#and then when cas is gone dean makes them just to remember the old times just to remember the time he still had cas...

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s Part 2! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut central, tiny bit of angst, fluff and feels. ❤️💚

Part 2: Christmas Eve

Before you start on the Christmas cookies, you pull Castiel aside.

“Here’s the mission,” you tell the angel. “I know the guys don’t do Christmas all that often, so I want to surprise them with a nice dinner tomorrow. Think you can get this list of stuff for me? I think my addled brain forgot we needed real food too.”

Castiel looks over the scrap of notebook paper you give him with a critical eye.

“Uh, yes. This seems straightforward enough…what about pie?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “What about pie?”

“Dean likes pie.”

“I understand, but Christmas is for cookies. Not pies.”

“I think Dean would beg to differ,” Cas points out.

“Fine, get the man his pie,” you relent with a sigh. “Get pecan. He likes pecan, and that’s still somewhat Christmasy.”

“He likes apple better,” Cas mutters, but he still takes up your list and heads out to do your bidding.

Now with most of the bunker, namely the kitchen, all to yourself, you put on some festive music on your phone before you start to lay out all your ingredients on the counter.

Not many people know about your hobby, but you think you’ve seen enough baking shows to be proficient with some flour and egg.

You decide to begin with good old-fashioned sugar cookies that you’ll try your best to decorate later. But first, you start measuring out ingredients.

You sing along with Eartha Kitt’s “Santa Baby,” not knowing that you have an audience.

Dean spots you on his way back in from the garage. He was aiming to grab a drink of water from the fridge. He finds you instead, bopping around the kitchen. He hears you humming breathily to the music, watches you swaying your hips to her sultry notes. And he smirks. 

He steps up behind you and leans in close to your ear to ask, “What’cha making?”

You jump with a loud yelp, flinging up flour with your wooden spoon. Hearing Dean’s laughter, you whip around and give him a playful glare before swatting at him with the spoon.

“Hey!” he protests when you mark his shirt (more than once) with flour. You smirk and continue your task of mixing the dough.

Serves you right, troublemaker, you think. He comes up behind you to inspect your work.

“Cake?” he asks.

“Cookies, remember?” you tell him. “Want to help me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” He raises a brow as you take chunks of dough, roll them evenly in your hands, and place them on the tray. You’re making quick work of it too.

“Matter of fact, you look like a pro,” he adds.

You flash him a smile tinged with nostalgia.

“Yeah, well, my mom and I used to do this together every year when I was a kid. Snickerdoodles, oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, oatmeal chocolate chip—”

“I think I get the picture,” Dean says with a growing smile. You return it, but your expression starts to fade the longer you think of her. 

Dean catches the shift; he knows your mom passed just a few years ago, losing her battle with lung cancer. He and Sam attended the funeral.

Dean understands. He just lost his own mother a few months ago—again. Another reason he can’t quite be Mr. Nice Guy with Jack. At least, not how they used to be. He knows it wasn’t the kid’s fault. Logically, Dean knows this. The nephilim didn’t have his soul.

In Dean’s heart though, his mom is still gone from this world. She got cheated out of her second chance at life. And deep down, selfishly, Dean feels cheated too.

It’s a reminder that gets stuck in his throat. But it dislodges another memory, one he feels comfortable enough with you to share, in the privacy of a quiet kitchen.

“I think I remember helping my mom bake something once, when I was a kid,” Dean admits. Though he clears his throat when your gaze turns to him in interest.

“Think it was chocolate chip cookies…well, whatever, they were hard as a rock,” he says, smiling at the memory. “So we went to the store and bought some from the bakery instead.”

You watch how his face softens, in the way it does whenever he talks about his mother. You smile just as softly.

“Aw, little Dean,” you say, because you can imagine it so clearly. Maybe he’s four or five, working dough between his small hands. And beautiful Mary, smiling beside him, encouraging him.

Dean’s eyes meet yours, uncomfortable with the gentle way you’re looking at him. So he clears his throat and goes into the fridge. He pulls out the eggnog and finds the rum you bought last night, specifically for what he’s about to do.

“Ooh, good idea,” you say as he fixes both of you a glass. Though you balk at his heavy pour of rum. “Geez, trying to get me drunk before noon?”

He grins at you. “Morning, night, and day are the only times to be drunk.”

You snort in response.

“Is that all?” you remark, and you wipe your hands of the wet dough (and most of the flour) before you take the glass he offers. You clink your glass with his and take a sip, even though you choke on it soon after.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” you cough. He had to have poured half the bottle of Bacardi Superior in there.

Dean sucks between his teeth. “Yep, that is bracing.”

He glances over at you and smiles, raising a finger at the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve got some there,” he points out. You touch your chin, trying to feel for anything on your face.

“Where?”

“On your mustache, there.”

“I don’t have a mustache!” you say indignantly. You know this for a fact, as you spent a fair amount of time waxing and shaving yourself last night.

…Not that you had any particular reason to (or anyone to wax for), you just noticed that you needed some grooming. That’s all.   

Dean’s grin edges into a teasing smirk. “Don’t worry, it’s cute. Less Duck Dynasty and more Steve Harvey, Family Feud guy.”

You splutter laughing and hit his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re such an ass.”

He chuckles and wipes the bit of eggnog from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. It makes your cheeks flare with a warm blush.

“Well, I uh, should get these into the fridge to chill,” you say. You grab the tray of rolled up cookie dough and head for the fridge, but maybe you’re more frazzled than you realize.

You accidentally knock into Dean’s elbow, making him spill half his drink down the front of his shirt.

You gasp, eyes flying wide, while he looks down at the mess now dripping from his shirt onto the floor. When he eventually looks up at you in deadpan exasperation, you have to bite your lip against a smile.

“Good job,” he cracks.

“I’m so sorry,” you say with a bubble of nervous laughter. “Hold on.”

You finish putting the tray in the fridge and immediately turn to grab a few paper towels. You go to Dean and start helping him blot out the sticky, frothy mess staining through his green flannel and black undershirt, from chest to sternum.

The problem is, the paper towel is thin and breaking off on his shirt, making your task damn near impossible. White, wet pieces of paper are coming off on his black shirt.

“Well, you’re doing great,” Dean wryly remarks.

You can’t help but giggle. “It’s not all my damn fault here. Who the hell buys one-ply paper towels?”

“Sam. Evidently, he’s cheap as hell,” he replies, eliciting another laugh from you.

Soon enough you give up on the paper towel with a huff, and you go to grab an actual hand towel. Dean follows you, which assures that you bump into him again when you turn back around.

You yelp as your foot starts to slip on the sticky drops on the floor, but Dean grabs your arms, steadying you. You can’t help but giggle again, looking up at him. He quirks an amused smile down at you.

But then your face slackens as you gaze up above his head. He curiously follows suit.

And you both realize that you’ve fallen into a trap.

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you, this time with a growing smirk.

“My turn,” he says. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name.

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he asks.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Well, I didn’t put on lipstick for nothing, you muse. And though anticipation and nerves trill down your spine, you lean up on your toes, take his face between your flour-stained hands, and press your lips to his.

It’s a sweet kiss, and his hands come to rest along the curve of your waist, holding you close.

When you pull away, you suddenly realize just what you’ve done as you let your hands fall away from his face. You’re not quite sure what to do with them afterwards, so they clench awkwardly in the air between you two.

Dean looks down at you with a softer, yet playful smirk. He reluctantly drops his hands from your waist.

But he makes a show of licking his lips. You taste sweeter than boozy eggnog…actually, you taste more like chocolate. He glances behind you, and sure enough, he spies the Nestle bag in the corner.   

“Chocolate chips?” he notes, eyeing you suspiciously. “Maybe those weren’t originally meant to be sugar cookies, huh?”

His gaze is drawn to the way you bite your lip again, trying to hold back an embarrassed smile. You raise a hand to wipe the imprint of MAC’s “Russian Red” lipstick from his mouth, and he smirks under the pad of your thumb.

“You saw nothing,” you warn him. You attempt to stifle another nervous giggle. “You’re officially sworn to secrecy.”

He hums at that. “I don’t know. What’s in it for me?”

“You’re asking for a bribe?” You raise a brow.

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Maybe. What’cha got for me?”

He rests a hand on the counter by your arm, subtly leaning in and looming over you with his broad frame. A hot blush heats your cheeks, then down your neck. And then excitement bubbles inside you.

Because the one thing you never thought would happen seems to be happening: Dean is actually, honest to God flirting with you. 

Your mouth twitches at a smile as you pretend to think. 

“Hmm…okay! I got it,” you say.

You grip the front of his shirt, and once again lean up on your toes so you can kiss him. This time, Dean holds you there by your cheek. His large hand presses against your warm skin, and his fingers soon delve into your hair. You hum against his lips and deepen the angle of your kiss, your palms lying flat against his chest.

So fucking firm, you think. A solid wall of a man.

Dean’s free hand falls warmly on your hip, bringing you ever closer. He makes a pleased sound when you suck and nip at his lower lip. And with each new kiss, you’re falling deeper and deeper into the intoxication of him. 

Before you realize it, he’s walked you back to press you into the little table in the kitchen, where you all shared breakfast this morning. But you surprise him by breaking the kiss. You pull away just enough to see his confused, handsome face.

“There you go. That’s your payment,” you tease. “Good enough?”

“Hell fucking no,” Dean rasps. 

He dives back in to claim your lips, and you smile, letting him do it. Your whole body is buzzing with warmth of feeling and happiness, especially when his arms slip around you firmly and pull you flush against him. Your hands travel up his flannel-clad arms to wind around his neck.

A moan catches in your throat when his lips veer away from yours, beginning a path along the curve of your jaw, down the side of your neck, stopping just under your ear. His stubble prickles against your skin in the most delicious of ways. Your eyes close at the feeling. 

You sigh and card your fingers up the back of his neck, through his hair. “Dean…”

He surprises you with a nipping kiss on your earlobe, making you jump a little with a yelp.

You utter a laugh and playfully tighten your hand in his hair. “Hey!”

The sound of his deep, muffled chuckle in your ear sends tingles along your skin and heat, down between your legs. You let out a shaking sigh and press kisses of your own to his neck.

You tug at the collar of his shirt to reveal more skin, so you can latch onto his shoulder next. It’s a playful bite, one that elicits a groan from Dean as his thigh slips between both of yours.

His hands find your waist, and with a quiet grunt, he hefts you up onto the kitchen table. You squeal at the sudden move, clinging to his shoulders when the table shakes a bit.

But it prompts you to look up at Dean’s face. You see the desire darkening his eyes to hunter green. And his hands part your knees to let him stand between them.

You blush hotly when his palms smooth up your bare thighs, over the skirt of your dress. He drags the thin fabric with him and rucks it up well above your knees. Your mouth parts on a shaky breath when those sinful hands stop at your hips, bunching up the fabric there.

“I like this dress,” he mentions. Your mouth curves with a grin.

“I think it likes you back,” you reply. Your gaze falls to his chest as you pick at the collar of his flannel. “This should go, though.”

With an amused huff, Dean shrugs out of the green plaid first. You help him with the black undershirt next, giggling a little when it gets caught on his wrist and spikes up his short hair. That’s all right, you think, because you’re about to mess it up even more.

Your hands run over his bare chest first though, as you drink him in with your eyes. Dean notices with a smirk, and he lets you pull him in again by his hair as you meet him with a passionate kiss.

He likes the way you try to devour him with lips and tongue and teeth. In turn, he slips underneath the skirt of your dress and squeezes your thighs.

You gasp into his mouth, allowing him to devour you back. It makes you realize that this is seriously heading somewhere. It’s hot and heady and his touch is making your head swim. But your heart shoots you a firm reminder…

One that makes you slower to respond to Dean’s increasingly demanding kiss.

Sensing your hesitation though, Dean slows his roll.

“You okay?” his deep voice rumbles.

When you don’t have a ready answer for him, he pulls back enough to see your face. He finds your uncertainty.

You look down in embarrassment.  

Even though his heart is still pounding (and his dick straining in his jeans), Dean moves his hands from under your skirt, back to your waist. And he raises his brows, ducking to find your eyes. Once you meet his gaze, he gives you a smile. 

“Hey, talk to me,” he prompts. His thumbs brush against your sides, earning your weak smile back. Your hands slide down his neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just, um…” you stumble on your words. You’re not sure how you want to say this, but Dean’s brows are knitting together. His face is more serious now as he watches you with singular focus. It gives you enough courage to put your heart in his hands.

“This, us, right now…is this a one-time deal?” you ask.

Out of all the things he thought you might say, maybe Dean should’ve prepared for that one a bit better. He frowns, considering how to answer you—and what would put the least amount of pressure on you. Even though his gut is telling him (kicking him), on what he should really tell you.

But those words get stuck in his mouth. So all he can bring himself to say is…

“If you want it to be,” he says.

You bite your lip at that. Though not in a good way, his instincts also tell him. Your gaze falls.

“That’s just it,” you say. After a moment, you manage to look up at him again. 

“I don’t think I can do that,” you say in measured tones, even though you’re scared. “I like you, Dean.” 

The “like” feels like something a lot deeper, even to your own ears.

But you don’t expect the way Dean’s guarded face softens.

He breaks into a smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. He tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You close your eyes at the tender touch. 

“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Because here I was, trying to wrap my head around how I was supposed to let you go after havin’ you…right where I want you.”

Your eyes flash open at that. Then he leans down and kisses you again. Your shock is a powerful thing, but it all but melts at his touch. You relax into him with a sigh of relief, kissing him back and closing your eyes against the sweet sting of tears.

You don’t have time to let them fall though. Dean doesn’t give that to you. He pulls you by your thighs until you’re at the edge of the table. You feel his hands travel up and curl around the waistband of your underwear. You raise up for him so he can tug them down, over your ass and thighs, and you kick the black, lacy panties off your foot with a giggle.

Dean grins, especially when you go for his belt. Your eyes briefly meet with his while you make quick work of the buckle, then the button and zipper on his jeans. You hook two fingers in the waistband of his boxer briefs and tug him closer.

“Come ‘ere,” you whisper.

Smirking, Dean obliges you, stepping closer into your orbit. And he has to grip your thighs for support when you slide a hand down the front of his underwear, feeling down the length of his hard cock with a gentle, sensuous hand. He moans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder.

“Ooh, finders keepers,” you tease. Dean snorts against your neck and presses a biting kiss there, satisfied by the way you gasp and shiver.

You feel the shape of his smile on your skin. But he grabs your arms tight when your hand squeezes experimentally around his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You gonna keep teasing me, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you reply cheekily. All the while, you continue to caress him within the confines of his pants, especially brushing your thumb around the sensitive head.

If you keep this up, he’s not going to last long enough to do everything he wants to do to you. Everything he’s dreamed about for years with a hand wrapped around himself…but he’s been too much of a fucking coward to make that leap with you.

He told himself he was protecting you. That you were better off with someone less damaged. That he’d just drag you down into his hellish life.

But he just can’t fucking take it anymore. 

So Dean grasps your wrist, prompting you to release him. You look down at his face and catch the way his playfulness fades into a more concentrated desire. The heat in his eyes makes your mouth part in soft surprise.

Dean picks up from where he left off before, pressing a hand to your cheek and ravaging your lips. His hand then slides into your hair and gets a firm grip. All the while, his free one slips beneath your dress and between your legs. First he just teases the seam of your pussy with the calloused pads of his fingertips.

Your breath catches in your throat as you squeeze his shoulders and lean back, giving him a better angle. And you utter a moan when those thick digits slip between your folds and sink deeply into your wet heat.

“Dean,” you gasp his name into his mouth. The hand in your hair tightens as he works you over, exploring your inner channel with two fingers while this thumb presses and circles around your clit. Your tremulous hips begin to move in time with his rhythm, meeting his thrusts as you pulse deep inside with pleasure.

His lips drift away from your mouth, pressing against your cheek, then into your neck.

“I got you, baby. Let go for me,” he says hotly in your ear. His thumb rubs more insistently against your clit in time with his pulsing fingers.

Your inner walls squeeze around his hand, tighter and tighter. And you utter a gasping moan into his ear as you cling to him. Dean strokes inside you through your shuddering release. It’s almost too much, but it prolongs the feeling of your pleasure and makes your arms tremble around his neck.

Afterwards, he rubs your lower back until you catch your breath. You manage to press a grateful kiss into his neck, then his cheek.

“Holy shit,” you utter. It earns a genuine laugh from Dean as he cups the back of your head.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he promises, leaning back to look into your eyes. “I think you’re gonna be more comfortable in my room.”

You tilt your head at him. “Or…”

You shuffle even closer to him on the table and pull off your dress, slipping it over your head. You feel a little self-conscious in exposing your full self to him, but Dean watches you undress with hungry eyes and a tight jaw.

After your black dress falls to the floor, he takes in the sight of your body, his gaze landing on the black lace bra still covering your breasts. His hands slip up the curve of your waist, up your sides, and slide behind to unhook your bra.

His mouth burns a trail down your chest, between the valley of your breasts when he drags the bra down your arms and to the floor. You grab onto his arms for support; you feel like you’re riding the hurricane that is Dean Winchester, and you don’t expect to come out intact.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shudder. You suck in a breath as his hands cup your breasts, roughly kneading and rolling his thumbs over pert nipples.

“Smooth talker,” you manage to quip with a smile.

“Ain’t nothin’ but the truth,” he tells you. “Feels like I’ve been waiting a goddamn lifetime for this.”

His eyes are dark with desire, but they’re also serious. Your voice gets stuck in your throat for a moment. He’d been waiting for you?

But you realize that sometimes, words are overrated. You slide your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, licking into his mouth and taking satisfaction from the way he groans into yours.

He holds you flush against his chest, skin to blushing skin. He runs his warm hands down your naked back, familiarizes himself with each and every one of your curves.

Dean’s waited so long for this, he doesn’t know whether to take his time, or just take you right now before someone walks into the open kitchen.

But you make the decision for him.

You break away from his lips to drag his belt and jeans down, just enough to shuffle them past his hips. Dean’s lips curve into a smirk. It would be easier to turn you around and bend you over on the table (and the thought is pretty fucking appealing right now).

…But he wants to see your face. He wants to know, looking in your eyes, what you want from him and how his touch makes you feel. 

So he helps you free his straining cock from his boxers to line himself up to your entrance.

With his arm wrapped around your waist to support you, and a hand on the table, Dean sheathes himself inside you. You both release shaking breaths as he bottoms out, stretching your inner walls and wrapping firmly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts.

You nod at that, wiping the dewy sweat forming above his brow. He flashes you a grin, one you recognize from his younger, more boyish days. It’s a welcome sight, and you smile back and wrap your legs around his hips. If possible, it buries him deeper inside you. He groans.

“Damn, baby,” he says, panting for breath. “Haven’t even started yet, but you might just kill me.”

“There are worse ways to go,” you tease.

He snorts at that. In their line of work, isn’t that the fucking truth.

When he begins to slide out of you for the first time, you brace yourself with a hand at the back of his neck and another on the table. Dean begins a steady rhythm, one that serves you well as you get used to the size of him.

But eventually you urge him on faster, your nails scraping through his hair and against his scalp. He groans and drives into you at a clip that makes your toes curl and a keen high in your throat.

He spills hotly inside you when he comes.

You know you shouldn’t have let him, but you wanted to feel him, wanted to hold him the way he held you. And you do so, stroking his cheek and drawing a thumb across his full lower lip as he shudders.

But Dean isn’t satisfied, not until his fingers further part your folds and find your still sensitive clit. He rubs and circles insistently, until you can’t help but give him your second release, shuddering a moan as you cling to him. He holds you with an arm wrapped tight around your lower back, pressing your breasts against his chest.

You both pant for breath. His cheek rests alongside yours, and both of your eyes close for a moment. You brush your fingers more gently through his hair.

“Dean,” you start to say, but the sound of the bunker’s door unlocking makes you both freeze.

“Shit,” Dean mutters.

You can’t see them from the kitchen, but you hear Sam and Jack come in. Oh fuck.

Dean reluctantly detangles himself from you and wrestles up his underwear and jeans. Meanwhile, you hop off the kitchen table to grab your dress, pulling it on as you look for your bra and panties.

Sam calls your name, then Dean’s. But the two of you ignore him as you try to silently scramble around.

You manage to find your bra, but you don’t have time to put it on. You shove it behind the toaster. Then you find a napkin to wipe off the rest of your lipstick.

Meanwhile, Dean finds his black shirt. He hesitates when he sees it’s stained all over with flour and dried eggnog, but he puts it on anyway. (He won’t realize until later that his hair and shoulders are flecked with the stuff, just as his lips and chin are still smudged with your lipstick.)

He grabs the green flannel you throw at him, and he finds your panties tossed in the corner. He raises up the black lace in his hand and smirks at you with waggling brows.

“Give me that!” you whisper-hiss. The slick between your thighs is already becoming uncomfortable, along with the chill on your bare ass under the dress.

But instead of obeying, Dean winks at you and pockets them instead. You gape in disbelief as he flees the kitchen, presumably to disappear into his room. It leaves you in a…sticky situation, so to speak.

Sam calls your name questioningly when he comes around the corner. He pops into the kitchen with a few Walmart bags in hand. Sticking out of one of them are some stockings, you notice.

“Hey, how’s the baking going?” he asks.

“Good!” you say, though your voice is far too high and chipper. “Good. Just about to get them into the…oven.”

You turn and realize you haven’t even pre-heated the oven. You do so after pressing a few buttons, and you go to the fridge to grab the tray of chilling dough.

Sam raises a brow at you, especially when he sees your frizzy hair, and the flour stained across your bottom.

But he wisely doesn’t comment.

Later that night, Dean lays on his bed. He’s long since showered, fully clothed, arms crossed while his music plays from his laptop. But he can’t make himself focus on anything else but you.

How it was to finally have you; not just the give of your soft curves under his hands, but the sound of your voice coming apart in his ear, the way you’d begged him, at times teased him, and then gave him a run for his money with your wily hands and tongue.

Dean’s had all of that running through his head for the rest of the damn day.    

And there were stolen looks at dinner that evening. Furtive smiles. Brief, innocent touches. Moments where you blushed down to your neck, and he had to hide his amusement. (Even if his brother had noted his apparent good mood at dinner.)

But between Sam and the two angels hanging around, Dean hasn’t had a chance to talk to you after what happened in the kitchen. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea.

If you want it to be, he’d said, when you asked if this was going to be a one-time thing.

He hopes he made himself clear—that this is not that kind of deal. Not for him.

Now that he’s gotten a taste of what he couldn’t have, and worse, now that he knows you want more from him…he just can force himself to let go this time.

There’s a thought that he doesn’t want to face. It’s been buried so deep, for so long, that he can’t even commit it to the forefront of his mind.

But it’s there.

Despite the hell he attracts like flies to shit, he wants you. Not for one night. Not just for kicks. He wants you to stay arguing with him about stupid shit, taking his teasing and dishing it right back—like making fun of his slippers and how much he secretly likes country music.

He wants you with him and Sam on hunts, even though it also makes him worry. (But he worries much more when he knows you’re out there, hunting alone.)

Dean thinks about you when you’re not around, more often than he’d like to admit. So today, he finally had to face the truth.

He wants you. More than he’s wanted anything in a long time. And he wants to find out what it’ll be like to try this for real, with you.

The thought that you still could be thinking otherwise, wondering, doubting him, has Dean going mildly insane.

It’s not right, and he takes pride in righting wrongs.

So he decides to break out of the confines of his room to find yours. It lies down the hall and to the left; he knows because you take the same room every time you stay at the bunker, which admittedly, isn’t as often as he likes. Maybe they can change that…

“Oh. Hello, Dean,” says Castiel.

Dean inwardly curses as the angel comes from the opposite direction. Already he’s tilting his head in curiosity.

“It’s late. Feeling peckish?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replies. He moves past the angel and continues down the hall.

“Dean,” the angel calls to him.

Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder.

“What?”

“The kitchen is the other way,” Castiel points in the direction in which he’s going.

“Uh…well, yeah,” Dean says. “I just, uh…”

Cas’s head tilts just so, confusion soon replacing his curiosity.

“Never mind,” Dean waves a dismissive hand. He’s forced to follow his friend down the hall, away from your bedroom door which lies just inches away.

He doesn’t know that you can hear the entire conversation from the safety of your bed, comfortable in your pajamas. You have to stifle a giggle as you listen to Dean fumbling. You have a feeling you know where he’d really been headed.

So you take your phone out and text him.

Foiled by Columbo once again, you tease.

Moments later, Dean texts you back.

More like cock-blocked.

You snicker at that. You still haven’t given back my panties.

And you ain’t getting them back. They’re spoils of war.

You roll your eyes. But then Dean starts typing again.

Just to recap. Today: not a one-time thing.

Your smile grows and warms, like melted butter.

Good…can we talk tomorrow?

It’s a date, he says. And a beat later. Merry Christmas, beautiful.

You realize it’s officially 12:00 a.m. Christmas morning. You have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.

Merry Christmas, Dean.

AN: 😏 Well then. Merry Christmas, indeed. Let me know what you thought of Part 2!

Next Time:

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car? 

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Or will he? 😉

Find out in PART 3.

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Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

@iprobablyshipit91 @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @emily-winchester @hobby27 @spnexploration @freewastelandstrawberry @stoneyggirl2 @satanicpixiedreamgirl @agothwithheavysetmakeup @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @melancholictearz @tipthejar @deans-baby-momma @nic-kolas @jacklesdeanvessel @beautyvaliant @mrshalverson2021 @ajjustice @ades106 @luvs4dria

#If You Want It To Be #Part 2 #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #tgwrcjulyevent #dw's witch events #Christmas in July! #Christmas fic #dean winchester smut #friends to lovers #sam winchester #Castiel #Jack Kline #TGWRC #dean winchester #fluff #mutual pining #supernatural #smut #zepskies writes

[superawesome40]

Imagine this:

It starts with Bobby John. Dean can't let the baby go, he reminds him too much of Sam, way back when Sam was this age, and Daddy was always sad (or drunk), and when Dean tried to speak the words got stuck, and he could not make a sound. He can't let the baby go, so he doesn't.

Over time, they gather more. Bobby John, Ben, Joe and Ryan, Emma, Alex, Krissy and Aiden and Josephine, Magda, Claire, Jack. They find Jesse again, 16 years old and alone and scared of himself. They find Charlie and Kevin, and even though they aren't quite their kids, they treat them with the same care.

Somewhere in between the always rising tide of children, they find the Bunker. It's perfect - dozens of rooms for everyone to spread out, to have their own space. Bobby doesn't die, but he does move to the bunker "To keep an eye on ya' idjits,”. The modifications they make to the Bunker for his wheelchair are worth it to see the pride in his eyes. Linda Tran moves in, and she and Dean have an ongoing war over who's in control of the kitchen.

Of course, things aren't perfect. Chuck is still a problem, and eventually he must be dealt with. They win, but the cost is heavy. Cas and Jack are gone, and Dean... well he's as good as gone. He never leaves his room anymore, except to get a drink. Their dysfunctional family is mourning, both for those who they've lost and for themselves. Disappearing and coming back is much more traumatic than you'd expect.

Eventually, in an attempt to cheer him up, they convince him to go on a hunt. Just a small thing, a nest of vamps. They've killed a man and mutilated his wife, as well as taken their kids, two small boys. Someone (later, no one will remember exactly who) jokes that they can take in the boys. Sam and Dean leave, looking more cheerful than they’ve been in weeks.

They get the call a few hours later. Sam tells them over the phone, barely understandable through his tears, that Dean was hurt in the fight and that the doctors aren’t sure if he’ll pull through. Using the variety of cars in the bunker, they break a handful of laws and probably the sound barrier on their way to the hospital. Bobby pulls Sam aside and he explains, in detail, what happened. They wait for hours before a doctor finally enters the waiting room, asking for the family of Dean Fletcher* (Millie Winchester’s maiden name).

Dean survives, barely. Recovery is an uphill battle, and the damage done to his spine, muscles, and nerves leave him wheelchair-bound and in near-constant pain. Eventually, he’s able to move around for short periods of time using forearm crutches and leg braces, but it’s only after a few years and a lot of physical therapy. At the very least, the Bunker needs no new changes to accommodate him, having been updated for Bobby ages ago.

A year passes. The two boys from the vamp hunt are moved into the Bunker after their mother succumbs to her injuries in the hospital, and quickly adjust and thrive in the new location. Sam and Eileen quit hunting, permanently. They move to town, only fifteen minutes away, and visit every Saturday for family dinner. When they get married, Sam Winchester becomes Sam Leahy. Jody retires, and moves her hoard to the Bunker. They’ve got the room, after all. Donna follows not too long after. Miracle is officially trained as a service animal, to help Dean with his panic attacks.

One night, Dean can’t sleep. He hauls himself into his wheelchair and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He stops at the sight of three people sitting at the table.

The reunion is a tearful one. Dean cries from relief, and guilt, and of course the burning pain that rips through his back as a result of him temporarily forgetting he can’t stand and launching himself out of his chair. Cas also cries, sobbing apologies into Dean’s hair from where they are curled on the floor. Jack, pressed between the two of them and both overwhelmed and overstimulated, can only beg for Dean’s forgiveness. His dads wipe away his tears and press kisses to his cheeks, assuring him that he has nothing to apologize for.

The only one who doesn’t cry is Adam, sitting slightly stony faced at the table. Later, once the commotion of the reunion has died and Sam has been woken and summoned to the Bunker, the three sit down to chat.

Adam tells them that he’s not angry anymore, and begs them to explain everything to him, starting from the beginning. He is especially curious about their father, and realizes through their stories that John badly mistreated them. Dean invites Adam to stay in the Bunker, but Adam declines. He says that there’s a lot he needs to do, but hesitantly suggests that they stay in touch. Their relationship is tentative at first, but eventually he becomes a permanent fixture in the family.

Cas and Jack are filled in on what they missed. Dean pulls them each aside and apologizes privately for the things he said and did before the end. He assures Jack that he is part of the family, and always will be. He tells him he’s willing to be Jack’s dad, if that’s what Jack wants. Jack enthusiastically agrees.

He can’t quite bring himself to say “I love you” to Cas, but he says something along the lines of “maybe one day.” He also implies to Cas that John was extremely homophobic, and the combination of that and the sexual trauma he has experienced through his life (getting money for food/rent as a teen, Hell, Lydia) makes him hesitant now to form romantic relationships. Cas, understanding as always, agrees and comments on how he has improved at opening up, to which Dean replies that there wasn’t much else to do when he was trapped in bed and couldn’t escape Sam and his relentless therapy-talks.

Jack tells them as a group that he has decided there doesn’t need to be a God, and has stepped down after reforming Heaven. He says that he used his power for the last time to bring back Castile and find Adam. He confesses to his parents that the power is not gone, and likely never will be. He also says that he would like to grow up as human as possible, and promptly shrinks to the size of a toddler, much to the bewildered amusement of his parents. They discover that he no longer has his memories, and Bobby suggests that they may come back when he’s older, and that forgetting is his young mind's way of protecting itself.

As time passes, Cas and Dean open the Bunker to other hunters as a research facility and safe space to stay for a few nights. Neither of them hunt anymore, but they offer support and badly needed organization. With Charlie and Kevin’s help, they set up a system like the one Sam originally had.

When Eileen and Sam announce they are expecting, Dean is ecstatic. When they reveal the baby is a boy and that they are naming him “Dean II”, he cries for a solid hour. He’s the first, outside of Sam and Eileen, to hold the baby, who he affectionately nicknames “Junior”.

In the end, they are happy. They live together peacefully.

Would anyone be interested in reading this on ao3? I miiiight be planning to write this… also any suggestions/question/concerns are welcome! Also, if I missed any kiddos (canon only, please), feel free to tell me! I’m perfectly open to expanding their hoard.

Also, I cannot take complete credit for this story. Quite a few elements are inspired by foolondahill17’s stories, Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans), and the miracles ‘verse by the same author. Both are absolutely amazing stories, and I highly recommend.

*According to the Supernatural Wiki, Adam Glass wanted the actress Louise Fletcher to play Millie Winchester should she appear on screen.

#supernatural #writing #dean winchester #sam winchester #destiel #claire novak #ben braeden #jesse turner #emma winchester #bobby john #jack kline #supernatural au #fanfic #eileen leahy #spn

[lavenderdreams205]

spn thoughts as requested

tw & spoiler warning

they should have kept the grungy filter and aesthetics from the early seasons

bring back the southern / midwest gothic vibes

dean would've listened to and loved 90's & 2000s grunge - I know that the whole "there's no good music past '79" is a key part of his personality but pre series/early seasons dean is soo nirvana / Weezer / smashing pumpkins coded

there is too much flannel in the later seasons - I miss the carhartt and leather jackets so bad

BRING BACK DEANS JEWELRY

there's so much about cas that we don't know. there's all the episodes where he just isn't there and they never tell the viewers what he's doing or where he went

on the same note, cas's personality isn't nearly as flushed out as sam's or dean's are. who is his favorite musician? what's his favorite place to travel to? why does he like the pimpmobile so much? does he actually like the trench coat or does he wear it just because it's there?

so many people characterize cas as a little guy, and while he is cute, it's important to remember that he's also an incredibly powerful eldritch horror who leads angelic armies and brands Michaels vessel just because

dean is bisexual and in love with cas - I won't take the time to list all of the reasons here, but you can definitely find those reasons somewhere

i would've loved for them to use the handprint as a physical manifestation of their bond instead of having it be just a scar that fades with time

i'm actually really ok with the way cas dies, I think it makes sense for his character and provides closure (for him, at least, not for dean)

the parallels of cas and dean meeting in a barn and then dean dying in a barn

cassie is deans first love, cas is his last

the imagery of the empty as cas's wings in 15x18

why do the subtitles spell cas as cass, its awful

there's a few lines in the early seasons that seemingly reference dean getting roofied / sa'd and are subsequently played for laughs, Jensen Ackles confirmed that dean would've done underage sw when John didn't leave them with enough money. I believe that this trauma is a major reason that dean never accepted his sexuality

the way deans alcoholism is overlooked and joked about is actually insane

having dean be completely ok after 15x18 is also insane, especially after the widower arc where the show specifically shows it's viewers how deeply dean grieves cas when he dies

deans death is literally so stupid. I get that the show is trying to make a really meta point about the characters not having plot armor anymore because chuck is gone, but dean deserved to find peace. if the events of the show had never happened and pre series dean had never gotten pre series Sam back into hunting it would've ended the exact same way - dean dead on a hunt and Sam dying from old age

dean spends as much time on earth as he did in hell, and while he would never be the same, I like to believe that if he had been allowed by the narrative to live longer he would've gotten back a little of the twinkle in his eyes that he had before hell

in 15x20 Bobby says that cas helped rebuild heaven but if he was there he would've gone to see dean. additionally, there's no way cas should have been able to escape the empty. this is such a glaringly obvious plot hole and it drives me nuts

I would've liked to see cas's wings in the show - not just the shadow of them

the only time I tolerate serious discussion of wincest is in the context of ethel cain

i am a Sam disliker - while he does have many positive qualities, I have a really hard time getting past him not looking for dean when he was in purgatory and him joking about deans alcoholism and other traumas

i like Sam the best when he's with Eileen, I think they're adorable together and I'm mad they killed her off

I am a chronic jack defender, that boy has done nothing wrong

it would be interesting to explore cas and jacks relationships with their respective genders

there's no way being forced to murder the dean clones didn't affect cas, we only saw him kill the last one but the first few he had to kill had to have been devastating

i'm really disappointed by 14x13 Lebanon, we get the scene with John and Sam but I would argue that dean has significantly more reasons to be upset with John and it's unfortunate that the episode just glossed over this - I believe a screaming match between the two would have cleared the air a bit and been at the very least cathartic for dean

i'm fairly sure that it's canonical that John sent dean away on his 17th birthday to kill lesbian ghosts. my personal hc is that John suspected that dean was bi and sent him to teach him a lesson

i saw a post on here comparing hunting culture to biker and cowboy culture and viewing those things through a queer lens and I thought it was fascinating - there's so much spn could've done if it cared about the show more than money and losing viewers

every time cas and dean beat the shit out of each other, it serves as further proof of their relationship rather than discrediting their relationship - ie demon dean and cas fighting in the library is used to parallel Cain and Collette. it could even be assumed that their love is stronger because Cain killed Collette but dean left cas alive

The purgatory love triangle was so silly

once dean worked through all of his trauma and toxic masculinity he would've been a swiftie

all of the main characters have old / vintage cars but in like season 13/14 dean sam and cas just collectively own and use this really ugly silver truck from the 2010s. its such a small detail but it absolutely ruins my viewing experience every time I see it

dean is actually really smart but most of the fandom overlooks it because Sam is characterized as the smart one. if you know anything about cars you know it takes an insane amount of brains to build a car from scratch (he did this with baby multiple times throughout the show) also he just makes an emf meter using basically nothing. if dean had been given the same opportunities he gave Sam, he would've been an engineer or something

i will always be a John hater, if this man has 0 haters, I am dead

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #destiel #ethel cain #grunge aesthetic

[dcforts]

[Steve and I]

5.9k. S09E06 fanfiction gap but Cas has a flat. Domestic, light angst. theirprofoundbond - thank you for all the work that you've done to help me with this one and all the kind words and you gifted me with. Read on ao3

Steve signed the lease a little over a month ago. It’s a second-story one-bedroom, in a building that is just two narrow flights of stairs, flickering ceiling lights and dirty carpets.

Cas doesn’t tell Dean that, he just gives him directions and points to a parking space out front. When the Impala quiets down, Dean doesn’t ask any questions and Cas is grateful for that. He fishes his keys from his pocket and leads him inside.

He says, “It’s a good neighborhood,” as they climb up, because that’s what you’re supposed to say. It’s what his landlady said when she led him up the first time, maybe to distract him from the cracks in the walls and the smell of laundry detergents coming from the laundromat next door.

He says that, even if Dean knows better than anyone that you can’t really be safe, no matter where you are, and even if it wouldn’t really make a difference for Cas who, grace or not, could still kill a man in the blink of an eye.

Dean follows him inside, past the little entryway and into the living room.

Cas turns on the lights and walks across the dusty carpet and around the coffee table to get to the window and open it. The cold evening air brings in noises from the street and allows him to breathe more easily. For a moment, in the dark and the musty air, it felt like being underwater.

Dean says, “Hey, it’s not bad,” only a beat too late. He looks around, nodding to himself. “Yeah. Nice, uh, couch.”

It’s a simply distributed space; if one drew it from above, it would resemble a square, divided up into uneven boxes facing each other in pairs. On one side the living room and the bedroom, and on the opposite one, the kitchen and the bathroom. Dean could tour the whole thing in fifteen steps or fewer if he so wished.

It seems even smaller with him in it now.

“Everything here came with the apartment,” Cas says.

It’s not exactly true. In the kitchen, on the wall just behind the fridge, there’s a complimentary calendar that he got from a shipment of energy drinks. Cas brought it home and hung it there, because Steve needs to pay attention to what month it is and what day it is—he has rent to pay, shifts at work, bills and deadlines.

Cas painted wards and sigils on walls and floors; Steve covered them up with dull paintings and soft carpets.

Nora gave Steve a succulent that sits on the windowsill of his bedroom. Cas only remembers to check on it when he is in bed, and he turns on his side. Most of the time, he’s too tired to get up again, says to himself he’ll do it in the morning, then he forgets again.

Cas doesn’t care about furniture; he doesn’t care about things. About the old couch that groans when you sit on it, about the low batteries in the TV remote. He doesn’t care about the dust in the empty flower vase on the shelf or the light in the bathroom that goes out sometimes.

Steve does. When he comes home after a ten-hour shift, the couch does not help his stiff and aching back. When he gets up at night to go to the bathroom, he has to be careful not to trip over things in the dark. Steve minds about furniture, about having hot water, a working washing machine and a window that opens all the way.

Cas doesn’t care about having a home, but Steve does, so now Cas has an address and a mailbox.

Steve needs so many things, some days Cas can barely keep up.

Dean is still standing there and seems unsure what to do. Cas can’t bear the sight of him in the apartment. This wasn’t something he’d ever planned on seeing, but nothing had gone according to his plans today.

He puts down the keys he realizes he’s still clenching and goes back toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he says, because that’s what you’re supposed to say when you have people over at your apartment. He’s seen it on TV plenty of times.

He stands in front of the open fridge and scans the shelves—the carton of eggs, the half-eaten burrito, the jar of grape jelly—and says, “I only have water.”

“Water is fine,” Dean says, his voice a little strained.

This entire situation must make him as uncomfortable as Cas is. He’d followed him to the threshold of the kitchen and it looks like he’s feeling larger than he is, one shoulder pressing against the door frame. His gaze wanders over the surroundings: the beige walls, the bowl of bananas and oranges on the table and the teaspoon on the edge of the sink. 

That morning Steve had used it to stir his coffee and then forgot to wash it. He was distracted because he was checking his mail. He collects it at night, but sometimes he’s too tired to look at it before bed and he leaves it for the morning.

Dean doesn’t comment on any of it. “Are you alright?” he asks, as Cas hands him a tall glass with his bandaged hand.

“It’s just a cut.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Dean says.

Cas walks past him. “I’m fine.”

He goes back to the entryway to take off his shoes and put them away and he feels Dean watching him from around the corner. He senses that he has no intention of letting go of the conversation.

“That angel—he came for you, didn’t he?”

Cas sucks in a breath. He’d known the question was coming; he’d spent the silent journey over dreading it and wondering how much Dean had heard of his conversation with Ephraim. He really doesn’t want to talk about what he said; he doesn’t even want to think about it.

“Because you’re in pain,” Dean adds.

Cas keeps his eyes on the ground and wonders if Dean is thinking about that night not that long ago, when he’d confessed how much guilt he was carrying. I might kill myself.

“He was mistaken.”

Dean doesn’t buy it. “So you’re fine. We’re gonna leave it at that?” he insists.

Cas fixes his eyes on the pea-green wallpaper in front of him. “Ephraim is gone and I’m tired. I’ve got work in the morning.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean says, sounding weird again. He shifts on the spot, looks down at his water. “I should, uh—” 

Cas doesn’t meet his eyes but he says, “You can stay. The couch is a pull-out.”

Dean says okay, then, even though there’s a motel room already paid for with all his stuff in it. He says okay, even though the living room window doesn’t have blinds or curtains to keep the light out and Cas has no spare pillow.

Cas goes over to the couch and starts removing the cushions. 

“You don’t need to do that,” Dean says, but Cas doesn’t stop maneuvering the coffee table out of the way.

“You have a long drive tomorrow.”

And there’s that.

There’s a big blinking neon sign on the other side of the street that paints Cas’ bedroom walls in red and pink and purple. Cas rarely bothers with turning on the lights in this room. The landlady promised to get Steve some heavy curtains, but she hasn’t come back yet. Cas doesn’t mind. One night the sign was down for maintenance, and he had trouble falling asleep without its constant shifting colors.

He’s looking for clean sheets while Dean uses his little bathroom, and then all of a sudden he’s standing in the doorway, as if hesitant to come in for some reason. He’s only in his jeans.

“Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow?”

Cas goes to the dresser where Steve keeps his T-shirts—he’d paid ten dollars for a pack of three—and picks a dark one for Dean. He smells of the shower gel with the tropical fruit on the bottle.

Cas got it because the ads say it will nourish and soften his skin and Steve’s skin gets dry when it’s windy. He also has shaving cream in the cabinet, a razor, a toothbrush, a box of bandaids. Sometimes Cas stops and looks at Steve in the mirror and asks himself if he’ll ever get used to it, to being this, just this. Sometimes he lies in bed and watches the ceiling change colors and wonders how long he will need to wait before he stops feeling fragile.

“Do you want me to take a look at that?” Dean asks, gesturing with his chin to his bandaged hand.

“I’ll do it,” Cas says and he knows this rejection will unnerve Dean more than his refusal to talk. He reminds Cas of a bug bumping against a window, but Cas isn’t ready for him to take a look inside yet, let alone come in. 

Dean clenches his jaw for just a moment, then lets it go. Cas follows him to the living room with clean sheets in his arms and makes the pull-out bed while Dean pokes around in his kitchen, with the excuse of getting another glass of water. Cas hears him open cabinets and pull out drawers. It seems like it didn’t take him long to make himself at home.

Cas isn’t sure he likes that.

Maybe it’s because it still hurts. When he got to the bunker, he’d thought that he had nothing to worry about anymore, and what he had gone through since the fall had just been a rocky journey to get back home. He wasn’t alone, he had simply been misplaced, but now he could rest.

He’d been naive. Dean had made it clear that he didn’t belong there, and it was a confusing truth he had to learn to accept. And yet, it still hurts. He’d thought it didn’t anymore; he’d thought the bitterness had left him but maybe it doesn’t happen like that. Maybe it lingers and lingers. You think it’s gone, but it’s not. Maybe he won’t ever be rid of it.

Cas thought he had been hurt before. For sure, he had felt sorrow and disappointment.

But the open wound inside his chest is a crater, and it’s swallowed him, and he has to make his way back out and he’s not sure he’s there yet.

He’s exhausted though, especially tonight, with the things Ephraim said still ringing, true and inevitable, in his ears.

Dean pops his head through the kitchen door. “Do you cook?”

“Occasionally.”

“Really?” He sounds surprised. “What d’you make?”

“Eggs.”

Steve likes eggs in the morning, with coffee—two sugars. But not orange juice. It makes his stomach burn for hours. He breaks and scrambles one egg in a pan with butter and pepper. Some days, Steve is so tired the eggshell breaks in small pieces and the kitchen gets dirty, and sometimes he wakes up late and rushes through the door. He eats a donut at work—but only the pink kind. The chocolate ones have a weird aftertaste.

“That it?”

“I have lunch at work, and I buy something for dinner on the way home.”

And if he’s too tired to stand in line or doesn’t feel like eating anything, there’s always peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Dean nods thoughtfully.

Cas thinks he’s passed some sort of test, but maybe not with the highest of grades, because Dean adds, “You— I mean, you’re eating enough, right?”

Oh, so he does worry.

Cas thinks of that time he’d had expired food and stayed awake the whole night:  his stomach cramping, face pressed against the cool surface of his bathroom tiles, dreading the next wave of nausea, thinking he was going to die, his thumb hovering over Dean’s name in his contacts more times than he feels comfortable remembering. Wishing to hear his voice.

Not calling.

“I think so,” Cas says.

Dean slips out of his jeans and sits on the edge of the bed that groans under his weight.

Cas should go and take care of his hand. Steve needs to sleep; he has tomorrow’s opening shift. New products to shelve and customers to serve. Usually at this time of night, Steve has already turned in.

But when he starts for the bathroom, Dean says, “Hey, wait,” and Cas has no choice but to stop, because Dean is here now, in the middle of his living room, and Dean unbalances everything.

“You don’t wanna talk about it—that’s fine. I just wanna say that whatever Ephraim told you, you don’t need to listen to him. You got a good thing going here. You got a job, you got a place for yourself. You got a chance to get out. Like, really get out.”

Something colors Dean’s voice that makes Cas suspicious. He doesn’t want to start a conversation, but he can recognize when Dean’s trying to say something without saying it.

“I have a responsibility toward my kind. Even if I can’t do much, I should try.”

“I know,” he says, but he’s fidgeting. “It’s just too dangerous out there right now. You said it yourself: after what happened with Metatron, angels are all over, looking for you.”

Cas holds his gaze and doesn’t say anything. Dean blinks one too many times. There’s something he’s not telling him, Cas knows.

“I’m just saying,” he starts again, and goes on as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “I get that you want to make things right, but maybe you can wait a little longer?”

His words hang in the air. Cas studies the way Dean’s eyebrows arch over his eyes, the tight lines around his mouth. He’s still convinced he can hide things from Cas, maybe now more than ever, but Cas sees him. Dean always forgets that.

“What is it?” Cas finally asks, fixing his gaze on Dean.

That’s all it takes. Dean sighs and it’s as much as a confession.

“Crowley said there’s no reversing the spell,” he says then, and he looks like he’s bracing himself for Cas’ reaction.

Somehow though, it doesn’t come as a blow. It doesn’t hurt him, it doesn’t shake his world. Cas registers Dean’s words and he surprises himself by thinking that he’s not broken by them.

He never expected that it would be easy for things to go back to they were.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t go back,” he reasons. “We can still find a way.”

“So you wanna go back.”

Cas is taken by surprise, not so much by his words, but by the way Dean blurts them out, almost as if they had escaped before he could control them—urgent, as if he could be directly affected by his choice. Cas can’t understand what difference it makes to Dean if Cas is on Earth or not, when he’s the one who sent him away in the first place.

“I don’t want to be trapped,” he says, a kind way out of a reply, and he feels his good hand close in a fist. This is not where he was supposed to be, where he was born to be.

Of course, he doesn’t want to leave Earth—not forever. Even back when he’d thought he was closing the Gates of Heaven, he was leaving because he had no other choice, and coming to terms with that was one of the hardest things Cas had ever done.

Dean acts as if he doesn’t know that, and maybe he really doesn’t. But Cas is still in pain and won’t clear that up for him; he won’t show himself needy of his company and his time.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Dean says, but he sounds like he got the opposite of what Cas was trying to say. Cas won’t correct his misunderstandings. Not tonight. He’s feeling weak enough.

Cas leaves the room; there is not much else to say.

The springs of the mattress Dean is sleeping on groan whenever he moves.

Cas hears him from his bedroom. They groan and groan and groan. It makes it impossible for Cas to relax enough to fall asleep, even though he’s exhausted and the wound on his hand has started throbbing again.

He’d disinfected it and wrapped it in clean bandages, but he doesn’t have any painkillers, so he grinds his teeth and hopes it’ll be morning before he realizes.

The mattress groans and groans and then, when Cas resigns himself to the fact that he won’t get any sleep, the sound suddenly stops. Dean could have managed to fall asleep but somehow Cas doesn’t think that’s the case. The hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears Dean’s footsteps coming toward his bedroom.

There’s a moment of silence and Cas doesn’t dare turn around. Then the bathroom door shuts and he lets out a breath.

The toilet flushes a few moments later, the door opens, and again, silence.

Cas frowns, rolls onto his back to find Dean standing there, just a dark silhouette in the door in the purple light—still behind that invisible wall that won’t let him cross the threshold.

“Dean?”

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says, “Sorry, uh, I can’t sleep on that bed so…”

The neon blinks in pink and Cas notices Dean’s wearing his jeans again. The thought of him slipping into the night, and Cas finding nothing but an empty apartment in the morning, has his heart pounding in his chest.

“You can sleep in here,” he says, and his voice sounds broken and loud.

“Uh, you don’t ha— I’ll be fine on the floor with just an extra blanket or something.”

The color in the room changes again. Dean wasn’t going to leave. Cas is confused by his emotions; his heart won’t behave, his ears start ringing, his insides burning. He didn’t want him here in the first place, so why does the thought of him going away hurt so much?

“I don’t have an extra blanket,” he says in the end, and then scoots over and gives him his back. “It’s late,” he adds and hopes it’s enough to end the conversation.

“Alright,” comes Dean’s voice, and then there is the sound of footsteps, his jeans hitting the floor and then the comforter is lifting, the mattress sinking.

Cas still can’t relax. Not when he can feel the tension in the room, Dean’s body rigid on the bed and his intakes of breath telling him that he’s getting ready to speak.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Cas?” 

Cas had thought he wanted an apology from Dean more than anything.

He thought about it at night, imagined what he would say if he called, if he wrote it in a text message, if he showed up at his door. But when Dean says, “I’m sorry,” right there and then, Cas realizes he doesn’t need it anymore. He has forgiven him already.

“I know I let you down,” Dean says, “I should be here for you.”

And Cas had thought about what to say to him a million times. To make him feel worse, to spike his guilt, to reject him completely.

He can’t do it. He’s never wanted to be one of the things Dean blames himself for. He won’t be one of them tonight, either.

There’s an open wound inside his chest, but telling Dean how much he’d hurt him would only make it deeper.

He says the only thing that feels true. He says, “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not okay though, are you?”

Cas doesn’t know if he can find the right words to explain how he feels. 

He rolls onto his back, fixes his eyes on the ceiling and watches it as it changes: red, purple, pink, and red again.

He tries, “I’m not myself.”

Dean shifts on his spot and now he’s looking at him. Cas can feel his gaze and knows Dean is frowning.

“What do you mean?” It comes as a whisper, worry bracketing each of his words.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“You’re Cas,” Dean says with a familiar high note of stubbornness and confusion.

That’s probably what does it. Cas’ lips start trembling, his eyes prickling. There’s a sudden lump in his throat, his chest starts hurting, and then there are hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, rolling down his temples and disappearing into his hair. The tickling sensation on his skin and in his nose is not entirely unpleasant, but he has to keep swallowing and can’t bring himself to talk.

Dean sees all of it. He stays absolutely still but when he speaks, every word is soaked in a softness that makes him feel even closer than he is.

“You’re still an angel. Without grace, okay, but that doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change who you are,” he says, and he sounds like he knows for sure.

Cas knows this is hard on Dean. To see his tears and to know that this time he can’t say what he usually says: I’ll take care of it, I’ll figure something out, Let me handle this. Because tomorrow he’ll be gone. He’ll hop in his car and drive away, and nothing will change that. So he can’t take Cas' burden now, like he always tries to do, like he does with everyone else.

“You’re still you,” he keeps going. “And you know, I really meant what I said earlier. You are doing one hell of a job, managing all this on your own. Being human sucks. Like, truly, sucks. Of course you hate it.”

Dean’s words have a tentative lightness to them and Cas knows he’s trying to cheer him up so he makes an effort to smile. He takes a deep breath and glances at him.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, his voice still a little broken. “I just…  want my grace back. I want to feel like myself again.”

Cas doesn’t look away from him and doesn’t move a muscle, not even when Dean says, “Okay,” and reaches out with one hand to rub away a tear on his temple. The touch is unexpected, and Cas eyes’ close on their own for a moment. Dean is serious now. “We’ll get it back.”

In Dean’s eyes Cas finds something that, incredibly, resembles understanding. Does he understand? Is he comparing Cas’ grace being ripped from him with the bite of the Hellhounds tearing him apart? Is he thinking of Hell consuming his soul? Is he thinking of losing Sam?

Cas doesn’t know, but somehow the understanding is there, and there’s no need for him to say more. 

“I’ll start looking as soon as I get back, okay?” Dean says.

Cas nods and his tears are replaced with a calm certainty: that Dean is here, that he himself is not completely lost, that there’s a possibility to feel whole again. He doesn’t even remember how he could have thought everything was so hopeless.

“Okay,” he says, and worries that he will feel silly and ashamed once Dean turns around again, and the moment will be gone. But Dean stays where he is. He settles down on his side with his head on his arm because the only pillow is too small for the both of them.

“You’ll be alright,” he says, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing once. Next to Dean, Cas believes it.

Slowly, Dean’s breathing evens out. The rhythm is so familiar that Cas' body relaxes to it. He has lost count of how many hours he spent in a dark room with this sound, back when he used to watch over him while he slept.

Cas lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. Then he feels it—a touch on his shoulder again, Dean’s fingertips on the fabric of his sleeve, then the same featherlight touch of a knee against his bare thigh, right below the hem of his boxer shorts. No real pressure, just a light contact, but it starts a gentle prickle that travels through Cas’ body and fills his chest and limbs. He’s never felt anything like it.

Cas keeps his eyes closed and his body still and he falls asleep like that, thinking that Dean has never been close to him like this before. Whether it’s chemistry or instinct, maybe it’s now and it’s here, because somehow humanity makes him more accessible, more recognizable to Dean: the warmth of his skin, the smell of his body, the beating of his heart.

And so maybe there is, at last, something Cas can be grateful to Steve for.

It’s not quite morning when Cas wakes up. He doesn’t need an alarm. Even when Steve gets a day off, Cas still wakes up very early.

He doesn’t like lingering in bed for too long, because his mind gets busy with thoughts and memories, and he has to occupy his hands to make them go away. But Steve needs his rest on his days off, so Cas stays under the blanket until his bladder or his stomach start complaining.

This morning, his limbs feel heavy and his nose is stuffy, and he can’t remember why. 

He reaches out to grab his phone and check the time, and it’s the hand with the bandage that reminds him what happened the day before.

It reminds him that this morning is nothing like every other morning, that there’s someone lying next to him, and that someone is Dean. He can feel the heat of his body warming his back.

He sits up on his side of the bed and only then dares to look over his shoulder. Yes, Dean is still there, asleep on his stomach, one arm bent under his head, Cas’ shirt stretched over his shoulders.

Dean probably senses his gaze, because he opens his eyes and looks back at him, his signature morning pout on his lips.

Cas thinks he must make quite a sight; with the window behind his back, he must be just a silhouette against the weak morning light, his hair sticking up, his clothes wrinkled.

He wants to speak, but he’s forgotten the first thing people usually say to each other in the morning.

Dean’s brain must still be foggy because he doesn’t comment on the fact that Cas is just staring at him. After a moment, he blinks and yawns and lets out a mumbled “You got a really nice bed,” as if it isn’t just a mattress and a metal frame.

“Thank you,” Cas says, and only then remembers that what he was supposed to say was, Good morning.

It’s too late now, but it doesn’t seem to matter.

“What time is it?”

“Five-thirty.”

Dean smiles in bliss. His eyes are glassy. “I haven’t slept six hours in a long time.” He yawns again. “You getting up?”

“Yes, but you can stay longer,” Cas says. “I’m going to get dressed.”

Dean nods and rubs his face and then follows Cas with his gaze while he gathers things around the room.

“I’ll be up in a sec. I’m gonna make you eggs,” he says.

He’s pulled Steve’s pillow to his side and made himself comfortable again, stretching his legs and taking up space. Cas can’t resist turning to watch him from the door. He looks like a dream in the early morning light.

Dean’s eyes are still on him and Cas suddenly feels exposed, with his bare thighs and calves. He’s seen Dean in various states of undress plenty of times, but he’s not sure Dean’s ever seen him, and he doesn’t know what it means that he’s watching.

“Okay,” Cas agrees. After last night, it’s an easy concession to make. The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks up, and Cas feels himself mirroring him. 

Dean is a great cook. Cas has heard him boast about it in the past, but this is the first time that he’s tried his cooking.

His eggs are good, more savory and less runny than his, and they come with toast.

“I never have toast with my eggs,” Cas comments.

“What’s with all the bread, then?”

“It’s for PB&J.”

That makes Dean snort a laugh. He’d moved the bowl with the fruit to the counter next to the sink and poured coffee into two mismatched mugs. Now, he sits across from him and digs into his plate. 

He’s already dressed, shoes on too. Cas doesn’t mention that he’s still wearing the T-shirt he borrowed. He’s pretty sure the black one he had on before is still where he left it, on the hook behind his bathroom door, and he wants to keep it that way.

The time is running out and he doesn’t know how to convince himself there’s no point in wishing it could stop.

“You can use bread to do lots of things,” Dean is saying. “Ever had French toast?”

Cas shakes his head.

“Alright, I’ll make you some next time.”

“Next time?” Cas repeats, almost losing his grip on the mug he’s bringing to his lips.

Dean puts down his fork, picks it up again, avoids his gaze. “I just thought— It’s not that I want to bring the bad guys to your door, obviously, but maybe I could slip out here sometimes. I’d be careful.”

Cas' face must be asking, Why?, because Dean rushes to add, “Just, you know, to see how you’re doing.” He massages one of his thighs out of nervousness, then in a light tone, he says, “First thing, I’m buying you groceries, replacing that couch, and fixing the light in the bathroom.”

Cas puts down his coffee mug, anger rising in his chest. “No.”

Dean hadn’t expected that. His face crumbles all at once, showing hurt and confusion. “Wh—?”

“You can come here, but as a friend. I don’t want a caretaker.”

“What?” he exclaims in disbelief. “I didn’t say that.” 

“I’m serious, Dean.” Cas clenches his jaw; this is the last thing he wanted. “I don’t need your pity and I don’t need you to parent me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant!” he says, raising his voice. He gets up and circles around his chair, taking a moment to calm down. “Jesus, Cas, I don’t wanna be your parent. I know you don’t need me, I just—” He sighs, frustrated, shakes his head. “I— I didn’t mean that,” he says, looking up at him like he does sometimes when he wants to say something but doesn’t know how.

Cas knows that look. It takes all the fight out of him. Without the anger, all that’s left is the knowledge that Dean might come back and this might not be the only morning they spend in this kitchen. It’s an unbearable thought, difficult to grasp—almost as difficult as it had been to imagine Dean here before yesterday. “Well then, in that case, it’s fine, I’d like that,” Cas says, and Dean deflates in front of him like a balloon. 

Cas takes the dishes to the sink, gives them a quick wash. He wonders what happens now.

“Are you leaving right away?” he asks, sneaking a glance over his shoulder.

“Nah, I can give you a ride to work,” Dean says casually. And then, in a different tone, he adds, “Go on, go brush your teeth and get your jacket.”

Cas throws him a look, his mouth already open in protest, but Dean is grinning at him. “Just kidding.”

Cas rolls his eyes.

The ride is quiet and the closer they get, the sadder Cas feels.

It’s a dull pain that presses down the corners of his mouth and makes him clench a fist, irrationally resenting green lights and empty roads, pedestrians that wait on the sidewalk instead of crossing and slowing them down.

Dean talks about getting Cas a car and doesn’t seem to mind or notice that Cas barely responds. He’s probably just doing it to fill the silence. He stops in front of the entrance, and Cas doesn’t expect him to, but he turns off the engine and gets out to say goodbye.

He lingers in front of Cas, his eyes wandering from him to the Gas-n-Sip windows, to the gas pump, down to the asphalt, up to Cas again.

Cas is no fool; he knows that it could be a long time before they see each other again.

“Let me know if you see any of the angels,” Cas says to stop that line of thought. “They may despise me, but they know we need to work together.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean says, a wrinkle in between his eyebrows.

“Say hello to Sam for me.”

Dean sets his jaw and doesn’t say anything, and Cas feels there’s something there he doesn’t know. But they’ve run out of time. He takes a step forward and hugs him.

Hugging him as a human is different. It’s warmer, for one thing. Cas feels his own breath pushing his chest against Dean’s, his heart picking up the pace. And then there’s the scent of him. Cas can’t resist leaning his head into the crook of Dean’s neck, to feel his warm skin against his cheek, breathe him in.

Dean’s hands come up after only a moment to rest under his shoulder blades. He lets Cas hold him for longer than he thought he would.

“Hey,” he says then. “You can call me anytime—you know that, right?”

Cas nods, takes a breath, and steps away.

Dean seems sad now. He flashes a smile, but it’s not genuine. He looks like he’s about to say I’m sorry again. Cas wishes he wouldn’t, and thankfully he doesn’t. 

Instead he says, “I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Cas tries to smile, too, but he thinks it comes out all wrong. “I’ll see you soon.”

"Yeah,” Dean says, now walking backward. “Buy me a pillow, will you?” He points and flashes another of his fake smiles. He gets to the car door. “Toothbrush, too.”

“Okay,” Cas says.

The door opens with a creak.

Dean looks at him over the roof.

“Have a good day at work.”

“Have a safe drive.”

Dean gets in and Cas bends to look at him through the passenger window.

Dean’s not smiling anymore. He’s sighing, and when he notices Cas, he leans over to roll the window down.

“I’ll be back.”

Cas knows Dean believes it. “You know where I live.”

Dean’s lips stretch in a grin that doesn’t show in his eyes.

The Impala starts rumbling and vibrating under Cas’ fingers still on the window frame. He holds up one hand in an aborted wave, Dean does the same. Cas lets go of the car and the wheels start rolling.

In a moment, he’s gone.

And Cas would stand there to watch the car disappear from his view, but Steve needs to open the store, turn on the cash register, make a few calls, start the coffee machine.

And on any other day, Steve would do that without thinking about Dean. Steve wouldn’t ache for him, wouldn’t long for him.

Cas isn’t sure he can do that anymore—shut himself away. As he wipes the counter and organizes the coins, he almost doesn’t remember how he did it before. 

He knows then that there is no going back, because Cas and Steve have something in common now.

They’re both in love with Dean.

#deancas #destiel #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #what can i say #this took A WHILE #but im glad it's out now #weirdly im not even sick of it even if i've read it more times than any other things i've ever written

[castieldelamancha]

3 days later.

The sound of the empty beer bottle he just sent rolling across the bedroom's floor knocking against the doorframe fills the silence around him.

It's almost a living thing this silence, Dean tiredly thinks to himself, it's pressing down on him, sucking out all the air in the room, asphyxiating him.

It's outside, but, to what would be Dean's horror if it wasn't because of the numbness that has taken over him, it's also inside of him, in his head, in his very soul. His own melody, a jumble mess of chords, a mix of gloom notes and bright tunes, seems to be over, now that what had felt for years as its companion piece is gone.

He must be going insane with this grief he feels, he has started to wonder if the darkness might had taken him too.

He lets his head fall backwards, resting it against Castiel's perfectly made bed. The emptiness of this space only seems to add to the silence around him. Don't get him wrong, there is furniture here, but no life, no soul, like Cas never existed, like he was a product of his imagination. 

He stares up at the ceiling, he reminds himself he has to wash his jacket, get the blood out of it. He shakes his head. He was there, that's all the proof he needs to convince himself it was all real. Dean himself is still here, breathing and moving, he wouldn't say alive, but he is also proof it was all real. 

He doesn't know how he has ended up here, in Castiel's room, sitting on the cold, unforgiving, floor by the bed, drinking the last drops of a beer that tasted like shit and that brought him no comfort.

He doesn't think there is something out there that can comfort him now, unless the wall would open right now and spit Cas out same way it swallowed him. 

It doesn't happen of course.

He wonders if Cas can hear him, he doesn't think so.

"One last miracle," he says anyway, "fuck, I know I have asked for so much from you over the years," he struggles to swallow past the lump forming in his throat and he welcomes it, welcomes the tears he can feel filling up his eyes, because it's better to feel this sadness that nothing at all, "know you have sacrificed so much for me, for us, for this world; but Cas, I need one miracle, I need you back." 

There are so many things Dean has to tell him.

Silence. Nothing. His soul seems to get a leave a message after the tone.

There are so many things he has to tell Cas, but not if he isn't here to hear him.

However, eyes still fixated on the ceiling, he whispers, 

"It was always yours to have, all yours." Forever.

.

10 years later.

There is a fine layer of dust covering every surface around him, not too bad considering the time that has gone by since someone has last set foot in this room. More than five years, maybe, Dean isn't too sure about that.

It's quiet in here but, from the other side of the closed door the sound of laughter and conversation filters until reaching him. The bunker is bursting with life, hunters that come and go, a safe haven for so many. He doesn't feel like being part of all that right now.

He wouldn't have come around if he had realized he would still be here on this specific day. 

The memories are painful enough far away from this walls as it is.

But, well, now it's too damn late.

He sighs, the wound is old, but on days like today it's still tender to the touch, like it never healed properly. He hums to himself, a silly little tune, he doesn't remember where it came from but that's okay, he likes it anyway, it keeps his mind distracted. He lets his head fall back, resting it against the perfectly made bed, the covers smell after years of disuse. It reminds him of the first time they explored the bunker bedrooms. 

It was love at first sight, despite all the work they had ahead of them to make this place liveable again. 

He doesn't miss it nowadays, he is thankful for what was his home when he needed one the most, but he has somewhere else to call a home now. Far away from here.

He doesn't know why he decided to come in when he walked by the closed door, but he is here now, sitting on the floor by the bed, not wanting to think about having to get up or about the pain he has started to feel in his left knee. He is not so young anymore.

He opens his eyes when there is soft knock on the door and a gentle voice calls out his name.

"C'mon in." He calls back, smiling to himself and closing his eyes once more. 

There is the sound of the door closing again, light footsteps that stop next to him, a warm body that joins him on the floor. 

"What are you doing in here?" He doesn't need to open his eyes to picture the squinty look that is being directed to himself. 

"I came here, years ago" he says instead of giving a real answer, "I sat down right on this spot and told whoever was listening that I needed a miracle."

He opens his eyes, turning his head to the side to be able to look at Cas, smiling softly at him. His hair is messy as always but, just like Dean's, it's turning grey, paired with his deeping wrinkles Castiel has never looked more handsome to Dean. More alive.

"Did someone listen?" He asks, with a glint in his eyes that make Dean believe he already knows the answer to that question.

He plays along, anyways. Dean reaches to close his hand around Cas' and, lifting them both to get them closer to his face, he kisses Castiel's knuckles, one by one. 

"It took a while, but I got my miracle after all." Dean looks away, he has been working hard, all these years, to feel more comfortable in his own skin, open up and say what he has to say, but still, sometimes, especially in days like this, when he is feeling too much; when he feels raw, emotional, it can be all a bit too much.

Castiel leans in, he presses his forehead against Dean's cheek.

"I had forgotten it was today, it seems the same thing happened to you."

Neither of them would have wanted to be here today.

Dean nods lightly. He looks up at the ceiling. 

He focuses on their breathing, almost synced, calm and deep, he focuses on all the parts of them that are touching. He grips Castiel's hand tightly, nothing is taking him away, it would have to take Dean too.

Nothing is after them now, though, he allows himself to relax once more, heavily leaning his shoulder against Cas'.

He never washed the jacket, it's still here, he had to put it in Cas' closet, where he would never have to see it, unless he wanted to.

"I am glad" Castiel says after a long moment of shared silence, "I could tell you what I needed to say that day." Dean knows the weight of Castiel's guilt around those last moments, he has never regretted saving Dean, of course, he does regret the pain he caused.

Dean almost makes a comment about him being lucky because Dean remembers he couldn't get a single word out, but he has made his peace with that because, even though it took some time, he could tell Cas what he had been bottling up inside himself for years too, staring into his eyes, for the very first time, then a second time and now he has lost count. 

"I still can't believe sometimes that, well-" he trails off, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

"That you could have it all?" Dean ventures.

"Yes." It comes out in a strangled whisper. Dean turns his head again, dropping a kiss on Castiel's forehead.

"It will always be yours, all yours." Forever.

#destiel #november 5th #post s15 #the post s15 i deserved of course 😌 #long post #ficlet #vanessa writes ✨ #hoy hay 2x1 en ficlets como en el carrefour #tuserpris

[keithal]

Do you have any supernatural fic recs?

ANON. i have been waiting since 2019 for someone to ask me this. prepare to regret this decision (FYI: i'm taking all these recs & following notes from my public bookmarks on ao3, which you can find here. i'm cutting the notes short, so if u don't mind spoiler-y drawn-out comments, check that out too if u want!)

deancas focused:

A Reasonable Amount of Trouble by xylodemon -> an spn au where dean is a p.i. and a hunter on the side, cas is still an angel, and they get caught up in a plot that's a mix of seasons 4, 6, 8, and 9. this was my introduction to spn and deancas. the characterization is flawless and the prose is beautiful (very cs pacat-esque). the plot is crafted with close attention to detail and the pacing is perfect

the point of our being by noviembre -> a post-s15 fix-it that takes place immediately after the penultimate episode. noviembre is undoubtedly my favorite spn writer of all time. one of the best dean voices i've ever come across. this ties up the narrative threads into a beautiful, sound, satisfying ending, and both destiel & saileen survive. despite the odds, they're happy.

i projected onto dean winchester when i was twelve years old and now im making it your problem by alittleduck (amidsizedfrog) -> another post-finale fix it. and, to date, the funniest thing i've ever read. every fic in this series has a good balance between scenes that make u laugh so hard u hurt ur throat and Scenes That Make You Want To Gurgle Cement.

So Says The Sword by komodobits -> a s4 au and a fandom classic for a reason. if u haven't read this, i'm of the firm belief it's best to go in as blind as possible. but definitely keep this verse in the back of ur mind while reading: "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father" (matthew 10:29)

sir this is a wendy's by noviembre -> yall remember when misha collins said that a modern au deancas would be like if a wendy's janitor and the president of the usa fell in love? well noviembre took that seriously and now we're here. and u should all be thankful bc it's somehow the single funniest and most romantic thing i've ever read

the pie isn’t a metaphor (it’s just pie) by noviembre -> post-finale s15 domestic deancas fic that's the emotional equivalent of drinking tea and lying under a warm weighted blanket. it makes me so happy and i think abt it every time i eat a pastry. i just sit there chewing like “dean and cas are eating fresh pie in their kitchen” and it puts a smile on my face.

Muscle Memory by komodobits -> a "50 first dates" au that i think abt every single day. i'm not joking. it's so sad and touching and sweet and unexpectedly funny, and no one writes deancas like komodobits. it just FEELS so them and i'm obsessed w it.

Strandlines by aeli_kindara -> au where s4 cas meets stanford-era dean. dean's voice and characterization is incredibly in-character with the early seasons and his voice doesn't falter once. and of course castiel! robotic s4 cas with this tremendous power and this fierce yet wavering loyalty to heaven that eventually focuses solely on dean! likewise, his character is spot-on and i enjoyed reading from his pov immensely.

[podfic] right hand on his rife, swore it on the bible by be_brave13 for quensty, floorsirens -> u can't possibly expect me NOT to include this. YES my friend and i wrote the fic but be_brave13's love and appreciation for it makes it feel like a completely separate work. my favorite podfic (and gift) of all time so i implore u to give it a listen.

something suddenly everywhere by noviembre -> the finest post-s15 fix-it of all time. cas is in the empty, they've defeated god, jack is gone, and all that's left is sam, eileen, dean, a bunker, and trying to move on. i know i already said that but this is the same author so it still counts! i cried, i laughed, i grieved, i jumped from excitement. it's a rollercoaster of emotions. it should be put behind a velvet rope at a museum so we can all gather around and clap.

To Boldly Go by 8daysuntiltheapocalypseiguess -> au where dean writes star trek fanfiction. it follows him from the beginning of the show to the older seasons and is told entirely thru his fic summaries, reader commentary, and livejournal dms. warning that it is unfinished, but it's a masterpiece

saileen focused:

Loveletter (Dear Eileen) by voynichs (Xenerik) -> a short and beautiful meditation about love and eileen from sam's pov. it's only 300 words but it feels like 15k. definitely at the top of my fave saileen fics of all time. when i first read it i stayed up until 2 am crying abt it

Livin' on a Prayer by Dredfulhapiness -> EILEEN MEETING EARLY SEASONS DEAN AND SAM I'M SCREAMING. do u understand how this could've changed the timeline but, more importantly, me as a person. eileen there when dean and sam were trying to find a way out of the deal, there when everything happened with ruby, there for dean's resurrection, there before they met cas, there after sam dies and dean retires and cas goes m.i.a. and DEALING with the aftermath of a foiled apocolypse. everyone hates the winchesters but the winchesters are gone and all that's left is eileen to deal with the brunt of it.

With Hands Clasped by Xenerik -> a handful of snippets from the eileen wedding that explores gender and religion and love so beautifully. i haven't been able to read it completely yet, but i can tell this is going to be another saileen fave.

other pairings/no pairings

The Love Story of the Runner Up by Margo_Kim -> told from the perspective of a guy cas had a brief affair with as a semi-drunken story he tells a friend in a bar. it's technically deancas but since cas's relationship with another man takes main focus, i elected to put it here.

Ten Years by Margo_Kim -> a bela talbot character study and the best i've been able to find, no contest. *rowena voice* good girls are pathetic here's to evil skanks <3

The Archangel Gabriel Is Dead by seizethefire -> fics that have half a million kudos in my mind. it's about how and why rafael comes to think that god is dead. it expertly explores the familial relationship between gabriel, lucifer, michael, and rafael. it's devastating and beautiful in equal measure. definitely a personal favorite and one i think everyone should read

put them in a box somewhere by amidsizedfrog -> a mary & dean fic told from mary's pov from before she died. a gut-wrenching story about performative/toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia and mothers.

lastly, if ur interested, i also write spn fic >:) which u can find by clicking here. happy reading!

#i have so much love for all of these i hope u like them anon! #supernatural #spn #supernatural fic #spn fic #fic rec #keith gets a question

[dothwrites]

golden time feels like another episode that was written precisely for me

competent hunter cas! dean in his silly little hot dog pjs and dead guy robe! witchy sam! EILEEN MOTHERFUCKING LEAHY!

this is essentially cas' rebound episode, where he's discovering that he DOES have value to people outside the winchesters and that he CAN function on his own and do so effectively. he's rediscovering his purpose and finding peace in helping people. it's also an excellent treatise on his character--when left to his own devices, cas will default back to helping people. he has an innate compassion that prompts him to notice when the guy at the fishing store is upset and that makes him continue a conversation with the woman whose son is missing. it's just such a GOOD cas episode!

and eileen! EILEEN! she's cute and she's badass and she's funny and she's brave and she's smart and i just love her. also 100% eileen would never be jealous over sam and rowena's relationship, she is actually down to clown with rowena if for no other reason than rowena is hot and badass and it would ABSOLUTELY wreck sam's head

this phone conversation with dean and cas. compare and contrast s14 "prophet and loss" where cas immediately snatches up the phone, smiling, and tells dean "it's so good to hear your voice". now he's staring into the middle distance and biting off monosyllabic answers. he and dean are DIVORCED and cas is living his single life but he's not exactly thrilled with it

eileen's "ta-da!" and subsequent little dance she does---PLEASE leave crusty old sam winchester for me, i promise you will not regret it

BADASS CAS BADASS CAS BADASS CAS (i do remember when the bts photos of this episode came out and we were SO horrified because we could see clear gunshot marks on misha's shirt and he was covered in blood)

but seriously. this whole scene with the djinn sheriff and cas and cas' monologue about selfish little men in power... "it won't protect you from ME" like my GOD will there ever be another character ever???? cas is also definitely working through some stuff here when he stabs him like fifty thousand times but you know, he's just gone through a divorce so i think he's entitled

they should have let sam be a witch. every time sam got mildly interesting in the later seasons it was like the writers said "yikes, a decent plotline? can't have that!"

also the idea of cas' grace failing was interesting, and... nothing ever came of that either. why so many dropped plotlines why so many ideas discarded "if i stay nothing changes" cas you're so right and so valid

this final scene with sam and eileen is SO GOOD. love her. love them.

#doth watches spn

[crowley-the-1-true-king-of-hell]

The show missed opportunities to make Dean a bad friend with good moments. The good friend moments I remember from Dean to Cas are ruined

Grief over Cas' apparent death in 7x01 was ruined by Dean making sure to insult Cas by calling him a child

Dean telling Cas, after Cas said he wanted to help. Because Cas is that kind of individual

DEAN: Cas, you've got one job to do and that's to heal. You understand?

Ruined in the same episode with this

DEAN: Whatever. I called Cas, told him to look into the lore. What do you got?

Look into the lore yourself! Do what you would have done before the BMoL. Isn't Cas supposed to be relaxing and healing? I mean I get that Cas would have been happy that you asked him for help. So from that perspective it's good. But from the perspective that you intended for Cas to relax because he needs to heal, and then turn around and tell him to do research for you is bad

It's one of those tricky situations because Cas wanted to help and he was probably glad Dean changed his mind but just because Cas was glad to help doesn't mean it was the right thing to do. It undid any sincerity in wanting Cas to focus on himself and get better

Dean defended Cas by saying

No, you talked. I listened. This is Cas, guys. I mean, when there was no one...And we were stuck - and I mean really stuck - he broke ranks. He has gone to the mat cut and bleeding for us so many freakin' times. This is Cas! Don't we owe him the benefit of the doubt at least?

Okay leave that there. That alone is great

But then it got ruined by a line that happened earlier

He is the Balki Bartokomous of Heaven!

Essentially part of why Dean believes Cas is loyal is also because he thinks Cas is too naïve to be anything but. Sure Cas going to the mat for them is another reason Dean has but that reason is diminished by the Balki reference

Balki is a naive, optimistic, well-meaning person. Pinchot once said of his character, "...he looks at the world like a four-year-old [and] sees the world as benevolent

Dean grieves Cas and then the next moment he doesn't care that Cas is dying

Dean says he would die for Cas but I don't remember the show giving him any scenes were he jumps in front of an angel blade for Cas you know just to prove Dean means that

Dean saw Cas as a brother yet gave up on Cas as soon as Cas became Godstiel. Something Dean would never do if Sam became God!Sam

Cas is not a brother. For your brother you would sell your soul and save him even when Sam seems too far gone. At most Cas is a friend, not a brother. If Dean referred to Cas as a friend rather than a brother, even though Dean is a bad friend, that's a million times more believable than Dean seeing Cas as a brother

Instead the show either didn't give Dean opportunities to prove his words. Such as Dean saying he would die for Cas. Is it too hard to give Dean a scene where he is hospitalized and on life support because he took a hit for Cas? Ofc Dean would be healed, but Dean did it thinking the stab would kill him beyond even Cas' healing abilities. Dean doesn't have our meta knowledge that he's a main character and therefore will survive. So I would see that scene as Dean genuinely willing to die for Cas

Or if the show did give Dean an opportunity it was subverted by Dean being unbothered when Cas said the other angels might kill him

Too much of Dean is inherently a bad friend. You would need to replace Dean with another character to undo that, which would have been great

Anyhow there were missed opportunities to make Dean not as bad. Dean could have been complicated when it came to Cas except instead he was just an asshole and any complicated friend Dean was subverted by contradictions

Crowley told Kevin, Sam and Dean only care about Kevin because he's useful and sadly it's true. If Dean cared about Kevin as a person, killing Kevin's mum would be off the table. If Crowley possessed Mary Winchester Dean would not dare kill his mum to kill Crowley

Similarly Dean only cares about Cas when Cas is useful to him

I would be Dean critical and I wouldn't like him even after that but I would respect the show more for trying to make Dean a complicated friend. Except they didn't try at all

#dean critical #castiel #spn 6x20 #spn 11x04 #spn 7x01 #supernatural #spn 8x23 #spn meta #kevin tran #spn 9x02 #spn 8x02 #crowley spn #anti dean winchester

[roonyxx]

The Raven: Part 1

Summary: A new threat to the world brings the boys back in action. She is big and bad, very bad. But is everything as it seems or is there more to her story?

Pairing: Dean x reader

Trope: enemies to lovers

Word count: 1600

Chapter warnings: none really for this chapter, maybe some language.

A/N:  This will be a series I wrote for @holylulusworld​ 15.555 spin the bottle followers celebration! My trope is Secret Crush!

The Raven Masterlist

My Masterlist

Dean Pov

I should have known that we can’t get one week without another bad guy waiting for us.

Well, bad woman this time.

“What’s her name again?” I ask Cas who just appeared in the bunker to tell us about a new threat to the world.

“We don’t know her real name, but they call her ‘The Raven’” Cas answerers.

“Not ominous at all…” I sigh.

“What is she?” Sam asks Cas.

“An ancient type of witch is what we suspect.”

“Suspect? So even Heaven doesn’t know this psycho chick ?”

“No, she has stayed under our radar for a long time, we have no record of her kind, or when she was born or where she came from. It is as if she didn’t exist before last week.” Cas says as he scans our bookshelf and pulls out an old book and starts leaving through it.

“And what exactly happened last week ?” I ask while I watch Sam and Cas look through the books they got spread out on the table.

“Nothing.” Cas says without looking up from the book.

“Nothing ?” I ask, hoping he will clear it up more.

“Heaven detected an immense blast of magic, it spread over the entire world.” He explains.

“That doesn’t sound like nothing. What happened?”

No, it sounds like we have another major problem on our hands. I get up to take a drink.

Another major being to take down…

When will they stop coming? Will the world ever be safe, what happens if Sam and I are gone. Will the world just end with the next threat?

I though that now we ended Chuck we would be safe, that we could even slow down a little, but it seems like this Raven, whoever she is, has other ideas.

“We don’t know, we can’t detect anything out of order, or any spells. None of the alarms are going off and there are no apocalyptic signs of any kind so theoretically, nothing happened.” Cas explains.

“Unless she hid it.” Sam says.

“Yes, that’s why I am asking for your help.” Cas looks up at me, “I know you wanted to slow down now that Chuck is gone. But we have never seen anything like this. She is powerful if her range can cover the entire Earth.”

I empty my glass and feel both Sam and Cas’s gaze on me. Weighing me down. The familiar weight on my shoulders feels even harder now.

With Chuck gone, so was the weight. For that short period of time I felt light and free.

But now it is back and it is twice as heavy. Maybe I’m just getting to old for this shit.

“It’s fine” I say, “What’s one more, right?”

“Not only did she cover the entire Earth” Sam starts “She also managed to cloak it from Heaven. I will call Rowena to ask if she noticed anything.”

“Right, you do that and Cas and I will try find this witch bitch.” I sit down with a sigh and open a book and start researching for this witch.

Sam takes out his phone and leaves the room to call Rowena. She might know this woman.

“So Cas, what do we know about her.”

“In the week we have known of her existence, Heaven has looked into it and found few witnesses of her.”

“Alright, hit me” I say while looking at the angel.

“She was last sighted in the black forest in Germany. A group of hikers saw a woman floating between the trees while chanting in a strange language.”

“Ah yes floating, not creepy at all. I guess she was speaking Latin.”

“Presumably yes”

“Presumably? You didn’t ask them.” I wonder.

“They are dead.”

“What?”

“They were found in the forest, their eyes picked out by some kind of bird.”

“How did you get their confession then?” Nothing he says makes sense.

“In Heaven, I went to them and asked, but no one in Heaven remembers their death fully, it’s to make it less horrible for them.”

“You could have lead with that… so she killed them because they saw her. How do you know she is called The Raven?”

“We found ancient texts about a witch called The Raven. All her victims have their eyes picked out by a bird. She kills anyone that ever witnessed her, so there isn’t a lot to go on.”

“If she kills everyone, how can there be texts about her?” I ask him.

“Somehow word about her spread through lore and bedtime stories to keep children out of the woods. Some people mentioned she sings in the dreams of those who did something wrong. Those who heard the song often died soon after.”

Cas takes an old codex out of his trench coat and opens it on a page with strange symbols and a drawing of a floating lady above the fire.

“Those who did something wrong? She is a vigilante?” Doesn’t the bad guy normally kill the good guys?

“They is no more description about how she chooses her victims. Only that their death is gruesome and marked by the empty eye sockets.”

I shudder when an image of two gaping holes in a head stare at me, flashes before my eyes. Freaking witches…

I look at the drawing of the woman on the old brown page.

She floating above the fire, her arms spread wide. A flock of ravens have tainted the sky black.

Her hair is long and her eyes…

They aren’t there. As if her own eyes have been picked out.

“What happened to her eyes ?” I ask Cas while touching the drawing.

When my finger tip connects to the paper I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My whole body flares, ready for the fight or flight reaction.

And deep in my mind, all the way in the back, I feel a trinkle of something…

I snatch my hand back from the book.

“Dean?” Cas looks at me, obviously concerned. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I feel as if my bones have been dipped into cold water. I slight rub my arm to get rid of the cold.

“Dean?” Cas asks again.

“Nothing, she just gives me the creeps, I hate witches.” I take a deep breath and notice my heart is raging with adrenaline.

She is bad, very very bad news…

“Guys…” Sam steps back inside and his eyes land on the drawing. “Rowena has heard of her.”

“And?” I ask.

“She says to stay away. She never saw or met the Raven but she knew of a Coven who wanted The Raven to be a part of them.”

“Let me guess, all dead?” I say sarcastically.

“Yes, they were tortured, spines extracted and their eyes were gone. Rowena said that among the witches she is known as the Queen of Death.”

“The Raven, Queen of Death. This lady just gets more fun and fun…” I rub my face in annoyance.

Where is the time we just hunted a shifter?

“She said that if we go after her, we’re dead meat walking.” Sam plops down in a chair, I notice he is a little pale.

“What else, Sam.” I ask, he is hiding something.

I can see it in the way he is avoiding eye contact, the ways his hands twitch and his shoulders are hunched.

“She said that if she cast a spell over the entire world, she might be raising an army against Heaven.”

“Against Heaven?” Cas pipes up. “Why”

“Rumors among the witches are going around that she did something. Something unacceptable, and that Heaven will punish her.”

Cas frowns. And it is so weird to see this sort of frown on him. Cas frowns a lot, when he doesn’t understand a reference or an emotion or anything basic human.

But this kind of frown, the one of the soldier that Cas is, the one who spends millennia on a battle field in Heaven.

The one that says he really has no idea what is going on in Heaven or what she did to Earth.

This one frightens me.

“We don’t know of anything that happened.” Cas starts pacing.

“What kind of army?” I ask Sam, seeing that he still isn’t looking at us, that means there is more.

“An army of the dead” he breathes out, “Every single corpse on this Earth will wake and walk under her command.”

“That’s over 107 billion people” Cas says.

“And it’s an army of the dead… they don’t need to sleep or eat or rest. They can go on forever.” I say.

“Exactly…” Sam sighs “This is worse than Chuck.” He says.

“I need to go back and prepare immediately.” Cas says, he sounds worried, which is rare for an angel with little emotions. “Tell me if you find anything new.”

He disappears before I can even suggest that we will not get involved in this. But do we have a choice? If we do nothing Earth will become a battle field…

“Guess our little holiday is over.”

“Yeah… Rowena said she would look into it as much as she can. But she won’t risk her life for it.” Sam runs his hand through his hair.

“Understandable, she has her hands full with Hell already.”

“Yeah” Sam takes the codex Cas left on the table and stares at the drawing. “Is this her?”

“Yes, a real beauty, isn’t she?”

He leans closer and touches the page. I look for any signs if he feels the same thing I felt when I touched it.

But he doesn’t shiver or snatch his hand back.

“I’ll read this one. You can look in the German part of our books. Rowena said she spend most of her time in the black forest.”

I get up and take those books.

“My favorite kind…”

“One more, Dean” Sam says to try encourage me.

“Yeah, one more.”

But what if this one is one too much…

#The Raven #The raven part 1 #roonyx #enemies to lovers #roonyxx #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean angst #angst #dean smut

[mlobsters]

supernatural s10e21 dark dynasty (w. eugenie ross-leming, brad buckner)

is that like, a play on duck dynasty har har. okay, creeper creeperson, get your hands of this lady's face please. heavy sigh at the threatening sexual assault to then kill the pretty lady and scoop her eyeballs out.

this codex thing with rowena is very kevin with the tablet but without any affection

i dunno if this is all i know him from, but again with the seinfeld tiny part actor being familiar. oh god. and nurses??? definitely watched that show too. sure i haven't thought of it since it the 90s

markus flanagan in seinfeld s9e19 the maid / nurses (1991-1994)

so we got to see hallucination!benny and we have this random dark magic using mafia people in louisiana. completely unconnected. sure. could not care less.

is this the first charlie episode written by not-robbie?

DEAN There's a woman you haven't mentioned? SAM A woman? DEAN Well, I'm just saying. You weren't here when I went to bed last night. You've been running off on your own a lot these past couple weeks. SAM I do that. DEAN You actually don’t. SAM Dean, we don't always do the exact same thing at the exact same time. Remember when you went off and snuffed that vampire nest by yourself? DEAN Have you been snuffing vamps' nests? SAM No, I-I . . . What is that? What are you doing?

smooth, sam. glad dean has noticed and is calling him out on it at least. "we don't always do the exact same thing at the exact same time" L O L

insert perennial complaint about the lying and the hiding

SAME, GIRL. SAME.

SAM Charlie, he's not himself. He's not. He would try and stop me. He's given up. Look, I called in an expert to use the codex, but it turns out it's sort of encoded also, so I thought you might help move things along faster. CHARLIE Behind Dean's back. After Dean told us the stupid book would kick our asses if we mess with it. Is there any part of this that doesn't reek? SAM Did I mention you'll be working with one of the most dangerous witches in the world? CHARLIE I don't know, Sam. SAM As far as I can tell, this is our only shot at saving him. If we don't take it, he's gone.

le sigh

surface product placement #4. think that's the pr0n folder (seen in s9e4) next to FanFic

somebody's grumpy. but i would be too if i was called in to babysit rowena while charlie works, all behind dean-o's back

SAM I can't be here full time to referee. CASTIEL Whoa, whoa. And I can? SAM Yes. Please. Please do this for me. CASTIEL Well, what are the rules? If I'm gonna referee, I should at least know them. ROWENA Quite literal, aren't you? Does he know that the first rule is don't tell your brother what we're doing?

okay that made me laugh out loud

SAM Okay, everyone take a breath. Look, we're up against it, okay? And we've all been up against it before, and we know there are times when every choice sucks. Now, us lying to Dean is the choice that sucks the least. We have to make this work. Please.

CASTIEL Wait . . . Dean doesn't know? Sam, this never ends well. CHARLIE That's exactly what I said.

join the party

CHARLIE Okay, yeah. For Dean. SAM Cas? CASTIEL Okay. For Dean. SAM For Dean. ROWENA I barely know the man.

filling in the crowley-snark void, she does it well

chatty patty, huh. i've only heard chatty cathy

Chatty Cathy is a pull-string "talking" doll originally created by Ruth and Elliot Handler and manufactured by the Mattel toy company from 1959 to 1965. In 1984, Mattel introduced Chatty Patty

learn somethin new every day

CHARLIE Sam and Dean are like my brothers. I love them. ROWENA I know. And that steadfast loyalty will be your undoing, my girl.

depressing because you know it's true. sounds like the kevin foreshadowing (i always trust you and i always end up screwed)

DEAN Yeah. You know, some dark thoughts, creepy visions, violent urges. Same old same old.

okay they toss that out but have we ever actually seen any of that? that surely would be more interesting than half the of the bullshit this season

speaking of, interrogating the whatever dude. sam is being the actual worst at hiding his little codebreaking study group hijinks. could he BE any shiftier

ELDON The real family tree. The name was altered out of necessity. You have chanced upon a lineage with a long and proud tradition and some unwanted notoriety. One of Europe's oldest families. The house of . . . Frankenstein.

think you could hear my eyes roll across the state

they're playing that threatening music again and i don't like it. i get it, he's extra ready to stab something from the mark, i still don't like the implied threat of violence now that he's figured out what sam is lying about

drama, very horror movie

would you look at how fucking tiny some of these little black and green console-ish windows fonts are. ridonkulous

SAM I thought it was our only chance to get you free of the Mark, so I grabbed it. DEAN I made it real clear how I felt. You ever consider that? SAM Dean, listen . . . DEAN And then you pulled Cas into it. And Charlie. SAM Charlie loves you, Dean. We all love you.

well. killing charlie off is really disappointing and unfortunately not surprising.

from the wiki

Robbie Thompson started work on Supernatural in season seven. [...] and created lesbian nerd character Charlie Bradbury whose aliases were comprised of the name of a Stephen King character and a famous science fiction writer. Thompson reportedly fought hard against the manner of her death, in an episode he did not write.

what a hot mess.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 10x21 #charlie bradbury #spnhiky #hiky #seinfeld #markus flanagan

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober 4 Oct.: Wicked

"Cas?" Dean asked. His profound confusion dissipated like a fog severed by sunlight as he realized he knew his rescuer. "Hiya, Cas."

deancas, full au, no hooky-spooks, friends to lovers

Here's what Dean remembered: the carp weren't biting. Standing up in the rowboat to grab a stick of something Sam had called Sweet-n-Tangy Organic Grass Fed Small Batch Jerky (pretentious as hell, Sam) out of his duffle bag. Losing his balance, flailing foot hitting the side of the boat as he went into the water. 

Thinking, Shit and I know how to swim. In that order.

The shit part was definitely correct. His ability to swim? Suspect, as evidenced by waking up – when had he gone to sleep? Underwater? Bad place to nap – on the sandy, pebbly shore, the heels of someone's hands making dents in his breastbone. Another two compressions and a gallon of lake expelled itself from his lungs via hacking, Exorcist-style projectiles. Embarrassing, but it's not like he or the guy whose magnificent arms he'd sat up in could get any wetter.

"Wicked," he heard some impressed youngster witness whisper from several feet away. 

Dean was a very hip adult, so he knew all about the youth and their lingo. 

He took his first deep breath in an undisclosed period of time and felt his whole body shaking like one of the pretty yellow oak leaves he'd apparently swallowed and horked up on a total stranger, who was (good news?) probably not a teenager. Not with this physique. Circumstances worse than Dean's last blind date. At least at the moment, he didn't want to die, unlike when he'd been seated across from a guy named Fergus who'd been, if memory served, so shittin' smarmy Dean had actually faked falling off the tall bar stool just to cut the evening short. 

"Dean?" a deep, urgent voice was saying. "Dean, are you in there?"

He made himself focus. Opening his eyes all the way helped. Knocking his skull directly into another skull, not so much. He pulled back to the sight of shockingly blue, shockingly worried eyes boring into his own – but in an intense way instead of a painful, bone on bone, one of us is going to suffer a concussion sort of way.

"Cas?" Dean asked. His profound confusion dissipated like a fog severed by sunlight as he realized he knew his rescuer. "Hiya, Cas."

"Oh, thank god," Cas said, his relief so radiant Dean almost covered his eyes again. 

God, he's beautiful, Dean thought. It wasn't the first time he'd entertained this notion about his tenant – his best friend, if he were being honest, and the only reason he'd decided to stay in town when it would've been so much easier to just sell his dad's old duplex and be done with it, take the money and go crash with Sammy until he figured out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, now that he didn't have to wait for John to…well. Do anything, anymore.

Cas'd answered Dean's little ad tacked up on the ratty bulletin board at Ellen's roadhouse. New in town. Quiet. Prompt with payment. Not exactly shy, nor hesitant, but something a little lonesome. Like he hadn't ever made many friends. Turned out, he had a godawful number of siblings, a big ol' family, but Dean knew from personal experience having kin didn't necessarily give a person a home. 

The first time Cas knocked on the door on Dean's side of the duplex, he'd asked if Dean would like to split a meat lovers pizza; Dean asked if Cas wanted to watch a Monsters and Mayhem movie marathon with him. An hour later Dean found out Cas had never eaten meat lovers pizza before nor seen any of the iconic, legendary, unbeatable Zombie Slug franchise films, and Dean realized he had been put on earth to share these experiences with Cas, who may otherwise have not experienced them with anyone at all. Which, fucking tragic, if more because Cas was wonderful than because Dean was worth yanking out of briny depths.

"Everything okay here?" someone asked Cas, who looked at Dean in renewed concern.

"Yeah, hey, we're fine, I'm fine," Dean said, with only a little difficulty. Had to cough a few times. Sounded dank in there. He'd accidentally turned his lungs into water balloons and they were, y'know, kinda pissed about it.

"We should get you to the ER." Cas was rubbing Dean's arms in brisk strokes and generally giving off warmth like a brick oven; the man had the most gorgeous hands and Dean was extremely into having them on him. Having to shelp to the freaking hospital would interrupt massage time. 

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said, clamping his back teeth together so they wouldn't clack together like one of those wind-up toy dentures that chattered and hopped around. "I'd say yes to a ride back to the house, though."

Was he gonna take advantage of Cas's inherent kindness to smear lake residue all over his junky ol Lincoln Continental instead of the pristine seats of the restored Impala that had been Dean's only consistent home for over three decades? Dean never claimed to be a saint. He'd have Charlie or someone come fetch his best girl. Down at the dock he saw Victor and one of his employees doing a magnificent job of tugging in the rowboat with what looked like a hilariously oversized fishing rod. Guess Dean wasn't the first customer to ditch a rental in the middle of a session.

"You're something else, Winchester," Victor called over, when he saw Dean wasn't dead.

"Thank you," Dean rasped out, waving.

Victor shook his head. "It wasn't a compliment." 

Dean grinned at him, and then grinned at Cas, who didn't return the favor. "I'm fine, Cas." 

Keep touching me, he thought. 

"Let's go home," Cas said. "Ready to try standing up?" His eyes, god, his eyes were like windows to the sky, or something, like a clear blue lake Dean wanted to dive into. 

Oh, wait.

Standing up, for the record, sucked for a few seconds. Squishy boots, squishy boxer briefs, jesus christ. Jacket: missing. No, it was puddled behind Cas. Light application of sandy and teeny tiny pebbles on Dean from back of head to back of calves, like he'd been dredged for a deep-fried crust. He could go for some fried chicken; maybe they'd swing through a drive-thru…

Cas's hands were around his elbows, and his face was full of– Dean bit down a laugh, 'cause Cas was drenched too, and his hair was drying every which way. 

"One time," Dean said, "Sammy and me, we rode this little train at some zoo, I don't know, somewhere in Missouri maybe, way back, he was probably six? So I was ten. Took us through a haunted house. You know me, I loved it, stuff dangling from the ceiling and cackling, buncha animatronic nonsense, ghosts, vampires, Frankenstein, skeletons. The train exits and I look over, and Sam's hair was literally standing on end. Like he'd been electrocuted." Dean bit his lip and smiled, completely incapable of looking away from Cas. 

Cas didn't smile per se; his eyes did a little. "I presume there's a point to the story."

Dean lifted a trembling hand – trembling because he was cold, not for any other reason – and rubbed it over Cas's damp hair, a few passes until the soft strands were mostly all going in one direction. He didn't break eye contact.

"Ah," Cas said, sheepishly.

Best friend, Dean thought, oh, I'm in love with my best friend. …I should probably stop charging him rent.

At the house, Cas scurried around turning on Dean's shower, set to lobster boil, and finding Dean dry pjs. Dean peeled himself out of his disgusting clothes; taking off his socks, he had an unsettling sensation of sloughing off a skin as though he'd been dunked in acid, or like he was a beached creature shifting into a new body, chunks of viscera left behind on the bedroom floor.

Cas cleared his throat and scuttled out of the room, steam wafting out of the bathroom in his wake. Dean looked down and realized he was, as they say, full frontal. Well. What was a little casual nudity amongst acquaintances.

The shower tile surround made a satisfying clonk as he tapped his forehead against it and let the leafless, unmuddied, free from frogs and fish tap water scour him clean. The water pressure wavered near the end, no doubt from Cas on his side of the house.

When he was dried and in pajamas, he padded out to the living room. Cas was there, clean and mostly dry from his own bath, looking anxious. Dean plopped down on the couch. He missed Cas's lap by a few inches, sound of mind enough to have steered himself to the cushion beside him. 

"Your color's much better." Cas glanced at him and away. "We really should've gone to the ER." 

Dean tapped Cas's knee. "Look." He tapped again, and Cas turned his head toward him with such a sour expression it forced a laugh out of Dean. He pulled down the v of his t-shirt. "Check it. You left a mark on my sternum."

Cas's face fell to horrified at the sight of the pale bruise Dean knew was there, having admired it in the steamy bathroom mirror. "I'm so sorry–"

Dean grabbed his hand and squeezed him quiet. "You saved my life, Cas." He didn't mean for his voice to be so rough, so full of tears that were instantly there at the back of his throat. "Thank you." He looked up at the ceiling – which he badly needed to divest of spiderwebs, except it was October and in what other month would spider bunting be appropriate – until he was sure his burning eyes wouldn't spill over. "How did you even–"

"I was taking a walk along the lakeshore and saw you fall in." Cas gripped Dean's hand. "I'd been about to yell hello when you stood up and didn't even have a chance to. You didn't surface." There were tears brimming in his eyes too.

Dean cupped Cas's jaw with one hand. A warm tear slipped into his palm as Cas closed his eyes. Dean placed a soft kiss on his cheekbone, near his eye, and tasted salt. He leaned closer.

Cas blinked, shook his head miserably. "You don't– Just because I–" He swallowed.

"Can I kiss you just because I want to?" Dean whispered, as close as he dared. "Because I've wanted to for much longer than right now." He didn't mean to sound sad about it; he'd barely even meant to be honest. Almost dying really walloped a guy's ability to self regulate.

Cas searched his face. In a moment, he nodded. But he didn't wait. He kissed first, softly, softly, a brushing of lips against Dean's that Dean chased, be careful, don't push, and that worked for a few seconds, a few back and forths. And then: Cas made a small, desirous sound, pressed forward, all heat and breath, and Dean, desperate to hear him twice, infinitely, reeled him in.

Another successful day of fishing.

#suptober22 #deancas #destiel #spn #suptober #fic #snippetfic

[security-chief-odo]

What Was and What Should Be

Dean Winchester X Castiel

• • •

Description: Post 15x18 - Dean can't escape the presence of Castiel's absence. Not to worry, this isn't depressing just a bit angsty. Dean’s POV.

AKA I project onto Dean to deal with my own feelings about death and loss

• • •

Cas is gone. That’s the only way I can speak of him in the present tense.

He was beautiful. He was kind. He was the best man Dean had ever known. And now he only was. He will never just simply be again.

The hardest part of someone being gone though is that you still see them everywhere. Not in reality, not some kind of hallucination or vision but something far more painful and far less tangible.

They still exist in every memory and even as you make new memories, their absence feels more present than you could have been in that moment.

I still see Cas. Not every day like it was at first, but still his absence often feels more present than my own presence.

I see him in the little head tilt Jack does that reveals a curiosity I couldn’t even imagine. I often wonder if he learned that from Cas or if it is some kind of painful coincidence, like one last cruel joke from Chuck.

I see him in the fluffy tousled hair of a stranger. I can’t help wondering if that stranger's hair would feel the same as his once did. I can almost feel the way his hair moved as I ran my fingers through it.

I will never quite feel that again.

I see him in old flip phones, his old one is merely a relic now.

I see him in songs I used to love, but can barely listen to now.

I see him all over that damn bunker.

Hell, I see him in the trees on the road. The sapling apple trees seem so pure and will grow to be nearly as beautiful as he once was. The damn walnut tree I see every time I return home down Route 36 with its gnarled and twisted trunk shaded by its vivid green leaves. He deserved more shade from this world. I wish I hadn’t let him become twisted by this life, or by me.

I see him in the mirror every time I smile. I’ve always smiled, but he changed it. There was a softness to it that had never been there before and there’s a sorrow to it now that will never quite fade.

I see him at the bottom of every beer bottle. I remember when he would drink by my side. He wasn’t drinking to forget like Sam and I had learned to do over the years. He was drinking to create new memories. Ones with us. Ones with me.

I see him in every burger. One bite and I can't escape the vision of him scarfing them down next to me in the car.

That damn car. Baby holds every memory that haunts me. The good, the bad and the ugly.

When I look at her now, I still see her holding him. I see every fight, every several days long road trip, every victory and every loss. I see us. Nothing felt quite as right as him sitting in the back seat, watching over me. I was only checking behind me for cars, not the monsters of my past.

I see him now every time I turn my head because my world doesn’t feel as safe as it did before.

I see him on every hunt. I didn’t get the closure of watching him lose the life in his eyes. There was no body left to burn. Each monster I kill, every hunter who I see die just reminds me of what was missing. Cas left behind nothing but his absence for me to carry.

I see him after each hunt too. I see him as I wash the blood out of my clothes. I could never get his blood out of that old jacket as I desperately tried to erase his death. I could never bring myself to throw that jacket out either though. Sometimes Sam tries to help me out and will hang it up with the rest of my clothes. It never stays up for long.

I see him in the late n ights, curled up on my bed, in the bunker or on the road. I hold onto that jacket as I cry. I hold it tighter to get to sleep knowing I don’t have my angel to watch over me. He will never hold me again.

I see him in Sam’s knowing eyes. There’s a softness there that almost feels like pity to me. It eats me up inside when he feels like he has to take care of me. He’s supposed to be the little brother. It’s my job to protect him from this kind of pain.

I see him in Sioux Falls. I hate that he didn’t get to know Claire for the woman she’s become. She deserved a father and he deserved that apple pie life. I see the eyes that I know she got from Jimmy, but to me will always belong to Cas. I know he would be so proud of her if only he had forgiven himself before he was taken from us.

I see him in the woods. This feels more like Purgatory than those woods ever could, knowing i may never see him, but knowing i will never stop seeing him.

Screw that. I don’t know when or how, but I know where I will see him again. We will be together in heaven. It’s where Cas belongs, deals be damned. He was an angel. He was my angel. He will be in heaven or heaven simply cannot be. He was my family, my everything, and I never got the chance to tell him.

Each time that I feel his hair in my hands and his head on my chest, I know that I will hold him again. Each time I hear it ringing in my ears, I know that I will hear him say “I love you” again with a look so soft it could break my heart all over again.

I see him everywhere that he was and I know I will see him again one day, and not as a was , but as an is

• • •

Sorry if this one hurts. Let me know if you’d like to be added to either my general taglist or the one for this pairing!

#destiel #destiel fanfic #dean x castiel #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #deancas #dealing with grief #spn 15x18

[bunk12bear]

Supernatural!xStranger Things crossover idea

Hey first of all since this is my idea it would feature destiel and steddie and obviously this which features some pretty heavy Cannon changes for both franchises. I'm probably not going to write this because I don't remember enough about supernatural but if by chance somebody does want to write this I would be very honored and just asked to be credited for the idea

Eddie survives the upside down goes on to graduate and deals with upside down nonsense for a little bit before it seems like they beat it for good. He and Steve get together at some point and Coroded coffin go on to become decently well known.

Cut to 1992 and a 13-year-old Dean Winchester has once again been left alone by John so has gone out to steal food for him and Sam and comes across corroded coffins new album (with a picture of the band on the cover) and decides to steal it too( because he wants to explore music beyond what his dad likes definitely not because he thinks the lead guitarist / front man is hot) cute heavily repressed bisexual Awakening.

10 years later 2002 Sam has gone off to college and John is once again in a bout of blaming Dean for it. Eddie and Steve's relationship gets outed to the public and John makes some homophobic comments about it. Meanwhile, a still heavily repressed Dean is freaking the fuck out because the Rockstar he definitely doesn't have a crush on what are you talking about, is gay. Maybe this revelation leads to some...interesting dreams but Dean avoidd thinking about them because he likes girls he can't be gay. Then a couple weeks later Steve ends up giving an interview about his and Eddie's relationship in which he says hes bisexual and explains what that means. Dean has a brief moment of self realization until John shuts it down with some classic biphobic comment about bisexuality not being real and it's just people looking for attention or something and still fearing and wanting to please his dad Dean goes back to repressing his sexuality

10 years after that 2012 Sam dean and cas (forgive me if they weren't all traveling together in 2012 I haven't watched the show in several years) hear about weird goings-on in a little town called Hawkins Indiana and decide to go out there to investigate. The weird goings-on are of course something to do with the upside down to the party convenes on Hawkins to deal with it. Sam and Dean find out about the upside down and the two groups bump into each other. After a moment of then there's nothing to worry about here innocent civilianing each other they team up to fight whatever is terrorizing Hawkins. Dean is mentally freaking out the whole time because his Crush Idol is also a monster hunter and watching him fight off interdimensional monsters with a makeshift Spear and a nail Shield is extremely hot badass. Maybe after one fight Dean walks in on Steven and Eddie patching each other's wounds tenderly and maybe even sharing a couple of kisses and tries very hard not to think about how much he wants that with Cas. In moments where they don't have fighting to distract them Dean definitely puts on his like Macho Man front to hide the fact that he still finds Eddie extremely attractive and of course Eddie's been in the public eye long enough to know what it's like when a man who's pretending to be straight as a crush on him so he sees right through the act. Something happens maybe Eddie's "protect lost Lambs" instinct kicks in and ends up sitting Dean down for a "you're allowed to like men it's okay being bisexual" talk. Dean comes to terms with his sexuality and gets together with Cass a full 7 years before he does it in Canon and they have the closest thing to a happily ever after that you can in Supernatural

bonus

Charlie( if they've met her and she's alive again don't remember much about the timeline anymore); are you kidding me Dean I've been trying for ages to get you into Dungeons & Dragons and you kept calling it a stupid pretend game for children but your celebrity crush asked you about it once and now it's the coolest thing ever?

Dean frantically looking through the small amount of clothes he has for things that he thinks Eddie would find cool.

Sam makes some crack about him being like a middle school girl who thinks that she can make her favorite boy band member fall in love with her at the concert.

Dean God I can't believe I'm on a hunt with Eddie Munson God he's so cool

Eddie in the distance being the weird nerd that he is

Sam yeah that's not the word I would choose to describe him but okay

#supernatural #stranger things #destiel #bi dean #bisexual dean winchester #Dean Winchester's bisexual Awakening #Supernatural AU #stranger things au #crosover #Supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #steve harrington #dean x castiel #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson

[heliianth]

hi Helii i dunno if you already made a post about this, but I'm curious if u thought of a different plot and ending for httyd 3 cause recently i've been thinking about that a lot and i like to hear people's opinions about the movie!

hi nonnie !! ive made 2 posts abt my opinion of httyd3 (ein) (zwei) but since then ive read things like directors commentaries and excerpts from the art book so theyre not Very complete (but still representative—i just give some of the people who worked on it too much leeway LMAO)

honestly i havent thought of a different plot or ending that much, mainly because there are a Lot of things that bug me about the movie and changing all of them would kinda make the fixed version™ almost unrecognizable, but i can give u some quickfire easy decisions i think wouldve made the movie better

replace the Light Fury with a pack of Night Furies that escaped to THW. i dont understand the fascination with making Toothless the last NF because the "propogation of the species" genetically cant happen if he is, despite what Dreamworks REALLY wants u to believe by having Nightlights be a thing 1300 years later. every single NL u see after the 3rd movie is horrifically inbred !!

scrap New Berk. the "Old Berk" location was so important to its people that they defended it from dragons for 400 years, they wouldn't just pick up and move. also, the overcrowding problem is a non-issue because there's so much room on that island to expand onto and Hiccup is not that much of a dumbass*

show Toothless struggling with leaving Hiccup to chase the LF (or NFs)—maybe he tries to drag him along and theres something that forces them to separate for Hiccup's safety

in that vein ^ there are like 3 total scenes where Hiccup and Toothless are together and that really cheapens the emotional followthrough so... have them be friends again. the 2nd movie, the first time we see them goofing off and chatting alone with each other, showing the audience how strong their bond is and what their dynamic is like. i dont remember if the 3rd movie has Anything like that

speaking of which LOSE THE "dragons are wild animals" POINT. this is a major inspiration for the movie so its one of the things that would change the Whole Story but Dean needs to make up his fucking mind over whether the dragons are gentle, intelligent, sapient creatures who know how to perfectly understand human speech and body language or wild, dangerous animals who need to be "free" from humans (the former is how dragons have been treated by every piece of httyd media until the third movie and the latter contradicts everything, is less interesting, and destroys the previous themes entirely so guess which i prefer)

adding on, stop treating Hiccup like garbage. he didn't find Toothless when he was a baby dragon and nursed him back to health before keeping him and thats all Toothless has ever known. Toothless had spent 15 years prior to befriending Hiccup being a dangerous. wild dragon and blowing up Berk. He's been "free" almost twice as long as he's been friends with Hiccup. LAY OFF, his concerns about Toothless are valid.

i've talked about this before but Hiccup is a terrible chief in this movie and the role shouldve gone to someone better qualified, like Astrid. unlike what some of the directors would have u believe, it IS mature to recognize ur bad at something and hand it off to someone who is more competent (especially if its a job like leadership) bc usually sticking to it gets u Fired. *he makes dumbass decisions so the villain can look smart and this is literally the only reason why he makes them i promise u

same point: Toothless is also a bad alpha in this movie. the premise of a single dragon ruling over all other dragons in the world is Really Bad in of itself, but we don't see Toothless do anything like what Valka's Bewilderbeast did in httyd2—sure he's smaller, but give us a few scenes of him being kind and patient with his people. don't have him order everyone into cages because his girlfriend might get hurt

REDEEM THE DEATHGRIPPERS none of them did anything wrong

treat the side characters with some modicum of respect. this movie does absolutely jackshit with Valka other than make Snotlout have a creepy crush on her and everyone has caught brainworms to make Hiccup and Astrid look competent in comparison.

do not. focus on Hiccup and Astrid's relationship as much as u did. u already failed to deliver a "call to the wild" story in Toothless and the LF, the audience does not need more ammo to get "romance is more important than friendship" out of your movie. having Astrid's role completely reduced to "supportive girlfriend" and "Hiccup's True support", along with how Valka was treated (god that goodbye scene with her and Cloudjumper makes me so sad and angry and NOT for the reasons the writers want) and the LF's design being Like That on PURPOSE (also every single model being airbrushed for Prettyness reasons) kind of shows what Some People making the movie think of women

even discounting ALL of these ^ gripes, of which i have More, trust me (i didnt even get into my problems with Grimmel because honestly i do not remember enough of that twat to properly articulate my issues w him), i would be happy if the end went 1 of 2 ways:

Berk moves inside or near THW in order to keep being the defenders of the dragons, and the LF growing closer to Hiccup is representative of the hidden world dragons growing closer to Berk, illustrating that yes, coexistence is possible and good and benefits them both

the dragons gradually leave on a case-by-case basis, but Toothless never leaves Hiccup, and Hiccup grows old always waiting for him to visit. Hiccup writes a memoir of his experiences with dragons to hopefully educate the younger generation when they decide to come back. this mirrors the books' ending far better and gives the dragons the agency they deserve

i do not think there is a world where every dragon on earth leaves to THW and is simultaneously a good ending which portrays the right themes. Dean's fascination with "there were dragons when i was a boy" kneecapped the entire plot. you do not write stories starting from how you want them to end, especially if they're stories based off a beloved franchise with already established dynamics and themes. the Reason why so many plot elements are so contrived, why so much character development is lost, why httyd's theme of tolerance, cooperation, and the power of love is hamstrung, is because they Really Wanted an end where there are no dragons and they were Completely willing to do anything to get there (also Dreamworks is shit to its artists but whats new)

anyway. NONNIE. if u ever end up thinking More about an alternative version of httyd3 tell me!!!! i'd love to hear YOUR ideas and if u cannot tell talking abt this is so fun and engaging for me so i will listen !!!!! i love u for talking to me have a good day <3 <3 <3 <3

#i just woke up AHJgdg hi!!!!! #long post #i really only have so many issues with thw bc the other 2 movies are so good. i REALLY love all of the httyd media preceding thw #like they set such high standards #so in comparison thw is such a . let down. like the animation is pretty good and the lighting is gorgeous but its got no substance #nothing to indicate they put as much time and care into it as the other movies or even tv shows #thus. my now 3 essays talking abt why i dont like it #LMFAO #httyd

[pherryt]

I was tagged by @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

Rules: Pick five fragments from your unfinished WIPs and then tag five people to keep it going. Let’s have fun with it and help each other shape those fragments into published fics!

I had a hard time picking spots that I could TRY to keep short... I also have far more then 5 open wips right now. oops?

Witcher/One Piece

“These mountains are infested with them,” Eskel admitted. “The weather isn’t the only reason to get inside.”

“And you willingly live here?” Chopper asked, aghast, even as he got moving. Behind him, he could hear Sanji grumbling at Zoro not to get lost through chattering teeth.

“It discourages visitors,” Eskel grunted. There was more that he could say but… he was tired, and in pain.

Something howled and Chopper said dubiously, “I guess…”

Witcher/Sharing Knife

(Note, Fawn is talking to Jaskier here. The rest of the scene established that but this is out of context)

“You ever see Lakewalker groundwork before?” she asked, trying not to wince at the foul smells emanating from Geralt and the armor they were removing. Perhaps it was the smell of whatever it was that he had killed? Or perhaps it was the poison? Though she supposed it could be both. That or he hadn’t had a bath in a long time. She wrinkled her nose. That was an unpleasant thought.

“While I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Fawn, and wish it were under better circumstances, I – and I can’t believe I’m saying this, Geralt would never let me live it down if he heard me – hardly think this is the time for idle chit chat.”

Fawn blinked in astonishment, uncertain how to take that. One of her tasks as Dag’s assistant was to ease the minds of the farmers, who were afraid of Lakewalker magic, and explain what all Dag was up to while he did it.

Lost Boys (One Piece/Ranma 1/2)

(basically Zoro and Ryoga getting so lost they pass through other fandoms)

“C’mon, let’s catch up with Sam and Frodo,” Zoro said. Ryoga gave him a narrow look. “What, did you want to make friends with the orcs? They look like they’d try to eat you first. Or did you just want to wander around aimlessly for a while?”

Ryoga huffed, then jumped on Zoro’s shoulders again. Looking around quickly, Zoro tried to remember which way the other two had gone.

“Uh, this way, right?” He pointed to the left of the mountain. Ryoga bit his right ear and Zoro pointed in that direction instead. “That way?”

Ryoga nodded.

“Right.” Then went straight towards the mountain instead.

Incubus Jaskier

Vesemir hadn’t expected the bard to look so defeated, so… fucking resigned, his shoulders slumping once more.

“So, a Witcher,” he sighed. “Suppose it was inevitable. Here to kill me?”

Vesemir shook his head and stepped closer to the wary - and now confused - bard.

“You’re… not here to kill me?”

“And why should I?” Vesemir asked.

The man laughed, but it wasn’t musical the way it had been during his show. It was flat and short and pained. He raked his hands through his chin length hair.

“Uh, because I'm a monster and that’s what Witchers do?”

Supernatural/Old Guard

Cas sighed. “We are not your enemy.”

Yusuf spat at the ground. “You live in the halls of the people who captured me and my family, for no other reason than that we were different. They separated us and tortured us when they could not kill us. You think me an idiot?”

“Whoa…” Dean blinked at the man. “You’re saying the Men of Letters did this to you? You were a prisoner?”

“That is what they called themselves,” Yusuf conceded. His eyes narrowed at Dean, calculating. They shifted back to Cas, then behind them, towards the exit. “Are you not of the same?”

“Eh… we acquired the title… and the bunker,” Dean waved a hand around at the place he was daring to call home.

@xianvar @unforth @hopelessly-me @li-izumi @shatteredhourglass @treefrogie84 - no obligations to play but if you’d like to :D

#wips #writing #supernatural #witcher #old guard #one piece #sharing knife #ranma 1/2

[girlsvmonsters]

Living in a Haze (Explicit)

Supernatural x Lucifer cross-over

Omega Dean/Alpha Cas

—

Episode 1: Hell is no pie (4K words)

Zombie brains have a very peculiar texture that is an absolute nightmare to clean. They also smell like something that has died, reanimated, baked in the sun, and then died again. But of course, that makes perfect sense in a world that lost all sense long ago. Dean is absolutely covered in the stuff, and with the realization that he is wearing his favorite Led Zeppelin shirt, he curses loudly like a crass old man, kicking the zombie on the ground.

It was a failed experiment; only half of the thing's head had blown off. Explosives are so unreliable, but Dean knows this from the hundreds of other attempts he's tried over the years. He just couldn't seem to help himself when he came across the pack of fireworks deep down in the bowels of the bunker.

"Dude," a ghost that looks like his deceased brother says as he joins him to look down at the corpse. "I could have told you that was going to happen.”

Dean doesn't bother to reply; he merely huffs and starts his march back to the bunker.

The thing about being a ghost is that you can just appear wherever you want. Dead Sam is already waiting when Dean approaches the standalone, art-deco styled building, aka the bunker. Dean can tell that his very dead brother is about to make another pointed remark about his obvious failure, but he doesn't give him the chance as he walks right through him to unlatch the steel door. "Hey!”

All Dean can think about is ripping off all of his clothes, dousing them in gasoline, and setting them on fire. Afterward, he mentally tells himself he will take a nice, long bath while eating some cherry pie.

Dean is poorly singing "Highway to Hell" as he dances his way to the kitchen with pie on his mind. "I'm on the highway to hell!" Dean bellows, opening the door to the oldest fridge known to mankind as he gyrates his hips with abandon.

But what greets Dean as the door opens nearly kills him on the spot. And all he knows is that the end is here, the world has truly ended. There is no pie. The pie is gone. It is all gone. He ate it all and forgot. Dean gasps and grabs his heart, falling to his knees in front of the open fridge.

"Noooooo!”

How can this be happening? Is there anything worth living for? And all the other existential questions that pertain to life without pie are running through Dean's tormented mind.

The ghost of a slain Sam appears above Dean, who is now curled up in a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. "You know, I don't recall you being this sad when I died?”

Dean raises his gaze to dead Sam with a maddening look of rage. "How dare you!" Dean growls and points to the ghost from his place on the floor. "You know pie is my only love left in this world. And why should I be sad for you, huh? You were the dumbass who decided that he wanted to save the world." Dean mocks as he juts his jaw out and moves it back and forth. "Na na na. It's my duty to rid humanity of this hell on earth. I'll save them all!”

"You were a fucking idiot, Sam."

Dead Sam disappears with a puff. Dean yells at the spot where he used to be before kicking the fridge shut.

"Motherfucker!"

Dean couldn't remember the last time he didn't have pie. Stock piling the best dessert on earth has been his only purpose since the apocalypse. Raiding every diner across the states, gathering pies of every kind. Dean tries to remember the last time he went pie hunting, and then he remembers his heat.

It was his only rule, his only directive for himself in this undead world: lock the fridge and hide the key before going into heat, or else it would become a pie binge time.

As an omega living in the end times, your heat could spell death as you seek anything with a dick to fuck. But for Dean, it spells eat all the goddamn pie, apparently. Then dying because you have no goddamn pie. Well now that he has no pie to satisfy he needs, if he goes into heat, he might just try to fuck a zombie.

It's a good thing Dean is too stubborn to die fucking a zombie. He psychs himself up, pumping the air with his fists and then claps his hands together. "It's pie hunt'n time!"

Dean doesn't bother to change. Zombie brains will mask his delicious scent. Grabbing the keys to his Chevy Impala and his favorite shotgun, he hits the road.

A classic guitar riff fills the air as "Back in Black" plays on the radio. Dean drives like a bat out of hell; he has to, or else he risks the fiends hidden in the shadows jumping out to force him off the road. Dean has the pedal to the floor as he speeds towards the highway that will take him to Chicago.

Chicago is the one place left on earth where there is some semblance of the old way of life. When the metaphysical gates of Hell opened, the devils took up residence in the Windy City, grabbing humans to serve them like the great pharaohs of Egypt. It seems like the ugly bastards from down under prefer their towers high, their pizza deep, and their suits snazzy. Dean even heard that the Prince of Hell took up residence there. It was a risk he had to take, and it was the most likely place he'd find the sweet, sacred staple of good ol' America.

Now you may ask why Dean would go through all this trouble. You shouldn't ask first off, it's not like Dean can fucking bake a pie. Well, he could, if he knew how to apply himself and follow directions to a simple recipe. But Dean didn't finish high school, and following directions is what got Sam butchered. Besides, it’s way more fun to hunt the pie, banish some devils, and blow off the heads of the fucking undead.

Also, Dean is a bit crazy, if you must know. He hasn't been quite the same since Sam separated his spirit from his body. It's also devastating when an omega suddenly loses their alpha and witnesses their violent and unnecessary death. So yeah, Dean lost his brother and his alpha, who died a hero because some fucking prophecy told him he had to spill his guts for all of humanity. A lot of good that did.

It's not something you can just get over. The best way Dean knows how to distract himself from the black hole consuming his heart is to fight and fill it with his favorite delight: pie. Oh, that sweet pie.

Driving across the wasteland that was once the great country of America, Dean shoots the heads off various undead with one hand on the wheel. At one point, he even gets surprised by a pack of hellhounds as he takes a piss on the side of the road. Those fuckers are impossible to kill, so he does a mad scramble back to his car, not bothering to open the door as he jumps in through the window. Dean and his sweet ride, Baby, both escape without a scratch.

Chicago emerges in the distance, and it is a sight for sore eyes to the pie-hungry omega. When he gets close, he takes care to park Baby where no one or anything can find her. The city is incredibly easy to infiltrate. In fact, it might be way too easy, but what do devils have to fear in this world? Dean can actually think of a few things, like Leviathans and nosy witches. He shivers at the thought as he walks down the street, sliding into the crowd of enslaved humanity.

There are a few Knights of Hell lurking about, but not even Lucifer's demons can keep Dean from his task. Dean searches the crowd, looking for a specific type of woman—one with a distinctly round figure, gray hair, and the leathery skin of old age. The kind of woman who memorizes recipes passed down through generations. Dean nearly squeals with childlike delight when he spots one.

She is sitting peacefully on a park bench that overlooks the bare, skeletal trees that line the boulevard. Dean glances around and palms the holy water in his jacket pocket, shifting his ankle to feel the blade in his boot. He sits down next to the elderly woman, but she doesn't pay him any attention. Dean narrows his eyes and leans over to sniff her, the air is free of sulfur.

He clears his throat and turns to the old bag, "Ahem, ma'am. Excuse me, but may I ask you a question?" She blinks and then turns in a creepy way to give Dean a kindly smile. There is a dazed look in her eyes when she takes in Dean's face.

"Oh, aren't you a cute one? They must love you." At the odd compliment, Dean gives her a shy smile, looking down as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"They sure do. So, um, hey, do you know where I can get some pie?" Dean peers back at the wrinkled grandmother, filled with bubbling excitement at the anticipation of her answer. She blinks at Dean, clearing the daze from her eyes to survey him more closely. An even wider smile stretches across her face and a twinkle appears in her blue eyes.

"You're looking for pie?" The ancient matron asks, tilting her head. "There's always something baking at the Willis Tower. I hear the King of Hell loves his sweets." Suddenly, Dean feels like she's looking right through him. "Oh, does he love them sweet.”

"Ah, that's good news!" Dean beams, celebrating internally at himself for nailing it on the first try. "Where can I find the Willis Tower?”

The weathered woman remains focused on him as she lifts her arm straight to point at a building in the distance. A hopeful Dean turns to where she points. It is a tall, black building that rises well above the rest. "Oh, that tower, the Sears Tower.”

"It's called The Seat now," she says darkly, "the Seat of Power.”

A grimace spreads across Dean's face as he stares at the menacing building that screams "evil headquarters." He notes the huge winged beasts flying around the top of it. The Seat of Power is the last place he wants to go.

"Would there be a chance you'd know of another place where I can get some pie?" Dean asks the gray-haired crone as he watches what looks like a human figure being thrown off the side of the building. They don't fall long before getting scooped up by the winged-beasts and ripped apart in mid-air.

"Nope."

"Well, okay. Thanks!" Dean gets up, straightens his jacket, and heads off towards the scariest place on earth.

The old hag watches him go, her eyes are pools of black, and she shows her pointed teeth with a wide, devilish grin.

The walk to the ominous black tower is quite pleasant. Dean is nearly skipping at the thought of the kinds of pies he might find. Devils tend to have good taste, so there is likely a wide variety. He is nearly drooling as he strolls along the street, the looming building getting closer as everything grows darker.

There is a smart way to enter a place such as the Seat of Power, and then there is the questionable way. Dean just walks right in with all the confidence in the world, and goes right up to the reception desk. A pretty young woman with neatly styled hair looks up and gives Dean a friendly greeting. Dean is distracted by her very red lips; they complement her pale skin and blonde hair. She is beyond perfect.

"Hiya, I was told to come here to ask about a job, or something like that. Would you be able to help me?" Dean gives her his best smile, the kind of smile that makes all genders and dynamics weak in the knees. The woman loses her composure as she melts at Dean. "Oh, of course. That was fast. We just had an opening for an executive assistant."

"That's it, that's the one," Dean jumps at her suggestion, flashing his dazzling smile again.

The receptionist swoons, but quickly composes herself again with a cough. "Just one minute, I'll let them know that you are here. What's your name?"

"Ted Nugent," Dean states without an ounce of hesitation. The receptionist nods and makes a call. She speaks quickly in a hushed voice and then confirms his fake name. "Got it, I'll send him right up.”

When the receptionist hangs up the phone, she grabs a badge and writes his fake name on it. Handing him the badge, she gives him strict instructions: "You are to go straight back to the elevators, the furthest ones across the back wall. They'll take you directly up to floor one hundred. Someone will greet you at the elevator.”

"Perfect. Oh, say, when I'm done my interview. Is there a place where I could like grab a slice of pie?" Dean asks simply, pinning on his badge.

"Yes, there is. The cafeteria is on the tenth floor. They have the best pie," she says with an honest smile. "Especially the apple pie. It's my favorite.”

"Mine too! Thank you—" Dean leans over to read her badge, "Bethany.”

"You're welcome, Ted. Good luck on your interview. You're definitely his type, so I think you'll get it," she winks at Dean, and he gives her a nod before sauntering off towards the elevators.

Dean is buzzing with excitement as he makes a beeline straight for the elevators that will take him to the tenth floor. Of course, they're not the ones the receptionist directed him to.

He tries to control his jubilant laughter of sweet success as he steps inside the car. After the elevator doors close, he silently screams as he runs in place before breaking out into a sultry disco dance, swirling his hips like a professional. When the elevator dings and opens on the tenth floor, Dean quickly finds a placard that depicts the floor layout, and like an X on a treasure map, he locates the cafeteria.

He tries not to run, he really does, but he's not quite walking either, and he nearly bounds into the cafeteria. It's completely empty except for a janitor emptying the trash can. Dean goes right for the dessert bar, and his face lights up brighter than a kid on Christmas morning. Dean can honestly say he's found heaven on this hellish earth.

Pies of all kinds—blueberry, rhubarb, and even peach cobbler (which he hasn't had since before the gates of hell opened)—sparkle from where they sit, almost completely untouched and whole, with only a slice of apple missing. Dean rubs his hands together, trying to decide which one he'll go for first.

"I recommend the pecan," a deep and alluring voice with a British accent says from behind. Dean freezes and then turns to look over his shoulder. A tall, dark, and very handsome man stands calmly behind him, hands in the pockets of the most perfectly tailored suit Dean has ever seen. The man looks expensive and important.

Dean returns to contemplate the many pies before him and locates the pecan one. Turning back to the beautiful man, he points at it and asks, "This one?”

The man raises a thick dark eyebrow and then nods. When Dean goes to cut himself a slice, the man drags his gaze over the hunter’s very pleasing form, lingering on his delectably plump glutes. The man looks at Dean the way Dean looks at pie, with very hungry eyes.

Dean nabs a slice of the pecan, then a slice of cobbler, and for good measure a piece of the apple. His plate is stacked with pie as he moves to grab a napkin and fork, sitting down at a nearby table. Dean isn't even fully seated before his fork is digging into the sticky, sugary pecans. The man joins him, sitting across from the ravenous, pie-eating hunter. He watches Dean gorge himself on way too much sugar. Leaning back, he steeples his fingers together to study the strange and beautiful human.

"You should slow down. If you eat too fast, you'll get a stomach ache," the alluring man tells him matter-of-factly. Dean's fork stops midway to his mouth, and he takes note of the man sitting before him. An annoyed expression crosses Dean's face, and he drops his fork onto the plate, sitting up with a vexed sigh. Dean peers around at the empty tables nearby and then shifts his eyes back to the man. "Look, buddy, I might have taken your request, and boy was it a damn good one, but that doesn't mean you can just invite yourself to sit with me.”

Dean didn't know how the man could get any more handsome, but when he smiles at Dean, it's like the sun has just risen and all the birds are singing. Dean has to shake his head to pull himself out the the trance-inducing beauty the man exudes. There is a very unpleasant feeling settling into his pie-filled gut when he brings his attention back to the man.

"Ted, is it?" The man asks with a slight tilt of his head. He separates his hands and uncrosses his legs to lean forward and rest his forearms on the table. The man also glances around the room, much like Dean did, and then brings his devilishly good-looking face back to Dean. He bares his fangs, which are the fangs of an alpha, and the sight of them makes Dean gulp. "All of these tables belong to me, all of these chairs, that plate, and fork.”

The sinfully gorgeous man smiles even wider. "It all belongs to me, right down to the pie you've been devouring so gluttonously."

"Fuck" and a bunch of other bad words cross Dean's mind as he focuses more deeply on the man in front of him. His blood floods with adrenaline and fear. At Dean's distress, the man scents the air visibly, closing his eyes to smell his sickly sweet scent. "Hmm, omega, you smell absolutely divine.”

Dean regains his composure and responds with sarcasm to the taunt. "Well, I didn't think my day could get any better. I was just looking for a nice slice of pie, but hey, I also get to meet the Prince of Hell himself." Dean smiles sweetly and picks up his fork again. If he was going to die, he might as well finish his pie. You never let pie go to waste.

Lucifer chuckles at Dean's disregard for him. "Oh, I like you. Tell me, what's your real name?”

Dean doesn't bother lying. "Dean Winchester.”

Lucifer's eyes widen at his surname. Dean always did love a good name drop. There isn't a devil that doesn't know it.

"Dean Winchester," Lucifer repeats, rolling his name between his sharp teeth. "Sam's brother.”

"Mmm, hmm," Dean hums between bites of apple pie.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Lucifer wave over some Knights. They are frightening to behold: ghastly beasts in heavy armor, tall and lean. Dean is in deep shit now. He takes his last bite of pie and leans down to his boot to slip out the Demon-killing blade. It's his best-kept secret, one touch of this motherfucker to any part of a devil and poof, demon dust.

Dean knows it won't work on Lucifer. He's not a demon, after all. No, he's the original Fallen Angel. But at least he can take a few devils out before he's torn to pieces. He's ready to meet his end; there's no better way to go than after a slice of pie.

Standing, Dean faces the Knights, and before they can pull their blades, he is on the nearest one, quickly slicing it with the Demon-killing blade. In an instant, the creature screams in agony and then combusts. Dean is already onto the next one, knife ready. But just before the blade can reach the Knight, a strong, clawed hand captures his forearm. He looks up into Lucifer's radiant red eyes.

Lucifer's grip is like a vice that squeezes Dean like a lemon. He feels his bones about to snap when he decides he’d rather let go of the knife. It falls to the tiled floor with an expected clatter. Lucifer's smile is all teeth as he steps smoothly behind him and twists Dean's arm backwards. One arm is now pinned behind his back while the other is free. His free hand is gripping the vial of holy water in his jacket pocket.

Dean is about to throw the water in the Lord of Darkness' face when Lucifer pulls him close. "I'm going to enjoy fucking you, my sweet omega hunter.”

Dean snarls at the possessive pronoun. "I sure do love a good fuck, too bad I'm not into dirtbag fallen angels.”

A clawed hand grabs Dean by the neck. Sharp nails digging into his very sensitive flesh. He is pulled back into the body behind him. Lucifer is a tall bastard, he makes Dean feel small in comparison. "But I sure do love fucking a smart mouth. Tell me Dean, do you swallow?"

Dean can't help but snicker at the question, "Every fucking time.”

A very long and snake-like tongue licks across his neck, directly over the sensitive scent gland. It makes Dean's knees shake and his dick harden at the sensation. He can't remember the last time he had a good fuck. Dean is almost tempted to let the Devil have him, but that just wouldn't do. He has to stand by his morals. After all, devils were the ones responsible for taking his brother from him. Slipping the holy water out of his pocket, Dean moves his arm to his side.

"We're going to have so much fun together, Dean," Lucifer breathes into his ear, making him shiver. Then, he twirls Dean around like a dance partner, turning him to face him. Their chests are touching, and the Devil has an arm tightly wrapped around him while he continues to hold Dean. Dean tries to lean away, but Lucifer grips the back of his head and pulls him in for a kiss.

He doesn't let their lips touch; instead, he uncaps the vial and throws the holy water right into Lucifer's face, right into his gaping mouth, open and ready to devour Dean.

Lucifer reacts violently, pushing Dean from him as he attempts to wipe the burning liquid away. Dean is absolutely thrilled that it worked. Dropping quickly, he nabs his Demon-killing blade from the floor just as the Knight goes to pounce him. He faints to the side and drags the dull blade across the devil's arm. And just like the other one, it howls itself into a dust cloud.

Dean glances at Lucifer, who is screaming, his flesh burning off his face. He shrugs and then walks back over to the display of pies. He grabs the cherry one, then turns and walks out of the cafeteria. No one tries to stop him as he waves to Bethany, the receptionist, and leaves through the front door. He rips off his name tag and tosses it away. Dean uses the shadows to slip into the night with his most precious prize.

Little does Dean know, back at the Seat of Power on the tenth floor, Lucifer is sitting at the table they shared in the cafeteria. There is a deviously smitten expression across his blistered but still beautiful features. And in front of him sits a piece of apple pie. He takes a bite, savoring the sweet taste on his forked tongue.

It tastes just like the clever little omega hunter, Lucifer silently vows, will one day be his.

—

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Work completed - 27k words

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