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bellakitse · 3 years

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Greener on the Other Side

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, not believing what she’s just said. “Say that again, please.”

“I said he’s married,” she repeats herself softly, giving him a pitying look. “And he has a kid."

Alex hasn't heard anything about TK Strand in over four years. That's about to change.

Alex Fletcher walks into Gramercy Tavern twenty minutes later than he agreed to meet his friends. He already dreads what is sure to be a lecture on his constant tardiness from the group, but more so, what he knows will be pointed looks when they see he’s come alone instead of with his boyfriend.

Spotting them to the left of the restaurant, he starts to make his way over to them. “Sorry, sorry,” he starts to say with a charming smile as all five of them look up at his voice, hoping to curb the scolding before it starts. “The 6 train was an absolute mess. It got the 33rd street and then refused to go forward.”

Liz and Becca share a look at his excuse, and Alex has to keep from rolling his eyes at them. He gets it. Being late is one of his less desirable character traits, and they find it annoying, but after over a decade of friendship, he thinks they should get over it by now.

“Yeah, the trains have been acting up all week,” Malcolm offers while his wife Patricia gives him a small smile, the two of them ever the peacemakers of the group. “Sit down, man.”

Alex offers his friends a more sincere smile, shaking hands with him and his other buddy Chris before giving all three women kisses on the cheek.

“Where is Dean?” Patricia asks politely, and Alex winces at her mistake. It’s been a while since he and Dean ended things, but it’s also been a while since Patricia has joined her husband at one of their dinners.

“We broke up a few months ago,” he tells her, his face feeling tight from his fake smile. “I’m dating someone new now. His name is Wallace.”

“Oh,” Patricia says softly, going a little red in the face at her blunder. “My apologies, Alex.”

He waves her off, wanting to move on from the embarrassing moment quickly. “No worries, Patty,” he says to her. “And Wallace wanted to come, but he had to work,” he explains, trailing off lamely, not believing the lie himself, but it’s not like he can tell his friends that Wallace simply didn’t want to come because he thought it would be boring.

His friends all give him understanding, if not quite believing looks, and Alex wonders just how pathetic his expression is that they don’t push for more.

The mood around the table is awkward and quiet, making his skin feel tight. Thankfully their waiter comes over to take their drink order, easing the moment, giving him something else to focus on.

He starts to loosen up once there is a vodka soda in his hand. He listens to Liz as she talks about her latest architecture project, laughs at the funny story Chris tells them about his 1st-grade class painting the class bunny with washable markers. He’s enjoying their company, forgetting for a moment that his boyfriend should be there with him getting to know his friends when Becca’s eyes light up as Chris wraps up another story about his students.

“You guys will never believe who I saw yesterday walking out of FAO Schwarz,” she starts, her brown eyes lighting up with the chance to share some juicy gossip.

Alex leans in, already intrigued by the look on her face.

“Who?” Liz asks with a grin, curious herself.

“TK Strand,” Becca answers, saying the name with emphasis, and Alex gets why even as he feels shock go through him. It’s been over four years since he has seen or heard from TK. Not since the night he stopped him from proposing, confessing he was in love with someone else.

Mitchell, he thinks bitterly as he takes a large gulp of his drink. In the end, he’d turned out to be Alex’s own personal karma for hurting TK.

Walking in on him and another guy from their gym eight months into their official relationship had been a kick in the teeth and a hard lesson to learn.

He shakes his head to clear it from the lousy memory just in time to hear Becca’s following comment, shocking him more than her first. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, not believing what she’s just said. “Say that again, please.”

Becca looks at him, hesitating as she bites down on her lip, looking remorseful for a moment, probably remembering that out of all of them, he’d be the one with the most invested interest.

“I said he’s married,” she repeats herself softly, giving him a pitying look. “And he has a kid. They were coming out of the toy store when I bumped into them, and he introduced them to me. His husband’s name is Carlos, and their little boy is Luca. Really cute kid – was talking a mile a minute about all the toys in the place, and given all the bags they had, they must have bought him half the store.”

“Wow,” Chris breathes out, his surprise evident. “I can’t believe he’s married and with a kid. How old do you think?”

“Four,” Becca answers instantly. “I asked Luca, and he held up his fingers.”

Alex shakes his head again. It’s been four years since he and TK were together, and he has a four-year-old son. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he says mostly to himself.

“I get the feeling he’s adopted,” Becca answers. “Or maybe Carlos’ son,” she continues with a shrug. “But he called TK dad.”

“What was the husband like?” Liz questions, and Alex is grateful because he can’t bring himself to ask.

“He was polite and friendly,” Becca pauses, shooting him another look before continuing. “Ridiculously hot, and hopelessly in love with TK. I spent maybe ten minutes with them, and you guys should have seen the way he looked at him. It was like TK hung the moon.”

The table is quiet for a moment. For his benefit, he’s sure, as he tries to process everything he’s learned, when Liz speaks up again.

“Good for TK. He deserves that and more,” she says with a smile on her face that takes a hard edge when he shoots her a glare. “What?” she questions, her whole expression challenging him. “You didn’t take care of him when you guys were together, and he’s a great guy. I always liked him even though we lost touch after you broke up. I’m glad he’s found happiness.”

Alex bites down on the urge to lash out at his friend, not only is it a losing battle with Liz, but deep down in the parts of him where he has buried his guilt and shame at his past actions, he knows he can’t argue with the truth she just laid on him.

֎֎֎

The rest of the dinner is awkward to say the least. Even though they move on from TK, Alex can’t stop thinking about his ex and what he’s learned. He pulls Becca to the side as they’re leaving, grilling her for any more information she might have.

She finally tells him TK had mentioned they were staying with his mother and little brother – one of the few things he did know about TK and his family since Gwyneth and his father ran in the same legal circles. He’d learned about the woman’s surprise pregnancy almost three years ago.

Becca looks at him as he absorbs the information before letting out a heavy sigh, reminding him not to do anything stupid.

He’d given her an absent nod that even he didn’t believe. Which is probably why he’s outside of Gwyneth’s Park Avenue apartment in a hat and sunglasses like a stalker, hoping to catch a glimpse of his ex and his husband.

Whether luck is on his side or karma wants to teach him another lesson, he doesn’t have to wait long. He’s been outside of the swanky apartment building for maybe 15 minutes, trying to decide what exactly he thinks he’s doing, when the front door opens and out walks the person he wants to see.

He ducks behind a tree just in time to not be spotted, peeking behind it to look at the small family.

TK, at 26-years-old, had been a beautiful man; Alex remembers that well. But now, at 30, he’s even more stunning if that’s even possible. He walks out of the building with a tall, muscular man Alex instantly recognizes as the ‘ridiculously hot’ mystery husband. Each of them with a little boy in their arms.

“So what are we doing today?” he hears TK ask with a grin on his face as the little boys instantly start to chant, ‘Park, park, park!’

“I wanna see the penguins, Dada,” exclaims the little boy in the arms of TK’s husband. Carlos and Luca, he remembers.

TK smiles softly at his son before looking at the child in his own arms. “What about you, little brother? Do you want to go to the Central Park Zoo and see the penguins?” he asks, tickling his chin, getting a happy giggle along with a nod from the little boy.

TK’s grin grows before he looks over at his husband, getting a nod from the man too.

“It’s unanimous then,” TK proclaims in an animated voice that has the boys lighting up. “To the park! To the penguins!”

The pair of boys let out a ‘yeah!’ leaning over at each other to share a clumsy high-five that has the adults laughing.

“You just had to rile them up, troublemaker,” Carlos scolds TK, and he might be a stranger to Alex, but he can tell it’s said with amused fondness.

“You love me,” TK teases his husband, going easily when the man reaches out to tug him in closer by his shirt, turning his face up as his husband leans in to kiss him, tilting to the side to keep the boys out of the way.

Alex swallows hard at the display. Even from where he’s hiding, he can see TK’s bright smile and dancing green eyes once he and his husband break the kiss.

“Always, my love,” Carlos tells TK as he kisses the side of his face adoringly.

“Dada, Papa,” Luca groans out. “Kissing later, park now,” he continues, much to the amusement of the two men.

“So demanding,” TK teases, leaning in to kiss the little boy’s cheek too, laughing at the face he makes. “Okay, let’s go.”

They start towards the park, and Alex hesitates for a moment. He’s seen and heard TK and his family with his own eyes and ears. It’s obvious his ex is happy and not at all thinking about him. He should turn around in the opposite direction and leave before his luck runs out and they spot him. It’s the reasonable thing to do, and yet he finds himself following them about half a block back, keeping his head down.

He can’t hear them from this distance, but he can watch them. He takes in the way the two men hold hands while each holding on to a child, listening and chatting with the two little ones. Everything about them screams family, and Alex can’t deny the dull ache it causes inside his chest.

Is this what he and TK could have had?

He follows them through the park until they come to a series of benches. He watches as TK hands over his little brother to his husband, the man easily carrying both kids. TK sits down, but no one else does. Instead, he waves at them as his husband walks away with the children, leaving TK alone.

Alex hesitates again. This is his chance to approach TK, and yet he’s frozen in place by indecision.

A moment later, his ex takes the choice out of his hand.

He startles as TK turns his head to look straight at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you just going to stand there?” he calls out to him casually, the picture of calm as he places his arms on the backrest of the bench. It’s different from the TK he remembers, who was always constantly bouncing his legs with nervous energy.

“How did you – “ he starts, feeling awkward and off-balance.

“I didn’t,” TK answers with a shrug as Alex gets closer to him. “It was Carlos who realized. He’s a cop. Noticing weirdos is kind of his job.”

Alex cringes at the descriptor as he comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi, TK,” he says lamely, wincing again at the high pitch sound of his voice.

TK raises an eyebrow at him again. “Hello, Alex. Any particular reason you’re following us in that get-up?” he questions, pointing at his hat and sunglasses.

Alex feels his face grow hot at the question. He reaches up, taking them off. “Becca said she saw you,” he says uncomfortably, getting a casual nod back from his ex. “And I got curious,” he continues weakly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That sounds like poor impulse control,” TK mutters to himself. He moves to the side, leaving half the bench open for Alex to decide if he wants to take a seat or not.

Alex would be embarrassed by the speed with which he takes the offer, but the joy at being allowed to get closer overrides that. Neither says anything after he sits down, him because he’s nervous, TK it seems because he’s simply waiting him out.

“So,” he starts slowly. “You’re visiting?”

TK looks at him, seeming to study him before giving him a nod. “We try to see my mother and my little brother Robbie every few months. Sometimes they come to see us, but New York is always pretty in the spring, and Luca has never been.”

“That’s your son,” he blurts out, his face going hot again at the look TK shoots him.

“Becca shared everything, did she,” he questions with a dry smile, shaking his head to himself.

“The group had dinner,” he explains, not needing to add who exactly was there. There was a time when TK would have sat right next to him at one of those dinners, charming everyone with stories about fighting fires and daring rescues.

“Ah,” TK exhales softly. “It’s nice you all still do that. They’re good people. I liked them.”

“They liked you too,” Alex answers, giving TK a half-smile. “Liz was thrilled to hear that you’re married and have a kid. She’s happy you’re happy.”

TK smiles, this time more genuine. “That sounds like her,” he comments, looking nostalgic for the first time. “She was always kind to me,” he finishes, not adding anything else.

It goes quiet between them again, causing Alex’s nerves to fray at the edges. He’s not used to this TK. The one he remembers always filled the silence, even if it was just with nervous chatter.

“So, are you?” he can’t help but blurt out, swallowing nervously when TK gives him a curious look. “Are you happy?”

TK lets out a huff, and while he doesn’t smile or laugh, Alex can see a hint of amusement in his bottle-green eyes. “Is that why you’re here? You want to know if I’m happy?”

He feels the hairs at the back of his neck stand at the mocking he hears in TK’s voice. “Is that so crazy?” he questions defensively. “The last time we spoke wasn’t precisely the best encounter – “

“That’s because I was getting ready to propose to you and instead found out you were fucking around my back with a spin instructor,” TK interrupts him, surprising Alex with how calm he is. There is no anger or reproach in TK’s voice like Alex anticipated, just a simple fact. It hurts Alex more than he expected to witness how unaffected TK seems. “How is Mitchell by the way?”

Alex clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as embarrassment courses through him. He wants to stand up and walk away from this. He’s not sure what he’d hoped to accomplish by seeking TK out, but it’s clear now whatever it was, he isn’t going to get it.

He looks at TK to find a mild curiosity on his face, like Alex’s answer doesn’t really matter to him one way or another.

“We broke up,” he answers anyway, taking a breath to try to soothe the ache before his next words. “I found him in our bed with someone else less than a year after you and I broke up.”

“Well shit,” TK says quietly, letting out a breath of his own. He doesn’t look gloating the way he has a right to look. Instead, he looks at Alex with what can only be called compassion. “Karma didn’t just pay you back. It sucker-punched you in the face, huh?”

Alex lets out a startled laugh at the description. TK joins him with a chuckle of his own, and Alex welcomes it even if it’s at his own expense. They laugh for a few seconds before they let it trail off.

“To answer your question,” TK starts to say. He looks at him, bobbing his head softly. “Yes, I’m happy. I’m the kind of happy where I wake up in the morning, look at my husband sleeping, usually with our kid between us, and I can’t believe just how lucky I am.”

“You love him,” Alex whispers, not really needing an answer when he can see it clearly on his face.

TK answers anyway. “He’s my soulmate,” he says with a smile that isn’t directed at him at all. It’s directed at the man who walked away with two kids in his arms minutes before. “I used to think that was you,” he continues, his voice sounding far away, lost in the past while Alex aches in the present. “I was so sure of it once, and then I met Carlos. I was still a mess about you, and I wasn’t looking to fall in love at all, but there he was, and I fell. I fell so fast, Alex. Years later, I’m still falling in love with him every single day.”

“That sounds – “ Alex starts, exhaling through the dull throbbing in his chest. “Scary, honestly.”

TK smiles, bright and beautiful, just like Alex remembers. “It is,” he says with a short laugh. “It’s terrifying, but it’s also amazing, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything in the world.”

Alex nods quietly to himself.

“I’m sorry you haven’t found that yet,” TK continues softly because it seems that surprising Alex is the name of the game today. He gives TK a shocked look that has him giving Alex a compassionate look back. “I never wished you ill will. I was hurt and angry after everything went to hell between us, but in the end, I wanted you to find someone to love the way you couldn’t love me and for that person to love you back just the same.”

Alex swallows hard at TK’s words, feeling overwhelmed by them. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

TK looks away from him, and Alex follows his gaze to find that his husband and the kids are coming back with ice cream in their hands. “Thank you for saying that,” he says softly as he stands. He looks down at Alex, giving him a slight quirk of his mouth. “Goodbye, Alex. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Alex watches TK walk away from him, knowing it will be the last time he’ll see him. “Goodbye, TK,” he whispers at his back, feeling the loss more now than he did four years ago.

֎֎֎

“Dada, we got ice cream!” Luca exclaims happily as he slurps on his spiderman popsicle.

“I can see that. Can I have a taste of spidey?” he questions, leaning in when Luca sweetly offers him his treat. “Mmm, that’s yummy. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Luca smiles up at him, his face already a sticky red and blue mess. He looks at Robbie to see his face is yellow from his Spongebob popsicle. He smiles at them fondly as he turns his backpack to his front, searching for the wet wipes to clean their faces.

“We got you a cone with sprinkles,” Carlos says with a smile, though TK can see the worry in his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

TK looks at his husband, taking in his concern for him along with his ever-present love, and smiles as he remembers what he just told Alex moments ago. The love he and Carlos share is so strong – it can be frightening at times to feel so much and so intensely for another person, but like he told Alex, he wouldn’t change it for the world when it means Carlos loves him back just as strongly.

“Yeah, baby,” he answers, reaching out to touch Carlos’ cheek. “Everything is okay,” he smiles at his husband before looking down at his son and little brother. “Better than okay because we’re going to go see some penguins!”

Luca and Robbie cheer happily.

“Let’s go, Robbie,” Luca says to his uncle, throwing an arm over the other little boy’s shoulder.

TK and Carlos watch them walk a few steps ahead of them, chatting away the way only little kids can.

“You sure you’re alright?” Carlos asks as he hands him a melting ice cream. TK takes it, giving it a few licks to keep it from dripping.

“I swear, babe,” he assures him as he wraps an arm around Carlos’ waist. “We talked, and then we said goodbye.”

“What did he want?” Carlos asks curiously.

TK shrugs. He’ll be honest even after talking to Alex; he’s still not entirely sure what the other man wanted out of the conversation. “I’m not even sure he knows,” he answers after a moment. “He apologized for the past and asked me if I was happy. Maybe he was feeling guilty.”

“What did you tell him?” Carlos questions, a smile playing on his mouth when TK shoots him a look. “What?” he asks innocently, and TK can’t help but chuckle at his fishing.

“I told him,” he starts to say, making sure that he’s holding Carlos’ gaze, as usual falling in love all over again as he gets lost in Carlos’ soulful brown eyes. “That every morning, I wake up amazed I got so lucky to love and be loved by you.”

Carlos pulls him to his side, pressing his face into his neck. “I’m the lucky one, Ty,” he whispers against his skin.

TK smiles at Carlos’ words, his smile growing as Luca shouts for them to keep up; the penguins are waiting. “We both are, my love.”

#911 lone star #tarlos #911 lone star fic #tarlos fic #tk x carlos #outsider POV #my writing

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fucktheroyals · 3 years

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You know after reading and reading and reading peoples theories and the meta from before the spn finale aired and the meta writers reactions to the finale I think I have a theory of my own. We don't have any answers tho, so this is pure speculation. If you wanna add something to support or discredit any of this that's cool but there's too many things floating around. Know I dont have proof for this conclusion at all. A lot of what I say is just guesses based on previous facts.

This all came together in my head when I realized how much this finale REEKS of the original producers and who the show was originally for. It REEKS of Robert Singer. Like if the execs started saying they didn't want it, Robert Singer was the one pushing that the story was about the brothers. That kinda thing.

Then, I was thinking of the problems in this episode and it struck me these are all of Supernatural biggest issues and to be honest all of it feels completely deliberate.

Take the sexism for example, Supernatural in it's later seasons largely out grew this, we have Jody, Rowena, Donna, Charlie, Mary, Claire (and even a wayward sisters pilot with MORE women/girls) all making regular appearances. They're mainly good characters and mostly aren't there to hurt our boys. Rowena, of course, is the one outlier being very about herself but it's clear she still cares for them, I mean its part of her development. But they're all real, with character flaws just like everyone else. (And we have Death too and she was POC 😭 THANK GOD)

Now look at the earlier half of Spn, we have Ellen and Jo, who's appearances were far in between. There's Bela in season 3, recurring for quite a bit (5 eps), but she is a character that is only there for herself, definitely not found family (unlike Ellen & Jo), and she's got more episodes in season 3 than Ellen and Jo in season 2 who aren't seen again til season 5. The "fans" send in hate mail after hate mail to try to get these characters off, and eventually they are. Then there's Ruby who's character stayed for a whole two seasons and was a largely recurring character. Why does she get to say so long? She's a plot device. She's supposed to be there to betray Sam. She has to stay (plus Jared obviously likes her). But she's not just a character the writers like writing about. Same with Lilith. Obviously not as recurring but still a plot device. Did they get hate mail tho? You can bet on it. Why? because tHeY'rE gOnNa PuSh ThE bOyS (Dean and Sam) aPaRt ThE sHoW iS aBoUt ThE bOyS oNlY. Without even thinking about the hate mail, just notice how large the difference is from how women are seen in the earlier seasons to the later seasons. Misha got tons of hate mail too for being a character that could split up the boys (probably only being allowed to say because he a man, thanks sexist producers and execs).

Only after Castiel was killed off and then Castiel fans successfully (thank you guys) got him back on the show did the hate mail largely simmer, which means female character's were allowed to stay! Which has lead us to a show with a good amount of female characters. But can you imagine having to kill characters off time and time again because people keep complaining that the show is "only about the boys." Fun times really.

So now we get to this final and we see sexism. But it wasn't just the plain old regular sexism you find in the earlier days of spn. Because now, there ARE women to talk about, talk to. But this episode was DESOLATE women wise, unless they were used for plot (which is also sexist!). Small scenes, they're barely there. Women gets her tongue cut out. Random women from s1 gets killed. Sam doesn't SPEAK of Eileen. Nothing. No mention of any female characters from the boys mouths unless they were from/in this episode itself. That's WIERD. I know we've all said it. But that goes beyond forgetting about characters. I mean its SAM'S GIRLFRIEND for Christ's sake. There is NO REASON they couldn't have said Eileen's name. Notice how Sam's wife is just... faceless. This is literally an age old sexist trope. Like... one of the things about bringing Mary back to life for s12+ is that it takes this trope... of basically a generic mother, and gives her life and feelings, whether you like them or not, they're real feelings. They said Mary isn't just a mom she's a person. Mary's existence in the later half of spn is to fix this kind of female tropes that fall upon her character, to not let these her stay a 2 dimensional character. They said we should know she's more than just the mom who tried to save her kid. Do that is the exact opposite of Sam getting a nameless, faceless wife. The sexism of the old spn wasn't just brought back, it was completely amplified. It wasn't just accidental or some exec "fixing" the story it was DELIBRATE. Whoever wrote that, didn't do ALL OF THAT by accident. Because an exec or a producer who doesn't see the flaws in old supernatural isn't going to write it that deliberately.

Let's bring it back to s10 when Charlie was killed (singer was mainly to blame). Dead in the bathtub, age old classic of burying ur gays. If you were here you know people never let Supernatural live that down. THEY KNOW what bury ur gays means. Hell, Robbie Thompson left because of Charlie's death and you think the writers don't know what it means? I mean both Bobo Berens (especially) and Steve Yockey's careers are centered around LGBT+ storytelling and you think they don't know? They know. They know.

And Dean wasn't just apart of the bury your gays trope, it is so far BEYOND that. Dean being killed on a rusty nail/screw, the tongues ripped out, things that seemed to be meant for other people. Jensen's acting in the last two episodes was giving us "DEAN RECIPROCATES" but no one ever actually saying it. I think it's clear that Dean was killed for being Bi. They didn't address it for a reason, they just silenced him. His narrative was supposed to be about letting him be HIM for the first time, to say what his feelings are instead of having them miscommunicated, and instead of doing that, they just silenced him. And the more we look at this scene the more horrific it gets. The more it's a complete slap in the face and it's supposed to be. Some guy who knows nothing about the LGBT can't write a scene this horrific.

Some guy who knows nothing about Dean couldn't write a scene that deconstructs all of Dean's character development and gives Dean his worst nightmare. I MEAN DEAN WANTED TO LIVE HIS LIFE! THEY DIDNT HIDE THAT JOB APPLICATION (or whatever job related thing that was) IN THERE FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES THEY WANT YOU TO KNOW THIS IS THE ABSOLUTE WORST SITUATION. Dean isn't Barney from HIMYM. If you watched HIMYM then you'll know Barney went from being a stereotypical ladies man and treating women terribly to being in love with a women and treating her right and working hard for it. The last episode of HIMYM (why its so bad) Barney's character development is thrown out and he's back to being a stereotypical ladies man. You don't need to know Barney's character very much to do that.

To kill Dean during a hunt his father never finished, to not have anyone at his funeral, to have Dean die young like his life didn't matter. Those are Dean's worst fears and you'd only truly know that if you watched the gin episode in s3, where they are basically laid out for you. You HAVE to know Dean's character to tear him apart like this.

This episode took all the core elements of the show and did a complete 180° the name of the episode itself is "Carry on" and Dean and Sam very much did not carry on. Sam grieving his entire life so that he good get to heaven and see Dean again. Dean being ready to live his life, despite the enormous pitfalls and learning to love himself only to be killed. "Family don't end with blood." Um.... it did in that episode either literally with Dean's death or you know BECAUSE NONE OF THEIR FOUND FAMILY WAS THERE. Not Jack, Not Cas, Not Eileen, Not Donna, Not Charlie, Not Jody, Not Claire... on and on we go. No one was there, nobody was even mentioned. Dean's funeral, no one even called that we know of. It was just Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean. And Bobby. Don't forget Bobby. But yeah Sam and Dean.

That's what the show is about right, the brothers.

Except it's not anymore. It hasn't been for years.

Cas not being there was deafening but it brought us to a major point. Becky. Becky's telling us about the terrible ending.

And many of us are wondering why would they literally tell us this is the worst ending and then... make it the ending.

Now before we move on, it very apparent many of you think Dabb doesn't ship Deancas. And Dabb doesn't care about the characters.

Say what you will about any plot holes in his writing, the point he is VERY GOOD at writing the characters, and giving us good ones.

Why do we know Dabb ships Deancas? (ill say when its cowrote, other wise its not) cowrote ep 8.02 - purgatory "I prayed to you, Cas, every night" "Cas, Buddy, I need you." "I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you." 8.08 Hunteri Heroici - Cas helps them hunt! 😊❤ Dean & Cas have a serious convo about why Cas doesn't want to see/go to heaven. 8.22 Dean's mad at Cas. Sam's explanation of why Dean should be easy on Cas: "It's Cas." Dean then points out how he'd knife anybody else if they did what Cas did. 9.10 - Cas comforts Dean when Dean can't take seeing Sam (Gadreel) being tortured anymore. Also tons of Cas. 9.20 (bloodlines) - Canonical couple parallel "I was there, where were you" 9.22 The angels make Cas choose between them and killing Dean and he "gave up an entire army for one guy" 10.09 Claire's reintroduction. Cas heavy ep. DeanCas date. 10.22 THE PRISONER - u know the ep where Dean beats the shit out of Cas but loves him enough to not kill him.

We COULD keep going but I think I've made my point. If Robert Singer is the guy that is like "the show is about Sam and Dean only" Andrew Dabb is the DeanCas shipper. And you could even say a Cas stan.

Notice! How in s13 for SEVEN episodes we have a story that revolves around Dean's grief about losing Cas. Notice! How often the stories in all these seasons have a focus on their relationship. THAT is Andrew Dabb. If it weren't for him doing that, we wouldn't be able to easily say after Dean's lack of a response to Cas' confession, that Dean reciprocates.

To me, when I was (binge) watching s12 for the first time, I thought damn this is really got a lot of DeanCas. So I went to look at who was in charge, who was writing. I saw Andrew Dabb, associated him with Deancas episodes, saw all the new writers, Bobo, and then I saw that Yockey is known for same sex stories and it clicked. Dabb assembled a team to give us Destiel. THAT WAS IN SEASON 12!!!!!!!!

The amount of people saying he's homophobic flabbergast me. Open your eyes! That isn't what's going on.

Imagine making a show and trying to right all the wrongs of Supernatural. Imagine trying to write the greatest love story ever told and you have the entire season planned out for it to end off beautifully, it may possibly be your greatest achievement when it's done and then boom. someone comes in and tells you you aren't allowed to make Dean bi or make destiel endgame, after he was most probably already given the go ahead.

Sure. You could imply he's bi or into cas still in a way. Still make nice-ish ending. just give everyone what the kinda want.

Or you could scrap the last season, nothing close to a canonical bisexual Dean Winchester or Deancas endgame in site. People can be done with it be happy with the show, continue to live their lives in ignorance as to how close they were to Canon destiel.

OR you can lead everyone to the very closest you can get them to what you were aiming for and then show everyone the ugly truth and reality. Light it all on fire. Burn the show to the ground in your wake. Try your darnedest to making these people's (the people saying no) pockets suffer. Show us, the audience, what happened. Show us what this show really is.

I've seen people talk about the ending being changed during covid but I dont think that happened. I think what happened was Dabb already had this season planned out before it even started. Obviously the details were wobbly but it was all lead up to this ending. Destiel endgame, Canon Bisexual Dean, whatever it was. They were ready to write the greatest love story ever told and then someone shut it down.

Imagine the pain that must have caused them to be told no when they already said yes. They must have been so excited to give this to us.

I think someone (some producers) told him what this show is "really" about. The brothers. Can you imagine, after being told no, some kinda bullshit like this is said to you: "Why aren't you bringing it back to the brothers, Andrew? that's what the shows about. What with all this homosexual stuff, you know the audience won't like that. Not really." Imagine the original producers pushing this kind of view on you. "You know when we started it was Sam and Dean. It should end with Sam and Dean." That kinda sounds like someone huh? huh.

So why give us a nice acceptable finale, when you can take every problem Supernatural's had either up front or behind the scenes and create a finale so incredibly bad that people don't want to watch it anymore.

Someone made a good point about how Sam was originally supposed to be the main focus (this isn't to put any hate on Sam or Jared). Dean and Sam are the main characters but Sam was supposed to be the focus and for Dean to have become the focus, must have annoyed the producers because... well here we are. They wouldn't listen to Jensen. The producers liked this ending. Jensen's opinion didn't matter to them.

In some ways, if this is really what happened, it can be seen as childish from Dabb. To hurt all of us like that. Yes, he's hurting the producers, the execs, the cw. But to hurt us? Yeah it stings.

But in other ways, if this is really what happened, this is Dabb showing us the muck and gunk under the shiny surface. The hate for Misha. The hidden hate for Jensen. The underlying sexism. The underlying homophobia. The people REALLY in charge don't care about us, they just want our money. He needed to open our eyes and free us, at least free the people that he was writing for. The people he sees that care about this show.

This is the ending the powers that be wanted and its a big fuck you for a reason. I dont think this is Dabb spitting in our faces for loving this show, I think this is him trying to get revenge for us.

But from here, you can see it how u want it. If this is really what happened, I'm not in charge of your emotions, if you wanna be mad be mad if you wanna be grateful be grateful. And you don't have to believe me either I said this is speculation.

Also, as for all of the rumors like there being shots to the confession scene that we didn't see, which Jensen himself implied, I think that might have been a last ditch effort to canonized DeanCas but obviously it was cut. Like the name change was pretty clear. As for Misha possibly having shot some stuff for 20 I dont know what to tell you. If it's true I dont know where the blame would lie.

I do think however, that if all this was the case, the writers were prepared to become villians here. I mean they told us the writers were villians with Chuck right? So. Who knows what went down so they could give us such a vile ending. It could've been the producers or the writers, who truly knows. I do think tho that people we "trust" did some pretty shitty things to push the narrative in certain directions so now one would see this as the actual ending that was coming.

So again do with my SPECULATION what you will. This was in no way meant to put Dabb on a pedestal or anything. Just meant to give a bit of perspective.

(Also Jensen didn't unfollow Dabb recently he was already unfollowed for years)

#15x20 wank #spn finale wank #spn finale meta #15x20 meta #Andrew Dabb #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #misha collins #jensen ackles #long post #sorry im on mobile #this is the longest post i have ever writen

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quantumlocked310 · 3 years

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Summon Up Remembrance

@deans-ch-ch-cherrypie. Cherrypie. My friend. My OG. My Vikings Mom. My shared braincell about everything Hvitty. You encouraged me to put myself out there and talk to people. You’ve given me some of my best ideas. You’re an amazing human who works so hard both in fandom and irl. I’m so happy I took the plunge and wrote you Bjornekram so we could start up this wonderful friendship. Congratulations on your 500 followers! Every single one is well-deserved.

So! In order to celebrate our love, I’ve tortured myself and Hvitty with this story inspired by The Little Match Girl. I’d say “Enjoy!,” but I have a feeling that’s not the right word...

Summary: What if Ivar hadn’t found Hvitserk in that cold forest in time?

Warnings: not a happy time, depression, graphic descriptions of violence, major character death, loss, despair, drug use, oral sex female receiving

Note: Title from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

Don’t forget to tap the moodboard to see it in its highest quality!

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He’d used his last coin to buy the matches. Everything else had already been spent on the sweet release the mushrooms and drink provided him. His greatest triumph bled into his deepest failure when Bjorn sentenced him to live in the frozen forest. He knew it would not be long. His half-brother had given him painful and terrible mercy. Already he could no longer feel his toes, and his hair was stiff with ice.

His first match is useless. Scraped against the frozen rocks he huddles behind for some semblance of shelter. He knows he’s going to die, but he’d like to have a last taste of heat before he goes. Even the memory of the bright burning flames of his execution can no longer keep the shivering at bay. The cold and wet sticks he’d gathered couldn’t catch, even with the pine needles he’d found to shove under the bundle.

He is resigned to no fire and no hope. Only four matches to keep him company. The last vestiges of drink and drugs are leaving his body aching and freezing; his hands have barely enough movement to strike the next match. He watches this one burn. Its tiny flame dancing merrily along the wood. In its flickering he sees a better time; his favorite feast.

He’d been younger then, and happier. Not yet burdened with a legacy and revenge. The feast fires had kept him warm inside the packed great hall, and his belly had been full of food and satisfied with drink. It was the night he learned a woman might prefer his mouth over his other parts, and he’d been fascinated. The thrall he’d danced with had taken him aside and shared in his body, and shown him things other women hadn’t yet taught him. Their copulation was in a side room; their sounds of pleasure hidden by the noise in the hall. He remembers the delicious wet heat of her body against his tongue, and the way she whimpered and begged so sweetly for him.

The match goes out and Hvitserk is thrust out of the memory. He grows melancholy as he remembers the thrall was killed by horse hoof to the head when she was cleaning the stables one day. A horrible accident.

He scrambles for the next match. Wanting to leave this new remembrance aside and see something joyful once more. The next match strike flares bright in front of his eyes and he hears the clang of axes on swords. His best battle. He’d felt invincible that day. Bobbing and weaving in between English soldiers. Feeling the thunk of his axe as he buries it in the flesh of his enemies. The sweet and terrible smell of blood and guts and fresh mud. Hearing screams and battle cries around him as the Vikings cut a swath through the English forces. Getting to fight alongside his brothers, and seeing the prideful look in Ubbe’s face when he swoops in at the last moment to save his older brother from danger. Ubbe.

The match goes out, and the cold rushes into Hvitserk’s head. His despair is palpable. Ubbe could not let him die as he’d wished for on that fiery spit. But Ubbe let him walk into this cold and certain death demanded by Bjorn.

His saddened breath rattles his chest, and he feels the exhaustion in his bones; the wet snow seeping further and further into his clothing to numb his skin. The stinging tears falling from his red-rimmed eyes freeze to his cheeks, and he is barely able to lift a hand to strike the match. The tears fall faster as he stares into the flickering orange and gold to find a moment of peace.

They’re all there. Ivar, Ubbe, Sigurd, and Hvitserk. The four of them that beautiful spring day, together in the forest trading blows of the sword and the axe. Even their verbal sparring brings a smile to his disheveled face. He remembers going toe to toe with Sigurd, and being equally matched with Ivar. The rush of adrenaline in the fight is a distant comfort, and he dwells again upon youth; how young they all were. Naive and furious; untouched by the horrors that awaited them.

The match goes out and shivers wrack Hvitserk’s body. He sobs and shakes as he memorializes the family he will never see again.

Desire floods his system. The desire he’s always had to escape, to be someone he is not, to chase the dreams he had but could never fulfill. He weeps for his brothers, his mother, and his father. The most torturous thoughts follow, and he mourns and cries for himself. For the person he will never be. For the women he loved, and the children he never gave them.

This is his last one. The last chance to see his loved ones again. To see his brothers happy and together and alive again. Perhaps he will catch a glimpse of Thora or Margrette in this last memory. He draws strength from this small hope.

His breaths rattle and he lights the match. In the tiny flame it is his mother. How tall she felt when he was a child. She is loving peering down at his small frame as he plays with a wooden horse from Floki. Her smile is radiant as she talks to him. Asking him about the horse and the world inside his mind. Her tone is warm and loving, and it floods his body with a final burst of heat.

The match goes out and Hvitserk’s hand falls. In front of him his mother hasn’t left. Standing there like she was in his memory, with a gentle, proud smile on her regal face. She raises her hand, palm up, open and beckoning him. He rises and falls deeply into his mother’s embrace, clutching at her silken robes that catch the salty tears still falling down his face.

“Come, my son. You have done well. We must go to meet your father and brother.” Aslaug wraps her arms around her beautiful boy and holds him close. She feels his sorrow and his perfect joy as their souls connect and ascend.

Some hours later the stomping of boots and the rattle of wheels can be heard in the forest. Ivar looks to his side, observing the landscape around him, and his eyes are drawn to a cluster of rocks. They’re not at all interesting he thinks, but a strong winter wind whips past his face, and the rocks flutter in the wind. No, not the rocks. The hood of the person hunched behind them.

Ivar calls for a halt and carefully climbs down from his rig. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he has to see who it is for himself. His heart is pounding, and his instincts are screaming, and when he rounds the cluster he sees why.

The body is Hvitserk.

White hot rage floods his body, and Ivar lets out a primal scream. His sorrow and pain released in one powerful sound. Tears flood his eyes and freeze on his cheeks. He gestures to the closest soldiers to help carry his brother. They can barely lift him; Hvitserk has frozen in place, but Ivar is determined to give his brother the Viking funeral he deserves.

Ivar cries and mourns, and swears that he will seek revenge on his brothers in Kattegat who shoved one of their own into the wild to die. They did not even allow his fearsome brother the warrior’s death he deserved. What Ivar misses in his incandescent rage is the sweet smile on Hvitserk’s frozen face. Ivar should be celebrating, because as he was not in life Hvitserk is euphoric in his death; together with those he loved and lost once again. The image of rapturous bliss frozen forever in time on the face of his mortal body.

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If you want to read other stuff I write here’s my masterlist!

Taglist: @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @punkrocknpearls @solinarimoon @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @southernbe @vikingstrash

Photos are not mine they are from Pinterest.

#cherrypie’s500 #hvitserk #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk ragnarsson #the little match girl #vikings rewrite #it's a sad one folks #I would say i'm sorry but I actually kind of love this

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americancowgirl19 · 3 years

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The Good Stuff

Summary: There’s always been something between Bobby’s daughter, Y/n, and John’s son, Dean. It never went past lingering touches and flirting until Sam left for college and John started leaving Dean on his own more often. It started off with them being simple hunting partners until it wasn’t simple anymore. Then Dean sells his soul for Sam and begins acting different. One night Y/n snaps and they blow up at each other. Dean leaves Y/n in the motel and heads for the bar where he has an interesting conversation with the bartender.

Warnings: angst, fluff

Reader: Female Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2,014

A/n: This takes place towards the beginning of season three and is inspired by the song ‘The Good Stuff’ by Kenny Chesney

Masterlist

The rumble of the Impala is the only noise on the empty road. Dean grips the steering wheel to the point where his knuckles are white. His jaw is clenched so tight he’s surprised his teeth haven’t shattered under the pressure.

“I’m your family too, Dean! I may not be your blood but I’m family!”

This isn’t the first time him and Y/n have fought but it is the first time where a drive through the night on an empty road isn’t calming him down. If anything he feels himself getting more worked up as his mind replays the fight over and over again in his head.

“I am the only one who has been there for you for everything! Everything! And let’s face it Dean, you’re not exactly a peach all the time! But I stuck around! Me!”

His mind focuses on her voice. She had a sarcastic tone that quickly went enraged before it started cracking.

“What about me Dean?! I can’t lose you but you’re not giving me a chance!”

Along with her voice he remembers her facial expressions. She kept a steady glare all throughout the fight but her eyes always gave her away. They were angry but most of all they were scared, terrified. His heart clenches as he remembers how tears puddled but never fell.

“All you ever care about is Sam and yourself! You don’t give a damn about me! I love you and you’re leaving!”

Grumbling under his breath he pulls into a bar. He’s thankful they’re in a small town and there’s hardly anyone in the joint. He turns off the Impala and slams the door after climbing out. Once he’s in the bar he makes a beeline straight for the closest stool.

Looking down the bar he notices the bartender, an older gentleman, is sitting in the corner practically falling asleep. Looking around he notices there’s only one other person in the bar and it seems to be a coworker. Clearing his throat loudly Dean gains the mans attention.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asks walking up to Dean. Dean goes to respond but hesitates. He contemplates if he should have a beer trying to be responsible seeing as he had to drive back to the motel. However, he also felt a need for something a lot stronger.

“The good stuff,” Dean responds not really caring what the bartender brought back. When the man didn’t reach around for a whiskey nor attempted to pour Dean a beer he frowned his eyebrows. Dean felt a little awkward when the man seemed to tear up a bit.

“You can’t find that here,” He responded with a small smile. His eyes went distant as if thinking back on a memory. He lets out a little laugh and leans against the bar top. “Cause it’s the first long kiss on a second date. Mamma’s all worried when you get home late.” He lets out a huff of breath, a small smile still dancing on his lips. “It’s droppin’ the ring in the spaghetti plate cause your hands are shakin so much,” He continues to grin still lost in his thoughts. “It’s the way she looks with rice in her hair... and eatin’ burnt suppers the whole first year, asking for seconds to keep her from tearin up. That...That’s the good stuff,”

Dean sat there for a moment soaking up his words. His mind goes back to all the flirting he and Y/n did in the middle of Bobby’s kitchen. Whenever Dean stayed at Bobby’s they were always in the kitchen. It’s Y/n favorite part of the house and of course wherever she is, Dean’s not far behind.

His eyes close as he remembers their first kiss. It was before dad went missing, before Sam went off to college. They were all at Bobby’s and Y/n was cleaning up after a meal. His dad and Bobby had gone off to talk about something and Sam was in a food coma.

She was washing the dishes singing her favorite song under her breath. Dean simply watched her from the doorway. He specifically watched her hips as they swayed to the beat of the song she was singing. He hadn’t drank much but it was enough to think it was a good idea to go up to her.

The instant his hands rested on her hips, she stilled. He buried his nose in her hair and breathed in deeply. A small smile appeared on his lips when she leaned back into him.

“What are you doing?” She whispers to him.

“Standing,” He whispers back, his voice an octave lower than normal. He smirks not missing the shiver that goes down her spine. He leans his head against hers and reaches around her to take the dish cloth from her hand. He replaces the dishcloth his his own hand and takes a step back. Spinning her around he pulls her into his arms. “Keep singing,” He urges.

Y/n lets out a small laugh as a bright blush settles into her cheeks. However, when she looks into his eyes she finds it impossible to deny him. She begins to sing the song again following his lead as they sway around the kitchen.

When she song ended he kissed her. It was soft, neither of them deepening it. It was innocent, neither of them pushing for anything more. Dean simply wanted to hold the girl he was head over heels in love with and kiss her before his dad forces him to leave in the morning.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Y/n whispers against his lips while looking into his eyes.

“Shh,” Dean whisper caressing her face. “Don’t worry about tomorrow,” Y/n smiles kissing him again. Dean smiles as well and holds her even closer.

When Dean’s eyes open he’s back at the bar. The bartender was washing the counter top. Clearing his throat, Dean tries to shake the memory away but doesn’t try too hard. It’s one of his favorite’s. Their second kiss wouldn’t come for another couple of years.

Neither of them tried to further their relationship after their moment in the kitchen but they weren’t the same around each other either. They were closer. The flirting intensified, the looks became more obvious and the touches lingered longer. But like Y/n said, it wasn’t a good idea and they both knew it. They’re both hunters, they’ve both lost a lot. The last thing they wanted was to get involved only to lose each other. But love doesn’t care, it’ll come whether you want it or not.

When they kissed for the second time, Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Y/n had her claws in him since they were kids but when they shared their second kiss he was a goner. She had him wrapped around her finger so tight he couldn’t escape and he didn’t want too. Hunting is a dark life and sometimes Y/n’s smile and her laugh are his only rays of light. He knew he was being selfish but he stopped caring. He wanted his light and he didn’t want to give her up. So, when she stuck around and didn’t try to leave, he held onto her even tighter.

A light beer appearing in front of him breaks Dean from his thoughts. Looking up he sees the bartender smiling at him. Dean nods his thanks and accepts the beer.

“Got a girl at home?” He asks. Dean instantly smiles and nods again. “She pretty?”

“Gorgeous,” Dean responds lifting the beer to his lips. “We got in a fight earlier,” Dean explains to him. “I was being... insensitive... an asshole... as usual,” Dean mumbles.

“We all have our moments,” He tells Dean.

“She puts up with a lot for me,” Dean says. “I’m not an easy person to get along with,”

“Most guys aren’t easy but women love us anyways for some reason,” He laughs a bit. “I’ve put my girl through some tough nights before,” Dean smiles slightly. “But as long as there’s something to fight for then it’ll work out,”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs taking another sip. His eyes scan along the bar aimlessly until he notices a picture taped to the mirror. The bartender turns around to see what had caught his attention. He instantly smiles and reaches for it. Taking it off the mirror he holds it between his fingers before showing it to Dean.

“That’s my Bonnie,” He explains. Dean grabs the black and white picture. “That was taken ‘bout a year after we wed.”

“Beautiful,” Dean compliments handing the picture back.

“Yeah, she was,” He nods holding the picture delicately. Dean’s face falls slightly. “I spent five years in the bar when cancer took her from me,” Dean lowers his gaze as he feels the guilt begin to come back.

“What about me Dean?! What am I supposed to do without you?!”

“But I’ve been sober three years now,” He says breaking Dean’s train of thought. “There’s one thing stronger than whiskey,” Dean tilts his head slightly. “The sight of her holdin’ my baby girl. The way she adored that string of pearls I gave her the day our youngest boy, Earl, married his high school love,” Dean smiles a bit as the bartender continues to look at the picture. “It’s a new t-shirt sayin I’m a grandpa.” His smile begins to fade. “Bein right there are our time got small and holdin her hand when the good Lord called her up,”

Dean looks down at his beer bottle. His mind is soaking up the mans story like a sponge to water.

“Yeah, man,” The bartender nods putting the picture back. “That’s the good stuff,” Dean finishes his beer and stands up. “When you get home she’ll start to cry. When she says I’m sorry, say so am I. Look into those eyes so deep in love and drink it up... Cause that’s the good stuff,”

Dean smiles slightly and slowly nods. He goes to pay for his beer but the bartender waves him off. Thanking the man, Dean practically races to the car before speeding back to the motel. He felt thankful that Sam wasn’t with them at the moment. He needed his girl to himself.

“You’re back early,” Y/n commented when Dean came barging through the door. “You’re usually out the whole night when we fight,” She says looking back at the research.

“I’m sorry,” Dean tells her.

“I don’t want to start this again,” Y/n sighs slowly. “Can we do this tomorrow?”

“No,” Dean shakes his head walking up to her. Y/n sighs again expecting another argument but Dean simply kneels in front of her. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for putting you through this. I’m sorry for being selfish with you. I should have fought harder for a better deal, I should have done things differently but when Sammy... When he died... I couldn’t think straight. Nothing else mattered but getting him back and I’m so sorry that I have to hurt you to get him back,” Y/n looks away from him as she tries to control her tears. “I’m so sorry baby. I love you so much. You’re my world. I should have never been selfish with you,”

Dean rests his hands on her thighs and slowly caresses them. Y/n sniffles and wipes her eyes before looking back at him. Dean smiles a bit and leans up to kiss her. Y/n weaves her fingers through her hair. Dean stands pulling her with him.

“I’m sorry too,” Y/n whispers. “I said things I shouldn’t have. I know you love me. I know you don’t just love Sam,”

“Shh,” Dean whispers grabbing her hand. Y/n smiles laughing a bit as Dean twirls her before pulling her back into his arms. “Don’t worry about it,” He says while swaying them slowly. Slowly, Y/n begins to hum the song she had sang before their first kiss. Dean recognizes it instantly and holds her against him tighter. He stares into her eyes not daring to look away. “I love you,” Dean whispers.

#dean winchester #dean x fem!reader #dean winchester x female!reader #x fem!reader #x female!reader #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean x y/n #The Good Stuff #kenny chesney #supernatural #spn #fanfic #fanfiction #winchester

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shirtlesssammy · 3 years

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Anger and Love

I can tell you this. I still hurt over the ending of this show and the reasons roll into each other, like tangled yarn tossed in a bin. (In this metaphor, I am the bin.)

Castiel

The BURY YOUR GAYS trope. My GOD when will this show learn. (The answer is never. Never, because it’s over.) In 15x18 Cas confesses his love and then dies. Guess who else dies in this episode? Charlie and Stevie! The writers said, “Who will hurt the most to lose? Ah, yes. Charlie in the new and terrified bloom of love.” We can ASSUME that Charlie and Stevie come back, but we don’t get to see it or hear about it. And we get the barest throwaway line that Cas comes back in 15x20, but not seeing him physically return after over a decade on the show feels like a blow that just won’t stop.

More EMOTIONS below the cut.

On Thursday, I said to Boris that it would have been better if we’d never been tossed that crumb about Cas’s love. Why give us this FEAST and then take it away like Chuck poofing away a dog? Many people have pointed to network cowardice, and that’s certainly a possibility. Some people have put forth the theory that exposing Cas’s love for Dean was simply a season-ending ratings move. Either of those could be true, or some mix of them. Listen, I can spin myself around that stupid knot for days and we’ll probably never get the whole story. Instead, I have to look at the core of what Castiel coming out means for me. And the truth of it is, it means A LOT. It means I love him a whole lot more. Cas is mine, he’s ours, he’s one of us. And I’m angry as hell at how it went down, but I’m still glad we got Cas’s side of the story. I have a pride pin on the lapel of my Cas trench, and it’s never felt more perfect.

So I’m angry, but I’m also incredibly glad. Ugh. Knots.

Boris: We’ll never know what actually went down during the production of this season and the hiatus changes or the show’s narrative arc, but I have to believe that Robert Berens was given some kind of go ahead and planned for a lovely and beautiful ending for Dean and Cas. That his story was taken from him at the end (much like Wayward’s eventual ending), is so unfair. Because Cas’s story wasn’t completed. Dean and Cas’s story will forever float out there for us to ponder. Like Natasha, I will cling to Cas’s confession and see it as a beautiful coming out moment for a character I love very much. I’ll be forever despondent that we didn’t see Dean’s story play out on our televisions.

Dean

I didn’t come out as bi to more than three people until my late 30’s. It was something I was first in denial about, and then it just seemed “not relevant” for a large swath of my life (married for 18 years now). Talking about that with my family and friends surprised me - how relieved I felt. How free. As I was working through this, I was also slipping into Supernatural fandom, and watching a show where Dean COULD BE bi. Reader, I projected myself right onto Dean Bean. Maybe he was like me. Clueless, then in denial, then thinking that part of himself irrelevant. So giving us Cas without Dean, given the scenes we watch on the show, feels like a personal affront. I know I’m projecting here, so I’ll acknowledge those feelings and move on to the next…

I am also PISSED about Dean’s story. All his life he’s been “daddy’s blunt instrument” and ready to die bloody on a hunt. It’s spoken about so often that we think surely - at the end - we’ll subvert that. SURELY he’ll survive. The last couple of seasons, he’s fighting for control - freedom from Michael, freedom from Chuck. He finally achieves that freedom and then loses everything anyway. There are no rewards on Earth. He died solving one last case from John’s journal. Daddy’s little soldier to the end. It’s disgusting to me to take this beautiful, complex character who is textually SO FULL OF LOVE and then take a pass on imagining what he might do with a real life on earth. It’s lazy writing, used for a cheap, fast, emotional reaction. The more I unpack Dean’s fate against the rest of the series, the angrier I get.

Boris: I think so many of us confused and discovering things about ourselves later in life see Dean as a character that matters. His story, had it been told fully, would have mattered. I don’t buy his death or his peaceful afterlife. It’s still too raw to process because he deserves happiness in life!

Billie

“I know Supernatural has a history of killing off characters of color,” I told people, “but Billie’s a main character now!” W O W 15x18 is the kick that keeps on kicking. I did actually enjoy Billie’s arc quite a bit, but losing her still makes me angry, in the broader context of the show.

Women

“Supernatural isn’t great with women,” I said. “But we have Mary now! And Billie!” Please picture me as Olaf when I say. “Mary DIES. Billie DIES. Only sad men remain.” Sure, we get some throwaway lines. We know Donna’s alive in 15x20 because of the call to Dean’s phone. Actually, scratch that, we know someone talked to Donna…because this show didn’t want to address that literally no other hunter knew about or mourned Dean’s death so they had a random stranger call Dean’s “Other other phone” for help. Great. Now I’m mad about Dean again.

We can probably blame some of how the final episode shakes out on COVID. Presumably, the final scene in Heaven would have been a party with Mary, the roadhouse crew, original Charlie, maybe Eileen? Kevin? etc etc. Instead, it’s an empty, lonely end on screen.

Which brings me to Eileen. Sam’s romance was laid out carefully throughout season 15, so what the fuck happened here? We assumed we’d at least get some confirmation that Sam ends up with the woman he brought back from the dead and then dated as recently as a couple episodes ago. Instead, there is literally NOTHING. No attempt is made to say that Eileen’s the one Sam ends up with other than his son having dark hair. There are no family portraits. No sign language to the faceless mother by the house. (Standing in a floral dress, like a good housewife.) Is she dead? Did Sam end up with someone else? Even without dialogue, there are ways to show Eileen’s presence that weren’t used. I’m so angry that she was an element of the season and then…hand waved away as irrelevant. The faceless wife MY GOD, SHOW.

Boris: Yikes, I cynically see the reason to not include Cas in the end because homophobiaTM but to not even give us Eileen and Sam? Clearly, they wanted to erase every person that mattered to the brothers from the end. Ugly.

Heaven

The funny thing is that I’m constantly trying to write a “happy eternity in a now-free Heaven” in my own fan fiction. If anyone should like 15x20 it should be me! I’m always trying to argue that it isn’t major character death, because their souls are infinite and now free, blah blah blah. So ultimately, my problem isn’t with peace in Heaven. It’s with Dean’s EARLY DEATH, and how empty Heaven feels. How desolate and devoid of life. Dean leaves the Roadhouse and drives alone until finally Sam dies and joins him. It reads like the ultimate fuck you to the “family don’t end in blood” storyline. If COVID filming got in the way of filling Heaven with life, then we have all suffered a great loss. It should feel ecstatic and full of community. Instead, it just feels wide and lonely.

Ultimately, boiling the season finale into an intimate portrait of brothers should work on paper. It SHOULD, but the show leaves so much unsaid and unshown about the community and family they’ve built along the way, and tells us to be happy with the scraps we’ve gotten instead. It tells us they were never that important, in the end.

The Future

I’m still going to watch the show. I’m still going to enjoy the show and the characters. There are reasons I have watched all along, and they don’t have anything to do with needing the show wrapped up in a neat bow. I’m angry with Supernatural’s conclusion, because I love it. And I’m okay with that.

Boris: I love this show so much, and I know I’ll continue to love it. I need time to lick my wounds and forget about this episode. This show is about the characters and the journey and that’ll never end.

#spn spoilers #supernatural season 15 #spn 15x20 #carry on #spn 15x19 #inherit the earth #spn 15x18 #despair #spn thoughts #about us

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part twenty two) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7650 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty two: Y/N is about to take the stage together with her horse Meadow, but stage fright is making it very difficult to bring the evening to a successful end. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Opening scene: First Defeat - Noah Gundersen, Meadow’s freestyle: Stairway To Heaven, Immigrant Song, Whole Lotta Love - Led Zeppelin. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74, and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Y/N dips the sponge foaming with leather soap in a small bucket of water, and softly moves it in circles over the gullet of Meadow’s cognac colored saddle. Making sure to get into the little curves and edges of the beautifully decorated piece of craftsmanship, she picks up an old toothbrush and gently sweeps the dirt out of the grooves; it’s one of the older tricks in the book.

The maintenance does a lot of things besides calm the mind. It keeps the material supple, stops it from tearing, therefore saddles and bridles last longer. The leather will be soft on the horse’s coat and prevent sores and irritation of the skin. Clean and shiny tack says a lot about a person. They are usually precise, provident, and have a keen eye for detail. Often perfectionists who leave nothing to chance. Y/N is such a person.

Dean watches her, adoration on his features. She hasn’t spotted him yet, too focused on the chore. His hands are buried in the front pockets of his jeans while he leans against the door of the makeshift tack room, where she’s working in silence. He notices how loose hairs have escaped her french braid, how she bites her lip while concentrating. He notices the black smear on her cheek, her hands grimy from the mixture of soap and dirt coming from the saddle. He notices all those little things, and all else he loves about her.

There might be a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes give away how much his heart is hurting. He hasn’t been able to ban the haunting words from his thoughts, nor the realization that came with it; no matter how much time he puts between the past and present, he can’t outrun those dark days. The troubled cowboy wishes he could tell her, but he doesn’t want to drag his girl into this. She would pity him, be disgusted. She would run as far away as she could, and he wouldn’t even blame her if she does just that. The fact that he is unable to be truthful, has him doubt everything they have accomplished. How can he ask her to trust him, when he can’t be honest with her? When he doesn’t even trust himself?

Y/N rises from the small stool to get a cloth from her tack box in order to polish the saddle, when she notices a figure from the corner of her eye. For a second she startles, but then realizes it’s her boyfriend. “How long have you been standing there?” she chuckles. “For a little while,” he admits, the corner of his mouth pulling into a slightly bigger smile. “Didn’t mean to creep you out.” “Don’t worry, you didn’t. Fergus MacLeod on the other hand…” Y/N comments, squirting some shine cream on the cloth.

Before she returns to her stool again to finish the dirty job, Dean steps closer and takes her hand. Desperate for her to ground him, he lets his fingers trace her stained knuckles, taking the cleaning product from her and putting it aside. He focuses on their hold and keeps quiet, being more tentative than conversational. “Dean?” Her voice is laced with confusion and worry, and when he looks up, he sees that her eyes match the warm sound. Willing to do anything to take those concerns away, he cups her face and gently pulls Y/N closer. His lips catch hers, sweetly at first. Dean cherishes the moment when she melts into his touch, deepening the kiss. It doesn’t unsettle him when she unwinds her fingers from his, because he can feel his cowboy hat leave his head, those same fingers now running through his short hair.

Dean takes his time, eyes closed and his long lashes brushing against her cheek. He draws her in, moving his hand up her side as if he’s afraid she might slip away at any moment. There’s a hint of distress in the way he is kissing her, even though she can tell he is trying to hide it. Knowing that now is not the time to question his reasoning, she gives him what he needs so hopelessly. After a long, intimate minute, in the shelter of the small tack room, Dean parts from her. Y/N hopes to see a smile, but his eyes remain closed as he presses his forehead against hers.

“What’s going on?” she encourages, gently. “Nothin’. I’m alright,” he claims, but when she raises her eyebrows at him knowingly, he gives her an explanation, even though it’s not the whole truth. “Fergus MacLeod got under my skin with the way he spoke to you, is all.” “Oh, you mean the pet names?” She scoffs, shaking her head at the memory. “I wouldn’t read into it. He’s an Englishman; they address women like that.” “Still…” Dean rubs the pad of his thumb over her cheek, wiping away the grease. He is beginning to find his footing again. “I’m the only one who gets to call you that.” “And you think I’m the jealous one,” Y/N jokes. “You never call me ‘darling’ or ‘love’ anyway.” He grins at her mockery, especially when she overdoes the accent. His eyes are still sincere as ever. “Because you’re my Yankee,” he says softly.

Her smile becomes brighter, her nickname rolling from his tongue usually having that effect. And for just a second, Dean forgets about all the worry in the world. He kisses her once more, short and sweet this time, daring to take a hold of her gaze now that his mask fits again. “You stood your ground when that stuck up made that offer on Meadow,” he compliments. “You basically told him to go fuck himself. That was pretty badass.”

Shyly, Y/N shrugs. To her it didn’t cost her an ounce of bravery or willpower. She has gotten offers on her horse before, although never one this high. But Fergus could offer a billion, there is no way in hell she will ever let Meadow go. “She’s priceless, Dean,” the cowgirl explains, simply. “I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” “I know,” her boyfriend acknowledges. “All I’m saying is that many would have considered it. The fact that it’s not even an option for you, just shows how much she means to you.” He pauses, admiring the strong minded woman before him. “She’s your soul horse.” “My what?” Y/N recalls, curiously.

Dean chuckles, realizing that it’s not a widely known term. It was Ellen who told him about the special bond between human and horse, when he was younger. It became something that always stuck with him, words he never forgot. “Every equestrian comes across that one horse in their life. The one that stands out from all the others, that captures you, takes up a huge space in here.” He taps two fingers on his chest, right where his heart is. “The one you have this unbreakable bond with, who you trust and trusts you. The one you will never forget,” he explains. “That’s your soul horse.”

Y/N begins to glow, because every word he spoke sounds familiar. Dean is right; Meadow is her soul horse. “I like that,” she says, thinking about his words for a second.

Content, she moves past Dean to pick up the polish, in order for her to return to the task she needs to finish. “What else did the snobby Brit have to say?” she wonders, sitting back down on her stool, beginning to rub the cream onto the horn and the pommel of the saddle. “He bought Jovi and Ringo, actually,” the cowboy elaborates, turning to the side to check out the perfectly clean bridle hanging from the tack box door. He’s giving himself something to focus on, feeling the soft leather under his fingers. “Did he! That’s great, right?” she checks, noticing that her boyfriend isn’t exactly thrilled about the matter. Dean glances at her, forcing a smile. “Yeah, the money is certainly welcome.” “I bet Bobby is pleased,” Y/N assumes, wiping down the saddle one last time before she puts the cover back on. “Did he say anything about our dance last night?” “He didn’t. I think he’s lettin’ it slide.” Dean shrugs. “He’s not someone to discuss this kinda stuff anyway, so I’m guessin’ no word about it is good.” Y/N is willing to accept his reasoning. “Well, alright. If you’re sure it won’t get you into trouble.” “I doubt it, and even if he’d give me a hard time, it’s worth the lecture.” Dean chuckles, glancing down at his boots. “Fergus made another business proposition, too.” The cowgirl gets up and lifts the heavy saddle from its stand, carrying it to the tack box and storing it away. “What’s that?” “He wants me to train one of his horses,” he tells her. Her eyes grow wide as she shuts the door. “A stallion? Dean, that’s huge!” The wrangler chuckles at her enthusiasm. “It’s just the one.”

“Do you realize that this could be the start of something very rewarding? He owns stables full of licensed stallions. It might be a great stepping stone. I mean, look at Jovi and Ringo; they were sold from under you before you could really shine with them,” Y/N brings to mind. “Riding a talented horse for an owner who has no desire to sell because of the money already coming in with stud fees, is really good for you. This could become your big break.”

Dean hasn’t even looked at it that way, but he guesses it’s why his girlfriend is so good in her field. She always thinks five steps ahead, seeing opportunities where another person would just see a lot of work. He remains realistic, though, not wanting to celebrate too quickly. “Well, apparently Cain is a handful, so we’ll see how it goes.” “Wait… Cain?” She was already staring at him in astonishment, but now her jaw almost drops to the floor. “As in the Quarter sired by Dual Ray. The one that went for 1.2 million at the Derby auction?! Shut up!”

“Someone watched the news.” Dean grins, the sight of her girlfriend so perplexed being quite amusing. “But, yeah. He’s arriving at the ranch next week. Depending on how bad his behavioral problems are, he’s staying or leaving. I have a feeling MacLeod isn’t telling the whole story.” “Well, even if Cain’s issues are worse than Fergus let on--” She steps closer, slipping her arms around his neck. “- if anyone can fix him, it’s you.”

The confidence she has in him astonishes the cowboy. He doesn’t deserve it, her never ending support, her faith. Even now, all he’s doing is bullshitting his way through this exchange. He hopes to God Y/N doesn’t pick up on his insecurities, because maybe if she doesn’t, they can stay in this bubble for a little while longer.

Another kiss is pressed on his lips and for just that moment, Dean forgets about the demons that so often torment his mind. Unable to resist her even if he tries, the cowboy reels her in. He can sense his Yankee smile against his mouth and he can’t help to copy her expression. When he can feel her weaken in his hold, however, it is quickly replaced with a look of concern. “You okay?” he asks apprehensively, his grip on her firmer to make sure she doesn’t go down, but thankfully she steadies. “Yeah, just a little lightheaded.” Y/N takes a breath. “I’m fine.” “Did you eat today?” Dean requires, both stern and worried. “No,” she admits. “I can’t eat before a competition. Nerves and all.” “Are you kiddin’ me? You’re not up until 8 PM!” he returns, not having any of it. “Yankee, You gotta eat. I’ll buy you somethin’.” “I wouldn’t be able to take even one bite, Dean. Don’t bother. I’ll have an energy drink before I get on Meadow.” “Oh, hell no. You can’t do your run while low on fuel,” her boyfriend decides, carefully letting her go when he’s sure she has found her balance again. “How about yoghurt? Or some fruit? Did that really just come out of my mouth?” Y/N snorts when she notices the double take at his own suggestions, his nose wrinkling in revulsion, as if he just said something vile and doesn’t even know himself anymore. “Would a smoothie work? I saw a stand by the arena,” Dean offers. She shrugs, appreciating his efforts and not wanting to deny him. “I could try.” “Alright.” He leaves a quick kiss on her mouth and picks up his hat, before he intends to leave the tack room. In the doorway he turns around, his body language showing confusion, yet his eyes sparkle. “I never in my life thought I was gonna say this, but I’m gonna buy a smoothie,” he announces, before shooting her a wink and disappearing. Y/N laughs now, shaking her head at his comical ways. Bless him, at least he’s trying.

7.00 PM. Y/N is back in the tack room where she spent most of her morning cleaning her gear. When there was absolutely nothing left to polish, every bit of brass on her saddle and bridle shining so bright it could quite possibly blind the judges once in the arena, she tried to distract herself another way. She did manage to consume the smoothie her boyfriend brought her, though, much to his delight. It helped, because the dizziness has passed, but a stress headache remains. She sat down for lunch with Benny, Jo and Dean, although she didn’t eat anything. Conversation moved past her like the Arizona autumn breeze that’s blowing across the show grounds.

Afterwards, she assisted Dean with his last ride of the day, this time in the ‘working cow horse’ class, which is a fun combination between reining and managing cattle. After feeding the horses and providing them with water, the crew went to the arena to watch some runs. It only triggered restlessness in her heart that seemed impossible to calm, and it didn’t take long before she returned to the stable. She spent some time with Meadow, her dance partner tonight, simply sitting in the corner of her box, watching the beautiful animal chew on her hay, completely at ease with her owner’s presence.

Now, it’s time to prepare herself. Meadow is already tacked up, waiting in her stall until Y/N is ready, one hind hoof resting on its toe, preserving energy. It’s like the animal knows, since she normally is quite impatient, but right before a competition, she prefers to nap on her feet. It’s a huge contrast to her human, who has trouble controlling her anxiety. The smoothie she had earlier is bubbling inside Y/N, her stomach unsettled. Trying to calm herself by making sure that everything is perfect, she goes through the familiar checklist in her head while the soundtrack of her freestyle plays on her phone.

Dean helped her work out the new routine, thankfully. After setting the bar way too high in her first draft, almost making herself cry when she realized just how impossible it was, he suggested more simple lines, but combinations of the patterns. This is supposed to kick up the degree of difficulty without the floorplan being a tangled mess, and highlights Meadow’s strengths. What she had to figure out next, was what kind of music she wanted to ride to.

Her boyfriend contacted Ash, who was more than willing to edit the tunes for the intern. When she offered Dean the idea, she knew it was a hit when she saw his eyes twinkle. They took the request to the former ranch hand, who went to work and knocked it out of the park. Honestly, a part of Y/N cannot wait to ride her new freestyle, but she’s also downright petrified. What if she screws up? What if she forgets her routine? What if she doesn’t nail it, with Congress only two weeks away? What if she fails?

Everything is ready, all she needs to do is change into her show outfit. Y/N strips down, switching her blue jeans and plaid shirt for black. The back of her button up is decorated with golden studs in the shape of a guitar, and so are the cuffs and shoulders. During a freestyle the rider is allowed to ‘dress up’ and add elements in the arena, make a show of it. Although she’s not a fan of the whole circus act, and much rather prefers to let her performance do the talking and convincing, she wasn’t resenting the idea Ash offered when they listened to the soundtrack. Ellen helped her sow on the miniature pyramid-shaped beads, and the end result is better than Y/N could have hoped for.

The focused competitor slips into her onyx chaps which she just took out, and laces the leather strap through the belt loop of her jeans. She then continues to unpack her cowboy boots, which are the same color as Meadow’s fiery brown tack, shining just as bright. Her brass spurs follow, the rowel jingling when she turns to take a round box from the top, unzipping the lid. The beautiful Milano hat inside has her smile down on the crafted head piece; it was a Christmas gift from her parents. One she received right before her first show with the Quarter mare, the horse who gives her so much more than she could ever hope for. She picks it up by the crown and places it on her smooth hair which Jo braided earlier, the action raising a sense of pride in her chest. The hat makes the outfit, but it comes along with so much more. It gives back some of the confidence her insecurities took away. She’s a cowgirl, in heart and soul.

Last but not least, she takes an object from the same container that safeguarded the Milano. Reminiscing, Y/N draws her thumb over the gold plated metal, feeling the edges of the letters and symbols under her fingertip; it’s her State Championship belt buckle. She closes her eyes, the memories of that epic run flooding her thoughts welcomingly. The stadium spotlights, the roaring crowd, her name in bright letters on the scoreboard. And then that indescribable feeling of horse and rider becoming one, the thrill of coming down that centerline and just knowing that this was going to be their moment, the ride of their lives. She will be in seventh heaven if she manages to get even remotely close to the pinnacle they reached that day.

Footsteps draw her back to reality, the dry ground crunching under heavy boots in the alleyway between the stables. Y/N doesn’t question who it is, Dean promised to help her with the warmup, and since she has stated in her very detailed schedule that she is going to get on her horse ten minutes from now, she is expecting his arrival. Turning around, she meets his astonished gaze in the doorway, his jaw slightly ajar. “Do you think I’d be showing off if I wear this?” she wonders, offering him a look at the coveted buckle.

But Dean only has eyes for a different prize. He needs a moment to recover from the sight of his girlfriend. She’s drop dead gorgeous after a morning muck out, with hay in her messy locks and dust sticking to her damp skin. But now, dressed in her black show outfit, her hair braided and her make-up bringing out the color of her eyes even more, he can’t help but stammer. He chuckles warmly, a blush on his cheeks. “You look - you look amazing.”

His reaction draws a smile on her lips, but she’s too anxious to really appreciate the compliment. There is a time schedule to be considered after all. “My State Champion buckle, or a simple one?” she asks him again, not daring to make the call herself. Dean takes the shiny object, tilting it to admire the award. ‘AQHA State Champion - Maine, 2008’ it says, the inscription curved around a horse’s head, edged in silver and gold. “Wear it,” he decides. “You won that championship fair and square.” “Yeah, I know, it’s just that--” She pauses, fiddling to close the buttons on her cuffs. “I don’t wanna fail to meet everyone's expectations.” The cowboy looks up at her from under his lashes, his green eyes reading her for a second. “Everyone’s expectations? Or your own?”

Dean has a solid point, but evaluating thought processes is not something she needs right now. She sighs and tries to bury her frustrations, very much aware that she snaps easily when she’s on edge like she is now. It wouldn’t be the first time that she loses her cool with someone who is actually there to support her, it usually being either her parents or her brothers. She doesn’t want her boyfriend to endure the same unreasonable behavior, and so she shrugs at that. “I don’t know, really. I mean, yes, I expect a lot from myself, but the thought that people on the sideline, like Bobby, Jody, Donna… you, will judge my every move,” she pauses, letting an anxious sigh fall from her lips. “It honestly makes me feel sick.”

“You shouldn’t let it get to you like that,” Dean suggests, handing her back the buckle. “Yeah, well, that’s easier said than done,” she returns, the edge of her voice much sharper than she meant to come out. While pulling her belt through the loops, she briefly looks up, noticing his head cocked back slightly while his brows meet his hairline, which triggers her to mutter an apology. “Sorry.”

He can see the embarrassment in her stance as she turns her gaze to the floor. The slight offense he took desolates, making room for sympathy. He can tell she’s struggling to cope with the nerves and the pressure she is under, pressure she shouldn’t even be experiencing. This competition is a practice run, an environment to test her new freestyle and get back into the rhythm of the shows after a long break. However, he understands that downgrading this event will not do her any good. What he needs to convince her of, is to believe in herself, like he believes in her.

“Yankee, you’re never gonna fail my expectations. The way I see you doesn’t stand or fall with this performance, or any.” He takes her hands in his, squeezing them softly in order to prevent her from getting lost in that dark forest of negative thoughts. “I get that you want to prove yourself, but it ain’t necessary. The girls already love you, and the fact that Bobby didn’t rip me a new one for kissing you last night proves a point too. All that won’t change after today’s run.”

Carefully, Y/N glances up, met by the sight of empathy swimming in mystic green eyes. “I’m here to back you up, okay? I’ll help you with the warm up, and Jo will be there to assist. It’s gonna be fine. Your horse is awesome, your freestyle is awesome, you are awesome,” he reassures, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Now get your fine butt on that horse.” She takes a slow breath, the smile that his words surface saying just how much that means to her. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

With Meadow’s bridle in hand, she exits the tack room, feeling somewhat lighter than she did ten minutes ago. Dean’s kind words and endless support doesn’t take away the anxiety entirely, but it has enough of an effect to have her believe that maybe, just maybe, she is going to survive this evening. At least he is by her side, not just as her man, but as her trainer as well, and with the way he has been with her so far, she can already tell how different he is from her former instructor. No list of exercises she needs to go through during the warm up, no ‘do this’ or ‘don’t do that’ while she’s preparing to get on her horse. It’s a huge contrast, but one for the better. Maybe Dean is right, maybe it is going to be fine.

Dean looks up when he notices someone approaching from the corner of his eye, the small framed silhouette with a dancing ponytail unmistakably Jo’s. She has a bucket half full with water in one hand with a sponge floating on the surface, a rag hanging from her back pocket and a groom bag over her shoulder. “You ready, sis?” she asks, popping her head over the stable door. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Y/N sighs, tightening the sinch. “You’re gonna do great. Especially with your lover whispering in your ear.” She hands them both a headset, one with a small microphone for Dean and one with an earpiece for her best friend. “Keep it clean, no heavy breathing. The poor girl needs to stay focused.”

The cowboy glares at his cousin, but he bites his tongue, simply because the comment made his girl let out a laugh. Instead he turns on the small device and pushes it in his pocket, secures the mic to the collar of his shirt. Y/N clips the headset behind her belt as well and pushes the bud into her ear. After holding the bit in front of Meadow’s mouth for her to accept, her owner pulls the crown piece of the bridle over her horse’s ears, securing the straps. Focused on her task at hand, she notices a crucial element missing. “Crap, Grandpa’s pendant,” she realizes, pushing the reins into Jo’s hand before rushing back into the tack box.

A moment later, she returns with a small suede bag in her hand, from which she carefully allows a piece of jewelry to roll into her hand. Curious, Dean watches her pick it up between her delicate fingers, after which she attaches it to Meadow’s bridle. Two beads are laced onto a thin leather cord, and the way she handles the small yet precious object, he can tell it holds much value. “Is that your good luck charm?” Jo wonders. “Yeah,” the rider acknowledges, taking back the reins from her friend and leading Meadow out of the stable. “My grandfather gave it to me on my very first show when I was seven.”

Y/N has never ridden a test without the jewel, and she can’t picture doing so in the future. The top bead is made from her birthstone, the one dangling underneath represents a guardian angel. While taking her horse outside, she rubs Meadow’s neck, tracing the charm for a second as the setting sun catches the gem. Before she had to say goodbye to the most influential person in her life, she never really pictured anyone when she saw the little figure with wings dangling from Meadow’s browband, but now she likes to think it is him, watching over her.

A couple of minutes later, Y/N has taken a seat on Meadow’s back, who excitedly walks towards the warm up area with Dean and Jo in tow. Flanked by her trainer on her right side and her groom on the left, a hint of relief hits the cowgirl unexpectedly; she has never been surrounded by a team this solid.

The horse and rider enter the side arena, where a dozen others are warming up in what seems to be a whirlwind of sensories. Music reaches Y/N’s hearing, coming from the competition ring and mixing with loud cheers of the spectators. Trainers shout at their pupils from the sideline, the steward calling for the next on the list. In her first loop in a simple walk, someone cuts her off and Meadow pins her ears back, clearly not at ease in the chaos.

“Can you hear me?” Dean asks through the headset, leaning over the fence of the training field. The familiar warm yet gruff sound in her ear silences the distractions that have her dizzy in an instance. She looks over her shoulder at the head wrangler, nodding in response. “Okay, good. Warm her up like you would do so at home. Try to seek a space where it’s not too crowded, you don’t have to use the entire area,” Dean advises, calmly. “Just focus on my voice, alright? Take a deep breath and focus on me.”

Y/N closes her eyes for a short second and collects herself, doing precisely what he tells her to do. Throughout the warm up he never underlines what she’s doing wrong, but praises her for every right move, building her confidence. For a short period of time it has her wondering if he’s sugarcoating and isn’t giving it to her straight, but minute by minute, she finds it easier to let go of that thought. His encouraging words manage to cast away the fear of screwing up, and before she knows it, she has forgotten about the other riders in the arena, nor does she notice her distracting surroundings. All she hears is his soothing vocals, all she feels is the large animal underneath her, who seems to respond well to their trainer too. Meadow might not be able to hear Dean, but apparently senses the tension oozing from her rider, and becomes more relaxed with every stride.

It’s five minutes until her starting time, when Y/N halts by the fence, next to Jo and Dean. Her friend and groom for the day takes her cue and approaches her with the bucket, wiping down Meadow’s sweaty skin with the sponge, cleaning the mare up before it’s her time to shine. Y/N takes out her ear buds, since she’s not allowed to compete with them, and hands the headset to Jo, trading it for a water bottle. “She feels good, doesn’t she?” Dean checks, smiling up at her while he takes the plastic flask from his student. The woman in the saddle nods. “She does.”

“Y/N Y/L/N! Two minutes!” The rider feels the nerves find their traction again when she glances at the steward who called out her name. She nods in acknowledgement at the man holding a clipboard, and when Jo is done toweling Meadow down, she steers the Quarter towards the entrance of the main arena. The applause that the previous competitor receives grows louder as they approach, meeting the rider on their way over. He seems very pleased with his horse, and the first thing that comes to her mind is that he must have had a good score, a score she needs to beat. The serene mindset the wrangler got her in, is threatened to be disturbed by the stage fright that grips her by the throat. Suddenly, it hits her; this is it.

“Hey…” Dean lays his hand on her knee when he detects that he’s losing her again. “Yankee?” The cowgirl snaps her gaze from the intimidating competition ground to her trainer, who meets her with the most relaxed expression he can muster, despite his worry about her current mental state. He can tell she’s downright scared, not to fall off her horse or anything, but to make a mistake, drop the ball and to have to leave the boxing ring defeated. Right now, the illuminated soil that is about to be her stage isn’t a dance floor to Y/N. No, her eyes tell him a different story, the one of a gladiator in a colosseum, being thrown into the pit for the lions, destined to be defeated, destined to fail.

“When you go in there, I need you to forget about everything,” he starts off, earning a confused look. “What do you mean?” she wonders. “Forget the judges, forget the audience, hell, forget what I’ve told you,” Dean continues, his thumb rubbing her leg soothingly. “The only one you need to listen to, is Meadow. Feel what she tells you and trust your gut when you answer. Let go of all the rest, alright?”

Y/N nods, wetting her dry lips, shooting another glance at the arena before she looks down on the man who has been able to ground her like only one other person has. Dean seems to know who is on her mind, because he reaches for the pendant attached to her horse’s bridle. “He’s with you, and I will be waiting right here, no matter what. You got this, Yankee.”

The encouraging words close off her throat much like the anxiety did earlier, but this time the sentiment is welcoming. Dean’s pep talk helped her see what is truly important, and that this moment is just a short clip of a larger motion picture. She has Meadow, she has Dean, and she has the memory of her grandfather, along with all the wise life lessons that he taught her. Whatever happens in the coming five minutes, that will not change. She trusts the beacon of support that is the man by her side. But in this very moment, most importantly, she trusts Meadow.

Y/N breathes in through her nose and exhales slowly, rubbing her horse’s shoulder, more confident than she has felt all week. The gatekeeper opens the fence for the horse and rider, nothing standing between them and the brightly lit competition ring.

“The next contestant of the evening is Y/N Y/L/N, all the way from Freeport, Maine. This young lady rides Meadowsweet, a nine year old mare sired by Gunner, and these two have made a name for themselves already. Folks, you are going to be watching the current State Champion and this pair has qualified for the prestigious All American Quarter Horse Congress in three weeks. This will be the premiere of their brand new freestyle, so get ready for a rock ‘n roll ride, y’all.”

Y/N peers into the grand arena, tilting her hat forward just enough to keep the spotlights from blinding her. She can feel Dean’s fingers slip from her knee, setting her free now that she has taken control. Focused and determined, the cowgirl makes eye contact with the sound technician, raising her hand. Showtime.

The first tones of Led Zeppelin’s Stairway To Heaven begins to play, and Y/N enters the arena slowly. The timid music silences the crowd, suspense hanging thick in the air. Meadow moves down the centerline and halts, her head low and submissive, waiting for her cue. The intro finishes, the acoustic notes dying down and leaving a second long silence. Knowing the music by heart, the woman in the saddle squeezes her fist holding the reins slightly, preparing Meadow for what is about to come. Then, right as Immigrant Song rings in her ears, she sends her Quarterhorse into a spin.

With high speed and great technique, the mare revolves on the spot like a helicopter rotor, and after going full circle four times stops dead in her tracks, before doing the exact same movement, only this time turning right. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic, and it’s then that Y/N feels a wide smile spreading on her face; she’s gonna nail this run.

One small aid is enough to push Meadow forward, the horse shooting down the centerline like an arrow leaving its bow. With only a few yards between the cowgirl and the judges, she sits back in the saddle, signalling Meadow to dig her hind legs into the ground and progress into an impressive sliding stop. It’s bold, because if the maneuver isn’t spot on, the panel will easily detect the error. The execution is perfect, however, and gathering from the entertained and impressed expressions on the judges’ faces, Y/N’s game plan is working.

With attitude, Meadow rolls back and races around the arena on a large circle, her long strides evenly powerful and rhythmic, this time to the soundtrack of Whole Lotta Love. With her left hand forward between the bay horse’s ears, the cowgirl peers down the path that’s to come, and after having gone full circle, she switches to a left canter through a flying change and mirrors the previous pattern.

The buzz ignited by both the thrilling ride and the response of the audience only fuels her confidence. When she exits the last full speed circle, she transitions into a lope, a collected gate Meadow masters well. The horse and rider combination crosses the arena through a neat half pass. It’s a sideways movement right in front of the judges, the talented mare showing off her reach and finesse.

Not once does Y/N have to correct her dancing partner, every small cue effective. Meadow follows the instructions without question, unable to give a damn about the vibrant ambiance. It’s almost as if the animal can read her owner’s mind, a telepathic connection which can only be established when human and horse have that click and share an unique bond. This is what horse riding is all about, this is the ultimate goal. Two hearts beating as one.

The music builds up to its zenith and shifts to the finishing electric guitar solo in Stairway To Heaven, by the same famous rock band that has been the backing track to this epic performance. On the diagonal, Meadow picks up speed again, her strong muscles rippling under her copper colored coat. The thousand pound being reaches a speed of forty-five miles an hour, accelerating until the opposite corner, where she performs another perfect stop followed by a roll back. There is not a speck of hesitation or doubt, nor any sign of fatigue, despite a sequential series of maneuvers.

After a third stop, she has executed the mandatory patterns, and all that’s left is to go out with a bang. Y/N sends Meadow into one final spin, the tremendous momentum having her dizzy. The sheer power radiating from under her only heightens the high the cowgirl is experiencing, the adrenaline coursing through her veins with the same speed as her horse is turning. After the rapid pirouettes, Meadow breaks off the maneuver on cue in the dead center of the arena, facing the judges. The cheering and whistling crowd almost overrules the dying sound of the guitar strings that are the last notes of the freestyle. Unable to comprehend what just happened, Y/N drops the reins, spreads her arms and folds them around her horse’s neck. Overcome with emotion she hugs her four-legged friend, without words thanking her for the ride of her life.

Only then the cowgirl realizes the roar coming from the spectators, many of them having risen to their feet. As the commentator praises her performance, she circles Meadow back toward the exit of the ring, waving at the enthusiastic kids on the first row. In that four minute run, Y/N and Meadow have stolen the hearts of everyone who is here to witness the definition of horsemanship. She can’t stop herself from smiling so widely that her cheeks hurt while her horse walks along the bleachers, the mare looking at the applauding audience, seeming to understand that it’s for her.

As they approach the gate, the rider hears one girl squeal above all others. Y/N hasn’t even looked in the direction of where the sound came from, but she already knows it’s Jo. Dancing on her feet in absolute delight, she meets her by the fence and high fives her best friend. “God damn, Sis! You rocked out there!” she exclaims, patting Meadow on her neck as well.

Y/N laughs full heartedly at her giddy friend, the ecstasy of her perfect run still in full effect. But when her gaze meets Dean’s, that happiness becomes overwhelming. The handsome cowboy is waiting for her, just like he promised. Gleaming eyes match his sly smirk, but there’s more to the expression, sentiment swimming in his emerald greens. The sight of him breaks something inside of her, and she’s unable to keep the tears at bay.

It’s then that Meadow halts, and just outside of the main arena, Dean steps towards his girl and pulls her into a hug. With her left hand still holding the reins, Y/N embraces the man who she owes so much gratitude. After all, if it wasn’t for him, the freestyle wouldn’t have turned out remotely as good, not to mention that the stress would have done her in. Today he was more than just a trainer or her boyfriend. He was the anchor that kept her grounded, the rock that wouldn’t budge when the waves crashed against her, and the sign that she needed to get out of the maze of self-doubt. She can feel Dean nuzzle his nose into her hair. “I’m so damn proud of you,” he whispers, words only meant for her to hear. Moved by his words, she hugs him a little tighter before she lets him go and wipes away her happy tears. A smile that reaches his ears is still there when she pulls herself together again. “She - she was absolutely amazing,” Y/N stammers, combing her fingers through Meadow’s mane. “The feeling she gave me… I can’t explain it. It was like we were flying.” “That’s because you were, Amelia Earhart,” Jo quips, clearly over the moon for her friend. “Want me to cool Meadow down so you can wait here for your score?”

Y/N nods, feeling her horse’s flanks expand rather rapidly every time the large animal inhales; she really gave it her everything. Once the cowgirl has both feet planted on solid ground, she scratches the mare’s favorite spot behind her ear, facing the beautiful Quarter. Meadow presses her large head against her owner’s chest, more to get rid of an itch than to return the love, making her human giggle. Then the rider hands over the reins to Jo, who takes the bay horse away from the commotion.

Still stunned, Y/N takes another breath, glancing back into the arena. “Did they call the points yet?” Dean comes to stand next to her, gazing at the board in the corner, above the bleachers. “No, I didn’t hear anything.” With her hands placed on her waist, she breathes in, trying to ignore her stomach, which begins to do backflips again. This time, there is not much she can do to influence the outcome, however. Meadow did the best she could and she didn’t make a single mistake; Y/N couldn’t have wished for more. But the new freestyle hasn’t been graded yet, so how the judges will reward the music and the degree of difficulty is still a mystery. The rider tries to tell herself that no matter what number will appear on the screen, she’s satisfied with today’s performance. But as seconds tick by, the suspense builds and eats at her composure.

She can feel Dean’s hand on the small of her back, fingertips tracing soft, calming circles. The motion helps her to pull her gaze away from the digital board, and she glances at the man by her side. Focusing on him has worked so far, so as the tension rises, she tries that tactic again. The world around her stops, her own breathing the only sound she hears, Dean’s touch the only sensation she feels. For a moment, time slows down. But when her trainer’s eyes widen and his jaw falls slack in disbelief, she’s almost too afraid to look at the definite white numbers that can make or break her evening.

It’s only when the crowd erupts that she dares to face the verdict, and what she witnesses, triggers her to clasp her hand over her mouth. Completely stunned, her eyes stay locked on the score, convinced that if she blinks, the numbers will change. She barely registers her boyfriend letting out a cheer, pumping his fists into the air and bouncing on his feet like a little kid. Her view is obstructed when strong arms wrap around her middle and lift her off the ground, but when her gaze locks on the display again, it still tells the same story of victory.

220.5 points.

Unknowingly, she holds her breath, her heart still beating against her chest so wildly, that her cowboy must be able to feel it too. It’s not just a personal best; it tops her old record by three whole points. She broke through the two-twenties, something she only ever dreamed of accomplishing, yet here she is. Shutting her eyes, her thoughts go out to her grandfather, realizing that she has done her guardian angel proud once more.

Dean must have sensed that she got lost in her own head, because he brings her back down from the heavens to their world with a gentle touch upon her cheek. He wipes a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb and takes off her hat, looking at her with so much adoration. His hand slips to the nape of her neck, his forehead bowing to gently rest against hers. Radiant light touches everything in reach, leaving what’s behind them in darkness, together with all the worries and fears. The audience doesn’t seem to be applauding the high score anymore, the wolf whistles and bellows of encouragement instead directed at the couple in the spotlight. Dean didn’t need any more motivation, his lips encasing hers in a soft kiss.

Closing her eyes, she cherishes the moment and smiles against his mouth when Dean uses her cowboy hat to shield them away from all the extra attention. It is in this instance the equestrian realizes something; out of all the rides that she experienced, either in the saddle or in life, this is the one that will go down in memory.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-tree here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean #Dean x Reader #Supernatural AU #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction

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marril96 · 3 years

Text

Out of the Woods

Chapter 1: Runaway

Characters: Rowena, Sam, Dean

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

A/N: Huge thanks to @hotdiggitydammit for helping me with the summary!

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You and Rowena were screaming at each other, which wasn't nearly as common as people tended to think. You didn't care that you were in the middle of nowhere. You didn't care that Sam and Dean were looking at you, that they were focused on nothing but the two of you screaming your lungs out in each other's face like rabid beasts.

Let them watch.

After all, they were the ones who'd gotten you into this mess.

"I didn't wanna come here in the first place!" you yelled, wildly flailing your arms around to emphasize each word for there was nothing you could possibly say, could possibly do, to encompass just how much you didn't want to be here.

"Nobody held a gun to your bloody head!" Rowena argued.

Right. Because it was that easy. Because saying no was a walk in the fucking park.

"Was I supposed to let you come alone? With-with those two idiots—" you pointed at Sam and Dean, who both scowled, but you didn't care "—who've endangered your life more than once? One of whom is fated to kill you?"

"I don't need a nanny!" she snapped as she always did when you were protective. Because why acknowledge she wasn't as all-powerful as she thought when she could keep playing tough girl? "I've survived well enough on my own for over three centuries!"

"This is different!"

Back then she wasn't acquainted with hunters who'd managed to piss off God himself. She hadn't been fated to be killed by one of said hunters, who, for some reason you couldn't comprehend, happened to be her best friend. Hadn't suffered at the Devil's hand — more than once — and had the scars forever etched into her soul.

Back then she didn't have anyone who cared about her.

She didn't have you.

To your surprise, Rowena echoed it exactly. "Of course it's different! I didn't have you to nag at me every time I got a bloody paper cut!"

You stared. Swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. Did she really just say that? Everything you'd done for her — all the love you'd showered her with, the tears you'd wiped away — and she had the audacity to trivialize it. To make you out to be a nagging wife.

"Wow." Because what else was there to say? She'd made her feelings clear, and quite loud. Louder than any fuck you she could have shouted. "You suck, you know that? You're a shitty girlfriend. I don't know why I even bother."

Two could play this game. You'd learned that from the very best.

Hurt flickered over Rowena's face; she instantly smoothed it out, covered it up with indifference you'd gotten to know well. "You're not exactly a walk in the park, either."

"I've done everything for you, and it's not enough. Nothing is ever enough with you."

Not the sleepless nights. Not the hugs and words of love. Not the promises that it was okay, that she was okay, that she was safe from the monster who'd hurt her — promises you'd kept to the very last word.

Not you.

You were never — would never be — enough.

"Maybe you're just doing a shoddy job," she said in that nonchalant tone she used to hurt people, to show them she didn't care.

It stung like a slap to the face. "Fuck you, Rowena!"

"Right back at you, dear."

You screamed. Stomped your foot like a child. Your nails bit into your skin as your fists tightened. Turning on your heel, you started walking in the opposite direction.

"Where in hell are you going?"

"I can't be around you right now." You looked to Sam and Dean, to their faces that told you they would rather be anywhere but here. You could relate. "I can't be around any of you."

If you were to stay for another moment, you would do something you would regret. Your magic was already boiling, fingertips sparking, eyes flashing purple. You needed to breathe. Needed to calm down. Needed to, for the first time in five long, long years, be away from your girlfriend.

"You can't just walk away!" Rowena said. "We aren't finished!"

A bitter chuckle escaped your mouth. "Why? Because that's your thing?" You meant for it to hurt, to make her heart ache as much as yours did. To pay back what you were owed for she was the last person you expected this kind of treatment from. "Don't worry, I'm not stealing. Just borrowing a page out of your book."

If she had a reaction to your words, you didn't see it. You just kept walking. One foot in front of the other, eyes straight ahead. You didn't look back until you were sure you were far enough away that the only thing to return your glance were trees.

Making sure you were alone — truly, blissfully alone — you wept. You sobbed and cried like an inconsolable child as your heart pulsed and pounded in your chest. A hammer beating against your ribcage, crushing it, tearing it apart.

You didn't want to be here. Didn't want to join the Winchesters on yet another case no different than the others before them — the ones they'd begged Rowena to help with as shamelessly as this one. The softie she'd become, she said yes, as she did every time they called. What Sam Winchester asked for, Sam Winchester got. Regardless of your objections.

You knew Rowena had changed. Understood her need to redeem herself for her past misdeeds, to make up for every life she'd taken and ruined. Helping the Winchesters gave her a sense of peace, of happiness. Of hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't irreparable, that the evil she'd inflicted could be negated with good.

The fact that she was putting herself in harm's way didn't seem to dissuade her.

So you went with her. If you couldn't talk her out of it, at the very least you could go with her to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was okay. Rowena welcomed your company, and had made it clear to the Winchesters the two of you were a package deal. Not that they minded. After all, two helpful witches were better than one.

Today was no different than any other day. A seemingly difficult case. Murdered women thrown out like trash, their naked bodies littered with bruises and welts, reminders of the brutality they'd succumbed to. No suspects. No leads. Nothing but a pentagram cut deep into each victim's chest.

A witch perpetrator, it was suspected. Or one that had been hunting witches — or women they'd suspected of being so — branding them loud and clear for the entire world to know their sin like a twisted scarlet letter.

Your bet was on the latter.

It only made you hope for the bastard to be found sooner.

At the same time, it made your nerves go off like fireworks. If there was an insane hunter out there, it wasn't safe for you and Rowena to work this case. What if one of you were to be taken? What if one of you were to be brutalized in the worst ways possible and thrown away like trash?

You both bore resurrection sachets, but still.

You'd already been through the aftermath of a similar ordeal with Rowena once. It would destroy you (and, despite how nonchalant she acted, demolish her) to go through it again.

Rowena, ever the contrarian, disagreed. Or rather, she didn't care. She wanted to help. Wanted to make the bastard who'd been doing this pay for ever putting his hands in a witch. You would be okay, she assured you. She wouldn't let any harm come your way. If he were to even look at you wrong, she would make sure the ordeal that waited for him in Hell would be Heaven compared to what she would put him through.

As if that was the point. As if that made your worries — for her, for her wellbeing — subside for even a sliver.

But, as always, Rowena was stubborn, and were you, and soon you were screaming in each other's face.

And now here you were, crying your eyes out in the middle of an unknown forest, your back against a tree, nothing but a sea of trees and overgrown weeds around you.

Gods. That woman would be the death of you. As impossible as she was, as much as her words hurt, you couldn't make yourself hate her. You never could; not back when she was a heartless bitch, when she cared about nothing but herself, and certainly not now, four years into the relationship you never thought would happen.

Rowena had changed. She truly had. But, gods, sometimes it was a struggle to handle her. She was difficult to love. Impossible, almost, but you managed it. Sometimes, like now, you wished you hadn't. Because hating her would be easier. It would make her words sting less. Would make her disappointment in you, her lack of appreciation for all you've done for her, hurt less.

Being in love was a bitch.

Being in love with Rowena was one of massive proportions.

That was what you got for falling in love with someone who used to brag about being unable to feel anything remotely close to affection.

That woman was long gone, but remnants of her still lived on. A perfect weapon Rowena happily utilized, aimed it straight at the heart for maximum damage.

If you weren't enough, who would be? What was it that she wanted you to do? You'd given her your all, and more, so much more. Had pushed yourself to your limits for her sake. Mistakes were made along the way, and learned from. You'd always strived to do better, be better; a better carer, a better girlfriend.

Clearly not the best. Lacking. Not enough. Never enough.

Knees trembling, you allowed yourself to slide to your knees. You buried your face in your hands, muffled the sobs that kept tearing from your throat. Willed them to silence.

You couldn't understand Rowena like Sam. Couldn't make her PTSD go away. Couldn't make her better, happier. There was nothing of value you could give her. A few soft words, kisses, and hugs could only do so much.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were doing a shoddy job.

But still, you tried. You did your best. Gave your all; blood, sweat, and tears. You weren't perfect, nobody was, but if that was what Rowena had an issue with, well, it was her problem.

You could only give her so much.

Was it too much to ask for the smallest shred of gratitude in return?

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @evil-regal-vampiress @hellbentredhead @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 @mintymarshmellows @midnight-lestrange @osterhagen @impala-1979 @gracib16 @feelsandotps

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #rowena x reader #rowena macleod x reader #angeleva #fanfiction #my fics

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poopunderstander · 3 years

Text

i am probably the 5000th person to write Dean teaching Cas to drive but i did it anyway and i'm here to make it your problem

"Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous."

2.4k words, destiel, PG/teen&up, no warnings except for a lot of geology talk at the start

link on ao3

Approximately 550 million years before what Castiel currently knows as the present day, two enormous sheets of earth collided in a dying ocean. The continent of Laurentia met with an arc of volcanic islands, and, finding itself unequal to their fury, folded downward beneath the sapping crust of the Iapetus Ocean. Over millennia, as Heaven watched, the earth and water consumed each other, leaving a thick scar of mountains, to be worn away in turn by new millennia of wind and ice and fire.

That was the Age of Fishes. Later, much later, humans climbed into the valleys in between the hills, to fish and hunt and build, and when they buried their dead they painted the graves with red earth, infinitesimal new scars over the old tectonic suture.

Castiel remembers all this—can feel it in the ground under his vessel’s feet, here in what Dean Winchester calls central Maine. They’re standing on glacial till deposited in the last ice age, and below them are the grains of sand from the Iapetus Ocean that became mudstone and siltstone, then pelite and shale and Silurodevonian granite. Twenty-five miles beneath Castiel lies a layer of Precambrian gneiss, a sheet of ancient dust pressed into solid stone nearly four billion years ago, when the ocean was wide and God himself wasn’t that old. That stone, Castiel knows, is Earth’s oldest shield: the last solid barrier between humanity and the planet’s molten core. He thinks about this as he watches Dean load guns into the trunk of his car, his boots planted in soft red earth carried here 10,000 years ago by a river of ice.

“Ready?” Dean says, turning back to face Cas.

Castiel thinks about the God who watched the continents form, who watched the planet eat itself a thousand times and heal a thousand more, the God who Castiel knows once wasn’t dead. He looks at Dean, who knows none of this and came with him anyway to trap an archangel on earth, and thinks: How could I be?

“Yes,” he says.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

They’re sitting in the empty parking lot of an ice cream shop, across the road from St. Peter’s Hospital. Dean drove them here after they left the house of prostitution, to wait for the sun to rise and the meeting with Raphael to “go down.” Castiel, still caught up in the pangs of regret and panic he brought away from the bar, has spent his last hours on earth contemplating the profound and mundane limits of his earthly knowledge.

“I thought she would appreciate the information,” he told Dean, trying to create in words a world in which he didn’t ruin Dean’s terrifying act of kindness, and Dean laughed and said, “Oh, dude, big mistake.”

“I don’t think I understand women,” Castiel said then, and Dean threw back his head and laughed, and Castiel felt a portion of the darkness inside him evaporate.

Dean started quizzing him after that, asking about things he’s done, talking about something he calls a “bucket list.” Castiel doesn’t know what the bucket is for, but Dean’s apparently contains people and places and food: a musician named Springsteen in Concert, the Chevrolet Hall of Fame in Decatur, the 1,800 pound burger at Mallie’s Sports. He asks Castiel if he’s ever been to the Grand Canyon, and Castiel tells him he witnessed its creation. Dean says okay, but did you ever hike it, and Castiel has to shake his head.

It’s in this way that Dean learns that Castiel has never driven a car—a fact which Cas thinks shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. They’re sitting on the hood of the car together, gazing out across Highwood Avenue at the glowing windows of the hospital, and Dean twists his whole body around to face Cas, telegraphing his shock.

“Why would I,” Cas points out. “I’ve never had the need.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but—dude, what if somebody, like, zaps your wings? What’re you gonna do, huh, take a bus?”

Cas shrugs. “Probably. I think it’s far more likely that Raphael will kill me outright.”

He sees a flicker of pain cross Dean’s face; this conversation made him uncomfortable before. Castiel wonders about that. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “I just meant—hypothetically. In a hypothetical world where you get your angel mojo un-mojoed, or whatever, you’d just—buy a bus ticket?”

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s admitting to, here. He thought bus travel was common. “I suppose.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, turning back to face the hospital. “That’s just wrong.”

They’re silent for a moment, spinning in their own private worlds. The lights are off inside the ice cream shop—it’s nearly dawn, and nobody buys ice cream at dawn—but the lamps above the Dairy Queen sign are blazing, and Castiel is watching the yellow light flow over Dean’s head and shoulders as he leans back on the hood of his car, still warm from the engine’s labor. Even now, looking at Dean’s body is like looking at a miracle. Castiel wonders if he’s aware that he’s the only thing in Waterville, Maine born entirely of God’s will.

“Listen,” Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s gonna be like in there. I know you said—well, I know what you said. But I think,” he says, puffing up with that bizarre confidence he always seems to pull from nowhere, “I think we’re gonna make it. And if I’m right, if we do—” He turns to look at Cas again, a grin dawning across his face. “If we do, I’m gonna teach an angel of the lord to drive stick.”

Castiel has no idea why—he’s not quite sure what those words in that order mean—but this thought seems to give Dean hope. Castiel doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t have a human soul, that thing that seems to trap hope so unfailingly it feels like a flaw in the design.

The sun is feet from the eastern horizon.

“Okay,” he tells Dean.

Twenty-five miles north of Waterville is a town called Canaan. When colonists first settled on the banks of the Kennebec, they used the native word for the place they built: Wesserunsett. Not long after, though, deciding that that long name was not worth the labor of speaking or writing it, they looked at the bright green fields laid all around their stolen home, imagined a similarly verdant place of rest waiting for them at life’s end, and named the new town after the Promised Land.

Canaan, of course, looks nothing like Heaven, really. Heaven is vast and multidimensional; Canaan is a ten-room motel, two grocery stores, and two churches along the length of US Highway 2. But outside Canaan, between the highway and the lake, is a wide field of grass and purple violets, which Dean pronounces “perfect.” He pulls off the road into the field, and Castiel feels the solid, assuring weight of asphalt give way to the uncertainty of earth.

“Okay,” Dean says. He gets out of the car, and motions for Castiel to do the same. Cas does, turning cautiously to scan the field around them.

“There’s no road here,” he points out. He’s never tried it before, but he always assumed that a road was essential to driving.

“That’s the point,” Dean says. “You can’t start on the road, you’re gonna get yourself killed. Gotta start where there’s nothing to run into.” He gestures at the expanse around them. “Like so. That’s how my dad taught me.”

Dean doesn’t talk about his father. Castiel has noticed. He’s never seen John Winchester; tries to imagine Dean as a child, standing in a field like this with the man who withstood one hundred years of Hell. He can’t picture it. But then, imagination has never come easily to him.

“Come on,” Dean says, waving a hand for Cas to come around the car. Castiel obeys, walking around to the open driver’s seat as Dean circles to where Cas just was. They both sit down inside, pulling the doors shut, and Dean says, “Okay. So. Let’s start at the beginning.”

He talks Cas through the controls of the car, laying his hand on the dashboard as he talks, identifying the levers and pedals and dials with gentle, nearly reverent touches, watching Castiel’s face to make sure that he’s taking it all in. Castiel tries to concentrate, thinks he understands what he’s being told, but he has no place to anchor this information. That’s the clutch, Dean says, and Castiel nods and thinks, clutch, and thinks about gripping Dean tight. The clutch.

“You got it?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t feel he has anything.

“Of course.”

Dean beams. Cas can’t find it in himself to regret the lie.

“Go ahead and put your hands on the wheel,” Dean says. This turns out to be more complicated than Castiel anticipated. He does it wrong, apparently, the first time, because Dean frowns and says, “No, you gotta—ten o’clock and two o’clock, Cas,” and when Cas asks what that means Dean says to picture a clock, and Castiel doesn’t see what relevance that has to driving a car. In the end, Dean takes Castiel’s hands in both of his, and puts them onto the steering wheel in the right position. He sits back in satisfaction, nodding.

“Okay. Okay.” Castiel’s heart is pounding like a hummingbird’s. It’s not the same fear he felt last night. He doesn’t know what it is. Dean tells him where to put his feet, says okay, clutch first, keep it in neutral, and Cas pushes down with what was once Jimmy Novak’s left foot and then his right, feels the engine rumble to life, and lets go when Dean says okay, now.

He breaks the car. Or, that’s what it feels like at first: a heavy, surely cataclysmic crash of machinery that throws both of them back against the seat. He sees Dean grimace and gets ready to apologize, but Dean just says, “Okay, kind of rough start, but that’s fine—try it again.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Cas says. It sounded like the engine cracked. He thinks Dean may have underestimated his ignorance here. But Dean says no, try again, so Cas puts his feet back on the pedals and focuses every particle of his celestial consciousness on easing the pressure on and off in perfect unison the way Dean tells him, hands rigid at ten and two on the clock-wheel, and the four thousand pounds of steel beneath them roll approximately ten inches over the grass before Castiel’s focus falters, and the engine grinds to another explosive, neck-wrenching halt.

“You suck at this,” Dean says. His patience as an instructor, apparently, has been exhausted.

“Of course I suck at this,” Cas says, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I’m an angel.”

He expects the lesson to be over then—clearly, he isn’t going to learn this—but Dean just chuckles instead, caught up in another burst of unearned optimism, and says, “Try it again, little slower this time.”

For half an hour, Cas jolts the car in short, violent circles around the field, struggling to follow Dean’s directions and feeling sweat build up on his palms and the back of his shirt. The longest he’s able to drive in one smooth line lasts about one minute and forty-five seconds, long enough for Dean to lose his look of consternation and break out in a grin, raising his hands in celebration just as Cas accidentally pushes down on the wrong pedal and sends them screeching to a halt.

“Hey,” Dean says, once he’s recovered from the physical shock, “at least you’re getting better.”

“I’m not,” Cas tells him. He can feel an odd, nauseous constriction at the back of his throat; he wonders if it’s possible for a being that doesn’t eat or digest to vomit. “I’m not good at this, Dean. I won’t be good at this.”

“Listen,” Dean says, “if Sam could learn, so can you.”

“Sam’s very intelligent.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sam’s human.”

“Since when does that matter?” Dean asks.

Cas stares at him. Of course it matters. It’s always mattered. “I don’t know how,” he says. His hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Dean says, “hey.” He reaches over and lays his hand over Castiel’s, still on the steering wheel. His skin is warm and callused. Castiel feels the blood vessels in his cheeks and neck dilating.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Dean. He knows, without quite understanding, that what they’re doing is important to Dean, somehow, and he’s fucked it up. He did the same last night, with the woman whose name wasn’t Chastity, whose father loved her in the same unknowable way that Dean’s father loved him. He didn’t want to do it again. Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“You can do this, Cas,” Dean says. “Look, I get you’re, like, superpowered, or whatever, I know you don’t need to. But did you ever think—maybe it’s just been a really long time since you learned something new?” He pauses, frowning, searching for the right words. “I don’t care if you can’t drive, man,” he says finally. “But I know you can learn. Right? I believe in you, Cas.”

Twelve hours ago, Dean stood side by side with Cas in the light of Raphael’s wings and heard him say that God died centuries ago. Dean heard it, and told Cas to go looking anyway.

Cas looks at him, at the freckles scattered over his nose, the serious little pinch between his brows, the soft ghost of a smile on his face even though Cas has surely damaged his car by now, even though God is dead and his neck must hurt and Sam’s taking a vacation from being Dean’s brother, the other half of his world. Dean looks back at him, raises his eyebrows, and grins.

“One more time?”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #castiel

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dickspeightjrs · 3 years

Text

Hope (2.2k words)

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

Chuck had been defeated.

Cas was still gone.

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

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

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

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

Bobby. Charlie. Donna. So many more.

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

It was a few days until everything settled again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean reached his breaking point a few days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curse his brother for knowing him so well.

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

“How about the truth?”

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

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

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

Sam nodded, encouraging Dean to continue.

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

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

They held nothing but warmth for his older brother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

Until he heard a crack under his foot.

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

The hunched figure went ramrod straight where they were.

Dean swallowed and continued walking ahead.

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

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

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

“Dean?”

Dean felt euphoria storm through his every atom.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#destiel #destiel fic #destielfanficnet #dean winchester #castiel #myfic #i'll tag properly later #just wanted this out before the ep tonight #it's not proofread and im not sure i like it so enjoy i guess lmao #fluff #angst #sad #canon #2k

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herstarburststories · 4 years

Text

Devil, bring me to heaven

Kinktober day 5: Deep throat

Hauntober: Moonlight

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader

Summary: You suck Dean off under the moonlight and you both are interrupted.

Warnings: oral sex (male receiving), public sex, jealous!dean, kinda of non intentional voyeurism for a bit, hint of fluff bc yes

Your knees ached against the soaked cement. It rained earlier, making the situation more painful and you mind a bit more sickened with the realization that you couldn’t change a thing. Man, that would probably leave some bruises.

Then again Dean loved bruises on you. At least, this demonic version of the king of your heart did. He enjoyed love marks and hickeys before. It made Sam constantly call you two horny teenagers. It was rougher now, but this was still Dean.

It was Dean. That was all that mattered, even if you had to lose yourself to find him.

The cold ground was as unrepentant to you as the green-eyed demon's cock in your face. He was hard, his precum wetting your cheek as you dared to look up. The moonlight shined on his face as if it had always been meant for him.

You kissed his balls, already familiar with how he liked his blowjobs. You didn't have time to spare here, though. You two were in an open parking lot behind a forgettable restaurant — someone could easily walk through here. You had to make him come quick.

Dean's toughened hands caressed your head, tangling his fingers in the glossy strands of hair. You looked so beautiful like this, on your knees just for him. He may be a demon now, the Knight of Hell even, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate you — especially when you knew his body so well.

“Come on, baby girl. Take it slow. You know I love some good foreplay, no rush here.” He pulled you back once your skilled mouth became too spirited for his liking. Dean was relaxed tonight. Maybe he'd even go slow on you later. You could take your time here.

You did as he said like you usually do when it comes to sex. Your smart mouth and commandeering nature always melted away when he was like this, exposing you at your neediest. Dean, of course, was more than happy to oblige.

You teased at his tightened sac, enjoying the weight of the stiff cock pressed against your cheek. Your mouth got greedy as time passed by, starting to mouth at the soft flesh of one of his testicles while your fingers slowly rubbed the other one. Dean let out a quiet groan, fingers sunken in the ocean of your hair to lead you to his throbbing cock. You two were dwindling into the night, coalesced as one holy sin.

Your lips had barely been placed on the side of his velvety cockhead when you heard footsteps. You grunted after giving his dick an open-mouthed kiss and started to pull away, but Dean wasn’t having any of this.

If someone had a problem with his girl sucking his cock, then he'd simply kill them. Granted, he'd probably kill them anyway for seeing you in that position — this was only meant for his eyes, green or black.

The unfortunate person might’ve been lucky to die for this, honestly. Dean would say that seeing you blow him off was a pretty damn good last thing to see before being murdered. He was a man about Sam’s age; tall, yet not as tall as Dean; and muscular. Dark hair, hazel eyes, and tan skin. He was essentially the guy you'd call your type before you met Dean.

The Winchester had seen enough crappy 70’s flicks to know you had a weakness for it. He already hates this guy's guts. He was going to die or, at least, bleed enough to make unleash a crimson river under the moon’s pale radiance.

What? He was a demon, after all. He didn’t need much of a reason to hate, much less channel his aggression onto any Tom, Dick, or Harry that so much as looked at you twice.

The man's steps grew closer as Dean guided your swollen lips back to his cock. You whined and nuzzled his sweat-slick skin as if there was no better place to be. Still, you weren't sure about someone else seeing you suck Dean off. You've never minded some harmless public touching, but this is way more forward than anything you’ve ever done before.

The male stopped in his tracks, the hard pavement under your knees digging into your skin as you jolt. Your lips were gentle to the base of his shaft. You kissed your way to the top where the precum smeared your lips. Your hands on his hips dug in, winding him in closer while your tongue soothed the ache of his weeping head.

“Whoa, woman. You know I love it when you do that thing.” Dean grunted under his breath when you slipped your tongue into his slit. Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock before swallowing him thickly, soaking up the warmth of his slick spill. “Yeah, honey. Go ahead. Take all of me into your mouth.”

“What the fuck?” The other male choked, taking in the scene with wide eyes. You didn't appear to be forced onto doing this, so he didn't rush to push Dean away, but why the hell were you two fucking behind an Arby's? This was his dad's restaurant!

You jumped a little when you heard his voice. Why didn't he just keep walking? You were so embarrassed by anyone but Dean seeing you like this. Even though you had your clothes on, you also had half of a cock inside your mouth. Contradictorily enough, it also turned you on. Someone was seeing that you were Dean's and he was yours.

The eldest Winchester could feel hesitancy in the tenseness of your neck, but he soon managed to wipe away your worry with his hand on the back of your head, caressing your hair with a gentleness that could only come from his human side.

“What? Haven't seen a hot girl sucking cock before? You should try a porn site, buddy.” Dean gave him a whimsy smirk, forcing himself not to moan as you swirl your tongue around the heat of his still-hard cock. You leaned in as he was coaxed with the promise of your tight throat. Just like you two trained.

Besides his flushed cheeks and obvious arousal despite his indignant surprise, the guy managed to speak: “Who the fuck do you think you are? This is a serious establishment.”

“I'm Dean Winchester,” the demon answered with a cocky smirk. The unprecedented third party to their fun might not know what his name holds now, but he surely would find out soon. “And this is Y/N Y/L/N. She's too busy to tell you hello right now, all hungry for my cock. My girl just can't let it go, not even for a minute.” Dean shook his head lightly, as if you were some poor, needy thing. Pursing his lips, he asked, “And you are…? Wait. I don't care. Get lost.”

“I'm Priestly Conner. Just the owner of this place.” The stranger, Priestly, groaned in fury. He was hiding the fact that his dad was the actual owner. How dared Dean to disrespect and degenerate his ego like this? The Winchester, though, couldn't care less. He gave the Priest dude or whatever was his name the chance to walk away and keep his life. You’d taken the time to swallow more of him, the glossy sheen of his swollen cock buried in your throat as you repressed the urge to gag. It was perfect. “Can she get up? And can you get your dick back in your pants and leave now?”

Priestly's voice was starting to irritate Dean's ears. Hurting his ego was good, but wasn't it obvious who had control of the situation here? Besides, he wanted to enjoy this blowjob, thank you. That man was nothing but a distraction. If you could talk now, you'd probably roll your eyes, slap Dean's puffed chest, and something along the lines of ease up and knock off the alpha-macho behavior, Winchester.

As usual, you'd probably be right. There was no reason to garner unnecessary attention to yourselves over a spoiled little man wearing clothes more expensive than Dean's car. He tried to take it easy and give Priestly one last chance.

“Yeah, sure. Just two problems: I don't answer to you, and my girl won't let go of my cock.” He grinned darkly. To prove his point, the green-eyed man moved back a little. You let out a sharp whine, nosing close enough for your nose to brush against coarse hair. His balls slapped your chin with the sudden jerk, your slippery tongue enveloping his hardness in a desperate effort to keep him close. Fuck, that felt good. “See? She's all about my dick, sorry. Don't worry, babe. It's all yours.”

Dean ran his fingers through your hair in a soft reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere without you. He murmured encouragement under his breath as you sucked his cock. His girl was so good to him.

“You… She…” Priestly was tenting in his pants, unexpectedly excited by the scene like it was live action porn meant just for him. Dean groaned. Couldn't this dude get the hint and leave? He was getting the best head of his life here. “G-get your bitch and get the hell out of here!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, both you and Dean knew he fucked up.

“Now, now, now. No name calling. It’s rich of you to call her a bitch and still get a hard on out of it.” Dean bore his cock down harder into the wet of your throat. It made you gag, but you kept going as if you were made to keep his dick in your mouth. When he howled, neither of you were able to discern if it was out of anger or pleasure. “Maybe that's why you don't have a girl right now, buddy. You don't know how to treat women, so you don't get a good suck.”

“You… ”

“I'm done with you.” With a waft of his hand, Pristley was thrown at the wall, hitting his head and falling unconscious on the floor. Weak. “Come on, honey. Make me cum so I can go wake up that son of a bitch and break his back for disrespecting you.”

A moan reverberated in your throat, causing a whimper out of Dean as his dick throbbed. He pulled your hair and started to move his hips, fucking your mouth as if he was fucking your pussy. He was tearing you apart, thrusting deep you like you had a sweet spot there too.

You felt so full like this. Sure, it wasn't like having him inside your cunt, but the warm sensation of his cock occupying all of your throat was heavenly even when you knew how inappropriate that sounded: the devil taking you to heaven.

You coughed when Dean’s rhythm hastened, thighs pressed together in a loose attempt to gain some relief for your wet pussy. Your hands cradled his balls, massaging them while your mouth swallowed his cock.

It didn't take longer for him to cum, shooting his load inside you as you took all of it. He tasted a little too salty, a flavor you’ve grown accustomed to since his transition into demonhood, but you found yourself quickly craving it. You loved how he tasted and how he came so much and all for you.

Dean kept his hands on your head, helping you remain standing until you swallowed all of his cum. You finally released his dick with an audible pop, looking up to him. The moon made the big tears budding in your eyes glisten marvelously. Dean felt so lucky. He helped you to get up, kissing you softly for once. The old Dean, your Dean, came in glimpses sometimes.

He tasted himself on your lips. It was a delicious proof that you were still his. He had to let Sammy go, but you were here. He still had family, someone to cling to. Someone who wouldn't change him. Dean licked your lips.

“So good, honey.”

Your legs still trembled as your pussy cried out for attention. Thankfully, Dean held you close. “What are you gonna do about him?”

You nodded at the breathing body on the floor, your voice gruff from taking him so deeply. He loved it.

“That son of bitch?” He groaned at the mention of the annoying interruption. You placed your hand on his heart, rubbing there. Dean placed his forehead on yours. “He disrespect you so he's gonna die.” His green eyes changed into black with a wink, showing the actual weight of his darkness. “And then I'll eat you out and fuck that pretty pussy that's already wet for me.”

“Dean…” You sighed, ready to try putting some sense in his head, but then his bruised hand slipped, fingertips touching your bare arm, your hand, and then your belly, hips, and pelvis. Dean pressed a single digit on your clothed heat. You managed to ruin your panties, yourself, and the silk skirt all for him. You gave in. “Okay. Be quick.”

“I wasn't asking for you permission to kill him, Y/N.” He raised his eyebrows as your hips chased his touch.

“I know, but you still need my permission to get inside me,” you said despite the situation. You didn't think talking so casually about killing a guy would somehow become your new normal. Although, in all honesty, it wasn't that different from the hunter’s life before.“Take it or leave it, Dean.”

“Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He huffed, rolling his eyes before he pulled away to walk towards Priestly. “You better go wait in the car if you don't wanna see some blood, sweetheart.”

“Make it quick. And Dean?”

“What?” his gruff voice asked, turning to face you. You were so gorgeous under the sequin moon.

“Cuddles later?” You beamed at him, as if he wasn't about to murder someone.

The single smile he gave you in return could convince any jury of his innocence. “Of course, honey.”

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peanutbutterjelly-pie · 4 years

Text

prompt: Undercover

hosts: @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, @pray4jensen

Dean has been undercover for many times in his life.

FBI agent, Homeland Security officer, reporter, janitor, gym teacher, lunch lady, maintenance guy, minister, private detective, and so on and so on. The list is so long that he's actually more familiar with playing a role when interacting with strangers than being himself.

So when they're on yet another case again and Sam calls him from the local library and tells him to dress up Dean doesn't even think about questioning it.

“Your fanciest clothes,” Sam orders, making it pretty clear there should be no discussion about it. “Designer suit, shiny shoes. And a shave because you're starting to look like a hobo.”

Dean barely lifts an eyebrow. “What do you need me to be? A snobby multimillionaire too good for this world.”

“The snobbiest,” Sam agrees. “It needs to look like the stench of money is following you everywhere.”

And so Dean does as he's told.

A while ago he got himself one of those super expensive Armani or whatever outfits for a case (thanks to Charlie's unlimited credit card no problem at all) and has it stashed in the depths of Baby's trunk ever since. It's only been used once so far considering fake FBI agents or journalists are rarely dressed in designer suits. At least not if they don't want to draw too much unwanted attention to them.

Dean isn't exactly sure the damned thing still fits after all that time, but after a quick shower and shave he gives it a try and finds himself pleasantly surprised when the suit still wraps itself over his body like a glove. Only around the hips it got a bit tight, but if he'd refrain from bending over it should be fine.

And it actually makes his ass look extra great, Dean has to admit. He snaps a quick picture of it and sends it to Cas because he can't help himself. Cas answers immediately with a long string of enthusiastic emojis that are both incredibly sweet, involving lots of hearts, as well as highly inappropriate and Dean loves him even more for it.

He makes a mental note to wear that suit the next time they'll be alone to see how fast the angel would be able to rip the clothes off his body and then he heads out to meet with Sam.

Soon enough he finds himself in front of a jewelry store, with his tall mountain of a brother waiting at the entrance. He is dressed in fancy clothes as well and considering he left their motel room a few hours ago just with his usual plaid attire he obviously went shopping in the meantime. The suit doesn't fit a hundred percent in some places, making it obvious this was a rather quick shopping trip with no time for a proper fitting, but it makes him nonetheless look extra posh too.

“We look good,” Dean remarks with a grin as he stops next to Sam. “Like we could buy all of the world in a heartbeat and still have a couple of millions left as pocket money.”

Sam merely huffs with a fond smile. “If you say so.”

“So what is the situation?” Dean asks, pointing at the store.

“I just got a lead that our annoying spirit might have a connection to a wristband that's on display here,” Sam tells him. “It had belonged to her before she died. And I know it's not much, but I wanna check it out anyway.”

That specific spirit had been annoying them for days now because they were unable to figure out what kept her here in the first place. So Dean will take any lead they can get, no matter how small.

“I'm actually not very optimistic,” Sam explains with a sigh. “But our ghost is showing up here in the area, so it's not a total longshot. We just need to get inside and distract the employees a little.”

“Hence the fancy clothes.” Dean nods in understanding. He highly doubts they would've even gotten past the security guard on the door in their usual jeans. Most likely even their regular FBI suits wouldn't have been good enough.

“So we just go inside and one of us pretends to be a customer while the other subtly checks out that wristband?” Dean asks nonetheless.

Sam nods. “Don't worry, I have a plan.”

Dean blinks, but has no time for further questioning since Sam's already shoving him through the gigantic front door. He's instantly greeted with lots of bling and bright lights and the absolute perfect room temperature (like seriously, did they hire a guy just to keep a close eye on that the entire time?) before getting pushed to the main counter where a blonde woman with a way too wide smile happily waits to bury her flawlessly manicured nails into those new potential buyers.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice as melodic and perfect as the air in the store. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, we've got an important purchase to make,” Sam announces, sounding all kinds of pompous. “Because you see, my brother here,” he grabs Dean's shoulders and grins at him with such an intensity Dean can't help feeling wary all of a sudden, “he intends to propose to his boyfriend.”

Dean blinks rapidly.

What?

Okay, Dean certainly didn't expect that.

The woman – Marlene, as her name tag tells them – seems taken aback by that for a moment as well, but she picks herself up much quicker than Dean. Her smile increases a few thousand watt while she turns toward the groom-to-be. “This is wonderful. Congratulations!”

Dean feels a bit like he's been hit right in the face, out of nowhere.

Thankfully he is actually used to unexpected violent attacks and has learned fairly early to deal with them.

“Um … thanks,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Marlene apparently misinterprets his awkward fumbling for adorable shyness or whatever and looks at him like she's ready to adopt him right here on the spot.

“You have to excuse him, this is still a bit much for him,” Sam leaps back into the conversation. “He's been thinking about this moment for years and I guess it might be a tad surreal that it's finally happening.”

“Really?” Marlene seems truly intrigued hearing that.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs way too dramatically, “Dean's basically been thinking about marrying Cas since the first moment they met.”

Well.

Actually his first meeting with Cas was more like Dean having a sudden realization á la, “Wow, he's hot!” and then stabbing the guy in the chest.

But Dean refrains from pointing that one out.

It might have ended in those people declaring them insane and kicking them out of the store. And though Dean is used to the first, he doesn't need the latter right now.

“Dean just wants everything to be perfect,” Sam points out, sounding exactly like a guy who is used to getting what he wants. “It's a big day.”

“It most certainly is,” Marlene agrees, dollar signs already flashing up in her eyes. “We have a vast collection of engagement rings and I'm sure we will find something to your liking.”

“Money is not the issue,” Sam says those magic words that make Marlene even more excited, so it seems. “The bigger and more extravagant, the better.”

Marlene smiles widens, appearing incredibly sweet and harmless on the surface. But Dean knows a predator focusing on its prey when he sees it.

On instinct he actually wants to take a step back and hide, but instead he gathers enough courage to meet her smile. It's still somewhat wobbly, but she probably blames it on his alleged nervousness about that big change in his life.

“Why don't you tell me a little bit about your Cas?” she prods him. “What is he like?”

Dean shoots a quick glance at his brother, cursing him for having to endure this in the first place, before clearing his throat and responding, “He's … um, awesome.”

Way to go, Winchester.

She is certainly swooning on the spot.

Dean winces inwardly and forces himself to get a little bit more into his role. After all, he is used to the undercover life, so this shouldn't be too hard.

For a minute there he even considers to lie about Cas' personality, wondering whether that would make it easier to talk about him to a total stranger, but as he's just about to come up with some made-up character traits, he hears himself saying, “Well, to be fair, he's an asshole.”

Marlene looks at him in surprise while Sam in the background rolls his eyes.

“Uh … okay?” Marlene answers, clearly not sure how to reply to that.

“Cas is grumpy,” Dean goes on, now a fond smile flickering over his features. “I'm quite certain he is the biggest grump in the history of mankind, to be honest. And he's way too sassy for his own good. Also he has no idea how to clean up after himself and he always hums those annoying jingles he heard on the radio or whatever. All day. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone mad many years ago.”

Or maybe he has.

With his life, who could tell?

“But he's also a badass,” Dean continues, registering the only other employee who's been lacking any customers at the moment sliding closer with clear interest in her eyes. “No one should dare to screw around with him. And the few that actually did regretted it pretty quickly.”

That's, of course, an understatement actually, but he won't go into much detail now. For those poor women's sanity.

“And he cares, so much,” Dean goes on, an affectionate smile settling on his face when his thoughts drift closer to Cas. It's an automatic response at this point and he's pretty sure it'll stay like that for the rest of his life. “Even about that stupid little fly that got lost into our room a couple of weeks ago. It feels like we spent hours catching that thing and releasing it back into the wild. But what could you have done, you know? Cas would've been miserable if that fly would've died inside and that's something nobody wants to see. Believe me. He looks like a kicked puppy when he's sad.”

The salesladies scoots even closer, captivated by Dean gushing over his boyfriend. While Sam subtly starts to step back a little and check out the rest of the display, trying to locate the wristband of their obnoxious ghost.

Dean clears his throat, despite still feeling like he's been thrown into icy water without any warning whatsoever by his traitorous brother more than determined to play this role like their lives depend on it. After all, there here and they might not get a second chance.

So Dean gives it all he's got.

“So yes, Cas, he's great,” he says. “He's been my best friend for such a long time now and I … I guess I want him at my side for the rest of my life. And even beyond that.”

Dean smiles at the image of sharing his Heaven with Cas one day. It might be a hassle to get there at first – after all, Cas' relationship with his brethren is still not the best –, but Dean has no doubt that it'll come true eventually. Cas is way too much of a stubborn son of a bitch to not see this through.

Dean blinks as he suddenly realizes that he is in fact beginning to fantasize about Cas by his side forever as a real possibility.

Huh.

“As mentioned, we have a vast collection of engagement rings to help you start this new chapter of your life,” Marlene says with a happy sigh. “We would be more than happy to help you with your endeavor.”

Dean stares at her for a moment.

Oh right. Rings. The case.

“Yes, right,” he mutters, a slight blush on his face now. “It … it needs to be perfect.”

Marlene and her colleague – Amanda, as her name tag tells him – immediately spur into action and for the next ten minutes Dean sees himself confronted with a huge variety of different rings in all shapes and forms. A few are actually quite simple and elegant – silver bands with a couple of nice highlights – and some are seriously so over-the-top pompous and big Dean has no idea how a normal human being should be able to wear that on their hand.

But he smiles at them all and fakes such exaggerated interest both Marlene and Amanda seem to believe they're in Heaven themselves.

And it seems like a freaking eternity until Sam pops up next to him again.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he jumps right into their enthusiastic conversation. “My girlfriend just texted me. Her doctor's appointment ended way earlier than expected and I need to pick her up.”

A blatant lie, of course, considering Eileen is back at the bunker with Cas, probably getting her ass beaten in every single board game invented by the best of all strategists Heaven has ever produced.

“But don't worry, Dean will be back shortly,” Sam promises right away as both Marlene and Amanda look rather crestfallen at those news. “After all, Dean can't wait to get married.”

They bid hasty goodbyes and are soon enough back on the streets again.

“So, any luck?” Dean asks when he's starting to remember the real reason why they went into the store in the first place.

“I found the wristband,” Sam admits. “But there's no suspicious energy to it. It's just jewelry.”

“Damn,” Dean sighs. “Well, it was worth a shot, at least.”

“Yeah …”

“And that was one hell of a cover story, Sammy,” Dean can't help pointing out for some reason.

Sam shoots him a quick glance, something intense flickering over his features.

“It wasn't though, right?” he asks in the end. “A cover story, I mean. Not really, at least.”

Dean frowns. On first instinct he wants to deny that, just wants to scoff at his brother's face and get on with his life, but then he thinks about Cas and how nice he would look with a ring on his finger and he finds himself lowering his gaze to cover up the flush on his cheeks.

“Uh … well, maybe it wasn't really a cover story after all,” he admits, his voice low, yet steady.

“So you want to go back?” Sam wonders, a smile on his lips. “ Look at those rings again? When this case is over and everything.”

Dean blinks. A few of those rings actually did look kind of awesome, if he's honest with himself. And sure, they're pretty expensive, but also very durable (an important feature in their line of work), and Dean surely didn't lie when he said that Cas only deserves the best.

So he finds himself muttering, “Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind going back” and feels rather good about it.

Seems like Dean seriously has an important purchase to make after all.

#destiel #spnstayathome #fanfic #fic #drabble #fluff #established relationship #fanfiction: mine

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