#and that his first impressions of jack were formed on cas' death and cas he loves

[wigglebox]

No, he never thought he’d be a dad. 

If anything, Dean had been banking on Sam somehow spawning a child so he could be the favorite uncle, seeing the kid every so often if Sam would let him by then and spoiling him or her rotten. 

But he wasn’t “dad” material himself. No way. 

There were things he could follow, books and magazines, TV shows provided some kind of a model, and Dean had seen families over the year he’d file in the “normal” column, but—

He didn’t ever want to see if he would pass or fail that experiement of application. 

Over the years Dean had been told plenty of times he was “great with kids”. He knew how to calm them down after one of those scary monsters got in their face; he knew how to talk to them to get information needed from the hunt; he always knew when to call the local DCF because he only ever took care of one kind of monster, though he’d like it to apply to all others as well. 

But being a dad was never in the cards. 

Not in their line of business. 

What the job had done to John over the years was never something Dean could bear to see happen to himself in the company of a child. Any child. A child that sees him every day, depends on him, wants the world from him—and Dean wouldn’t be able to deliver. 

Because the job adding another layer of bullshit onto John was one thing, but Dean knew, he knew, that deep down, his dad was always probably going to turn out like this. He’d seen it in other families that tell their story to Dean, or to outcast children they meet in backwoods areas, saying how they weren’t pushed out by their fathers but left willingly in order to avoid more suffering. 

Just like Sam eventually did.

In his mind, Dean figured someone like that doesn’t just happen—they’re born with that spark. 

And if John had that spark, Dean had no proof to himself that it wasn’t in him as well. 

So no... 

Too many factors, too many reasons not to consider fatherhood. It wasn’t why he was put on earth, Dean would tell himself. The option will never be there. 

Never. 

#lol happy fathers day #have an angst ficlet i guess #i wrote this on the fly excuse my typos #spn fic #i was thinking about dean and jack #and their relationship #and how i feel like a lot of people just don't understand #like dean has a lot. of layers to him #including growing up in an abusive hoome #and that his first impressions of jack were formed on cas' death and cas he loves #so yeah i mean it needs a longer post #probably a meta one #this is just a ficlet written to poke at dean's feelings pre-jack and pre show maybe even #trying to convince himself why he doesn't deserve to be a father #and yes i know he parented sam #which is why i included the line of sam leaving to avoid suffering #and dean taking that as a 'i failed' #but there's a LOTTTTT of arguments and layers when it comes to that #anyway #i was also thinking about bobby and in his episode and you are led tounderstand he didn't want children because he didn't want to turn into #his own father #goddddd #this show and its daddy issues

[castiel-kline]

cas and balthazar meet again post finale

This one really got away from me, and it got really long. I promise it does answer the prompt but I also made it super plotty for some reason. I hope you don’t mind!

Being taken by the Empty didn’t feel like dying. 

Of course, that’s what was happening to him, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt cold, and painful, and vengeful. Lonely and miserable and laced with glittering knives of regret.

It was his damnation. Not the traditional sense of the word, but true nonetheless. 

But if facing it meant he’d save his family? Save Jack from being subject to the same fate? He’d damn himself to this a thousand times over, without a single shred of hesitation. 

The Empty had him entirely covered in its goo, tendrils snaking under his skin and into his body from every angle. In through the eyes, the nose, snaking down his throat. Under the fingernails, into the ears, scraping through the tattered remnants of his grace and pressing down around his true form. 

It was agony. 

Eventually it subsided, and some of the inky tendrils retracted, leaving him gasping for air that neither existed in this realm nor was truly necessary. He collapsed in a heap, the Empty bubbling around him. He spared a glance up, wondering if the Shadow were nearby to gloat before sending them both into slumber. What he saw… well. Unexpected didn’t quite cover it. 

“Jack?” 

“Hmm. Guess again, Castiel.” 

“No.” Don’t you dare look like him.

“Oh, yes. Because it hurts you to look at him, doesn’t it?” The Shadow leaned down, condescension clear as day in its every move. So wrong on Jack’s face that it twisted something deep within him. It stared him down, watching him squirm, mania-painted smirk stretching wider. “Good. I want you to suffer, so that’s what you’re going to do.” 

“I thought you wanted your peace and quiet,” Cas managed, as more tendrils snaked out over his wrists and ankles. Dragging him a little bit further down, completely at the Empty’s mercy. Somehow he suspected that was the point.

The Shadow straightened, looking down Jack’s nose at him. 

“Of course I do,” It said, emulating Jack’s earnestness. Liar. “But I can’t!”

“What?”

“Wonderboy-” the Shadow gesticulated wildly in the direction of its facsimile body “-woke everybody up when he exploded all over me. So I don’t get to sleep, no, and if I don’t get to sleep then you definitely don’t get to sleep. None at all.” 

Quicker than a blink, the Shadow had fisted Castiel’s collar in its hands, bringing their faces inches apart. 

“At least,” It whispered, eyes wild with an energy Jack had never, and would never, possess. “I get to make you suffer like you’ve made me suffer. So I want you to look at this face, Castiel. Look at it, and know that it’s contorted in tears right now because Papa Bear abandoned him.” 

The Shadow threw him down, the goo swallowing him right back up. Submerged in the dark, he scarcely felt its weight. He was too busy drowning in a fresh cascade of guilt.

It yanked him back up, tendrils leaving him suspended in the middle of nothing. Some of them twisted at his feathers, pulling them just enough to be excruciating but not enough to rip them free. He screamed.

“Be quiet!” The Empty released him, and Cas fell back down, every fibre of his being crying out in pain.

The Shadow cackled, everything about it from the pitch to the cadence to the intention screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’re never going to regret this, are you?”

Cas glared at it, mustering up as much defiance as he could. 

“No,” he croaked. “Because saving my family? That’s worth dying a thousand deaths.”

The Shadow doubled over laughing again. Then, quick as a blink, kicked him across the face, sending him reeling backwards.

“‘Die a thousand deaths’? Please. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Castiel pushed himself back up, following the Shadow’s pacing with his eyes. It walked with one arm tucked behind its back, the other gesticulating as it spoke.

“Death isn’t going to be enough for you, hmm. Oh, you know what you’ve never been able to take?” It spun back around, grinning down at him. “You can’t stand seeing the pain you’ve caused. And since you can’t see what’s left of your precious little family- not that they even care that you died, by the way- how would you feel about seeing the angels again?”

No. He must have looked visibly afraid, because the Shadow only smiled wider. 

“Not so pleasant a thought, hmm? Seeing as you killed most of them.” It laughed again, clapping its hands in an expression of glee that would have been endearing coming from Jack, but now simply served to be disturbing. “Oh, yes. It’ll be just like throwing a scrap of meat to a pack of starving dogs.”

Cas shook his head, but the Empty pressed on. It waved its hand, and Castiel was thrown some immeasurable distance away. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and watched in horror as the ground bubbled around him, and his brothers and sisters began to crawl their way out.

He recognized them, of course, because he’d taken care to never forget a single name. He saw Hael first, then Bartholomew, then Jonah and Efram and Ambriel and Samandriel. He saw Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Jophiel. He scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything but watch and wait for their wrath to undoubtedly descend upon him. 

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled, running and dragging Castiel with them. He didn’t fight it, figuring that whoever had him was going to inflict a world of pain and there wasn’t a thing to do but accept it. They’d gone a fair distance, if there was such a thing as distance in nothing, before they stopped and Cas turned to face who had taken him. 

“Balthazar?” His voice came out strangled, as scarcely more than a whisper. 

“Cas,” Balthazar said, staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Your wings…”

“Balthazar,” Cas repeated, finding himself unable to say anything else, mind swirling in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and pain. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry.”

“What, for killing me? You weren’t yourself.”

“I was. That’s the problem.”

Balthazar just shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a stab in the back to get rid of me. You do know that, right?”

“If we weren’t already dead I’d offer you my blade to kill me. I deserve nothing more.”

“Castiel.” Cas forced himself to meet Balthazar’s eyes directly. “I know you, and so I forgive you. As I’ve told you before- nothing’s changed.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “Except me.”

“What happened to you?” Balthazar’s fingers traced the air where Castiel’s wings lay mangled and twisted in another dimension. “You look like you’ve been clawed apart by feral house cats.”

“I destroyed everything, Balthazar. So many times.” And he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of all his mistakes. Perhaps this was the torture the Empty preferred for him- giving him back a lost friend, giving him forgiveness- and then ripping it away again. Surely even someone as loyal as Balthazar wouldn’t want to associate with him after learning of the things he’d done.

“You, Cassie? I’ve only ever known you to do what’s right.”

“How can you say that when you saw me make one of my biggest mistakes? When I killed you because of it?”

Balthazar scoffed. “Mistake? Cas, you were trying to stop our control freak of an older brother from letting the other ones out to destroy the world. What about that is a mistake? Sure, Crowley was a bit of a snake, but come on. It can’t have been so long that you’ve forgotten your good intentions.”

Cas didn’t say a word, and Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “Nine years.”

“Nine years.” Balthazar’s eyebrows had shot all the way up. “Wow. Not long at all. So what could… no. Tell me you weren’t.”

Castiel frowned. “Weren’t what?”

“Weren’t still kissing the Winchesters’ asses for the whole nine years.”

“They’re my friends, Balthazar.”

“Oh, really?” Balthazar crossed his arms. “If they’re your friends, why did they treat you like one of the guns they keep in the trunk of their wretched car?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it, Cas?” Balthazar sighed, backing down a little. Nine years of death wouldn’t stop them from bickering, it seemed, though he did put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. An uncharacteristic attempt to show solidarity through the sarcasm.

“Look,” Balthazar continued. “What you do is your business, but… just tell me there was something good in those years. That it wasn’t just you running around trying to prove yourself to them.”

There was something, in fact, something he’d never expected. Something beautiful.

“I had a son,” he admitted. He’d often wondered what Jack would be like meeting angels that weren’t hell-bent on killing him. He’d imagined Jack meeting Balthazar, or Hannah, or Rachel or Samandriel, but it would never come to fruition. The best he would get was telling them about him, assuming he would be able to escape being choked and stretched and drowned by the depths of the Empty for all eternity.

“Why, Cassie, I’m impressed,” Balthazar said wryly. Oh no. Before Cas could interject and explain, Balthazar continued. “Looks like you really did get that stick out of your ass. And you put it right up-”

“Balthazar! He’s not mine, not like that. He chose me, and his mother was a friend. That’s all.”

Balthazar seemed to enjoy how flustered he was, but his tone was serious. “You adopted a human child?”

“No, he’s a nephilim.”

“Ah,” Balthazar said. “So they changed the rules regarding them in the past nine years, then?”

“No,” Cas said again, getting frustrated. He’d forgotten how much Balthazar loved to hear himself speak. Even if he had missed it, it was still mildly insufferable.

“Well, you rebel Cas, you. But, ah- who was the sire?”

Cas winced. “Lucifer.”

“Oh, my. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Jack’s nothing like him, though. He’s… he’s very much like his mother. And I like to think he’s a little bit like me, too.”

Balthazar looked at him, somehow still reading him like a book after all this time.

“You spoil the poor child, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Cas huffed.

“Oh, yes you do. You’ve always been soft, but now you’re practically a down pillow.”

Cas’ smile was sadder, again. “I told you I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But we haven’t.”

“Thank you.”

Balthazar smiled. “I do have one question though, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“How did you die?”

Well. He supposed it would have had to be asked eventually. Unfortunately his hesitation gave Balthazar another opportunity to talk over him.

“Please don’t tell me it was for the Winchesters.”

“I love them.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And unfortunately I love that about you. Well, go on. Tell me a story.”

Cas shrugged. “I made a deal with the Empty. My life for Jack’s, which- it wasn’t even a question. It said that when I was finally happy, it would take me.”

Balthazar frowned. “What did you in?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But I managed to save Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Cas,” Balthazar muttered, sounding deeply sad. “Well, at least you were clearly a better father than our dear old absent God. That much is clear.”

Cas’ heart sank. He couldn’t not tell him, though he didn’t necessarily want to break the news.

“Balthazar.”

“What?”

“Um. A lot has happened since I’ve last seen you, and there’s a lot you need to know, but God- God was never on our side.”

--------

They walked aimlessly through the Empty, keeping aware for signs of their siblings or the Shadow, but oddly finding none.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, flippant as ever. Cas was nearly sure he was deflecting.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re not angry?”

“Nope.” Forced cheerfulness. “Never liked him anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you even met the man.”

Cas paused and stopped moving, feeling something tugging at his grace.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Balthazar had stopped too, hovering closer. 

A pocket of the nothingness in front of them seemed to pull itself inward, caving in like a black hole and then cracking open just a bit. Was this what it looked like when someone died and came to the Empty?

Hopefully not, because the distortion cleared and Jack was standing there. And it was painfully, obviously Jack, clearly indicated by everything from his posture to the grace Cas could feel reaching for his own.

Balthazar stiffened, preparing for a fight, but the minute Jack caught sight of Castiel the angel found himself with an armful of nephilim. He held on tight, feeling Jack trembling slightly.

Having connected the dots, Balthazar caught his eye over Jack’s shoulder and mouthed “down pillow.” Cas shook his head slightly, but turned his attention back to his son.

“Jack? Are you-”

“I’m getting you out, Cas,” Jack said, pulling back. “We’re both getting out of here.”

Balthazar’s stricken expression tugged at Cas’ heart.

“Just me?” Cas asked.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The other angels are awake, Jack. Can you…”

“I… maybe. But, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know them. Why…”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Cas assured. “But if we can help them somehow, be that bringing them back or putting them to sleep… I need to try to make things right.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll try to help.”

Cas smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I missed you,” Jack said, eyes wide. Cas felt something else inside him twisting.

Balthazar cleared his throat, and Cas gently turned Jack around to face the third member of their party.

“Jack, this is Balthazar. He’s a good friend.”

Jack and Balthazar looked at each other, Jack frowning and Balthazar smirking in a horribly misguided attempt to be friendly. The silence stretched on, utterly deafening. Jack broke it first.

“I… I met an alternate universe version of you that was not very nice.”

Balthazar didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you know what they say. Don’t judge an angel by their alternate universe counterparts, right?”

That got a bit of a smile out of Jack, though he was still wary. Cas couldn’t blame him, so he kept in contact to keep him at ease.

“We need to find the Shadow. Make an arrangement so that we can take a few angels with us and the Empty goes back to peace and quiet,” Jack said. The self-assuredness was clearly a front, but somehow Cas felt as if he’d have time to help Jack through it. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding at Jack. Jack nodded back, and the three of them started walking. Into what, they didn’t know. 

But Castiel had the strangest feeling that it was all going to turn out alright.

#castiel #balthazar #spn #asks #prompts #napsterofficial #winchester critical #<bc of balthazar lmao #other prompts I am getting to y’all soon I promise!! #kitkat writes

[earbuds-and-hightops]

An Open Letter to Supernatural

[ Spoiler warning for 15x20, obviously ]

I understand that a well-contemplated complaint about this ending cannot be made without first reading the original, pre-COVID, script of 15x20, but in the long run, the initial plan is not what will be remembered. 

What will be remembered is what this show created. What it became beyond two brothers driving around the country, hunting monsters. Characters were introduced and developed, and in that, Sam and Dean Winchester become so much more than two kids living on the road. In the past 15 years, the cast, and thus the family, grew to something that would be unimaginable to those who started this project back in 2005. Not only did the characters and their stories become meaningful, but the show itself grew into, well, a family. The fans who have kept this show alive since Day 1 have come together to form what I believe is the greatest community in pop culture. 

What hurts the most is that this finale did not do any of that development justice. 

The finale (and consequently the episodes leading up to it) reverts back to the story between only Sam and Dean. While some see this as an ode to who they are--their brotherhood and familial bond being the heart of their values and the root of their characters--I cannot help but see this as a rejection of their experiences this past decade and a half. 

What’s worse, episode 15x18 confirmed one of the most pure and powerful and goddamn beautiful romances that television will ever see. This story of an angel who abandoned his family and the only beings he’s known for thousands of years, all for one person. I knew from the instant the screen faded to black on November 5 that the story of Castiel will always be remembered, even if his feelings were unrequited. Castiel will always be remembered. 

And then there’s Destiel. I was genuinely impressed that this show would even grow to include a queer angel, more importantly, a queer character in a leading role. The queer-baiting and the “bury your gays” trope both make this confession and its lack of acknowledgement that much worse (and is worthy of an entirely separate open letter for another night). It matters less if Dean does or doesn’t reciprocate these feelings and more that it’s wrong that he completely ignores it. Cas’s love confession, this beautifully tragic and tragically beautiful emotion coming from a being who wasn’t supposed to feel emotions at all, is something that, unfortunately, will become a secret that dies with Dean Winchester. 

It’s truly a shame that the writers of this show let that happen. 

We haven’t even touched the fact that Castiel’s death was an act of sacrifice to save Dean. Dean’s limited reaction and lack of mourning* tears apart this phrase that has become pivotal to the entire show and fanbase: “Family don’t end in blood.” While it would be a lot to ask that Dean rescue Cas from the Empty and resume their cycle of rescue and resurrection, I think it’s only fair that Dean take the time to fully accept Castiel’s actions and words for what they mean instead of simply moving forward as if they never happened.

What’s more, Misha Collins is one of the greatest and kindest people in this world, and he’s poured his heart and soul into Supernatural, just like everybody else. He’s spent 12 years on this project, and the final two episodes hardly mentioned his character. He didn’t deserve this. It’s heartbreaking that his last credit on this show will be a prank call from someone trying to impersonate him, and not something that pays tribute to such an important character and important actor**

The most devastating part of this ending is what happened in 15x19. Pardon my French when I say that that episode, the ultimate climax of the season and latter half of the series, was a piece of dog shit. It’s incredibly frustrating to invest in 15 years worth of television and look forward to this ultimate battle between two average boys and God the Almighty Himself and to instead watch a 6-minute long fist fight on the beach with the only dialogue being variations of “seriously guys, stay down.” 

My issues with 15x19 lie less in the storyline that was chosen and more in how they were presented. I am completely on board with Jack taking God’s power and eventually becoming the new God, but the episode was far too quick to have any real meaning, and, as stated before, Castiel’s sacrifice, which allows Sam, Dean, and Jack to do what they do in 15x19, is hardly mentioned.

Most fans agree that 15x19 was far too quickly paced. The plot with Michael and Lucifer was questionable to begin with, but should have been an episode on its own if it were to be perused at all. Michael’s story in particular could have been fleshed out to reiterate this theme of overly loyal sons and their fathers, as well as their relationships with less loyal siblings, but was instead reduced to about 20 minutes of screen time. 

Though this is less important, Lucifer’s plan to make a new Death felt like a cheap cop-out just to close the storyline with Death’s book, but we can finish that discussion another day. 

The general fan reaction to this atrocity of an episode was that this was meta, and according to Becky, the ending was supposed to be dog shit. This, along with the untouched storyline started when Cas died, gave fans so much hope that the finale would be this amazing piece of art that puts Supernatural in the history books. 

While it’s obvious that an hour cannot perfectly tie up every single event and arc with a pretty little bow, it can at least...try. Any finale should, at minimum, pay tribute to what the show started as (which 15x20 did well) and what it became (which 15x20 failed to do miserably). 

In addition, a reference to character back in season 1 is incredibly frustrating when recurring characters with actual, well, character go unnoticed. I mostly reference Eileen here, but this also applies to Jody and Donna. Nobody even mentions the other wonderful friends who have helped Sam and Dean along their journey to Heaven. If family doesn’t end in blood, then why doesn’t it extend to include Castiel, Jack, Mary, Rowena, Charlie, Kevin, Jody and her girls, Donna, and so many others?

Dean’s death was sad, I’ll give them that (and honestly, I was expecting it). However, considering that this man has defeated apocalypses, killed Death, and taken down God, his death via nail in the wall was incredibly anticlimactic, and something that could literally have happened at any point over the 15 seasons. While Dean’s death was obviously not my ideal ending, I think it could have worked if it were done properly, and in this case, it was not. That said, I do appreciate that Sam did not try to bring Dean back, as that would indicate literally no growth at all.

Dean’s funeral was...pathetic, to say the least. Sam being the only person there was depressing considering that Dean had lots of other close friends (and you’d think that Jack would pay his respects, but apparently not), however, this is likely a scene that was impacted by COVID and the availability of some of the cast, so I will not dwell on that scene.

Dean’s time in Heaven complicates matters even more. Firstly, Bobby confirms that Castiel is no longer in the Empty and has been in contact with Jack. I would have loved to see this reunion; Cas is essentially Jack’s father, and I would have loved to see how their upgrading/remodeling of Heaven brought them closer together. I understand that the writers were trying to focus this finale story on the brothers, this goes back to my earlier point that you cannot simply ignore everything that that this show has grown to include. Bobby’s explanation also begs the question of why Dean had no intention of seeing Cas (or Jack, for that matter) again now that he has the opportunity.

Secondly, Dean’s instinct to go directly for the Impala was very in-character, however, the editing implied that driving was all Dean did until Sam died. As we know, Sam dies of old age, likely (completely guessing here) upwards of 40-50 years from Dean’s death, and that is a very, very long time for Dean to simply driving around the mountains. It would have been nice to see Dean reunite with other family and friends who are also in Heaven, however, again, COVID restraints.

Sam’s ending was similar to what I and a lot of other fans imagined (not necessarily wanted, but predicted) it to be: kids and a wife, living a normal, monster-free, life. I hate to believe that he doesn’t end up with Eileen (to my recollection, his wife was a blur in the background, and it is unclear if she was meant to be Eileen) however that might just be my bias and appreciation of Shoshannah Stern. While I’m glad that this storyline gave Sam the room to grow and develop without his brother, it also completely ignores everything that he’s been through this past decade and a half, and that is something that should not happen. Sam grew and changed so much since he left Stanford and leaving that life, the life of a hunter, behind feels very counterintuitive.

Let’s not even discuss the wig that Jared wore. It reminded me of the Cain wig that Rob wore in the Hillywood parody.

What shocked me the most at the beginning of this episode was the lack of a “The Road So Far” compilation. I hoped for the full song with a recap of all 15 seasons, or, at minimum, the typical single-season recap. “Carry On My Wayward Son” is such an important part of the show and the culture of the fan base, that it seems almost sacrilegious that the season finale not begin with this song and a memorial to the events in the past season (or series).*** I’m very happy that it was included at all, but I was shocked when Neoni’s cover took over.

No disrespect to Neoni; those girls are incredibly talented and I love their music, however, a series finale of a 15 season long show does not feel like the place for a cover when they already have the rights to the original, and the original is so iconic.

Lastly, I want to acknowledge Jensen Ackles’s reaction to this conclusion. At a con panel about a year ago, he said that he needed to be talked into agreeing to this script by Erik Kripke himself, because the ending just wasn’t sitting right with him. So many fans took this to believe that he was homophobic and afraid that of Destiel becoming fully canon, and he got so much more hate than he deserved, because ultimately, he was right in his first opinion. This isn’t the way this story should have ended. Jensen explained that he had been “too close” to the story, and that it took a more holistic view from a step backwards (the audience’s perspective, as he puts it) to agree on this ending, but honestly, nobody knows Dean Winchester better than Jensen, and he knows what’s best and what would be the best way to finish this character’s arc. I think fans and Jensen alike agree that this wasn’t it.

I sympathize with all of the cast and crew members who disagree with how this show ended but are bounded by contract to support this show no matter what. Especially Misha and Jensen.

Over all, I believe that Supernatural will go down in history (in internet communities, at least) as one of the greatest shows ever. While I do agree that the writing quality in terms of both dialogue and plot declined as years passed, the community, the family, that this show created cannot be ignored because of a poorly written/planned ending. I think that the fandom will collectively let go of this disaster of an ending that we were given and will, just like Sam and Dean, write our own stories. I have full faith and confidence that Supernatural will not be represented by this finale episode, but by the beautiful stories, amazing characters, and the family that this show created and what the fans have chosen to do with it.

Sincerely,

A Fiercely Frustrated but Fiercely Loyal Fan

* I do not count that last clip of Dean crying on the floor as mourning. In my mind, that was a reaction, not an emotional healing and overcoming, if that makes sense. I argue that if Dean were to fully mourn and process everything (like Sam did in 15x20) we would have seen at least a bit of that on screen. 

** This is where I would have loved to see some of the original scripts. I hope that the writers initial intentions were to have Misha more involved in these last two episodes than what was likely a voice memo created in 10 minutes tops at Misha’s house.

*** The strange montage at the end of 15x19 makes so much more sense. I still would have preferred that montage at the beginning of 15x20. This also shines light on the video that Misha posted. What would we do without him :)

#supernatural #spn #spn season 15 #spn finale #spn 15x20 #an open letter #no beta we die as men #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #jack kline #erik kripke #robert singer #andrew dabb #that god awful finale #i spent 4 hours drafting this

[avauntus]

2020 favs: (short) fic recs

I am stealing this idea from @macgyver-sheriff, who has no clue who I am, but whose post I saw go across my dash. Thank you! 👋

Would you like some recs for the holiday season? - I too would like to share love for my favorite things I read that were written this year! <3

I’m going to do this in two parts - the short fics (10k or less, generally one-shot), and another post for the long or series fics I loved this year (it’s 2020, I figure we can use too much of a good thing?)

( @staidwaters - I’m ‘disqualifying’ your works because I’m biased, sorry! Look away! Unless you want recs!) 

"Congratulations, Get Rich" (9,238 words) by Attila (The Untamed - modern AU)

Tomorrow is Chinese New Year, which means Wei Wuxian has to get all of his bad decisions out of the way tonight.

Lan Wangji, Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Mianmian are all so screamingly perfect as modern versions of themselves in this, and it is KNOCK DOWN HILLARIOUS. Wei Wuxian is just a screaming queer disaster (affectionate) - as he should be.

Excerpt:

After a long beat, Lan Xichen sinks gracelessly into the chair Lan Wangji had been sitting in earlier. “I just want to be absolutely clear,” he says delicately, “that you are currently under the impression that my brother has no romantic feelings for you. That is what you’re saying to me right now, yes?”

“Yes?” Wei Wuxian says, feeling desperately confused. “Obviously? Why?”

“Because at least one of you is very stupid, and I’m trying to figure out who,” Lan Xichen tells him, sounding distracted. It’s the rudest thing Wei Wuxian has ever heard him say, and his mouth drops open slightly.

“caved to the careless” (6,708 words) by ilgaksu (The Untamed/MDZS - Song Lan/Xiao Xingchen)

Love is a choice you make - like this, and this, and this.

Have you ever read a writer whose work is so distinctly itself that you can feel yourself slipping in time even as you keep going? That’s not very articulate, but it’s the best way I can describe everything of ilgaksu’s I’ve read. Their fics are the same emotional register as having the breath knocked out of you after a fall. This was the first one I read, and I think it ends well-- with what Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen find along the path-- but it’s still heavy. Discussions of canon-compliant character death and grief/mourning here.

Excerpt:

He pauses. Until this very moment, he was unsure who to ask for. He has heard the rumours of the Yiling Patriarch’s ongoing residence here, about Zewu-jun’s seclusion: he’s dead, but even the dead are not free from gossip. But he remembers a courtyard, nearly two decades ago, and the weight of eyes some might have called angry in their intensity. He remembers those same eyes, and how for the wear of the intervening years, they had kept the same essence: longing, yearning, a kind of small unspoken grief.

Song Lan had a dream once. A dream of a sect, bound not by blood, but by a shared belief in the right path. So many things are only an inheritance: shame is one of them.  

Love is a choice. Love is a choice, and you choose until you can’t.

“I am here,” he decides, carving the words into the dirt, every stroke of every character resolute, “To meet with Hanguang-jun. Please show this one the way to go.”  

“Green River Running” (8,169 words) by @rain-hat (Love in the Moonlight - post-canon AU)

5+1: Kim Byeong-yeon returns to the land of the living.

I skimmed through Love in the Moonlight during my quarantine summer (distinguishable from my “quarantine spring” or “quarantine fall” only by fireworks), and immediately upon finishing, thought: “Psht, they killed off their best character.” And then, something happened that never happens -- I went on ao3 and found the exact thing I was looking for, written far  better than I could have imagined. Kim Byeong-yeon is such a quiet yet powerfully subversive presence and the progression here is so masterfully done. This is true of all of rainhat’s work’s I’ve read, but this is a fine example-- I really treasure the warm humanism of them.

Excerpt:

People needed helping hands even more than they needed sympathetic ears, though. Over the last year, Hong Gyeong-rae and Byeong-yeon had built houses and planted crops side by side; negotiating with moneylenders here, helping small-folk secure their stores against bandits there. There was nothing courtly about Byeong-yeon’s capacity for labour, or his expectation of reward. Wherever he went, he worked from dawn to dusk, ate the food he was given, and slept under a roof if he was offered one.

It suited him, Hong Gyeong-rae thought, even though there was something outlandish about his gentle speech and palace manners in the midst of it all. But to behave in any other way would be untrue to his upbringing; nor was he the sort of man to whom it would occur to try. And after all, most people liked to be treated with courtesy; it did not come across as mockery from this solemn, severely dressed young man, who seemed to find no task too big or too small. Hong Gyeong-rae had seen him argue tax law with local councillors and stand up to highwaymen armed with nothing but a knife and staff. But he watched cooking pots for women who had to run to the fields to tide over the day’s labour, too; he wrote letters for them, and tolerated their fractious children and spoon-fed their bedridden elders, if that was what was called for.

“The Veritable Records of King Taejo: Year 2, Entry 208“ (9,857 words) by @sadviper (My Country: the New Age - Nam Seon-ho & Hwang Sung-rok slice-of-life)

Hwang Sung-rok eats his way to the bottom of a real estate scam, and Seon-ho and Yeon help (a little).

No one is out here doing it like SadViper. This is technically part of a series, but they can all be read separately. I did not realize I needed to see more of Nam Seon-ho in all his “type-A government official glory” until Viper started sketching him out for us, and as a bonus, we get to see Yeon, and Sung-rok as the world’s surliest caretaker (but don’t call him that). I have an authorial fallacy where I always think stories have to have some grand “plot” -- a “Maltese Falcon” to pull the reader along-- the genius of Viper’s work is she shows us exactly how interesting and important the day-by-day tiny choices and connections we make are, with an impeccable background of historical research to ground you in the setting.

Excerpt:

Nam Seon-ho was his master now. He was a strange one. He was a traitor, for helping the escaped Liaodong soldiers, but not, because he managed to wiggle his way back into Yi Seong-gye’s favor and was now a sixth-ranked inspector with the privilege of having personal audiences with the King. He was temperamental and belligerent from being the son of a slave mother and a lifetime subject of Lord Nam’s fantastic parenting philosophy. He was afflicted with perpetual guilt. And he was also one of the hardest working and most desperate people Sung-rok had ever known.

It was a terrible combination. He was not merely a disaster waiting to happen, but a disaster perambulating on two legs at the edge of a chasm. If Sung-rok intended to stay in service for long, he needed to find a way to cool down some of Seon-ho’s intensity, even though admittedly, it was what drew him to Seon-ho in the first place.

Thoughts like these plagued Sung-rok for a while. It was one thing to know a person; it was quite another thing to try to change them.

“Orison” (4,975 words) by @gravelghosts​ (aeli_kindara) (Supernatural 15x18 coda)

Cas says, I love you.

So! This rips my heart out, every time. All the times Dean imagines himself together with Cas...and then he imagines himself, if not happy, then thriving.

Jack: “What is the point...if everyone I care about is going to leave?”

Castiel: “The point is that they were here at all and you got to know them, you... When they're gone, it will hurt, but that hurt will remind you of how much you loved them.”

Excerpt:

The thing Dean tries to do is: listen.

Happiness isn’t in the having. It’s in just — being. It’s in just saying it, Cas tells him, and Dean’s whole heart is screaming, No, but he shuts his mouth. He listens. He listens like his life fucking depends on it, which it does, in more ways than one.

“Sky Full of Song” (6,632 words) by @drivingsideways (Supernatural, finale 15x20 fix-it, Dean/Cas)

Or: The One in which Cas ghosted Dean.

Look. Look. If Cas(tiel) can yank Dean Winchester out of Hell, celestial-scream at him not once but twice, burn out a woman’s eyes like an utter clown before thinking “Huh, an Earthly vessel, guess that’s not just bullshit, then,” and when they finally work it out, Dean greets them with a knife to the chest and THEN they’ll spend twelve years misunderstanding each other and bickering, you had better believe these two are going to be disasters even in Heaven. Drivingsideways gives us all of that dynamic, with the found family of Jack and Mary as facilitators, and the happy resolution, which of course includes a true form “roughly the size of your Chrysler Building.” <3

Excerpt:

The thing is, Castiel doesn’t want Dean to feel obligated.

Dean has a streak of self-sacrifice that's as wide as the Caspian Sea, and Castiel doesn't want to be any more of a chore or obligation than they have been to Dean for all the long years of their—brotherhood.

Castiel had shocked Dean, to the core of him, with their confession, and Castiel had seen the swirling confusion, the fear, the panic, the shit what do I say, what do I do—how do I stop him—

So, no, Castiel would not be paying a visit anytime soon.

Of course, if Dean evinced an interest in meeting them, then Castiel would not stay away.

Castiel isn't that cruel.

(They have, on occasion, been exactly that cruel, but they are trying to outgrow it.)

Dean is still their friend.

Dean knows how to reach them, if he wants to.

(see? disasters. haha)

“The Rough” (3,267 words) by anactoria (Supernatural, finale -15x20- ‘fix-it’)

 Heaven can absolutely fucking wait.

Rec’ed for the concept more than the style (this is dialogue-heavy, as a lot of 15x20 fix-its tend towards), but I *love* this course-correction: After kicking around Heaven, Dean and Cas return to Earth to take their place as urban legends among the hunter community. Just for a while.

Excerpt:

But it isn’t life. That’s the thing. It’s awesome, but it isn’t life; life’s a hard, painful, infuriating mess, and Dean only got halfway through his own, and he feels cheated. For all he held it together for Sammy at the end, for all he tried to take Cas’s big moment-of-happiness speech on board, he feels cheated.

There’s supposed to be peace at the end. When you’re done.

Dean wasn’t done.

#other's fic #fic recs #2020: a year! #spn #my country: new age #the untamed #love in the moonlight

[fanfic-corner]

Under 10,000 Words Pt 2

I promised (quite a while ago) and I’m finally delivering... more fics between 2k and 10k words! Same as last time, they are organised by word count for your browsing pleasure.

Walk Through Fire For You by purple_charlie on AO3. (2,335 words).

Tags: John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Angst, Pride, Marijuana Use, Polyamory, Gay Cas, Bisexual Dean, Bisexual Gabriel, Everyone is Queer.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Boyfriend. The word still feels foreign in Dean’s mouth, still brings back echoes of John Winchester’s thinly-veiled (if even that) homophobia. “Man up, don’t be a sissy, I didn’t raise a fairy”. It’s a swollen blister in the back of Dean’s mind, throbbing with pain whenever a stranger’s eyes linger too long on Cas’ hand in his, whenever a waitress double-takes at how close they sit in diner booths. But here, dirty dancing with Cas in a warehouse full of other queer folks, Dean wants to shout from the rooftops- I’m Dean Winchester, I drive the baddest car in town, I lift heavy things for a living, and this is my boyfriend.

Notes: This was so sweet it nearly made me start crying - Cas deserved to be told that he was loved!

Boneless Wings by PallasPerilous on AO3. (4,333 words).

Tags: Crack, Wingfic, Domestic Fluff, Canon Compliant, Angel Castiel, Suburbia.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: For those of you perving along at home, Dean could absolutely provide a list of the hundred or so ways that having a boyfriend with giant fucking actual wings is super hot and/or awesome. This is not that list.

Notes: The art is gorgeous and this is such a brilliant parody of so many wing fics out there, I loved it!

Stories Are Made Of Mistakes by wildhoneypie on AO3. (4,942 words).

Tags: Human Castiel, Diners, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Case Fic, Domestic, Didn’t Know They Were Dating. My Rating: 4 stars. Description: In which Cas is human and doesn’t understand basic concepts like: clothing, Mythbusters, moisturizer, and Greek food. Dean is…Dean and doesn’t understand basic concepts like: boyfriends, language, how to tell your friend that he’s a walking miracle, and when not to quip. Notes: This was so cute and I live for human Cas. I also love the recurring ‘no fucking quipping’ joke in this, although the idea of Cas swearing broke me a bit!

The Cry of Elisha After Elijah by intothesilentland on AO3. (5,844 words).

Tags: Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Reunion, Canon Compliant, Heaven.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: The kicker is, Dean had been trying to live. Really live. And not bite out in anger at the fraying of his heart: Cas, gone, Jack, gone—all that was left was him and his brother, and Dean had been trying to live, in spite, in light of that. In a world like the unsteady first steps of a child, apprehensive arms and hands cradling the air around them, ready for a slip, excited for a step, Dean had been trying to walk forward, too. Though every step had meant every pain. Upon his death, and arrival in heaven, Dean sets out to find the angel. He has to tell him. Cas has to know.

Notes: That poem at the start was really moving in this context, and the dialogue was so weirdly in character that everything was so real. It was definitely written better than the actual ending.

My Own Little World by tale_to_tell on AO3. (6,858 words).

Tags: Hurt Dean, Protective Castiel, Meet-Cute, Fluff, Pining, Coffee Shops, Implied Domestic Violence, Abusive Alistair, Abusive Relationships, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Dean Has Self-Worth Issues, POV Castiel, Love Confessions, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel stumbles into a local café in order to avoid the rain, and during the process he meets a very attractive barista by the name of Dean Winchester. It doesn’t take long for Castiel to fall in love with Dean’s wit and charm.Too bad that Dean has a boyfriend.

Notes: This was fairly sweet, and I was not expecting the Sabriel content (always read the tags, folks). Also, return of Alistair being an asshole! I would have forgot he existed if he didn’t keep popping up in these fics.

broken when I’m lonesome by SailorChibi on AO3. (7,015 words).

Tags: Asexual Castiel, Demisexual Dean, Panromantic Castiel, Biromantic Dean, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Dean Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Has a Sexuality Crisis, Angst, Fluff, Touch-Starved, Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Castiel is Not Oblivious, comments that could be taken as ace-phobic.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: After being saved from hell, Dean’s old methods of coping aren’t working anymore: he’s not sexually attracted to anyone, and he’s not interested in sex no matter how many times he climbs into bed with hot, naked women. Sam is convinced that his brother is just depressed, but Dean knows this goes deeper than that. He still craves the intimacy that can make him feel safe. Fortunately, Castiel is there to both understand and provide.

Notes: This fic really hit home. I’m not sure if it is because almost every person I have ever talked to has had some form of this conversation, but it was still cute.

Lost and Found by whelvenwings on AO3. (7,762 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Demisexual Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Chuck Shurley? Sure, I’ve read his books. Kinda Vonnegut, but like, Kilgore-Trout Vonnegut, you know?” Dean took another gulp of his whisky, and smacked his lips like an adult. The guy sitting beside him at the bar, however, did not look suitably impressed. In fact, he was staring down into the bubbles of his cider, not even noticing the way that Dean was smiling at him, giving him the eyes. “I thought his stuff was pretty good, in a kinda metamodern way,” Dean added airily, and a little more loudly. The guy only nodded gloomily. Dean almost clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration. C’mon, dude, I’m trying to impress you. Twenty minutes of talking and all Dean had to show for it was a weird first name, a series of dour stares and the strangest need to know more about this – Castiel.

Notes: This was written so well that I wanted to cry at Cas’ story of the stars, even though it wasn’t particularly sad. Now I want to go and stargaze with someone.

Say Yes by MaggieMaybe160 on AO3. (7,996 words).

Tags: Episode s5e4 The End, Established Relationship, Secret Relationship, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, Love Triangles, Idiots in Love, Wedding Rings, Chronic Pain.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Endverse!Dean's life is going pretty well with Endverse!Cas until Dean's past self shows up.A look at the episode "The End" from Season 5 from Endverse!Dean's point of view.

Notes: Quite cute, almost entirely canon compliant, and the ending gave me chills.

Carry On by Castielslostwings on AO3. (8,039 words).

Tags: Coda, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Heaven, Castiel Deserves Better, Love Confessions, First Kiss, First Time, Reunions, Explicit Sexual Content.

My Ratings: 5 stars.

Description: “I think I’ll go for a drive.” This is what happened between that moment, and Dean meeting Sam on that bridge.

Notes: This was written beautifully and was genuinely the ending that Dean and Cas deserved.

Unknown Quantities by xylodemon on AO3. (8,570 words).

Tags: Future Fic, Getting Together, Didn’t Know They Were Dating, Human Castiel, Bottom Dean, Angst and Humour, First Time.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: No one ever tells Dean anything.(or: Dean Winchester and the not-relationship crisis of 2014)

Notes: There’s more smut in this than I expected, but Dean is so oblivious that it is really funny.

Bing Crosby’s Pennies From Heaven by twentysomething on AO3. (9,613 words).

Tags: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Death.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Sam always asks inappropriate, poorly-timed questions, so what comes out of his mouth doesn’t exactly surprise himself. “Where were you?”

Notes: This was brilliant - the little gifts that Gabe left for Sam were adorable, and I burst out laughing at the image of trying to get Bobby’s wheelchair on top of a toilet.

So there we are! I hope you enjoy these slightly shorter fics, and hopefully there will be another load of fic recs for next week!

#fic recs #destiel #supernatural #fanfics #spn #10000 words #2000-10000

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Healing Touch/New Experiences

15x17 coda, Post-Finale, Dean/Cas, Adam, Serafina, Sam, Jack, 2/2 chapters, 4.7k

Chapter 1: A Healing Touch (ao3 link)

Maybe if Cas hadn't abandoned him, he wouldn't have agreed to Adam's offer. But with free will finally theirs, Cas made his choice, and Dean his. Now he has to live with the consequences - even if they are awkward. He won't die from it, certainly.

It's only a massage.

But what Dean doesn't know, is that it's more than a massage. It's healing.

           Dean’s grip tensed on the towel, pulling its fabric closer against his waist. Terrycloth rubbing his crotch like sandpaper, making him even more aware of his current state of undress than he already was.

           Damn Adam, for talking him into this. The placid cadence of the First Man wreaked havoc with Dean’s judgement. Lulled him into a false sense of security. Now that his armor’s been cast off, Dean realizes how terrible an idea this really is. Briefly, Dean considers turning tail and jumping back into his outfit. Pretend this never happened. Play dumb. But then Adam emerges, parting the beaded curtains and motioning him towards a table set up in the middle of the room. Dean trudges along, window of opportunity slammed on his fingers.

           “Relax Dean,” Adam croons, lighting one of the many candles that surrounds the room. Interspersed with crystals, totems, and an incense stick that suspiciously smells like a VW van at a concert. “This is going to be a transcendent experience.”

           “If you say so…” He sits, kicking his feet. Hunched over, spine protesting from the angle. Ignores twinging pain with practiced ease.

           Doesn’t matter how well he masks it in the other man’s presence; Adam arches a brow at Dean and orders him to lay down. “You’ll feel better that way.”

           He stills, clutching at the towel with both hands. Frozen with an unnamed emotion Dean swears isn’t fear. Staring with wide eyes at Adam while the other man waits. Finally, he breaks the silence, “Can’t you just… do my shoulders?”

           “I will,” Adam promises, drifting closer, “Along with your sides… your back… anywhere I believe you might need.” He brushes featherlight fingers across his chin, a scant distance from actually touching it. Lips stretched in a lazy smile. “If it’ll make you more comfortable, though, I’ll look away while you get settled.”

           Dean clears his throat, gaze darting away. “You will?”

           “While I don’t agree with your shame,” he says, pulling back, “I understand it. How it works. So, when you’re ready to start, let me know.” Adam spins on his heel, grabbing for tinctures and potions on a nearby counter. Mixes them. Feigns busyness while Dean readies himself.

           He slides off the table, glancing from Adam to the exit. Wonders if he can sprint fast enough, snatch his clothes, and jump into his Baby. Put Santa Fe in his rearview, even if it meant leaving Cas. Finding a new path home would serve him right, abandoning Dean immediately for Serafina. Former and current angel leaving for lunch, catching up after millennia apart. Dean stuck with Adam. Biding time, making awkward small talk; listening as he rambled on about differing memories patchworked together while he played hopscotch through his timeline. So bored and confused he didn’t realize what Adam offered until he locked the bathroom door behind Dean, instructions rattling around in his head. Towel in his arms instead of around his waist.

           “Dean,” Adam chimes in, laughing, “I’m almost done.”

           Thinking, not acting, wasted too much time. No other options left Dean unfastened his towel. Held it while he climbed onto the table, carefully lying down. Adjusting his junk so his weight wouldn’t crush it. Then, face pressed into the appropriate hole, Dean fixed the towel. End hanging off the edges, censored his freckled ass from view. “Okay,” he says, croaking the next few words out. “I’m all set.”

           “Perfect.”

           Dean nearly asks when Adam will start. As soon as the question forms in his throat, he swallows it. Adam’s wet, warm touch sliding over his back. Spreads a slick substance that makes his skin goosepimple when the air meets it. Elicits a sudden, breathy response from Dean. “Sorry,” Adam apologizes, continuing his ministrations, “probably should’ve warned you?”

           “Would’ve been nice…”

           “Well, we can’t go back, now can we?” He kneads Dean’s shoulders, loosening a tight muscle with his thumb. “Let me do all the work…” Adam speaks aloud, calling on a nearby smart device. Tells it to play a certain playlist, whining strums pouring from his speakers. Dean rolls his eyes. The added hippie music only pours salt in the wound. “You’ve got a lot of knots, Dean.”

           “I’m not surprised,” Dean says, “the stuff I do? My body’s been through the wringer.”

           “You should take better care of your body, Dean. We only get the one.”

           “Yeah, we do…” Dean sighs, shifting. Too aware of Adam’s touch. Counting the differences between his expectations and the reality. They’re softer than what he expected a man’s hands should feel like. And gentler. These motions were more tender than Dean was used to, especially from a stranger. Part of him wants this over with, while a stronger, quieter part begs for more. He shifts, squirming. “Hey, what’s this you’re rubbing me with?”

           “Oh, the oil?” Adam laughs, pinching his sides, “I had it specially delivered from some small town I last visited years ago, in Morocco. When it was all the rage, kids fleeing for the East in search of enlightenment. This herbalist was teaching in the streets…”

           Dean tunes Adam out like he did the music, drowning his voice in the waves of his mind. Lets it sink deep below while Dean splashes around shallower waters. Like how this trip was planned.

           After Chuck, after the Empty – after their last cosmic showdown, the Winchesters faced a new challenge. An ordinary day. It’s been years since Dean could wake without worrying he forgot something. Walk and not look over his shoulder, at where he imagined someone with vengeance in their eyes and death in his future. Greet his family and not doubt that he will see them later.

           It’s everything Dean wanted. Except he couldn’t handle it.

           Sitting at the breakfast table, his family discussing pointless, trivial affairs, Dean broke. Maybe because of Sam’s bright smile while talking about a road trip he planned with Eileen, or Jack’s list of shows he wanted to watch. Maybe it was when he caught Cas’s gaze, his foot nudging at Dean’s, with a well of emotions Dean hadn’t deserved. Similar to that horrid night, although less sadness darkening his expression. Less blood staining his hands. Dean flashed between those two images and stood, hitting his knee on the table. Left with a meager and suspicious excuse.

           Somehow, an endless cycle of near-death experiences made things simpler. Being trapped in a never-ending story meant exactly that. They would live forever. Exist in the unknown, remain unchanged.

           Now that freedom is truly his, what will he do? How will he end? Will he become someone he doesn’t like? Will people he thought would stay forever slip out of his grasp? Does he go first and leave so many people behind?

           He couldn’t sleep those next few nights. Cas caught on after his third bout with insomnia, bags heavy under his eyes. Looked across the canyon from his side of the bed, arms curled tight around himself. Chained there. “What’s wrong, Dean?” His fingers twitched in aborted need. Another easy piece that proved more difficult to fit into place. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

           Dean stared at Cas. Saw the streaks of grey that tickled his hairline, and little crusts around his eyes from sleep. Reminders of how fast things can change, and what little they have left in the tank. If Cas were an angel, he thought, they’d have more time. Can stay alive through his grace, healing even the littlest signs of age. Like Serafina did with Adam.

           It slipped out like a leak, and then poured free. Inch given; mile taken. Frantically repeating how he met the First Man who loved an angel, and they lived normal lives in Santa Fe, and they seemed weird but in love, and –

           “Okay,” Cas said, “we’ll go visit them.”

           “Dean,” Adam whispers. Dean creaks an eye open from below the surface. “Where were you just now?”

           His heart lurches. “Can’t really go anywhere, now can I?”

           “Only in the physical sense,” he tells Dean, “your body can be here, but you can also be a million miles away.” Adam kneads harder on his back, forcing a grunt through Dean’s clenched teeth as he poked a sore muscle. “What’s more important that you’ve allowed your mind to wander far from the present?” He stops massaging, bending. Meets Dean’s squinted gaze. “Would you rather not be here?”

           “What did I ever do to give that impression?”

           Adam doesn’t flinch from Dean’s bite, smirking at him. Followed by an airy laugh that sounds nicer than it should. “Y’know, my hands can only do so much,” he continues, standing. Clawing at Dean with blunt nails, repetitively raking patterns like he were a rock garden. “Massages are a give and take. I can only leech away what you’re willing to part with. And there’s a mountain of stress buried here you’re still holding onto.”

           “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean growls. Closing his eyes hard enough white, hot stars burst from behind his lids. “Maybe you’re a shitty masseuse?”

           “Nah, I’ve been doing this since Alexander the Great was in toga diapers. Can’t be that.”

           “Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you’re any good.”

           “That’s true.” Adam pinches Dean’s lower back, at the dip right where his ass curves from beneath the towel. Electricity jolts along his nerves, up his spine, and makes Dean bite his lip. “Then let’s say my intuition is sounding the alarm you’re blocked.”

           Dean snorts, “Then give me some Pepto and we’ll call it a day.” Another pinch. This time his knee jerks, foot jumping into the air. “Can you quit it?”

           “When you start taking this seriously.”

           “Sorry,” he says, each syllable drenched in sarcasm. “I didn’t think your types took anything seriously.”

           Adam places his hand on Dean’s neck. Touch shocks him enough he lifts his head, finding the other’s stern expression. “If not for me,” he says, “then Castiel.”

           He still feels Adam on his neck, and the second hand hangs at his side, shiny. Yet there must be a third. Because how else can Dean explain the pain in his side as anything other than a stab wound. Knife stuck there, cruelly twisted, cutting his insides further. Dean subtly nods, going slack. Adam guides his head back to its resting spot. Resumes petting him with much more severity. Each stroke like a match scraping against a striking surface, sparking but never lighting.

           “Do you feel my hands, Dean?”

           “Am I supposed to feel anything else?” Dean grouses, “Because if this is you coming onto me…”

           Adam squeezes Dean’s ass over the towel, Dean yelping. “Why I’ll admit you’re a beauty, my heart is spoken for. As is yours.”

           Dean waits as the coiled heat in his stomach unravels, breathing raggedly all the while. “Yeah,” he says, “I can feel your hands.”

           “Good,” Adam says, “and how do my hands on your body feel?”

           “Um… good? I guess? Like any other massage.”

           “You’ve gotten other massages before?”

           “When I could, I guess.”

           “And your masseuses,” Adam asks, coating more of the oil along his shoulders, “were any of them men.”

           No. “Why does that matter?”

           “I’m just asking,” Adam says, “guessing, actually, if your hesitation during this process has something to do with my gender expression.” He rubs at his biceps, fondling them. “So I’ll ask again – have you ever been massaged by a man.”

           He’s fought with countless men. Punches and kicks and elbows at throats acceptable foreplay. Love bites that stung far too long, bled too much. Shook hands with many hunters while crossing America during his early years where he was figuring himself out. Their intimidating grip thrilling Dean more than they should while near his father. John’s idea of what makes a man still living in his mind, a shadow that won’t disappear no matter how many curtains he draws or lights he turns on. Persistent.

           Sometimes Cas’s hand lingered, back when their relationship was new. Finding its footing despite Chuck’s story. He blamed it on his angel’s inexperience with humanity. But the more he stayed on Earth, the longer they lasted. More significant. A game of chicken, each daring the other to drop first.

           That’s the most intimate he’s ever been with another man.

           It’s been too long since he and Cas touched like that. Circling, never committing. Losing before the game starts.

           “I…” Adam’s touch feels different, headier. Matchhead catching, flame bursting atop it. He sighs, “I’ve never been massaged by a man.”

           Adam hums, “You’ve never had the opportunity?”

           “I’m pretty sure I’ve had lots of opportunities,” Dean tells him, “I just… never took them.” He shrugs as best he can. Sighing when Adam brushes one of his love handles, scratching it. Warm delight making Dean’s toes curl. “It wasn’t something a guy like me was supposed to do.”

           “Supposed to,” Adam parrots, “someone else was making these decisions for you?”

           Bristling, Dean shifts as if to raise his head again. Adam shoves at Dean, keeping him there. Adds an ounce of pressure that should stoke his anger. However, Dean responds with no retaliation. Stills, and when Adam removes his hand, continues talking. “I made these decisions,” Dean tells Adam, “I… there were a lot of expectations, being me. People I couldn’t disappoint. If they knew I went to get… massages, by men… things might not have been the same.”

           “Even if it hurt denying this part of yourself?” he asks, “Suffocating it because other people had opinions on how you should live your life?”

           Dean scowls despite how dedicated Adam works at kneading the skin above his tailbone. “You wouldn’t understand, okay. Being the first person gives you leeway, make your own rules. I was born into a certain role – there was an image I had to fit. If I wanted to survive and I… and it got easy, over time. I wasn’t hurting anyone –“

           “You were hurting yourself.”

           “I’m used to it.”

           Adam reacts violently, nicking Dean’s hip hard enough he expects blood. But his thumb soothes the spot, caresses it far more lovingly than Dean thinks is appropriate. He doesn’t voice his concerns. Busy thinking about the sudden callouses he feels on Adam’s thumb.

           “That’s a dangerous point of view to have, Dean,” Adam warns, drawing him from the off-ramp. “How can you speak so carelessly about yourself like that?”

           “I… I – uh…” Dean had a response. A common one he trotted out whenever a question like this appeared. Now, he finds the stable empty. He has nothing. “I…”

           “You’ve been given a wonderful gift, Dean. The gift called life. Gone are the oppressive forces steering your judgement. Controlling how you grow.” Adam’s voice rises, passion seeping into his skin. Mixing with the oils, providing a euphoric numbness. “Now is when you should slash through those bindings and grow into the person you were always meant to be!”

           “What if I…”

           “Hmm?” Adam stops massaging him. The music ended at some point, leaving only silence. “What if you what?”

           Dean slowly rises from the face hole, Adam not fighting him this time. Leans on his elbows, staring at the floor. At the small droplet that splattered there. “What if I don’t like that person?” he mutters, “What if I look in the mirror one morning and I don’t… don’t recognize that it’s my reflection. What if I become someone so wholly different now that I… now that I can grow, and change, that I lose parts of myself. Lose my family, because they don’t like who I’ve become?”

           Adam’s hand rests on his shoulder, fingers curling over a spot that doesn’t belong to him. When other people touched it, his skin crawled. Itched like fire ants crawled and bit. It’s the opposite feeling, with Adam’s hand. As if Dean’s soul breached through the shadows and filled him with so much light, he could overpower the sun. But only one other person has ever made him feel like that…

           “If your family truly loves you, Dean,” Adam says, stepping into view. Guides Dean’s gaze from his feet towards his face using both hands. Smiling, “Then they love your most core, basic parts of yourself. And those, I know, will stick with you as you journey into a new era of self-exploration. Just as they will. You shouldn’t be afraid of change. It is the most powerful force in existence. Change cannot be stopped, cannot be controlled… how we choose to respond to it, however, is where humanity finds its freedom.” He lets go, drifting backwards into Serafina’s waiting arms.

           There’s still a hand on his shoulder.

           Dean turns. Instead of a thin, linen shirt, there’s a starched white button-down. Blue tie where he expected a scarf and chunky necklace. Dark hair with touches of gray, and blue eyes rimmed red with tears. “Cas…”

           “Dean…” he says, squeezing his shoulder, “I love you. I… I won’t ever leave you.”

           “How can you promise that, Cas?” he asks, “How do you know that? We’ve… what if Chuck was the only thing keeping us together? What do we do now that he’s gone?”

           “We live Dean… day by day.” Cas kneels, pressing a thumb against his chin. “You’re right, I can’t be certain about the future. None of us can, not anymore. But, before Chuck, all I saw was bleakness. Now that he’s gone… after every hardship we’ve been through, the clouds have parted. It finally looks bright. And we could have a thousand more days or one more day, but in this moment Dean I want to experience everything with you.” He kisses him, breathing that promise into his body. Words mingling with his heart and soul. “My first, and most important act of rebellion was loving you. In these few years we’ve known each other I’ve lived more than I ever have. I’ve grown, not because of Chuck or despite of Chuck… but on my own terms. And you’re still here, with me.”

           “Cas I…” Dean knocks their foreheads together, “You’re someone I never expected entering my life… and if you left, I don’t know if I can go back to living without you. Every time you were taken from me I… part of me died. A part that never came back, even though you did. When the Empty took you, I thought that was it. If I lost you one more time… I fought so hard for this – to live by my terms that I… I don’t want to lose it. Lose you.”

           “Then don’t act like you already have,” Cas tells him. “Let me in. Let Sam and Jack… we’re all figuring this out together. Shoulder your burdens with us and we will do the same to you. That way we can enjoy our time together. And when one of us goes, the other will always have the memories of what we’ve won to remind us how the fight – how life was worth it.”

           Dean nods, dropping another kiss against Cas’s lips. Rises with Cas, uncaring that the towel fell. He already felt more exposed from this simple massage. Modesty seemed a… a moot point. Cas slips between Dean’s legs, wrapping him in a hug. Dean returns it.

           Then he looks at their voyeurs, watching from the sidelines. “Was this what you had planned all along?”

           “Before you came here,” Adam says, “I had a vision.”

           “…Right.”

           “And in that vision,” Serafina adds, swaying with Adam. Fingers threaded through his curls, petting him, while his oil-covered hands stained her patchwork skirt. “He saw you two sticking around for a few more days.”

           Dean arches a brow, huffing, “We do?”

           “Oh yes,” she says, “you’ve only just begun to heal, the both of you. It’s a process – like growth – that never really ends.” Serafina’s gaze darts from him to Cas, and back again. “Plus, if you stay, we can introduce you to some new things. Offer some wisdom from our many lifetimes on Earth that may prove… beneficial.”

           Dean and Cas share a silent conversation. He grins from that, knowing he can tilt his head or flutter his lashes and be understood completely. “Okay,” Dean answers, “it’s not like there’s anything else we need to be doing.”

           “Perfect!” She claps, “Oh I’ll – I’ll go put some tea on, and Adam can show you to our meditation room. We can spend the rest of the evening just sharing, maybe even fall asleep under the stars. In all of America, Adam and I’ve found they don’t shine quite like they do here.”

           Dean leans his head on Cas’s shoulder, listening as Serafina rambles about possible plans. Adam interjecting with his own ideas every now and then. Watching them, a strange feeling flutters inside his chest.

           He isn’t sure what to expect from hanging out at their commune or drinking their Kool-Aid. But, for the first time since they’ve closed the book on Chuck’s story… he’s excited.

(chapter 2)

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #spn15 post finale #15x17 coda #15x17 unity #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #adam the first man #serafina

[shirtlesssammy]

15x11: The Gamblers

Then:

Yes please

Now:

At a saloon, two men play a high stakes game of pool. Leonard, the sweaty man’s luck runs out when the cowboy wins the game. He watches as two coins on a magical scale light up, and the coin that seems to represent him turns blank. He begs for another game, but the bouncer kicks him outside. “You’re out of luck.” He starts walking away, staring at his coin. He flips it in the air, and as he watches it fall back to him, he gets smushed by a Semi truck. 

Cas returns to the bunker, to find it empty. Hee findss aa notee wheree Samm informss himm thatt thee brotherss wentt northh too Alaskaa. 

The brothers are still on the road. Sam’s busy texting Eileen. oooOOOOOOoooo. Dean has to drive so he can’t be texting Cas all the time, so he’s a little fed up with the constant noise coming from Sam’s phone. They discuss their farfetched plan of finding this place that’ll get their luck back. Dean says that Chuck wants them off their game --and weak. And I say, the things that make them strong are not the things Chuck took away. 

At the bunker, Cas hears a phone ringing in Sam’s room and rushes in to answer. Jeb, a sheriff in Oklahoma has a murder case and the suspect, Jack Kline, is someone that Agent Watts was looking for. Agent LIZZO is on the case! (Cas’s face when he hears that it’s Jack breaks me.) 

Dean and Sam stop for some grub. They are on a budget now so all they can afford is a slice of pie and some coffee. Dean wanted a cheeseburger. He actually gets pie and he doesn’t want it?! They ask the waitress about the place Garth told them about. She tells them about the magic pool hall that brings you luck. No one ever comes back from it though. 

Jeb sends Cas a security cam video of the murder. Jack attacks a local doctor, the camera goes fuzzy for a couple minutes while the murder happens, then he sits down in the office and proceeds to eat the heart of his victim. That’s quite the glow up from nougat, Jack. 

Dean and Sam find the pool hall. They saddle up to the bar and order a couple of waters (budget friendly!). They ask about playing a game. Sam asks the bartender, Evie, about Leonard. Never heard of him. Pax, the pool hall manager leads them into another room. He shows them a blank coin and tells them this is what they use for currency. Dean touches it and a semi-formed profile appears on the coin. “Not great. Not the worst, either.”

He tells them that if they play the game, their luck might improve. If they lose, they can keep trying until the coin is blank. Dean asks if he can split his luck WHEN he wins. Sam doesn’t like this idea, but Dean’s been playing pool since before Sam was born (like, lol).

Cas arrives at the crime scene. He finds a Grigori sword in the closet (how did the cops miss that!?)  

For We’re Weak Bitches Science:

Meanwhile, Jack stalks another Grigori. 

Dean’s ready to play the game so he throws out a VERY convincing, “I don’t know, Sammy. I’m a little rusty.” A woman at the bar decides to take pity on his acting and play against him. Sam asks Evie about the woman. Moira’s been there a while, playing for her sister who’s in a coma. Sam continues to work the case. “Have you ever noticed little bundles laying around?” LOL, stop it you mastermind hunter! 

Evie takes pity on him, and tells him about the regulars. They all have a story, a reason for wanting more luck. They all played until their luck disappeared. They should have walked away. 

Dean wins his game. 

The Grigori catches Jack. 

Sam and Dean work out a way to escape the Pool Hall California. They need to get more luck, but get out before it all goes south. Sam allows Dean one more game. Dean spies the cowboy. His name is Joey Six, and he was a professional bull rider. Dean’s impressed, but he’s still going to kick his ass. 

Dean wins the double or nothing game, wiping Joey Six’s coin clean. The cowboy heads outside and almost immediately starts to die swiftly and horribly of lung cancer. YIKES.

Back inside, Dean feels REGRET but he’s also ready to hit the road. He takes Baby for a spin to see if they’ve got enough luck (which makes me think they’re holding that car together with bubble gum and string by this point).

Cas heads into the warehouse, still on Jack’s trail and runs into Jeb. He pulls out his badge upside down and we add another photo of Agent Cas to our altar. 

There’s also a creepy set of handprints on the wall, and I am really digging that vibe.

Cas chats with Jeb. There was an altercation between Jack and another man in the warehouse. A sword was involved. Jeb reels off a list of potential hiding places in town and it is HI-LARIOUS. “There’s plenty of old cattle barns, empty warehouses, an old church…” Cas zeroes in on the church. ANGELS and their penchant for symbolism, man.

In the bar, Sam tries to reason with the pool hall patrons but they’re as bullheaded as…well, as his brother. The bartender watches him with resignation. “Are they trapped here? Are you?” The bartender doesn’t deign to respond so…that’s a YEAH. Dean blows back in like a surly tumbleweed. Baby broke down AGAIN. (Seriously, how long did it take them to get up to Alaska in that car?) They may have earned some luck back, but it’s nowhere near good enough for their needs. Sam takes another look at the coins and then does some rapid mental math. Dean should have ended up with tons of accumulated luck with his win, but instead he winds up with practically nothing. Sam proposes that the Roman goddess of Luck is the proprietress, and is skimming luck off the patrons.

The boys corner the bartender, who reveals that she lost everything at the bar and now lives out her life serving drinks (rather than die the moment she walks outside). She points out the dude who initially set up Dean’s coin. He’s Luck’s son. 

Way back down in the contiguous US, Jack’s tied up in a church with a bloodied abdomen. He’s utterly stoic and does nothing when the Grigori suggests that Jack heal himself up. The Grigori supposes that Jack meant to draw him out and kill him. 

At Luck’s bar, Pax gets taken at knife point by Dean and Sam.

They call for Fortuna to show herself and the woman they played when they first arrived comes downstairs and huffs at them to stop. Dean demands their luck back, or the kid gets it. “I can always make more sons,” she says, dismissively. And if that ain’t such a “god” thing to say…

Dean spares the son and challenges Fortuna again. She summarizes Dean as just a beach read. “Lady,” Dean tells her to our overwhelming cheers, “I’m Tolstoy.” Fortuna doesn’t bite (more’s the pity) and zeroes in on Sam, instead. She’ll accept a challenge from Sammy. Sam agrees, but only if he can play to restore luck to everyone in the bar. What a GOOD BEAN! Fortuna won’t have it, but she’ll accept a game bartering for their lives. 

At the church, the last Grigori slowly tortures Jack. Jack refuses to utter a sound, or use his powers to save himself. Jack killed the rest of the Grigori and ate all their hearts. Like ya do. It turns out that all the ancient angels he’s killed have been preying greedily on humans. This last Grigori liked to consume children. Jack knows all this because Death told him.

Enter Cas, who uses his favorite power move and sneaks up behind the guy. There’s a fight! I delicately dab an embroidered handkerchief along my fevered brow! 

Cas destroys the last Grigori and confronts Jack. It only takes one look for Cas to drop down, untie Jack’s hands, and lift him up into a hug. DADSTIEL! Jack hugs back and I’m….emotionally compromised.

Sam plays Fortuna and engages in small talk. They tell her they’ve been cursed by God. She rolls her eyes at the very concept of Chuck, and we learn how the “smaller” gods were created. Early humans prayed to nature. Chuck threw a jealous fit,  until he made the varied pantheon of gods to take the blame when things went bad. Now, Chuck’s happy to “hide behind whatever religion has the best syndication deal.” Ranting about Chuck rattles her just enough that Sam wins the game. 

Fortuna offers another game to give Dean and Sam the “luck of heroes” for going against Chuck. Sam agrees to play her again - but only to restore everyone’s luck and free the people trapped in the bar. Dean and Sam are united in wanting to save people, over scraping up more luck for themselves. 

They play. Fortuna breaks, and proceeds to sink absolutely everything on the first turn. Game over, babes! Wherps. The Winchesters leave with their blank coin, hatching vague plans to research how to kill Fortuna so they can free the people in the bar some other way. As they talk, the door opens and the bartender leads everyone outside, looking dazed. She tells them that Fortuna shut down operations. She’d thought humans like the Winchesters has “gone extinct.” You know… “Heroes. Like the old days.” The Winchesters changed her mind.

The bartender passes on two more things. A message: “Don’t play his game. Make him play yours.” And a coin, full of luck. 

Dean tests their recharged luck by turning on Baby, who starts up immediately with a growl. Huzzah! 

Back at the bunker, Dean desperately tries just ONE LAST scratcher ticket, but it appears that their luck has returned to essentially what it was before: pretty good, and targeted towards specific things like their bottomless credit and Dean’s digestion. 

Cas greets them, looking somber, and Jack emerges shortly after him.

Sam immediately goes for the hug. Dean looks at Jack carefully, then checks in with Cas to confirm it. Jack’s really back. We learn why Jack’s eating Grigori hearts. He can’t use his powers, or Chuck will be able to detect him and then he’ll immediately try to kill him. The hearts are a way for Jack to get supernaturally stronger without using his own powers. Billie’s mapped out everything for him. She has a plan! Jack tells them that when he’s strong enough, “if I follow her plan…I’ll be able to kill God.” 

Quotes be a Lady Tonight:

Sorry, pal. You’re outta luck

I don’t know how much more of this “normal life” crap I can take. Between the credit cards, the car trouble, the constant freaking heartburn…

You’re better than me at pretty much everything. I’m not mad. I’m proud!

You tryna hustle me, rodeo?

Guess you can’t hustle the hustler

You’re just a beach read. Sexy, but skimmable

Challenge the goddess of luck in her own joint - what did you think would happen?

So much for that luck of Hercules crap

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

#spn recap #spn 15x11 #the gamblers #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #jack kline #supernatural season 15

[tibbinswrites]

Prompt #170: Part 3

So @day-fire​ asked (fist slammed a table) for a part three and made grabby hands... how could I leave those grabby hands empty? I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #33, #77, #78, #170 (part 1), (part 2), (part 3), #327 and #502 and I’ve finally completed my backlog so I’m not accepting any more prompts at this time.

Also, just in case you weren’t aware, I’m part of an incredible destiel fanfic, art and podfic anthology. Our indegogo page is live here and there are tiers ranging from simply gorgeous PDF copies and all the podfics to beautiful print books with a bunch of other merch like bookmarks and art prints. We are now FULLY FUNDED so this project is a go! Everyone who buys a printed copy of the book now shall definitely be receiving one (and hey, maybe even a hardback one if we make it to 143% funded).

So here it is. The third (and final) part to the original prompt: “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I hope you like it ^_^ Read the first part here

Read the second part here

Before Chuck’s body even had time to cool (metaphorically of course, there hadn’t been an actual corpse left behind once Jack was through with him), Billie showed up.

“Well done,” she said in that perpetually-sarcastic-yet-somehow-still-serious tone of hers. “You actually did it. I have to admit I’m surprised, it was touch and go there for a while.”

“Okay,” Dean immediately shifted from one fight to the next as he turned to confront Death. “We followed your plan, did your thing and we won. So now, you owe us.”

Watching Billie’s face transform into shocked indignation was worth the demand all by itself.

“My thing?” She said, drawing herself up to her full height, a crackle of dark energy seemed to buzz around her for a moment. “My thing was saving the world, the world that you all live on. I believe that what you mean to say is ‘Thank you’. I owe you nothing and our alliance is done.”

“That’s not how I see it,” Dean insisted stubbornly. “You going after Chuck was more personal than doing us a solid. He was messing with your books and your big picture plan so your beef with him wasn’t exactly altruistic.”

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam murmured in his ear, stepping forward to grab his shoulder but Dean shook him off, his eyes only on Billie.

“Well you’ve got balls, Winchester, I’ll give you that,” she allowed, looking more amused now than anything, which Dean counted as a win because, you know, even by his standards, he knew that pissing off Death was a monumentally stupid idea. Even Sam’s presence retreated from his side, back towards Jack. “Go on then, tell me. What is it you want? Aside from… oh, I don’t know, your lives, the lives of seven billion people, your entire universe, and of course the fact that your future is your own again. Because none of that counts if my perceived motivation isn’t up to your very hypocritical standards.”

Okay, so maybe she was a little pissed. Nonetheless, Dean ploughed through, his hands balled at his sides, ignoring the warning looks from his family.

“The point is—”

“Just ask me for the favour, Dean,” Billie interrupted smoothly. “It does you no credit to be making demands with faulty logic to try and save yourself a debt. Either I’ll help you or I won’t, but I’ll be more likely to be on your side if you stop insulting me.”

Dean hesitated at that and swallowed hard. She was right, but that didn’t make it any easier. Sure, he made skeevy deals all the time that almost always backfired but at least he usually expected them to. Quid pro quo was something that he understood well. In this life you had to be willing to give a lot to get a little back. Straight up asking for help from a cosmic entity though? That was new, humiliating territory. He had nothing that she wanted from him anymore. He could ask, hell, he could beg, but he knew as well as she did that he had no leverage to stop her from just walking away.

“I want Cas freed of his deal.”

“Dean!” That was Cas, stepping forward, his face filled with compassion and gratitude as he moved into Dean’s line of sight and Dean’s face flooded with heat that Cas could look at him that way, that Cas could still look at him that way. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Dean said, dragging his eyes back to Billie, who was watching them carefully. “I got nothin’ to bargain with, you know that. You don’t want our lives or souls or whatever. Chuck’s already dead and you don’t care if we’re happy or not. I’m just asking, please. Break the deal.”

Billie considered him for a long time, her dark eyes taking him in, taking in Cas and then she was looking past them to where Sam and Jack probably stood before falling back on him. He briefly wondered what she saw… she didn’t like him all that much he was sure and if he had learned anything about her it was that she didn’t do anything that contradicted with whatever her big picture was. What Dean was asking was a pretty heavy shift of the way the stage had been set. But he couldn’t let her just leave without taking what might be his only shot to save the man he loved.

Finally, Billie sighed and took a step back, her grip shifting on her scythe.

“I can’t.”

Dean tried not to wilt, resolutely did not look at Cas. He didn’t want Cas to see the apology in his eyes, the failure.

The entire room was still, not even the dust motes seemed to move. Which was ironic really considering the fact that the world Dean had just helped save was starting to fracture around him.

Dean felt a warm hand on his arm then and a soft voice in his ear.

“Dean, it’s alright.”

“No!” He turned on Cas with all the fury he wanted to direct at Billie, at the Empty. “It’s not alright! How can you just stand there and tell me that you’re fine with being miserable for the rest of your life? How can you justify that? How can you?” he jabbed an accusing finger at Billie, who stared back, impassive in the face of his rage. “After what he’s done for this world, and his part in your plan—which was freaking huge by the way, he did way more than any of us—how can you just stand there and tell me that he doesn’t deserve to be happy?!”

“Deserve has nothing to do with it,” Billie told him calmly. “I told you, I can’t break the deal, because I wasn’t the one to make it. I can, however, make a call.”

And with that, her eyes rolled up into her skull, leaving the blank whites staring out at them all. Disconcerted, Dean glanced around at the others. Cas was still next to him, his presence solid, his eyes almost hopeful. Sam had herded Jack nearer the door in case they needed to bolt, though Dean knew that was more for appearance and instinct’s sake, neither of them were going anywhere, no matter how hairy things got. Jack was staring at Billie, looking pleased if not relaxed. Sam’s eyes met his and Dean wasn’t surprised by the conflict he saw there. He felt it too. He knew as well as Sam did that if he put all his hopes in this and it didn’t pan out, it would destroy him. Sam would back his play, of course he would, he wanted Cas to be happy and safe as much as Dean did, but Dean could see the deep concern there that he knew wasn’t for Cas. He looked away, back to Billie, whose irises were slowly sliding back into place, and the growing puddle of darkness that was beginning to materialise on the concrete floor.

Dean watched, feeling increasingly sick as the black, liquid-looking substance bubbled and rose and solidified into a vaguely humanoid form. There was no face, which was disconcerting as all hell, and the thing’s limbs were just a little too long and… wobbly to be truly human. It was making his brain fuzz over just looking at it. He felt Cas’ grip tighten on his arm.

“What do you want now?” The thing whined, it’s non-face turned in Billie’s direction. It’s voice was perhaps the most surprising thing about it, it was high pitched and nasal (which was impressive considering the thing’s lack of nose) with a slant to the words that Dean couldn’t place. He supposed ‘afterlife dimension’ came with its own accent.

“The angel wants out of his deal,” Billie said. “The humans wish to make what I’m sure will either be a heartfelt plea or some kind of threat.”

“You called me for that? Isn’t this over? Hmmm... I have God and His sister all nicely tucked away and sleeping. Why am I still awake?”

“Look...” Dean said to the goo-creature, and the head swivelled around on a too-loose neck. He stared at where he thought the eyes should be, trying not to be creeped out by the fact he had no idea if his gaze was being returned or not. He also wasn’t sure what tack to try here. He had no more leverage over this thing than he did the Grim Reaper, would it respect a strong stance or was grovelling the way to go? He would do it, if that’s what it took to let Cas live the rest of his life chasing joy. Hell, he would get down on his knees if it meant that he could finally return the words Cas had voiced not three weeks ago. His mind was spinning, but coming up a blank.

So Sam stepped up, taking slow, measured steps to stand at Dean’s other shoulder. “You’ve helped us out before, done Jack a solid when you let him come back and we appreciate that. We also know that you’ve got some issues with Cas and we’d really like to resolve those so that… so you don’t take him.”

“Yeah,” Jack piped up, moving to Cas’ other side. “We’d really rather he stay with us. Without giving up his happiness.”

“Cas is the main reason you still have a place to go back to,” Dean added. “Can’t you just give him a pass? More than anyone he’s earned that.”

“The little shit woke me up!” The creature screeched at them out of its non-mouth. “I haven’t been woken up in the history of ever until that feathered moron came along. All he had to do was sleep, yes, and he couldn’t even do that! So I’m taking him when I damn well please. I gave up my legitimate claim to you, nephilim, just to squeeze out every drop of revenge. You think I’ll go back on that now? Oh, no, no, no, not when the due date is so close, am I right?”

Dean blinked, suddenly getting the feeling that the Empty had stopped talking to them at some point and had started addressing Cas, who he felt perfectly still beside him.

“Am I right, angel?” The thing cooed, “You almost have your happy, don’t you? You’re holding it back by a mere membrane. And now it stands right next to you and tries to get me to change my mind. That has to be nice… seeing how he cares. How they all care.”

Cas said nothing, but in a quick glance Dean saw his lips press together, his eyes lower. The submission hurt Dean more than any outburst of rage at this creature who had stolen all the things that people lived for, everything that Cas had fallen for and given so much of himself to protect. It wasn’t fair that he was now just as cut off from it as when he was a mindless automaton. He should be angry.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me,” he said, still looking down at the floor. “But if this deal breaks, Jack’s soul is forfeit, and I can’t—”

“No it’s not.”

Every head turned to look at Billie, who was the picture of nonchalance, except for the gleam in her eye. “Jack’s soul will go to heaven.”

The Empty spluttered. “I think you’ll find nephilim are my jurisdiction.”

“They are,” Billie agreed, “but Jack’s not a nephilim anymore. Is he?”

Dean gaped in Jack’s direction. The kid frowned, then looked like he was concentrating really hard on something, and then surprise lit his features. “I’m human?”

“Your power was what was needed to defeat God,” Billie explained. “The exact amount of your power. No more, no less. It was never really yours anyway, it was inherited from your father. But you disowned him and chose a father of your own.” She nodded towards Castiel. “That severed the power from you, made your human soul separate from the archangel grace. In reality, Chuck was fighting two of you, Jack, and He was only able to destroy one. Of course, He thought the one worth destroying was the one with the power, leaving you as the other. Pure human. Which,” she smiled at the Empty, “is my jurisdiction.”

If the Empty had a face, Dean was pretty sure it would be glaring fire at Billie. “You’re on their side?” It screeched. Dean winced at the piercing volume. “You want me to break the deal. What? Are you going to keep me awake until I obey, yes? You can’t pull that lever twice, Reaper. I helped you with the old man and the dark one all on the promise that once this was over you’d let me sleep and I know you to be a being of your word.”

“You’re right,” Billie said evenly. “I will keep my promise, regardless of whether or not you help the angel. But I would prefer it if you did. As a favour.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Dean’s at that and a newfound well of respect for Billie threatened to spill out of his dumb mouth. He swallowed it back. He was pretty sure she could see his gratitude. She had already helped them by calling the Empty here, and it would have been more than fair for her to leave them to do the convincing, which he was pretty sure wouldn’t have worked on its own.

The Empty seemed to consider that; clearly weighing the benefit of having Death owe it one against whatever pleasure it would gain from torturing Cas. The decision took far longer than Dean was comfortable with and something snapped in him at the tense silence. His hand found Cas’ and he held it tight, ignoring the surprised look that melted into fondness on his left. He felt a hand land on his opposite shoulder and looked up into Sam’s face. There was a soft smile there, and pride, but there was a twitch in his eyebrow that begged him not to entwine himself so deep that he couldn’t disentangle himself if this all went to shit. Dean couldn’t bring himself to tell him that it was far, far too late for that.

“Hmmm...” The Empty said. “Well… There it is. Looks like Castiel just cashed in his happy.”

Dean’s head snapped around. Cas was looking at him, beaming really. His eyes glittering in the low light, radiant in a way that was different from his grace and far more beautiful. The hand in his gave a gentle squeeze, though there was fear in those eyes now, his moment of pure joy eclipsed by the fact that this could all be gone with his next blink. Dean brought his other hand around to clasp their already joined ones, as if he could just hold tight enough, then nothing could make him let go.

Seeing Cas afraid was like an icy fingertip sliding down his spine. He turned back to the Empty, readying himself to throw a punch or to prostrate himself on the ground and beg, or start another goddamn apocalypse just to draw the fear from those blue, bottomless eyes. It couldn’t end like this, not when they were on the precipice of whatever this promised to be, not when they could finally, finally start living for themselves.

“Please,” Dean said, his voice thick and unwieldy in his mouth. “Please let him stay with me.”

The creature hummed again, an irritating sound that buried into his skull. “Alright.”

It flicked one of its (too bendy) arms in Cas’ direction and the angel cried out in pain, dropping to the floor like a sack of bricks and dragging Dean down too where their hands were still clasped.

“Cas!” Dean yelled as Cas began a low moan that rose in volume and pitch and agony until it was a scream, and then his back arched so dramatically Dean heard it crack, and Cas’ eyes widened to the point of popping. In the next painful convulsion, Cas ripped his hand away from Dean’s.

“Cas!” Dean cried again, scrambling to get it back, to offer what little comfort he could. If these were going to be Cas’ last moments, Dean couldn’t bear the thought that he would have to endure them alone.

Cas’ lips were moving, but all that was escaping was a wordless scream. Dean shook his head, not understanding as Cas’ agitation only grew. He looked around at each member of his family crouched next to him, and terror dominated his expression.

“Eyes!” The word was strangled. “Help—”

Suddenly, the sound of Cas’ screams cut out at the same moment the world turned black. Dean’s vocal chords strained around Cas’ name, around Sam’s name, but he couldn’t hear either. He felt Cas in front of him, writhing and solid and silent, felt the hard concrete under his knees, felt the fabric of a jacket as he reached out blindly with his other hand. But all he saw was blackness. Fear roared inside him. He couldn’t see his family, he didn’t know what was happening to Cas. Had he gone blind? Deaf? Was Cas looking to him for a final comfort?

Worst of all was when Cas’ hand went limp.

Dean was pretty sure he was losing his mind. He was sure he was screaming, sure he was yelling himself hoarse, cursing the Empty, Billie, God. He dropped his hand from what he was pretty sure was Sam’s shoulder and moving it to his own face. He felt wetness there, sweat or tears he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that Cas wasn’t moving and he had no idea what to do except clutch that hand in between both his own and hope.

Just as suddenly as it had vanished, sound returned. He heard his own name in Sam’s voice and a moment later, his brother’s scared face materialised in front of him, and Jack was there too, his own face pale and scrunched in confusion and discomfort as he shook himself. There was also a horrible, burbling sound that it took him far too long to realise was coming from him. He took a deep breath to stop it and looked over at where the Empty and Billie had been stood.

They were gone.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asked, his voice raspy and worn out.

“No idea,” Sam said, looking a little ill. “But it really sucked.”

“Yeah.” As the adrenaline leaked away from his brain, leaving his extremities tingling, he flexed his hand and found he was still holding onto something.

Cas!

With a jolt, Dean looked at the still figure lying on the ground. His eyes were closed and there were black shapes on the floor extending from his shoulders.

“No,” He moaned, squeezing his eyes shut again, flashbacks of a cabin, of another joyous moment turned to ash, of a grief so heavy he’d buckled under it the first time, how could anyone ask him to even lift it now?

He heard Sam swallow next to him, clearly floundering for whatever words he thought Dean needed to hear.

He heard Jack’s breath hitch, then. “Wait. Look!”

Dean blinked heavily. Jack was staring at the black marks, then he reached forward and picked up a feather. Four inches long and inky black, the thing gleamed in the poor light. Despite the urgent pleas of his heart, Dean looked more closely at what he had assumed to be just scorch marks. There were more feathers. Loads of them, filling in gaps in the patchy outlines of Cas’ wings. They were how Cas’ wings had looked the last time Dean had seen their shadows; there weren’t enough feathers to make the wings complete, Cas had shed plenty over the years after all, but there were still dozens of them. All the feathers Cas had had left, if Dean were to guess. He didn’t know what to make of it and although he could hear Sam’s brain whirring as it tried to put the pieces together, Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to care what it meant. He leaned over Cas and smoothed the hair back from his forehead, numbness crawling its way along Dean’s limbs and tightening around his nerves. He arranged the body how he would if the pyre was already built, pretty sure someone was talking around him but unable to take any of it in. He adjusted the coat, laid Cas’ hands carefully by his sides, fixed the tie.

While he did that last one, his hand passed over Cas’ chest and he felt a flutter beneath his fingertips. He paused for a second and felt it again. Hope surged through him so fast it was painful. He pressed his palm to Cas’ chest and waited. Please, please, please, please, please.

Thump.

“He’s alive!”

Dean began to gently tap his fingers against Cas’ cheek, calling for him over and over again, his other hand feeling the steady, human beat of Cas’ heart.

“Come on, sweetheart, wake up.”

Cas groaned, the most wonderful sound that had ever graced Dean’s ears. All the air escaped him as Cas began to twitch, his eyelids fluttered and he blinked them open.

“I love you too,” Dean blurted out, physically unable to keep the words in any more. “I love you so freaking much Cas, and I’m real glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too,” Cas said blearily, pushing himself to a sitting position, only to be bowled over again by Dean launching himself into his arms. Corny or not he couldn’t help it. He needed to hold him, surround himself in Cas’ warmth and Cas’ smell and Cas’ love. He needed to feel the life around them. “You make me very happy, Dean.”

Dean said nothing, but he shoved his face in closer to Cas’ neck.

After a few moments he deemed himself recovered enough to pull back and help Cas to his unsteady feet. Jack moved in for the next hug and Cas’ eyes went soft with wonder as he embraced his son, finally allowed to feel the joy that such a gesture brought. Sam was next, pulling him into a sasquatch-worthy bone-crushing hug and whispering something that Dean couldn’t catch, though their grins were bright and a little teary as they separated.

Cas then looked down at the feathers scattered on the ground and bent to gather a few. “Angel feathers can be useful spell ingredients,” he said by way of an explanation as he stuffed them into his coat pocket. “And it’s not as though I have a use for them anymore.”

“You know, we could try and find a way… if you wanted...” Dean started to offer, and even though Dean wasn’t sure if the Empty had completely destroyed Cas’ grace or what and had no idea how to even start that quest, he knew with certainty that he would find a way if that was what Cas chose.

Cas was already shaking his head, a small smile on his lips.

“No. I think… I think I’m tired of being an angel. I don’t want to watch humanity anymore, I want to be a part of it. I want to enjoy this, every moment that I get to love and be loved in return is a treasure I never could have imagined before I met you.”

“So… home?” Dean asked, more than ready to start building the rest of his life with his brother, his son and this newly-human man who had never looked like more of an angel to him.

Cas nodded and reached for him, slotting their fingers together.

“Home.”

#supernatural #spn fanfic #prompt #part 3 of 3 #fanfiction #writing #angst #happy ending #Destiel fanfic #TibbinsWrites

[bluboothalassophile]

So bc we’re both forgetful lmao 😂 I’m reminding us about the hellhound puppy that Raven gets as a gift from Luci and all the shenanigans that come with it! Love you! 💕

Hello,

We are forgetful, we keep talking about this! So I do hope you enjoy, with a cameo of Rae’s soon to be familiar, Sylvester from Looney Tunes! =)

Inspired by this Very Handsome, Good Boy!:

Bagheera Licorice Roth the Six Hundred Sixty-Sixth…

Lucifer stood there in Lux, looking over his books when he felt her walk in. His heart stopped and he turned to her with a smile upon his lips.

He was enraptured by her serine beauty once, the beautiful sorrow hidden in the depths of her black eyes. He didn’t tell Maze, but he knew his bonded was aware that there was a time he’d have bonded with Death. And Maze hated that reality, but they both loved Death.

“Hello darling, it has been a while,” Lucifer said as he looked over Death.

Death was dressed in her typical black garb, but with a black skirt rather than her skinny jeans, and she twirled her umbrella as she walked up to him. “Hello Lucifer,” she smiled softly. “It has been a while.”

“Care for a drink, love?” he asked her casually while sending reassurance to his demon through their bond that they were good. He would always be a bit in love with Death, but she was his first love, and from that they had bore a terrible weapon for his father’s war.

“No thank you,” she said as she took a seat at the lounge. “I would like to discuss our grandchild actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I feel that in her vulnerable state she should have protection,” Death said.

“Already taken care of, Maze is currently collecting it from the latest batch as we speak.”

“It?”

“A Hellhound puppy of course, no finer guard in all the realms,” he chuckled.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Maze walked through Bobby Singer’s Salvage Yard with a sack, as she headed for the Bunker’s hidden entrance through a car trunk. It was a good think Luci had moved the bunker, it made it so much easier. Rachel had always returned to the Bunker or the House of Mystery in New Orleans, depending on what mission she was running.

“I’m here!” Maze called out through the massive Bunker. It was still impressive that the Men of Letters; as stagnated as they were, had accumulated this sort of knowledge.

“Hey Maze!” Rachel appeared with a smile, her hair was braided back, and she looked comfortable.

“Just the witch I was looking for!” Maze said as she skipped over to Rae, she had adopted Rae as her grandchild with gusto, she loved this little witch more than she could put into actions. “I have something for you!”

Yanking her sack around she pulled it open and picked up the little, wriggling puppy, which squirmed in her grasp. The little guy looked close to a panther, or a pitbull, sleek and the purest of blacks. So black he looked like a beautiful void with brilliant yellow eyes filled with Hellfire looked around curiously.

“He’s yours!” Maze stated handing the pup to Rachel. She had a soft spot for the Hellhounds, and figured her granddaughter would possess the same fondness.

“Oh my! He’s so cute!” Rachel smiled at the puppy as she held it in her arms.

“That is a Hellhound, from the latest liter Ramsey had, Luci wants you protected,” Maze smiled as the pup took a liking to his new mistress with gusto and was trying to lick her face.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Between her familiar Sylvester; the talking black and white cat who had adopted her when she saved him from his own antics to catch a Tweety-Bird, and the puppy, Rachel found her hands full. She hadn’t quite settled on a name for the Hellhound.

Dean had voted to name it Hell’s Bells, which she had shot down immediately.

Sam thought of Licorice, Jack and Cas both liked that one.

Bobby informed her that it would have to be something terrifying, and not to be too soft on the Hellhound pup or else he wouldn’t be ferocious, but she had also seen Bobby sneaking her puppy bites of steak and sips of beer.

She had ruled out most names, and had started going through literature for ideas. So far the name that seemed to resonate with her and ‘Jay’ was Bagheera.

And Thus… Bagheera Licorice Roth the Six Hundred Sixty-Sixth was named (the Six Hundred Sixty-Sixth was from Clair who wouldn’t leave her puppy alone, calling it the spawn of hell), also he was the six hundredth and sixty-sixth pup Ramsey had birthed according to Lucifer.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Rachel yelped as she was yanked down the street by the hellhound, her familiar wrapped around her throat.

“Bagheera! Slow down!” Rachel pleaded as they ran through New Orleans hunting a ghoul. “Bagheera Licorice STOP!” Rachel screamed as she was dragged into the street in the path of an on coming bus; she was going to die!

~~~*~*~*~~~

They were lounging on the porch of Grimwood’s Finishing School for Ghouls, when the two year old puppy lumbered up with a slobbery tennis ball in his mouth, smoke radiating off his excited form as he did the dog stretch with his butt in the air, tail wagging excitedly.

Rachel sighed as she set her book aside and went to get the tennis ball he was chewing like bubble gum away from him.

He leapt up and enticed her to chase him.

“If you want me to throw it Licorice you have to give it to me!” Rachel tried to reason as she chased the massive Hellhound.

~~~*~*~*~~~

She moaned in pain as she rolled over on her bed and blinked at the greeting of the floor, then looked over her shoulder at Bagheera’s stretched out form, his paws in the air, and Sylvester curled up on his belly.

“How do you always get three quarters of the bed and I wake up looking at the floor?” she asked the dog who had cracked a yellow eye to look at her. His tail thumbed and then the worst stink bomb ever was released which had her gagging and her eyes watering as she yanked at her sheets to cover her nose and mouth.

“Gross! That shouldn’t be legal!” she gasped.

“Should weaponize that but chemical warfare is illegal,” she croaked, scrambling from her bed and running for the door.

#bluboothalassophile #fanfic #one shot #hopes for a bastard universe #hopes for a bastard #raven #bagheera licorice roth 666th #sylvester looney tunes #lucifer morningstar #mazikeen #death the endless

[myheartrevealed]

I Will Be Here- Chapter Fourteen

Jack Kline x Reader

Summary: Dr. Myla was one of the only therapists who specialized in treating the Supernatural, someone who offered an oasis to people like you. Carrying the burden of your father and being the ever-hunted Cambion, you attend her sessions however, that begins to change when you meet a fellow patient, Jack. Can unfortunate circumstances bring you two together even though all odds are against it?

~ ~ ~

The building had obviously been abandoned not too long ago. The only indicator that no one worked there was how bare it was. There were chairs and desks, but nothing personal and no advertising for the companies within the building.

Cas had you situated at the top of a large balcony which overlooked the opening Michael was stationed in. You risked a glance over the edge to where Michael was sitting.

Dean Winchester was looking not too worse for wear. You could imagine that was Michael healing his vessel, but you were impressed. Maybe Dean was stronger than you thought.

Cas set out all the ingredients you had collected, as you opened the spellbook to the correct page. You laid it out in front of your station, then gave Cas a nod.

He returned the gesture, then moved to stand in the opening of the balcony. His job was to protect you from the other two angels who were no doubt going to find you on the balcony.

You slowly took the vial of Dean’s blood and poured it into the bowl. You turned to make sure Cas was facing away from you before picking up a knife and slicing a bit of your own hand.

It stung as the blood slowly dripped around your palm and into the bowl, mixing with Dean’s. You quickly covered your hand up with a towel and whispered a few words. The blood swirled together and suddenly a jolt went through your entire body.

Oh no, you thought and you risked another glance over the edge of the balcony and found Michael was standing, facing the other way. He must have felt it too.

“The Cambion,” he snarled, finally sensing your presence. “I know you’re in here, Y/N. What did you do to me?”

You quickly pulled away from the edge, afraid of being caught and got to work on the actual spell.

What you had just done wasn’t part of the spell. It’s for the best, Y/N. It’s the only option we have.

You set aside the newly fused blood and began to throw things into a clean bowl. The stones, some hair, and bones. All the while chanting the spell.

There was a noise from outside. No doubt one of the angels had found you and charged Cas. You could also hear Jack in the distance give a cry.

The fight had started.

You closed your eyes and kept chanting. Concentrate.

You picked up the blood and poured it into the concoction. One more ingredient. You quickly spread some dry grass across the top of the bowl.

Okay, you reminded yourself. It’s going to be okay. You just have to drop a match into the bowl and this will all be over-

“Y/N!” Cas yelled behind you.

You didn’t even have time to turn around before someone grabbed you by the shoulder and ripped you away from your station.

It was a female angel. She had thrown you to the ground was now on top of you, angel blade in hand. She held it under your chin, preventing you from doing much to fight back and you had dropped the matches in the fall.

Don’t speak. Don’t speak.

You knew that if you said a word, you would break the spell and possibly ruin your chances of doing it again.

A glance to the side told you Cas wouldn’t be much help. He was currently in battle with the other angel and he didn’t exactly have the upper hand.

You grabbed the angel’s wrist and kicked your legs up, throwing your attacker off balance. You quickly pushed her off of you and used the wrist that you held to control her blade and stab her with it.

You held your hands up to protect your eyes as her heavenly form died and left you with a girl with burned out eyes and large charred wings around her.

You didn’t have time to feel bad, as you turned back to your spell, which was fortunately not knocked over in the fight and grabbed a match.

“NO!” you heard Jack yell and you looked up to see that Michael was flying towards you, probably having noticed you were up there during your small battle.

You weren’t afraid though. You smirked and held his eye, as you dropped the match and the contents of the bowl lit up in a large flame that separated you from Michael.

Once the flames died down, you saw Michael, only feet away from the ledge of your balcony, disappear from Dean Winchester’s eyes. Then the man, now only a man, fell, reaching out for something to stop him.

You scrambled to the ledge, realizing what would happen to late and saw Dean Winchester hit the ground. And as he did, you felt your entire body ache, and you fell backwards, your heartbeat slowing… and then stopping.

~ ~ ~

When you sat back up again, you couldn’t help but stare at your cold lifeless body, which stayed on the floor. Your hair fell around your head in a halo shape and one of your arms was twisted funkily behind your back.

Cas was still in battle with the other angel. He probably hadn’t even noticed you yet. That’s probably good, you tell yourself.

“DEAN!” you hear Sam yell and your remember why you were there in the first place. As you stare over the balcony, you see Sam drop down next to his dead brother, Jack following behind him. And the ghostly shape of Dean, standing above them, staring at his heartbroken younger brother.

“Dean Winchester,” you say firmly and he turned to look at you.

He looks shocked to find that you aren’t staring at his corporeal form, but at him. “You,” he says. You are surprised at how much softer his voice is, when he’s not being used by Michael. “You’re the girl that Sam and Jack were working with.”

“I am,” you say, then step off the balcony, knowing that there was no real worry, now that you were dead.

You hit the ground gracefully and approached Dean.

“That spell… did it kill you?”

You shook your head and went to answer, but you saw Dean staring up at the balcony you had just left. Cas was up there, firmly shaking your shoulders, but you knew that he could tell. You were gone.

“Y/N?” Jack whispered. He was already crying, but looking up at Cas holding your unmoving body caused him to fall down sobbing.

You opened your mouth and wanted to say something to him, anything, but you knew you couldn’t.

Dean was still staring at Cas, watching as the world fell apart around his family. They had lost, big time.

“It wasn’t the spell,” you said slowly. “I was worried that separating you from Michael would kill you. So, I attached my life to yours.”

“What? Why would you do that?”

“I-” you started, but a suddenly feeling washed over you as another person entered. You came face to face with a young woman in all black, holding a large scythe. She stood calmly, watching you and Dean for your first moves. You could only say one word, “Death.”

“Billie?”

You were shocked that Dean would call Death by a mortal name, but you weren’t going to question it. In fact, you didn’t want to say much at all.

“Y/N.” You felt your body shake when she said your name. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”

Your chest hurt and you took a shaky breath before saying, “Dean isn’t either.”

“Yes, he is. He has a notebook that says he’ll die here and now… you do not.”

You nodded and forced yourself to drop all fear. This was your time. This was the reason you connected yours and Dean’s lifeforms. And you wouldn’t mess it up by staring in the face of this, normal looking woman.

“Does Jack have a book saying he’ll die soon?”

“I’m sorry, what?” she asked you.

“Suicide. A couple of days from now. Does it say that anywhere?” You were headed in the right direction, you could tell by her face.

“What are you saying? Jack probably couldn’t kill himself if he tried.”

You shook your head. “Oh, believe me. He’ll find a way. Look at him.” You pointed at the broken boy on the ground. “If Dean Winchester is dead, Jack won’t last much longer. You know he won’t. He’s already tried to kill himself on multiple occasions because he thinks he’s a monster. And if that weren’t bad enough, my death on top of Dean’s will be the final blow. Now maybe, yes, Dean can die right now, but Jack cannot. We need Jack, you know that.”

Dean looked baffled at what you were suggesting, but Death just chuckled. “Is that why you’re here?”

“I’m here to make a deal,” you said, finally getting to your plan. “You can have me, take my soul, but let Dean live.”

“Y/N-” Dean said, but he didn’t get very far.

“A valiant offer.” Death looked almost unimpressed and you were terrified at what she was going to say, but you weren’t going to let up yet.

“I’m already dead, so this goes against no rules of your own-”

“Except letting a dead man walk free,” she quickly interjected.

“I accept full responsibility for that.”

“That doesn’t help me,” she said, bitterly and took a step towards you. She looked surprised when you stepped back. “Y/N, you’re still scared of me.”

“You haven’t given me much reason not to be,” you retorted.

She raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue. “Maybe that’s true,” she crept forward, “but here’s what I must do. Y/N, you only have one book.” She took another step in your direction. “You only have one way you must die and you know that.”

“I’m giving you another option-”

“That I can’t take,” she said simply. “The reason you can only die on one day if because you have so much more left to do. You’re important, Y/N. And I can’t prevent you from that.”

The next minute, she had reached out to touch your forehead and you found yourself gasping for air. You sat up quickly and assessed the situation. You were back on the balcony and a quick look behind you told you you were in your own body again.

“Y/N?” You turned to see Cas staring at you. He was sitting in the doorframe of the balcony with wide eyes. “What happened? You were dead.”

He crept forward towards you, almost not believing it was true.

You were going to answer him, but you were cut of by Sam. “Dean!” he cried and you scrambled to see.

Dean had sat up and was looking around between his brother and Jack, until he looked up and met your eyes. You glanced away.

“Dean, what happened? I thought you were…”

“Dead,” he finished. He met your gaze once more, but this time you didn’t turn away. You tried to tell him not to tell his brother what had happened and he seemed to understand the fear in your eyes. “I was… but we can talk about that later.”

Sam nodded, with tears in his eyes and hugged Dean. That’s when Jack, no longer on the floor, seemed to notice you.

“Y/N!” he cried and ran towards the balcony, standing below it. “Y/N! We did it! You did it!”

You gave him a soft small. “Yeah, we did.”

Sam broke away from his brother and grinned at you as well. “Y/N, we thought you were dead too. Come down and join us.”

You chuckled, before realizing how exhausted you were. You took in a few deep breaths and said, “I think I need a nap first.”

~ ~ ~

Tags: @sophiasescape @iris-suoh @random-stupid-stuffs @themaddonesblog

(If you want to be added to the tag list, just send me a message!)

#fan fic #fanfiction #spn fandom #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #spn fic #fic #supernatural fic #fiction #supernatural cambion #supernatural reader insert #supernatural #spn s13 #spn #jack kline x you #jack kline x y/n #jack kline x reader #jack kline #sam winchester #castiel #dean winchester #spn michael #cas #spn jack #spn sam

[apreciateallthefandoms]

Being Sam and Dean little sister would include:

The age difference is big.

Dean took care of you when you were little.

You used the old clothes of your big brothers.

Bobby adored you.

Dean tough you how to walk.

He looked at Sam with the victory on his face.

John wasn't there. Seriously,he ignored you.

Sam went to Stanford when you were only a child.

You missed him so much.

When you saw Sam again you almost cry.

''Dean,she need to get out of this'' ''I know,Sammy''

You cried for days when Dean was in hell.

When he came back you won't belive it at first.

You weren't affected when John died.

Bobby was your father figure.

And Dean too.

You wanted to know that angel who saved your brother.

''(y/n),NO!''

When Castiel saw you for the first time he was impressed.

Your look a lot like Dean.

But you have features of Sam too.

In the apocalypse your brothers tried to take you apart.

That doesn't work.Of course.

You and Cas share the backseat of the Impala.

Dean give you drive lessons.

Dean is the vessel of Michael, Sam is the vessel of Lucifer and you are the vessel of Gabriel.

Gabriel didn't want to posses you. (Not in angelic terms,at least)

You were so affected when Ellen and Jo died.

The angels were confused about you.

You met Crowley when you were in the house of Bobby.

''Hello,dear''

His nickname for you is ''Bunny''

You liked Adam and be devastated when Michael used him as vessel.

You cried again when Sam was in the cage.

You lived with Dean,Lisa and Ben.

Ben thinks you're so cool.

Both of you play videogames and read comics.

In the bunker Dean prepared a room just for you.

The Ghostfacers think you're really cute.

''If any of you two,you freaks,touch my sister i will rip your skin off''

''We get that,Dean''

You liked the bunker. It is the most similar to a home for you.

Sam and you have Harry Potter marathons.

You show Castiel what is Netflix.

You had a crush on Samandriel. I mean,seriously,have you seen that angel face?

He cried with 13 reasons why.

Dean and you share a love for pies.

You cook for your brothers.

But the food of Jody...Man,that food is amazing.

Dean trained you. Just in case.

A lot of deaths made you cry: Kevin, Samandriel, Benny, Gabriel, Bobby,Charlie,Gadreel,Balthazar...I mean,seriously,you were so young to see all those deaths.

You explain Cass a lot of things.

''And...the pizzaman''

''I'm not going to explain you what's the pizzaman''

You were so impressed when discover that Chuck is God.

''No way''

Castiel protect you from the angels.

Rowena thinks you're more polite than your brothers.

You and Dean sing AC/DC or Kansas in the road trips.

You think Garth is amazing.

He never lets you drive the Impala.

You and Sam fight for the copilot seat.

When Lucifer possesed Cas you won't believe it.

Lucifer flirted with you in the body of Cas.

You tried your best to help your brothers with Amara.

You won't be able to talk when you saw Mary for the first time.

''(y/n)?''

''Mom?''

Dean,Mary,Cas and you went to rescue Sam form Toni.

Mick looked at you like if you were a legend.

You don't trust Ketch. That stupid bastard.

You hang out with Claire.

Mick tried to recruit you.

You suggest Kelly about his baby.

You were so happy when she decided to have it.

Mick and you talked for hours about the Mans of Letters.

You hated Ketcht for what he did to Mick.

You fight with Cas because he preffers Kelly and the Nephilim.

Okay,maybe you were a little jealous.

Then Jack came.

Dean get's overprotective when Jack take an interest on you.

And you had a crush on Jack.

Dean tells you he's dangerous.

You don't care about that.

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #spn #spn imagine #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #castiel #castiel imagine #crowley #crowley imagine #samandriel #samandriel imagine #gabriel #gabriel imagine #lucifer #lucifer imagine #mick davies imagine #mick davies #arthur ketch #arthur ketch imagine #mary winchester #mary winchester imagine #winchester!sister #jack kline #jack kline imagine

[katsidhe]

Fic: The Last Word, 1/?

AO3

Summary: let this memory be the only shred left in his desiccated heaven, and he will be happy. 13.23 scenes. 

Dean—Michael—vanishes.

Sam's standing in the ruins of an archangel, and his breath is loud and broken in his ringing ears.

Dean. Michael. Dean’s trapped inside his own mind, fighting and screaming and strapped down and flayed by the sheer power of an archangel.

There's a shuffling noise, behind, and Sam flinches, terror-what-if, but it's Jack. Jack who said, I love you, who tried to give his life for Sam's, who's still bleeding—“Jack, Jack. You're hurt," says Sam.

"The bleeding's stopped," says Jack, but the pain in his voice is still ragged and hoarse. His face is bloody where Lucifer beat him. Sam pulls Jack's hands away to see the wound in his stomach, and, sure enough, the last remnants of his power flicker a vague gold over the spot, sinking into slowly healing flesh.

"Jack," says Sam, and some strange sound comes out of his chest, not a sob, not a laugh, and he's pulling Jack in close, wrapping his arms around him, burying his face in his shoulder. Jack's shaking too, and it bruises something deep in Sam, something he didn't realize could still be hurt.

Sam hurts. It’s nothing new. There are finger marks on his throat and bruises on his face. There's sharp throbbing pain, soul-deep, where Lucifer’d had him one last time. His head, his eardrums, burn from the proximity to the fight and the true voices. His eyes are blurry and sting with white spots, and maybe some deeper damage, because he hadn't looked away or blinked during Lucifer's fiery dying scream.

The last, he doesn't mind, he doesn't mind at all. Throwing the archangel blade up, watching Dean drive it in, a continuation of that same fluid movement—Lucifer screaming and falling apart, losing it, losing his son, losing everything, then dying desperate—let him go blind, let that image be burnt into his retinas for eternity, let this memory be the only shred left in his desiccated heaven, and he will be happy.

"Sam," says Jack. He pulls back, grasping Sam's arms, rubbing a little. Sam looks down. Oh, he’s trembling. "Sam. We'll get Dean back," he promises, like Sam's the one who's owed comfort.

Sam meets Jack’s earnest, sad gaze, then shuts his eyes and nods. Sam doesn’t need comfort. He should. Dean’s a prisoner in his own mind. Sam should be devastated. But he’s not. At least for now, he’s not, and he can’t even hate himself for it.

He breaks away from Jack and turns around, because he needs to look. He needs to look. He opens his eyes and breathes deep, a clear fresh breath all the way to the bottom of his lungs, tasting the dead static in the air. He looks.

Sam feels like dancing and Sam feels like throwing up.

He settles for dropping to his knees in the ashy imprint of wings. He draws his fingers through, feeling the tips catch and tear and char on jagged burning edges. He doesn't mind. Embers here and there spark fitfully, searing with unnatural heat. He fumbles, scoops one up with shaking hands and holds it, watching blisters forming on his palm. He doesn't mind. He clenches his fist, slowly, to see the coal crumble and snuff out. He brings a bit to his mouth and tastes it. Just ash. Maybe a tang of ozone, or maybe that's just the leftover power caught thick and stale in the dim air of this church.

He looks at the face. It's not Lucifer's face, no. Sam won’t ever see Lucifer’s face again. That seared-in, unnameable image doesn’t fit the puppet on the ground. This is just another stolen mask. This is the mask from long nightmares, the mask Lucifer preferred. Consistency, he'd said when Sam asked. He touches the cheeks. With one hand, then both. Warm pliable flesh, not yet cooled. The unnatural chill of grace is gone. The eyes are closed, expressionless. No reaction when Sam touches an eyelid. No movement, except when Sam tangles a hand in the hair and pulls and the head lolls sideways. Limp. Still.

Sam slides his hands down from the slack face, down the neck, firm across the chest. He traces down to the fatal wound. Wets his fingers in the gore. Thinks about Lucifer doing the same, getting handsy with Sam’s corpse, not many days ago.

But now Sam is alive. Sam is touching this familiar form—it's so familiar, Sam knows every inch, every part, like his own. The touch is so familiar, the scene is so familiar, with the stink of fear and blood and power. Sam's touching him, Sam’s kneeling, Sam's hands are gripped in his shirt, and Sam's hands are slippery with blood—that’s all correct, that’s all normal, and Sam knows exactly how this goes. But. The tableau breaks. It’s never been like this. Never. Because it’s not Sam's blood. It's not Sam's blood.

There's dead man's blood pooling in the wound. Sam touches that, again, the slick red warmth, feels the edges of the gash, pulls back the torn fabric and forces apart the skin with his thumbs to check—yes. It goes all the way through, past skin between the ribs, through the lung, into wet muscle and viscera.

This wound would have been a starting point, before. Lucifer would have tossed the blade aside and hooked his fingers in, started messing around. Pulled things out or pushed them in. Held it open wide, here, brace, pause, twist, then widen it slowly, watch the lung deflate, watch the gasping and crying and panic of stale instinct. Or started the rip of the skin here, maybe, at this corner, with this convenient flap of tissue, to work on getting it all off in one long piece, like an orange peel.  

But the failures of human anatomy don't matter to an angel. Didn't matter. This was a life-blow direct to the grace, direct to Lucifer's core. A quick death, so quick, so quick.

Sam wishes he'd killed him. He'd have done it different. Well, actually, no, probably not, he’d have done it the same, because Sam wanted it over more than anything. He knows it was impossible for him to do, though. There's only one weapon Sam's ever seen or heard of that a human could wield to kill an archangel, and Crowley had destroyed the Lance to save Cas's life. That’s why Sam’s never even bothered imagining how he might do it, what it might feel like (at least, not until the rift and blade and the bowl of grace, but that didn’t work out. Or maybe it did, in the end, roundabout.)

Sam’s still got his hands on Lucifer’s abdomen, drifting lower, getting red streaks all over the white shirt. He used to wear a brownish-green one, and a blue jacket. Sam wonders how he got these clothes. Maybe he stole them from a Target. Probably, somebody somewhere died horribly for this cheap white T-shirt.

Sam’s hands pause on the hips. This—this feels too close to the types of things he had to—things he doesn’t want. Things he got used to, sort of. It’s intimate but he lingers anyway. Tightens his grip, to prove it to himself. There’s no malicious innuendo forthcoming. There’s no licked-lips joke.

Lucifer's arms are flung out to the sides, a little ways. Not fully spread out, not as if they were staked out or chained, just, fallen. The sleeves of the jacket brush his knuckles. Sam's spent so much time watching those hands. Decades and decades. It’s okay to stare a little longer, he decides.

Sam grasps the canvas jacket, smearing more blood, and lifts one wrist. The fingers flop. No more from them. The wedding ring, Nick’s ring, a relic Lucifer never bothered to edit from his flesh illusion, is cold and dull. He remembers it glinting pale blue in the eldritch light of the Cage. He knows the feeling of that band of cool metal crushed hard against his cheek, or pressed up in his open guts. Sam knows the marks it makes in his skin—incidental, superficial, not even intentional. Lucifer probably never even noticed he still wore it.

Sam's gory hands slip the first few times he tries to tug the ring off, but he eventually manages the task. And really, really, Sam could take the finger too. Digits come off easy, he knows. He's got a knife. He won't, and he doesn't. (But he wonders, a little bit, what Rowena could accomplish with a trophy like that.)

The gold ring is small and ordinary. A plain band. Sam checks the inside—there’s an inscription. Just a date, in simple script: June-10-2003. He never knew that. All those years and he’d never even wondered. And he thought he’d wondered about everything, exhausted everything, in that place.

"Sam?"

Sam flinches, again, and jerks around, nearly falling flat on his ass in archangel ash. But it's just Jack, confused and young and injured, who's watching him mess with his father’s corpse.

“He's gone," Sam explains. He can feel himself smiling. He’s a little afraid his face might split open at the edges. He doesn’t want it to, because he’s had that done, and it hurts, but he can’t stop the grin.

“He’s gone,” Jack parrots back. He approaches Sam slowly. He’s not smiling.

Why not? Doesn’t he understand?

“Don’t you understand?” Sam asks. He holds up the blood-streaked ring for Jack to see. He doesn’t know why he does it. The only person it mattered to is someone Sam never knew, someone long, long gone. It’s not like this tiny thing matters at all to Sam or Lucifer.

And certainly not to Jack, whose confusion is rapidly turning into alarm. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," says Sam, and the unexpected truth in the words makes him buckle, wheezing with laughter, clutching the ring that belonged to Lucifer’s long-dead victim close to his chest.

He bows his head and lets his hair fall to cover his face. He crumples all the way down to his elbows and knees next to Lucifer, an act as ancient and natural as breathing. He presses his forehead into the sharp ashy ruins of burnt feathers, inhales deeply. For a second he holds his breath, but then he remembers: no one to please or impress here. No appeasement, no choking down words, nothing to avoid. Sam lets himself exhale a noise he can’t describe, not a keen or a sob or a whoop, but something raw and jagged torn from somewhere very, very deep.

A soft touch on his shoulder jolts him upright, but this time he knows it’s Jack.

“Sam,” says Jack.

“You’re crying.” says Jack. His voice is thick with tears.

“I’m okay,” says Sam again. Jack’s right. He can feel the wetness on his cheeks. But he means it. “It’s okay, Jack, it’s gonna be okay.”

After a moment, Sam sticks his hands in the ash one more time, to lever himself to his feet. Jack tucks himself close, and together they stagger to the doors of the church. They open onto cracked stone stairs, an overgrown fenced courtyard, and a cloudless evening sky.

Sam pulls out his cell, and his GPS says they’re in Georgia.

He calls Rowena.

“Hello, Samuel,” she purrs. “Miss me already, dearie?"

“Rowena,” he croaks. His voice is cracked and sounds strange.

“Sam?” she says, tone suddenly serious.

“Lucifer—“ and he breaks off. He can't say it, all of a sudden. There’s an intake of breath on the other end of the line.

“No,” Rowena says, soft, then louder, “no, no more of him, I’ll not allow it, Sam, where are you?”

“Rowena. Lucifer is dead,” says Sam, and it’s the first time he’s said those three words together.

She makes a wounded sound, and then she’s laughing, and Sam starts laughing again too. She says, “I’ll be there in a wink."

Sam dials Mom next and barely remembers what he says. He stutters, the relevant details, Dean stabbed Lucifer, Michael took Dean, Rowena’s giving them a lift. There’s so much left to fix.

He finds a sink in a back room and cleans his hands, half-reluctant. But it’s worth it, so that he can wash Jack’s face, clean and dress his wounds in the free air. Jack doesn’t deserve to be touched by any part of Lucifer.

For awhile after that, he and Jack sit quietly together on the steps. Sam keeps the doors open, so that he can periodically glance behind at the scene inside the church.

But mostly, they watch the moon rise.

#13.23 #spn spoilers #sam winchester #jack kline #lucifer #rowena #my fic #let the good times roll #ptsd #cage trauma #implied rape #referenced torture

[cupidsbower]

It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation

Supernatural 13x11 “Breakdown,” and 13x12 “Various and Sundry Villains.”

I can tell I’m up to eps that are after the mid-season finale now, because the Destiel game is picking up.

Breakdown

This is another ep setting up the Wayward Sisters ‘verse, focusing on Donna, Doug, and the widening circle of crimes that mix the human and supernatural.

The Butterfly Killer seems at first to be a human serial killer in a human crime case, until we get the big reveal of the human Butterfly Killer actually servicing supernatural clients, using the all too human medium of the internet. This is the beginning of an overt theme that questions where supernatural hunts end and human cases begin, which goes on to be explored in later eps. The show has been fairly careful to tread the line on this until now, but like so many aspects this season it, this case explores dualities and messes up all the lines between them. We see this same theme with Jack being both human and angel, Mordor and ParadiseEarth, the two Kaias and so on.

The Butterfly Killer’s music also plays with this as there are three love songs linked to torture and suspense. We get Look In My Eyes by The Chantels with the first torture scene, Too Good to Be True by Lon Rogers & The Soul Benders when Wendy cries for help, and Big Flame (Is Gonna Break Me Heart In Two) by Doris Wilson as the false lead of the radio in an empty room.

Are these upbeat happy moments, as the killer and clients think, or are they horrifying, as the victim and real audience think? Perspective, baby, it’s all about perspective, and also that pesky morality.

We get another installment of false/corrupt fathers this ep too -- Agent Clegg is not Dean’s father, despite calling him “son.” He’s not even that much older than Dean, so this is clearly a power play, with Clegg using it to claim a more senior role in the patriarchy.

AGENT CLEGG: Excuse me! Hey! What are you doing? DEAN: Oh, I um… AGENT CLEGG: I asked you a question, son. DEAN: First off, I’m not your son. Second- DOUG: Whoa, whoa, easy. Agent Clegg, this is Agent Savage, FBI. (x)

As always, John is still present in the text, when Dean follows his advice rather than Clegg’s. The use of John’s old-school VB radio works, where Clegg’s misdirection does not. This is interesting, as Dean has mostly been criticised via these kinds of parallels in recent seasons, but this time, John comes off well. He taught Dean and Sam some valuable skills, right alongside the toxic masculinity and other issues he brought to their family.

But just in case we’re being lulled into thinking toxic masculinty maybe isn’t that bad after all, we get the sexist truckers chiming that they’ll make Alice “family”. Ugh.

More interestingly, Sam and Donna are both depressed about the missing family members at the start of the ep, a niece in one case, and because of the obvious paralell, this ep pretty much confirms for me that Sam’s role towards Jack is more uncle (or perhaps older brother) than father.

SAM: You see? Told you. This is stupid. DEAN: It’ll work. Dad used it all the time. SAM: This isn’t even our kind of case. And you know, with the real Feds here, we should back down. DEAN: You’re joking, right? SAM: We’re still fugitives. DEAN: They think we’re dead. SAM: Do you really wanna get on the FBI’s radar again? DEAN: Okay, so what do you wanna do? Hmm? You wanna call up Donna and say “Hey, sorry about your niece. These kinds of things happen. Later.” And head back to the bunker so you can mope some more? SAM: I’m not moping. DEAN: You got up at 10:00 am this morning. 10:00 am. You, Mr. Rise and Freakin’ Shine. And then you turned down pancakes. SAM: I wasn’t hungry. DEAN: They’re pancakes. Look, I know you’re in a dark place right now, okay? I mean, we lost Jack. Mom is… I think about ‘em too. All the time. But you can’t let it eat you up. Now look, when I was-when I was broken up, you were there for me. Well, I’m here for you now. And I’m telling you, the only way out of this is through. Now when everything goes to hell, what do we do? We put our heads down and we do the work. We’ll find Jack. We’ll save Mom, we will. But right now, Donna needs our help. Okay?

DEAN: I mean, we save people, Sam. SAM: Yeah, we also get people killed, Dean. Kaia, for instance. She helped us and she died for it. DEAN: Hey, look, I know you’re in some sort of a- SAM: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, don’t - don’t… You keep saying I’m in a dark place, but I’m not, Dean. Everything I’m saying is the truth. It’s our lives. And I tried to pretend it didn’t have to be. I tried to pretend we could have Mom back and Cas and - and help Jack. But we can’t. This ends one way for us, Dean. It ends bloody. It ends bad.

Isn’t it interesting the way that Dean and Sam are emotionally flip-flopping? Dean was depressed when Castiel was gone. Sam is depressed without Mary or Jack. That toxic co-dependency is shattered all the way through now, with only inertia keeping it in place. They go through the motions of this speech, which is becoming more threadbare with each iteration. When are they allowed to just stop, feel their feelings, and grieve? When are they allowed to be Hunters and people? When do they get to let the negative aspects of John’s legacy go, and just keep the good bits?

The text actually talks about this via metaphor. Sam’s heart goes for $500,000, turning it into a commodity. No room for feelings there, right? It’s just a lump of meat, not the seat of emotions. But the text makes it pretty clear that this is a horific way to value people -- for the value of their physical labour alone, with no place for the qualities that make them human.

CLEGG/THE BUTTERFLY: Add a zero. Actually, add two. See, those freaks that you and your brother chase, those are just the ones that can’t pass. Either because they’re too mean or they’re too stupid, or both. But most monsters… hell, they could be your next-door neighbor. They work a regular job, mow the lawns on a Saturday. And they need to eat, which is where I come in. SAM: So you sell them people. CLEGG/THE BUTTERFLY: I sell them people other people won’t miss. And because I do that, I save lives. If my customers didn’t have me… then all those hungry, hungry hippos would be out there huntin’ and killin’. And you couldn’t stop ‘em. No one could. You should be thanking me. SAM: Huh. Yeah. Alright. Go to Hell. CLEGG/THE BUTTERFLY: I’ll see you there. Now I know you’ve been stalling because you think Dean’s gonna show up, but… Sorry, kid. It’s showtime. Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you something truly special. A new auction. Introducing… Mr. Sam Winchester!

We also get the latest iteration of “people have heard of the Winchesters” here, but yet again they aren’t taken seriously enough. I wonder where that’s going? I’m starting to think the season will end with the invasion from Mordor, because the show is doing a lot of set up to expand the awareness of monsters and Hunting. Obviously this is at least in part due to Wayward Sisters, but it seems to be foreshadowing the Apocalypse redux as well. Is the supernatural going to go public? Will the FBI get involved? The show has been reminding us of the fact Dean and Sam faked their deaths to get away from the FBI. I hope we do get more on this. I think it would be interesting to see the FBI actually figuring out what the Winchesters are, after all this lead up of everyone else getting it so wrong.

Finally, Donna shines in this ep. Her great interrogation is fantastically done, and she kicks ass in the field. I really can’t wait to see what she brings to Wayward Sisters.

Doug is such a sweetheart, and now he knows about the supernatural, in the most horrific way possible. I really, really hope we get a bunch more of him working through his issues in WS.

DONNA: Doug. I’m sorry I lied to you… but I can’t give this up. DOUG: I know. Donna, you kill monsters. You’re a damn hero. But that’s… it’s not me. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry. DONNA: Doug, wait! SAM: Let him go. Donna, when you choose this life, anyone who gets too close, eventually they get hurt. Or worse. So let him go. He’ll be safer that way.

That endless refrain from Sam, but you know, that is no way to live.

Various and Sundry Villains

Wowser, what a Destiel-heavy episode! Yockey really knows how to work it.

I want to start by talking about the books that Sam and Dean are consulting. Because I’m a giant nerd. I always find the book titles in Supernatural interesting, and these are particuarly so, because as far as I can tell they are mostly made up.

“Principia Phantasmagoria” doesn’t seem to be a real book, but rather a mash-up of several other very well known books.

The most likely progenitor is the Principia Discordia - or - How I Found Goddess And What I Did To Her When I Found Her. The introduction to this tome claims, “If organized religion is the opium of the masses, then disorganized religion is the marijuana of the lunatic fringe. Most disorganized of all religions, Discordianism alone understands that organization is the work of the Devil. Holy Chaos is the Natural Condition of Reality, contrary to popular belief” (x).

I really hope this is the text Yockey is slyly referring to, but he could just be putting together words that create a strong impression of what the book would be about.

Principia is Latin for a fundamental principle, and two foundational texts use it in their titles. Descarte wrote a Principia, which was one of the inspirations for Newton’s 1687, Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, which explains, “the principles of time, force, and motion that have guided the development of modern physical science” (x).

Phantasmagoria is a display of dream-like images or seances, “a form of horror theatre” (x).

Put them together, and the Principia Phatasmagoria would be the seminal text on dream-walking. I wonder who wrote it in the Supernatural ‘verse?

"Archive of Unnatural Occurrences" also doesn’t exist, but in Googling that title, I found a) a Supernatural fanfiction about two sisters; and b) a this absolutely fascinating treatise on Archives: “Archive Fever: A Freudian Impression” by Derrida and Prenowitz (which pretty much tells you all you need to know, right there). They argue that creating an archive is like the Word of God, because it’s both a Commencement and a Commandment -- it doesn’t just begin to categorise a collection of material or ideas, it also changes the way a society thinks about those materials or ideas because of the way they are categorised (x).

The Book of Day and Night is real - huzzah! It’s an Egyptian text designed to help the dead king find their way in the afterlife, and is usually part of the decoration tombs. Here’s a description: “Other funerary compositions include the “Book of Day” and the “Book of Night,” which depict Nut, the sky-goddess, spread out across the heavens, as well as the “Book of the Heavenly Cow,” in which Nut is transformed into a cow on whom Re ascends to the firmament. Astronomical figures decorate the ceilings of several burial chambers” (x).

So what I take from this is that a) there are going to be a lot of “Nut” jokes coming up, b) that a lot more people are going to come back from the dead this season, and c) if Sam and Dean create a map of the paths between worlds, an Archive of them if you will, they will have the power of Gods.

Heady stuff!

Of course we don’t start off on such a high note.

SAM: I’m just saying, Dean, Jack was our way over there, obviously, so with him gone… DEAN: Okay, well, Jack’s been gone before. We found him once. We can find him again. SAM: No, no, he didn’t run away. He is literally in an alternate reality. DEAN: Okay, so we’ll just come up with a plan B, okay? You said it yourself. We just keep our heads down and we’ll do the work. SAM: You said that. DEAN: And I was right. Yeah. So you read, do your Sam thing, I’m gonna go for a beer run. SAM: Yeah. DEAN: We should probably loop Cas in at some point. SAM: We’ll fill him in when he calls. He checks in every day. DEAN: Yeah, with a bunch of questions and no leads. [We see Castiel sitting in a dark prison cell in hell, illuminated by a single unseen overhead light] SAM: I’m sure he is doing the best he can. Just go get beer or… [waves Dean away] (x)

Dean wants to go on a beer run, and thinks immediately of Cas. A nice callback to his muffed love declaration at the end of the Amara arc. We also get another go around of the “we just do what we do” mantra that Dean keeps spouting this season. Sam seems to think it’s wearing a bit thin.

And then we cut to Lucifer and Cas, and get a dick joke about the size of Lucifer’s “power”. Hahaha. Yeah, I can see where this is going already.

Next up is the latest incarnation of the theme of “people have heard of the Winchesters” and in this case, have heard of the car too. We find out later it’s via Rowena who told Jamie and Jennie about them, and I would love to know what she actually said. Jamie and Jennie are awful cocky given the givens, so methinks Rowena downplayed how dangerous the Winchesters can be.

So Jamie and Jennie blithely hexbag Dean into love, so that he’ll steal the Grimoire for them. Luckily we’ve already had that impotence joke, so the foreshadowing says this will come to naught.

And then we get this...

SAM: Hey, uh… I think you might be right. I think maybe it’s time we go ahead and call Cas, because, I mean, if…if… [Dean continues to whistle while doing a little spin as he enters the library. He drops the 6-pack and his keys on the table] SAM: You all right? DEAN: Am I all right? I’m in love. SAM: You...Oh, are you? DEAN: I mean, I am, like, full-on twitterpated here. Seriously, I can’t wait for you to meet her, either. She - I mean, she’s… She’s sweet and she’s beautiful and she’s just kinda sorta perfect. Anyway, I’m thinking of asking her to move in with me here…if that’s cool ‘cause this is big time. [Dean opens a drawer and removes the Black Grimoire and unwraps it] DEAN: Ahh. SAM: Uh, Dean, w-what are you doing with the Black Grimoire? DEAN: It’s a gift. For Jamie. SAM: For…Jamie? DEAN: My soul mate. [winking]

All the mentions of Castiel that lead up to Dean’s announcement are wrapped around this scene like a... condom? Sorry, I can’t think of a better wrapping metaphor. There was the reminder of Dean’s muffed love confession on the last beer run, and then this mention of Cas by Sam which Dean ignores, and instead Dean announces he’s in love, and calls her his soul mate -- he might as well have added they have a profound bond. Like, if Dean and Cas were a het will-they-won’t-they pairing, it could not be any clearer that the only person Dean could legitimately be declaring as his Love here is Castiel. It’s not even subtext, it’s main text at this point, given the way Castiel has been used to frame this moment... but it’s main text that refuses to state it overtly so that homophobes can continue to live in comfortable in denial.

Okay, I have to rant a bit here and let off steam about this. I’m here for the Destiel. I love this love story. But come on. COME ON. It’s cowardly storytelling to write this kind of queering of the text -- to actually dangle plot threads off it, it’s that central -- and refuse to admit it. I know a lot of the Supernatural creatives now pretty much do say that’s what happening -- the whole “eye fucking” stuff in the scripts, for instance -- but it’s mostly framed as “jokes” that aren’t actually jokes, and I’m tired of this. Get it together, show. This is old.

ANYWAY, Dean is in lurrrrve, but OH NOES, it’s some random girl who has obviously hexed him. It’s not even a question in Sam’s mind or our minds. The wrong name came out of his mouth, and he’s too damn happy about it, so we all know Something Is Very Wrong With Dean.

Sam comes to the rescue of course, and we get the slapstick moment of Dean and Sam fighting each other as the witches get away, with Sam’s limbs all over the shop, and Dean making goofy faces. I love irony like this -- it’s not a happy moment in the plot, but it’s a funny moment thanks to the performances. As I mentioned in my last meta, this is why the Winchesters aren’t taken seriously when monsters gossip about them. Moments just like this.

Rowena!!!!!!

I love her so much. She can resurrect as many times as she likes and I’ll be happy.

Intriguing that they have her and Sam bonding over their fear of Lucifer. They’ve really done a fabulous job of making Rowena a complex and interesting villain. I think she’s pretty much my all-time fave out of the rogues gallery.

DEAN: Yeah, the Devil’s gone. ROWENA: Oh, don’t be stupid. He’s never gone! SAM: Okay, listen, I know what Lucifer is cap– ROWENA: Oh, can we not? It’s like reminiscing about an abusive relationship. Why do that? DEAN: Let’s get back to the book. What kind of hurt can these chicks do with it? ROWENA: Oh, I’m sure they have big plans. SAM: Sounds like you know ‘em. ROWENA: Just remember being a young, overly ambitious, wee witch. And I have to give them some credit. Outfoxed you, didn’t they? [chuckling to Dean] Tell me, did they get to fifth base? DEAN: There’s no such thing as fifth base. ROWENA: Oh, you poor, sheltered boy.

Fifth base, in case you were wondering is anal sex (x). There’s a few different ways to read Dean’s response to Rowena’s question. He could be dissembling because he’s deep deep deep in the closet, but to me he comes off as genuinely puzzled. Given that, my reading is that Dean has never had anal sex with another dude. Sure it’s possible he’s done so without having heard this phrase before, and even if he’s never done that particular act, it still leaves a lot of room for sexy things he could have done with dudes. However, the case I make is that Dean picks up slang like other people learn languages, and if he hasn’t heard this expression before, his exposure to gay culture has to be pretty limited. He might have tried a few things, but not so much that he’s learned the lingo. In short: he’s inexperienced at best, and quite possibly still hymenated in this respect.

That noise you hear? Is a thousand fan theories crumbling to dust. Fare ye well, amigos, it’s been a blast.

But! (Butt. hahaha)

On the plus side, we can now revisit the whole issue of Dean’s first time with a dude, and I have to thank canon for giving us that golden opportunity.

We get another dick joke when Sam tells us, “Dean has a tape of Led Zeppelin’s “Moby Dick” with an 8-minute drum solo.” You’ve probably noticed that I tend to look at the lyrics of songs used or mentioned on the show, but in this case it’s instrumental so my meta instincts are thwarted.

Except for the title of the track. Moby. Dick. The great white Dick that got away. Hahaha. Ironic, as it’s the ep that Castiel finally gets free. And now I will forever assume that Jimmy Novak was well endowed. ;)

There are only two more things I want to mention in this ep. The first is the fatherhood theme. It’s mainly present in the conversation between Castiel and Lucifer.

LUCIFER: There’s no “if” here in this equation, okay? Let me - let me just - let me just tell you something about my dick brother, about every version of my dick brother, okay? When he decides to do something, he does it. Doesn’t matter what the cost or who has to die. It’s gonna happen, ‘cause that’s just the way he rolls. CASTIEL: If you’re right, how much time do we have? LUCIFER: How much time? Oh. I guess that depends on how much time he spends torturing Mary Winchester. He liked her, right? Oh, Cas, you should have seen it. I mean, the things he did to her. In all my time in hell, I’ve never seen anything that horrible. Just…Oh! CASTIEL: Stop. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. LUCIFER: Oh, this from the angel who almost has me beat in that department, and that’s saying a lot, pal. CASTIEL: Well, you always say a lot. LUCIFER: Okay, let’s face it, Cassandra, the truths I say hurts ‘cause the’re hard to swallow, so people call them lies. Go figure. CASTIEL: You want truth? How ‘bout I tell you a few truths about your son? LUCIFER: Did you just have an angel stroke? CASTIEL: Did you know that he loves movies? Fantasy movies, movies with heroes who crush villains. LUCIFER: [scoffs] Well, that’s - that’s - that’s nurture. That’s not nature. CASTIEL: And he’s thoughtful. He’s emotional. Remarkably intuitive. You - you know, he, uh, he resurrected me just out of instinct. Isn’t that a beautiful gesture? LUCIFER: [pacing angrily in his cell] Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s beautiful. CASTIEL: Jack would rather kill you than hug you. Seems relevant. Did you know he doesn’t - he doesn’t even really look like you? And he reminds me so much of his mother. LUCIFER: [whispers] Wow.

This particular mention of dicks doesn’t please me, given the subtext here that all the dicks are pointed at Dean. I don’t want Dean to become an angel condom for Michael. But I may be getting it at some point anyway. :(

That aside, I adore how effectively Cas needles Lucifer here. Cas really has learned from the best, and he’s such an asshole. It’s interesting, though, that Lucifer brings up nature vs nurture. I wonder which he considers the cause of his Fall?

Finally, the episode ends with Dean chiding Sam for being in a dark place -- role reversal from the start of the season when Sam was chiding Dean the same way.

DEAN: Look, what happened to Rowena was messed up, okay? But you just let the deadliest witch in the world walk away with a page from this book. SAM: Yeah, and if Rowena breaks bad, I will hunt her down myself and put a bullet in her. I will Dean. But if she’s right, and if she does see Lucifer again, then… I hope she makes him suffer. DEAN: You gotta get out of this dark place. You know, whatever’s going on in your head… SAM: Dean. DEAN: What? SAM: [inhales deeply] You know what? Honestly? DEAN: Yeah, how ‘bout honestly. SAM: I know what Rowena is dealing with. And she’s not the only one who… [inhales deeply] feels helpless. DEAN: What do you mean? SAM: I mean, I had a plan, you know. I, uh… Help Jack, bring Mom back. It wasn’t much, but it was something. It - it kept me from spinning off the rails. And now… Jack is gone, Mom is still in hell, basically, and I-I-I- just… DEAN: We’ll figure it out. SAM: [defeated and angry] Dean, we don’t have a plan. We don’t know what to do. So - so how? DEAN: [confidently] I don’t know. But we will, you and me. [takes a drink of beer] SAM: Yeah. Night. [exits kitchen]

Sam articulates exactly why he’s going off the rails -- because Jack and Mom are missing. And that’s freaking huge. Because if Dean was off balance because Cas was missing, and Sam is off balance because Jack and Mom are missing, that means they are not each other’s sole emotional supports any more.

In other words, the toxic codependency really is on it’s very last legs, the old scripts aren’t working any more, and it’s time to start writing some new ones.

I’ve already seen the next two eps, and if Various and Sundry Villains was a strong Destiel episode, it has nothing on Good Intentions. That is a game changer.

Previously:

I never opened myself this way (13x01 and 13x02)

You say you’ve only got one life to live (13x03, 13x04, 13x05)  

Let me tell you people that I found a new way (13x06, 13x07, 13x08)

Alive and burning brighter (13x09, 13x10)              

#supernatural #meta #spn meta #season 13 #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #sam winchester #lucifer #rowena

[roda-de-circulo]

Imagine - JACK KLINE

                                                   Texas

“HOW THIS BOY DOESN’T KNOW THE POWERS BUT CAN DISAPPEAR?!“ Dean was angry with Jack and his lack of control.

It was him, Sam, Castiel, and Donatello in that Motel room trying to understand the whole situation about Jack's powers and especially how to hide him from Lucifer when the boy could not handle all the pressure they were doing, as well as feeling guilty about getting trouble for Castiel and the brothers.

If he was a normal person, he probably would have started crying at the same moment, but he was only two months old, he did not know the feelings that surrounded his body yet.

God, he was so young to be the reason for the next end of the world.

"I told you not to piss him off, Dean!" - Sam unloads.

"It's not my fault if this whole shit is happening because of him!"

"If that's his fault, then I'm responsible for his mother's death, too."

The sepulchral silence that settled in was completely uncomfortable, denouncing the tenuous line between Sam and Dean Winchester who had been formed since Mary's disappearance.

                                                       ***

Jack took a deep breath, seeking as much oxygen as he could to calm himself. They were about to panic, knew that the Winchester brothers wanted him to understand how to use their powers, but all that pressure only caught him even more. He did not know how but had come to stop in an outdoor setting, a park perhaps. He knew he was sitting on a bench receiving direct sunlight. By the noise of the wind it should not be too far from a grove. The noise of the cars was very muffled which meant being far from the city. Jack just wanted to understand how he managed to stop in a park when he felt a weight on his feet.

“But what is this?” He lifted his head enough to see a pug lying under his feet.

“THEREZA!” He lifted his face in the direction of the voice, facing you running toward him, yelling at the dog.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not Thereza.” Jack felt embarrassed at the approach of a teenager with no one around to guide him or even protect him from you.

 If Dean was present he would have laughed at the situation: soon Lucifer's son was terrified of talking to a girl.

You stopped about a meter away from him, taking a breath for the race. You fingered for him to wait until he was finally recovered enough.

“I'm sorry for Thereza, um ..”.

“Jack.”

"I'm sorry for Thereza, Jack. She does not usually get so lazy that way. " You look ugly to the bitch who only responds with an excited bark, if nestled even more at Jack's feet.

"I ..." He was speechless.

"Are you afraid of dogs? Is that why you're so pale and still? " You sat next to him on the bench. At least he already knew from whom the bitch had learned to invade personal space.

"Actually, this is the first time I've seen one.” Jack says rather awkwardly, getting used to his presence.

“Where you live? Naked cave? " You were completely indignant about the situation already.

"Well, technically, a Bunker, but not a war.”

"That would not stop you from seeing a dog. You have what, nineteen years?

"Actually, I'm only two months old.”

You opened your mouth to object but then closed it. You looked at him intensely before finally responding with a laugh.

"You know, people usually lie to their age, but I think you overreacted a little bit.

"You do not look so old." Jack did not feel so uncomfortable for the first time, releasing his curious, communicative side.

"It's because I'm not. I'm only sixteen, I still do not have to change years for months. " You poked him in the arm, clearly implicating him.

Jack was only surprised, feeling a shock where his shoulder shocked.

"Is it my impression or are you implying me?"

“Who knows?”

Jack did not know what the hell was going on here, just that it was one of the best feelings he'd experienced in the past two months. He was completely hypnotized by you - even though he was technically older and younger at the same time. He only wondered why he wanted to smile even though he had exchanged half a dozen words. His hands, because they sweated so much? And the heart, that was not his normal beating.

Jack was so young that there was no time for anyone to explain to him what it was to fall in love, let alone what it was. Poor thing, he had added one more item to the list of why not get out of control. He honestly did not know what could happen by being there alone.

                                                        ***

"Sam, Dean, I think I'm getting a signal.”  Castiel broke the weather that was getting worse. "He is very weak, but surely he is.”

"Where is it, Cas?"

"He must have gotten out of control again, otherwise he would have no reason to be on the Angels' radio." Castiel was silent for some time trying to decode what was said. "He looks kind of desperate. Something is happening that he has no idea what it is.”

“Do you track him?”

"Dean, he's a blinking dot in the dark, but of course I can track him down!"

                                                            ***

“Thereza is a very cute little thing, shame that I suck so much.” Jack wiped his hand on his pants as he held the dog in his lap, stroking his ears. "She just drooled at the closest.” “As well?”  He shifted the dog's attention to you slightly confused. "I want to say she liked you." As if to confirm, the pug let out another bark, licking Jack's fingers. He just laughed with all that. You were the first person in two months that was not with him demanding anything, just throwing talk and treating him like the real baby he was: paying attention. "But maybe she's not the only one, you know?" He did not answer, tried to understand himself, failed miserably. “That's the saying, right? Such a mother, such a daughter. I know I'm only sixteen and you're nineteen - which technically makes it kind of wrong - but I could not help noticing how cool you are, Jack. This innocent way is so ... captivating! I need to go now, but I want you to have my number. I do birthday in a few months, it should not be so inappropriate from there. " You gave him a piece of paper with your number, getting close enough to kiss your right cheek. She found it lovely to walk away and find the boy completely red. "I still think seventeen years and less than a year do not go together.” He responds in a daze. "You have time to think about it. " You wink and walk out Thereza, pinched to pee. That was one more reason to make Jack lose his temper. What the hell had happened here? Had he ... flirted? "You mean pretending innocence is synonymous with conquering girls?" Jack listened to Dean's serious tone not far away. You could tell that the blonde held as much of the laughter as he could, no matter how annoyed he was. "Can anyone explain to me what happened here and why is my heart irregular?" Jack was desperate for help. "Come on in, we'll explain to you." Sam invited him. "I think you're too early to have that conversation with him, Sammy. The boy is only two months old!” “Shut up and drive, Dean.” Really, two months was being too young for that conversation, but not enough to stop the end of the world.

#supernatural #imagine supernatural #supernatural imagine #castiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #autoria #imagine #jack kline #jackxreader #jack kline fanfiction

[amwritingmeta]

S13: Cas and Severing the Ties to Heaven

For the longest time - even in one of my brief first impression comments on 13x13 - I’ve considered Cas’ grace as more than just a tie to duty first, I’ve considered it an actual emotional blocker, which, to me, has always meant that Cas doesn’t experience sexual desire because those urges have been entirely repressed (subconsciously pushed down) due to his grace. He doesn’t feel sexual desire, or when he does, it confuses and upsets him to such a degree - because he is all about duty first - that his mind can’t make sense of it, right? Wrong. 

I do believe I’ve been wrong. And I’m rather happy to jump into the camp who believe Cas absolutely and consciously desires Dean, but has suppressed it (consciously pushed the desire down) because of his sense of duty and - as given to us in 12x10 - the Sacred Oath.

Here’s why I’m jumping camp –>

We got this moment in 13x13 that left me flummoxed because it was so overtly about desire, the dialogue is even practically stating the lingering look Cas is giving Dean is all about desire, with Dean’s lead-in of “We’re boned” and Cas delivering this beauty:

I mean… look at his face, right? (not to mention the fact that he uses the word epically) Sam’s reaction is golden. Like, you’d think maybe Sam is reacting to the fact that Dean’s comment is regarding Lucifer gaining power and Cas is agreeing that yes, if Lucifer succeeds, they’re boned, and this scares Sam, whose fear of Lucifer has been well-established as recently as 13x12. 

But… he doesn’t look scared; he looks awkward. And it’s enhanced when Dean’s reaction is this:

It’s like that word lands, then Dean goes… wait, what did he just say? Then he notices Sam’s glance and bats that “Epically” away with that head tilt like, well, that’s Cas being Cas. While Sam glances away at the same time like, ok, you’re outright flirting in front of me now, that is fine, I’m not gonna make it weird for you guys, I’ll just be over here, please, for the love of sanity, move this along already.

Of course, this is all my interpretation! *pinches of salt* 

What I hang it on is how the above shot so clearly mirrors this from 12x23:

This moment, as someone brilliant wrote a long meta on who I now cannot for the life of me remember who it was, is all about the Sacred Oath. This is not my original reading of this moment (I didn’t linger on it so I barely had an original reading of my own), but it’s finally sunk in - thank you other meta writer!! please give a wave and I’ll link your meta - and I’m flying brightly coloured flags of agreement, because the 13x13 equivalent gets such a deep meaning from this mirroring that I can barely sit still.

Do you see what I’m getting at?

Cas came out of the Empty believing himself free of his ties to Heaven

Meaning Cas came out of the Empty not feeling duty bound to Heaven anymore, but to Jack and, more than that, to humanity

Okay, let me dig a little deeper and explain where I’m getting this from –>

The 12x23 moment reinforces what we were told of the Sacred Oath in 12x10 - that angels and humans are absolutely forbidden to intermingle - and we get textual insight into the fact that what has partially been holding Cas back in his progression is his persistent ties to his upbringing, his loyalty to the teachings of Heaven (and deep awareness of the judgment and probable death that comes with going against these teachings) (loyalty through brainwashing and propaganda) (yup yup yup) (look at S4 Cas and how he interacts with Anna to see exactly how far he’s come)

And all I can think of is this quote:

Hannah: You are an angel. Always and forever.

The moment in 12x23, and that glance at Dean as Lucifer delivers a taunt that has all to do with suppressing ones desires because of one’s fear of God’s judgment, underlines how Cas must let go of this tie to old ideals in order to finally know what he wants for himself, and I don’t mean just when it comes to Dean, but what he actually wants for himself, right? Right!

The moment in 13x13, that Epically and that lingering look he gives Dean tells us that he has done just that!

He’s let go of the ideals of Heaven, because love is more important, meaning he’s feeling his desire rather than suppressing it, meaning he’s not adhering to the Sacred Oath anymore.

*my head in pieces*

Remember, now, that Dean is Castiel’s catalyst for change.

No matter if you look at Dean purely as representative of Humanity, or whether you see, as so many of us peeps do, that there is a genuine and epic love story built between them, the fact is that Dean’s actions are imperative to Cas’ progression. 

Akobel: How can you know them and not love them?

And this is now Cas’ truth. Not Heavens’, but his truth, and it’s been his truth for a good long while. More than this love, though, he came back with his depression gone, wanting there to be a reason for this return other than, as he says in S7, the resurrection being nothing but a form of punishment. Is he really meant to simply be set on repeat, is he never to move forward or be able to have what he desires? 

Cleary, as the mirroring of 12x23 and 13x13 shows us, he’s not only done with repressing his own desire, but he also knows what reason for his return that would mean the most to him, but Dean is like this big huge obstacle of brohood and Cas still doesn’t know what Dean wants from him, what he actually means to Dean, or if he could mean anything more to him ever. 

Putting the love story aside, there is the TFW aspect, meaning Cas wants to feel embraced and accepted and truly a part of the family he’s chosen, but he’s continuously being made to feel like he’s left outside of the codependency brotherhood dynamic.

Which is, of course, why this moment in 13x14 is so detrimental:

Now, I’m not saying that Cas should need Dean’s approval or declaration of love in order to realise his true worth doesn’t lie with being the weapon. 

What I’m saying is that Cas needs to be included in that “we” in order to begin to gain a sense of self-esteem and belonging, which are important factors for him moving forward in his individual arc.

That said, this moment of yet another “we”, said by Dean to mean him and Sam only, is used as a necessity at this point, because it lays the foundation for Cas making a string of very bad choices that will, at least I believe they will, bring him right into a situation where he has to face what he’s becoming, what he’s turning himself into, and really, properly, finally question his choices, question himself, which means asking himself Who am I? and Who do I want to be?

He has to be brought to a point of no return, where he understands his true weakness, which was never human, because it’s not his humanity that needs to be cut out of him and, the way I see it, it never was.

Dean’s interaction with Cas in this episode informs a lot of the bad choices Cas makes, not because Dean still doesn’t seem to love Cas back, but because Cas’ core trait is to help, and Dean is saying that the reason he was brought back was because he was needed, because they needed him, and Cas’ brain immediately clicks into soldier mode because that’s how he’s interpreted their need of him in the past.

And the clicking into soldier mode is all to do with his grace, because for Cas his powers are the equivalent of how he can be useful.

And the grace blurs his ability to feel compassion and let that guide him because he snaps into default angel mode, only now he’s not serving Heaven anymore. 

I mean, can you see it?

He is serving man.

He has moved away from his indoctrination, from believing in Heaven’s teachings, because he has learned so much on his journey that consciously he can recognise where he wants to belong, but subconsciously, in the centre, where his grace sits, he’s still getting his wires crossed.

And this because of his default angel mode dictating what you do in the name of duty, which is underlined and agreed with by humanity when Dean says “Whatever it takes.” Cas thinking good, I know how to do this, I’m a soldier, I’ll make the decision a soldier would make and justify my actions by thinking they go alongside the need humanity has of me. 

He may no longer be acting out the orders of Heaven, but taking Dean’s words - the words of humanity, if looking at who he now serves - and twisting them around as a justification of any means necessary does not tell us Cas is alright. It tells us he is one hot mess.

Watching 13x14 I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I was squealing for most of that episode because not only was Meredith giving us Cas weaponising himself in the most horrific way we’ve ever seen him do it before, but because it went to show us exactly how he’s not meant to use his powers this way, he is not meant to perform tasks out of duty, he’s supposed to weigh the good and the bad and make an informed decision based in his inert humanity, and the grace will not let him.

The internal battle is underlined gorgeously through this straightforward narrative juxtaposition:

Cas, as he moves into a very bad choice, in dialogue separates himself from Sam and Dean, from everything he’s learned, while Jack, as he’s made yet another narratively good choice, declares the reason to be him embracing everything he’s learned, using Sam and Dean as role models the same way he has throughout the episode.

Cas is separating himself from his humanity while Jack is wholly embracing his.

Now, my first reading of the scene between Cas and Donatello was that Cas, by taking the trench coat off, removing one of his visual ties to Heaven. 

This action had me jumping on the bed (almost literally) because it told me he’s ready to move away from this tie, that he believes he’s acting apart from Heaven in what he’s about to do, that he subconsciously believes himself to be acting of his own accord in his choice to go completely against the, what I assumed, is the Heavenly decree of an angel never being allowed to harm a Prophet of the Lord, especially not in order to extract the word of God from his head.

My interpretation (and jumping) was all about how this is what Cas thinks, but the scene itself pushes for us to see how wrong Cas is in thinking his ties to Heaven aren’t what is poisoning his decision. 

To me, removing the coat was a means to show that the coat isn’t the real issue here –> it’s the glowing blue eyes that announces the true toxicity behind Cas’ decision, a decision informed by his grace and his angel default mode sense of whatever it takes in the name of duty.

Then a friend nudged me into a different angle that is awesomely more in line with what the juxtaposed dialogue from Jack is all about (and what the entire episode is very much announcing to us, at least how I read it):

This nudge was that Cas removes the coat to remove his actions from his ties to Humanity. 

Discussing this, it all just clicked into place so very beautifully.

To me, the scene now gets an even deeper connotation, because Cas knows, subconsciously, that his actions are wrong, but he’s doing what he believes he has to. It’s not unmotivated and he gives a list of his good reasons once Sam and Dean return from the hospital, but, of course, his choice is wholly wrong. 

He has done the wrong thing for the, to him, right reasons, while the narrative would dictate he is doing the wrong thing for the wrong reason for the first time since S10, when he worked with Heaven to round up fledgling fallen angels and force them back home against their newfound free will.

Why?

Because he’s letting his grace taint his choices, he’s kidding himself he’s in service of himself when he’s as muddled as ever, and acting out of fear is never the place to start. And Cas is afraid.

So, I betcha by golly these right reasons are going to turn around and bite him on the asscheek. 

Sidenote:

Looking at it from the angle of Cas’ coat not being representative of a visual tie to Heaven, but actually a tie to his own gained humanity, makes me rather happy, because I’ve never seen him giving the trench coat look up for good once human, it’s too much a part of who he is and I actually would rather he kept the look as a visual underlining of how he’s not severing every single affection for Heaven by choosing humanity. It’s not an all or nothing type situation, nor was it ever (there were always angels who still believed Castiel’s heart was in the right place).

I mean, to me, the suiting up and getting back in the game in 9x10 will forever denote that the trench and suit is indicative of a uniform, that it’s linked to Cas’ split sense of loyalty, and because of this it must needs come off when he if he chooses to become human, but I never wanted it burned or gone away for good. I mean, the look turns Dean on so for Cas to dress up in trench and suit for those FBI cases would do good things to Dean, if you know what I’m saying. 

(I know you know exactly what I’m saying)

Back to the scene between Cas and Donatello –>

The essence of this scene remains the same, though, whether the trench coat is a link to Heaven, to humanity, or to both:

Using your powers and turning Donatello into a vegetable is not how you do things for the greater good. 

Just as taking the cue from Dean (an external influence once again guiding Castiel the former warrior of Heaven now warrior of humanity), and twisting it around to justify any means to an end, is not what you base your decisions on. 

And taking it all upon yourself is not how you win, or how you survive, no matter how much you believe it will get everyone in the same room so you can work together.

Where is the better way, Cas? You didn’t even look for it! And the only way of finding it? Well, I would say it’s this::: open communication!! TFW working as equals and as a team.

GOD! We’ll get there, I know we will, and I am loving this emotional ride. I’m so happy for this push forward for Cas, it’s incredibly important and I’ve got another post almost done where I talk about that fear of his I mentioned. I’ll post it over the weekend.

For now, my loves, I’m off to watch 13x15!

#spn meta #my reading #spn 13x14 #cas #humanity #trench coat #human!cas #(adjacent) #severing ties to heaven #sacred oath

[weemsbotts]

Executed for $1.00: The Unfortunate Fate of Hugh Dowdall

By: Lisa Timmerman, Executive Director

“Therefore it is considered by the court that he be hanged by the neck until he be dead…” The Commonwealth of Virginia condemned the “labourer” Hugh Dowdall to death in “for feloniously uttering and passing in payment in a counterfeit dollar, knowing the same to be counterfeit and base...” Unfortunately for Dowdall, the Dumfries District Court and General Court felt the sentence was appropriate and set his hanging for 06/29/1792 between the hours of ten in the morning and two in the afternoon. Hugh Dowdall, James Ewell, Bertrand Ewell, Jr., and a group of 21 citizens petitioned Governor Henry Lee III asking him to reconsider due to contradictions in testimony and suffering already endured. But surely the Governor would relent considering it was allegedly only a dollar?

(Lee Lansing identified this as the South Courthouse Lot in Dumfries, ca. 1863 drawing an image similar to this photograph with only the structures)

Counterfeit money was a constant and annoying problem for early Americans. Coins, paper money, and bills of credit all circulated throughout the colonies with different foreign origins. In 1645, officials in Virginia attempted to foil counterfeit money by requiring a new design “a new impression which shall be stamped yearly with some new figure” adding the death penalty on conviction. Virginia issued paper money (more like bills of credit at first) in 1755, which created even more confusion as the different forms of money were not equivalent in actual value. While the United States Continental Congress authorized the printing of national currency at the start of the Revolutionary War, England potentially ramped up production of counterfeit bills to cause inflation. Although the country struggled after the war to pay back the French loans, taxation in the 1790s under the U.S. Constitution helped stabilize the country. Enter Hugh Dowdall.

According to Dumfries District Court, Dowdall violated the 05/1776 ordinance, “An ordinance making it felony to counterfeit the continental paper currency, and for other purposes therein mentioned.” Dowdall argued against the ordinance noting, “said ordinance was passed subsequent to the formation, and passing of the bill of rights…”, and “Because the said convention were not delegated, authorized and empowered by the good citizens of this commonwealth to legislate generally for them; more especially, to make penal laws to affect the lives of the citizens of this commonwealth”. Judges of the General Court, Prentis, Tyler, Henry, and Roane disagreed and overruled the plea.

As the execution approached, Dowdall and others petitioned directly to the Governor for pardons. Dowdall wrote, “Your petitioner is now confined those nine months for only passing one bad dollar, and has suffered a great deal this last winter with forty weight of Iron, and without the benefit of fire, and am destitute in those parts of any friends or acquaintances, but some thousands of miles from home only a poor helpless wife that is now lying some place or other on the road..” James Ewell questioned the testimony of the “peddler” Fitzsimmons but also argued Dowdall had already endured a harsh sentence, “To indure for several months the ignomy & perturbation of mind consequent of his condemnation; to be robed of his all by the perfidy of his friend, & to be chained almost in one position to a cold floor during the severity of the last winter must exceed the torture of a thous’d deaths.” The petition from the citizens stated, “..and whereas the evidence produced upon the trial of the s’d Dowdell was not in the opinion of your petitioners of that high dignity & absolute certainty which it ought to be, in order to deprive a fellow-creature of his present existence, being only a presumption of guilt; and whereas your petitioners know & are well assured that his sufferings have been very great during the inclemency of the late winter which has intervened since his confinement – all which circumstances being taken into consideration by your petitioners, they therefore humbly pray pardon…”

Hugh Dowdell was executed on 07/06/1792 for the felony of coining.

Note: As October approaches, Ghost Guide Jeff prepares for one of our most popular programs: Ghost Walks! Whether you want to walk outside and visit the old courthouse site at night or investigate the historic house past midnight, Ghost Jeff will guide you with his experience, equipment, and knowledge! For those preferring a virtual option, our Halloween Tea will take place on 10/17 @ 1:00pm featuring the history & lore of monsters and cosmological beings along with tips and recipes for Halloween parties! You can find all of our seasonal programs on our website by scrolling down.

(Sources: Palmer, William Pitt. Calendar of Virginia State Papers and Other Manuscripts From 07/02/1790-08/10/1792 Preserved in the Capitol at Richmond. Vol 5. Richmond: Rush U. Derr, Superintendent of Public Printing, 1885; Tyler, Lyon. The Letters and Times of the Tylers. Richmond: Whittet & Shepperson, Cor. Tenth & Main Streets, 1884, via Internet Archive; Brockenbrough and Holmes. A Collection of Cases Decided by the General Court of Virginia, Chiefly Relating to the Penal Laws of the Commonwealth. Commencing in the Year 1789, and Ending in 1814. Vol. 1. Richmond: J.W. Randolph, 1853; Davidson, Thomas E. Colonial Paper Money: “Death to Counterfeit”: Colonial Virginia Paper Money. Jamestown Settlement & American Revolution Museum at Yorktown, https://www.historyisfun.org/exhibitions/collections-and-exhibitions/yorktown-victory-center-galleries/colonial-paper-money/; Lynch, Jack. The Golden Age of Counterfeiting: Cashing in on Colonial Currency. Colonial Williamsburg Journal, Summer 2007, https://research.colonialwilliamsburg.org/Foundation/journal/Summer07/counterfeit.cfm; Klingerman, Brandi. Notre Dame Researchers are Studying Social and Economic Patterns in Pre-Federal America. University of Norte Dame: Norte Dame Research, 2017, https://research.nd.edu/news/uncovering-the-history-of-currency-and-counterfeiting-in-colonial-america/; Office of the Historian, Milestones in the History of U.S. Foreign Relations: U.S. Debt and Foreign Loans, 1775-1795, https://history.state.gov/milestones/1784-1800/loans; Hearn, Daniel Allen. Legal Executions in Delaware, the District of Columbia, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia. A Comprehensive Registry, 1866-1962. Jefferson: McFarland & Company, Inc., 2015)

#localhistory #courtcases #crime and punishment #virginiahistory #counterfeit #death penalty #archives #digitalarchive