#when he just needs to focus on making sure dean doesn’t die

[samdeancrimespree]

very small detail in mystery spot… but the very first tuesday sam goes to brush his teeth and there’s toothpaste like all over the tube and it’s mostly empty. and he looks at dean like “seriously?” and dean shrugs. then after dean dies, during the montage of sam living alone on his revenge mission, there’s a shot of him brushing his teeth and the toothpaste tube is clean. the trunk is organized, the photos on the wall are lined up, the guns are spotless, the bed is made. the toothpaste tube is clean. dean was always the one who made the motel room a home, made it messy, made it lived in. there’s no mess. there’s no dean. sam doesn’t know how to do that. he’s never needed to. maybe never even noticed that’s what dean was doing; he was too busy complaining about his dirty clothes being everywhere.

it is so extremely codependent how sam’s ocd behaviours spike when dean is gone. like dean is his emotional support animal. “we keep each other human” in a very non-supernatural way. sam can only function on a normal level if he knows dean is ok. no one and nothing can drag sam out of that spiral other than dean, because there’s no reason to get out of the spiral if dean isn’t there. sam calls dean selfish for making the deal not because sam wouldn’t do the same thing, but because the prospect of living without dean is hell to him.

[maddie0101]

tuesdays can go to hell

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

summary: trapped in a time loop, dean is forced to relive his worst nightmare—watching you die, again and again. will he find a way to break free, or is he doomed to suffer forever?

warnings: death, gore, angst, friends to lovers, based off of the tuesday episode!, slight jealousy, idiots in love, dean's personal hell, sad but has a happy ending!

word count: 9.7k (idk how to even defend myself anymore)

The first thing Dean hears is the soft crackle of static, followed by the unmistakable opening chords of Nirvana’s “Come As You Are”.

His eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and he groans, squinting against the bright, unforgiving morning light that seeps through the motel blinds.

The music was pretty familiar, comforting, and somehow just right for the moment but he shifts to glance at the clock on the nightstand, blinking as his eyes struggle to focus.

It’s early, but the time catches him off guard. And It’s Tuesday.

Dean blinks a few times, his mind still foggy as he processes the day. Something feels a little off, but he can’t put his finger on it. He leans back against the pillow, rubbing his face with one hand as he tries to shake the sleepiness.

Meanwhile, you’re already up, moving around the room. You adjust your jacket, grab your stuff, and pour yourself a cup of coffee. You catch his confused look and raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips as you sip from your mug.

“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you tease, your voice light and playful. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean grins, though it’s more of a lazy smile. “I’m alive, sweetheart. Just… took me a second to catch up with the day.” He pushes himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Alright, alright, I’m up. But if I’m gonna survive today, I need coffee.”

You hand him the mug in your hands, and he takes a long sip. “Mmm. Best part of waking up,” he mutters, giving you a look as he takes in the rest of the room. “You sure you’re not secretly a caffeine dealer?”

You laugh and shrug, not bothering to hide the amused grin on your face. “I don’t know, maybe I should start charging you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, shaking his head as he stands up, stretching his arms over his head. “You’ve got me hooked, sweetheart.”

With one last playful glance, he walks over to his duffle bag, preparing to get dressed for the day.

You’re already halfway to the door, your voice carrying over your shoulder. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean chuckles softly to himself, grabbing his clothes. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get all impatient on me now.”

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As the two of you step through the diner’s squeaky door, the bell above chimes loudly, announcing your arrival.

The familiar scent of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee immediately hits you, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

Dean glances around, eyes scanning the nearly empty diner, the soft hum of conversation and clinking silverware filling the space. The early morning light filters through the fogged windows, casting a warm glow on the checkered floors and faded booths.

He’s about to make a joke about the place when he spots a man at the bar, clearly struggling.

The guy’s hunched over the counter, his fingers tapping nervously on the wood as he stares at the menu, brows furrowed in confusion. He looks like he’s caught between wanting to make a decision and just giving up.

In front of him, a waitress in a bright yellow uniform stands with a pot of coffee in one hand, looking unamused. “Can’t stay unless you order something, Cal,” she says, her voice sharp but not unkind. She doesn’t budge, eyeing the man with an amused glint in her eye as if she’s seen this exact scene play out a hundred times. "You know the rules."

“Some coffee,” the man finally mutters, his voice a bit defeated as he nods to the waitress. You and Dean share a quick look, both of you amused by his indecision. But with that, you make your way to an empty booth, the worn seats creaking slightly as you slide in across from each other.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of the morning start to settle in. Your eyes drift upward to the menu posted above the counter, the chalky letters barely legible under the dim lighting.

A small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. “What the hell’s that supposed to be?” he mutters under his breath. He glances back at you, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a playful grin.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches, her bright yellow uniform standing out in the dim diner light.

She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order. “Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze.

“I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment. She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning.

“You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

“Ordering for me now, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice is laced with that familiar teasing tone, and he shoots you a smirk that makes your stomach do a little flip.

You roll your eyes, half exasperated, half amused by his constant subtle flirting.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice light as you meet his playful gaze. “I know what you like, and—” You pause, tilting your head and pointing up to the menu sign above. “That’s exactly what you would order.”

Dean’s lips curve into a soft smile as he shakes his head, clearly entertained by your confidence. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than usual, something unspoken flashing behind them. You knew him so well, better than anyone ever had, and you were right. He would’ve ordered exactly that, no questions asked.

But there was more to it than just your perfect read of him. A swell of warmth fills his chest at the thought of how deeply you understood him, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but just stare at you—really look at you.

Your beauty wasn’t just in the way you looked, it was in the way you moved, the way you carried yourself with that quiet confidence, and the way your eyes sparkled whenever you teased him.

It left him breathless, like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Dean swallowed hard, his heart skipping a beat. He was a goner.

Completely head over heels in love with you, but the thought of telling you… it terrified him.

No, he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk ruining what you had, the friendship he cherished more than anything.

What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if, in the end, he lost you completely?

Those doubts plagued his thoughts, gnawing at him constantly. They clung to him like a shadow, keeping him frozen in place, preventing him from taking a chance, preventing him from telling you how deeply he really felt. The fear of losing you was far worse than never knowing if you felt the same.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, breaking Dean out of his thoughts as you pulled a crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the text. “Last known location?”

You nodded, your finger tapping the paper. “His daughter said he was on his way to visit the Broward County Mystery Spot.”

You reached into your jacket pocket, pulling out a small pamphlet and handing it to him. Dean took it, unfolding the glossy paper with a slight frown. His eyes skimmed the words, then froze, his eyebrows arching as he read aloud, “‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning?’”

He glanced up at you, a look of confusion flickering across his face. You shrugged, just as confused. “No idea what that’s supposed to mean,” you admitted, a hint of a frown on your lips as you glanced at the pamphlet again.

Before you could continue, the waitress returned, her presence interrupting the moment. She gently placed your coffee in front of you, the scent of it rich and comforting.

You smiled at her, murmuring a quick thanks as she set Dean’s cup down in front of him.

But as she reached for the hot sauce sitting on her tray, her hand slipped, and the bottle fell with a sharp clatter. The cap popped off mid-air, and a fiery red stream of sauce splattered across the floor, splashing in all directions.

The waitress gasped, as she muttered "whoops. Crap. Sorry." She turned toward you and Dean and you awkwardly sent her a soft smile that it was fine.

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As you and Dean stepped out of the diner, the cool morning air hit your face, but your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean, walking beside you, gave a quiet chuckle, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “You know, joints like this are only tourist traps, right?”

He gently took the clipping from your hands, sending you a teasing look before letting his eyes flick over the paper, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, balls rolling uphill, furniture nailed to the ceiling—sounds like a bad magic act. The only danger’s to your wallet.”

He rambled on, shaking his head, but you cut him off before he could say more. “Dean, I’m just saying, there are places in the world where holes literally open up and swallow people whole. The Bermuda Triangle, the Oregon Vortex—”

“Broward County Mystery Spot?” Dean interrupted with a raised eyebrow, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You rolled your eyes, irritated by his dismissal. “Well, sometimes these places are legit,” you shot back, trying to make him see that you weren’t just chasing shadows.

Dean’s chuckle faded, and his expression turned thoughtful, though his skepticism was still evident. “Alright, so if it is legit—and that’s a big ‘if’—what’s the lore? You got anything to back it up?”

“Well—” you began, but before you could finish your sentence, a blonde girl walked past, her shoulder brushing against Dean’s. The contact was accidental, but it was enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes immediately slid over her form, an appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You couldn’t help but glare at the back of her head as she walked away, your stomach tightening in an unpleasant knot. The rush of jealousy hit you like a wave, sharp and sudden, a deep ache settling in your chest as you watched Dean check out another woman—just like that.

A bitter taste of frustration filled your mouth. You wanted to confess everything you’d been holding inside for so long. But the jealousy gnawed at you, a poison you couldn’t seem to shake off.

Every part of you wished more than anything to tell him how you truly felt, to stop pretending that it didn’t hurt when he looked at others like that. But you kept it all buried, just like always.

“The lore’s actually pretty freaking nuts,” you continued, determined to steer the conversation back to the hunt. You couldn’t let Dean’s skepticism cloud your focus just yet. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean chuckled under his breath, glancing at you as if you were indulging in some wild conspiracy. “Yeah, sounds a little X-Files to me,” he muttered, his eyes darting off as two guys across the street struggled with a piano.

The large, awkward instrument wouldn't fit through the narrow door of an apartment building, and you could hear one of the guys grunt in frustration.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” the first guy groaned, pushing against the heavy piano as if it would magically slide through the doorway.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy retorted, his voice edged with annoyance, sweat dripping down his face as he shoved the piano in vain.

Both you and Dean’s eyes narrowed at the sight, watching the whole debacle with a mix of confusion and mild disbelief. You shook your head slightly, refocusing your attention on Dean as the noise of the men’s arguments filled the space between you.

“All right, look,” you said, voice steady but determined, “I’m not saying this is some crazy phenomenon happening right now, but if it is… we’ve gotta check it out. See if we can do something about it.”

Dean sighed, but the determination in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. He shifted his weight, turning to face you with a resigned look. “All right, all right. We’ll go tonight, after they close. Get ourselves a nice, long look. You happy now, sweetheart?”

You nodded, finally feeling like you were getting somewhere. “I’ll take that as a yes,” you said with a small, satisfied grin, even as you noticed Dean’s reluctance.

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Later that night, the air in the mystery spot felt thick, charged with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. The moment you and Dean walked inside, your eyes widened at the sight of the hallway.

The walls were painted in glowing green, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse in the dim light of your flashlight. It was disorienting, like stepping into some other world that didn’t make any sense at all.

The whole place was trippy, and you and Dean exchanged a look, a silent ‘what the hell’, before you both ventured deeper.

The strange feeling never left. The place was completely bizarre. As you and Dean walked around, your flashlights flickered over random objects that seemed more at home in a funhouse than a place you’d investigate.

But you kept going, trying to make sense of it all. It was a hunt, after all. Your eyes landed on an upside-down table nailed to the ceiling, and you blinked.

“What the hell?” you muttered, voice thick with disbelief, before you turned to look at Dean.

He was holding the EMF reader up, scanning for any sign of paranormal activity, but the machine was unresponsive. He shook his head slowly, frustration evident in his posture.

“Find anything?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dean only sighed, the EMF reader basically dead in his hands. “Nope. Nothing. This place is a bust.”

Before you could say anything else, a voice sliced through the silence, sending both you and Dean into alert mode.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You both spun on your heels, guns raised in an instant. Flashlights blazed into the darkness, landing on a man standing just a few feet away, his shotgun pointed directly at your chest.

Your heart hammered in your ribcage, panic surging through your veins as the cold steel of your gun felt heavy in your trembling hand.

Dean’s jaw clenched, a low growl of anger radiating from him at the sight of the man’s weapon trained on you. The protective instinct in him flared, but he forced himself to remain calm, to keep the situation from spiraling out of control.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, his voice low and steady as he slowly lifted his pistol to the side, showing the man he wasn’t a threat.

But you didn’t lower yours. You couldn’t—your heart was racing too fast, the fear clawing at your insides. You kept your eyes trained on the man, praying he wouldn’t make a move.

“You robbing me?” the man snarled, his eyes wild with panic.

Dean was quick to respond. “Look, nobody’s robbing you. Calm down.”

You slowly, cautiously, began to lower your gun a little, trying to ease the tension, but the moment your hand shifted, the man’s gaze snapped back to you. His shotgun followed, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t move!” he barked, his voice frantic, trembling with fear.

“I’m just putting my gun down,” you whispered, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible, but the man’s eyes were wide, and there was a desperation in them that sent a chill down your spine.

You didn’t even get a chance to say another word.

The blast of the shotgun was deafening, the sharp, violent sound tearing through the air like a thousand crashing waves. You barely had time to register the pain before the world turned into a nightmare, an explosion of searing agony ripping through your chest.

The force of it slammed you backwards, and you crumpled to the floor, your body crashing to the ground brutally. Blood poured from your wound, pooling beneath you.

And time seemed to slow at that moment. Dean’s world tilted, spinning in a cruel blur. His entire body went cold, the air around him thickening, heavy with the weight of the impossible. His eyes locked onto you—his world—falling. The blood, crimson and hot, blossomed across the floor in a haunting bloom.

His breath caught in his throat, and everything around him blurred, fading into a void of suffocating silence. His heart shattered in that moment, a jagged, gut-wrenching crack that he could feel in every fiber of his being.

“Y/N?!” His voice broke, desperate and raw, like he was reaching out to you from miles away. His pulse raced, his body screamed at him to do something, anything. He scrambled to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, not knowing how to fix this.

His fingers shook violently as he touched you, the warmth of your blood staining his hands. The reality of what was happening started to sink in, and it felt like the earth itself was collapsing beneath his feet.

No, no, no…

Your breath came in shallow, painful gasps, each one a struggle, as if your lungs were fighting against the inevitable.

The pain was excruciating, unbearable, but what truly shattered Dean was the sight of you—his world—so vulnerable, so fragile in his arms. You were slipping away, fading right before his eyes, and he was powerless to stop it.

His heart twisted, the ache inside him growing unbearable as he watched the life drain from you. His face crumpled and his hands clutched at you as if he was holding on to the last shred of a dream.

He was crumbling in front of you, and the devastation was written all over him, his eyes wide with terror, his body trembling as he fought to keep it together. But in the face of this, how could he?

“Sweetheart… please, don’t do this to me,” Dean’s voice was a ragged whisper, thick with desperation. His words were a prayer, a plea to the universe that he didn’t even believe in.

He was choking on his own emotions, his breath coming in sharp, frantic bursts as he reached for your face. He traced the lines of your cheek with trembling fingers, trying to comfort you, even as the terror of losing you consumed him.

“I’m right here, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with every word, every plea. He could barely hold himself together as the tears began to spill, hot and fast, blurring his vision. “You can’t… you can’t leave me. Not like this. Please… don’t leave me.”

But you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The words hung in the air between you like an unsung song, and the silence was deafening. Your body was so still, so quiet.

Your chest no longer rose and fell with shallow breaths. It was as if time itself had stopped, and everything that had ever mattered to Dean had shattered in an instant.

You were gone.

The words didn’t make sense. Gone. How could you be gone? No. This couldn’t be real.

Dean’s entire world collapsed inward in that moment. His chest constricted painfully, and with trembling hands, he shook you, pleading for you to wake up.

“Y/N?!” His voice was a hoarse rasp, jagged with the agony of disbelief. He clung to you, trying to force you to come back, but the emptiness of your gaze told him everything he needed to know.

The world around him fell apart in an instant. His soul felt like it had been ripped from his body, leaving him hollow. The tears came, unstoppable.

He pulled you closer, hugging you against his chest, holding you like he could somehow make this all go away. Dean's body shook violently as sobs wracked through him, each one tearing him apart from the inside out.

The world felt like it was slipping through his fingers, his grip on reality loosening with each second.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking beyond recognition. The words were barely a whisper, but they held all the emotion, all the truth he had been too afraid to say. His heart shattered as he spoke them, the weight of everything unspoken crushing him beneath its intensity.

The tears streamed down his face as he rocked you in his arms like he could undo the damage, like he could somehow force reality to bend to his will.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring you back.

You were gone.

And Dean was left in the ruins of his heart, clinging to you in agony.

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Dean jolted awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, his mind a jumbled mess of fragments and images, as if his body hadn’t quite caught up with reality.

A familiar tune filled the air, and his brows furrowed in confusion. The same song, Come As You Are, was playing, its melody sort of haunting and surreal.

His eyes snapped open, and he shot up, panic gripping his chest as he searched the room, his breathing shallow.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, the soft light of the morning spilling over your figure like a gentle caress.

You turned towards him, raising an eyebrow as you adjusted your jacket, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light and effortlessly playful, like nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart stopped dead in his chest. He felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. You were alive.

But he had just watched you die.

The images were so vivid, so real—the blood, the way your body had gone limp in his arms. The way the life had drained from your eyes, leaving him broken and empty. He could still hear your gasps, the soft, haunting whispers of your last breath.

He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the haunting memory from his mind. No, no. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It had to be some twisted nightmare.

His body was frozen in disbelief, his heart still lodged somewhere deep in his throat. He rubbed his eyes, his hands trembling as he tried to process the impossible.

“I’m—I’m up,” Dean managed, his voice rough and unsteady, the weight of his words sinking in like lead. His gaze flickered over to you, watching the way you moved, so alive, so here.

The confusion twisted in his gut, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask the questions. Not yet.

You were already halfway to the door, your voice cutting through his spiraling thoughts. “Hurry up, Winchester. That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean’s heart thundered against his ribs, a mix of relief and terror knotting together inside him.

You were here. You were alive. But the image of you--bleeding out in his arms, wouldn’t leave him.

He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t erase it from his mind. He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, trying to steady himself.

You turned back, a knowing look in your eyes, and the soft glint of something unspoken passed between you two before you glanced away, your tone still playful, yet there was an undertone of something deeper.

Had you noticed? He couldn’t tell.

“Come on, Dean,” you coaxed, the easy familiarity of your voice pulling him back. “We’ve got breakfast to get to.”

Dean stared at you for a moment longer, his chest tight, his mind racing to catch up. With a shaky breath, he stood, forcing his legs to move. You were right—this was just Tuesday.

But as he followed you out of the room, the weight of the morning hung heavily on him. Everything felt off, as though reality was fraying at the edges, but for now, he had to trust that you were here. Alive.

And that, for some reason, was enough to keep him moving forward.

“You okay?” you asked gently, your voice soft as you studied Dean, noticing the subtle change in his demeanor. Something was off.

“Yeah…yeah,” Dean muttered, his voice distant, like he was still trying to shake off something heavy.

“Just… some dream,” he said, blinking rapidly as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to push away the lingering feeling of that strange nightmare that clung to him.

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"Drive safely now, Mr. Pickett." A man's voice cut through the oddly familiar little diner. Dean blinked again, noticing the Deja vu he was getting.

"Can't stay unless you order something, cal." The same waitress dressed in a yellow uniform stood infront of the guy trying to decide what to order. "You know the rules."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced back, noting this exact thing happened yesterday. Almost to a T.

You and Dean sat at the same exact booth as the one in Dean's dream. You sigh before a small smirk plays on your lips as you nod toward the menu. “Hey, Tuesday. Pig ‘n a poke,” you say, your voice light, a hint of teasing beneath it.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, his gaze following the motion of your finger as it points to the menu above. He scans the words slowly, his lips parting slightly. This feels oddly familiar.

"What's that supposed to be?" Dean questions, starting to feel uneasy with the way things are playing out exactly how they did in his dream.

“Just sounds like something you’d like, Dean,” you shrug nonchalantly, your voice light and teasing.

But before you can say anything else, the same waitress from earlier approaches. She stops at your table, notepad in hand, her pen poised and ready to take your order.

“Are you kids ready?” she asks, her voice casual.

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply with a nod, your voice warm and friendly as you meet the waitress’s gaze. “I’ll have the special, side of bacon, and a coffee.” You flash her a quick smile, then glance at Dean, a mischievous gleam in your eye. “And he’ll have the exact same thing.”

The waitress jots down your order with quick, practiced movements, her pen scratching against the paper as she nods in acknowledgment.

She lifts her eyes from the notepad, offering you both a smile that’s a little brighter than necessary for the early morning. “You got it,” she says, her tone light but efficient, before turning on her heel and walking off, her footsteps echoing.

Dean's stomach continues to churn at the exact event unfolding. This could just be Deja vu...could it? Dean swallows the lump in his throat as a slight awkward silence fills the air before you speak.

“Alright, I’ve got this,” you said, pulling the same crumpled newspaper clipping from your bag. You spread it out on the table in front of him. “Dexter Hasselback. He was passing through town last week when he disappeared.”

Dean stills at your exact words from the nightmare. His eyes flicker back and forth from the newspaper clipping, to the people around you in the diner, and then back to you. Noticing everything is exactly like his dream.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked softly, your voice carrying the weight of concern as you pulled Dean’s gaze back to you. Your brow furrowed, noticing the way he seemed distant, lost in thought. “You’ve been acting off.”

Dean blinked, as if he hadn’t quite realized you were speaking. He shifted his gaze back to you, his jaw tightening slightly. “You don’t…?” He trailed off, trying to find the right words, his brow furrowing deeper in confusion. “You don’t remember any of this?”

“Remember what?” You squinted, your concern growing as you tried to piece together what he was talking about. His words didn’t quite make sense.

“This,” Dean said, gesturing between the two of you and the diner around you. “Today. Like—like it’s happened before.”

“Do you mean like déjà vu?” you asked, still trying to wrap your head around it, watching as Dean’s eyes darted around the diner, his unease palpable.

“No, I mean like it’s really happened before.” Dean’s voice was low, almost shaky, as though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

“Yeah, like déjà vu, Dean,” you said, your voice soft, but the confusion was still evident in your tone.

“No, forget about déjà vu. I’m asking if it feels like—” He paused, trying to find the words, his eyes narrowing as he looked around again, his anxiety rising. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again…”

You leaned forward slightly, a frown deepening on your face. “Dean, are you okay? We’ve never been here before…” you said gently, your voice laced with concern. His restlessness was growing, and it was starting to make you nervous.

Dean sighed, frustration settling over him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply as if he couldn’t explain what was happening inside his mind.

At that moment, the waitress arrived with your coffee, setting it down in front of you. “Coffee, black,” she said, her voice bright and cheerful.

You smiled at her, murmuring a soft “thanks” as she set Dean’s coffee down in front of him. But just as she reached for the bottle of hot sauce on her tray, her hand slipped, sending it tumbling toward the ground. Before it could crash, Dean’s hand shot out, catching it in a smooth, almost practiced motion.

“Thanks!” the waitress said with a surprised smile, clearly impressed by his reflexes.

Your eyes widened slightly at the quick reaction, but you couldn’t help but smile. “Nice reflexes, Winchester,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood, though the tension still hung between you two.

Dean gave a quick, distracted smile, but there was no hiding the haunted look in his eyes.

Something was very wrong, and whatever it was, he wasn't sure if he could shake it off.

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As you and Dean stepped out of the diner your attention was still fixed on the newspaper clipping in your hands. You ran your eyes over it for what felt like the hundredth time, but your mind wasn’t fully on the words.

The golden retriever tied to the bike stand a few feet away yapped loudly, its bark echoing through the quiet street, but you barely registered it, too absorbed in the details of the case.

Dean walked beside you, his mind racing as his gaze flicked back to the same golden retriever barking at you.

The same exact events, almost every single one—kept happening. His heart pounded, a sense of dread sinking deeper into his gut.

There was no way this was just déjà vu. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t some glitch in the matrix; it felt too real.

“Well—” you started, breaking the thick, uncomfortable silence that had settled between you two, but before you could finish, a blonde girl brushed past Dean. Her shoulder made brief, accidental contact with his, just enough to make her pause, mumble an apology, and move on without another word.

You both turned to watch her, and Dean’s eyes followed her, but not with the same intensity as before.

But this time, his attention shifted back to you, his gaze lingering on the faint frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but now that he did, it struck him. Were you…jealous?

“The lore’s actually pretty nuts,” you quickly picked up the conversation, eager to shake off the thoughts swirling in your head. “I mean, they say the magnetic fields at these spots are so strong, they can actually bend space-time. People who’ve visited? No one knows where they end up. It’s like they vanish into thin air.”

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly. You had said that yesterday. Or had you? The words were too familiar, too painfully similar to the conversation he’d had with you before. He could almost hear the echoes of the same sentences repeating in his mind.

“Dean, are you even listening?” you asked, your voice tinged with concern, noticing how distant he seemed.

You tried to keep the conversation going, but the weight of his unease pressed on. “Is this about the whole déjà vu thing?” you pressed, glancing sideways at him.

Dean blinked, trying to focus. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m reliving almost the exact same moments,” he said, his voice tight with frustration.

And as if on cue, the same guys from the dream appeared in front of you.

“I told you it wouldn’t fit!” one of them groaned, pushing a heavy piano with all his might, as if trying to will it through the doorway. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his muscles straining with the effort.

“What do you want, a Pulitzer?” the second guy shot back, his voice laced with annoyance. The sight was almost surreal, like watching a bad rerun of the exact same scene.

You and Dean exchanged a look, eyes narrowing at the ridiculousness of the situation. But Dean didn’t seem to move, he stayed frozen, the sound of the men’s argument pulling him deeper into the feeling of déjà vu, like a door he couldn’t escape.

“Is it still happening?” you asked, your voice quiet, noticing the way Dean was staring, distant and unsettled. He only nodded in response.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice strained. “It’s like… look, we were at the Mystery Spot, and then—” His throat tightened, his words tripping over themselves as he tried to make sense of it. “And then… I woke up.”

His voice trailed off, and you tilted your head, noticing how his gaze wavered, as if trying to hold back something—something deeper.

You blinked, a slight catch in your breath. Was that… a tear?

The air between you thickened with the weight of unspoken things, and you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, “And then what?”

Dean swallowed hard, and for a brief moment, you could see the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability that he didn’t often show. “I woke up, Y/N,” he repeated, his words breaking the silence. He didn’t elaborate, but the emptiness in his tone told you everything. The pain was still fresh.

You two kept walking in silence, but the tension between you was palpable. Then, with sudden urgency, Dean spoke up. “Wait a minute. The Mystery Spot. We’ve gotta check it out. Maybe it has something to do with this.”

You paused, looking at him skeptically. “Okay?” you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty. “We’ll go tonight after closing?”

Dean spun around to face you, halting both of you in your tracks. His eyes were wide, his urgency clear. “No.”

You raised an eyebrow, confusion and frustration swirling inside you. “Why not?”

Dean shifted uneasily, a forced smile pulling at his lips. “Uh…let’s just go now,” he said, almost too quickly, his voice strained. “Right now. Business hours… nice and crowded.”

Your brow furrowed even more. “My God, what the hell is wrong with you, Dean?” You couldn’t hide the irritation in your voice now, your hands resting firmly on your hips. Something was off. Something in his eyes told you that this was more than just a simple detour.

“Y/N…” he pleaded, his eyes softening with a desperation you didn’t fully understand.

You sighed, shaking your head in disbelief, but finally relented. “Okay, fine. We’ll go now,” you muttered, frustration laced in your tone as you walked past him and into the street.

Dean was only a few steps behind, but you didn’t realize how quickly things were about to unravel.

As you reached the crosswalk, a car sped by, and in an instant, you were struck. You flew backward, your body slamming into the pavement with a sickening thud.

Time seemed to freeze as Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach, the world around him going eerily still.

“Y/N!” he screamed, his voice filled with pure terror. His legs moved before his brain could even register, and he rushed to where you lay in a pool of your own blood on the concrete.

His breath hitched in his chest as he knelt down beside you, his hands shaking as he pulled you into his arms.

But when he looked down at you, his world stopped.

Your eyes were glossed over, and blood trickled from the corner of your mouth. Your body was limp in his arms, lifeless.

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he desperately pulled you closer.

You were gone.

Again.

──────────────────────

Dean woke up with a gasp, his heart thundering painfully in his chest. Sweat clung to his skin, and for a moment, he thought he was suffocating. His mind raced, trying to understand the dream, or was it a dream?

A familiar tune filled the air, its haunting melody wrapping around his thoughts like a chain. Come As You Are by Nirvana. The same damn song.

Dean shot up in panic, his breathing shallow and erratic, his eyes wide as he searched the room. The last time he’d woken up to that song, it had been the beginning of another hellish cycle. He’d hoped it was just a nightmare.

But no.

There you were, standing by the door, your jacket in hand, adjusting it as the soft morning light spilled across your figure. The room looked exactly the same—nothing had changed.

The exact same.

You turned toward him, an eyebrow arched in playful concern, a smirk tugging at your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck,” you teased, your voice light, effortlessly playful. As if nothing was wrong. “C’mon, it’s just Tuesday. You planning to sleep all day, or are you gonna join the living?”

Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest. Tuesday? Again?

A tremor ran through his body, and for a moment, his world tilted on its axis. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He felt… trapped.

His mind was swirling with confusion, his body heavy with exhaustion. The same damn Tuesday over and over again. The same damn morning, the same damn conversation, the same damn events.

His eyes flickered to the clock, then to the door.

You were already moving, oblivious to the torment flashing behind his eyes. Every time you walked through that door, he lost you.

Every single damn time. He couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard he tried.

He blinked hard, swallowing down the panic clawing up his throat. “I’m—I’m fine,” he stammered, forcing a breath through his chest. “I just—” His mind was so clouded with what felt like a thousand lives lived in the blink of an eye. He rubbed his face, trying to shake the feeling of déjà vu, but nothing felt real anymore.

You were already halfway to the door, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Hurry up, Winchester,” you called back over your shoulder, your voice light. “That diner’s not gonna wait for us.”

Dean blinked again. You were alive, and yet every single time, no matter how hard he tried to stop it, the outcome remained the same.

You died. Every single time.

──────────────────────

One time, you were laughing at something stupid Dean had said, your voice light and carefree as you took a bite of your food.

Then, in the next instant, your face turned red, your eyes wide with panic. You gasped for air, your hands clawing at your throat as the food lodged there.

Dean froze, his own breath caught in his chest as he scrambled to help you. His hands were shaking as he tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver, but it was no use. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and just like that, you were gone.

And then...It was Tuesday.

Again.

──────────────────────

Another time, it was a piano. You had been walking next to him, talking about the case.

Dean barely heard you, his mind a mess of frustration and confusion. But when the piano fell, seemingly out of nowhere, he turned in slow motion, his chest seizing with dread as it plummeted toward you.

He screamed your name, but it was too late.

The piano crashed down onto you, pinning you beneath its weight. Blood pooled around your head, and Dean’s knees buckled as he fell beside you. His hands trembled as he tried to lift the heavy instrument off your broken body, but it was impossible.

You were gone. Again.

Then, the song blared again.

──────────────────────

Time after time, the same scene played out. Getting shot at the mystery spot. A car accident. A falling shelf. Choking. Getting smashed by a piano. A malfunctioning electrical wire that shot sparks and ignited an explosion....Each time, you died in some random, unpreventable way.

It happened over and over again. And every time, it was the same gut-wrenching devastation.

Dean was always powerless.

He screamed your name, his voice raw, desperate, as if somehow that could stop the inevitable. His heart shattered all over again as he knelt beside you, cradling your lifeless body in his arms.

But It was like he was trapped in his own personal hell, forced to relive the same agony over and over.

The crushing weight of loss never lessened, and each death was a new wound, a deeper scar, shredding him to pieces.

──────────────────────

By the hundredth Tuesday, Dean was just… done.

He was tired of the same damn day playing over and over again. Tired of watching you die in every possible way, shot, choked, crushed, electrocuted. It was all random, all brutal, and it never got easier.

Every time he wanted to say something, wanted to tell you how he felt, wanted to kiss you, but damn it—but he couldn’t.

Not when you wouldn’t remember. Not when he’d lose you again in the next loop. It was like being stuck in a nightmare that never ended.

He couldn’t keep doing this. He couldn’t keep watching you die over and over again and pretending like he was fine.

So when that damn song started blasting through the radio again, the one that used to be comforting but now just felt like torture—Dean lost it.

He glared at the radio, his patience snapping. Without thinking, he slammed his hand down on it, cutting off the music that had started to drive him crazy.

──────────────────────

Dean sat in the booth, his gaze hard and distant. He wasn’t paying attention to the endless chatter around him, his mind racing a mile a minute.

You were still trying to wrap your head around what he’d told you. “So, you’re caught in a time loop?” You asked, skepticism lacing your voice. The whole thing sounded insane, even for you.

“Eat your breakfast.” Dean’s tone was rough, his eyes briefly flicking over to you before turning back to whatever caught his attention in the diner.

You raised an eyebrow at his sharpness, confused. “What the hell is up with you?” you muttered under your breath, but he didn’t react. You sighed and rolled your eyes, shaking your head.

Dean, meanwhile, kept his eyes locked on the man in the suit who had been in the diner every damn day. The same guy who always showed up, always ordered the same thing, and always left at the exact same time. But this time, Dean had had enough.

Without another word, he slid out of the booth and followed the man, his frustration bubbling over.

“The hell, Dean?” You grumbled, quickly tossing cash on the table and shoving your wallet back into your jacket before darting after him. “Where are you going?”

Dean didn’t respond, and by the time you reached the door, he was already outside, chasing the guy down.

You didn’t even have to break your stride to catch up. Just as you were about to reach him, Dean shoved the suited man hard against a chain-link fence, the impact making the man grunt in surprise.

“Hey!” the man yelped, but Dean didn’t let up. His anger was clear, his jaw clenched tight as he kept the man pinned.

And then, you saw it. Dean’s eyes—dark and icy, full of raw fury. It sent a shiver rolling down your spine.

“I know who you are, you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, pushing harder into the man’s chest, making him wince. “Or should I say what you are?” He cocked his head, his voice low and menacing.

“Dean—” You started, trying to get his attention, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh my god, please don’t kill me!” The man stammered, sweat dotting his forehead.

“Dean, stop!” You reached out to grab his arm, but he didn’t move. He was focused, laser-focused on this guy.

“It took me a hell of a long time,” Dean muttered, his hand tightening around the man’s collar. “But I got it.”

The man’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice shook, but Dean just smirked in response.

“It’s your M.O.,” Dean continued, his words coming out slow, deliberate. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just desserts. Your kind loves that, huh?”

The man squirmed under Dean’s grip, fear flashing across his face. “Yeah, sure, okay. Just put the stake down,” he begged, his voice almost a whimper.

Dean’s hand clenched around the stake, and you finally noticed it—how tightly he was holding it, how dangerous this situation was.

“Dean, maybe you should—”

“No!” Dean snapped, his voice seething with rage. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops… You’d have to be a god. You’d have to be a trickster.”

“Mister, my name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia. I’ve got two kids! I sell ad space! For crying out loud, just let me go!” The man was practically crying now, but Dean wasn’t hearing it.

“Don’t lie to me!” Dean yelled, his grip tightening until the man was choking. “I know what you are! We’ve killed one of your kind before!”

Before you could say another word to try and calm Dean down, the man’s face morphed—changed entirely into a face you knew all too well.

“Actually, bucko,” the trickster’s voice was unmistakable, and Dean’s grip loosened slightly. “You didn’t.” The trickster grinned, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he looked between you and Dean.

Dean’s anger only deepened. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded, pushing the trickster harder against the fence, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

The trickster just smirked, unfazed. “You’re joking, right? You Winchesters tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this?” He shrugged as if it was all just a game.

You stepped up beside them, unable to hold back anymore. “What about Hasselback? Huh? What’d you do to him?”

The trickster’s eyes flickered to you, then back to Dean. “That putz? He didn’t believe in wormholes, so I dropped him in one.” The trickster laughed, his expression wicked as he glanced between the two of you. “And then, you two showed up. I made you the second you hit town.”

“So, this is fun for you?” Dean’s voice was cold, his eyes narrowing. “Killing Y/N over and over again?”

The trickster raised an eyebrow, looking utterly unconcerned. “One? Yeah, it’s fun,” he smirked, “and two? This isn’t even about killing her. This joke? Is on you, Dean. Watching the woman you’re in love with die… every day… forever.”

Your heart stopped. The words hit like a ton of bricks. Dean didn’t confirm it, but his silence said everything.

You looked at him, your breath caught in your throat. Was it true? Was he really in love with you? Was this some sick game?

Dean’s face contorted into pure rage, and his fist clenched around the stake. “You son of a bitch,” he growled, his voice a deadly whisper.

“Tell me, how long will it take you to realize—” The trickster started, but Dean cut him off.

“I kill you, this all ends. Now.” Dean’s voice was like gravel, low and dangerous. He shoved the stake harder against the trickster’s stomach, a threat hanging in the air.

“Whoa, okay! Alright,” the trickster groaned, raising his hands. “Look, I was just playing around. Fine, fine, you’re out of it. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and it’ll be Wednesday. I swear.”

“Lying piece of shit,” Dean muttered under his breath, not buying it.

“If I am…” The trickster tilted his head, still smirking. “You know where to find me. I’ll be at the diner. Having pancakes.”

Dean shook his head, his jaw set tight. “No. It’s easier just to kill you.”

“Sorry, kiddo, can’t have that,” the trickster taunted, his eyes flicking to you. “Nice to see you alive and well, doll.”

Before you could even say anything or Dean could react, the trickster snapped his fingers.

──────────────────────

Dean’s eyes snapped open, but this time it wasn’t Nirvana blasting from the radio. It was Night Moves, that old classic, crackling through the speakers.

He jolted upright, blinking against the confusion as his eyes darted to the radio. Instead of reading ‘Tuesday,’ it flashed Wednesday. His heart skipped a beat.

He quickly scanned the room and there you were, in the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, your back to him as you hummed along to the tune.

“You gonna sleep all day?” you teased, giggling to yourself as you set the pot down and took a sip from the mug.

Dean rubbed his face, still processing, but he couldn’t help but grin at you. “No Nirvana?” he asked, his voice sounding way too groggy for his liking.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him over your mug. “Yeah, I know. This station sucks, but hey at least Night Moves is playing,” you laughed.

But Dean’s brain was running a hundred miles an hour.

Wednesday. It's Wednesday.

His heart fluttered with excitement and relief. He blinked, looking around again as if he expected everything to change, to make sense.

“Wait, hold on,” Dean muttered, his voice a little shaky. “What do you remember?” Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed, rubbing his hand through his hair.

You looked at him over the rim of your cup, a bit confused by his urgency. “I remember you losing it yesterday, almost going insane, and then… running into the Trickster…” You trailed off, your voice faltering slightly as you remembered his words.

Dean’s stomach dropped. His mind clicked into place, memories of the Trickster’s taunting words rushing back to him.

He hadn’t thought about what you’d overheard until now, and suddenly, he found himself pushing. “What all do you remember? You know… what the Trickster said?” Dean’s voice was tight as he slowly made his way toward you, his throat tight with nerves.

You shifted uncomfortably, your cheeks turning an unexpected shade of red. “Oh, uh… nothing much, really,” you muttered, trying to brush it off.

But as you turned your head, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice, he was already right in front of you. He saw everything. Every tiny movement, every little change in your face.

Dean was too close now, his voice soft but firm. “I know you heard him, Y/N.” His eyes flickered over the side of your face, almost as if he could see right through you. Then, with a tenderness you hadn’t expected, his hand reached up to gently turn your face toward him, his finger barely grazing your skin.

Your breath caught in your throat at the touch. It felt so… intimate. So delicate. Your pulse was racing, and for a second, you wondered if he could feel it, too.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing heart. “Is it true?” you whispered, barely able to get the words out.

Dean’s own heart was pounding in his chest, the sound of it loud in his ears.

This was it. The moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he’d told himself he would seize after all those damn Tuesdays of watching you die over and over again.

And now, he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

You remembered. You were safe. And he wasn’t going to wait another second.

So he didn’t say a word. Instead, Dean cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he leaned in. Without hesitation, his lips met yours. The kiss was soft, gentle, but it hit you like a lightning bolt.

Every nerve in your body lit up, sparking with something you couldn’t quite explain, a warmth spreading through you that you hoped would never end.

The world around you seemed to disappear as you melted into the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him to be even closer than he already was.

Every inch of you seemed to hum with the connection, the warmth, the intensity. His lips were soft but insistent against yours, igniting something deep inside you that you never knew you were capable of feeling.

Dean’s hands were gentle as they cupped your face, his fingers trembling slightly, like he couldn’t believe this was finally happening.

The kiss deepened, and you couldn’t tell where your heartbeat ended and his began, but it felt like everything you’d been waiting for, everything you’d been holding back, was finally spilling out. As the kiss lingered, your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t want to break it. You didn’t want this moment to end.

But eventually, you pulled back, both of you breathless, faces flushed, hearts pounding in unison. You didn’t move far—just enough to look up at him, your arms still wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Dean’s gaze softened, but there was a storm of emotions swirling in his eyes, ones you couldn’t quite name.

He swallowed hard, his voice low but steady. "I love you,” he confessed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I’ve been in love with you for so damn long, and fuck, I’ve been terrified of losing you, terrified of not being able to say it, but now… after everything… I can’t keep it in anymore. I can’t pretend it didn't kill me watching you die over and over again. I just can’t…”

His breath hitched, and you could see the weight of his words pressing down on him. But it was the truth. And somehow, with the weight of it in the air between you, you felt the same truth flicker in your chest.

You smiled softly, your heart aching with the same confession you’d been holding inside for far too long. “I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice shaky but sure. “I always have.”

Dean’s expression softened, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His lips curled into a half-smile, a mixture of disbelief and pure relief flooding his face. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low, rough around the edges.

You nodded, your chest swelling with the emotion that had been quietly building for so long. “Yeah,” you repeated, more confidently this time, as you pressed your forehead to his.

And Dean closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything lifting, but only slightly. He pulled you closer again, his hands running through your hair, gently tugging you back into another kiss.

But this time, it was different, softer, sweeter, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for so long.

And as you kissed him again, Dean knew, deep down, that nothing would ever be the same.

You weren’t stuck in a time loop anymore.

The future was unknown, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was you, the one who held his heart in your hands, and the one who he'd never let go of again.

author’s note:

hi, nonny! I hope you like this one! I know it was a bit sad but figured the happy ending was worth it :)…I honestly had the idea pop into my head after watching that same episode the other week and thought it would be interesting to switch things up a bit. sorry for the wait! I had been working on this for a little bit and wanted to make it perfect :)

hope you guys enjoyed! ❤︎

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tags:

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[ambiguous-avery]

HI HI BESTIE - I'VE GOT A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR YOU:

Picture this: Dean on his last hunt had to bite on a hammer's handle (huh, I wonder where that one came from?) and CRACK - of course, one of his teeth cracked in half. Now he's forced to go to a dental clinic. How do you think would he manage the appointment?

Probably the weirdest question I've ever asked so far but you do with it what you want, it's your problem now. 🤡 //runs like the wind

Hello, hello bestie!

Wow, what a question! And I mean that in a good way lol hopefully you’re talking about the handle of a regular ol’ hammer and not Mjolnir. At least a wooden handle of a hammer would be less damaging! What a niche question - I love it!

Bit of background for anyone who doesn’t know, but I work in the dental field, so this is right up my alley! I couldn’t decide how I wanted to respond to this, so have an extended drabble! Sorry, it turned into a really long piece.

Tooth Hurty

No Pairings | WC: 2520

Summary: Dean goes to the dentist

Tags/Warnings: Dental terms, detailed dental procedure, Dean’s got a fear of dentists, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Title comes from the punch line of “When’s the best time to go to the dentist?”

Dean had been through a lot. He knew pain. He had dealt with being stabbed and shot and thrown against various things in his life. He’d been through literal Hell before.

But this? This was something else.

This was deeper. More profound. An ache that throbbed everytime he moved his jaw. And he used his jaw for like... everything. Eating, talking, hell, even when he swallowed. Mouth pain was a totally different ball game than any other kind of pain.

“You should really get that checked out, Dean,” Sam said without bothering to look up from his book. Dean rolled his eyes at him over it. Some Advil and Tylenol would be fine, and everything would be better in a couple days.

It wasn’t.

By day three, Dean was ready to rip the tooth out himself. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t see much, even with a flashlight. He wasn’t a professional, but there was definitely something wrong in there. His gums were red and swollen, and when he pressed gently around his back molar, a shock of pain made him grip the bathroom sink with white knuckles.

“Son of a bitch,” he hissed, his eyes watering involuntarily.

He stumbled back into the motel room to find Sam staring at him with that patented little-brother concern that always made Dean feel like he was five again.

“Dude, seriously. It’s not going to get better on its own.”

“It’s just a toothache, Sammy. Not exactly apocalyptic.” Sam closed his laptop with a definitive click.

“No, but infections can spread. Remember that hunter in Nebraska? Bobby said he lost half his jaw because he was too stubborn to see a dentist.”

Dean winced, partly from the pain shooting through his jaw as he clenched it and partly from the unwelcome image Sam had just planted in his head.

“That was different,” Dean argued. “That guy got his teeth knocked out by a werewolf. Mine’s probably just a cavity or something.” Sam gave him a look, the one that said he wasn’t buying any of Dean’s crap.

“Then it should be a quick fix. I already found a dentist in town who can see you tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Dean’s voice definitely didn’t crack. No, siree, it didn’t. “Don’t they need like... weeks of notice?”

“I told them it was an emergency.” Sam’s expression softened. “Look, I know you hate dentists–”

“I don’t hate dentists,” Dean cut in far too quickly.

“Right... And I don’t hate clowns.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go. Get it fixed. Then we can focus on the case.” Dean muttered something under his breath that might have been an agreement or might have been a string of curses. With the way his tooth was throbbing, even he wasn’t totally sure.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. Every position seemed to make the pain worse. Around 2 AM, Dean gave up and shuffled to the bathroom, fumbling through his toiletry bag until he found the small flask he kept for emergencies. This definitely qualified. The whisky burned going down, but the warmth that spread through his chest was worth it. He took another swig, hoping that the alcohol would numb the pain enough to catch a few hours of sleep before his appointment.

When the morning came, Dean was a mess of nerves and lingering pain. He downed another shot of whiskey with his coffee while Sam pretended not to notice.

“It’s at 10:30,” Sam reminded him. Dean answered with a grunt, his fingers drumming against the Impala’s keys in his pocket.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Dean said as they pulled into the parking lot of “Smile Shack,” a name that made his stomach clench. “I’m not a kid.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam muttered. He followed Dean into the office.

The waiting room was too bright. Too cheerful. With posters of perfect smiles that seemed to mock him. Dean filled out the paperwork with shaky handwriting, grateful for the lingering burn of whiskey in his system to keep him from bolting. The assistant, a perky blond with a smile too wide for her face, called his name with far too much enthusiasm.

“Dean Winchester? We’re ready for you.”

Dean rose slowly, his legs surprisingly unsteady beneath him. He seriously considered making a run for it. He’d faced down demons with more courage than he had in the present moment, but the throbbing in his jaw reminded him why he was here. The dental assistant led him to a room with an ominous-looking chair in the center. Various metal instruments were arranged neatly on a tray beside it, each one more terrifying than the one before it.

“First time in a while?” she asked kindly, noticing his hesitation.

“Something like that,” Dean managed, his throat clicking dryly. The last dentist he’d seen was in a free clinic when he was fourteen after Dad had finally noticed his swollen face from a molar that had been bothering him for weeks. The memory wasn’t exactly comforting.

“Have a seat,” the assistant instructed, motioning to the chair. “Dr. Mitchell will be with you shortly.” Dean lowered himself into the chair, gripping the armrests tightly as it automatically reclined. The ceiling lights beamed down on him like he was in an interrogation room.

“Hello,” came a cheerful voice from the doorway. “I’m Dr. Mitchell. What brings you in today?” Dr. Mitchell was younger than Dean expected with kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when she smiled. Despite himself, Dean felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Back molar,” he said. “Right side. Been killing me for days.”

“Let’s take a look, shall we?” She snapped on the nitrile gloves with practiced efficiency while the assistant took up a spot on Dean’s left. “Open wide for me.”

Dean complied, fighting every instinct to close his mouth as Dr. Mitchell leaned over him with a small mirror and what looked like a miniature pirate hook. His fingers dug deeper into the armrests. Dr. Mitchell made a low noise of understanding, gently probing around Dean’s aching tooth. Even her careful touch sent lightning bolts of pain through Dean’s jaw. “I see the problem. Looks like the molar has cracked. Did you bite down on something hard?”

Dean made a noncommittal sound, the best he could manage with the doctor’s instruments in his mouth.

“We’ll need to take an X-ray to see the full extent, but I suspect that the tooth needs to come out.” Dr. Mitchell removed her tools and straightened up. “Have you had any fever or swelling in your neck?”

“No,” Dean lied instinctively, ignoring the fact that his neck had felt stiff when he woke up. He’d faced worse. Much worse. Dr. Mitchell gave him a look that suggested she didn’t quite believe what Dean said but didn’t press the issue.

“The whiskey on your breath isn’t helping your case, Mr. Winchester.”

“Just a little liquid courage,” he tried to defend, though Dean felt heat rise to his face.

“I understand dental anxiety,” she said without judgement. “But alcohol thins your blood. Not ideal before oral surgery.”

“Surgery?” Dean repeated, the word sticking in his dry throat.

“Nothing invasive,” she assured him. “But the tooth needs to come out today. The infection is quite advanced.”

The assistant returned with the X-ray equipment, and Dean endured the uncomfortable process of having various plastic contraptions shoved into his mouth. Each click of the machine sounded like a death knell. When Dr. Mitchell returned with his X-rays displayed on a tablet, her expression confirmed Dean’s fears.

“As I expected, the crack extends into the root. We need to extract it today.” She pointed to the dark shadows around the tooth. “This area here shows infection. You’re lucky you came in when you did.” Dean didn’t feel lucky in the slightest. He felt like he might puke. “We can do this local anesthesia,” Dr. Mitchell continued, “but given your anxiety level, I can also offer nitrous oxide. Laughing gas.”

“I’m not anxious,” Dean protested automatically. Dr. Mitchell pointedly glanced at his white-knuckled grip on the armrests.

“Of course not. But the nitrous can make the experience more... pleasant.” Dean swallowed hard. The idea of being even slightly out of control made every hunter instinct in him scream in protest. But the persistent ache in his jaw was quickly overriding his caution.

“Fine,” he agreed. “Hit me with the gas.”

Dr. Mitchell nodded to her assistant who wheeled over a small tank with a mask attached.

“You’ll feel relaxed. Maybe a bit light-headed. But patients find things funnier than usual, but I assure you that it wears off quickly once we turn it off.” Dean nodded stiffly as the mask was placed over his nose. “Just breathe normally through your nose,” Dr. Mitchell instructed. “We’ll give it a few moments to kick in before we numb the area.”

The first few breaths felt no different than regular air. There was no strange smell, no sign that anything was any different. Dean focused on the ceiling, counting the seconds and waiting for this whole nightmare to be over. Then, gradually, something shifted. The edges of his vision softened. The ceiling stain started to look less like a problem and more like an abstract painting. Kind of fascinating, really.

“Feeling any different?” Dr. Mitchell’s voice seemed like she was both near and far at the same time.

“Maybe a little,” Dean admitted, surprised to find that his grip on the armrests had loosened. The pain was still there, but somehow it didn’t seem as important anymore.

“Good. I’m going to numb the area now. Just a small pinch.” Dean nodded, watching with detached interest as she prepared the syringe. Normally, the sight would’ve had his heart racing, but now, he found himself uncharacteristically curious about the whole process.

“You know,” he began, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, “I’ve been shot before. Stabbed, too. This shouldn’t be a big deal.” Dr. Mitchell paused, syringe halfway to Dean’s mouth.

“I’m sorry... what?”

“Hunting accident. A few of ‘em, actually,” Dean mumbled, finding it increasingly difficult to care about maintaining his usual cover story. “This one time in Pennsylvania, got tossed through a window by a–” He caught himself just in time, “–bear.”

“I see...” Dr. Mitchell said carefully. “Well, this will be much less dramatic. Small pinch now.” Dean barely felt the needle. His mind was drifting pleasantly, untethered from his usual constant vigilance. He wondered if this was how normal people felt all the time. Not scanning for threats. Not carrying the weight of the world.

“You have nice eyes,” he said to the assistant who smiled politely at him. “Very symmetrical.”

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Dean,” he corrected, finding himself oddly chatty. “Mr. Winchester was my dad. He’d think this was hilarious. Me freaking out over a tooth.” He guffawed, and it felt good. Like releasing pressure from a valve.

“Well I’m glad you came in despite your nerves,” the assistant said.

“The area should be getting numb now. Can you feel this?” Dr. Mitchell asked as she tapped something against his gum. Dean felt pressure but nothing more.

“Nope. ‘S weird.” His tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

“Perfect. We’re going to get started then. You might feel some pressure, but it shouldn’t hurt at all.” Dean nodded, suddenly fascinated by the ceiling tiles again. Had they always been so intricate? He could see patterns forming and dissolving as he stared.

Time seemed to stretch and compress in strange ways. Dean was vaguely away of Dr. Mitchell working in his mouth. Pressure. The occasional sound of something cracking. Hushed instructions to her assistant. But everything felt distant. Like it was happening to someone else rather than him.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Mitchell assured him. “Almost done.”

“My brother,” Dean found himself saying around the instruments in his mouth. “He’s the one who made me come. Always looking for me. Since we were young.”

“Mmhmm,” Dr. Mitchell responded, clearly more focused on her work than Dean’s rambling.

“Saved the world once,” Dean continued, unable to find the control to stop himself. “Well, more than once. People don’t even know. That’s the thing about... about hunting. Nobody knows when you save ‘em.”

“That’s... nice,” the assistant said uncertainly, exchanging a quick glance with Dr. Mitchell. “I’m sure everyone appreciates your... hunting.” Dean felt a strange tug in his mouth followed by a triumphant “There we go!” from Dr. Mitchell.

“Is that my tooth?” Dean asked, trying to see what she had.

“Yes, and it was definitely the culprit. We’ll irrigate the socket now and place some gauze.” She held up the extracted molar. “Would you like to keep it?” Dean stared at the bloody tooth, oddly fascinated by the shape of it.

“Yeah. Souvenir.”

The assistant placed the tooth in a small, plastic container while Dr. Mitchell went over post-extraction care. Dean nodded along, only catching every third word or so as the nitrous kept his mind pleasantly adrift.

“We’ll start tapering off the nitrous now and switch you to oxygen,” Dr. Mitchell said, adjusting something on the tank. “You’ll start to feel more alert soon.”

As promised, the foggy, pleasant sensation began to recede. And with it came the creeping awareness of what he had been saying. Had he really mentioned hunting? Saving the world? Dean grimaced internally. Hopefully they’d just chalk it up to the ramblings of a nervous man out of his mind.

“Feeling more like yourself?” Dr. Mitchell asked, removing the mask from his face.

“Yeah,” he said around the gauze in his mouth. The local anesthetic was still in effect, making half his face feel like it belonged to someone else.

“You did very well,” she said, patting his shoulder. “I’m prescribing antibiotics to clear up that infection and some pain medication for the next few days. No drinking, smoking, or using straws for at least 72 hours. You don’t want a dry socket.”

Dean nodded, taking the papers she handed to him. The room seemed overly bright now that the nitrous had worn off. Reality was setting back in.

“Your brother is waiting for you in the reception area,” the assistant informed him, helping him stand. “I’ll walk you out.” Dean followed her on slightly shaky legs, his dignity barely intact. The extraction site was beginning to throb dully beneath the numbness, a warning of the pain to come. Dean paused as they passed a small counter littered with small toys and trinkets.

“Can I have one of these?” he asked. The assistant glanced from him to the counter top.

“Sure,” she said with a smile. He grinned as best as he could before snagging one of the neon green sticky hands, the plastic crinkling in his hand. As he stepped back out into the waiting room, Sam stood up, concern etched on his face.

“You okay?” he asked, eyeing the gauze peeking out from Dean’s mouth. Dean flashed him a thumbs up and held up the tooth-shaped container and sticky hand.

“Got some souvenirs. Wanna see?”

---

Dean taglist: @jollyhunter @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @maddie0101 @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind @kiddieclaws @mostlymarvelgirl @rurwu @imalapdog

[allthesmutl0vers]

The Fate Of Us: Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Y/n

One Week Later

To say that living with Bobby is great is an understatement. Ever since I showed up at his door a week ago, he has taken me in as his own. Well, technically, I am his flesh and blood… But it’s nothing like it was to live with my father.

Bobby has taken me under his wing and taught me so many things in just one short week. He’s shown me how to work on cars, patiently explaining the different parts and how to troubleshoot any issues on my own.

He’s also shown me a few fighting moves. According to Bobby, just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to fight. At the same time, I’ve told him a few things I’ve picked up from watching the show. For example, to kill a dragon, you need to use something called ‘The sword of Bruncvik.’ Or that curing the virus from the darkness— which I also explained— you simply pour holy oil over the blackened veins.

Today, the anticipation is electric as I prepare to meet Sam and Dean. My nerves are on edge, but the excitement is undeniable.

Bobby told me not to worry. That even though Dean is a little rough around the edges, he’s a good guy. And that he’s sure that Sam is just as nice as he seems.

I’m trying to focus on writing my novel, thankful that I was able to bring my laptop and phone here with me. Even more thankful that they still work and are somehow still connected to my old world. Usually, I’d watch Supernatural to calm my nerves and anxiety, but something about watching it inside Bobby’s house just feels wrong.

Instead of seeking solace in Supernatural, I turn to my world of words. I’m diving into my new novel, a dark college bully romance. As I shut out the new world around me, I feel a sense of purpose and escape, ready to immerse myself in my writing.

I’m just starting on the second chapter when I hear someone clear their throat behind me. I jump, almost knocking over my laptop, as I turn around to see Bobby with Sam and Dean standing on either side of him.

God have mercy. The show did not prepare me for how tall they actually are.

Sam is obviously taller than Dean, but actually, being in front of him, I can see how hazel his eyes actually are. A deep, warm brown in the center, with a pale green around the edges. His body is massive, standing at at least six foot eight. His biceps pressed against the short sleeves of his t-shirt. But he’s not intimidating; instead, he feels inviting. Like the kind of guy you could just relax and hang out with, doing something by doing nothing.

Then there’s Dean. Good lord… Deep emerald green eyes that feel too green to be real, his gaze piercing through me as he seems to analyze me for any threat risks. Though he’s not as tall as Sam is, he’s still tall. Standing at somewhere around maybe six foot four. Either way, both of them are a foot or more taller than I am. Dean’s arms are crossed over his chest, suggesting he feels wary about me and my presence here. He doesn’t make me feel unwelcome here, just out of place.

I shift on my feet as Bobby clears his throat again. “I told you, boys, she sure does love to write,” Bobby chuckles. Sam chuckles with him, giving me a small smirk as Dean’s face remains almost unreadable. “Boys, this is y/n. Y/n, this is Sam and Dean.”

Sam is the first one to step forward, leaning slightly over the back of the couch and holding out his hand. “Nice to meet you. Don’t mind Dean,” Sam chuckles as he shakes my hand.

I smile softly and nod my head once. “Y/n, nice to meet you too,” I respond, trying not to feel so nervous. “And I’ll try.”

Sam smiles a little more broadly, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair. “So, uh, Bobby said you’re not from around here,” Sam says politely.

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. “That’s one way of saying it,” he says grumpily.

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth.

Oh God, he hates me. Maybe I should’ve had Chuck at least make him more welcoming to me. This sucks.

No. No, y/n, this is better. This is real. It’s not right to manipulate how people feel about you.

I clear my throat and look at Dean. “What’s the other way to say it?” I ask, challenging him and cocking a brow in his direction. I took shit from Jim for too long, I won’t take it from Dean too. No matter how much it may hurt.

Dean narrows his eyes at me, straightening his back and taking a step closer, keeping his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I was going to say you don’t belong here. This isn’t your world. Why don’t you go back to yours where everything is all sunshine and rainbows and leave the monsters to the professionals.” He spits back.

“Dean!” Bobby says loudly behind him.

Now I’m fuming. I clench my jaw and step right up to him, looking into his dark green eyes. “Ever stop to think that God brought me here to save your asses? From that giant ass ego, you’re carrying around?” I snap back at him.

Dean’s nostrils flare as I see my own anger reflected back at me. I’m so focused on not backing down from Dean that I barely hear Sam and Bobby snicker.

Dean looks me up and down as if he’s sizing me up. Dean leans down to my ear, and I fight to keep myself from shivering as he whispers in my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine. “Stay out of my way, little girl, or you’ll find out what part of me is even bigger than my ego. And I won’t go easy on you either.”

My breath hitches in my chest as I fight the urge to clench my thighs together. Dean leans back and cocks an eyebrow at me before turning back to Bobby and Sam. Dean walks out of the living room and into the kitchen. Sam follows Dean, shaking his head at his brother.

“Did he threaten you, darlin’?” Bobby asks, leaning down to my height. I shake my head no because I can’t repeat what Dean just said to anyone, especially Bobby. “Alright, well, let’s go eat.”

Bobby walks into the kitchen, leaving me in the living room. I suck in a breath, gathering my composure before I enter the kitchen.

I take a seat at the table between Bobby and Sam, sitting directly across from Dean. “So,” Sam clears his throat, looking at me. “How do you like it here so far?” Sam asks me as Bobby places a pot of spaghetti on the table.

I give him a small smile. “I really like it. I’ve learned a lot here, and I can’t wait to meet more people,” I respond kindly.

“Bobby mentioned that in your world, this is all a TV show? I think me and Dean have been to that world before,” Sam says, carrying on the conversation as he loads up his plate.

I nod my head. “Yeah, but it’s a little different from the one you guys went to. I remember that episode,” I say, taking the spoon from Sam, putting food on my plate, and passing it to Bobby.

“Oh? How so?” Sam asks with genuine curiosity as he takes a bite.

“Well, you did actually marry Ruby— Genieve is her name in my world,” Dean snickers across the table. I throw him a glare and continue. “She’s actually really nice; I’ve met her a few times. And Dean married an angel; her name here is Sister Jo, but in my world, it’s Danneel.”

“Dean? Marrying an angel?” Bobby quips with a chuckle.

I giggle softly. “But one thing that was vastly different was that in my world, you guys are best friends, more like brothers, just not blood-related.”

“Wow, that sounds a lot better than the world we went to. Huh, Dean?” Sam asks Dean, who is shoveling spaghetti in his mouth.

Dean swallows and takes a long drag of his beer. “I guess,” he shrugs. “Is there anything you don’t know?” Dean asks me in a mocking tone.

“Jesus, Dean, would it kill you to be nice?” Bobby asks him grumpily.

Dean shrugs. “Probably not. But who knows what she actually knows,” Dean says, taking another drink.

“I know your favorite porn is ‘Busty Asian Beauties,’” I fire back cockily as I take another bite.

Sam chokes on his beer, and Bobby’s eyes widen before he shakes his head, lowering it.

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. “So you know what kind of porn I like, so what? What about stuff I’ve done?” Dean asks, challenging me once again.

“Like the cool stuff you’ve killed?” I ask, taking a sip of my beer. Dean nods his head. I sigh and think back to stuff he’s killed. “Well, let’s see. I’d say Hitler was probably the coolest.”

“I killed Hitler?” Dean asks wide-eyed.

I nod my head. “But my favorite was probably when you killed Death.”

Dean laughs once and claps his hands with a victorious face. “See, now you’re making shit up. You can’t kill Death. He’s Death.”

I chuckle and lean on my elbows, locking my eyes on his. “You can if you kill him with his own scythe,” I quip back.

“She’s right,” Sam says, pointing at me with his beer bottle.

Dean looks at Sam with a glare. “Who’s side are you on, man?” Dean asks grumpily.

“We’re all on the same side, Dean,” Bobby answers before Sam can.

“And what side is that exactly?” Dean asks, looking at all three of us. “Because last I checked, I didn’t sign on for this job,” Dean looks directly at me. “Why are you even here exactly?” Dean asks.

I look at Bobby, who knows the deal I made with Chuck and why I’m here. Bobby nods once, and I look back at Dean. “I’m here to help God,” I respond, trying not to feel nervous and like I’m spilling a secret— But Chuck never said I couldn’t tell anyone why I’m here.

“What? You met him?” Sam asks from my right side. I turn to look at him and nod.

“Help him with what?” Dean asks, suddenly more interested.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. “He wants to be a better God. He wants a second chance instead of you guys killing him,” I respond to Dean.

“Excuse me, did you just say we kill God?” Dean asks wide-eyed.

I nod my head. “Well, Jack took his powers while he beat the shit out of you two and Cas—tiel,” I stop myself from using Castiel’s nickname, still unsure that I should be using it, considering I haven’t met him yet. “You didn’t really kill him yourselves, but you left him in the middle of the woods with no powers, and he almost died from not being able to survive in the wilderness.”

“Oh my god,” Sam mutters.

“He deserved it, don’t get me wrong. But he wants to be better, and so he called on an angel who took him back in time to about now, and he came to my world to bring me here and help him be better. Something about how he loves my writing, and how I know so much about this world and how it ended, and since he loves to write and knew I was miserable in my world, is what made him decide on me,” I explain to Sam and Dean.

“Mhm. And who is God exactly?” Dean asks skeptically.

I shrug my shoulders. “Chuck Shurley,” I respond, taking a sip of my beer.

“Chuck? As in, author of the Supernatural books Chuck?” Sam asks, surprised.

I nod my head, and Dean laughs, drawing my attention to him. “Bullshit, Chuck is a prophet, not God.”

“Right, he said that. But think about it, Dean,” I lean on the table again. “God has been hidden from angels and demons and everything else; what better place to hide than in plain sight?” I ask him.

“Alright, then explain to me why his name is on the list of prophets,” Dean challenges.

I can’t help but groan and roll my eyes at his arrogance. “And who makes the list of prophets?” I ask him.

“God does,” Sam answers from my side. I turn and nod my head.

Dean shakes his head. “So let me get this straight,” Dean pinches the spot on his nose between his eyes. “God went back in time, got his powers back, and brought you here, to our world, just because he didn’t want to die?” Dean asks.

I nod my head. “Essentially. He made a deal with me to come here and help him be a better God to change his fate.”

“And what was this deal exactly?” Dean asks.

“Boilerplate? That I got to come here because my life in my world sucked, that Bobby got to come back to life and everything here,” I motion around me. “Would be just as it was before the whole Leviathan thing, and that he couldn’t interfere with your lives, Castiel’s, Jody’s, Donna’s, Jack’s, anyone who knows you really, just because he was bored. Which is what he did before.”

“And in return, you just simply help him be a better dude?” Dean asks skeptically.

I nod my head. “Yeah, basically.”

Dean and Sam both slump back in their chairs. “Jesus,” Sam mutters.

Dean chugs the rest of his beer, tossing the empty bottle into the trash can. “Alright then. Guess we’re stuck with you for the time being,” Dean says to me with a cocky smirk on his lips.

I lean back in my chair and sip my beer. “Woe is you,” I reply in an equally mocking tone.

“This is going to be fun,” Sam says, chuckling in a playfully sarcastic tone.

Chapter Four

[nymph1e]

Let’s Talk About Storytelling

Hi @ronon-dex​ thanks for your super polite reply to this post! I was initally going to respond in the post, but it sort of turned into this whole meta, so I thought I’d transfer it here.

You do realize that the hero's journey and narrative symmetry doesn't ACTUALLY end with the characters in the exact same place, right? It ends with them going back to "normal" but with things changed.

I'll give you a good example of the heroes journey and narrative symmetry: Frodo in lotr. He starts out living in hobbitton happy, but he wants to leave and see the world and go on an adventure. He does that, but spends most of his journey wanting to come home. Only when he returns home he is so irrevocably changed that he can't find happiness in his home anymore and needs to leave.

Another good example of storytelling from the lord of the rings: Aragorn starts out denying his family legacy, and hiding from his destiny as a ranger. His story arc is about learning to accept his destiny, and take responsibility to be king. In the end, he grows as a character and becomes king. Now would his story have been satisfying if he'd gone back to be a ranger?

Another example, this time of bad storytelling, is Jaime Lannister, specifically in the Game of Thrones TV show. He starts off completely devoted to Cercei, and it's shown to be an unhealthy relationship. His character arc is about branching out as a person and separating himself from his toxic relationship with his sister. In the end, he dies with his sister, the thing he'd been fighting against the entire show. This was widely regarded to be a poor ending for his character.

So why is Jaime’s ending bad, when Frodo’s is good? Well the difference here is chnage, and satisfaction of story arc.

The Frodo ending works because while Frodo is off on his journey, all he wants is to go home, and when he gets that, it's not something he can have anymore. There's change in that storyline, even if on the surface it seems like he's come full circle, things are DIFFERENT. The plot of the story had an effect. Is it a happy ending? No. It’s tragic, but it fits in with the themes of the story.

Jaime’s ending doesn’t fit because nothing changes, and it doesn’t make sense in the story. The mesage of his story wasn’t “nobody can change” it was “anyone can change”, then it was destroyed when he doesn’t. Jaime could have had a tragic ending that made narrative sence, but his ending did not.

So does Supernatural’s ending fit with the story of Supernatural? No. Sam and Dean aren’t the people they were when that was their ending, but they're shoved back into it like round pegs into square holes. Does it sort of fit? Sure. But poorly.

Sam's character arc throughout the show has been him learning not to deal in absolutes. He believes that he can either be a hunter and have Dean in his life, or have a family, but he learns that he can have both through Eileen. So for him to end up with the white picket fence, alone, without his connection to hunting and his brother is dissatisfying.

Dean's story arc was about him learning that he wasn't just "daddy's blunt instument". That he was his own person, had his own fate and could be happy. So to have him die young while hunting is dissatisfying.

Now aside from the characters' arcs being left in the dirt from the ending, you also have the overarching message of the show.

For multiple seasons the message of the show was about carving your own path making your own destiny. So how exactly does them deciding to go full circle make any sense? I suppose you could say that the overall message of the show is "you can't fight fate", except its explicitly not, considering they defeated literal God the episode before.

Finally, since most people seem to think our problem with the end is about destiel, let's make a more narratively satisfying conclusion without it, hm?

First of all, don't have Cas confess his love in episode 18. If you're not going to follow it up in any way, then you shouldn't bring it up in the first place.

Sam marries Eileen, and they have a kid or two. They don't stay in the bunker, but they stay close, maybe they move into Lebanon. They still hunt, because Sam finds satisfaction in it, but it's no longer the sole focus of their entire lives. He get’s a melding of the two worlds he always thought couldn’t meet.

Dean settles into the bunker, but starts taking online classes, maybe he starts working in the mechanic shop in town. Cas and Jack live with him, because even without romance they're still family. Dean hunts a lot less, but starts coordinating hunters from the bunker. On weekends, he visits Sam, Eileen and the kids. He does what he always wanted but never expected to do: grows old and happy, surrounded by family.

Now look me in the face and tell me that's less satisfying then "Dean dies in a random hunt, Sam gives up hunting and marries a faceless woman".

[stanfordsweater]

@aftershocked

moving this here because you’ve brought up a TON of points i’d love to dig into and the tumblr reply system is garbage--

(under the cut: much talk of possessive sam vs. possessive dean, benefits of a long-running series, ooc actions vs. consistent characterization)

“they change a lot over 15 seasons but it's consistent enough” i feel like differences and inconsistencies in episodes/writing/seasons are one of the reasons (besides personal preference) that ppl get twisted around when it comes to possessive sam and possessive dean, like it’s easy to focus on one or two things w/o taking larger patterns or predominant characteristics into account.

also it’s easy to focus on like, smth happening a few times that is in contradiction to something that happened many other times, & not want to Deal with the complexities & contradictions—but the complexities are the best part! i’ve seen you talk about it before too, the benefits of a longrunning series where we get to really watch the characters grow from young men to essentially middle-aged,

you get to actually have characters w the kind of multifaceted personalities you’d expect of, like, normal people (just way more fucked up and traumatized). so yeah, dean isn’t always straightforward in the way he’s content with keeping sam with him, and can dip into weird behavior (ESPECIALLY in the sort of parental “i make the decisions around here” sense)—

but his general preference, his base character, does not lean towards possessiveness at all. versus sam, who SEEMS like he’d be more grounded and chill, but is actually the crazy jealous guy. that kind of irony, those kind of subversions, are what make them enjoyable as characters and contribute to why possessive sam is so much fun to explore,

bc you Wouldn’t think he’d be the one who’s jealous enough that even when dean gives sam so much of himself already, sam still wants more. you’d look at him and expect him to be the brother capable of letting go, of being halfway normal, instead of like, sam’s built so much on seeking dean’s approval and lived his life at the center of dean’s universe,

so he’ll reject anything that threatens to change that dynamic. like the contradictions are weird and spicy and i like them a lot and god i love sam’s reactions to benny so much. i’d feel bad bc i really like benny & he deserved better, but it’s too much fun to see how much sam of all people unreasonably, irrationally, illogically hates the guy,

just because he represents someone dean might, might, might possibly actually like more than sam (even though we, the viewers, know that’s impossible). beautiful

--

yes, you’ve hit on so many great points here! firstly, the inconsistencies in characterization: i think it’s very easy to see why people get annoyed by the writing, and i do think it’s occasionally justified; however, i’ve always found it a lot more rewarding to think about it as the same kind of inconsistencies that real people have! sam and dean might make ���ooc” decisions and it’s okay because real people do that too, out of anger, resentment, sadness, trauma... it makes sense, to me, that they aren’t the same people they were fifteen years ago. getting stuck in one ‘mode’ of characterization is damaging to an overall reading of the show, but at the same time it’s okay to latch onto one era if that’s what you enjoy. it only bothers me when people take characterization from one era (for example, dean’s ptsd, anger, and jealousy over amelia) and apply it to every version of that character.

dean’s parental sense of possession over sam is one thing i do agree with wrt the possessive dean takes, and i think they’re more memorable for a lot of people because they’re not what you usually see from a family show-- it’s weird for dean to feel that way, and i don’t know if i’ve ever seen that intersection of parental ownership and romantic partner jealousy. it’s important that this comes out when dean is under pressure, not all the time-- AND it’s essential that sam does not cave to this. it gets iffy during dabb era, but i still don’t see sam immediately caving to dean’s demands. a good example is the scene where dean holds a gun to sam in season 15, which i see fairly often as an example of dean demanding obedience from sam... but sam doesn’t cave! and sam doesn’t even flinch, because he’s used to having guns pointed at him, and he knows that no version of dean could ever kill him. dean knows this too, and dean is the one who caves, as per usual. this is only not the case a few times in canon, like season 4, parts of season 7, and season 9, all for different reasons i won’t get into now. it’s remarkable when dean doesn’t go along with what sam asks, which is why it sticks in people’s memories, imo. dean is very loud with what he wants and what he thinks is best, but if sam disagrees he will argue dean around to his point, or he’ll go behind dean’s back to do it anyway (case in point, season 11 with the cage.)

anyway-- “the complexities are the best part!” and “you get to actually have characters w the kind of multifaceted personalities you’d expect of, like, normal people (just way more fucked up and traumatized). so yeah, dean isn’t always straightforward...” TOTALLY AGREE. i love the times when the brothers are making decisions that fandom disagrees with, because it’s interesting. the show is here to provide a compelling story. i’m not going to lie and say i always agree with that story or those choices, but it’s fun for me to try to get into why a character would make that decision, not just rail against it. i like the dudes we have in canon! they’re fun!

this is why possessive sam slaps for me. what you said here-- “sam, who SEEMS like he’d be more grounded and chill, but is actually the crazy jealous guy. that kind of irony, those kind of subversions, are what make them enjoyable as characters and contribute to why possessive sam is so much fun to explore” yes yes yes. 100%. and we see these subversions right from season one! it’s not new that dean isn’t actually the uber-confident womanizing asshole, but if you aren’t paying attention it can sneak up on you, i guess? and sam, who comes across as the level-headed one in common archetypes, the soft-spoken college boy, crashes the impala into a building. in the first episode. and in route 666, he  follows a crazy instinct that is proven correct and saves their lives (because he’s intelligent!) but toys with the chance that it could have failed and killed dean (because he’s reckless!)

the fact that we have all these examples of the ways the brothers fail to fulfill the tropes they would in a less-interesting tv show means that possessive sam makes so much sense. sam is built up as the independent brother, the one who left home, the rebellious one, but he loves his family and he needs dean. he needs him. “sam’s built so much on seeking dean’s approval and lived his life at the center of dean’s universe...” i love the way you put this. sam has had dean’s attention and protection for most of his life, and hell if he’s giving it up now for some two-bit vampire, lol. sam is independent, but like with everything else, dean is the exception. sam’s desperation for dean’s approval and attention is absolutely hilarious in the benny situation, because, like you’ve said before, benny is the least-threatening dude ever. he’s so nice. and the fact that sam won’t rest until he dies is-- well, i’m being a little uncharitable, i don’t think sam wanted benny to die, but he sure didn’t shed any tears over it.

the contradictions are delicious. i do think some of it is that dean gets his friendships fulfilled outside of sam, so sam is in a category all his own, while sam doesn’t have as many relationships as dean does so dean is fills all of his categories. but then again, that isn’t always true. it shifts over the seasons and even through episodes. broad trends!

[suicidalslasher]

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 - 𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅.

the one where Jason is a jealous  dumbass,  that’s it -  that’s the plot.

WARNINGS: This is a Jason Dean fanfiction, therefore, you all know what you’re signing up for. I don’t really got to tell you, twice. 

  Possessive!Jason. Jealous!Jason. Female reader, reader’s pronouns are she/her. 

Slight mention and scene of choking but it’s not graphic. A hint of NSFW but it isn’t shown. Also there’s a few mentions of blood but it’s not a lot, either. I wanted to tag that nonetheless, too. Also, Jason actually shows emotions in this which is out of character but in MY world, Jason Dean is a simp to his girlfriend and would rather die than to live a day without her. 

I may add the smut scene later on, who knows?  Not me. This is my first imagine of Jason Dean so be nice to me or I’ll be like Ghostface and gut you like a fish (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*  

If you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to follow and or leave me a request, as they are open. If you also like my work and or have a dollar to  spare, as it will help me write and create more stories like this one, my ko-fi is here. 

Thank you and enjoy :)

White knuckles from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, Jason bit back his words, knowing they'd be harsh and full of  poison.  He's fully aware of how much damage he'd likely cause if he spit out the words that were on his mind.  He was going to break, and he knew it wasn't going to take too long until he did so.   Yet, as the female continued to talk beside him as an attempt to grab his attention, the feelings only grew larger and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood trickling on the tip of his tongue.   Jason swallowed that anger when it was nothing but a fire-seed and he had forgotten to drink something cold right after, in an effort to calm himself down;   therefore, it grew in his stomach until it came out hotter than any dragon breath.... all those negative emotions that swam in his veins  and crept in the pit of his stomach exploded and all the feelings he desperately was trying to hold back came burning on the one person he loved the most, his girlfriend, (Y/N). His face was red with suppressed rage and when (Y/N)  set her finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, his nostrils flared  and his pupils were blown and dilated  as he snarled like an  out of control beast.  "I hate him more than I do the Heathers," spat Jason,  as he pushes his girlfriend up against the wall, the framed photograph that hung there now remained at the bottom of their feet, shattered into hundreds of pieces.   "I don't like you hanging out with him." Jason growled, his fingers curling around (Y/N)'s throat, feeling her pulse begin to quicken  as he presses his weight down onto the palm of his hand.  "Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at someone else? To see you smile at someone else? It makes me feel sick.”     "Jason... Let go of me. Let's talk. Please? You don't even know him... if you'll let me speak and tell you-"  "You love him, don't you?" Jason hisses, the sentence feeling like a slap to (Y/N)'s face as he throws out this statement.... it was a lie, that's what it was and (Y/N) desperately was trying to tell him how wrong he was but he just wouldn't listen, the arrogant  son of a bitch never listens!    "You love him more than you do me."  Before either teen realizes it, Jason is letting go of (Y/N)'s throat only for him to raise his hand up  into a fist and he's punching the only other framed photograph that was beside her, the glass shattering behind his knuckles. (Y/N) screams in horror and although she's pissed off, she - obviously - still cares about her boyfriend.  "Jason!" (Y/N) yelps, tears falling down her cheeks as she rushes to her boyfriend's side, examining his hand which was now dripping with crimson, a few drops of red landing on the now broken picture frame and the wooden floor beneath their feet. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here, somewhere-" "You love him." Jason repeats, ignoring the fact she was trying to help him.  He pulls his hand back, dropping his arm by his side, not  even caring about the way the blood was falling from his knuckles and staining both his pants and shirt. The anger and venom that once coated his words were now replaced with a hint of sadness and heartbreak.  She's never seen him this upset before.... regardless, if he'd just calm down, she could explain.  "Jason, baby-" His voice broke as he looked up at (Y/N), sad eyes meeting with her confused but angry gaze. On top of those, she was sad, too.   "Go then. Go to him, if you prefer to spend your day with him rather than your own boyfriend. You don't care about me, I'm not sure you ever did."  (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head as a few more tears spill past her cheeks. "Fine. If you won't let me talk and tell you my side of the story, I'm leaving. If that's what you think and if you truly think I don't give a fuck about you, I'm gone." (Y/N) mutters, letting go of his hand as she walks back over to the door, grabbing her keys and wallet before storming out the door, slamming the door shut as she leaves.

A week passes. 

Another week following behind that.  

(Y/N) didn't bother to call or show up.

He really fucked things up, didn't he? 

Jason wasn't huge on  showcasing his feelings and putting them out on display for people to see. The only emotion he was so used to showing was anger and madness. Nothing but chaos was built and stored away in Jason Dean's body, too.  All three traits made him who he was.  People may not like him because of his temper and all the flaws he had but it was him, and he didn't plan on changing for anybody.  Expect.... of course, (Y/N). As he sat alone in his bedroom, he felt depressed. He never cried, either.  Couldn't tell you the last time he ever did cry. Did he even cry as a baby? Jason wasn't sure, nor could he tell you.  

But.... Jason cried. For the first time in forever, he broke down and cried. Couldn't help himself.  By the end of the night, there were no tears left to cry. He had run dry. His body couldn't form any more tears.   Feeling both mentally and physically drained, Jason reached over and grabbed his phone off of the night stand, dialing the one number he actually had memorized.  All he got was her voicemail.   "This is (Y/N). I can't answer the phone at the moment but  I will get back to you as soon as I can! Bye!"  Jason groaned and he was half-tempted to throw the phone out of his window but he decided against it as he left a voicemail, regardless. He wanted (Y/N) to know he was sorry. 

He wanted (Y/N) to know that despite their arguments (which weren't constant but when they did fight, it was mainly due to Jason's behavior rather than her own) he loves her.  

 (Y/N) coming into his life was the only good thing the world had offered and gave him. He wasn't going to give her up. Not that easily, anyways.  "Hey." He had forgotten he was leaving a voicemail, having zoned out for a second, the beep brought him back out of his thoughts.  "It's me. Uh.... Jason.... your boyfriend? I hope so, anyway, still.... But, yeah, it's Jason.... Jason Dean.... ha, uh.... you knew that.

  Listen, I'm sorry for everything,  (Y/N).  I'm sorry for having that temper tantrum and taking out my frustration and jealousy on you. I'm not good at this type of stuff, not so great with showing my emotions in person either, so....

 I'll talk here,  hopefully the message goes all the way through. I don't want to say this in person, again, I'm not good at the whole unraveling my feelings, especially not face to face.

 But... (Y/N), baby, you're the best thing that's ever been mine. You're my darlin', my girl, and I got jealous because I was scared, okay? 

I was scared of losing you. And I'm telling you this because it's been awhile now and I haven't seen you around or heard from you in awhile. Therefore, I may have already lost you but.... I love you, (Y/N)... and I'm sorry, okay? 

Thought you'd never hear me say that, huh? Me, apologizing? That's like... once in a blue moon. Hah.....  

But, uh... well, it's true. I'm sorry and I, Jason Dean, love you, (Y/N) (L/N). And I hope that you still love me too."   With that, Jason ends the call, hanging the phone back up on the table as he falls back onto the bed. He didn't - doesn't - know what to do if he didn't have (Y/N) by his side.   Trying to ignore these thoughts and place his attention elsewhere, he decides he needs to focus on sleeping. His body was exhausted after all that crying, plus the punch to the picture frame was still making his hand ache and throb, despite it being a few weeks since he had done it. 

He had one hell of a nasty bruise, too. He was sure it wouldn't look so ugly and scarred if he  had listened to (Y/N) and taken her up on that offer when she suggested the first aid kit...  Before he knows it, he's drifting off into a deep slumber, naturally bringing a pillow into his chest, tucking it underneath his arm as he falls asleep.   

Faint whispers of (Y/N)'s name spills pass his lips as he sleeps. He'd rather be cuddling her than a pillow but he'll take what he can get. He just hopes she'll accept his apology.  

(Y/N) gets home a little after midnight, sighing heavily and tiredly as she kicks off her shoes and strips out of her jacket, hanging the coat up first before setting her shoes under the rack. She had just finished unpacking and helping her cousin move things in his new apartment and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. 

 In the corner of her eye, however, she notices her answering machine is flashing red, letting her know someone had left a voicemail.  She walks over and clicks on the button, expecting it to be for  her parents but instead she's met with a shocking fate - it was Jason.  

Hearing his voice, so weak and vulnerable, brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a sob. Especially when he apologized, that was new. 

They've said those three words to each other before, of course, but it was hearing how sad he sounded that let her know he truly did love her, despite everything they've been through and all the silly arguments they've shared over the past few months; they loved each other. 

 And nothing - nobody - could ever stand in the way of that.   Jason was still a huge dumbass, however. 

And as she grabs her jacket, sliding the thick layer of clothing around herself and dips her feet into her boots, she's quick to go and tell him that, too.  

She loves him, yes, but she needs to let him know he was a  huge fucking idiot. 

Jason, for the most post, was sleeping peacefully until he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs, along with a string of curse words. 

  He was quick to get up, throwing the blanket and pillow aside as he opened his bedroom door and creeps down the hallway, wondering who the hell was in his living room.   

He was met with.... well, not a burglar  neither his father as he would have guessed the next outcome to be but rather his girlfriend.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" He asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he tried to shake off the remaining sleep that had taken over him not even a few hours ago. 

"I came here to scare you, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she scrambles up and off of the floor, brushing her knees and arms from the fall she had taken.  "Your door was locked, couldn't find the extra key anywhere so I snuck in through the window and-"

"And... you're bleeding." Jason said, gesturing to the tiny gash on her arm.   "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here somewhere." He mocks, giving her a playful smile as he quoted the words she had said to him the day they got into that fight. 

 (Y/N) said nothing but she follows when Jason offers his hand out to her, anyway.   He was surprised when he did find the small box up in a cabinet.   

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing  a bandage won't fix, right?" 

"(Y/N). Why are you here? You never did answer me." Jason said, getting out the tiny box of band-aids, ripping one open as he presses the item down onto her arm. She was right, it wasn't a big cut, a few drops of blood, sure, but it wasn't one that'd get infected.  

"I got your voice message." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came to talk to you about it."

He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

 "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a dumbass." 

Oh. 

 It was bad. 

He felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He really let his jealousy get the best of him and now he was going to lose the one good thing he had in his life. 

"I love you but you didn't let me speak," She continued.  "That guy you saw... first of all, you have no right to judge him or say you hate him when you have no idea who he is. That dude I was seen with was my cousin, who, may I add, is gay.” 

“I’ve been helping him move which is why you saw me in town with him. We were getting a few supplies and picking up his furniture.” She continues.

“You got jealous over a guy who is far from being attracted to  females. And you know... he's related to me as well, so, that also plays a huge part in it. And if you didn't notice either, the picture you broke was actually a portrait of my family and his together at a family reunion. Of course, you didn't see that, though or probably even noticed but.... yeah, you're a dumbass. I love you, J.D, but you're an idiot for thinking I'd ever love someone more than I love you." 

Jason says nothing, he feels embarrassed, ashamed, but overall; he feels happy, knowing she still loves him, even if he was a total moron.  "I'm sorry, baby, I got jealous and I shouldn't jump so quickly to conclusions  and-"

"And you need to make up for it." She said, pressing her chest up against his, resting her hand on the palm of his cheek, brushing a few stray hairs out from his face as she gives him a seductive look. "And how.... exactly, are you going to make up for it, baby?" She purred. 

"I think I've an idea." He said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah? While you're at it, can you choke me like you did, too?" 

"I'll do more than just choke you with my hand, darling." 

"To be suffocated and to choke on either your cock and hand would be a blessing, my dear." 

"Then let's go upstairs, shall we?"

(Y/N) smiled and took Jason's hand with her own, giggling as if she wasn't just talking about getting choked by her boyfriend, as if she was some saint rather than a sinner. Fuck... Jason loves how dirty she was. "We shall." He replies, nearly dragging her up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

"Going to show you how much I love you, going to treat you so good, so well, baby girl... missed you so much, love you so much..." 

[loki-lover84]

Could Be Worse Part IX

A few weeks have passed since Dean’s admission, as a result he’d practically moved in with Y/d/n and I. We were like the perfect little family if you minus the apocalyptic conditions, we’re as close to an apple pie life that anyone could achieve nowadays. Dean was finally letting me go out on scavenges which I really appreciated granted he made sure I was beside him the entire time but, it did make me feel better, made me feel like I was actually pulling my weight around camp. Y/d/n trained with her handmade Pulaski, she’s come a long way I just wish she didn’t need to grow up in these conditions, she is happy she’s finally got a complete family me her mum Dean her dad and her Uncle’s Chuck and Castiel. 

I’m concerned about Dean though, he was telling me that he’d got an update on a gun that can supposedly kill anything even Lucifer whom was apparently to blame for our current lifestyle. I’m still struggling to piece together what does and doesn’t exist but with the Croats out and about it’s something to just take in and move on. When Dean started telling me all about the colt I thought it sounded a little bit ridiculous but when I looked into his enchanting green eyes I saw passion, sincerity and sorrow so I promised him I’d support him on whatever his plan would be.

“Hey Y/n you okay?” Dean asks bringing my focus back to him.

“Oh yeah, sorry I was just thinking about everything that’s happened recently.” I laugh anxiously. “So you’re getting the colt today?”

“Yeah, I’m taking a team out with me there’s a chance that this is another set up but I’ve got a feeling this one is different we’re finally going to achieve something-” I scoff at him with my arms folded referencing our amazing daughter, “other than the only ray of light in this grim dark world, we’ve finally made progress on killing Lucifer once and for all.” Dean’s tone softened when he spoke of our daughter, he was so whipped when it came to her, but the second he regained focus on his mission he hardened up.

“I’m joining you this time, right?” I asked hopefully, I hated waiting and hoping he’d come back alive, if I were there in person I’d feel secure enough knowing I was there as his backup.

“You know you’re not. A situation like this is potentially too dangerous and Y/d/n is going to need a parent to raise and take care of her.”

“So when you face off with Lucifer I’ve got to stay here and hope that you’ll come back to me! What if you die but, if I went with you we’d all make it out alive because you had extra support?”

“You can’t base decisions on ‘what ifs’ Sweetheart you know that better than most people around here!” Dean snapped frustration consuming him before he stormed out of the cabin to prep his search party.

There were so many people depending on him, he had so much trauma buried in him and my own stress and insecurities were an unnecessary weight that I just threw onto him before a mission. My fist collided with the wooden wall nearby my self-loathing annoyance crumbled as the sharp pain in my left fist set in.

Dean had approximately an hour before he set off with his group so hopefully he has enough time to settle down so that he doesn’t behave recklessly on an already dangerous track and retrieve mission. Hopefully my stubborn baby daddy will see me before he leaves so that the air is cleared between us in case he doesn’t make it back. Exhaling deeply I turned toward our inventory hut and got to work alongside Chuck. Roughly twenty minutes later we’d finished and discovered we were in desperate need in toiletry items, so we left in search of Dean to update him on the situation clipboard in hand.

“Dean!” I called over to him spying him in a dark blue jacket I’d never seen before, he was surprisingly startled before turning to face us.

“So Dean, our food supply is running  low but we’ll be fine for the next two weeks at least, toiletries however are abysmal. What do you think we should do?” Chuck asks referencing the figures on the clipboard, Dean was quiet he looked confused and he’d refused to look in my direction, maybe he took our altercation earlier to heart, we had vowed to make up with one another before leaving the security of the camp just in case the worst case scenario occurred.

“Well...um...maybe we could just get everyone to share?” He suggested uncertainly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out right now?” Chuck asked after making a quick note of Dean’s ‘solution’.

“Um...yes, I’m just getting ready to leave now.” I analysed him sceptically, something definitely wasn’t right.

“Daddy!” Y/d/n screamed running over to Dean her arms wide open expecting the usual pick up cuddle only to be blatantly ignored, tears welled up in our baby girl’s eyes at the fact that her father wasn’t hugging her and looked at her as if she were a stranger.

“Sweetie can you go with uncle Chuck for a moment? Mummy needs to talk do daddy...alone.” I say softly to her whilst holding a harsh glare at Dean.

Chuck picked up Y/d/n bouncing her slightly and doing everything he could to prevent her from crying as he carried her away.

“Alright Winchester, you can hold a grudge with me all you want, I understand I was out of line earlier especially after thinking about all you’ve been through, but don’t you ever take out your stubborn attitude that’s aimed at me out on our daughter!” I yelled as I actually struck his face in anger and annoyance.

“Wait...what? Y/n?” Dean asked as if he’d only just noticed who I was, making me even more agitated.

“If you don’t make it up to her later you’re going to wish the Croats got you!” I threatened.

“Wait Y/n you don’t understand.” Dean tried to explain as the sound of our various vehicles pulled into the camp capturing Dean’s attention his behaviour rather skittish. “Hey, hey! Watch out!” He yelled as a gun fired making me snap my head to the direction to see...Dean?

My eyes widened, two Dean’s? There’s two Dean’s. What is going on? The three other men around us shared my shocked and bewildered expression before the Dean that had just pulled the trigger spoke up his arm outstretched to the Dean next to me.

“Damnit!” He cursed seeing me stood next to Dean, “I’m not gonna lie to you me and him it’s a pretty messed up situation we have going on but believe me...when you need to know something you will know it! Until then we all have work to do.” It was the strong solid firm voice of a leader, that was my Dean.

The witnesses nodded and dismissed themselves as Dean, Dean and I made our way to his cabin.

“What the hell was that?” My Dean asked.

“What the hell was that, you just shot a guy in cold blood.” Blue jacket wearing Dean responded.

“We were outside of a quarantined zone, we were ambushed by a bunch of Croats-”

“You left? You left and got attacked before we made up! Dean, why would you do that?” I interrupted my heart aching at the newfound knowledge my eyes stinging with tears.

My Dean softened slightly and held me against him kissing the top of my head before glaring at the other him.

“One of them infected Yager.”

“How did you know?”

“Because after a few years of this I know...he started experiencing symptoms a while ago, wasn’t going to be long before went crazy. Didn’t see the point in troubling a good man with bad news.”

“Troubling a good man...you just blew him away in front of your own people! Don’t you think that would’ve freaked them out a lil’ bit?”

“It’s 2014, plugging some Croat is called common place.” My Dean spat as he soothingly rubbed circles on my back. “Trading words with my friggin’ clone...that might’ve freaked them out a little bit.”

“Alright look-”

“No, you look! This isn’t your time, it’s mine you don’t get to make the decision, I do. So when I say stay in, you stay in.”

“You’re going to need to make it up to Y/d/n, she thinks her daddy is angry at her.” I say having now calmed down as my Dean grabs three glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

My Dean turns around instantly a dark aura emitting from him wanting to know why the other version of him would upset her.

“Alright man I’m sorry, I’m not trying to mess you, me, us up here.” Blue jacket Dean started.

“I know.” My Dean bluntly replied pouring the drinks. “What happened though, why is my daughter upset?”

“She thought I was you ran up for a hug but I had no clue who the kid was and just stood there.” He replied honestly.

“Fuck, I should be able to fix this. It could’ve been worse.”

“Wacky weekend.”

“Tell us about it.” I agreed reaching for my drink along with the other two.

“What was the mission anyway?” Blue jacket Dean asked as my Dean reached into his bag and pulled out the colt.

“You found it.” I smiled knowing that this was one less thing on his hard, beautiful and fragile mind.

“Where was it?”

“Everywhere, they’ve been moving it around...took me five years but I finally got it.” My Dean replied with a small smile on his face. “Tonight...tonight I’m going to kill the devil.” He stated downing the rest of his drink making me choke on mine.

“Dean? De, you can’t I need you. Y/d/n needs you.” I whimper at the though of losing him, I haven’t had enough of a warning. “We just found one another, you can’t Dean.” My Dean held me close to him before tilting my head up and pressing his perfect lips against my own in a loving kiss.

“I honestly never really expected us to settle down.” The alternate Dean said once Dean and I separated. “How’d it happen?”

“A little while back I got into a very sticky situation and this guy helped me out of it.” I reply not wanting to give away too much of the future. “You knew my name before anyone said it, how’d you know it.”

“The other night I was feeling shit about separating from Sam and met you in a bar and we hooked up.” The other Dean answered making me and my Dean smile fondly.

“She’s been created, our baby girl. Congratulations Dean Winchester from 2009 you’re going to be a father.” I say beaming up at him. 

“I-I how do you know?” Past Dean stammers.

“Well you and me slept together I leave early because I didn’t know what else to do and later find out I’m pregnant.” I reminisce as my Dean pulls my back to press against his chest.

“Do yourself a favour, keep her with you/us wake up when you feel the bed move and eventually tell her everything about the hunting life.”

“I’m very open minded just don’t lay it on really thick and stop me leaving you.” I smile kindly at him as I rest my hand on the side of my Dean’s face. “Who know’s, if we’re the future versions and you do that we might no exist in this time?” 

My Dean tenses up at the thought of our happiness being taken away, before taking a moment to compose himself.

“You do that right, you better make damn well sure you don’t end up in this situation.” 

“So you/we’re really happy in this relationship?”

“You know damn well she’s the best we’ve ever had.” My Dean comments and I don’t miss his implication for a single second. “You’ll experience it for yourself, you’ll realize anyone else was just a stepping stone to perfection.” He switches to talking about our actual relationship making my heart melt at how much of a softie he was being.

The other Dean looks like he can’t actually believe those words came out of a version of himself, he’s finding it almost impossible to comprehend. I can’t help but laugh at his bewilderment, he looks so cute when he’s confused.

A gut feeling tells me this version of Dean is gonna end up leaving soon.

“Hey Dean, once you’ve explained everything to me. Give Sam a call?” I suggest hoping to prevent the apocalyptic lifestyle we’re currently living.

He looks solemn for a moment before nodding his head and being zapped away.

“So De, do you think you’d have listened to us?”

In 2009

Dean’s back in the motel room he’d hired for the night looking around, he sees Y/n still asleep in the bed, he can’t help the sigh of relief. Cautiously he makes his way over to the bed and wraps his arm around her, just holding her while she sleeps gives him a subtle taste of what his future self was talking about. Before he can doze off he feels her wake up and try to leave his hold.

“Y/n, I’ve got something I need to tell you.”

The END

A/N I’m sorry this is years later I honestly thought I uploaded this and then I found it in my drafts.

[teenwolffan-with-nolife]

New Life Pt.4

Word Count: 1,934

Characters: Derek Hale, OC Chaarcters, Zach Salvatore (mentioned), Laura Hale (brief), Reader

Pairings: Eventual Derek Hale x Reader

Warnings: angstish? maybe some small fluff, sort of cliffhanger, drugs, getting high

A/N: ---

Masterlist     Series Masterlist

You rested your head on the couch, letting out a deep breath as you sighed, closing your eyes. The last day of school was officially over, meaning that summer had just begun. Not that you had many plans, but you were much more open to going out for hunts.

It was around 5 as you were awakened from your nap, jumping up as you heard Derek yelling as he ran into the house.

“What the hell is your problem?” you yelled.

“Why were you sleeping on the couch?” he asked, sitting next to you.

“I was tired. Why do you have to be so loud?” you groaned, hitting him with a throw pillow.

“Okay, whatever. It's officially summer, right?” you raised an eyebrow before nodding your head.

“You said when it’s summer you'd get me high,” you groaned, running your fingers through your hair.

“You can’t back down now!” he exclaimed.

“Jeez, Derek, calm down! Fine, I said I will and I will. We’ll do it tonight, okay?” 

He had a small smile on his face before looking at you.

“Is it scary?” he asked softly.

“Oh, don’t be a baby. I’m going out, okay? I’ll be back later,” you replied, standing up.

“As long as you’re back before Dean and Emily get here,” Derek muttered as you froze, glaring at him.

“They’re coming?” you exclaimed.

“Well, they wanted to come and-” Derek started.

“Shh! Look, not only are you all lightweights, there’s three of you! That means I'm responsible for all three of you! On top of that, how the hell are you going to explain what Wolfsbane is and why you're taking it with weed?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I didn't want to be mean,” he muttered.

“Jesus fuck, Derek. Fine, whatever. Bye,” you grabbed your phone, walking out of the house as you slammed the door shut.

---

“Have you ever gotten high before, Laura?” you asked, laying on her bed.

She froze, before raising an eyebrow.

“Werewolves can’t get high,” she replied.

She continued packing her bag, getting ready for her and Stefan to leave once again. She barely spent any time at the Salvatore house, with her new responsibilities as the alpha.

“That doesn't mean it’s impossible,” you squinted your eyes, reading her expression.

She scoffed, a small smile on her face as she looked at you.

“As long as you add some wolfsbane, you’ll be good. But not too much, you don’t want to kill him,” she replied.

“That’s debatable,” you said.

“That’s my brother, asshat,” she shoved you gently as you gave her an innocent smile.

“Like you don't want to kill him sometimes?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Me and Stefan have to go. Just… make sure none of you die, okay?” she raised an eyebrow, throwing her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I know. Stay safe,” you gave her a small hug before the two of you walked out of her room.

---

The smell of weed filled the Salvatore house, while you crossed your legs, sitting on the couch. You could fear giggles coming from in front of you as you kept your focus on your book, running your fingers through your hair.

“Hola,” Dean approached you, sitting on the couch.

“Hola. Qué estás haciendo?” you saw his face drop while a small smirk was on yours.

“I don’t really speak Spanish,” Dean said.

“Oh, I know. What’s up?” you asked.

“Well, I’m bored,” he shrugged.

You looked over to Derek and Emily, seeing them both laughing as they moved in, closer and closer to each other.

“That looks… like you need to stop it?” you raised an eyebrow, while he shook his head.

“No, we broke up this morning,” he explained.

“Again?” you replied.

“You act like we break up all the time,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s because you do,” he scoffed, before scooting slightly closer to you.

“Did you smoke-” you started.

“Yeah, but I guess it hasn't kicked in, or if it did, I haven't felt anything. You?” he asked.

“Well, clearly my tolerance level is higher than I expected. I barely feel a buzz,” you said.

He shrugged, before motioning to your book.

“Harry Potter,” you replied.

“Which one?” 

“Order of the Phoenix.”

“Oh, I hated that one,” he replied.

“Well, your opinion is officially invalid to me,” he laughed softly, before you put your bookmark in, turning to him.

“Want a beer?” you asked.

He nodded, while you stood up, making your way to the kitchen.

It was never uncommon for Dean to talk to you, you had known him and Emily since you were all children. It had only become recently when the two of you had become closer than before.

You grabbed two beers, before feeling a weird sense as you tensed.

Someone was there.

You took your knife from your pocket, turning around slowly. You couldn't see anything at first, slowly making your way closer to the back door.

The lights went out, while you heard Emily screaming as you tensed, running back to the living room.

“Is everyone okay?!” you yelled.

You couldn't make out anyone as you slowly took steps forward, holding your knife tightly.

“Em?” you called out.

“I'm okay!” you let out a breath of relief before running your fingers through your hair.

“What happened to the lights?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know. Look, I need to get flashlights. Are all three of you here?” you asked.

“Yeah, we’re here,” Dean replied.

“Okay, stay with each other. I’ll be back in a minute,” you turned, walking away.

You can do this

You basically memorized the Salvatore house

“Son of a-” you clenched your jaw, digging your nails into your palm before letting out a shaky breath, feeling your foot aching from hitting the wall.

You put your hands forward, using the senses around you to direct you to the basement.

You slowly made your way to the basement, before grabbing two flashlights.

You felt an arm reach for you as you quickly grabbed it, twisting it backward.

“Ow!” you turned the flashlight on, seeing a pained expression on Dean’s face as you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“I told you three to stay together!” you exclaimed.

“I thought you needed help,” he replied.

“No, it’s fine. Look, let’s just get back up there before one of those high idiots breaks something,” you took Dean’s arm, pulling him upstairs as you turned on the flashlight, pointing it towards Derek and Emily.

They both jumped in surprise, pushing away from each other, while you raised an eyebrow, slightly confused.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Nothing,” you could see Emily breathing heavily, while Derek avoided your gaze.

You looked slightly longer, noticing Emily’s smeared makeup.

“You guys are weird. Okay, let’s leave,” you walked past them before Derek frowned.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because the power's out. We need to figure out if it’s just us or all of Mystic Falls. Second, I’m not letting you three stay here like this while your asses are high,” you replied.

“I don’t even feel it,” you could see the redness in Derek's face as you scoffed.

“Yeah, okay. Everyone, in my car,” you began walking to the door, before hearing a loud noise, before the power came back on.

You turned off the flashlight, looking around carefully. Everything was fine. Nothing looked different.

“Looks like the power's back on,” Emily said.

“Yeah, just wait,” you walked past all of them slowly, looking throughout the house.

There’s nothing here

You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. Hunter paranoia was strong. 

“Is everything okay?” Dean asked.

You nodded, slowly putting your knife back into your pocket before making your way to the three of them. The power never went out. You sighed, shaking your head before reaching for your phone, realizing it wasn't there.

“Dean, can you call my phone? I can’t find it,” you asked.

He nodded, dialing your number, before hearing silence in the house.

“Weird,” Derek said, putting his head on your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes while you felt him struggling to stand, using you for balance.

“It’s probably in the basement. I don’t really need it,” you shrugged.

“Right. Well, it’s getting late. Me and Emily should probably head out,” Dean started.

You still couldn't shake the weird feeling.

“Actually, how about you guys stay here for the night. Just to be safe,” you asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean nodded.

You could feel your worry rushing back as you gave him a small smile, before pulling Derek away.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hi,” he laughed to himself, grinning widely at you while you glared.

“I need you to sober up. I think something’s still here,” you said softly.

“Yeah, silly. We’re still here,” he laughed.

“No, Derek. Hey,” his eyes were a shade of light red as you held his face.

“I need you to sober up. I need your help here,” you said.

“I’m tired,” he sighed.

“Derek,” you started.

“Take me to my bed, please,” he begged.

“Derek-” you tried to speak again.

“I don’t feel good anymore,” he groaned.

“It’s probably the wolfsbane kicking in. Okay, just sit here for a minute. I’ll get you some water,” you walked back into the kitchen, seeing two broken beer bottles on the floor.

The back door was wide open while you felt your heart drop, approaching it slowly.

All you could hear was the small chitters of the bugs outside, keeping yourself prepared for anything.

You closed the door, before quietly opening the drawer, taking your gun out.

“Guys, come on,” you made sure all the doors were locked, leading them all upstairs before looking around once more, feeling anxiousness rise in your chest.

“Okay, we’re all gonna sleep in my room, okay?” you said.

You saw the confusion on Dean’s face, while Derek and Emily simply nodded, both collapsing onto your bed.

“If they have sex on my bed, I’ll kill them both,” you muttered.

You heard Dean scoff before you walked over to Derek and Emily, placing the blanket over them.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked you.

“Yeah, why wouldn't I be? It’s a little late, so it isn't really safe for you guys to drive home, especially with Emily like… this,” you explained, keeping your explanation brief and simple, not wanting to raise concern.

You set up a few blankets on the floor, laying down across from Dean.

“You know, you don’t always have to take care of everyone,” Dean started.

“That's not what I'm doing,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffed.

You rolled your eyes, a small smile on your face before you flipped off the light switch, waiting a few minutes to make sure they had all fallen asleep.

You slowly got up, putting a barrier of salt and mountain ash around the room, keeping out anything and everything.

Paranoia wasn't something you suffered from typically, and if you felt that something was wrong, it most likely was.

You made sure you had enough bullets in your gun, before grabbing your knife, slowly making your way outside your room.

You looked at the clock, seeing it was sometime past midnight. You knew you would eventually have to get Derek’s phone and call Zach, with yours now missing.

Something had gotten into the house, and something took your phone. You could feel your stomach aching slightly, out of nervousness as you took a deep breath, holding your gun tightly.

Deep breaths, (Y/N)

You rested your head on the wall, fully awake as you looked around. It was going to be a long night.

taglist:

@bellabadacadabra​

@teen-wolf-obsessed4life​

@eunoia-kth​

@angelgtzdar

@shortimaginewriter​

@linkpk88​

[sritzthefirefly]

The Not-so French Mistake

Pairing: Slight Dean x reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. Any and all comments on this are appreciated. I’m sorry for any grammatical errors that I might have made. This is my first fanfiction (as a one-shot, I've written a few earlier in poetry form) so please go easy on me.

“You are going to die.”, he states nonchalantly, as if three men entering your house and telling you that you are going to die is an everyday occurrence.

“I…WHAT?!”, I shout, my eyes round as saucers.

Well, today was a seemingly normal day. Until the seemingly normal day wasn’t as seemingly normal as I thought it would be.

                                2 hours earlier

“Hey, I’ll be leaving now”, my best friend said as she packed the small handbag she always carried around with her.

“Don’t forget the pickle jar and then come back 15 minutes later telling me you forgot the one thing I reminded you about”, I shouted to her from the top of the stairs.

She turned around to pick up the jar from the centre table when her eyes landed on me and she whistled. I pulled the drawstrings of my silk dressing gown tighter as I walked down the stairs.

“Ooooh, would you look at that, someone’s looking good. So, are you going to sleep after I’m gone, or are you going to have some company tonight?”

“I…..I just can’t……not so soon after...ummm……I know I’m stupid but I just wanted to feel good about myself”

She closed the few steps between us and hugged me tightly.

“Hey, you know he’s an asshole. His words don’t count, ok? No guy has the right to make you feel bad about yourself”, she said, pulling away.

“But he…….”

“No missy, you listen here, he’s an idiot who doesn’t deserve you. He should feel lucky he’s not in town or I would’ve kicked him so hard in the balls that impregnating a woman would’ve been a foreign concept to him.”

I gave her a small smile.

“Thanks for hyping me up, love. I’m now going to have ice cream and cry my heart out to sad rom-coms.”

“Bitch, you hate rom-coms. You’re just going to binge-watch Supernatural and you’re not telling me that because you won’t admit that you’re obsessed with the show”.

“Okay, okay whatever……Aren’t you getting late for your train?”

 She looked at her watch.

 “Oh shit! Bye, see you later.” she said as she ran out of the door, slamming it behind her. I sighed to myself and walked over to the TV, switching it on.

“Self-care time for me now!”, I said to myself, as I opened the fridge to get my favorite ice-cream when suddenly, the doorbell rings. I immediately turned my head towards the centre table and sure enough, the pickle jar was there.

Shaking my head, I picked up her precious jar and walked over to the door, pulling it open.

“I knew you……..”, I stopped short when I saw who was standing outside.

There, standing on my porch were, none other than, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki.

And then I woke up.

Yeah, if only it happened that way.

I knew I was looking like an absolute fool in front of them, opening and closing my mouth like a fish, my eyes wide and my breath short as I stood there, taking in the two handsome men adorning my doorstep. They were dressed in their Sam and Dean outfits -plaid, over layers of plaid- it seemed like a scene straight out of a set.

“Hi! You’re Y/N right?”, Jared said in his usual husky voice while Jensen stood beside him, strangely staring at me with something akin to awe in his eyes.

“W…what? I…uh…yeah…I…I am Y/N”, I somehow managed to choke out.

“You’re awesome”, Jensen Ackles breathed out with a sigh with literal heart-eyes in my direction. He cleared his throat and blinked twice and then seemed to step out of his reverie. He gave me a small smile and looked me up and down with a small smirk and I blushed furiously. Wait, was Jensen Ackles checking me out?!

Okay, so there were either of these two things going on- either I was dreaming or I had completely lost my mind. But since I had already pinched myself and well, that damn pinch did hurt, so the situation pretty much tilted towards the latter side. I mean, Jensen Ackles knows me and he thinks I am awesome?!

“Yep, definitely not a fan”, Jared whispers somewhat sarcastically to Jensen to which he replies under his breath with a “Shut up, Sammy!”

I would have paid more attention to what Jensen said had I not had my whole focus on Jared’s last words.

“Ummm…..excuse me? No offense but I’m standing right here and you can rest assured that I am 100% a fan, of both of you. If you don’t believe me, ask me anything about Supernatural.”, I say, crossing my hands across my chest.

“Wha-Supernatural? Like the book Supernatural? You have that here too?”, Jensen asks seemingly surprised.

Alright, is this a game for their show? I thought to myself, utterly confused and dazed. They seem to know my name and well, address too and that can be the only logical explanation as to why Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki are here, on my doorstep. But I couldn’t see any cameras nearby. Maybe they were hidden? Maybe I was meant to be taken by surprise? Oh shit, did I just challenge them right now? Was this being filmed? My mind rushed with a million things- ‘Oh god, I must be looking so stupid right now, acting like a blobfish instead of doing anything!’

I opened my mouth to say something, anything at all, when Jared cut through. 

“Ummm I’m sorry, Y/N, but it’s not really a good idea to be standing outside and talking. I promise we’ll explain everything. Can we please come inside and talk?”

“I….uh…..yeah sure. Come inside please.”, I was about to ask what their deal was but changed my mind when I saw Jensen nervously looking around and then back at me, pleadingly. 

I closed the door behind me as they settled on the plush red sofa. I walked across the room and sat on the chair facing them.

“Y/N”, Jared started. “There’s no easy way to say this but I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean. Like, from Supernatural.”

“Ummm…. I’m aware? Despite your contrary belief, I told you I was a fan.”, I said, confused.

“You’re our fan?!”, Jensen asked, somewhat stunned. “Haha sweetheart, am I living my dream!”, he added, his emerald eyes twinkling.

I stared at him through my eyelashes.

“Hold up, quick question, are you a Dean girl or Sam girl?”

“Dean, not now…..”, Jared sighed.

“Dean girl!”, I blurted out, immediately blushing deeply. Jensen’s entire face lit up and I hurriedly added, “No offense to Jared here.”

“Jared? You mean Jared Pada-whatshisname?”, Jensen asked incredulously.

“Padalecki, Dean”

“Son of a bitch! Fake us lives in the same universe as her!”

I started laughing and the both of them turned towards me quizzically.

“Ummm what is this? Some spin-off of The French Mistake?”, I asked.

“The French what?”, Jared looked at me, his eyebrow raised.

“That’s not important right now. Y/N, I know, it’s hard to believe us right now, but we are not your TV actors-we are not Jensen and Jared. I am the actual Dean Winchester and he is my brother, Sam Winchester. The trickster, the archangel Gabriel, owed us a favor and he let us travel into your universe.... Sweetheart please, you have to believe me. I umm uh, I have been a-”

I stood straight up from my chair, angrily.

“I’m sorry but what kind of prank is this? Going to people’s houses and-”, I started angrily when suddenly the entire room got spontaneously flooded with an immensely bright light.

“Cover your eyes!”, a deep, somewhat robotic voice filled the air and I immediately did so to lessen the risk of my precious peepers being completely burned out by an unknown source of dazzling light in my seemingly normal house in the middle of a seemingly normal (absolutely weird) day.

Slowly, the light faded.

And there stood Misha Collins-

No, that could not possibly be Misha. Unless Misha had suddenly evolved to be able to exhibit bioluminescence or had sprouted long black wings from the back of his trench coat or had learned to hover like a bee in mid-air. No, definitely not Misha. 

That means, this must…this must be-

“Holy mother of God”, I gasped out.

“I….am….not….the….I am the son of God”, he said, walking across the room to sit beside Jar-no, no......Sam.

Holy shit! CASTIEL?! That means that all this time, Jens- Dean, had not been lying. I collapsed on my chair, my mind, not being able to form a single coherent thought. Dean leaped up from the sofa and rushed to my side.

“Darling….darling, look for yourself, that-”

“He is Castiel.”, I said, boring into Dean’s green eyes, they brought me comfort. “I believe you…… Dean.”

A look passed between Sam and Dean and Dean immediately held my hand and squeezed my palm as an act of reassurance as he beamed at me.

Sam got up from his chair and smiled at me, “Thanks to Cas here, you believe us. At last. I thought you were two seconds away from throwing us out.”

I snorted. A really ugly snort through my nose. In front of three delicious-looking men, especially Dean, who was somehow still looking at me like I was God’s gift to mankind. Hah, no wonder I was single.

I cleared my throat to relieve the awkwardness and continued,

“Well, in my defense, you guys were acting real creepy.”

Yeah sure, not even in my wildest dreams would I actually throw Jensen and Jared out of my house, no matter how creepy they act, but they didn’t need to know that.

“But how…why……..”, I started asking the questions bothering me.

“Umm well, yeah, about that…”, Dean started, gulping.

Castiel walked over and looked at me with downcast eyes.

“You are going to die.”, he stated nonchalantly, as if three men entering into your house and telling you that you are going to die is an everyday occurrence.

“I…WHAT?!”, I shouted, my eyes wide.

                                        Now

“CAS!”, Sam and Dean both exclaim at him at the same time.

“She was asking.…..”

“No Cas, not like that!”, Sam tells him prickly.

“Please tell me what the hell is going on! Why….How am I going to die? What’s happening?!”, I say, hiding my face with my hair.

“Darling, promise me you won’t freak out.”, Dean says, staring straight into my soul. “You are a character from a book in our universe. My favourite book. And trust me, this...you…. I am a huge fan of you. Have been, since I was a child. Now you see, few months ago, we stumbled into your universe when Gabriel pranked us. And then I saw you. I met you. The real you....just….perfect….And I just wanted to.....I mean..... I came back...I came back because…..”

“Because?”

“I know everything. I know how the book ends and I have come back here to save you, darling.”

Tagging -  @thatmotleygirl @msmarvelouswinchester @athenapotter @mvdeanw​ @bts-spnlvr12​ @holylulusworld @jensengirl83

[idreamofplaid]

All is Calm

Square Filled: Impala for @spngenrebingo & Huddle for Warmth for @spnchristmasbingo

Characters: Dean x Reader; Sam mostly mentioned

Word Count: 2445

Summary: Dean been distracted by hunting lately, but he’s fully focused now. Everything is clear to him.

Created for @spngenrebingo & @spnchristmasbingo

Dean was usually so good about keeping Baby maintained and in top condition. Her oil was always changed hundreds of miles before it needed to be, the air pressure and tread on her tires was checked on practically a weekly basis along with her fluid levels. Some people might say he was obsessive about his car. You’d come to understand she was more than just a car to him, and the way he cared for her was the way he cared for anything and anyone that mattered to him.

It was one of the many admirable qualities about Dean. You had noticed this softer side of his in so many small ways since you’d met him. Along with that softness, he possessed a driven determination. That determination pushed him to keep hunting the next monster, save the next person, do what he could to make the world better. That was why Baby hadn’t been receiving her usual amount of attention lately, too many monsters in the world. That was also the reason the two of you were stuck in the middle of nowhere Montana right now. Baby had a dead battery.

That was bad enough, but it was the week before Christmas, and in Montana that meant full fledged winter. Walking out of here wasn’t an option. The last town you’d passed through was thirty miles back, and new snow was beginning to fall. Even worse, the cell signal out here was so weak Dean had barely gotten to say ten words to Sam before the line went dead. He reassured you that was enough for his tech geek brother to turn on the GPS and find you. You just had to wait it out. 

Fortunately, Baby’s trunk contained not only every weapon known to humankind but also sleeping bags and blankets in the compartment beneath those weapons. Dean fetched those and covered the backseat with a sleeping bag, leaving the other covers in a pile for now, then he motioned for you to get inside with a lopsided smile, “We’re going to have to make the best of it until Sam gets here.”

Sam didn’t drive the way Dean did, but he could be fast enough when the situation called for it. Still, it would take hours for him to get here. That was a long time with the temperature dropping the way it was. You tried to sound more sure that the two of you would make it through this okay than you felt. “What are we going to do exactly?” The uncertainty was in your voice in spite of your best efforts, and you knew Dean could hear it based on his reaction. He went into joking and downplaying the situation mode.

“We’re gonna get under those blankets and sing Christmas carols. I have a fabulous voice.” He held the car door open and swept his arm gallantly toward the interior and the back seat. You climbed in and Dean followed, closing the door behind him.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been in Baby’s backseat by any means, but it was the first time you had been here with Dean. You knew it wasn’t the first time Dean had been back here either; the difference was he wasn’t a passenger when he was in the backseat of this car. Better not to think about that right now. You were in danger of freezing to death; you could think about your crush and deal with your jealousy tomorrow after you survived.

Dean reached around you, grabbed the other sleeping bag, and settled it around the two of you; then he did the same with a blanket. His final move was to put his arms around you and draw you in close to him. He rested his chin on top of your head and dropped the bravado. “I’m gonna keep you warm, Y/N. It’ll be okay.”

His body was warm, but as the last of the heat disappeared from the inside of the car, you could feel the cold gathering around the little cocoon Dean had made. You weren’t going to let yourself be scared. You were with Dean, and he would take care of you. You tried to snuggle closer to him, but you were already about as close as you could get. So, you tried to distract yourself. “What about those Christmas songs, Dean?”

He rubbed his hand along your back to create more warmth. “I kinda exaggerated that a little. I can’t sing at all.” You put your head on his shoulder and sighed, only it wasn’t the contented kind; it was much more the “I can make it through this” kind of sigh. Dean tried to redirect your thoughts with a different approach. “I can tell stories though.”

“Really?” You didn’t lift your head from his shoulder and slipped your hand beneath his jacket. Dean took it for what it was, a gesture to keep warm, but it was more than that to you. It comforted you to feel him closer. “Tell me one. Tell me a Christmas story.”

“Well...um...I don’t really have too many Christmas memories, but I’ll tell you what I’d like to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I felt your hand slide across my stomach and come to a stop on my ribs. Under different circumstances, it wouldn’t be long before I’d be kissing you. It’d be the kind of kiss that was hot and previewed what else I was about to do to you. We weren’t in those kind of circumstances. I should have gotten you in the back of this car before now and made out with you the way I couldn’t stop thinking about. I should have done a lot of things, but now here we are. You want to hear a Christmas story, so I’m going to tell you what I should have done about Christmas. 

“When we get back to the bunker…” That’s it. Keep the focus on we are going to get out of here. “I’m going to get a tree, and we’re going to find some ornaments. I bet the Men of Letters stashed some somewhere in that place. Or, we’ll buy some. But we’re going to decorate that thing. You, me, and Sam. It’ll be a big one too. You can decide where we put it. Where do you think the tree should go?”

You shifted against me. You still felt warm enough, but I wish there was a way I could keep you warmer. It’s my fault you’re in this mess. How could I be this stupid? I’ve been taking care of this car since I was a kid. This is probably the biggest fuck up of my life, and there’s plenty to choose from. You answer my question, pulling me out of the downward spiral I’m in.  “I think it should go in the library, so we see it as soon as we come into the bunker. And we spend the most time there. Maybe we could get another tiny one for the kitchen to look at while we eat?”

You love Christmas trees. Why didn’t I ever know that? You love them, and I haven’t gotten you a single fucking one the whole time you’ve been living with us. “Yeah. Sure we can get a little one too. We’ll make strings of popcorn to put on it like they did in those Christmas movies Sam watched when we were kids.” I realized then it was Sam who’d watched the movies and the reindeer cartoons. Sam had wanted Christmas too, and I’d just blocked the whole thing out. Christmas had probably gone up in flames on the ceiling for me the night my mother died. I regret that now.

What else was in those movies Sam used to watch? “We’ll make hot chocolate too, with whipped cream, and stick a candy cane in it. We can wrap presents together. Maybe you could teach me how to wrap them better so they look pretty good?”

Your hand felt so small on me, and your voice was quiet. “Yes, I’ll teach you how to wrap presents. There should be a lot of presents under the tree. You haven’t had many presents, Dean, and you should have. You deserve presents.” Where did that come from? 

“I...I don’t know about that, but you do.”  You were beginning to feel colder to my touch. I needed to do something. “Y/N, let’s lie down, sweetheart.” Hopefully, full body contact would make you warmer. I lay you down on the seat and stretched out next to you so the entire length of my body was against you. I made sure a blanket was pulled up behind you to cover the seat of the Impala because it was probably warmer than the leather. 

You put your cheek on my neck, seeking out the warmth I had to give you. “You okay, Y/N?” You nodded but didn’t answer out loud. I didn’t like the quiet. It was better to keep you talking. “What do you want for Christmas this year? I’ll make sure Santa knows.” 

That made you laugh. “Is Santa real too? Have you been holding out on me?” 

Yeah, I’ve been holding out on you, but not about Santa Claus. “I could get a message to him. What do you want?”

You giggled, and it was a beautiful sound. “I want some Christmas pajamas.” I could picture you in something like that. It was cute and sexy. “Will you get some too? And Sam? We could have matching pajamas. Like a family.” Wait a minute. Did you just put me in the brother category? And why was I worried about that now?

“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll tell Santa to get us all Christmas pajamas.” It’s going to take one hell of a bribe to get Sam to go along with this one. 

Then you surprised me because you asked, “Dean, what do you want?” I had no idea how to answer that question. The things I wanted couldn’t be put inside a box or under a Christmas tree. 

Hell with it. I’m just going to be honest. “I want you and Sam to be happy.” That sounded a little like I was making you a sister which I’m definitely not, so maybe you didn’t brother zone me before. 

You kissed my cheek, and it warmed me inside, making me forget how cold it was on the outside for a few seconds. “I want you to be happy too, Dean.”

It wasn’t the right time or place, but I put my finger under your chin, tilted your face up, and kissed you. It was a soft kiss, a kiss to tell you what I was afraid to say, what I’ve always been afraid to say, afraid to even admit until we’re in a situation like this, until I can’t push it away or distract myself with something that doesn’t matter nearly as much. I love you. But I can’t tell you that now because it might sound like some kind of deathbed confession, and I can’t let you think you’re going to die. You’re not; I won’t let you die. 

One thing my father did that I am very thankful for at this moment was teach me how to survive. I hope you understand what I’m about to do. In this kind of cold, you need body heat. Direct body heat; our clothes are in the way. They’ve got to go. Your eyes are starting to drift closed, and that can’t happen. 

I lift your head up, and you slowly open your eyes. “Hey, Y/N. Stay with me. Okay? Keep your eyes open. Let me see how beautiful they are. Look at me, Y/N.” I put my hands on your cheeks and hold your face steady to keep you focused on me. “I need to get you warmer. My body can do that if I take off my clothes. It’ll be warmer that way. Okay?” You nod at me. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest. I’m scared, but I steady my voice for you. “Then, I’m going to take yours off, so our skin is touching.” You nod again. 

“Alright.” I kiss your forehead then take my jacket off, thinking I can put that on top of you later too. I take the rest of my clothes off and get back under the sleeping bag. I notice the snow is falling heavy outside. I hope Sam can find the car when he gets here. I’m careful when I take your clothes off to keep you under the covers. 

When everything is gone, it’s just you pressed up close against me. I’ve got to keep you awake, keep you talking. “When we get back home, I’m going to take you on a real date. The least I can do is take you to dinner after you got naked with me.” You smile at my stupid joke. That’s good. “We’ll go to Lawrence. I’ll show you where I grew up. There’s this steakhouse there that I can barely remember, but my dad used to take my mom there. They couldn’t afford a babysitter, so I went along. They had these menus for kids you could draw on, and I always got crayons. I colored everything blue. I remember my mom laughed about that.” 

This was too far down memory lane. I was probably boring you. “Do you like steak? We could have seafood instead, or Italian, or something. Anything you want.” 

“I like sweet potatoes. Can you get a sweet potato with your steak?” Crap. I don’t know. You couldn’t thirty years ago, but you couldn’t get sweet potatoes anywhere then. 

“You want sweet potatoes? We’ll go somewhere where they have sweet potatoes.” I kiss the top of your head again. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. We can go to a real city if you want. Go somewhere really fancy. Dallas maybe. Do you want to see the lights of the big city?” 

The only answer I got was, “You’re so warm, Dean. You feel so good.” 

I put my hand on the back of your head and held it. “I’m gonna make you say that under different circumstances.” My joke, that wasn’t really a joke, wasn’t working this time.

I wasn’t sure you even heard me, but then you whispered, “Promise?”

“Promise.” A single tear slid down my cheek.

The knock on the window was loud; it made me jump, but you didn’t notice. “Dean! Dean!” I have never been so happy to hear my brother. We’re going home, and you’re going to have those pajamas. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester​ @princessmisery666​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @peridottea91​ @logical-princey​ @emilyshurley​ @beenlovingromansincedayoneish​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @waywardbaby​ @atc74​ @ledzeppelinsbonzo​ @shaniquacynthia​ @mariekoukie6661​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @67-chevy-baby​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @terrarium-jpeg​ @emoryhemsworth​ @crashdevlin​ @heycasbutt​ @jules-1999​ @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sammyimpala-67​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @mrs-meghan-winchester​ @timelordy-fangirl2​ @sweetness47​ @hobby27​ @awesomesusiebstuff​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @neveratease​ @becs-bunker​ @sandlee44​ @supernaturalgrandma​ @lonewolf471​ @sea040561​ @dawnie1988​ @maddiepants​ @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @oldfreakything​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ @deansotherotherblog​

Dean/Jensen: @deansyahtzee​ @flamencodiva​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @sammit-janet​ @focusonspn​ @akshi8278​ @ladywinchester1967​ @sgarrett49​ @wingedcatninja​ @coffee-obsessed-writer​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @ellewritesfix05​ 

[wisteria-lodge]

snake primary + slightly burnt snake secondary (some kind of built secondary model)

Hi hi hi!! Hope you’re well!! So tell me, is there a way to tell whether you’re a lion or a snake secondary beyond the actual “textbook” definitions? I think I’m pretty burnt, and I’m on my way to fixing that, but it would help to know where I’m supposed to be heading lol

(Btw, I’m a Sam coded Dean girl. I don’t think it’s relevant I just thought that system was both useful and hilarious and I’m so glad you posted that)

I also really liked how that turned out.

I’m pretty sure I’m an improv secondary. I think I’m bad at it, hence the burning, but it’s what comes naturally to me and what I would feel most proud of.

I end up planning for a bunch of things, and in some cases I don’t hate it.

Damning with faint praise.

Like if I’m giving a presentation, I open a word document and write down what I’m gonna say verbatim, even the language tics and pauses and hesitations and such, so it’s like I’m actually living it. Then I repeat the whole thing multiple times, amending it whenever I change something, until I feel like I’ve sort of gone through the experience already.

That is… the weirdest way of hacking an improvisational secondary. Because that’s what’s you’re doing. Improvisational secondaries need to be “in it,” so you get as close to that as possible in the prep work.

Then I scrap the whole thing and improvise when it’s actually happening – the result is often pretty different from the word doc

of course.

but I’m a bit more in my element because I’ve done it already and I know I can do it.

This is honestly a really good strategy to make yourself more comfortable with improvising? I can tell you’re unBurning, this feels very much like… training wheels, to me. Heck, I think I would recommend your method to another burnt Improvisational secondary.

I’m not sure, but I think that sort of thing is more built than improv?

Like, kind of? I’m autism spectum, and when I was younger I built a Bird model to help me feel more confident accessing my Courtier Badger. That’s what this feels like.

But I definitely feel like it’s a model I’ve developed to deal with social anxiety and my fear of failure lol. I didn’t do stuff like that before it got bad, and if I could deal with not doing it, I would.

I hear that.

In most other situations, though, I tend to jump right in and go with the flow. I really don’t think very far ahead. I guess I can if I try, when it’s just a matter of logic, but things like my life plans, my relationships, or even more short-term things like plans with friends or what I’m gonna eat or how I’m gonna deal with a task, I really can’t project into the future. I can’t really make decisions or see a situation clearly until I’m in it. Then I tend to make decisions very quickly, kind of on instinct, or whatever feels right in the moment.

You’re definitely an improvisational secondary.

(Actually maybe that’s a primary thing? I’m a snake primary, but I do have a very prominent lion model, and a bit of badger as well.)

Nah, that’s definitely an Improvisational secondary thing. I am curious about your primary though, because you say you don’t have too much in the way of life plans… and *that* is more where a primary would come in. You feel like a safe Snake to me (that is, a Snake whose people are safe) so there is a little bit of… what now? What is the Lion+Badger model you wear over the top interested in?

Point is, I prefer being spontaneous, even if it’s something important. Making plans and having to stick to them makes me feel trapped. I’m not the most constant person, and I like that about me. I want to have room to grow and change, even for the smallest things.

Completely, entirely fair.

Anyway, I feel like I’ve talked more about limitations and things I don’t want so far, but I guess that’s a burnt thing.

I mean, sure you’re a little underconfident, but you seem pretty far along to me.

I’ve seen you mention what’s really useful in determining a secondary is what you actually enjoy, so here goes. I like being in the moment, and I like being able to come up with ideas and solutions on the fly, by taking in the situation and using it to my advantage.

That’s very Snake secondary sounding language.

I think there’s a bit of a separation in my mind between “people things” and “being clever things.”

For “being clever things” (like… I don’t know, an escape room, a problem with an administration, a paper I have to write, video games, some kind of mystery…) I like to rely on being observant and quick-thinking, and if I can find loopholes or outsmart whoever I’m facing to win in an unexpected way, that’s even better (but really more for my ego than anything else, I guess finding the “normal” solution is okay, as long as you get there, it’s just less fun).

Hilarious. Yeah, you sound like a *confident* Snake secondary to me.

For “people things” (drama with family or friends, or if someone is being an ass, or if someone comes to me for advice on interpersonal things), I prioritize being straightforward and honest. If I have time to plan or if I’m giving advice, I might come up with something more sneaky and elaborate, but if I’m in the moment, I’m most likely to be really confrontational, stubborn and unyielding, even if it makes things more difficult for me.

Hmm. I am reading this as a Snake who likes being Neutral - especially those words “stubborn” and “unyielding.” There’s a reason Neutral Snakes are called “the unmovable object.”

If I catch myself, I try to avoid it, but that just means staying silent and removing myself from the situation – I can’t bring myself to make compromises if it feels like I’m betraying myself.

Okay, now that’s sounding more Lion.

To be clear, that’s almost exclusively with people I’m close to, or who are supposed to “know me”.

Oh okay. This is your secondary interacting with your primary. Actively lying to and misrepresenting yourself to Your People would be immoral to a Snake Primary.

With friends who aren’t in my inner circle, or acquaintances, or complete strangers, or authority figures, I might get upset internally if I’m perceiving a slight or injustice, but I can keep up the mask I need no problem. That being said, I don’t have a lot of patience for drama, so if whatever it is can’t be quickly resolved with a convenient lie or saying what works for me in a way they won’t mind hearing, I just stick to what I’m actually thinking and/or my neutral state (I’m not sure it’s accurate to use snake language here, but it feels like it and it’s convenient).

I think it’s highly appropriate and accurate. All that is reading very Snake.

I’ve seen a bunch of people say lion and snake secondaries are sort of at odds with each other, but I don’t really get the contradiction between them yet (as in, I don’t see why people can’t be both those “contradictory” things at the same time). I do mask a lot, and I enjoy it – I think it’s rewarding, and honestly it just makes sense – it’s what works best in that moment, and it feels natural to shift that way. I just don’t feel it’s a misrepresentation. The whole “it’s not cheating, it’s being clever” thing just feels a little too dishonest. Cheating is cheating, no need to be so smug about it. It’s not wrong, though, at least not always. If it’s hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it, then it’s wrong (might still do it if the alternative is worse, but that doesn’t mean it’s suddenly an ethical choice to make, it just means I’m okay with being immoral in that instance).

All that being said, I don’t think masking is being dishonest about yourself. I don’t think anything that comes out of my mind is “not me”, it just doesn’t work that way. The personas I have with different groups or people in my life are all genuine, it’s just that different sides of me are brought up. And if I’m acting in a way that’s actually not genuine, that mask is still my creation – if someone else were to come up with a mask for that same situation, it would be different, because their mind works differently. Everything you do is a reflection of yourself, and even if you were to try your best to be honest all the time, you’d never be able to show your true and complete self to someone else. You can’t even see that yourself.

Oh man. This is why I love writing these, and this is what I mean about Lion and Snake being so incomprehensible to each other. Because Lions fundamentally do not think this way, every word here is dripping with Snake.

It might be helpful to think of Lions as static. That’s how Shakespeare (who definitely seems like a Snake secondary…) writes about them, and he sees them as sort of tragic. Lions really do have a “core” persona that feels more true than all the others, and they really do exist in it as much as they possibly can. And feel good and moral about doing that.

And a mask’s point may be to deceive or to gain something, but being blunt and straightforward can be used in that way too.

You are literally thinking of “common Lion secondary presentation” as another useful mask, and it’s so Snake, and so fantastic.

I’m thinking this sounds more snake than anything else, so I’ll focus on why I thought I might be a lion too now. I guess the reason I’m on the fence is because these two are presented as “either you think the only way is through, or you’re looking for a way around it”, and I’m not comfortable saying I favor either.

That is *a* way to think about the two secondaries. But those are symptoms, not causes. The reason a Lion secondary feels that the only way out is though is because a Lion secondary must be themselves, or die.

My first thought was to say that I get more satisfaction from finding ways around a problem because it makes me feel cleverer and it’s more fun, but that’s because I’m zeroing in on certain types of situations (people giving me some intellectual challenge, debates, or video games). But there were also a lot of times where I stuck it out and kept going with pigheaded stubbornness, and got a lot more satisfaction out of that (physical challenges like obstacle courses, disagreements with my parents, winning over certain people).

Here’s where I think the confusion is. You’re a Snake secondary, and one of your masks looks very Lion. Note how you talk about using this “pigheadedness” with certain people, who you know will respond well to it.

In fact, I remember my father telling me one day “yeah, you’re never here to compromise, you just make decisions and inform us, and keep going while you wait for us to accept reality,“ and I actually can’t describe how proud and smug I was about that. Kind of insufferable, but I just get so euphoric when people see right through me and show they get me, even if it’s about the more annoying or bad parts of me.

I think that’s just a human thing. The mortifying ideal of being known is how you feel loved.

I remember a conversation I had with my ex after we broke up where she cut right through all my bullshit and discarded my whole mask to get right to my inner self and the core of certain issues, and even though I was still mad and upset, and kind of embarrassed that she could see me being vulnerable, I couldn’t help but be happy about it, because I felt known.

Yeah. <3

I don’t interact much with people outside of my inner circle, so I can’t tell if it’s entirely specific to them, but I really vibe with the “honesty is their strength” part of being a lion. That’s why my people trust me and rely on me so much, because even though they know how sneaky I can get and how fun I think tricking people is, they also know I default to telling the truth and saying what’s on my mind more often than not, because they’re my people.

I think that, as a Snake primary who mostly only interacts with Your People, you’re in a kind of unusual position. I know that the presentation of a Snake who feels safe can be blunter, can be more Lion-y. My experience with Snakes is… yeah, sometimes I know I’m being manipulated, or having my buttons pushed in a specific way. But I’m fine with it, because I’m one of their people, and I know they would never hurt me. That’s where the certainty is coming from.

Then again, I also have a “it’s not lying unless they’re entitled to the truth” attitude with basically everyone else. I just don’t think some people deserve to know me that way.

snaaaake

(lions are going to take the truth and PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE with it, and if you can’t deal that’s YOUR PROBLEM)

And “ideally”, as in, if I didn’t have anxiety and a bunch of other issues, I still don’t think I’d just be neutral all the time. Sounds boring. And inconvenient.

Snake secondaries are great.

Ahhh, should I even post this? I feel like my whole thought process before this moment of introspection was “so I really vibe with snake, but I’m also hotheaded and a bit of a bitch, so I MUST be a lion, right” lmao. I just think I’m a straight up double snake at this point.

Yep.

Oof, a long way from my original lion bird sorting back when I first discovered SHC hahaha

Yeah, I used to think I was a Badger Bird.

(For the record, I’m writing this in a word doc, and it’s almost 2k now. I haven’t checked how long these normally are, so I’m really sorry if this is too long!!! I’m like physically incapable of being concise I’m so sorry)

Sometimes I edit or re-arrange these slightly for a cleaning reading experience, but I’m having fun. I was engaged all the way though.

Thanks for reading, and thanks for doing these!! They’re super interesting and I’m sure it helps people a lot, and also it’s really cool to see how different people think. I’m a socially-challenged writer, so it’s useful to have that bit of insight into other people’s minds. Love ya <3 <3 <3

[hoboal87]

Sero

Title: Sero

Characters: Dean, Sam, John

Warnings: pre-series AU (Sam is 16, Dean is 20), angst, sads, major injuries, blink and you’ll miss it fluff(it’s miniscule). another warning will be in the tags

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: inspired by this post by @pyschicbi

A/N 2: I wrote this in like, less than an hour. needless to say, no beta and all mistakes are mine.

My Full Masterlist

It was a rough hunt, John knows that. He should’ve called Bobby or Rufus, not take his boys. Dean was still a little too cocky for John’s liking, some amount of self-assuredness is good, but Dean was starting to think he was invincible. Sam, Sam, he’s so far behind on his training, more focused on his school work than researching like he should be.

Bobby’s told him over and over, let the boys be boys, but John can’t do that, not if he’s ever going to find the thing that killed Mary. Sam wants to leave, John’s found more than one college brochure in his duffle, he doesn’t say anything, just tosses it into the trash. Later John’ll hear Sam accuse Dean of going through his things, and Dean, obviously, will have no idea what he’s talking about. They’ll make up after an hour or two, and the next day it’ll be all but forgotten.

Dean’s in the back seat of the Impala, John’s grateful now that he didn’t bring his truck, he and Sam would’ve never been able to get Dean inside. Sam took a nasty hit as well, but he was powering through, wasn’t whining or complaining, his focus, like John’s, was on getting Dean back to the motel so that they could patch him up.

John notices a wince from Sam as he helps Dean out of the back of the car, and he has to admit, he’s proud of him for putting Dean’s well-being over his own uncomfortableness. John steps to the other side of Dean, letting him take a majority of his weight off of Sam and onto him. Sam’s still there, supporting Dean as best he can, and the three of them slowly walk into their room.

Once the door is open, John steps away from his boys, clearing the bed, and grabbing their first aid kit. Dean and Sam hobble towards the bed, Sam makes a comment about Dean overreacting, and Dean lets out a breathy laugh before saying that John has figured out is their code for ‘I love you.’

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

John and Sam help Dean remove his jeans, revealing a large gash from where the wendigo tried to take him down. It’s not the first time that John’s had to administer stitches to either of his boys, but, this is a bit too much for him to handle on his own. Dean’ll need to see a real doctor, someone who can properly patch him up, but for now, and until he can go back and destroy the wendigo’s body, his rough hands will have to do the job.

John cleans the wound the best he can, before handing Dean a bottle of Johnny Walker and ordering him to take a swig, Sam finds John’s leather belt, and it seems to physically pain him to shove into his brother's mouth to keep his screams muffled. If John was any weaker, he’d stop, let Dean relax, but he knows the longer they wait, the more likely the wound is to get infected. Sam sits behind Dean and John doesn’t have to say the words for Sam to know he has to stay strong for his brother, and hold him down as John hastily stitches him up.

Even with the belt in his mouth, Dean’s screams pierce through the motel room. Dean thrashes until eventually the pain becomes too much for his body to bear, and he passes out. Sam’s wiping away at fallen tears as John finishes the last stitches, and then wraps his leg in gauze. They move him full onto the bed, and John finds a bottle of painkillers, tossing them to Sam and ordering him to give Dean two whenever he wakes.

Sam winces again and John raises an eyebrow, but Sam assures him that he’s fine, just sore from the fight, I’ll be okay, dad, it’s probably a cracked rib. John doesn’t question Sam, he has to go take care of the body before someone stumbles upon it, or worse, finish the job himself. John instructs Sam to keep a close eye on Dean; he’ll develop a fever, John’s not an idiot, but he makes sure Sam knows what to do if it becomes too high before he can get back. When I’m done we’ll get Dean to a doctor.

Sam walks him out the door and John wants to tell him how proud he is of him, that he did a good job, but he doesn’t. He can see that Sam’s still upset about the fact that once again he was pulled out of school and onto a hunt. He’ll understand one day, John thinks, they’ll both understand why I’m so hard on them. They each exchange a nod, and John tells Sam he should be back before sunrise.

The sun’s rising as John pulls back into the motel parking lot. He was right, the wendigo wasn’t quite dead, and he had to finish the job himself. When he walks back into the room the sight before him doesn’t surprise him. Sam and Dean are sleeping next to each other like they did when they were little boys. It was slightly amusing, Sam’s long limbs are practically hanging off the bed, and Dean has one arm thrown over his brother's chest.

John walks over and carefully checks Dean’s leg, it doesn’t seem to have gotten worse, which, in and of itself, is a miracle and it looks as if Sam had given him at least one dose of the painkillers already. Dean’s forehead has a slight sheen on it, John presses his hand against him, gaging that he has a slight fever and he’ll need to get him some antibiotics.

Once John is satisfied that Dean’s okay, at least for the time being he focuses his attention onto Sam. When his eyes land on Sam, he realizes it’s the first time he’s really looked at him since they arrived back at the motel last night. Sam’s pale, paler than usual, his skin lacking all color. John walks over to the other side of the bed and notices that he’s clammy as well, and his skin is almost cool to the touch.

He nudges at Sam, not too much to wake Dean, just enough to get him to open his eyes. C’mon Sammy, he whispers, time to get up. There’s no movement coming from Sam, only the delayed reactions from John pushing on him slightly. John’s heart starts to race, and he leans over his youngest son, letting his head rest gently on Sam’s chest.

John jerks away when he realizes why Sam isn’t moving. His hand flies to his mouth as he chokes back a sob, and for the first time since Mary died, he doesn’t know what to do. Sam was in clear pain, and John was so focused on Dean, that he ignored the signs that were right in front of him. He saw the hit Sam took, being thrown back into a tree, but he was up and talking, so John went to where he knew he was needed; Dean.

Sam’s dead.

Sam’s dead because he was too afraid to tell John he was hurt and John was being too much of a stubborn ass to pry further. John wants to pick up his baby, hold him tight and apologize for everything, tell him it’s okay if he doesn’t want to be a hunter, that they’ll find a way for him to go to college, that he loves him and Dean more than anything else in the world.

It’s too late. John can’t tell Sam how proud he is of the man he’s becoming, of the man he would’ve become, that Mary would’ve been proud of him. Instead, now he’s looking at the body of Sam and he doesn’t see the lanky sixteen year old, but his six month old baby who watched his mother die.

John paces the room, he can’t keep Sam next to Dean, he needs to move him, needs to take care of body. But John knows he can’t move Sam without waking Dean, and he doesn’t know how to tell Dean that Sam’s gone. That he’s been sleeping next to his dead brother for hours. John runs to the bathroom, empty his stomach over the porcelain bowl. Dean would never forgive him, he would blame him and John knows that now he’s lost both of his sons.

Feedback is appreciated! In the words of @cockslut-padalecki​  “Likes are gold, but feedback is golden!”

[barren-heart]

If you’re Jensen Ackles, Misha Collins, or Jared Padalecki.

STOP.

Read this post.

Dear J2M,

This is an open letter for you three written by a couple of unhappy passionate fans.

We write this to you because we know at least one of you has a secret Stan account and creeps on the destiel hashtag from time to time. Don’t lie. (Ahem. Misha Collins. Looking at you, Sir.)

With the subtle hints and possibility of a revival, us here at BarrenHeart (Bee and Jay) have some thoughts on what we think a reboot/continuation/revival would look like if it was done well.

Note: we don’t speak for the whole fandom(obviously). And we don’t even speak for all of the Cas/destiel fans. This is from our observation of the fandom after 15x18 and the finale, plus our own opinions.

Here are our demands suggestions for the potential revival.

--Castiel--

First things first. Castiel is brought back.

And by that, we mean he is either shown to be rescued from the empty, Jack rescues him from the empty, or by some other means, that man is not left there to suffer for all of eternity.

Castiel is a lead character.

Not a guest star, not “and Misha Collins.” No. Misha Collins gets to be in every d*mn episode. He is an equal lead alongside Dean and Sam. Which leads into the next point.

Castiel gets his own storyline.

It can be connected to Dean in some way, but he needs his own arc, y’all. Don't care what that is, but he IS his own character. So, some form of personal growth or whatever needs to happen. He is a badass and deserves a good storyline. Also…

Give this M-- F-- (mother father) his wings back!

Yes, he died without ever having his wings return to their full power. Like? We know he was nerfed so he wouldn't overpower Sam and Dean. Prove to us that he can be a fully powered badass and still work alongside Sam and Dean. No need to get rid of that.

Human!Cas does not mean pathetic Cas.

There is a divide on whether Castiel should stay an angel. Personally, we like human Cas. However, human Cas was shafted in the series. If you make him human in any way, shape, or form, he’s gonna still have to be a badass. Don’t whimp him!

He can be a good hunter/pretend FBI agent just like Sam and Dean!

So, make him one! Let him do more cases. On his own. With other people. With Sam. With Dean. He can fight without powers, too.

Give him love!

For the love of freaking Jack, let that man know he is loved by people. Not even mentioning anything romantic, he still needs platonic love y’all. Let Sam say it, let Jack say it. Let anyone in his family tell him that he is loved. Not once in this series did Cas hear that anyone loved him. So, fix it!

New style, anyone?

Cas needs other clothes! Please now. The black trenchcoat we never saw in-show? Boss. Cas in a black leather jacket? Coolness. Hunter plaid? Do it.

Confession Resolution

Speaking of love, come to some conclusion please about him and Dean. Give a resolution somehow, somewhere. We personally don’t really care how it’s done, but there needs to be something said here. You cannot just drop a confession there and just leave like it never happened. So, talk about it.

Adding this, I swear, if this is bros only, you WILL lose Cas fans. So, think about what you’re doing.

--Sam--

Sam is important!

Now, personally we have a soft spot for Sam. His character arc in Season 1-5 was great. Demon blood, powerful Sam was amazing. So, don’t sideline Sam. Seriously. We are gonna say in an unpopular way (as if this post isn’t already unpopular to some), but Sam got sidelined real hard in the last few seasons of the show. Now, was that what Jared wanted? Don’t know. But, Sam needs his own storyline too that isn’t just revolved around Dean. Figure it out.

Witch!Sam

Speaking of which, let this man be powerful. Sam is best when he has powers. Sorry but also not. He has been given all of Rowena’s (who is arguably the best witch around) spell books and decides to not really do much with it? No. He’s becoming a BAMF witch. Full-out, no word spells and shit. End point.

Sam in Charge

He’s not just a baby brother. He’s a grown man. Give him room to grow. Allow him to be a leader. Let him lead a group of hunters, witches, a whole team of people! He’s strong on his own, too. He's a big boy. Prove it.

He should fall in love.

Like, get married and all that. It’s a part of his arc, so keep it there. No blurry wife, my god! Personally it should be Eileen. She’s a badass. They also have a lot in common! Holy hell. They make a good team. So, keep that suggestion in mind.

Let him have the hero’s journey.

We want a good ending that shows growth for this character! He saw himself as a freak with powers, so…maybe he can use his powers now in a way that in empowering instead? Let him have an ending that doesn't just return to the beginning. Let him have gone through all of this changed for the better.

Don't be creepy.

Still keep the brotherly bond with Dean, but don’t make it weird, y’all. Don’t. Please.

Sam as a dad.

He can have a kid. But, Dean Jr? Eh. You might want to reconsider some other (Bobby) possibilities.

--Dean--

Now, with Dean, I wanna make this clear.

DO NOT K word THIS MAN.

This man here has dealt with unbelievable trauma, suicidal thoughts and even almost died by suicide in the show (okay, it was for another reason, but still!) He dies way too many times in this show. It’s not new anymore. Perhaps, when the show was newer, death might have been a bittersweet ending. But, now. It’s tarnished. It happened too much and the message of “carry on” got tainted to mean “there is only peace when you die.” That’s not okay.

Resolve his issues!

He has so much pain and trauma. Let him seek help. Let your audience know that it’s okay to process these emotions. Let him heal. He deserves it.

Dean’s internal struggles

This is piggybacking a little off of point two, but Dean has a lot of things he needs to figure out. We feel like his journey is more internal. While processing his trauma, he needs to learn that it's okay to be himself. This could include things about himself that he feels ashamed of or scared to admit. Things he may have repressed or suppressed over time. No more hiding who he is or brushing it off or making jokes. Be your true self, Dean. It's time.

Dean’s still important, of course

That said, Dean should still be integral to the overall narrative of the plot. Of course he's gonna go head to head with the Big Bad of the season/limited series, but he really should focus on what's inside first before he can take this monster down.

The Bro bond

No more dependent/unhealthy bond with Sam. Of course they are family and brothers, and will always be close. That's perfectly fine. However, its important to note that Dean was Sam’s mom/Dad most of his whole life. And, well, that never came to a resolution. Please let Dean resolve this issue. Sam is grown and older now, and even though Dean will always feel protective of him as his Big brother, Dean shouldn't feel like his life only revolves around taking care of Sam. There is more to Dean and his life.

Dean is complex

Also, Dean is not only about cars, burgers, and pie. It's like some of the writers forgot this. There are so many things/interests of Dean’s that are really cool and add to the complexity of his character. Keep those things.

He needs to resolve his issue with Jack.

He never said sorry to the kid. Not once after telling Sam that Jack wasn't family. He needs to tell Jack he is loved.

Speaking of which, Dean needs to tell Cas he loves him.

Okay. Who knows if you will make destiel reciprocal at this point.

Do we think Dean would have reciprocated based on context clues and what we have seen in the show? Yes.

Do we think this love is romantic? Yes.

Do we think you'll actually fully make it canon in a reboot/continuation? Eh.

Regardless, Dean loves Cas, so make it known.

Other demands considerations.

‘The found family’ needs to not be forgotten.

All the friends that were made along the way need to be included. What happened with Garth was great, actually. Do more of that. And by that, we mean include Jody and Donna. What are the girls doing now? Wayward sisters anyone? Bring Kevin back. Don't leave him to roam the earth all along like that. Either make him human again like Eileen or send him to rest in Heaven.

Where’s Eileen?

Hello??? Where? Tell us she made it back.

Claire

No idea if you can get Kathryn Newton back, but it would be cool at least for one episode. Please. Kaia? Resolve her storyline.

Also, Charlie.

Wtf happened? That was not resolved. We love Felicia Day. Charlie’s friendship with Dean is amazing. She deserves a few episodes.

Crowley!

Seriously. What happened to Mark was super disappointing. You gotta bring him back. His death wasn't great. Bring him back and give him his damn line already!

Jack!

I'm not fully on the Baby!Jack train, but he does deserve a normal life. He's three years old technically. He had no normal life whatsoever. He deserves that. So, give him that.

More Rowena please!

That's it. She's awesome.

Have a wedding.

No, really. Someone's gotta get married. Our pick: Sam and Eileen. Charlie is also a good contender for having a wedding with her partner, too. So there. Weddings are happy. We want a happy ending.

I will reiterate. Team free will lives. That's it.

Okay. Now, moving on to the next part of this. The elephant in the room. The thing a lot of us actually want from this, but frankly, we aren't sure if you'll do it.

Explicit Destiel.

If you've read this far J2M, then you're probably wondering when this was going to be addressed. So, here are the stipulations on destiel.

Go big or go home.

Yep. We said it. Make it explicit, full out, no ambiguity.

Honestly, you might be thinking what you could do to make it explicitly canon? Well, since there were tons of people who still think Cas’ love confession was just a platonic exchange between two bros (like wtf? How?), you're gonna have to spell it out for people.

But, some things that we may perceive as romantic, some people may not.

--Like, holding hands could be considered platonic between two men to some people.

--Cheek kissing could also be considered platonic to some people.

Not to say we need Jensen and Misha doing full on *** scenes to prove anything, but something more than a hand hold. Okay? Okay.

What we’re saying is basically, you're gonna have to kiss. On the lips. Yep.

So...I guess you'll have to figure out how you want to do that.

On when to make it canon:

You can decide if it makes sense to make it canon towards the beginning or towards the end. Honestly, there could be an argument for either. If it's made canon earlier, you could prove there can be a relationship alongside the main storyline. If you wait until the end, you'll leave fans wondering if you'll actually do it. But, the kiss being the major event of the finale could be worth it. Whichever you do, remember there are upsides and downsides to both.

Other other considerations:

Just realize who your fanbase is now. We’ve grown and changed. Like Becky, your fans have gone through a huge change in what they want from the show. Is the fandom all on the same page? Nope. Will they ever be? No.

You will not please everyone. That's a given. But, a lot of fans want to see the show wrap up in a better way than what we got. Destiel fans aside, the finale was not great overall. There are plenty of negative finale reviews that have nothing to do with destiel.

On top of that, society is changing. Slowly. The attitudes in regards to lgbtq media is quite different than before. You have the chance to make history. Really. If you make this canon, that will be a part of your legacy. You'll hit the news. I mean, 15x18 wasn't even the finale and it trended #1 that day.

We suggest that if you do decide to make it canon, it’s meaningful and you take the time to do it right.

So, consider your fans. Consider the part of the fandom that trended your show over the election. Consider the fans that trended a fictional wedding on Valentine's Day. Consider Misha/Cas fans who felt slighted. Consider your LGBTQA + fans. Just, think about what the reboot could achieve. What it could mean to a lot of people.

As always, we just want happiness and peace when we are done.

Thanks for reading Misha J2M.

Sincerely,

Bee 🐝 and Jay 🐦

[hunenka]

Dean girls: Why did Dabb ignore all of Dean’s trauma, self-worth issues, suicidal tendencies and his struggle to overcome all that to become his own man and to live his own life and find peace and happiness?

Me: Dabb has no idea that Dean’s gone through traumatic experiences, has self-worth issues, suicidal tendencies and struggles to overcome all that. All that Dean’s ever been to Dabb is a dumb, angrily yelling, people-punching klutz who eats messily and can’t even take a single step without Sam’s (or occasionally somebody else’s) wise advice.

This isn’t some intentional plan on Dabb’s part to tell us that if you’re broken and traumatized, the only way to find peace is to die, go to heaven and even there, focus all your thoughts and energy on somebody else instead of on yourself. In order to do that, Dabb would have to think about Dean, actually understand Dean’s character, motivations, development… and then think “Yeah, I’m going to negate all that just for fun.” That’s way too more thinking about Dean than Dabb would ever manage.

Dabb doesn’t know Dean, he never has, and he never cared for him. Dean’s trauma hadn’t been addressed for years (even before Dabb, it was very done very scarcely and often not that well), except for when it’s used as a pretext to show that Dean’s coping with trauma the wrong way, doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, and is just generally awful and needs to learn how to do better. (That “therapy” scene from 13x04 still makes me want to puke.)

It’s not Dabb sending us Dean girls who identify with Dean a cruel message. It’s simply Dabb not thinking at all.

I’m not sure whether that’s better or worse, though.

(And I’m not saying it’s weird that people do get that message anyway. It does come off as “if you’re messed up, you’ll only get fixed if you die”. But I believe it’s not intentional, it’s just Dabb messing up one last time.)

[writingtoforgetreality]

Come Together - Little Movie Star Chapter Five (Jensen Ackles x Daughter!Reader)

[Actors-Masterlist], [Little Movie Star-Masterlist]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter 

Summary: It was finally time to meet the Padalecki’s. What if they did not like you? You were expecting a lot of things but you certainly were not expecting this. Were you dreaming? You had to be.

Words: 1,912

Warnings: language, Jared being a hugger (you’ll understand why I put it here), being uncomfortable, scared of having to go back, surprises, kinda a filler chapter but important for the future of this story

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

~2016~

Tonight, the Padalecki’s were coming over. When Jensen broke the news to you, you were excited but equally nervous. Danneel drove the kids over to their grandparents so they would not disturb you during dinner. Not that they ever annoyed you. The exact opposite, actually. You loved having them around. But you were supposed to focus on Jared & Gen tonight.

The thought of them getting to know you scared the shit out of you. They were the Ackles’ best friends, after all, & you wanted to leave a good first impression behind. It took you some time to figure out what you wanted to wear for dinner. It would be held at home so you did not have to overdress but at the same time, you found dressing nicely to be convenient. After changing your outfit one too many times, you settled on a simple look. While it was nothing special, you did feel confident in it. And confidence was definitely something you needed later today.

Spending hours in the bathroom was not planned, it simply happened. You wanted to look perfect. Danneel had told you that there was no need to worry, that they would love you just as you were. Being a fan of them for a long time, you knew they would never judge you by they way you looked. It just was not in their nature. Still, it could not hurt to put effort into your look, right?

When you woke up today, the first thing you did was checking your phone. You knew you should not but sometimes you felt the need to. By now, everyone knew about you. And while the hate comments were becoming less & less, some days, you only noticed the negative responses. Of course, the media had picked up on the fact that you were a new person they could write about. There was not much to report about you, though. Some paparazzi had shot a few pictures of you over the time of you living in Austin. At first, you were creeped out by the idea of being watched 24/7. Now, you were dealing with it way better. When you were seen with Jensen, you posed for the pictures & it was fun to mess with them, really. Besides your first Instagram post, you had been quiet on social media. The hate wave still needed some time to die down & you did not want to add fire to the flame by posting more stuff about your new life. Surprisingly, the articles that had been written about you were mainly positive. Of course, a couple of them were looking for drama but because of your silence on social media, there was not much they could write about.

Walking out of your room after checking your look in the mirror for the hundredth time, you saw that you still had an hour left before they would be coming by. You could ask Danneel if you could help in the kitchen. She had insisted on making the main dish while the Padalecki’s would bring over dessert. Danneel heard you walking in & gasped when she turned around to look at you.

“Wow, (Y/N). You look gorgeuous.” blushing at her words, you thanked her.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” walking over, you could already smell the delicious dish Danneel was preparing.

“You could set the table if you don’t mind?” she asked you & you immediately got to work, grabbing everything necessary to put on the table.

Hey, Dee?” you were at a point where calling her by her nickname did not make you uncomfortable anymore. Yet, if you had to be fully honest, being in Jensen’s presence calmed you more. Comparing your relationship to the beginning, though, the both of you had improved by a lot. And you were grateful that your trying was not for nothing.

“What’s up?”

“Where’s Jensen? Shouldn’t he…I don’t know, be here already?” you knew he was not the person to be late, especially not for something as important as this. Okay, it was just dinner but he was aware of your nervousness even days before. Danneel informed you that he was at the Padalecki’s house & would arrive right in time with them. Okay, good. At least he did not forget about it.

Ever since you had arrived in Austin, Jensen’s filming schedule was all over the place. The crew wanted to give him more time with you & the change in his life. This ended up in him flying back & forth from Vancouver to Austin almost every couple of days. It was exhausting & you had reasoned with him to focus on his work entirely, that you guys would be okay here. But nope, Jensen wanted to be there with his family & you appreciated his efforts a lot. A lot of weekends, he was at conventions all across the country but he always managed to stop by & spend time with you all. He was great.

There was knocking on the front door & you knew it was them. Danneel asked you to get the door & you were silently preparing yourself. You had multiple conversations in your head & hoped that one of them would be fitting. Taking a deep breath, you opened the door. Damn, you knew Jared was tall but he was tall. You were pulled into a bone-crashing hug before any words were exchanged. Right, you knew Jared was a hugger, you had seen enough videos of him admitting that. Still, you were getting used to physical touch & his hug did more bad than good. You hated yourself for feeling that way, there was no need to be scared of hugs.

“Easy, pal. Let her go.” Jensen rescued you by tapping Jared’s shoulder. It was as if he suddenly remembered that you actually were not one for hugs. Pulling away abruptly, he scratched the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry…” he quietly apologized. “I’m Jared. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/N).” you could not stay mad at him, the look in his eyes & his smile was enough to forget the uncomfortable hug immediately.

“It’s no problem & likewise, Jared.” stepping out of the doorway to let them in, Gen came into view & she smiled sweetly at you. Not making the same mistake as Jared, she simply shook your hand.

“Hi (Y/N), I’m Gen. You look pretty.” would you ever stop blushing whenever someone gave you a compliment? You were not sure but it was something you could work on, you thought.

“Thank you. It’s good to see you.” keeping your nervousness at bay, you were proud when your voice did not crack. If you acted like this the entire evening, you would be fine.

Jared & Gen walked into the house to greet Danneel & Jensen stopped you before you could follow them. Facing him, you gave him a confused look, not knowing what he wanted from you.

“I’m sorry about Jared. I told him you weren’t one for hugs but that jerk doesn’t listen very well.” Jensen felt bad that the first interaction between you guys was uncomfortable for you.

“It’s fine, Jensen, really. I knew he was a hugger.” a laugh escaped you, one that eased him a little. Now he could tell you were not mad at what happened. It could only get better from now on, right?

Dinner went by fast. It was easy to talk to them & while they did ask you a lot of questions, they were never uncomfortable. They knew where the line was that  should not be crossed. At least for the time being.

“So, (Y/N).” Jared started.

“Yeah?”

“I heard a rumor that you’re a fan of Supernatural?” he gave you a smile that showed you that he knew the answer to that question already. You nodded your head.

“Started watching about three years ago.“

“That brings me to my next very important question. Who’s your favorite? Sam or Dean?” oh, he did go down that road, great. You could feel Jensen’s eyes on you & Jared was looking way too confident. Honesty was important, right? Well, then you might as well confess.

“Actually…Cas is my favorite.” you admitted. Both, Jared & Jensen, gasped & acted as if the world just ended. You laughed at their antics. They could be such children.

“That’s my girl.” Danneel spoke up & high-fived you. Yeah, you could get used to that group of people.

Danneel & Gen left Jensen, Jared & you alone, knowing what they were about to tell you. Jared had brought you a little gift. It was one of his hoodies from the newest “Always Keep Fighting” campaign. The one with the “Family Has Your Back” logo. After thanking him, you immediately put it on, loving how it fit you. It was a little too big on you but that made it even comfier.

“We have to tell you something.” Jensen started. Oh no. Usually, when people from your past started a conversation like this, you were sent back the next day. Wait…Would they really do that? After everything?

“O-okay?” hiding your nervousness was not possible anymore. Jared noticed you trembling hands & eased your mind before you got the wrong impression.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s a good thing, I promise.” again, Jared’s smile had an effect on you. Maybe it was because he was so empathetic.

“Remember when you told me that you enjoyed acting a while ago?” Jensen continued after you nodded, “I managed to get you two auditions. They are online, so I can be there with you this entire time. That is, of course, only if you wanna do this.” your eyes widened at his words. Had you heard him right? He got you auditions? Plural? That was literally one of your biggest dreams.

“So?” Jared asked when you were silent for a few seconds. You just needed time to process everything. But holy shit. Of course you wanted to do this!

“I’d love to! What are the auditions for?”

“One is for being a main character in season 13 of Supernatural & the-“ Jensen was cut off.

“WAIT WHAT?! You’re kidding, right?”

“He so isn’t kidding.” Jared chimed in.

“And the second one?” everything was too much right now. How could you possibly deal with this information without freaking out?

“A role for the next Avengers movie.” Jensen finished. Yeah, sure, why not?

“How? How did you get these auditions for me?” you were shocked to say the least. What was happening?

“We do have some connections.” Jared winked at you & this time, it was you who pulled the both of them into a hug. Jared looked surprised while Jensen just smiled. He appreciated whenever you initiated physical touch, knowing it was not easy for you.

After the talk, Danneel & Gen joined you guys again & you excitedly told them about your upcoming auditions. That was so foreign to you. Having upcoming auditions. Even though they made sure that you understood that they could not guarantee anything, you were more than grateful that they even got you this opportunity. Supernatural & Marvel, both fandoms you loved wholeheartedly. And now you had the chance to be play an actual part if everything worked out. And how you hoped it would. Your life had changed so much lately & it could change even more now.

~to be continued~

Next Chapter 

Published (04/17/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @vicmc624​, @imaginationisgrowth​, @stoneyggirl​, @alyispunk​, @thevelvetseries​, @multifandomlover121​, @samsgirl93​, @supernatural3002​, @diabetes-03, @prettyybubblesintheair, @originalsoulcollector​, @vir-tual, @bellero​, @sergantbuckybarnes​ (let me know if you wanna be tagged <3)