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buckybarnesdiaries · 3 years

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lazy mornings & nights

bucky barnes x reader. ⎢ masterlist.

word count: 624 words.

warnings/tags: none. bucky being the sweetest man on earth.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

MORNINGS:

Bucky wakes up before you like every day. Getting his head comfier over the pillow, he stares at you in silence, just admiring you peacefully sleeping with a hand still rested on the connection of his metal arm and his flesh shoulder. He never wants to wake you up, spending hours watching his most precious thing in the world literally doing nothing.

When James notices your breathing being constant, he embraces you to his chest and sinks his nose into your hair. He loves your smell more than any other scent. “Good morning, babydoll…” He mumbles, pecking your skin with short and sweet kisses. But as soon as you reply sleepy with a “just five minutes more”, a petty smile appears on his lips. His hands tour your sides slowly, reaching your weakest spot there to tickle you. And he goes with everything, making you burst in loud laughs, stirring under his grip all around your shared bed. “St— Stop!” Even grabbing his wrists, Bucky manages to slam his lips on yours, giggling and holding you, releasing himself from you.

He hugs you so tight for a second that the air doesn't reach your lungs, hearing the soldier grunting happily. You don't want to get up, neither does he. Sunday mornings are made to be in bed, tangled like a pair of headphones in a pocket, caressing each other and taking short naps along the morning until it's lunchtime. “How was heaven when you left?” Bucky hums tangling his fingers in your hair, making you frown funnily. You don't say anything back, stretching back an arm to grab your phone, pretending someone is calling you. “Yeah, yeah… Sure, wait a moment”. Covering the microphone, you turn to James. “It's nineteen hundred and forty. They're asking to give back those horrible cheesy pic— Not again!” You end up screaming in laughter as he tickles you again.

NIGHTS:

Bucky holds you in his arms bridal style when you're about to fall asleep on the sofa, watching one of his favorite old movies. He tucks you in the sheets carefully so as not to take you off from that dozy state, before locking the main door and shutting the lights off. Not long after cleaning his teeth, he joins you in your bed making sure you're well covered and cozy. “Tell me again about when you were young”. You ask him with a low somnolent tone, cuddling under his strong arms. You can't sleep without hearing his voice and he loves the way it helps you to pass out to your dreams.

“Have I told you my father didn't want me to be in the Army?” His whispers fall into your ear while his flesh fingers caress your hair slowly. “He expected me to be a doctor or something like that”. A yawn escapes your mouth the moment you giggle. Tossing a leg over his stomach, Bucky holds it with his metallic hand. “Doctor Barnes”. You scoff, earning a brief pat on your thigh. With your fingers gently grabbing his chin, you urge him to put your lips together in an ephemeral caress. “Your kisses are my medicine”. You see him flushing, nervously chuckling as he's still trying to get used to being complimented. “Your voice… Your touch… Your hugs… They all could make me feel alive, even being dead”. Rolling down your eyelids, Bucky cradles you bringing that sensation of protection only he can provoke you, although there's no danger chasing any of you now.

He rests his cheek on your temple, feeling goosebumps bristling his skin when your nose gets sunk into the gap between his neck and his shoulder, warming it with your soft breathing. “Good night, darling”. “Good night, my Bucky-Buck”. “I love you…” “... Till the end of the line”.

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hoboal87 · 3 years

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The Fear

Title: The Fear

Pairing: Dean x pregnant!Reader, minor Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Summary: Dean comes home to find Y/N missing.

Word Count: 2300+

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, kidnapping, violence, fluff, pregnancy, non-graphic descriptions of childbirth, 15 x 20 adjacent.

A/N: my entry for @princessmisery666's #daily mix challenge combined with a Nonnie request.

Edit: I forgot to thank the lovely @lovealways-j for beta-reading this for me. Thanks, Sabrina!

My song is "The Fear" by The Score

My Full Masterlist

Something’s wrong.

Dean can sense it the moment he steps into his shared room with Y/N. He looks carefully around the room, trying to find a clue as to what’s got his hunter instincts in high gear. It looks no different then when he and Sam left three days ago, and yet, every bone in his body is telling him something is off.

“Y/N?” He calls out hesitantly as he makes his way towards her old room down the hall. She’d been in the process of turning it into a nursery for the last month and had a tendency to get lost in paint samples and baby supplies. As he closes in on the room, he can feel himself becoming more on edge and instinctively reaches for his gun. “Sweetheart? You in there?”

Dean’s heart sinks further into his stomach as he reaches the newly-converted nursery. The usually meticulously organized room was in a state of disarray as if there had been some sort of struggle. Dean calls out for Y/N again, willing her to give him some kind of sign that he was overreacting to what he was seeing.

He quickly pulls out his phone dialing Y/N’s number, he and Sam should have never gone on that hunt, Y/N was due in less than a month, but she insisted that they go.

This is Y/N, sorry I can’t come to the phone, if it’s an emergency please contact Sam or Dean…

“Fuck,” Dean mutters, waiting for her message to end. “Hey sweetheart,” he does his best to keep his voice steady. “Me and Sammy just got back and I just got a feeling…” he takes a deep breath. “Call me back. Love you.”

Dean pockets his phone, before taking in the room again, trying to convince himself that it’s his new-father instincts and not his hunter instincts that have him so on edge. That’s when he sees it: under a discarded bag, a small pool of blood. Dean’s breathing grows heavier, and he scans the room again, looking for any kind of sign of what may have happened in the room.

“Sam!” Dean yells out, his breath quickening. “Sammy!”

Sam’s behind him, skidding to a stop before taking in the sight of the room before him. Even with only a cursory glance Dean knows that Sam’s thinking the same thing as him, something’s happened to Y/N.

Dean hurries down to the infirmary, Y/N had insisted that they have everything to monitor her in the final months and in the worst-case scenario anything needed to help her deliver. The simple fetal monitor is right where they’d left it three days prior, Dean insists on listening to the heartbeat of his unborn child on an almost daily basis, letting the rapid thump thump thump put him at ease.

Dean’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he breathes out a sigh of relief when Y/N’s picture fills the screen. He takes a minute, calming himself, she doesn’t need to know that up until this moment he was on the verge of a panic attack.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles, “y’know you had us worried for a minute.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, save for heavy, scratchy breathing.

“Y/N?”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Y/N whispers, choking back a sob. “I shouldn’t’ve trusted her. Now–”

“Baby, listen to me,” Dean finds Sam in the hall and mouths trace the call, Sam nods and bolts towards the library. “Are you okay? The baby?”

“That depends on you, Dean,” an unfamiliar voice replaces Y/N’s. “Now, be a good little soldier and do as I say. Only then will your precious wife and child have a chance to make it through this unharmed.” Dean can feel his blood boiling, this is why he could never not be a hunter. He and Sam have made too many enemies over the years, and now Y/N and their baby may be paying the price.

All the fear that he felt when Y/N first told him she was pregnant comes rushing back to the surface. Dean never thought he’d get married, let alone be a father, but with Rowena keeping the demons in check, and Jack limiting the angels' interaction on Earth, with the exception of Cas, life became some version of safe for the brothers.

That’s why Y/N insisted that they take the simple salt n’ burn just one state over. She knew that they were going a little stir crazy, Bobby, Jody and Donna, had started training the next generation of hunters so that boys could retire. Dean was hesitant to leave, Y/N was only a month away from her due date, but she shooed them out the door, claiming to need her own space from her overprotective husband and brother-in-law.

“Are you listening, Dean?” The voice tuts and Dean tries to clear his head of ‘if’s’ and ‘could’ve’s’ all it’s doing is driving him crazy.

“I’m listening,” Dean repeats through gritted teeth. The voice gives coordinates to a location a few hours away and before he realizes it he’s in the Impala, ready to do whatever it takes to save his wife and baby. Sam tells Dean what he’s already sure of: this is a trap and Y/N is being used as bait. He doesn’t care, he can’t lose her, lose their baby, not when she’s done nothing more than love him.

The sun is setting when they pull up to the abandoned farmhouse, original, Dean thinks. Dean wants to go bursting in, guns ablaze, but Sam stops him, reminding him that they don’t know who or what has got Y/N, and they have to be smart. He wants nothing more than to punch his brother for suggesting that they wait even a second longer to rescue Y/N, but he lets the words sink in and reluctantly agrees.

Silver bullets, holy water, dead man’s blood, witch-killing bullets and machete’s are divided between each brother, knowing that whatever has Y/N, one of these things will most likely kill it. When they enter the farmhouse Dean’s eyes lock on Y/N, who’s against a wall, two chains around her wrists.

Dean rushes towards her, the only thing on his mind is getting her and the baby out of this place and back home. Her breathing is shallow when he reaches her, and he gently inspects her body. Gingerly, he touches her face, allowing her Y/E/C eyes to meet his and she smiles lazily at him. Knew you’d come, she whispers, and Dean leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead. His free hand lands on the swell of her belly, where he can feel a slight kick against his palm.

“I love you,” Dean says softly so that only Y/N can hear him. “I’m gonna get you outta here, sweetheart, okay?” Y/N nods slightly as Dean focuses his attention on freeing her from her bonds.

There’s a grunt behind Dean, and when he turns around, Sam’s on the ground, and there’s a somewhat familiar woman standing behind him.

“Dean Winchester,” she exclaims as two large men appear and pull him to his feet. “Been too long.”

“Jenny,” he utters, remembering one of the first cases he worked with Sam. “You look good, a little dead, but, good.”

“Always the charmer, weren’t you Dean?” She takes a step towards Y/N. “I could smell you on her the second she walked past me. Women always trust other women, made her think I was a hunter; a tragic backstory here, a name drop there, and bingo, the dumb bitch is leading me into your home.”

Dean feels his anger rising as he tugs against the two men, his eyes flicker to Sam, who slowly starts reaching for the blade next to him.

“Up,” Jenny orders and when Y/N doesn’t comply she produces a blade, and presses it against her stomach. Dean’s heart stops at the threat to Y/N and their baby. “If you want to give your baby a chance to ever see the light of day, I suggest you cooperate.”

Y/N’s legs are wobbly as she stands, tears glistening in her eyes as Jenny slowly runs the blade against her. Dean’s gaze doesn’t leave her, watching as Jenny uncuffs her, and leads her slowly over to him.

Adrenaline pumps through Dean’s veins and he frees himself from his two captors; headbutting one and throwing a punch at the other as Y/N is pushed out of the way. Sam is up on his feet and in a swift move, swings the blade through Jenny’s neck, her body falling limp to the ground. For the briefest of moments, Dean relaxes, only for a vamp to be coming at him again.

Dean can barely keep track of anything, his eyes tunneling in on the large vamp in front of him. He can hear the grunts of Sam, and the familiar sound of another vamp going down. Y/N isn’t in his line of sight, and through the blood pounding in his ears, he hears Sam call his name.

It was just the distraction that the vamp needed and he barrels towards Dean, slamming him against a wooden post. He feels something pierce his side but he keeps fighting against the vamp. As the vamp is about to take his final shot, his head is gone, and Sam is quickly resheething his blade.

Y/N cries out, cradling her stomach and even from a distance he can see the pool blood between her legs. Go, Dean orders Sam who quickly obeys.

“I think she’s in labor,” Sam mutters. “I don’t think we can get her to a hospital in time.”

Dean rushes to Y/N’s side as best he can, telling her everything will be alright. Dean returns to Baby, grabbing the first aid kit, hastily patching up the wound, and retrieving a blanket from the trunk. The pain hits him all at once, but he pushes through it, his pain doesn’t matter, all that matters is that Y/N and the baby are safe.

Y/N’s screaming out in pain, begging for someone to make it stop as Sam does his best to calm her. Dean closes the distance in only a few steps, positioning himself behind her. He takes her hands in his, whispering praises in her ear as Sam orders her to push.

Within only a few minutes, Evelyn Marie Winchester is brought into the world, wailing loudly as Sam wraps her in his flannel and hands her over to Y/N. Dean offers Sam a silent thank you as he takes in the appearance of his daughter. Evie’s the perfect combination of him and Y/N.

The moment of bliss doesn’t last long, as Sam reminds them that they still need to get Y/N and Evie to a hospital. Dean moves from his place behind Y/N and winces at the pain now radiating through his body. Sam gives him a curious look, and Dean shrugs, trying to convince his brother that he’s fine.

Dean takes Evie out of Y/N’s arms, and cradles her against him as Sam helps Y/N to her feet. Dean takes a few steps before legs start to give and his vision starts to blur. The last thing Dean hears before everything going black is Y/N and Sam calling out his name.

Five Years Later

Dean watches as Evie runs around the backyard of their new home, chasing Miracle and laughing hysterically. Y/N was right, the Bunker was no place to raise a little girl, she deserves everything that he and Sam never had, and he is determined to give it all to her. Evie will never know what it’s like to go to bed hungry or cold, or wonder when she’ll see her parents again.

The opening of the front door tears Dean’s attention away from his daughter, Sam’s voice filling the otherwise silent house. He turns to see his brother carrying a ridiculous amount of gifts followed by a very pregnant Eileen with a shaggy haired toddler attached to her hip.

“Unca De!” Little Bobby tries to squirm out of Eileen’s hold and she carefully lets him down. The toddler bolts for Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean’s leg. “S’Evie’s birfday!”

“I know, buddy!” Dean laughs at his nephew, “how ‘bout you go tell her ‘happy birthday’?” Dean opens the side door and lets Bobby out.

“You are going to spoil my daughter rotten, Sam Winchester,” Y/N appears from the back of the house. Dean’s still amazed that even after years together, Y/N can take his breath away.

“Well, if I had another niece or nephew, I could spread the love.”

“I think you’ve spread enough love, Sammy,” Dean jokes as he heads into the kitchen, Sam following behind him. “I mean, you’re basically having your kids back-to-back.”

“Three years is hardly back-to-back,” Sam reaches out to grab a beer. “You’re just mad ‘cause I one-upped you.”

“Actually,” Dean peeks into the living room. “We’ll be even. Y/N’s pregnant.”

The words have hardly left Dean’s mouth before Sam’s engulfed him in a hug. Dean’s positive that Eileen and Y/N are having a similar conversation at this very same moment, but what neither Sam or Eileen know is that they have a bet on who will crack first.

“Just found out a couple of weeks ago,” Dean continues with the ruse. “She wanted to wait until after yours was born, didn’t want to take Eileen’s thunder or something.” Sam nods, seemingly understanding.

Hours later, after the last present has been opened, and the final piece of cake has been eaten, Sam and Eileen take a very sleepy Bobby home. Evie sits at the kitchen table, listening carefully and a smile growing on her face as Dean and Y/N tell her that in six months she’ll have a little brother or sister.

“Or both,” Y/N corrects with a knowing smirk.

“Both?”

Please reblog or send me an ask with your feedback!

This one-shot was requested by a nonnie, my requests are currently open, you can send me an ask or DM me if you’d like to request something.

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loveinterestcastiel · 3 years

Text

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father’s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

Tagged:

@heller-jensen @sunforgrace @rambleoncas @adhdeancas @evermorecastiel @holmesemrys @plantdadcas @good-things-do-happen-dean @jeanne-de-valois @autisticandroids @sonder-stars @yana125 @faithcastiel @cascreamtiel @seffersonjtarship @i-sing-for-me @purgatorybi @bibelphegor @cowboyslikedean @gracefuldean @dimples-of-discontent @judaskissdean @wafflehousegothic @icaruscastiel @67chevyimpala67 @lesbianjenderenvy

#destiel #destiel fic #endverse!destiel #endverse!cas #not immune to endverse cas i repeat not immune vaccine needed now #my fic #my writing #dean winchester #castiel

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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We've Got Tonight - Ch 3

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

Word Count: Ch 3 - 1637

In case you missed it: Chapter 2 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We’ve Got Tonight

Chapter 3

One month is not enough time to get used to nights in the bunker, she thinks as she stares at the back of Dean’s door. It’s too sterile, too unnatural, with the quiet permeating every crevice and recess.

There must be some sort of muffling spell or noise cancellation technology… or maybe just really good insulation. She’s used to the chatter of customers, the ding of the door chime, the clatter of plates, and the sloshing of the dishwasher. She’s never had to listen to herself think this much before, and she freely admits she is not a fan.

It’s been about four hours since Dean stormed out. “I’m done,” he said, but she doubts she’ll have to wait much longer. Those last words he shouted before Castiel came in, the way he gripped her and she had to force herself not to cling right back, tells her they aren’t finished, either with their argument or each other.

Muffled footsteps, the only sound besides her heart beat and non-stop internal monologue, let her know moments before the doorknob turns that Dean is back. The door swings open, not with the angry force she’s expecting, but with the same weary resignation that bows his shoulders as he steps into his room and shrugs off his jacket.

His eyes meet hers for an eternity, then he deliberately takes two more steps forward and closes the door firmly behind him.

She’s in his arms without a moment’s hesitation, her mouth on his, devouring him with every bit of desperation she possesses. He tastes of scotch, and she can picture him sitting despondently at the local watering hole, glaring balefully at a single glass of liquor for hours.

His arms constrict automatically until she’s equally breathless from his embrace as she is from the kiss. Just when she thinks he may have to physically hold her up, Dean pulls away just far enough to stare hard into her eyes, his expression daring her to challenge his next words.

“We are not done talking. You are going to tell me every detail of your deal, whether you like it or not. And don’t think for a second I’m going to let you go through with it. Choices be damned, Andy, this isn’t just about you anymore, and you know it.”

She refrains from telling him how much of a dad vibe he’s giving off as she shoves his flannel from his shoulders and pulls his face back to hers, clenching a handful of his t-shirt in a death grip.

Neither of them is gentle as they remove clothing and stagger their way to his bed; she knows they don’t have the time to be, and he suspects as much but doesn’t say so aloud. Neither is willing to ruin their precious remaining moments together by bringing up something as distasteful as reality. Nails score flesh, fingers bruise limbs, even their lips come away with faint traces of blood from accidental clashes with teeth.

“How long?” he rasps, his lips ghosting over her sternum. Her nails dredge shallow furrows across the backs of his thighs as he pulls back before thrusting hard, driving her into his mattress. “How long have we got?”

She tugs his mouth down to her breast, hissing as his teeth scrape and tug. Her fingers thread into his hair, holding him in place, silently willing him to let the subject go. She can’t answer him. She’s had a month with him, and while she’d rather have something closer to a lifetime, all she’s asking now is two more uninterrupted, untainted hours.

If she tells him, then the shortness of their time becomes real, everything becomes devastatingly real. Here in the bunker that is far too quiet for her own peace of mind, she can pretend the outside world and all it’s insane occultists and apocalypses and demons and deals don’t exist. She can pretend it’s just her and Dean, and nothing else bad is waiting on the other side of the horizon.

And he’d try to stop her. And probably succeed. So, no. She can’t tell him.

It’s some time before both of them are sated enough to lie relatively still. She keeps her back to him, knowing if she looks in his eyes she is liable to spill every bit of information she has left, and she does not want a repeat of the scene from earlier. Once was more than enough.

“I’m waiting, Andy.”

We all have to learn to live with disappointment, hun, she thinks. Aloud, she sighs and pushes herself back until her shoulder blades press against his chest. She’s been cold since they first brought her to the bunker, and his warmth is almost enough to make her forget that she’s chilled to her marrow. She shivers, forcing a partition up in her mind to keep out thoughts of her impending departure. She’s going to wait until he’s asleep, then head out to make the last rendezvous.

Sunrise, Dean, she thinks, despite her best efforts. I’ve got til sunrise. We’ve got less than that.

Luckily, she’s had enough caffeine to give a draft horse the shakes, and he’s running on three hours sleep for the last couple of days, so he should pass out pretty soon. The last thing she needs is the infamous Winchester Interference with her plans.

With the confidence that comes from knowing she’s right at the end of everything, Andy rolls over and pulls Dean’s head down so his cheek rests between her breasts, cradling him like a child and stroking his hair just as she’s longed to do since he strolled into her diner and winked at her over a stack of pancakes. He doesn’t protest, doesn’t even pretend to resist, instead nuzzling deeper in her embrace, and that’s when she really knows she’s wounded him far more deeply than she should have been capable.

“It was only supposed to be a fling,” she remarks to the top of his head as she runs her nails over the base of his skull. He shivers, pulling the blanket over them up to his chin and sliding his arms around her waist. His shoulder lies on her stomach, its weight sitting comfortably against her belly. “The first time I met you, you declared your love for me because I brought you bacon, for God’s sake. At four in the afternoon. You were supposed to be a good time, Dean, one good night, and then ride on out of town like a good boy.”

“You’d already be dead if you hadn’t given me your number,” he points out. For once, his lascivious nature is dormant, and he doesn’t so much as sneak a stray lick or grope, despite his optimal position. She strokes her thumb down the side of his jaw, scrubbing over several days’ worth of stubble that covers his cheeks. He turns his face into her touch, sliding his nose against the sensitive skin under her breast, and then it’s her turn to shiver.

“Andy, before you do anything stupid, anything else stupid, I need to tell you...I need you to know that I...”

“No, you don’t,” she chides, cutting him off before he can choke out any more ill-advised words. She can’t hear them right now, they would break down every barrier and barricade she’s constructed to hold herself together for these last hours. And, anyway, he can’t possibly mean them. They barely know each other. “But you could. I think both of us might have, eventually. So, we have that, at least.”

Her ribs creak at the sudden tightening of his grip, and she squirms until he relents enough to allow her breathing to return to normal.

“It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

His words end on something that she would never in a thousand years tell him sounds like a crack. She silently strokes the velvety hairs on the back of his neck, waiting for him to finish clearing his throat.

“Don’t try to be the hero; it never works out for anyone involved, even the people you’re trying to save.”

“Don’t start with me, Dean Winchester. Here we are, having a nice moment, and I will not let you ruin the time we have left with arbitrary things like depth and honesty.”

The air system hisses soothingly in the background, but she won’t let herself be soothed. This time left is for him, she’s not fooling herself about that any longer. What does she have left but Dean, anyway? She’s got three, four hours left at the most, and this is how she chooses to spend them.

She rolls once more, pulling Dean underneath her until she lies atop him, flush from collarbone to ankles. He watches her, his face soft and open for once, golden and warm in the dim light of the little bedside lamp. His hands move slowly, reverently, to glide over the curve of her jaw and mouth, and she can feel the faint tremors that run through his hands. She kisses his fingers one at a time before lifting her eyes to his.

“No, you don’t,” she repeats, “But you could.” The world needs the Winchesters around a hell of a lot more than it needs her. And while she might make people happy, saving people and hunting things is the Winchesters’ family business. This is her only chance to make sure they and the world stick around long enough for that to keep happening. ...

Chapter 4

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katelyn--renee · 3 years

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Out of the Fire (Part one)

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part one)

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2500 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later.

Part one summary: Fire erupts and engulfs her beloved business, but something arises from the ashes and ignites a new desire.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death.

Author’s note: This is my first series and my first attempt at an Supernatural AU. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I will try to release new chapters at a timely fashion, but as we all know, life sometimes gets in the way.

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All dividers and graphics done by me!

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation!

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

It was so hot… Why was it so hot? And why was it so hard to breathe?

You stirred from your position on the tile floor, the long lashes of your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttering lightly as you woke. The first thing you registered was the intensity of the heat that surrounded you, quickly followed by the tightness of your chest as you struggled to take a deep breath. A vicious cough ripped through you with the effort, your throat raw.

You winced, your face scrunching with discomfort. You stirred again, needing to get up and move, to get away from the threatening heat, but your body protested with the effort. Your head was hammering, your brain pounding against your skull with every forceful beat of your heart.

What the hell happened?

You groaned as you brought a hand to your head, feeling something damp and slick against your skin. Blood. You forced your eyes open despite their heaviness, a futile attempt to gather your bearings; you couldn't see much through the thick, black smoke that hung in the air around you. Another cough tore from your lungs and stung your throat.

Fuck. That hurt.

You sucked in a rigid breath, wheezing as the smoke filtered in through your lungs. Get up! Move! You needed to get moving and find a source of fresh air, find somewhere safe, and quickly, before the smoke suffocated you and the flames consumed your body.

You scanned your surroundings swiftly, trying desperately to make every second count. Red hot flames licked the southwestern walls of the building on your right, engulfing everything that stood too close. That was where your office had been located, meaning the exit would be behind you, to the northeast. However, the counter separated you from your freedom, standing tall and stretching out and into the north wall, obstructing your path. The layout would force you to find another way around and take up so much of your precious time.

Rolling off your back and onto your belly, you supported your weight with your elbows and knees, making a point to stay as low to the ground as possible. You forced yourself to move, driven onward by adrenaline and the sheer will to survive. You were not going to die like this.

You army crawled through the rubble and debris that was once your beloved café, ignoring the way it made your heart clench with sorrow. Now was not the time to grieve. You needed to stay focused. Your life, literally, depended on it.

There was a loud crash somewhere in the distance - perhaps it was the ceiling caving in from structural damage, you weren't entirely sure - but the sound of it was startling and shook the floor beneath you, causing you to instinctively freeze and cradle your head, bracing yourself for impact.

A small yelp of surprise escaped from your throat as your body trembled with fear. You couldn't move, your muscles refusing to cooperate even though your brain screamed at you to do so.

There was another crash, much closer this time, as the flames ate away pieces of your heart and soul; all the years of hard work, burning to ash. You'd put everything into that little café, and now it was, quite literally, falling in around you. A ceiling beam landed in front of you , engulfed by flames and blocking your path.

You jerked back and shielded your face from the inferno with your arms, the skin burning from the intense heat. "Oh god," You cried out without realizing it, any hope of escape beginning to slip away. Tears filled your eyes and spilled over your lashes, streaming down your soot-covered cheeks as dread began to creep its way in.

Just breath, stay calm, you're okay, you told yourself, trying to prevent the lingering panic attack. You exhaled slowly, struggling to remain calm, willing the tears away. You banished them from your face with a swipe of your hand as you searched for another way out. With your back pressed against the counter to try and ground yourself, you pictured the floorplan around you in your head, trying to reassess where you were and which direction to go.

The kitchen. There was an employee exit through the kitchen. Changing direction and crawling back the way you came, you began your frantic crawl toward the swinging metal door. Your limbs felt like concrete as you forced yourself to move, and even though your vision started to get spotty and dark around the edges, making you feel nauseous, you kept on going, putting one arm in front of the other.

Just a little further. Don’t give up! But it was so hot, and you were so, so tired...

Just then, when you thought you weren't going to make it in time, you heard it… the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Anyone in here?!" He called out, his voice booming out over the roar of the flames. You could see the beam from his flashlight strapped to his shoulder, even through the thick wall of smoke. "Y/N?! Answer me, sweetheart!"

Your heart swelled with hope again as you recognized the man who was searching for you. Even though he sounded muffled through the oxygen mask covering his handsome face, you would recognize that voice anywhere.

It was Dean.

Dean, the firefighter you've grown so fond of these past few weeks, was here to save you.

You shifted on the floor and craned your neck to try and see him. "D-Dean! I-" A harsh cough interrupted you, "I'm he-here!" You cried out, your voice hoarse from the smoke. You went into another coughing fit, this one much rougher and longer than the others. You gasped for air, your lungs tight and constricting in your chest.

"I hear you, (Y/N)!" You heard him quickly respond, his voice gaining in volume as he grew closer. "Guys, over here!" He called out to the rest of the crew before following your voice. "I'm coming, sweetheart! Just hang on for me!"

"De-" You tried again, but your voice gave out. Your eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, and your body began to shake with the exertion and lack of fresh oxygen. Your head spun and your vision blurred as Dean came into view, the counter dividing the two of you.

In one effortless move, you watched through droopy lids as Dean vaulted over the counter and landed on the other side, his heavy boots thudding against the tile. He was now only an arm’s length away from you. You wanted to reach out for him, to touch him and make sure that he was actually there. But your limbs wouldn’t cooperate, feeling like stone at your sides.

He crouched down beside you and gripped your hand tightly as if reading your mind. His glove was thick and rough against your palm, but the material didn’t dampen the emotion or firmness that Dean put into the reassuring gesture.

With apprehensive, yet determined emerald eyes, he quickly assessed your body for any obvious injuries that would raise concern, ones that could be worsened or become life-threatening if he were to move you. He must have been satisfied with his examination, the look in his eye becoming slightly more hopeful.

His actions were rushed yet calculated as he removed his red lieutenant helmet, the mask quick to follow. His hair was tousled and sticking up in odd places. If this were any other, less dire situation and you were able to speak, you would have teased him about the messy heap on his head.

You heard one of the other firemen protest his actions, warning Dean that it was against protocol to remove his mask and put himself, and in turn everyone else, in more danger. "Fuck the protocol." Dean shot back over his shoulder sternly as he slipped the mask over your head, his large hands surprisingly delicate and gentle, even through the rough material of his gloves.

"There you go, sweetheart," He said a bit softer, turning his attention back to you. "That's it. Nice, deep breaths for me." He coaxed, nodding his head. "Good girl." He flashed you a brief, yet dazzling smile as you inhaled, following his instructions.

Your body rejoiced as the purest form of oxygen-filled your lungs, easing the tension inside of your chest, only momentarily. You struggled to keep your eyes open and focused on the beautiful man above you, his forest green eyes filled with so much concern. "Good girl," You heard him coo again, securing the helmet back onto his head.

The building creaked and groaned, threatening them with another collapse. Dean glanced up at the ceiling, his experience telling him that their time had been cut in half. You felt his large hands on your body as he scooped you into his strong arms, protectively holding you against his chest.

"I've got you." He muttered assumingly, trying to keep you calm as he rose to his full height, lifting you with ease. He scanned the surroundings, and you saw a hint of a frown tug at his lips, noticing the scowl on his brow. The fire was closing in, limiting his options and growing hotter by the second.

You made a motion toward the only exit available, lifting a shaky hand to point him in the right direction, and Dean seemed to have noticed your silent instruction. His eyes followed your finger, darting to the window on the metal door that framed the kitchen. He nodded before letting the others know, directing them to head back out through the front. They hesitated only briefly, knowing they’re not supposed to leave anyone alone, before following Dean's lead, trusting their lieutenant's judgment.

The experienced firefighter moved with determined strides, having wasted enough time as more of the building began to collapse down around the pair of you. There was a crack, and a loud pop from the ceiling as the building shifted again. The fireman shielded you as a few clusters of hot debris and flames fell from above, protecting you from the fire. One of the balls landed and burst onto his shoulder, the flames licking at his face. He shrugged it off with a low grunt, gritting his teeth through the sting of his cheek.

He refocused and took three large steps toward the kitchen, his heavy boots crunching the rubble beneath his feet as he closed the distance to freedom. Using his foot to force open the door, he let out a breath of relief, grateful to find that the exit was still a clear shot.

Despite the combined weight of his bulky gear, the oxygen tank strapped to his back, and the extra body cradled in his arms, Dean made good time and jogged toward the sizable steel door, determined to get you to safety.

Once again, he grunted through clenched teeth and lifted his powerful leg, the sole of his thick boot connecting with the push bar. The force of the impact caused it to swing swiftly on its hinges and crash against the brick wall.

Smoke billowed out from the now open door as Dean rushed out into the alley behind the café, sucking down gulps of fresh air. He grunted and coughed, staggering briefly before correcting himself. You wanted to ask him if he was okay, wanted to comfort your rescuer, but couldn't seem to find your voice.

The nighttime air was cool against your overheated skin, despite being this close to the fire, and it made you shudder in Dean's arms, goosebumps rising over your sensitive flesh. The firefighter shifted you in his strong arms, getting a better, more comfortable hold. Your head was nuzzled in the crook of his arm, giving you a perfect view of his handsome face.

Flashing red and blue lights bounced off the brink surrounding you and lit up Dean’s face, highlighting his strongest features. You’d never seen anything quite like it, but then again, you’d never been this exhausted before. Surely your head was playing tricks? You gazed up at him in awe, studying the determination that hardened his usual gentle features. His face was dirty with soot and darkened by the smoke, covering the freckles that normally adorned the bridge of his nose. His jaw was lined with stubble, emphasizing just how strong it was. There was a noticeable red patch on his cheek, the skin irritated and angry from the burn.

You were vaguely aware of the familiar, yet frantic, voice of your best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury. Her voice, regardless of its urgency, was drowned out by the sirens, fire hoses, and roaring flames behind you.

Sleep was beginning to linger at the forefront of your mind, tugging firmly and trying to force you into the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. You struggled to keep your eyes open, not wanting to give up the extraordinary view before you. But, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t keep them open any longer, and your (Y/E/C) eyes fluttered shut, despite your best efforts to keep them open and on the face of your rescuer.

You could hear the muffled voices of your redheaded friend and the first responders that surrounded you, specifically Dean and Charlie, but you couldn't quite make out what was being said, the drowsiness making it hard to stay focused. You felt yourself being moved, and the noise died down drastically as you were lifted and strapped down to something solid yet oddly comfortable as you fought to stay awake.

You peaked your eyes open, although they burned from all the smoke, you fought through the sting in search of your rescuer, but was met instead with the inside of an ambulance. It was bright, and the fluorescent light hurt your sensitive eyes.

Something warm and made of thick wool was draped over your body, stealing your attention. You refocused and spotted the green eyes you had been desperate to find. You never broke his gaze as the fireman's mask was removed and replaced by a much smaller one. You grabbed at his hand desperately when he shifted to leave, desperate to have him near.

His eyes dropped to where your hand touched his, and his expression softened almost instantly at your attempt to stop him, his large hand embracing yours. “They’re gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart.” He assured, his affectionate gaze turning back to you as he offered you a closed-lip smile. You could hear Charlie’s voice, sounding somewhere close by, but you couldn’t concentrate on anyone other than your hero.

Your vision darkened around the edges, and your grip on consciousness was growing weak. Your hand loosened from Dean’s grasp and fell limp as your eyes fluttered shut. “I’m right behind ya.” He promised as the paramedics ushered him out so they could get moving. His voice was the last thing you heard before the ambulance doors slammed shut, and the darkness of unconsciousness took over.

Thank you for reading I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned next week for part two!

Read part two, here! -->>

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Supernatural

@akshi8278

Out of the Fire (series)

@vicmc624 // @anotherspnfanfic // @krazykelly // @compresshischest09 // @thefamilybusiness

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 years

Text

72 Hours

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3742

Part One

Summary: With only three days until being dragged down to hell, you hope to spend them in the embrace of the man you love. The man you're dying for.

Notes: Alright, here is part two for The Deal! This might be my favorite series for this month and I am really proud of how it turned out. I told you there would be some dark Dean imagines this October. Let me know what you guys think and you think it’ll end!

Warnings: Death, gore, mentions of Hell, plenty of guilt, sacrifice

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

Saturday 12:50 A.M.

“Tell me you didn’t,” Dean begged, his hands cradling your face. You didn’t say anything. “Damn it Y/N, tell me you didn’t do it!” He shook you slightly when he yelled.

“I had to get you back,” you cried. Dean pushed away, forcefully knocking over a stack of books and kicking a table into the wall. “Sam wasn’t going to find anything else and you know it.”

“Then you let me stay dead.” He boomed, furiously turning towards you. You had never seen him this mad before. Not at you. “You bury me and you move on.”

“I thought you were in hell!” You screamed. Both of them just stared at you, fuming. “I-I saw you. It was like a dream, but it wasn’t. I saw you in hell screaming for help, in agony. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.”

“That’s what last night was about?” Sam asked, feeling a wave of guilt rush over him. He could have stopped you. If he had just paid more attention, he could have figured out your plan.

“I saw him, Sam.” You wished you could make them understand. “Dean, you spent forty years in hell for Sam, I couldn’t let you spend any more for me.”

“Well I wasn’t there.” His tone was harsh, making your heart sting.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m not.”

“This is the most selfish thing you have ever done, you know that?” Dean was hiding his pain with anger, but damn he was good at it. But so were you.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing.” You challenged. His jaw clenched. “You can’t, Dean! Because you have done it!”

You stared each other down, casting an icy chill over the room. You didn’t have time for this. You stiffened, eye darting to the clock. Time. Sam noticed this and finally spoke.

“Y/N, how long did the demon give you?” Judging by the way your body tensed at the question, it wasn’t the usual decade. You clammed up, the adrenaline of the argument fading. Your silence sent a terrible pang through Dean’s chest. He repeated Sam’s question.

“How long do we have?” Through his anger, you still caught one of his words. We.

“Dean…” Your fire was gone and you couldn’t help but think about the demon. She said he was in hell. The bitch had tricked you. And you fell for it completely. Even so, as you looked into Dean’s rage filled eyes you knew it was worth it. You would have saved him with only three minutes to live if you had to. Dean roughly grabbed your shoulders.

“How long?” This close to him, you could see it. The fear. You had to look away.

“Three days.”

Dean stumbled back like he’d been punched in the gut.

“What?” Sam gasped, taking a step towards you. Dean wasn’t moving. He was hunched over, unable to breathe.

“I have until Monday at midnight, so you can understand why I don’t want to spend my time fighting with you.” Dean slowly straightened up, putting on his emotionless soldier face. He stalked towards you until your faces were inches apart.

“What did you expect, Y/N? That we would be all kisses and cuddles?” The low rumbling growl in his voice scared you. “You want to throw away your life, fine. But when the bitch comes to drag you down to hell, don’t expect me to be there to watch.” He spat and Sam watched him in shock.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed. Dean tried to fight it, but a tear streaked down his face. He tore his gaze away from you and stormed out of the room. Your body relaxed and you let your own tears fall. You knew this would happen but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell. Pardon the expression.

“I- um, I should probably go.” You gulped, shoving your hands in your pockets. Sam moved to the base of the stairs to block your way.

“Don’t.”

“Sam-”

“You are not going to just crawl into some hole to die.” He loomed over you, his anger having changed to protective determination. “You brought my brother back and I can never repay you for that. But what you did…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to him?”

“I didn’t have a choice, Sam.” You smiled sadly. “I love him.” Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. The woman that he saw as a sister was going to die the same way his brother had. But there wouldn’t be an angel to pull you out of hell this time. He backed up suddenly.

“Oh God, I have to call Cas.”

4:41 A.M.

Dean was surrounded by shattered glass and crumbled wax. It was a miracle that he hadn’t set the room on fire. He sat against the wall amongst the carnage of candles with his head in his hands. Alone, he cried- screaming and destroying anything he could get his hands on. Now, he just sat in the corner, feeling the fight draining out of him. Even if there was a way to stop the deal, it would take longer than you had. He was going to lose you.

A knock at the door pulled him out of his miserable thoughts. Sam came in before he could tell him to go away. Dean rested his head against the wall and dried his face with his sleeve.

“How are you feeling?” He asked cautiously. Dean didn’t say a word. He just picked up a piece of glass and flipped it between his fingers. “Dean, this isn’t something you can just ignore.”

“Sam if you try and pull any of that Dr. Phil crap, so help me God, I will shove this candle wax down your throat.” He hissed. Sam kept a cool head, knowing that his brother’s animosity wasn’t directed towards him. He also knew that it wasn’t directed towards Y/N either.

“Dean, you have to talk to her.” The older Winchester lifted the shard of glass to throw it at him. Sam smacked it out of his hand and yanked him to his feet. “Y/N is going to die, Dean. She’s going to hell unless we can figure something out to stop it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dean pushed Sam away from him. “Gee Y/N, I’ve spent every minute of our relationship trying to keep you safe, but now that you’ve sacrificed yourself let’s all sing Kumbaya!”

“I don’t like this anymore than you do. Y/N’s family. So yeah, I’m going to work my ass off to try and stop what happened to you from happening to her. But if nothing works…” He wanted to have hope, but even his optimism couldn’t triumph over this. “We have to be there for her.”

Sam looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. This was something they needed to figure out themselves. Besides, Cas was on his way after being on the road and he had a lot to catch up on. He walked out of Dean’s room passing you in the hall.

You entered your room slowly. Dean stood in the middle of the floor, bits and pieces of candle around his feet. You stopped moving when his gaze lifted to your face. He didn’t look as hostile as he had before. He just looked broken.

“I just came to get some clothes.” You said as calmly as you could with him looking at you like that. Dean made no movement to stop you so you walked over to the dresser and grabbed some shirts and a few pairs of jeans. Just enough for three days. You tried to make a quick exit, but Dean’s voice stopped you.

“Don’t.” Your hand fell away from the doorknob, now shaking nervously at your side.

“I told you I don’t want to waste the time I have fighting.” You sighed, almost afraid to turn around. You felt his hand on your shoulder and your solemn resolve crumbled.

“I won’t fight you.” He whispered. “Just stay here.” He slowly turned you around. Your eyes locked together and he pulled you into his arms. You reveled in his warmth. Less than 24 hours ago, he had been lying on that bed, his body cold and his eyes empty. You were sure nothing in the world would ever feel better than his embrace.

“Why did you have to do it, baby?” Dean cried, the crack in his voice shooting up through your heart. You pulled back, running your fingers through his chestnut hair.

“I told you, Dean. I need you alive. I can’t do this without you. Sam was barely holding on. I thought you were in hell. You were crying out for help. For me. It was my fault you were dead and I couldn’t live with it.”

“But I-”

“Shhh,” You hushed, pressing your forehead against his. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Please, can we just be together? We’ve already wasted enough time and I don’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.” He promised, gently lifting your lips up to his.

8:30 A.M.

You and Dean got a few hours of sleep before cleaning up the room. Cas had finally arrived and pulled Dean into an awkward Cas-like hug.

“Sam told me what happened.” He looked at you disapprovingly. “I won’t be able to pull you out.”

“I know.”

“If there’s anything I can do…” Again, the angel felt so powerless to help his friends.

“Thanks Cas.” You kissed his cheek affectionately. You knew that there was nothing to be done and frankly, you didn't want to waste the precious time you had searching for a way out. You just wanted to be with your boys.

“How are you feeling this morning?” You fretted, instinctively putting your hands on Dean’s chest as if you were making sure there was a heartbeat. Dean put his hand on top of yours, holding it close to his heart.

“I’m not the one we need to worry about.” He wished that he could hold you there forever, but the clock was ticking fast. Only 63 and a half hours left.

“How about I make some breakfast?” You suggest cheerily. “We should still have some stuff for omelets and lots and lots of bacon.” You knew that your boyfriend couldn’t object to that.

You yanked him to the kitchen and connected your phone to Sam’s bluetooth speaker that Dean still called ‘new fangled tech’. Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” started to play and you just couldn’t resist dancing. Dean was leaning against the fridge until you grabbed him and forced him to shimmy a little with you.

Dean’s laugh filled the kitchen as he spun you into him. He wrapped his arms around you from behind and you both rocked to the music. It was almost like nothing had happened. Like you were going to dance and laugh like this a week from now. The song ended and you felt Dean’s arm tighten around you. Neither of you said a word, but you knew that he was thinking the same thing. He didn’t want this to end either.

3:01 P.M

“So get this,” Sam set his laptop down in front of you. “Two missing persons reports in Kansas City. Witnesses described a strange woman stalking the house before the couple disappeared. They just found the husband yesterday… his heart ripped out.”

“Sam, you’re seriously looking for a case right now?” Dean snapped. You put a hand on his arm to calm him.

“No, this is perfect.”

“Y/N, you can’t be serious.”

“Dean, the best way to get our minds off of this is to go kill some evil son of a bitch.” Looking between the brothers your hearts swelled proudly. “What do you say, boys? One last hunt together.”

Dean wouldn’t argue with that. When he was on the fast track to the underworld, all he could do was waste as many monsters as possible. You had earned one more victory. Besides, it would distract you enough for him to make a call.

8:14 P.M.

The drive took roughly four hours and Dean even let you drive part of the way. The three of you agreed to hit the coroner’s office first and then head over to the couples’ house to see if the wolf had left any clues as to where it took them.

“You know what, we should just knock two birds with one stone.” Dean suggested. His girlfriend and his brother gave him a questioning look. “I’ll head to the house and you two go check out the body.”

“I guess so, but why?” You wondered. Dean shrugged.

“I just figured we could bust this thing tonight and be back home by morning.” He mainly needed enough time to call a certain reluctant ally.

“Sounds good to me.” You gave him a quick kiss before grabbing your pantsuit from the trunk. You and Sam quickly departed and Dean started walking to the suburbs where the couple lived. He pulled out his phone and waited for that grumpy accent to answer.

“What do you want?” Crowley barked, sounding especially annoyed.

“We’ve got to talk. I need you to undo a deal.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to what?”

“Y/N made a deal with one of your lackeys and I need you to erase it or whatever the hell it is you do.”

“That’s not how this works, Squirrel. You can’t just call me, making demands because your girlfriend is an idiot.” Crowley sounded like he was about to hang up, so Dean spoke quickly.

“What if it wasn’t a square deal?”

“We’re demons, you imbecile, nothing we do is ‘square’. Now don’t call me again.” The Crossroads King hung up before Dean got another word in.

“Damn it.” Crowley was Dean’s one shot at fixing this. For the time being, he channeled his frustration into investigating the house. On the other side of town, you and Sam finished up checking out the body and headed back to the impala.

“Hey Sam.” You said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I never said thank you for being there for me that night.” You leaned on the car’s hood. “You had just lost your brother and you didn’t hesitate to comfort me. I appreciated it.” Sam wrapped an arm around your shoulders for a side-hug.

“You’ve been there for me and my brother more times than I can count.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’ll never forget that.” You blinked rapidly, feeling the water works coming on.

“Damn it, Samuel, you’re ruining my tough bitch cover.” You laughed, fully hugging the younger Winchester. “Look after him for me, Sammy.” Sam didn’t respond, but you knew he would. It’s what Winchesters did best.

11:49 P.M.

Dean was able to trace the werewolf to a dive bar because of a dropped napkin. Due to the time of the moon cycle, you knew you were dealing with a pureblood so you’d have to be extra careful. With guns loaded with silver bullets, you strode in with a Winchester on each side.

It was pretty empty, but seeing as it was a dump that didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the woman who was supposed to be missing sitting in a corner booth. She was with another woman with a tattoo on her hand. A full moon.

“They make it so easy.” You muttered and started towards them.

The chase was always your favorite part of a hunt. Once you were out in the open, they turned. The pureblood must have turned the woman and fed her her husband’s heart. Gross. Sam and Dean went after the newbie but the pureblood was all yours.

You tackled her to the ground, pinning her down with all your strength. She struggled, but you had your gun on her quickly. She looked up at you with a smile full of fangs.

“You don’t have long.” She sneered. “I can smell the death radiating off of you.” You took aim at her heart.

“Yeah, well I’ll see you in hell, bitch.” You pulled the trigger and heard another shot from across the empty lot. Sam and Dean sauntered back towards you. This was just what you needed. One last hunt in the books before you punch your clock.

Sunday 6:40 P.M.

After a great night of hunting, you’d earned the right to sleep in. You lounged in bed with Dean while Sam left for coffee. Majorly craving cheeseburgers, you all stopped at a local dinger for a late lunch. It wasn’t until around 3:00 that you finally got on the road back to the bunker.

The sun was setting, giving everything a pretty orange hue. You were hogging all the beers since you were in the back seat and Dean was driving. The open road and the beautiful rumble of the engine made for the perfect combination.

“Wait, turn up the radio.” You cheered, hearing the beginning lines of “Drive Away” by Dobie Gray begin to play. Sam chuckled and turned up the volume. Reaching the chorus, you leaned forward, draping your arms over Dean’s seat, resting them on his chest. You all sang off key, but it didn’t matter.

“Give me the beat boys and free my soul! I wanna get lost in your rock n roll and drift away.”

It took a moment for the lyrics to sink into Dean’s head. Free my soul and drift away. Damn. As crazy as it sounded, maybe this was Baby’s goodbye to you. His smile was sad, but watching you grin, singing at the top of your lungs, he loved you more than he ever had before.

It was all perfect. From the sunset to Dean and Sam belting out the song with you, you couldn’t have imagined a better way to go. Even if you could go back, erase all of the loss and pain, live a life without hunting, you wouldn’t do it. No matter what, you would always pick this moment every time. Drifting away with your boys in the best car in the world.

10:00 P.M.

Dean was taking a shower and you were changing into your sexier pajamas. You wanted your last night to be perfect. You knew you would be gone before he woke up. The ringing of Dean’s phone caught your attention. Why was Crowley calling him? You decided to answer.

“Alright, I looked into the deal so you would stop bothering me about it.” Crowley said gruffly.

“What?” You tried to lower your voice so he couldn’t tell the difference.

“How stupid to you Winchesters get?” He snarked. “Your girlfriend’s deal. The one you wanted me to reverse?”

“Oh, um, right.” You stammered.

“Well like I told you before, I can’t just snap my fingers and undo what’s been done. The demon was clever in manipulating her dreams, I’m actually quite impressed.” You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, Y/N made the deal of her own free will, so it’s legitimate. Now seriously, never call me again.” He hung up abruptly and you felt your blood start to boil. Dean did what?

“Woah, you haven’t worn that in ages.” Dean smirked, coming out in his sweatpants, droplets of water still dotting his chest. You tossed his phone on the bed, giving him a death glare.

“You called Crowley…” You seethed. Dean’s smirk fell instantly.

“Yes.” He crossed his arms over his chest, daring you to argue.

“Dean, this isn’t a game of tug of war where we fight over who’s dying for who.” You mimicked his stance. “I made my bed. I know what I got myself into.”

“No, you don’t!” He shouted, voice echoing down the hall. He closed the door with a hard slam. “You have no idea what it’s going to be like.”

You watched his entire body tense and his eyes glazed over. This is not how you wanted this night to go. Dean was trying to keep it together, but the memories were too much.

“I remember every minute of it.” He wasn’t looking at you anymore. Rather, his eyes were focused behind you, staring into his past. “From the second the hell hound tore me up to Cas raising me out. I can’t get it out of my head, even after years of being out. It was agony.”

You screwed your eyes shut, but Dean crossed to you, holding your chin between his thumb and pointer finger to make you look at him. Tears had escaped onto his face now and his voice cracked as he continued.

“And then when I couldn’t take it anymore, I did it to other people. I tortured those poor souls to save myself. So if I thought there was a change to save you from that pain, I would take it without flinching.” This was different from your other fight. You weren’t hiding behind anger anymore. You could see the pain in his eyes and it was breaking your heart.

“I won’t pretend that I wasn’t selfish.” You sighed, taking his hands in yours. “I needed you back and I didn’t care how I got you. I knew that you would hate me for what I did, but it didn't matter. I had to get you back.”

Dean’s gaze fell to the floor and his voice dropped to a devastated whisper.

“How many more people have to die for me, baby?” He looked up again and for the first time, you regretted putting him through this. “How many more people do I have to lose?” He rested his forehead against yours and you draped your arms around his neck.

“Don’t think about that now. Let’s just have tonight.” You said, bringing your lips to his. You moved together, desperately savoring this moment knowing it would be your last.

Dean laid back on the bed and pulled you onto his lap. Your hands ran through his hair as you deepened the kiss. It was your last night to love him and you damn sure weren’t going to waste it.

Continue to The Last Toll

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination; @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #cas #supernatural iamgines #character death #demons #crowley #dean winchester #Jesnen Ackles #Jared Padalecki

137 notes · View notes

the-rad-pineapple · 3 years

Text

park

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Supernatural oneshot: Dean takes Cas to a park. Fluffy Destiel fic.

Words: 1132

ao3

fanfiction

wattpad

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Dean had seen the park on the drive there. He immediately thought of Cas. It’s practically infested with flowers of all types and colors. Bees were merrily hopping from one flower to the next. In that moment, it had made Dean smile. He could picture Cas’ excited expression. He didn’t think he’d actually have time to take Cas there, but they finished their hunt early. Dean volunteered to get dinner and told Cas to come along. “This isn’t Subway,” Cas notes as Dean parks in the small gravel parking lot in front of the park. “Really?” Dean replies sarcastically. “I hadn’t noticed.” He gets out of the car. Cas gets out and follows him in confusion. “Dean, what are—” Then he sees the flowers. Dean grins. The angel is even more excited than Dean thought he’d be. Cas races over to the nearby yellow ones. “Look at these!” Cas exclaims. Dean trails behind him as he starts rattling off random facts about the flowers. Since Cas is distracted, Dean allows himself to stare at him. Cas really means so much to Dean. Dean knows there’s a little something more there, but he isn’t willing to admit that. Dean has a habit of ruining things like that, so he’s stopped hoping for it. Maybe that’s why he treasures the little moments like this. These quiet moments of happiness are something Dean rarely has...especially with Cas. They’re always racing from one thing to the next, never really having time for themselves. It’s one of the biggest regrets in Dean’s life. He wants to spend more time with Cas. ...More time alone with him. In the middle of Cas’ little rant, he spots a group of large red flowers and heads towards them, stopping mid-sentence. Cas gently caresses one of the red petals as if his very touch will disintegrate the plant. “Red always reminds me of you,” Cas suddenly says. “It does?” Dean answers in surprise. He doesn’t stop the smile that stretches across his face. Cas isn’t looking anyway. “Why?” Cas smiles as he looks at the flowers. “It’s such a deep, warm color.” Dean smirks. “What, and that’s how you see me?” he teases. Cas looks up earnestly and replies, “Yes.” He’s so genuine it takes Dean’s breath away. Realizing he’s been staring into Cas’ eyes for just a little too long, Dean clears his throat. “Anyway, I, uh, just wanted to show you this.” Cas glances back down at the flowers. “You saw this and thought of me?” “Yeah. You have a weird nature thing,” Dean says. He doesn’t want to ruin this by making it overly sappy. He also doesn’t think he could handle it if it was any sappier. Cas glares, but there’s a small smile on his lips. Not like Dean is staring at his lips or anything. Cas gazes at the flowers for a moment. “I suppose we should get going now.” Dean doesn’t want to. He wants to save this soft, happy moment forever. Just a sweet, unplanned moment with him and his angel. Cas looks up at Dean’s silence. Then Dean remembers to speak. “Oh, uh, yeah.” Cas frowns and tilts his head. “Is something wrong, Dean?” “No,” Dean answers too quickly. “Let’s go.” “Wait, Dean.” Cas grabs Dean’s sleeve and steps closer to him. “Thank you.” They’re staring again. Dean clears his throat and looks down. Hopefully Cas doesn’t notice the blush creeping into his cheeks. “Anytime, Cas.” “Dean.” It’s soft and low. Dean looks up. Quickly, Cas leans in and brushes his lips against Dean’s. It barely lasts a second. “Sorry,” Cas says, blushing. “I just, um, I don’t know why I did—” Dean grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him back. Cas is stiff in surprise at first, but soon his hands are cupping Dean’s face. Dean pulls them closer. Cas kisses him so gently Dean thinks he’s going to cry. The way Cas cradles his face just like when he was touching the flowers is making Dean feel so much. Never has he felt just how much someone cares about him in a kiss. And the way Cas cares for him...he doesn’t deserve it. He never thought he’d have this either. He knows he’s going to mess this up somehow, but he can’t think about that right now. All he knows is

this is happening, and Cas is...Cas is holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the world. Dean pulls away to breathe. Cas slides his hands to rest on Dean’s shoulders. “Cas,” Dean says softly. “That was...” His voice trails off. How does he say that it was the sweetest kiss he’s ever gotten? That Cas made him feel super special just by a kiss. That his gentle touch is something Dean never thought he’d feel. That he wants more. He wants Cas forever. And only Cas. “I know it wasn’t great but—” “No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all. That was...it was amazing.” It isn’t enough, but it’s all Dean can say. He’s never been great at words. “You don’t have to lie to me.” Dean grabs Cas’ chin and tilts it up. “Does it look like I’m lying.” They stare at each other. Cas blushes and looks down. Dean pulls his angel into a hug. “Exactly.” They hug for an embarrassingly long time, but Dean doesn’t care. He closes his eyes and takes in this moment. The warm evening breeze. The sweet scent of the flowers. Cas fitting perfectly into his arms. Dean knows he’ll never forget this moment. He wants to imprint every detail into his mind. The moment ends when Dean’s phone rings. Dean pulls away from Cas, but keeps one arm around him. He doesn’t want to break contact with him. Dean rolls his eyes as he sees Sam’s name on the screen. He answers the phone. “Yeah?” “Where are you?” Sam asks. “We’re on our way back,” Dean lies and grabs Cas’ hand, leading him back to the car. Sam huffs. “Okay, but I told you I’m hungry. Do you remember what I want?” “Mmhmm,” Dean lies again. But he knows Cas remembers. The angel has a knack for remembering Sam’s weird healthy food orders. “Okay...are you alright?” Sam asks. “I’m fine. Why?” “You sound...really happy.” “Oh, wow. Thanks, Sammy.” “Dean—“ “Your food will be there soon,” Dean interrupts then hangs up. “Did you just hang up on your brother?” Cas asks suspiciously. “Maybe,” Dean grins. “He wants his food. You remember his order, right?” “Yes.” Dean gives him a warm smile before letting go of his hand and getting in the car. As soon as Cas sits beside him, Dean reaches over and holds his hand again. They hold hands the entire drive.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanficiton #supernatural oneshot #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel

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nicwritesfics · 3 years

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Don't mind me, I'm just here with a piece to add onto @deanmonsandangels series about Dean in heaven. Apparently we still have some trauma to work through but it'll get better. He deserves it.

Recommended listening: Dig - Incubus

We all have a weakness

Some of ours are easy to identify

Look me in the eye

Lightning crashes as a it rages outside and electricity crackles through Dean's pores. There's something cathartic about a summer storm, and the way the rain hits the usually placid water outside their home. The sea is rougher that day, a little more aggressive. He understands. Sometimes, life is just that way.

But this isn't life anymore and even in death, there's a sort of contained chaos. It's comforting, really. Some things truly never change.

The change comes from the tangle of limbs that never even made it to bed, wrapped up in sweaty bliss that made him think it was about fucking time, really. That's a major change, and he's glad for it. Shimmering in the after effects of the storm, thunder matching his own heartbeat as he watches the sleeping angel. Leg thrown over his hip, arms over his head, cradling his skull like it's the most precious thing in this world, and to Castiel... it is.

Dean bows his head, a silent prayer and a thank you to no one because he still believes this might just be far more than what he deserves.

We all have a sickness

It cleverly attaches and multiplies

No matter how we try

He wraps the angel in himself, satin on sandpaper. All the smoothness in the world covering his own rough edges, masking them in the coolness of it all, balming his mind in waves of comfort that borders on nostalgia.

He can't bring himself to move. He just wants to exist like this forever. But, he trembles. It's always night and always a storm, but even heaven can't break through the habits of his mind. Darkened vines creeping out to wrap their thorns around his face, blacking out his eyes and forcing him to see what he was. What he had become. A shudder rolls through him, as violent as the thunder outside, and the angel stirs.

If I turn into another

Dig me up from under what

Is covering

The better part of me

It's as if Castiel can feel his turmoil, and he reaches deep into those darkened corners of his mind, showing him just how much he deserves happiness. Contentment. He has earned his place in heaven, and he finds it as Castiel buries Dean deep inside him. Dean was never a man of words. Castiel understands that and speaks his love language. Communication can be heard, and heaven can't heal all wounds. But, it's a start. Antibiotics straight to the infection in his core, healing and soothing.

Reminds me that we'll always have each other

When everything else is gone

Maybe it's minutes, maybe it's hours, but time passes as they have sloppily moved from the floor to the couch. Still sweaty, still glowing, but that darkness is gone now. Cas understands. He always has.

He built this heaven for Dean, and Dean alone. He will make sure he knows.

Dean Winchester deserved the world, and Castiel is determined to give it to him, so he softly strokes that messy crop of hair he has always loved until the fierce man falls asleep in his arms.

We'll always have each other

When everything else is gone

#i wrote this and it went somewhere dark #i did not mean to but #here we are #spn fix it #supernatural #dean winchester #castiel #fix it fic #dean winchester deserves better #destiel #spn coda

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

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15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

Then:

Heroes

Now:

Monster Fight Club! RAWR. In one corner we have wolf-man and in the other, we have wraith-woman. I felt like I was watching a Sci-fi channel show or another show on the CW with this opening scene. I have to give it up to the music and cinema of the sequence though. It’s quite lovely, even as the wolf-man gets stabbed to (near) death.

Meanwhile, in tiny Lebanon, Kansas, Dean’s picking up essentials (plus pie magazines) at his local Kwik Trip.

I have many things to say about this. First, who knew Lebanon had such tall buildings in it? And I’ve read many a comment about Bobo getting his name on something, and while YES, that’s technically true, this Kwik Trip (a real regional chain of gas stations/convenience stores in Wisconsin) is also named after the comedian behind The Manitowoc Minute, Charlie Berens. The Open sign missing the ‘n’ is a reference to it as well. Bless Jerry Wanek and his love for his home state. Anyway, Dean’s credit card is declined, his fight or flight instinct kicks in when faced with the store attendant's psoriasis, he gets a toothache, AND he gets a parking ticket.

Sam Fucking I Don’t Need Hotpads Winchester royally messes up dinner by burning the food, dropping the pasta all over the food, and breaking all the plates.

The weirdness continues once Dean gets home. Sam trips when running to greet him and he’s getting a cold.

Dean gets a call from Garth who needs some help. On the road, they discuss their Very Bad Day. Dean thinks they’re cursed. Sam’s too busy sneezing to contribute. I’m surprised Dean didn’t make him sit in the backseat. (Did Dean seem sarcastically unhappy about Cas seeking out angel help? #missinghusbandhour). Then the ultimate travesty happens: Baby breaks down.

They have to walk the last ten miles to Garth’s. When they make it, he welcomes them with open arms (Sam declines the hug but Dean gets one and a compliment -- “You smell so good.”)

Garth was previously feeding his twin baby boys, and he takes them to meet his children. He has a daughter, Gertie, and twin boys, Sam (named after Sam) and...Castiel. Dean is confused and disappointed. I love how there’s no explanation as to why Dean didn’t get a namesake. Natasha wrote a thing though.

Garth then takes them to see why he called. Bess’s cousin is unconscious on Gertie’s bed. He has wraith cuts all over his body.

Dean, the candy eating monster that he is, nabs some candy beans from Gertie’s dresser and Garth notices his pained reaction to eating them. Dean makes note of how nice Garth’s home and life are. (SOFT) Sam sneezes again and Bess tells him she has something to help.

Beth hands Sam her family concoction for helping the common cold. Sam downs it in one go --and instantly has regrets. It’s mostly cayenne pepper. Wherps. Sidenote: Gertie’s little wolf stuffy. All the hearts!

Poor Sam really goes through something --and it is a sight to see. Little Sam and Little Cas are sympathy crying with him and he tries to reassure them that “Big Sam’s okay.” He’s really not.

Garth asks about Dean’s teeth and Dean confesses they’ve hurt since the previous day.

Garth takes Dean to his basement dentist office. It seems he finished getting his dental degree and is now a dentist for other werewolves. “Fang maintenance is a B.” He assesses Dean’s mouth and finds 17 cavities!

He rolls out the nitrous oxide and gets to work. We get to stay with Dean though, AND GOOD FUCKING CHUCK ON A CRACKER.

I can’t explain what I witnessed with my own two eyes. I really, really can’t. @neven-ebrez had a great thread on Twitter that I fully love.

In any event, Dean tap dances to Cole Porter’s Let’s Misbehave. Garth starts showing him the ropes, but then he takes over on his own and starts dancing with a light stick LAMP. He blows a kiss at the lamp and ascends a stairway to heaven the top of the map table and finishes his dance. They dedicated almost 2 minutes to this scene. I --I just. can’t. Also, Dean going for the lamp is timed to line up with the “lovebirds” lyric? I’m so very tired.

Anyway, Dean comes to with a mouth full of gauze, and presumably no cavities.

Everyone reconvenes in the Fitzgerald’s living room. Garth wants to know what’s happening. Sam tells him that they’re kind of on the outs with God. Garth realizes that they’ve been the heroes of Chuck’s stories, and wonders, “what’s that make me? A supporting character? A special guest star?” Garth's happy being the guest star. Being the hero is the worst. Their lives are going to suck until the end. Also, little vanilla couple Garth and Bess apparently love 50 Shades. Lol. Garth points out that the hero never sweats the small stuff because that stuff ruins the story. They’re normal now. (Dean suggests cursed, which, like, lol bud, normal people's lives just suck.)

Bess’s cousin calls for her and they all rush to his side. He doesn’t want to talk to hunters. Sam turns on the ol’ puppy dog eyes and….it does nothing. In fact, Brad can hardly believe that that shtick works at all. Ooof. Bummer, Sammy. Bess digs into the wraith wound to get some answers. And ugh. That was squishy grossness. Brad starts talking about the monster fights though. He tells them where to find the place.

The Winchesters bid Garth farewell. Garth is VERY WORRIED about them. “The old Sam and Dean” could handle a whole warehouse of monsters but the Supernormally Normal boys don’t stand a chance. Dean’s resolute. Fighting monsters, righting wrongs? That’s just who they are. Dean implores Garth to stay home with his wife and kids, and the Winchesters head off.

They arrive at midday outside the arena. Dean polishes off his SEVENTH grilled cheese sandwich and they gather weaponry to storm the place. Sam’s concerned that Garth’s theory that the Winchesters are normal is correct, and they need to take precautions. They gather extra ammo, dead man’s blood, and Dean pulls out his beloved precious weapon.

Upon entering, Sam immediately trips noisily over a bucket and Dean’s grilled cheese extravaganza decides to throw a party right back into his mouth. Dean races for a bathroom, leaving Sam to peruse the room holding the main fight cage.

While Dean is throwing up in the toilet, I desperately try to pretend this isn’t happening. I’m FINE with entrails but upchuck is a hard no, apparently. The bathroom stall opens and one of the monsters from the cold open’s fight night stands there, training Dean’s grenade launcher on him.

Sam and Dean end up locked in the cage-match cage (not to be confused with the CAGE cage). The monster, Cutty, owns the fight club. “Man? Monster? They’re at their best, their most pure, in the heat of competition.” Pardon me while I fake cough “Purgatory” for twenty-five minutes.

Cutty introduces them to their new friend, Maul, a huge monster who grimaces gloomily and flexes his muscles. He wants the Winchesters to fight Maul (together) in the cage match that evening.

Dean tries to tell a story to get out of the situation and I HAVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER. He draws on their legends - the mighty creatures they’ve taken down - and questions whether any MERE monster should even think about trying to attack them. Nobody’s buying what he’s selling.

A short commercial for the upcoming cage match plays. It’s….

AMAZING

All the monsters are gathered around, ready to watch the two mighty cage matches. KILLER WRAITH versus JAMAICA DJINN and MIGHTY MAUL versus THE WINCHESTERS!!!

It’s battle royale time, motherfuckers. When the first fight begins, Dean and Sam are locked up in cells just outside of the ring. “Just how I wanted to die,” Dean grouses. “With a freakin’ audience.” We shall not speak of the 200+ times we have witnessed Dean die on this show.

Dean pulls a nail from the ceiling and proceeds to try to pick the lock. He…fails. Miserably. Sam gives it a try on his lock and neither of them can pick it.

“Could we ever actually pick locks?” Sam asks, frustrated. I’m with others in guessing that both their natural and learned skills have been hugely demoted through Chuck’s interference and this downturn won’t last. But this is a great way to make them doubt themselves. This is the black moment in the hero’s journey - at least for this episode. They’ve never doubted themselves more! Dean delivers a stirring speech anyway. “We’re the best in the world. I say we go out there. We kick some ass.”

Cutty returns to fetch the Winchesters. “Shirts off,” he demands on the way. EYEBALLS EMOJI. But Sam and Dean are gone, the cage doors wide open! The episode rewinds, this time with another point of view. Who’s that lanky man in the floppy-eared hat walking through the crowd? It’s everyone’s favorite werewolf hero, that’s who. Garth frees them by just…BUSTING off the lock.

Outside, Sam and Dean are ready to flee. But Garth has other plans. He whips out a detonator and we get a quick clip show of Garth planting C4 around the club. The club is DECIMATED by fire. Maul survives, however, and strides out of the burning building. Garth goes up against him, but Maul knocks him out. Sam and Dean stand and face Maul, despite their low, low expectations of themselves. Like real damn heroes!

What follows is a HIGHLY comical fight. Sam and Dean do their absolute, precious best, but fortunately the fight seems to be operating on some modified Looney Toons rules.

Garth saves them with a machete through Maul’s head. “You got Garthed!”

Back at Garth’s home, Dean and Sam cradle the babies. “This Cas keeps looking at me weird,” Dean notes. “So kinda like the real Cas,” Sam says. OH SAM. OH SHOW. How we are blessed!

They head out, Dean clutching a bag of grilled cheese sandwiches from Bess. Sam and Dean thank Garth for saving them and call him a hero. Excuse me while I CRY FOR FIVE MINUTES this is so soft. “I guess I learned from the best,” Garth returns. Garth gives them a tip - a place in Alaska where you can go when your luck’s run bad. “There’s always a catch,” Garth warns.

They hug!

“You don’t smell so bad yourself,” Dean notes when he hugs Garth. “It’s Hai Karate,” Garth says. Guys. I love them.

Werewolves of London plays us out. Garth and Bess dance together through the window as the Winchesters get into the Impala. It’s. So. Precious. And. Warm.

“I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be,” Dean muses. Sam admits that Dean’s good at the Macarena. Ah, yes. My generation!

Dean and Sam reflect on their situation. Their lives are far from normal, so being “normal” is dangerous by its very nature. They need as many advantages as possible, so it’s time for a road trip to Alaska!

The music mounts dramatically! Triumphantly! It’s time to ride into the sunset!

Baby sputters out. “Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts as the screen fades to black.

Natasha: I can tell you IMMEDIATELY and WITHOUT RESERVATION that this episode is going to be on my short list of comfort rewatches for all eternity. <3

Werewolves of Quotedom:

Seriously?

Still a hugger, huh?

You smell so good!

You’re very strong

Fang maintenance is a B

Mommy, the giant’s crying!

I wanna be the guest star. Being the hero sucks.

You need a colonoscopy STAT

Just because God yanked the magic horseshoe out of our ass, doesn’t mean we’re gonna give up

I’m a growing boy!

I think you might be lactose intolerant now

You keep all your friends in a cage?

You know them. You don’t like them. The WINCHESTERS

You are SO STRONG

C4, a hunter’s best friend

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn 15x10 #the heroes journey #dean winchester #sam winchester #garth #supernatural season 15

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years

Text

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Eleven is finally up. Again, I deeply apologize for the wait. I had a good reason, I promise. For now, though? Here we go... As always, feedback is incredible. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I am sure to see it. Same goes if I missed your tag. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mostly Smut. Rushed, bathroom/public sex. A little reference to the movie Focus. Some feelings. Not enough editing. That’s all, I believe.

Word Count: Roughly 3,100

“Dance with me?” You looked up to a little old man. Even though his dark skin was wrinkled and worn, his eyes vibrated with life.

Alice and Bane were having a get together at their place. Something normies got to indulge in. You had gone to help set up. A simple enough task. However, before you could dip out? The guests had begun to arrive, and Alice had insisted you stay. You hadn't even known she knew that many people not involved in the life.

“Sure,” You got up to your feet slowly. Completely out of your element.

“Anyone ever teach you how to salsa?”

“No,” You answered honestly. More than a little weary.“You willin' to teach me?”

“I'd be honored.” His face lit up, making him look ten years younger.

Sam watched as your hand landed on the elderly man's shoulder, and the other on the crook of his elbow as his hands settled on your body. What is she doing? A few minutes later, he couldn't help the smile on his face as he peeked back up.

You were stumbling a little, moving to the beat of the music with a large smile as you worked with the man. A simple, peach colored skirt swung around your legs as you stepped where instructed. The white tank top would have been immodest if you hadn't paired it with a cream colored cardigan. Showing almost more than it covered.

The guy had been sitting by himself for the longest time, until he'd sought you out. Nothing but darkness coating his wrinkled face. Now? He looked as if you'd given him the most precious thing in the world. Helping him find his youth in the small crowd.

Over the past week, a careful distance had been kept between you and Sam. You kept looking at him as if you wanted to try and repair the damage, but never found the courage to make the first move. His pride was still stinging. However, it didn't keep him from being aware of you. Only, this time, it was more than just your body.

He'd zeroed in on everything he'd missed before. The way you chewed your lip when you concentrated. How although you had a mix of modern and classic literature, the classics came off the shelf most often. You didn't have a favorite musical genre. Instead, you listened to whatever suited your mood. A glow spread across your face whenever you saw Ava smile a gummy little grin up at you. More often than not, if you were out? You'd gone down a path that led to a smaller pond to take in the nature. How restless you seemed to be since you'd gotten out on the road again. The way you turned away from your own gloom to entertain an elderly man you'd never met...

“You're still thinking about her.” Cas's voice made Sam jerk lightly as he turned to the angel. “Sorry,” His gruff apology wasn't quite enough to take away the frown on the hunter's face, “didn't mean to startle you. Or listen in.” The last bit was added in as an afterthought.

“You can't help it,” Sam grumbled, turning his head back to the scene in front of him. Then the words sunk in. “What do you mean by 'still'?”

“Almost every time I'm by you? I pick up something about her.” Castiel shrugged lightly. Simply speaking matter of factly. “It's fascinating, really... how many different thoughts there are regarding one person.” That made Sam pause, and turn back to watch you trip over your own feet. Laughing all the while. “I was human for a short time, Sam... It allowed me a bit of insight,” The angel smiled a bit at how foolish you were on the floor. Missing some of the roughness both boys carried. “But, I never got to experience something as...” He paused for the right word, “intense as what you're experiencing.” Sam's hands shoved into his pockets. Despising the truth in the words. “I'm almost jealous.”

“Feel free to take her off of my hands.” Sam suggested readily. Wishing he could escape the flood.

“You don't mean that.” He wasn't as sure as Cas seemed to be over that claim. “Is she leaving with you two?”

“Dean wants to bring her.” Sam shrugged out. Trying to act indifferent. “Hasn't asked her, though.”

“If it helps, Sam,” Cas turned back to his friend. Blue eyes boring into the hazel. Making sure the earnest words sank home. “You're not the only one struggling.” His lips pulled up lightly, “She's thinking about you, too...”

–

Hands came out from the bathroom, yanking you towards a looming figure. Your fist came out instinctively, connecting with the perpetrator before you had processed that you knew those hands. As it clicked, you meekly looked up.

Only to find Sam's wry, pained grin aimed at you,“You have a heck of a swing.”

“You had that coming.” You shrugged, turning to see if anyone had seen you get snatched. When you were sure it was clear, you pushed Sam further in and shut the door. Ensuring that you wouldn't be found with the enemy. “What are you doing?”

“Take a guess,” His eyes trailed over your body. The golden brown in them shined through that day. Full of heat. That look alone had you squeezing your thighs together. The necklace from before was hidden in the swells of your breasts, making his gaze linger there. His nostrils flared lightly as he took in the exposed skin. “I've been dying to know what you have on the end of that chain.” Your hands came up to play with it in response. Unintentionally rising to the bait.

“I figured you were still mad over the word vomiting incident.” You stated, moving over to the counter to sit. Noting the way he turned with you. Leaving no room between your bodies. He wasn't even trying and you were almost ready to rip your clothes off. “You haven't pulled any sick tricks, lately. Just ignored me.” You sat looking at him patiently. Waiting for an explanation.

At one time, you might have been relieved by his behavior. But, not anymore. The dynamic had shifted enough that the distance bothered you.

“Well,” He moved over to you, letting his hands settle on your knees, “there's two options in a situation like this.”

“I wasn't aware this is something you had experience in.” The teasing in your tone couldn't be denied. You leaned back, supporting your upper body on your hands. Making it easier to look him in the eyes.

“Oh, I don't... The internet, though? It has answers to everything.” He replied seriously. As if he hadn't pulled the answer from thin air.

“The more you know.” Sam tried to keep his face straight, but he broke at your tone as you played along. A small laugh revealed his dimples. The sight enough to melt away the rest of your worries. There'd been guilt, before. For all his rough edges, you hadn't intended on injuring his ego. “So, what are the options? Since you're clearly educated on the subject.” Your lips had turned up at the sound of his chuckle.

“Well, there's the easy one.” His hand started drifting higher. Thumb grazing along the bottom of your inner thigh- just under the hem of your skirt. “We let that be the end, and go onto other partners. Pretend it never happened.”

“And the second?” Your breath hitched lightly as his fingers tightened on the soft skin he'd found.

“We don't stop.” His other hand reached around your back, pulling your body closer to him. Stretching you out more along the counter as he settled in between your legs. His lips dipped down dangerously close to yours. “Keep going til we figure out just what you think is missing...”

“What's your vote?” You asked, bringing your hand between your bodies. Toying with his shirt. Chewing on your lip as you waited for a response. You didn't even care in that moment that your uncertainty had become his challenge to conquer. His hands moved up to your face. Cradling you as he kissed you hungrily. Not bothering to use words. You pulled away from his lips just long enough for one, husky word: “Agreed.”

His mouth was back on yours in record time. Then trailing down your neck to the tops of your breasts. Kissing. Licking. Sucking. The occasionally bite mixed in. All marks were gone almost as soon as they appeared. But, you were past the point of caring. It felt too right to consider the consequences.

Your hands pulled open his red and blue plaid shirt. Desperate to get down to skin. Rounded nails scratched against the firm flesh. He tugged off your cardigan as his tongue tangled with yours. Nearly ripping the material in his haste. The two of you moved as if it had been years instead of days without touching.

“Please tell me that you're ready.” The husky tilt paired with his lack of breath went straight to your crotch. You just sent him a seductive smile while yanking open his belt. “Thank God.”

The soft material of your skirt was hiked with ease. Sam didn't slow down. Didn't wait for you to lift your hips. Instead, his fingers tore at the fragile lines of your panties. Making quick work of them.

Your own fingers were busy. Yanking at his button. Ripping his zipper down. Before his pants hit the ground, common sense prevailed.

“Condom?” There was no way you were giving up any method of birth control. Sex god, or not.

“Check my wallet.” Nothing. “Damn it.” He growled out, taking it from you to check himself before tossing it to the side. Another heavy, sexually frustrated curse leaving his lips. “Give me a second.” He started searching the medicine cabinet and drawers like a man possessed.

“Oh, this is so wrong,” You huffed out. Leaving all morals aside to hunt down a form of birth control in your friend's home. No luck. “Shit.” You were aroused. More than a little annoyed. A deadly combination to be sure. “Wait!”

“You are not leaving me here like this.” Sam ground out, seeing the wheels turn in your head.

“I'll be back in two seconds.” You promised. Crossing your fingers over your heart symbolically before adjusting your clothing back into semi-decent shape.

“Y/N-” You stopped him by pulling his head down to yours. Kissing the protest right out of him.

“I have more clothing on.” You managed to get out against his mouth. “I get caught? Less of a big deal.”

“Fine.” He said after a second of frustrated silence. Knowing it was that, or a longer wait. “You leave me like this, and I swear...” He trailed off, letting all kinds of disastrous images line your mind.

“While that sounds fun,” Your inner minx couldn't be contained. Cupping his erection in your hand, you continued. “I have much more...pressing issues.” Your thumb stroked over the bulge, making him practically hiss. A quick peck against his lip, and you were gone.

Sam's hand rubbed over his face as he waited. Awkward, now that he was on his own. Wondering if you really would be mischievous enough to ditch him- he knew you could be. Or if you needed him just as badly as he seemed to need you.

It had built throughout the day. Castiel's words only encouraging him further. Goading him until he'd planned on doing something about you that night.

Then, you'd walked by. Innocent fun was the only plan when he'd pulled you into the bathroom. Then, hormones ruled the moment he had you alone. A little foreplay to warm you up. Something that would make the night that much sweeter. That idea lasted until he'd touched you. Fucking the entire plan up.

He sat leaning against the counter with his shirt open. His belt and pants still undone, and a hard on for the ages pressed out angrily. A pair of destroyed peach, lace panties rested by his feet. His wallet was over on the other side of the room. If anyone else stumbled across him, he'd have a hell of a time explaining it. Luckily, you spared the Winchester.

“Got it,” Locking the door was first priority. Something that hadn't been thought of before.

“Where the hell-”

“Your brother is an easy target.” You pulled the wallet out of your top. Knowing right where the protection was stored. “Now...shut up and make use of this.” Dean's wallet was tossed over by Sam's. No longer worth your attention.

It took two steps for him to reach your side, and slam you into the door. His lips sealing over yours again. As the kiss deepened, his hands gripped your thighs. Silently demanding you jump. He didn't hesitate, pulling you up to his waist when you gave him what he needed.

You held on as he carried you. Not breaking contact with his mouth as he moved you back to the counter. Knocking over several toiletries in the process when he tossed you back onto the counter.

It was impossible to keep your hands off Sam. Your fingers got in the way, trying to help him lose the pants. Rolling the condom into a place.

A small squeeze of his erection led to a growl from the man above you. An answering bite to your lip drew a breathy moan from your lips as he moved your hands away. Your skirt was pushed back up. Fingers just barely ghosted over the wet folds as he lined up.

Sam's mouth swallowed your cry when he filled you with a snap of his hips. Your hands tangled themselves into his shirt and onto the base of his neck. Ankles locked around his back, digging your heels into his ass to help set the pace. Hard and fast.

Pulling away your lips, you turned them to his throat. Tasting his skin as he had yours earlier to draw a groan from him. Letting that muffle the sounds he was forcing from your throat.

His teeth held his lip as he moved, rolling his body into yours. Keeping himself as silent as possible. Not wanting to be caught anymore than you did. Wanting the moment to last.

You had no idea how long you two were locked together. Grasping. Thrusting. Whimpering at the rush. Every push and pull sending you closer to oblivion.

As you got close, your head fell back away from the taste of his damp flesh. Your teeth dug into your lower lip harshly, but it wasn't enough. Skin slapped harshly together, echoing through the small room. Then you heard it: voices.

Sam paused. Bringing his hand to your mouth, he covered it gently. Gauging your reaction to his action, as the sounds of your bodies meeting didn't lessen. You didn't complain, letting him protect the both of you two. Instead, you nodded your consent.

Neither of you stopped the push and pull you'd started. Not even when the voices were right outside. Rocking into each other all the while. Eyes locked, you held each other through it. Whoever it was didn't stay long.

You ground yourself against him as soon as they were gone, wanting him to speed back up. To send you over the edge. Needing it.

Luckily, Sam understood. Wanting the same thing, himself. His head buried into your shoulder. Bracing his free hand on the counter, he slammed into you. The once covered whimpers turned to cries as you clung to him. Your body clenched tight as you came, encouraging him to follow you. Thighs trembling all the while.

With every thrust, his rhythm grew more sloppy. Fighting to refrain. But, it was all too much. Sam's teeth sunk into your shoulder to keep his own shout from being heard when he came.

Breathing heavy, you pulled apart as soon as you were able. Almost shyly cleaning up and getting your clothes situated as best as you could. You helped fix his hair while he wiped off the smudged liner under your eyes.

Not much was said. Especially regarding the 'missing piece' that seemed to be standing like a brick wall between you two. That is, until Sam picked up the wallets.

“How'd you get this, anyway?” Dean's leather was waved as he looked at you.

“He was grabbing a beer, and talking to Bane in the kitchen.” You shrugged, slipping on your cardigan. “I walked past, grabbed it out of his back pocket, shoved it in my bra, and got up here.”

“Without him noticing?” Sam didn't buy it. Dean was too good of a hunter to have missed that trick.

“There's a skill to it. You just touch directly while grabbing what you want.” It seemed too easy. “For example,” You touched his bicep while looking at your hand, and his eyes followed. “I touch you here.”

“Okay...” He trailed off in confusion.

“And, I pick this up.” You wagged the wallet that had been in his back pocket in his face. “Easy. Even if the other person hunts? Their attention is diverted.”

“You're nothing but trouble, aren't you?” He grinned, pulling the leather from your grasp. Shoving it into his pocket for the second time.

“All I had to do is tap his arm from behind. Say excuse me. Done.” You unlocked the door. “Take your time, will ya? I'm going to schmooze. Play innocent.” As you walked out, you stopped and looked back at the younger Winchester. Eyes still full of fire, “Oh, and Sam...My door won't be locked, tonight...” You winked when his nostrils flared in response before leaving him alone to over think.

When he finally walked out, he was sure you two had gotten away with it. Another item kicked off of his bucket list. As far as he was concerned, he could die happy.

“How long?” Dean's voice made Sam turn around quickly, towards the other end of the hallway. His brother leaned against the wall. Shadowed, still. Maybe I spoke to soon...

“What?” He tried playing innocent. Shouldn't have bothered. It only made the older Winchester's glower deepen.

“How long have you and Y/N been sneaking around?” Well, shit...

Part Twelve

Tag: @burningmusicmachine @missmarrinette @sherlockedtash88 @rathersuspiciousbumblebee @sasbb23 @nothinbuttrouble2 @baby-bunker-pie @neii3n @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @malfoysqueen14 @calaofnoldor @hhiggs

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

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hp-rbiim · 5 years

Note

Drarry prompt, (powerful) harry gets upset and loses control over his magic. Draco stops him before he blows. (Maybe in eighth year)

Thank you for the prompt nonnie! I was excited to do this one! Thank you to my betas keyflight790 and orpheus87!

Read on Ao3

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Chapter one

So, the day goes like this:

‘Potter.’

‘Malfoy.’

‘Both of you, stop it.’

A day like any other.

And just like any other day, it was par for the course of ending in altercation. Malfoy had allowed Harry first access to the vervain in Potions class, which consequently made Harry stare (very suspiciously), which of course grated on Malfoy’s nerves, which resulted in a venomous what, which started the day…. well, with a decidedly angry traction.

‘You’re really good at this, mate.’ Ron had said. He was chewing on a quill, although there was a hint of nervousness in his remark, there was a much larger humour hiding behind his pearly white teeth.

‘Thanks, Ron. This potion—, Harry redirected, knowing full well that Ron had meant his interaction with Malfoy, ‘—is going brilliantly.’

Ron had laughed at that, and Harry had told him to—

‘—just stir the damn cauldron.’

The second bout came along during Defence against the Dark Arts. Harry had been called up by Bill Weasley — the very cool interim professor that McGonagall took on whilst she located an apt not-Gilderoy-Lockhart to permanently fill the position — up onto the stage to “demonstrate” a Patronus charm. Most, though not Malfoy, cheered enthusiastically at the wispy spiraling stag dancing about the room.

Malfoy had clapped, very reluctantly, a slog of hands as they moved to meet their counterpart in the middle. His pale grey eyes assessed the ceiling, rather than Harry’s demonstration, as if a Patronus wasn’t at all that impressive to look at, most especially to someone like Malfoy!

Harry’s grip on his wand had tightened, he was indignant — an ugly feeling welling up in his chest out of his control. Which made his subsequent Bombarda demonstration forceful enough to warrant Bill trying to placate him with a ‘now, now, don’t get too excited, Harry,’ lecture, which made his stage embarrassment much more monumental than it should have been.

‘You go, Harry! Don’t let Bill stop you!’ was Ginny’s response. The eighth years had been boxed in with the seventh years, due to lack of staff. Bill accused Ginny of abusing family relations to talk back to her professor. She probably hoped she could wink out of trouble, because she did so with a devilish grin reminiscent of the twins. Harry wished he could have been as light-hearted about things as she was.

Instead, Harry wished he could slam his head against the Boggart cabinet.

They had begun pairing up for duelling exercises — Bill had enforced a rotation system so everyone had a fair chance against different levels of skill. When it was his turn to pair with Malfoy, Malfoy sighed. Sighed! He sighed at him, great big inhale and exhale like it was the worst thing to ever happen to him. What was Malfoy’s problem? They were supposed to make up for the sake of inter-house unity, for the sake of life-debts, for the sake of, well — of everything else that happened in the war!

‘Excuse me?’ Malfoy gallivanted a wounded hand gesture on his chest with theatrical gusto. Harry shot a Stunning Charm at him, which he sidestepped with equal dramatics. ‘Problem, have I? Salazar, Potter, grow up. You’re the one whinging about it.’

Harry told him to stop using Salazar’s name like he was god, because he was a right bastard setting off Basilisks against innocent people, that he and his friends had to bloody stop in second year. At great risk too. Hermione had been petrified for fuck’s sake!

This only seemed to spur Malfoy on as he hid behind a Protego with wide eyes. When the smoke of Harry’s Dust Blasting charm had eased, Malfoy’s pale grey eyes had morphed from understanding to a calculating glint.

‘Ah.’ Malfoy started, ‘I’m sorry.’ Harry had never heard him apologise before. ‘So, let’s get this straight, shall we? You wish to banish my House Founder and make me applaud you for it. Right. Why, if I knew you were going to get this upset over my lacklustre applauding earlier, I certainly would have clapped harder, just for you. Our Hero.’

Malfoy had said it in such a bored, slow and patronising drawl, even amidst their duel, that it made him red in the face. ‘Fuck you, Malfoy.’ The subsequent Stupefy from Harry was so powerful, it blasted Malfoy several steps back, even with his Protego still up.

Leaving Malfoy a little less immaculate than before gave Harry a satisfaction he wished he didn’t revel so much in.

Hermione didn’t say anything during lunch, but he knew she was judging. It was only when the chatter of the Great Hall filled in the space for Harry, that he realised Malfoy hadn’t used any offensive spells on him. The peas on his plate may have suffered the wrath of his fork.

Malfoy was looking down at him. This was supposed to be a year for inter-house unity, and Malfoy was ruining everything.

‘If you must know,’ Hermione was balancing a newspaper and pumpkin juice on the table, the only part of her visible being her signature bushy brown hair, ‘Malfoy has been quite un-nefarious this year.’

Ron had hummed an easy-going agreement behind his chicken, Dean shrugged a ‘no clue’, Seamus nodded a ‘he’s nefarious alright’ clearly missing Hermione’s operative “un” remark and Neville, who was the most surprising of all said, ‘he’s not bad, actually.’

Hermione told him flies would enter his gaping mouth. Harry couldn’t understand how Hermione had been able to tell that his mouth had fallen open from behind her newspaper. Said newspaper dropped from her face only for herto give him a look that read suspiciously like a very long ‘we’ve been friends for seven years and you think I don’t know—‘ lecture, which Harry cut short by departing from lunch with the excuse of “Quidditch practice”.

There was no Quidditch practice, Harry had been fibbing. He just needed to get away. Flying had always managed to lift his mood, and he hoped it would again today.

Except, Harry’s mood instead took a sharp cliff dive when his Firebolt exploded. That’s right, exploded. In his hands. ‘What the fuck— what the fuck—‘ Scorch marks had etched grooves into his skin, the leftover soot decorating the depressions in his hand.

Harry knocked his equally-sooted glasses off with the part of his arm that didn’t sting with burns. There was a bitterness that made his eyes water, but it wasn’t because of the soot, or the burns. There, on the ground, blurry as it was, unmistakable, was his Firebolt, or ex-Firebolt really, seeing as it was a scattering of charred wood, debris and whatever else. One of the last reminders of Sirius, in serious smithereens.

‘Brilliant. You’ve outdone yourself. You really, really have outdone yourself.’

There were a few sparks setting off the wood, a tell-tale trace of magic still alive, still kicking, which gave Harry hope enough to gather the remnants of his Firebolt. It hadn’t started this way. He’d brought the Firebolt down from his dorm room, made it all the way to the pitch (or really, whatever was left of the pitch), hadn’t even gotten on his broom. He was about to, sure, felt the excitement surge through his bones as he was preparing for liftoff. That’s when it exploded.

The wind started picking up, Harry could barely make out the gathering of clouds in one corner of the sky to register what was going to happen next.

‘Accio glasses! Accio Firebolt!’ It didn’t work. ‘Accio Firebolt shards! Accio Firebolt shards! Accio Firebolt shards! Which worked better, but not enough. Harry could count the pieces he had retrieved with the fingers in his hand. It wasn’t enough. The rest of his Firebolt had scattered away into the wind.

Harry was breathless. The pounding tattoo of his heart in his chest had become loud and unforgiving. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t think. The dirt soaked into the fabric at his knees. He could feel that at least. His arms cradled the Firebolt remnants in his arms, eyes closed shut, wishing. Wishing for what exactly? Harry wasn’t sure, but it was clear, it wasn’t this.

He might have screamed, and a few bleachers may have subsequently exploded, but it mattered little. The Quidditch Pitch was ruined from the war anyway. No one would notice. No one came around the unrepaired sections of Hogwarts after the war.

Except Malfoy, apparently. When Harry turned around, he was there, there in the middle of the grass, staring at him. His fair blonde hair was whisking in the wind, a knit was present in the center of his furrowed brows, a face, Harry recognised, was of consternation, like Malfoy didn’t know what to do with himself. Harry was the one that didn’t know what to do with himself. Malfoy shouldn’t even be here. Malfoy’s hands were empty, open. He didn’t have a broom with him, he wasn’t here to fly. Malfoy, Harry concluded, was bloody stalking him.

Perfect. Just what he needed. An awful rage reared its head at the perfect target to direct his sense of loss.

Malfoy paled as he sensed the change in atmosphere.

‘Potter…’ He said, drawing out the R sound, like he was stalling.

‘Malfoy,’ Harry responded, he was quick to cut the gap between them. This time, no one was there to tell Harry to stop. ‘Keep stalking me, and I promise you’ll end up just like those benches.’

Malfoy gasped, affronted. His demeanor was quick to changing to a seething anger. ‘Careful, Potter. If you persist in assuming the world still revolves around you with your capacity for emotional restraint, you may as well end up like your precious Firebolt!’

‘Say that again, Malfoy, I dare you.’

‘You first.’ Malfoy was quick to draw out his wand, once he saw Harry’s rapid approach. Malfoy had shouted the disarming spell before Harry could — for his arms were still occupied by cradling the Firebolt remnants. Harry saw it coming, and just like that, his Holly wand popped out of his hand for the first time in never.

Enraged, Harry barreled shoulder first into Malfoy’s chest. Shouting, Malfoy tried to angle away from him with a kick, to which Harry retaliated with a hook to his face. The Firebolt remnants scattered from his grip, while the two clambered at each other, yanking their opposing robes.

Malfoy was still holding Harry’s wand. Harry demanded he give it back. Malfoy had refused, on grounds that it was positively ridiculous. Apparently, Harry was a volatile menace, and would probably murder him if he got the chance. Malfoy was right of course, but that didn’t stop Harry from slamming him against the dirt in a bid for the wands. Malfoy tossed them both out of his reach, and they rolled away from their scuffle, clattering along the overgrown grass.

Malfoy might have had the advantage of longer limbs, but Harry was stronger. After a dozen knees to the stomach, angry clutching of hair, sharp elbows, fists and headbutts on every imaginable surface of their bodies; Harry had managed to gain the upperhand and proceeded to pin Malfoy’s wrists to the dirt.

Malfoy scowled. His face was covered in stains, immaculate hair was mussed, loose grass woven into fair blonde locks, the corner of his lip was torn. So, maybe the sight of winning against Malfoy made the pounding of his heart a little loud, and his blood rush to inappropriate places. It mattered little. The whole point was that Harry was exceptionally angry and Malfoy was a tosser.

Malfoy told him to get off, Harry had refused, on the grounds that it was positively ridiculous, because apparently, Malfoy was a volatile menace, a stalker — and — would probably murder him if he got the chance. Malfoy looked scandalised at having his words tossed back at him.

‘Ha, bloody ha. Potter. You can twist my words all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one that accosted me for what — stalking you, as you say, which, by the way — I wasn’t, on this particular occasion, though true on prior accounts — this, was, I assure you, a coincidence on my part.’ Malfoy paused to take a breath, only to resume with a scathing, 'Though, I can’t say the same for you.’

Annoyed and exhausted, Harry shot him a withering glare. Malfoy flinched. Coward. Feeling a little guilty, and a little less angry, Harry let his grip fall lax. Malfoy, of course, took the chance and kneed him straight in the bollocks. ‘Fuck!’ In a litany of swears and curses, Harry fell to the side and wheezed, while Malfoy quickly scrambled away to safety.

‘Just— Just stay away from me!’ said Harry, furiously.

Malfoy hurled his hands in the air, equally exasperated, ‘You steal my words, Potter!’

Not a minute later, Harry’s Holly wand came spiralling out of the air, whacking him on his forehead with an audible thonk. ‘Ow!’ He cried as the wand clattered beside of him, rolling back and forth as gusts of air fluttered around him. Occasionally, the wind was strong enough to carry another piece of his Firebolt with it, and a part of him with it too. ‘Fuck!’

A barrage of curses continued to fall from his mouth, for Harry failed to retrieve the disappearing fragments of his Firebolt.

‘Fuck…’

When his curses had lost their energy, so did his body. The time he spent curled up in the grass felt like infinity, and it was only when he arrived at Madam Pomfrey’s that he realised it had gotten dark.

Goodness, she had started, Mister Potter she would continue, and then she went off about his injuries, pestering him with questions, rambling about rambunctious teenagers, about all sorts of things, really. Harry stayed quiet, offering little explanation. Madam Pomfrey looked at him with a mix of displeasure and worry, but his silence worked — she pestered him no more.

Sure, she fixed him up, Harry was grateful for that, but she couldn’t bring back Sirius, and she doubted she could make a Firebolt out of three chips of charred wood. Nobody could.

Ron and Hermione found him after dinner. Harry showed them the chips, then wordlessly went to bed, fists clenched with an anger he didn’t know what to do with.

‘Stupid Malfoy.’ Harry muttered. Perhaps Malfoy had managed to curse his Firebolt, perhaps he was there to watch it happen because he was the one that did it. Harry couldn’t be confident that Malfoy was the one that did it, but the ability to shift blame to Malfoy was his one and only consolation.

‘Stupid Malfoy…’ He repeated, before sleep tugged him into the darkness.

____

chapter one end

#my writing #Anonymous #drarry

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thewhiterabbit42 · 5 years

Text

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Pairing: Gabriel x Winchester!sister reader Summary: It’s hard to be normal when what you need, who you are, and who you have is anything but that, but it doesn’t stop you and Gabriel from trying. (Requested by @phantomwarrior12) Word Count: 2034 Tags/Warnings: Fluffy feels, a touch of angst, needy Gabriel

“Honey, I’m home!” Gabriel’s dramatic announcement carries from the front of the house clear through to the kitchen.

It amazes you how he uses the front door instead instead of flying in anymore. Whether he’s finally gotten sick of you ruining his nice shirts (stabbing still tends to be your go-to panic response), or he’s decided to try and uphold the guise of normalcy you’re trying to emulate, you’ll never know. While so much has changed, some things never will, and Gabriel, being Gabriel, makes you pay for straight answers in concerted effort and a level of frustration that easily shaves three years off your lifespan.

Whatever the reason, it’s nice, though you’re not sure you’ll ever fully get used to it. Mostly because you know you’ll never be what you pretend to. There’s a thousand different reminders on any given day that whisper with how this is just an act. Today, it’s in the way you recall the exact number of footsteps he needs to cross the house and in how you diligently tick off the seconds it takes for him to appear.

He rarely stops along the way, always as eager to lay eyes on you as you are him. Yet, he never races, and you always force yourself to remain wherever it is you are, because most people don’t need to act like every day might have been their last to see their love.

You feel him enter more than you see him in your peripheral, his presence brimming with angelic energy he just can’t seem to tame when he’s around you. He pauses, leaning against the doorway as he watches you chop away at your ingredients. Who knew you’d be good at filleting anything other than monsters?

A smile blooms across his face, wide and warm, and you wonder what he sees. Is it the sheer domestication that pours off the entire situation that tickles him? Or perhaps it’s the pattern of pigs with wings on your new apron, harkening back to your remark about settling down when pigs learn to fly.

You avoid looking directly look at him. You know the moment you do, dinner will become a distant thought. You’ll simply melt, and all you’ll want to do is be close to him, to drown in golden depths while running your fingers through silken strands of honey. You thought you couldn’t get enough of him before, but now you ache whenever he’s gone. Literally. A tightness encompassing your chest along with the need to see, touch, smell, taste, know. That he is still there. Alive.

He finally straights again, sauntering toward you with a, “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Curiosity has him glancing at the various items in front of you, but his focus is solely on closing the distance. He moves behind you, an arm enveloping you securely as he leans around the side of your face and presses a kiss to your cheek. His hand is warm, but the tip of his nose carries a hint of chill, causing goosebumps to ripple out from where he begins to nuzzle you with it. There’s an air of freshness clinging to him that’s crisp and almost makes you want to step outside yourself. Almost. Because he is not there, but here, breathing you in with one long, sweeping breath.

“Something new I saw online.” You inclines your head to the iPad on the counter next to you. He barely gives it a look, and instead turns his attention to pressing small, affectionate kisses along the side of your jaw that say he’s missed you just as much as you have him.

“I got you something on the way home, today…” His other hand creeps around the side of you, a beautiful bouquet filled with fall colors shrouding the green and red of the vegetables you’ve been prepping. “I think the florist might be getting sweet on me, with the deal I got on these.”

You take the flowers from him with a snort, eyes drifting over to the four vases on the table already filled from this week. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with how you’re single handedly putting at least one of his kids through college.”

“Mmm, not talking about the owner. His assistant. Eduardo.” He gives the r a drawn out, sultry roll, arms shifting tightly over yours to pull you back against him. “Though I’m sure the special tip I always give him helps.”

You turn enough to meet his gaze, brow inching up as you give him a falsely measured look. “So long as it’s just the tip you’re giving him…”

He laughs, a genuine bark that makes his eyes light up and crinkle at the corner in ways you hadn’t seen until the two of you took off together. Away from his family drama. Away from yours. Leaving behind the the toxic, well-meaning misguidance from both sides of the fence.

“Don’t worry, hot cake, that part of me is one hundred percent, unequivocally yours.” He brings his face closer, his nose rubbing yours for a short series of Eskimo kisses that has warmth suffusing through your chest and your heart dancing.

“Better be,” you murmur, mouth seeking his in confirmation. And what an assurance you receive when he captures your lips like there is nothing sweeter and more precious in the universe to him. He snaps, and the flower disappear from your hands, allowing him to turn you around so he can kiss you properly; hands cradling your face, keeping you close, drinking you in so deeply you can barely breathe.

Dinner never had a chance.

There’s that signature click of his fingers again, this one sending you both straight to your bed. You’re not certain why you thought this Friday would end any different. He’s done this every week since he’s started working, and you know the routine by now, your hand already behind his thigh, guiding it to your hips as he hooks it around you.

You’re not certain when the apron has disappeared, only that it poses no hindrance. Neither does his jacket, the heat of his body easily seeping through the material of his shirt and yours. He pulls you tight against him, and it’s like he’s trying to absorb you, his need overflowing beneath every point of contact. He relishes closeness in a manner most people could never fathom, and the way his mouth joins yours again echoes how much this intimacy transcends physical desire.

You can tell by the need that thrums through him, spilling over onto you, that he could do this for hours. You, on the other hand, can’t. Your human limits keep him tethered, guiding him back before he loses himself completely. He waits until the very last moment, enjoying every drop of you he can before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours as he allows you some much needed air.

What you feel is indescribable. Heady. Euphoric. Like you’re drunk, not just on his being, but the wholeness you feel on a level you never thought possible. Above all else, there is freedom that blossoms in these moments where the world, time, existence all cease to be and there is nothing but you and him.

Your breathing has almost evened out by the time he lays his head on your chest. It’s an instinct, to wrap your arms around him, holding him as snug as the leg that still clings to your waist. Your fingers find their way into his hair, carding through the curls gathered at his neck, and you savor every second of simple contact you’re allowed.

“Do I have to spend forty-three hours a week away from you?”

You almost laugh at how petulant he sounds, and at the fact he tries to act like he didn’t tell you last weekend, on a rant, that his job makes him leave for exactly forty-two hours, thirty-six minutes, and fifteen point twenty seven seconds. You’re swept away, however, with a swelling symphony of sentiments at the thought that this infinite being doesn’t want to be without you a second longer than necessary.

It takes you a moment to find your words. “A big house in the country requires a big income.” It’s not exactly what you want to say, but you know better than to give voice to things you barely understand, let alone try to explain them to him.

That and you’re just as dodgy as he is these days when it comes to laying all your cards out on the table.

He lets out a slow breath through his nostrils, and you can sense his disappointment welling up within him, and the quietness of his tone only confirms it. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

You hold him even tighter, his words squeezing at your chest. “You do take care of me, Gabriel. With or without the big kitchen with an island and granite countertops.”

You know he’d given you those things because you’d never had them. He might have been the only person who didn’t just want a better life for you, but actually tried to make it happen. In truth, you could take this quiet place in the country or leave it. It was the time and privacy with him that meant everything.

“I’m just happy to still have you.” You almost aren’t able to tell him that, your focus shifting to fend off intrusive snippets of memories you want nothing more than to wipe from your mind. Your bury your face against the crown of his head, filling every one of your senses with him.

“You weren’t supposed to be there.” The admission catches you off guard, draws you back with startling haste. “I never wanted you anywhere near Lucifer, let alone for you to see him --”

You shush him quietly, holding him more tightly against you. “I needed to.”

You are far more appreciative for it, grounded, and for the first time in years, you feel like you can see things clearly.

You sometimes wonder if your brothers will ever be able to.

“Do you miss them?” It’s as if he senses the shift in you. Perhaps, he does. He seems to know you better than even Sam and Dean sometimes, despite how you’ve only known him for a handful of years.

There’s a budding pain along old wounds etched intricately along the chasms of history flowing through your veins. The sting is salved, however, by the sheer effervescence of his being and the effect it has on you, as well as by the light you coax out of him with each day that passes.

“Not as much as I’d miss you.” You know it sounds awful, but sometimes the truth is. Your brothers are your blood. You will always love them, but they can’t give you what you need. Not anymore.

“You realize I have no idea what I’m doing, don’t you?” There’s more hope in his voice than sarcasm. That you do recognize this. That you haven’t somehow been tricked into thinking he has all the answers. To be honest, you hadn’t caught on to that little caveat, but it’s a relief to know he’s making things up as much as you are.

Despite neither of you having a clue, you don’t feel lost. You actually feel settled in a way you can’t ever remember being. The uncertainty melts away as his fingers begin to trace what you think are nonsensical patterns along the skin of your lower back, his energy slipping beneath the surface of your body.

It’ll take you another three months before you realize he’s actually warding you. The safety of it along with his intent, however, translates, nestling into your bones and relaxing you in ways you never knew you could.

Some things will never change. You’ll still need to run. You’ll still need to keep your head down, but it won’t matter where you have to go, or how often you’ll need to move. Home has never been a place for you, anyway. You realize it’s never truly been anything until now.

“Don’t worry, feathers,” you murmur into his hair. “We’ll figure it out together.”

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lunavva · 5 years

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ailurophile- a cat lover. - - - - - - -

Dean doesn’t like pet stores. They’re loud and smell like shit and are almost always over-crowded. Plus, what’s the point of going if he never buys anything?

On the other hand, Cas, apparently, likes pet stores very much. They’re teeming with life and everything good and pure in the world and they have cats, Dean, please, let’s go see the cats.

So on a lazy Sunday afternoon, just as the afternoon starts to melt into the evening, Dean and Cas drive to the nearest pet store. And as they roam the aisles of the store, Dean pretends his couldn’t give a damn, and deep down is completely aware of the fact that he’s enjoying himself a little too much.

Because as Cas smilingly leans over a pen full of cats, coos, points at the different colors and spouts rapid-fire fun facts (“Only 1 out of 3,000 calico cats are born male, Dean, did you know that? And the French nobility favored Persian cats, though I’m not sure why, as they’re a rather snobby breed.”), Dean can’t help but zero in on the way his lips crook a little too far to the right when he talks through a smile. He can’t help but focus intently on the way Cas’ hands cradle an orange kitten to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the whole damn world. He can’t help but stare at the way he frowns when two of the cats start hissing at one another, can’t help but grin when he reprimands them both for leaving bad impressions on the younger kittens.

And, yeah, it’s not like the first time Dean’s thought about these things— not even close to the first— but at that moment, it just feels… so clear. So natural. So easy to just lean in and—

(Years later, when they get asked where they shared their first kiss, Dean will say on a Sunday afternoon in his Chevy Impala. It’s a lie, but only a half one— they kiss in his car, but they kiss in the parking lot of the pet store and Dean couldn’t wish for anything more perfect.)

#lunavva writes #dean #cas #destiel #au #fanfic

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dontshootmespence · 5 years

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Supernatural AU: Episode 5 - Faith

Part 2

Her throat went raw as she screamed into her pillow, a sharp pain shooting through her foot when she kicked the door closed. He’d nearly died. Dean and Sam had nearly died because she’d failed.

“You can’t leave them alone!” Her father had screamed.

“I was just trying to perfect my aim!”

“And look what happened!” He roared.

In her attempt to get better at what she was apparently supposed to do for the rest of her life, she’d almost lost the two people she cared about most in the world – her two little brothers.

She hadn’t been gone two hours. But in those two hours Dean managed to get out of the hotel room and run into the very werewolves that John had been hunting. He didn’t get bitten, but the claw marks across his small chest were bad enough. “Dean, I’m sorry!” She cried.

“Sorry isn’t enough!” Her father yelled. “What if he had died?”

“Dad, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it. You need to pay attention Bobbie. Life isn’t about you anymore. They need you.”

Sterile white floors and harsh fluorescent lights stung at the eyes of the youngest and oldest Winchesters as they approached the nurses’ desk. While the doctors treated Dean, they were supposed to make sure their insurance went through. It seemed so mundane; this was anything but. Fortunately, they had new solid identities so insurance wasn’t the issue. A little insurance fraud was the least of what either of them would do to make sure Dean came back to them. “Mister…Berkowitz,” the nurse said hesitantly, obviously having trouble with putting the name to the face. “We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

Sam thanked the nurse for her help and turned to see Bobbie sitting with her head in her hands, silent sobs shaking her body. “He’s gonna be okay,” he said softly. Other people might have been able to take that at face value, but Bobbie could hear the small tears in his voice. “He has to be.”

She wanted to believe – look on the bright side. At least he wasn’t dead yet. But every time she couldn’t get between the boys she loved and the next big danger, she felt the noose becoming tighter and tighter. If she could take on the world’s pain and be ripped limb from limb day after day to keep her brothers safe she would.

When the doctor emerged a few minutes later, Bobbie’s head popped up from Sam’s shoulder, a single ray of hope driving her toward him. Sam followed close behind.

“How is he?”

“He’s okay for the moment, but-“

“But what?” Bobbie interjected. ‘But’ was a bad word. In their world, ‘but’ meant deep-seated hollowness, a black hole where a heart should be. “What’s wrong?”

The siblings fell into a vacant state as the doctor explained Dean’s situation. The electricity had triggered a massive heart attack, leaving it atrophied beyond repair. “We can make him comfortable, but I suspect he only has a couple of weeks to a month before his heart gives out.”

“No,” Sam whispered, fruitlessly appealing to the doctor. “There has to be something. There-“

“I’m sorry, but keeping him out of pain is all we can do.”

As the doctor gave his condolences and left without another word, Bobbie felt her knees start to shake – that hollowness eating away at her heart.

No. These doctors had no idea of the possibilities out there. She and Sam would find a way to save Dean. They had to. If John wasn’t going to be the father they needed, then she would step, no matter how unfair it was.

Bobbie had always hated hospitals. Sterility smelled like death. When they walked into Dean’s room and pulled the curtain back, Bobbie slapped her hand over her mouth without thinking. The darkness under his eyes was far beyond the normal – not just tired, but sunken and withering. “Geez, both of you look like bigger shit than I do.”

“Doubtful.” Sam smiled to hide the pain. Something he did well.

Despite all their pain, that never worked for Bobbie. She wore her heart on her sleeve. Always. She was an open book.

“We’re gonna find something, Dean,” Bobbie assured him. There was no hint of doubt in her voice anymore and Sam noticed, giving her a supportive nod. No longer could she play the doubtful sister; she had to step into the role of protective mother. It was that or lose half her heart.

As he lay in the bed, practically glued to the crappy daytime television in front of him, he tried to play it all off. He was the tough guy. Nothing got to Dean Winchester. As a strong as a rock he was. But the thing people didn’t realize about him was just how scared and vulnerable he could be if you only knew the signs. Avoidance, quick to respond, eyes darting from the person he was supposed to be convincing of his machismo. Deep down he was petrified; she’d put money on it. “You have to accept reality.”

“And that is?” Sam’s voice rose with each word, denial begging Dean not to voice the dreaded reality they were supposed to face.

“That I’m going to die.”

No. Bobbie would never allow it. “I’m the older one. I die first.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them for a moment. “You both better take care of that car or I’ll haunt your asses.”

When he chuckled, Bobbie snapped. “That’s not funny, asshat.”

“I’m being deadly serious.”

“Really?” Sam exclaimed.

Bobbie finally allowed herself to ease into their usual banter because if she didn’t she would sob until there was nothing left to cry and that would be worse on Dean. He’d always hated seeing her cry. “Alright, we’re gonna go,” she said.

Sam finished her thought. “But we’re gonna find something. Promise.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he forced a smile and sent them away. This was the game – one day something was going to take them out. He’d hoped to get a few more years of ganking monsters under his belt before he bit the bullet but such was life. His time had come.

-------

Back in the room, Bobbie broke down. She couldn’t play protective mom all the time and though she wanted to stay positive for Sam’s sake, she couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Taken aback by her shattering cry, Sam wrapped her in his arms, his right hand cradling her head against his chest as she cried. “We’re going to find something, Bobbie. I swear. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“That’s supposed to be my job.”

He kissed her forehead, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye and onto her matted brown hair. “We’re family. It’ll never be all on you.”

If only she could force herself to live by his words.

“Why don’t you go shower while I make some calls?”

“I can help. We need to move quickly.”

“I’ll be quick, but you can’t help us if you don’t take care of yourself. After everything that’s happened recently, the baku, Dad – you need to breathe.”

Bobbie sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her jacket, not caring how gross she looked. “I must really smell if you’re trying to push me to shower.”

“You don’t exactly smell pleasant,” He laughed.

It was the first genuine smile she’d had all day. “Bite me, Sammy.”

-------

While Bobbie washed the days’ old grime off her tired muscles, Sam called every known associate of John’s, Bobby included, to try and figure out something that could help Dean. After convincing Bobby he was of better help where he was, he went down the list of names in John’s journal. He could feel his hope waning with each call – those he talked to leaving him with little to nothing to go on, but he plugged on with increased vigor when he heard Bobbie stifle another cry.

Minutes later, she dried off and pulled on some comfortable clothes, emerging from the bathroom to see Sam deep in thought. “Anything?”

“Yea,” he replied. “I don’t think either of you are gonna wanna go for it, but it’s what I have.”

It didn’t matter. She’d do anything. “What is it?”

“A faith healer.”

She scoffed and spun around, flopping into the bed and mumbling into her pillow. “That’s what we have? A hokey religious nut that thinks they’ve been endowed with the power of God.”

Before Sam could reply, they heard a knock at the door and were surprised to find Dean, wobbly as all hell, leaning against the doorframe. “What the hell, man? What are you doing here?”

He slapped Sammy on the shoulder and laughed. “I checked myself out. Not about to stay in a hospital with nurses that aren’t even hot when I have precious little time left.”

Bobbie wanted to smack him, but he was already in pain, so she refrained. “Dumb! Dumb! You’re dumb! Why would you do that?”

“I just told you,” he said with that cheeky grin that could either endear someone to him or drive them up a wall.

Gritting her teeth, she threw her pillow at him. “Stop thinking with your dick for like two seconds!”

“Nah. Anything?”

“Uh, yea,” Sam said, eyeing his sister. He was about to withhold valuable information; she could tell. “A friend of Dad’s, Joshua, referred me to a specialist who can see us tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean was less that thrilled with the whole situation, figuring his brother and sister were both just in denial about his eventual downfall, but they wouldn’t let go, so he’d just go along for the ride and get in a little more time with his beloved Baby. “Alright, why don’t we sleep for a few hours then and get going early in the morning.”

It took less than ten minutes for the motel room to fill with the snores of hunters who’d been stretched beyond their limits.

-------

At five the next morning, they dragged themselves groggily out of bed and into the car. Bobbie wanted nothing more than to sleep for another few years, but Dean was sick and Sam had pulled more than his fair share the night before, so she drove the car out of the motel parking lot while her brothers slept a little bit more. Their destination wasn’t all that far away so before she could fall asleep at the wheel they’d arrived.

It wasn’t even a church. A tent stood in the middle of a field, surrounded by cars on either side with paths of grass and dirt leading toward it like the parting of the seas. The sign read ‘Reverend Roy LeGrange – Faith Healer.’ “Oh hell,” she groaned. She didn’t begrudge anyone with faith, so long as it wasn’t forced on her or used to undermine another, but she just couldn’t understand it herself – not with the life she’d led. This was such a waste, but it was all they had to go on at the moment. “We’re here.” She reached toward both of them and shook them awake.

“A faith healer?” Dean exclaimed, slipping out of the car and slamming the door shut. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I stretched the truth,” Sam said. Bobbie smiled to herself as she recalled the night before. Of course Dean was going to hate this. Sam on the other hand was hopeful. Maybe it was the fact that he was so young when it all happened that he didn’t have the memory to become jaded, but whatever it was, Dean and Bobbie didn’t have it.

“You said doctor.”

“I said specialist,” he said. “Dad’s friend assures he’s the real deal.”

As they approached the tent, a man protested with flyers in hand, screaming that LeGrange wasn’t all that he said he was, and while the elder Winchesters were inclined to believe him, they went inside for Sam’s sake. “Maybe it’s time for you to have a little faith.” Dean tried to humor him but he still rolled his eyes. “The good doesn’t exist with the bad and we’ve seen the bad, so how can you believe there isn’t some good out there with what we’ve seen?”

“Exactly,” Dean said, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. He wanted to curl his fingers around a pool cue or the neck of a good beer, not this. “Seen! We’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Bobbie opened her mouth to speak but was caught off guard when another woman turned, faith dripping from every pore. “Maybe god works in mysterious ways?” Her smile was genuine, her faith undeterred by the skeptics around her. It was actually refreshing to see someone with such strong faith.

Dean scanned the young woman. His mind raced with dirty thoughts that, if God existed, he might not be a fan of. “Maybe he does,” he said assuredly. “I think he might’ve even turned me around on the subject.” As Bobbie walked past him and into the tent, she smacked the back of his head. What a hoe.

If he wasn’t already on the verge of death, she’d kill him.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13 @ties-n-suits @demonlover87 @kennybud @shittyafblogwnopoint @pleasantlyfadingpeace @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @ocappreciation

#supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #sam winchester #bobbie deanna winchester #dontshootmespence #born to fire #faith #s1ep5

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menalliha · 6 years

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Take my Soul to Rest

Summary: After hours of countless torture and suffering abuse, the brothers come to your rescue. Dean isn’t happy with the results. This is part 2 to Dancing with Demons.

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

Warning: Violence, abuse, degrading, mentions of blood as well as implied smut.

Word Count: 2033 (Cause I decided to be wordy)

A/N: I had some fun writing this part. I’ve been in a bad mindset and felt angsty. But I hope you enjoy this part. The first part was linked as well!

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What time was it? You knew it was either early morning or still late at night. Either way, your head was pounding and your body screamed as cuts and blood streamed down your arms and valley of fat you called a stomach.Your wrists bore cuts from you trying to escape the restraints of the chair. Your shirt was ripped open and now drenched in blood, your bra straps falling down your shoulders. The demon in front of you not giving up till you tell him where your brother is. You were mentally begging him to just kill you.

“I swear sweetheart, you scream and I will slit your throat.” He pressed the blade to your throat and smirked wickedly. “This can go all night. Your precious Dean won’t save you. He’s in denial. He loved kissing that girl. Took his mind off of you. The fat bitch that just follows him around and is an easy lay.” He ran the blade down your throat and across the anti possession tattoo above your heart and over your plump cleavage.

You cried harder and squealed through the gag in your mouth as he pricked the sharp tip of the blade into your skin. It was mild compared to the other cuts you have gained from him. You looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Maybe I should take this and cut some of that extra fat off of you. Make you a real looker. Lift your breasts some and a little more fat on your ass and he’ll gladly take you around. Fuck you in public places.” He was trying to mentally and physically break you. Both were sadly working.

He placed the blade against your side and slowly dragged it down from just under your armpit to your hip. The sensation burnt, the blood was warm as it poured from the cut. You squeezed your eyes shut and stifled a scream. You felt the room spin and yourself slipping in and out on consciousness. He sat on the bed and just stared at you in front of him. Tied and gagged to a chair in a disheveled state. Physically broken and one more insult from mentally being broken.

Dean sat against the headboard of the bed and flipped through tv channels. Sam sat at the small table on his laptop, to emeroused in what he was reading.

“Think she’s cooled off yet?” Dean tossed the remote to the end of the bed and tossed his legs over the side. Leaning forwards, he stood slowly and stretched his legs.“I just have this bad feeling.”

Sam looked up from the screen. “That you fucked up and realized what was at stake? That there’s a possibility she probably left to be with her family instead?”

“Fine Sammy! But you know she kissed me! I tried to pull away but the alcohol took control!” Dean ran his hands through his short locks and quickly turned his head towards the thin motel wall.

Sam watched as his older brother pressed his face against the wall. “Wanna tell me what your doing…? I was joking. She’s still here. Stop being a creep and give her some space.”

Dean waved his hand and his eye narrowed. “Either she as the tv too loud or someone is with her. She never brought anyone home nor did she at any point open her door. I thought I heard someone talking for the last few hours.”

The brothers looked at each other for a split second. Their eyes matched each others. They had a strong feeling who was over there with you. They quickly rushed around the room and dug through their bags.

The demon chuckled as he removed the gag from your mouth. You breath ragged and faint. Your ability to stay coherent was slowly slipping away and your eyes grew heavy. You lost a lot of blood and was still losing more.

He pressed the blade against your cheek and pressed his forehead to yours. “This is you broke. Bleed like a pig and having shattered dreams. It makes me so happy to see a Y/L/N like this thanks to me.” Pressing the blade harder, you felt it started to break the skin. “I am keeping to my promise. I could make this worse and just use you to pleasure my sexual needs. Really make you feel like a broken useless whore. But this could all end if you just tell me where your damn brother is.” He yelled through his teeth.

A bang on the door startled you both. “Hey Y/N! Everything ok? You haven’t tried to called or came over. I uh... I ordered some pizza. I know your probably hungry.” The voice belonged to Dean. “I’m worried about you princess. I know tonight wasn’t our best but it wasn’t our worst. But…” He started but stopped for a second. You heard whispered but couldn’t make them out.

The demon removed the knife from your face and stared at the door for a second. “They don’t suspect a thing do they?” He looked at you and smirked.

The door busted open and Sam and Dean rushed in. Their guns raised and the demon blade in Sam’s possession. They both let out an audible gasp when they saw you. Your head hung low while blood ran down your cheek, your hair stuck to your face and while your tips where caked in your own blood. Your whole body covered in cuts, your once sun kissed skin was turning pale from the lack of blood you had. You eyes were sunken in and were turning dull.

Dean clenched his jaw and saw the demon. “What did she ever do to you? She’s just an innocent girl.”

The demon smirked. “I have a bone to pick with her brother. She’s the only one who knows where he is. She kept refusing so I used my tactic. To break her. Use her greatest weakness against her.”

Dean knew your greatest weakness was how you felt about yourself. He spent months fixing your broken walls and he would happily do it again. But after he murdered his asshole.

He grabbed the demon by his shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Using a girls insecurities against her isn’t a tactic! It’s abuse! Nothing is stopping me from grabbing the demon blade and plunging it through your heart!” His usually calm green eyes were filled with anger and hatred. This filthy demon touched what was his and ruined her. He was going to make this demon pay. “How would you like it if I tied you up and tortured you? With holy water and knicks from the demon blade, huh?” Sam slipped the blade in his hand and turned his attention to you.

Sam rushed to your side and started to untie your restraints. He lifted your head gently. “Hey Y/N, stay with me. Dean she needs to be rushed to the hospital. She’s lost too much blood.” Sam looked over at his brother. “Either kill him or let him go. We aren’t going to torture him. Y/N needs medical attention.”

Dean stared into the black eyes of the demon and plunged the blade through his chest. Leaving a satisfied grin on his face.

Sam gently cradled you in his arms and rushed you towards the Impala. “Come on now Y/N. We’ve got you. I need you to stay awake for me.” He laid you in the backseat of the car and rested her head on his lap. “Come on…”

“Sammy you drive. I’ll keep her company.” Dean quickly swapped placed with his brother and placed your head in his lap. “Pretty girl… open your eyes for me please. I know you’re hurting and suffering. But I love you.” Dean started to choke on his words and tears streamed down his face. “You… You have done nothing wrong to deserve this kind of pain. We spent years fixing and breaking our walls. I will do everything in my goddamn power to make you whole again.”

Sam drove as fast as he could to the closest hospital. Dean kept his eyes on her face and watched as his tears stained her face. He was remembering all the good times with her. The one that stuck the most was their first time in the back of Baby. Despite her shyness and hating her body, Dean made it all dissolve and showed her was she was really made it. It was when you finally saw what Dean saw. After countless hours of making you scream his name and kissing every inch of your body, you finally accepted you were loved by him.

He always looked past the few extra pound you had. Your eyes were beautiful and took his breath away when you looked in his direction. The way your face lit up when you laughed and smiled. The way your breasts jiggle when you laugh. All things he loved about you that made you who you were.

Once they arrived to the hospital, you were taken away from them and had countless tests ran and your injuries taken care of. When they brought you back to a room where the boys never left your side. Dean slept in a chair against your side and Sam slept on the small couch in the room.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked over at Dean’s resting face. Lifting your hand slowly, you caressed his cheek with the back of your hand. His eyes fluttered and his lashed brushed against his cheek. He always looked most peaceful when he was asleep. The sight of his face laying so close to yours made your heart swell. Not once did he or Sam stir. You stared at both the boys and smiled to yourself.

Quickly the events of the night played in your head. The fight with Dean then the demon torturing you. You covered your mouth and cried silent sobs, your body violently shook.

The hurtful words of the demon replayed in your head. You tried hard to shake them away but it didn’t work. They kept repeating and repeating and repeating.

Dean woke up suddenly and saw the state you were in. He quickly lifted your head and wiped the tears away. “Hey there pretty girl. So glad your ok. The demon is gone. I killed him. I swear I will do whatever I can to help you again. I did it once, I have the patience to do it again. You are my world Y/N. Whatever that demon told you was to break you and ruin you. I’m sorry we weren’t faster.”

You took his right hand in yours. You ran a finger over the bandage. “What happened Dean…?”

He didn’t jerk his hand away or even get upset. “I punched the wall. Hurt my hand pretty bad. I was mad and upset. Everything you went through that whole night… I should have stayed by your side.”

You gently held his face in your hands and place a chaste kiss on his lips. “You’re forgiven Dean. We all make mistakes. I can tell in your eyes how sorry you are. No you shouldn’t have made out with another girl… but we all do crazy stupid things.”

“You forgive me to easily. I don’t deserve you pretty girl.” He smiled and pressed his forehead to yours. “I’m just glad you didn’t get revenge on me.”

Sam sat up slowly and groaned. “This is very uncomfortable… How come you get the better one Dean?”

“My girlfriend. My spot.”

Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I’m glad to see you two getting along and that Y/N is better and awake. Also as his eye witness, the girl came onto him. He tried telling her he had a girlfriend.”

You smile and nod. “Thank you Sam. We’ve already looked past that now. Hearing you vouch for him makes it even better.” You lay your head on Dean’s shoulder and felt him play with your hair.

Soon you drifted off into another deep sleep. Dean kissed your forehead and smiled. “Get some rest pretty girl.”

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #sam #dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fic

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