, YN's mouth opened and she screamed as black smoke poured from her mouth. Lillith expelled herself from YN's body before Sam could kill her. Sam dropped the knife and took a step back, shielding himself.

When Lillith was gone from YN's body, she fell forward. Luckily Sam caught her before she fell too far. He slowly sat down with YN in his arms.

YN groaned in pain as she looked up at Sam, "S’mmy?"

Sam held her close and sighed, "Hey, YN. You okay?"

YN grabbed her head, "My head hurts," she squeezed her eyes shut before looking back at him, "What happened? Where's-"

Just then, YN turned her head and saw Dean. He was covered in blood, gashes all over his chest and legs. His right arm was limp on his stomach. A gasp escaped YN's lips as she covered her mouth.

She crawled out of Sam's lap and over to Dean. She sat behind him, lifting his head up and on to her lap. Dean's eyes were still open, but there was so sign of life in them. A sob was heard as tears poured down YN's face.

Sam stood up and walked over to Dean as well, sitting on his right. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and hung his head.

YN laid a hand on Dean's cheek and whispered, "No. No. Dean. Please, no."

Sam looked up at YN, teared pouring down his face, "YN, I'm so sorry."

YN sobbed as tear fell on to Dean's blood splattered face. Sam was crying just as hard as YN, both extremely sad at losing Dean.

YN looked up towards the ceiling, "We had a plan, Sammy. We were going to leave this life. We just had to find a way out of this. We just..."

Sam nodded, "I know. I know. He talked for hours and hours about how you two were going to live the ‘apple pie life’. You were going to find a house and settle down."

Then YN looked at Dean's jacket pocket, "What's that?"

Sam reached in Dean's pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it and a look of shock covered his face. He passed the box over to YN.

"I guess he wanted that ‘apple pie life’ more than I thought," Sam commented.

In the box was a beautiful diamond ring. After looking at the ring, YN started crying more.

Sam sat back and looked at YN, "We should...move him."

YN shook her head, "Not yet."

Sam stood up and began to walk out of the room, "I'm going to make a few phone calls. Take as long as you need," and left YN with Dean.

YN looked back down at Dean's body, "Dean, I'm so sorry. I should've done something, tried harder to find a way out. And now...y-you're gone," she wiped her eyes, "But I promise you, I'll do what we agreed. I'll live my life. I'll stay with Sam and we'll move on," she took the ring out of the box and put it on her left hand, "And I'll wear this everyday and never take it off. I'll never forget about you, Dean Winchester."

Four Months Later

While driving to her apartment in Lawrence, Kansas, YN is changing to Dean's AC/DC cassette tape. 5 grocery bags sat in the front seat next to a box of cassette tapes, YN's purse, and her phone. Her diamond engagement ring shined bright in the sunlight.

"Maybe I should buy a new radio for Baby," YN thought out loud as she hit play on the radio, "Then again, Dean's ass would haunt me if I did it."

She continued to drive down the highway, Back in Black blasting from the speakers. She reached down and grabbed her phone, seeing if Sam responded to her offer for dinner.

Once again, Sam was ignoring her.

Since Dean's death, Sam had moved on from the hunting life. He told YN to keep the Impala and do what she wanted with her life. They somewhat kept in contact, but she's only heard from him a handful of times since Dean died.

YN pulled into the parking lot of her complex, took her groceries from the front seat, and got out of the car. She locked it and walked towards her front door. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, welcoming the cool air and stepping away from the Kansas heat.

She shut the door with her foot and locked it behind her. She walked into her kitchen and set the groceries on the counter.

"Max, I'm home!" YN yelled in her apartment.

The sound of paws running down the hallway was heard as a German Sheppard ran into the kitchen.

"Hiya, Max! How's my good boy?" YN spoke to her dog.

Max barked in response as he tail wagged faster and faster.

YN reached into one of the grocery bags, "I got you something from the shop," and she pulled out a dog bone.

She handed it to Max, who ripped it from her grip and ran into the living room. YN laughed and put the groceries away.

After cleaning the kitchen a bit, she jumped over the back of the couch and sat down. She reached for the remote, turning on Dr. Sexy, M.D.

She leaned back against the couch and smiled at Max, who was lost in his own world with his new bone.

YN's eyes widened at the TV, "Hey, Dean! There's a new episode of..." she trailed off when she realized what she had said.

Even though it had been 4 months since Dean died, YN still couldn't fully move on.

Dean's clothes were hanging in her closet, she had pictures of the two of them on her walls, all of is guns and hunting stuff was still in the trunk, and she had his car sitting outside. It still felt like Dean was here.

And she didn't want to change that.

The only problem is she forgot from time to time that Dean wasn't actually there.

She sulked back into the couch with a sigh, "Hey Max?"Max looked up, panting and wagging his tail.

YN patted the spot next to her, "Come here, boy."

Max grabbed his bone and jumped on the couch next to YN. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and laid it across her lap. She crossed her arms and leaned back into the cushions.

"I miss you Dean. I don't think you can actually hear me right now, but I've been missing you a lot lately. It's gotten harder since Sam stopped talking to me and I'm not really in contact with Bobby. It's just been me and Max," she stopped to pet Max for a bit, "But I'm keeping my promise and living my life. I started working at that bakery down the road. I know you knew how badly I wanted to get into baking. I've gotten really good in the last few weeks, minus that time I almost burnt the place down when I didn't set a timer for those cookies."

Max barked and stood to lick YN's face. This made her laugh and scratch his head more.

"But things have been going well. I'm still wearing the ring," she held up her hand, "It's gotten hard when people ask who I'm engaged to. I try to shrug it off, but it's difficult lately. Could you do me a favor? Send me a sign. Something. Let me know what I'm doing is right. Let me know if I should change things. Just tell me-"

Just then, YN's doorbell rang.

Max barked towards the door, but YN quickly shushed him. She took her pocket knife out of her back pocket and held it in her hand. She slowly stood up and walked towards the front door.

The chain lock was attached so she couldn't open the door all the way. She slowly opened the door and peeked her head around.

What she saw made her entire body numb.

"Dean?"

------------------------------

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