#dean winchester cannon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

take-it-on-the-run · 1 month

Text

Bridge Over Troubled Water

Dean Winchester & Reaper!Reader

Dean Winchester didn't want to know what life was going to be like without his brother, and he didn't intend to learn

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags: Suicide attempt, angst, major character death, minor injury, typical cannon violence, angst with a happy ending

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reaper!Reader

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Simon & Garfunkel title. This has been stewing in my drafts since August, so I'm very happy I was able to finally finish it! This is set around season 5 (Dean is 30 and Sam is 26). PLEASE heed the warnings, and please don't read further if this story will make you uncomfortable. Unbeta'd and every single mistake is mine :)

Rain clung to a man as he peered over the rails of a bridge he couldn’t name. It was big enough to have a name, he was sure of that, but not big enough for people to be driving by at three in the morning.

His hands wrapped around the steel beams meant to keep cars from tipping over into the rushing waters below. They were cold to the touch, but he didn’t feel that. He could barely place one foot in front of the other, let alone feel anything besides the hollowed-out hole in his chest.

His car was parked just off the side of the road less than half a mile away, keys still in the ignition, lights blaring onto the tree trunks that ran on for as far as the eye could see. There was no one for miles, the only souls accompanying him in those moments being those of the rodents scattering into crooks and crannies to hide from the rain.

A heavy weight shifted in his pocket, nudging against his thigh, reminding him why he was standing alone in the rain. He couldn’t comprehend that in the morning, people would come looking for him, that he would be missed; that he would be mourned. He only knew the pain that was engulfing his very being, pushing him closer and closer to life’s edge.

He wanted to compare it to Hell, but he knew that in Hell he’d at least pay for what he’d done in the form of flames and pure, unimaginable agony, like he’d experienced all those years ago. Here, he could only wallow in the fact that he was alive, and the only person he’d give his life for wasn’t.

The first time he tried to pitch himself over the rails, his foot slipped and his head collided with the metal. Blood trickled down his forehead as he remained on the ground. Any other time, he’d be able to climb anything, anywhere; but now all he could hear was the sound of the river below calling for him.

Join me. It said, beckoning him to his feet once again.

Though he couldn’t see me, I was there watching him as he tried to will himself to take his own life. Standing a mere ten feet from him, leaning on the opposing set of rails, I watched as he clambered upright. In complete honesty, I didn’t know if he’d do it or not. I did, however, know that he wasn’t meant to be there. He was meant to pass in a horrible accident three weeks before at his own hands, leaving his brother the only survivor. His name was in my book, and I was meant to take him to the great hereafter, only to find him standing over his brother’s body.

The man didn’t know it, but his brother was there too, watching him on that bridge. He tried to get his brother to hear his pleas, but he couldn’t, so he turned to me.

He begged me and begged me to not let his brother take his life. This had happened many times since I started my life’s work, people trying to offer me their souls in place of a loved one’s, but my duties remained as they were. I’m a pathway to the afterlife. No more, no less. Never once had I prevented someone from dying, never once had someone slipped between my fingers, and never once had I stuck myself in Earthly affairs.

I leaned into the rails silently, letting the rain fall onto my bare skin. I could imagine how cold it was for him, shivering and bleeding as his world seemed to crumble.

His brother clung to my side, clawing and tearing at my skin as he wailed for me to let his brother live, that his soul should be enough for me to have.

I turned to him and looked into his widened eyes, and all I could do was wonder. Wonder why such a young man was content in his own death, and why he didn’t want his brother to die as he did.

“You Winchesters and your family bond. You know Samuel, there aren’t many people out there who aren’t pissed at the person who killed them.” I said as I acknowledged the youngest Winchester for the first time since he started our conversation.

“He didn’t-” Sam looked to his older brother, still oblivious to my presence, “-my death wasn’t his fault. You got your soul, now you can report back to your big boss and just leave Dean alone, please.”

I turned to him, ready to tell him that my kind didn’t deal in souls, but was interrupted when the click of a handgun made Sam and I turn our heads.

“Are you my reaper?” He asked, matter-of-factually, poorly aiming his pistol in my general direction. I took a step toward him, the rain beginning to fall more violently.

“We both know you’re smart enough than to try and use that on me, Dean,” I said, ignoring his question as I took more steps toward him.

“Answer-” Dean readjusted his slipping grip on the gun, eyes wearily trained at me. “-answer me.”

“I was your reaper, yes,” I answered, closing the distance between us, cool metal pressed against my chest.

His eyes were green and sunken; packed with tears, veins, and blood. His pupils darted around my face expectantly, begging me to do something, make his pain simply go away.

I felt a heavy pang in my chest, that hooked onto my heart and sunk to my feet.

I reached up to his face, gently cupping as I skimmed my fingers over untrimmed facial hair. He flinched as my hand made contact, probably expecting to get ripped from his body.

“Don’t be afraid, Dean. He’s safe.” I said gently. His eyes closed, and he leaned into my palm as he let out a heavy breath.

“He isn’t angry at you. You know, he practically begged me to come stop you.” I smiled, smoothing over the gash on his forehead. The deep cut disappeared as my fingers skimmed over it, offering him some relief.

“It’s not fair-” Dean choked out, coughing as the weather around us began to take its toll on his body. “-Sammy, he’s got a whole life ahead of him. College, a big lawyer job, a normal life. All I’ve got is hunting, and waiting to run into someone sharp enough to finally get me.”

His teeth chattered in his mouth, and the metal against my chest disappeared as he let his arms drop to his sides.

“Big talk coming from someone who’s barely thirty,” I said, watching as Dean pulled away from my hands, and returned to leaning on the rails.

“It’s the-” Dean starts.

“-the life, yes. So I’ve heard from a great number of hunters.” I finished his thought as I joined him on the rails. “Why is it that all of you think your lifespans are so short? Hunters back In, I don’t know,” I wave my hand as I’m trying to come up with the words, “the seventeen hundreds still lived longer than a lot your folk do nowadays.”

He creased his eyebrows, his eyes flickering over my face.

“All I’m saying,” I take a long look at the sun starting to crawl its way over the horizon, “is that ‘the life’ doesn’t have to be your life, Dean. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but you don’t have to die in some horrific fight that finally puts you down. Hunters have died of old age, you know.”

He looked at me, the freckles on his face more visible now that the rain was calming down, “but Sammy… he deserved his happy ending more than I ever will. He got out. Got a full-ride scholarship to freakin’ Stanford. Had a girl. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him how proud I was. I’d stand outside his dorm room for hours, trying to figure out a way to come see him without Dad, or without him hating me. I shouldn’t have dragged him back into this, and now he’s dead. In my place.”

“It’s the natural order of things, Dean. If not him, then you, and if not you, then some other person had to die that day.”

“But it didn’t have to be Sam. I would’ve gone just the same way as he did, but at least he’d have something dragging him forward, to move on.” He looked at me again with those tired eyes, letting out a sharp breath as his hands clung to the railing again, leaning his torso off halfway.

“Dean,” I said cautiously, watching his knuckles turn white as his heart quickened and eyes shut, “Dean.”

His feet were moving fast, and in one swift moment, he was off the bridge. His body flung over almost effortlessly and catapulted him down to the rocky waters below.

I turned away, expecting him to appear next to me in a moment, but his voice rose through the air instead.

“What…?”

I looked over the railing, only to see Sam was holding his forearms, holding him from his forearms before he could drop.

I turned to the younger Winchester brother, who was solely focused on trying to save his brother’s life, his spectral hands losing their grip the longer he held on.

“Dean, hold on, please. Please, man, just hold on. Don’t give up on me.”

Dean’s head snapped up, looking straight at his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean choked out, his legs starting to kick frantically as if he were trying to walk on air.

“Help me, help me get him up. Please.” Sam turned to me, struggling to hold onto his brother.

I blinked and I was beside him, yanking up on an almost-limp Dean, and throwing him onto the road of the bridge.

Dean lay on the ground, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. Sam knelt beside him, his eyes filled with remorse.

“I didn’t want to give up on you, Sammy,” Dean whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of the damp morning breeze.

Sam’s heart clenched at the sound of his brother’s voice, filled with a mixture of pain and regret. “I know, Dean,” he replied, his voice choked with emotion. “It’s not your fault. You never gave up on me. You took all of dad’s crap, and I mean all of it. The yelling. The hunting. The abuse.”

Dean looked at his brother before he went still, not saying a word as he clutched his chest with pale blue hands. His breaths grew shallower, his body beginning to tremble from the exertion and the cold rain that drenched him throughout the night. Sam glanced around frantically, feeling helpless in the face of his brother’s suffering.

“He needs help. Help him,” Sam said, his voice urgent as he looked up at me, desperation clear in his eyes.

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of the situation. “I’ll do what I can,” I replied, my voice solemn. “But I can’t interfere with the natural order of things.”

Sam’s shoulders sagged in defeat, but he refused to give up. “There has to be something you can do,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion. “Please, just help him.”

I hesitated, the pull that the Winchester seemed to have with the universe was something even Death couldn’t withstand; but who was I to interfere? As I looked down at Dean, lying battered and broken on the ground, I could hear the cracking of his ribs drowning out my thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, I knelt beside Sam and Dean, moving Dean’s hands away from his chest with little force. “I’ll do what I can,” I said, my voice softer.

I laid my hands on Dean’s chest, warmth spread through his body, chasing away the chill of the rain and easing his pain. His breaths grew steadier, his trembling subsiding as color started returning to his hands.

Sam looked on in awe, tears welling in his eyes as he watched his brother’s condition improve before his very eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

I nodded, a small smile touching my lips. “Take care of him,” Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper, and I nodded. “He’s gotta lot of fight left in him, and someone has to keep him up and running.”

I chuckled, moving to the side of Sam as I waited for him to pull away from Dean. The two of them sat there in perfect silence, staring into the blankness in front of them. I could barely hear Dean’s breath through the wind that curved between the air around us.

“I have to go, Dean,” Sam said, turning to face them as they both sat on the edge of the empty road.

“I can’t do this without you Sammy, I don’t want to,” Dean said, catching stray tears with the back of his hand. He took his brother into a firm hug; it was as if he was holding him to Earth, and to life itself.

“I love you so much,” Sam said as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, Dean taking in a shuddered breath. Sam slowly pulled away from him, and stood beside me, trying his best to smile, “bye, Dean.”

Dean looked up at his brother, nose red and raw from the tears that coated his face, hiccuping as he failed to drown his emotions with a weak smile, not saying a word. He scooted away from the road, sitting himself up against the rails as he watched me and Sam walk down the bridge, and out of view.

I can’t say that I forgot that day, especially when I was called again for Dean. He lay on a hospital bed, his once dirty blonde hair replaced with silver tufts, complemented by wrinkles brought on from years of stories to tell, and different kinds of scars in new places.

He looked just as he did that day on the bridge when he came to stand by me, watching the woman beside him, hair just as gray as his, holding onto his hand. An anti-possession tattoo peaked out from under her long sleeve as she reached over to plant a kiss on his forehead, watching as his heart monitor ran flat. After a few moments of silence, nurses came into the room, looking over Dean’s body as the woman shuffled out of the room and walked through Dean and me with a shudder.

“Hello, Dean,” I said, smiling gently, preparing to lead him out of the room when there was a laugh from behind us. Two hands were placed firmly around Dean before I could realize who it was.

“You ready? We’ve got a lot to catch up on, you know.” Sam said as he pulled away from his brother, the both of them smiling like I’d never seen before.

47 notes · View notes

officialcherrypieold · 1 year

Text

No one:

Dean Winchester: “dad is on a hunting trip and hasn’t been home in a few days…”

Me already knowing this shit is gonna start a years long obsession:

303 notes · View notes

prettyflyshyguy · 1 month

Text

He's a monster, and he's hungry.

Wrote this over a few days because I'm. Not ok about this. It's on AO3, and under the cut cause it's a short one. Not super edited, just got desperate for more content exploring when Dean was a vampire and when I found none I was like "well alright. Guess I'll make it then."

“I can’t believe it.”

Dean paced the length of the hotel room, passing back and forth by the table where his brother sat, prowling like an animal in captivity.

“You just stood there and watched that freak turn me!”

He stared at Sam, hoping for a change in his reaction, a look of sympathy, an admission of guilt, some form of recognition that something fucked up happened in the alley. Sam’s face was blank, his heartbeat steady, and frankly he just didn’t seem to care. In fact, he hadn’t seemed to care about much recently. He was a cold, lifeless, empty husk and Dean was tired of it. His usual quips brought no frustrated response, no snappy replies, he was simply brushed off. There was no banter, no anger, simply complete and utter apathy no matter what he said. Sam had his moments, everyone did. Dean knew he had a tendency to push his luck, many people had told him this. But Sam was different, they were siblings. Sam putting up with him being an ass was just how things were, and would always be. At least it's how it should be. After everything they’d seen and done together… If Sam held any resentment, he’d have made it clear by this stage. He was a good liar, but Dean could always tell. They both knew each other too well. If he had any doubt something was off about Sam, it was quickly disintegrating as he stalked the room, watching him blankly staring up at him from the small table. Not even fidgeting in the slightest.

They’d been pushed to their limits before, and Sam was always the first to speak up when something was wrong.

“Dean.”

His lip curled at the sound of his name. It was so hollow. So static. It reminded him of school, when his teacher would check the roll call. It was an obligation and a requirement, not something done out of genuine care.

He decided to push a little harder.

“I mean what the hell was that all about Sam? Revenge? To get me back?” he growled.

“You know you’ve talked so much shit about me taking risks, is this all just some master plan to show me the error of my ways? A jab back at how you still, somehow deep down, think I’m Dad’s perfect son?”

He stood still, observing for a change in reaction. Dean desperately wanted to find a tiny shift in body language, a subtle twitch in his eyes or mouth, that sad glint in his eyes.

He breathed out slowly as Sam once again stared back with soulless eyes and a steady heart.

Not enough, Ok, he thought. He was an expert at this. Maybe Sam had steeled up after all these years.

It wasn’t a completely unreasonable possibility.

“I almost hurt Lisa and Ben, Sam! I came so close, I could have killed them and no one would have been there to stop me, but you were!”

He took a step towards Sam as he spoke, the venom of the accusation lingering in the air.

Sam breathed out and shuffled in his seat. Finally, a response.

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

You calm down.

He took another step closer, noting the slight increase in pace of Sam’s heart. Progress, hell yeah. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips though Dean’s eyes were as cold as Sam’s.

“Oh, that's rich coming from you! That’s easy for you to say when you’re not being assaulted by noise like you went to the movies and an intern did the mixing.”

He took another step closer.

The thrumming beat increased in speed once more.

“Dean.”

“S’matter of fact,” Dean slid his fingers across the tabletop, tracing the grooves in the rough wooden surface, “you’re exceptionally calm given I’m now stuck doing a bad David Boreanaz impression for an indefinite period of time, with no guarantee this Campbell special will even work.”

He looked up from where his hand slid along the table to match Sam’s unwavering gaze. His brother tilted his head to look up at him as Dean hovered above, adjusting in his seat. Sam slipped his left arm over the backrest of the chair.

Dean’s expression turned cold once more.

“And I’ve been thinking, Sammy. It’s ironic. Between that creep, you just standing there and watching, and…” jabbing his thumb back towards himself he gestured “... me…”

Dean slammed his hand back down on the table, leaning in closer. The headlights of a car flickered through the slim gap in the middle of the window curtains drawn behind them. It reflected off of Dean’s eyes for a split second, making Sam flinch. It reminded him of the animals on the side of the highway, peering at them through the bushes before darting away when they drove late at night.

“Begs the question,” Dean continued. “Which one of us is the real monster?”

Sam swallowed. The first real visible sign of him showing some nerves. He’d finally cracked him.

“Since you can hear my heartbeat,” Sam spoke slowly, “what does it say about me now?”

His tone was outwardly calm, but Dean could hear through him.

“It says you’re shit scared, Sammy.”

Sam waited for a few seconds before opening his mouth to respond. Whatever he said, Dean didn’t seem to notice, as his gaze began to shift from Sam’s face down to where the light of the window caught the curve of his exposed bare neck. A pang of hunger swelled in the pit of his chest as the noise and light and intensity of the room faded away until all that was left was the steady sound of the beating, beating, beating.

A sharp, intense pain stung the side of Dean’s neck breaking him free of the trance as he collapsed to the ground groaning and twitching in pain. Through fading vision he looked up to see Sam still sitting on the chair, slouching back, but holding a syringe in his left hand. The contents empty.

“You… sonof-abich…” his words formed a slurry as his body went limp.

“Nice of you to join us Samuel.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Sam’s showing me what all those years of boy scout training taught him to do.”

Dean sat on a chair, his legs, arms and chest bound with thick twine rope. Smiling at Samuel for a moment, he motioned with what little mobility he had in his hands to indicate. Samuel glanced at his brother with a questioning look.

“You did this?”

“He shot me full of dead man’s blood, and I gotta say, that’s one hell of a drug.”

Dean’s tone was dry and unimpressed. Samuel assessed the room, looking as though he wanted to ask more questions, but decided against it.

“Anyway you said you were getting something to help?” Dean’s voice broke the silence.

“This is help.”

Samuel pulled a glass jar out of a brown paper bag, setting it on the table. The contents was dark and viscous. It had sloshed around in transit, coating the airgap at the top of the jar. The light pierced through the clear glass and bright red light danced across the varnished wood tabletop.

“Wh- what is that?”

“Cows blood.” Samuel said curtly.

“That’s help?”

“It’ll keep you alive.”

As he twisted the lid open Dean’s eyes flicked between the jar and the two men.

“Well can you at least untie me first?” he pleaded, his voice straining.

The rope dug into his wrists and the thought of being spoon fed cows blood was sending his mind to a dark and violent place.

“Dean, it's just a precaution.” Samuel attempted to be reassuring.

Dean clenched his jaw. Precaution for what. You weren’t even here to see Sam attack me.

“Oh cut the bullcrap!” Dean spat, pulling against the rope binding his arms and legs. “C three P O over here was a bit too cautious back in the alley and look where it got us!”

Samuel stared at him tensely. Dean winced as a spike of sound ringed in his head from a car horn outside.

“Look I’m fine, Samuel. Really. Just untie me.”

The older man hesitated.

“Please?” Dean cracked a smile that usually got him whatever he wanted.

Usually.

Samuel watched him carefully while he placed the jar lid on the table. The unmistakable smell of iron, meat and death began to waft through the room. He leaned into the scent as he realised just how hungry he was. How dry his throat was. How much the deep, dark red called out to him.

“Samuel I will kill you if you try and hand feed that shit to me.”

The older man raised an eyebrow in response, unimpressed, and picked up the jar.

“Wait!”

Dean grimaced and hissed through gritted teeth as Sam called out from the other side of the table.

“One drop of human blood is enough, are we sure that cow’s blood is clean?”

“Oh you gotta be fucking kidding me Sammy…” Dean groaned.

Samuel paused, running it through his mind, blinking a few times, he contemplated the risk and the chance. Looking back, Sam shrugged silently.

“Sam has a point. If any human blood, from a cut or a scratch, got into this at the abattoir, you’re done.”

Dean ignored him and glared at Sam.

“God I can’t listen to you right now.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Sam blurted in frustration.

“Your fucking heartbeat man! It's so loud, it's so monotonous it’s killing me! Look, Samuel, just cut this fuckin rope and hand me the fuckin jar.”

Reluctantly, and cautiously, he pulled out a hunting knife from a holster on his belt. Staying as far from Dean as possible, he nicked part of the rope on Dean’s right arm just enough for him to wiggle it loose. Waving it in the air and stretching the fingers, Dean looked back to the two who were eyeing him off.

“See that wasn’t so bad now was it.” Dean’s tone was sarcastic and he tapped the armrest with his index finger.

“C’mon guys don’t look so nervous. You can just drug me up again, it’s not like that's off the cards is it Sammy.”

Sam glanced away at the mention of his name, Samuel grunted in frustration as he reached for the jar and took a step towards the chair. In an instant the background thrum of his heart filled Dean’s mind, it was faster, full of nerves and fear compared to Sam’s horribly persistent flat tone. As he approached holding the jar out, Dean felt something shift under his lip.

“NO.”

His voice boomed as he jerked back in his seat, the legs scraping against the floor. Breathing sharply, he tilted his head down avoiding the stares of his associates.

“Get away from me.”

Grunting and breathing through gritted, sharpened teeth, he glanced up.

“Sammy, drop the machete.”

They’d both instinctively reached for their weapons. Brandishing them high, already poised for a clean decapitating swing. Dean growled and heaved deep breaths of air, flexing the remaining restraints. He could break free, if he wanted to. With one arm loose, he could easily rip the remaining rope off. He contemplated the thought, reveling in how powerful it made him feel.

“Dean?”

Samuel’s voice snapped him back to reality. He’d placed his machete back on the table, Sam had lowered his but still gripped it.

Dean extended his free arm out and flicked his hand towards the table.

“Just hand me the fuckin jar already.”

Samuel was quick to oblige, and quicker to back away once Dean had it in his grip. He tried to not dwell on the way his companions looked at his mouth instead of his face. He could feel the second set of teeth against his lips, his tongue. The smell of blood was suffocating him now, a mixture of alluring coppery tones and the stench of raw stale flesh. He wasn’t sure which was making him feel more ill. The pungent aroma or the fact he liked something in it.

“So you two just gonna watch like this is some sort of peep show or what?”

Neither responded, still fixated on his every move. Pulling a face, Dean limply held the jar up as it to toast before bringing it to his lips. Taking a tentative sip, he recoiled as blood spilt down his chin. Groaning and sputtering he violently spat it out.

“Augh, god this tastes disgusting–”

“I promised you help, I didn’t promise it’d taste nice. Now drink it.”

22 notes · View notes

veekramsinha · 4 months

Text

This should've been canon from both sides😭we were robbed

#Destiel #cannon #jensen ackles #misha collins #dean winchester #castiel

23 notes · View notes

runwhileyoucan · 8 months

Text

Me： relating to castiel and dean so bad

also me： finding the head canons where dean is bisexual and castiel is autistic

Me：oh

#these head cannons are so important to be though #like i am getting a autism diognosis right now and im definatly bisexual #bisexual dean winchester #castiel #autistic castiel #spn #dean #supernatrual

30 notes · View notes

passiveagressivepoet · 8 months

Text

the first time dean and cas share a bed it feels like coming home for dean. it’s lovely but he’s also wildly conflicted. he feels like he doesn’t deserve this - rest, peace, companionship, and most certainly love. he doesn’t deserve the softness and intimacy of a true partnership, doesn’t deserve to wake up next to cas. cas who sits with him all night, cuddling and reading, even though he doesn’t sleep. he goes to bed with dean every night, can’t imagine leaving dean to fend for himself anymore against the chill of the night air or the nightmares. it takes years for dean to accept that cas is there, and he loves him for who he is. he isn’t weak for craving soft things, dean’s softness makes him stronger. cas loves how his eyes warm when dean wakes up and rolls over, sees cas holding him. he feels like someone, somewhere finally decided he deserves something good.

in reality he’s finally accepting all of the good that cas had been surrounding him with for years.

#ooop didn’t mean to write this #but just emotional about what being together and being domestic means #anywaysssss #dean headcannon #dean hc #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #destiel head cannon #destiel hc #my little funny writing

29 notes · View notes

mlovesstories · 2 years

Text

Succulents

Summary: Dean doesn’t like YN’s new hobby.

Warnings: none

Prompt from HERE

Prompt: Succulents

“You suck, Dean.” Sam groaned at his brother. “YN has finally found a way to funnel her energy, and you completely belittled her.”

“She grows PLANTS, Sam. How is that even close to expending energy?” Dean threw his hands in the air.

“You watch Dr, Sexy, I read, she grows plants. What’s weird about that?” Sam shrugged.

“They are everywhere!” Dean sighed, exasperated.

“Half of them are succulents and small anyway. Leave it alone, Dean,” Sam turned back to his book.

Later that evening, YN knocked on Dean’s door.

“I know you don’t like my plants.” She stated plainly.

“Not really a fan, this isn’t a greenhouse.”

“Exactly why I got succulents. The ones I got need little water and can grow on that tiny window sill over there,” YN pointed down the hall.

“Don’t succulents have to grow outside?” He put his magazine to the side and crossed his arms.

“Some, not all. How did you know that?” YN tilted her head in curiosity.

“Heard that somewhere, I don’t know,” Dean shrugged.

“Are we going to fight about this and you pull your ‘I’m older and in charge,’ card as the older brother?” She bit her lip.

“No. Keep your damn plants. They stay off the surfaces that we commonly use, though. Got it?” He picked up his magazine and put it on his lap.

“Thanks, big bro!” YN crash-landed onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I love you!”

The older brother groaned as her weight pushed his legs into the mattress.

“I’m glad we agree, because I got you something.” YN ran out of the room. Dean heard her rummaging in her room down the hall. “Here,” she tossed him a t-shirt that looked to be his size. Dean unfolded the piece of clothing, and he laid it on top of the magazine which splayed over his upper thighs.

‘BEST PLANT BRO EVER’

He rolled his eyes.

She grinned.

“Look at the back.”

Dean flipped it around and saw another saying across the shoulder section.

‘I SUCC”

“You little-” He jumped off of his bed with a laugh and ran toward her. Surprised, it took her a moment to react. YN turned and ran out of the room with a shriek.

“Sammy! Save me!” YN giggled as she put space between herself and her oldest brother.

“You’re on your own!” Sam yelled back. He heard a scream and laughter as Dean carried her into the library.

“Okay! Okay! I give!” YN tried to breathe evenly.

“You are so paying for this,” Dean said with a grin.

Forevers:

@katymacsupernatural @unicornblood4ever

@fangirl-moment-x @empirialwolf @winchesters-favorite-girl

@super100012 @percywinchester27 @waywardsuns @supernatural-jackles

@mcallmestiles @sdavid09 @kingandrear @bellero @skylarraker

@seality @jaycc7983 @luci-in-trenchcoats

@cherryblossomflowers @because-you-never-know-when

@sleepylunarwolf @choosemyname

@internationalmusicteacher @mersuperwholocked-lowlife

@encounterthepast @torn-and-frayed

@giggles1026 @xiumin-girl99

@mangueweaschester

@idksupernatural @silverstripe101a

@thevelvetseries @samsgirl93 @supernatural3002 *

* @breereadsthings *

@vicmc624 @hookedinto-fictionalworlds @beatifuldisaster018

@miraclesoflove @myopiamystical

@waywardnewcomer

@akshi8278

@metalfangirl @squirrelnotsam

#supernatural #supernatural cannon #dean winchester #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #winchester sister #SISTER WINCHESTER #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam winchester x sister #sam x sister!reader #sam x sister #mlovesstories #mlovesstoriessucculents

228 notes · View notes

deancas-stabfest · 4 months

Text

Laughter in a Corn Maze

Author: @castielafflicted Artist: @hectatess Rating: M Word Count: 5,804 Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Tags: case fic, hurt/comfort, torture, married destiel

Summary

Castiel and Dean stop for a quick case on the way to celebrate their honeymoon, but things go wrong very quickly. Soon, the only thing Castiel knows is how afraid he is.

Link to Fic | Link to Art

Stickers:

#deancas stabfest #deancas stab fest #stabfest 2023 #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #castielafflicted #hectatess #cannon of canon complicity #stab stab

39 notes · View notes

didsomeonesaybuffet · 1 year

Text

‘I love you’

Relief washed over him and tears fell from his ocean blue eyes as the admission that had haunted his heart and his mind - his very soul - for so long finally burst free. He took a step back, waiting to be taken. The truth brought him joy like he’d never expected, though it was tinged with fear, a trepidation he’d expected but which was not welcome. Any second now he’d be snuffed out. Nothing but a painful memory for those who knew him. But the darkness didn’t come.

He opened his eyes as rough but gentle hands graced his neck, hands he’d dreamed about and longed for, always ever so slightly out of reach. He looked into the green eyes suddenly level with his own, his breath catching in his throat. His hands shook as he raised them to the waist of the man before him.

Any second now.

They stood frozen, and wondered if it had happened without him realising, surely he couldn’t be any happier than this?

Dean’s lips grazed his cheek, and Cas would later swear he heard stubble scratch against stubble like a match being struck, igniting a spark in his lower belly which burst up through his chest and into his shoulders, making his arms tingle and his whole body tremble. Or maybe it was Dean who was shaking. They were so close now that it was hard to know for sure. Dean’s familiar scent of old books, leather and the hint of whisky found its way into Cas’ mind, quieting all thoughts.

‘I love you, too.’ He whispered it so quietly against Cas’ lips that he could barely tell if the words had been uttered at all.

Cas had little time to ponder this, as Dean’s lips pressed against his, softly at first, and then hungrily - neither sure how long they had left, how many kisses could they fit into the mere seconds that remained?

They held each other close as they sunk to the floor, laughing desperately against each other’s lips, whispering their love over and over, finally free from the burdens of secrecy.

They slept there that night, and laid in contented silence until well into the next day, Cas’ trench coat providing a thin layer of familiar warmth. After the silence came the murmured conversations, more ‘I-love-you’s and some ‘why-didn’t-it-work’s that were quickly pushed aside. Then Dean rolled over to face the Angel - his Angel - and then began their afterlife.

For the first few days there was a near feverish passion, each making up for all the times they’d stared intently at the other at all times - trying to remain professional, trying to ignore the pull to kiss the lips that spoke, the jaw that tensed, the brow that furrowed. They either had all the time in the world or none, and they made a nearly silent agreement not to waste another moment.

The weeks that followed saw them begin to relax into their life together. Dean’s rings found a place on Cas’ bedside, and antiques were bought with a future in mind. Dean would lie on the Angel’s chest as he read, falling into the deepest slumber he’d ever experienced, and Cas would close his book, keeping a mental note of the page Dean had lost to sleep before flicking off the light and holding him close for the night.

Months later, they’d almost forgotten the nearly-end of Cas, but Dean still saw a dark, faraway look in Cas’ eyes sometimes, before the Angel realised he was being seen, and the corners of his eyes would crinkle into that warm and loving smile Dean had fallen for all those years ago. Still they relished every touch of hands as they drove down leaf-lined streets in the changing seasons, every soft moan in the middle of the night. They each lived for the way that the dying firelight graced and accentuated the contours of the other’s body, or the way the moonlight picked out the silver hairs beginning to work their way into their temples.

They held hands over breakfast, kept bees, and grew vegetables to make soup. They watched Sam’s family grow from afar and adopted the little grey cat that wandered in through the back door one sweet, summer morning. They were known for giving out the best Halloween candy, and grew an extensive library of horror, sci-fi and romance novels, though Dean swore he had no idea where the lovey dovey shit came from. Still, he read them on the porch, his feet in Cas’ lap as the sun set on the horizon.

Occasionally, on evenings like this where the air smelled sweet and his fingers danced across Dean’s temples in the dying light of a memory of sunset, Cas looked up at the sky and wondered if he really had been taken that day. Maybe he’d gone to heaven by mistake. But then that honey-like husky voice would drag him back to reality with a single question: ‘what’re you thinkin’, about, sweetheart?’ And he’d answer nothing, and hold Dean’s hand a little tighter, glad he’d mentioned loving him all those years ago. Then Dean would melt into his chest with a sigh, and all would be right in the world for another starlit night.

#if there are typos it’s because it’s the middle of the night and this shit was keeping me awake #anyway I fixed it #this isn’t an au it’s cannon #destiel fluff #things that definitely happened #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #supernatural #deancas #cas #spn

126 notes · View notes