#in my head sam gets to go shortly after dean died bec he found the last time with mia cathartic

[vendettasfanfictioning]

I feel like I've said this already but they just didn't make Dean the way fanfic authors do—and in the context of destiel, it's him trying to work through the anger, it's finding peace within himself and killing the storm always raging in his veins, it's reciprocating Cas' soft touch outside of him dying on Dean. It is Cas readily forgiving most of Dean's mistakes and Dean doing his damnedest to be worthy anyways. Because listen.

Listen.

I am one half a Deangirl I will gladly spend my last days tinhatting and nerding out about the nuances of his character—but come on, he has crimes that should not have been skimmed over (ahem S9 Steve arc ahem S15 divorce arc ahem Mary's death ahem) that I know within my soul he would feel absolutely shitty about, post Cas confession. He may have done everything for love but he was also an asshole for a lot of it and they should ‼️ be‼️ able‼️ to‼️ work on that‼️‼️‼️‼️

And I'm not talking about Dean coddling Cas or whatever, I'm talking about Dean working past his issues to let himself have soft things and fully connect with someone. Healthy communication, healthy relationships, health coping mechanisms—that shivering wet cat of a man deserved therapy (news flash: they all did) and that kind of healing.

And that's something fanfic authors just understand better than the big name execs or whoever deemed it climactic to end Dean's story by dying.

#one of my many many gripes from the finale #this doesn't even need to be destiel dean and sam just fucking deserved therapy ok #in my head sam gets to go shortly after dean died bec he found the last time with mia cathartic #and he's the more pro therapy out of either of them I'm sure he figures his shit out before he died #but dean???? dean didn't even get to DO the things he wanted to do after finally getting control of his own narrative #he had experiences and people he wanted to feel differently maybe even for the first fucking time ffs #EVEN A BEACH EPISODE WOULD'VE FUCKING CUT IT Y'ALL #but nO they kill him and paint it as a happy ending like how tf... #if this WAS for destiel tho. dean would've done better #like. post empty rescue cas would try to bury that shit but dean??? won't be able to let it go #better yet he would want to try!!!!! bec for the longest time he thought HE couldn't have it. that HE needed to accept just *being* #thEY COULD'VE DONE SO MUCH MORE IF THEY ONLY HAD TIME #<yes that's a hamilton reference idk why it popped in my head just now #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #dean studies #destiel #spn finale #spn 15x20 #15x20 #deancas #destiel fanfic #fanfic authors #fic authors

[fandomoniumflurry]

Hey, Baby Girl

Dean Winchester, Daughter!OFC Elena Marie, past Dean x Jo

for @spnfluffbingo2019 Square Filled: Family AU

warnings: Mention of death, some angst, fluffy daddy!dean, tears, grief, anger, fluff, Chestervelle **not my gifs**

2.3k words

taggers: @keepcalmimthecupcake @janai-mcgarrett @hunterswearingplaid @becs-bunker @ambermei @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

“El! I swear this is your last warning or I’m leaving your scrawny ass behind!” I heard my dad yell again from the base of the stairs. I had been dressed and ready to go for about a half hour already. I couldn’t sleep last night so I had been up for a while. I had no excuse for not leaving my room but I just couldn’t will myself to get up from my desk.

Thankfully, he hadn’t come up to fetch me yet so that gave me some time to myself. We weren’t running late for anything, didn’t have any place we had to be. Dad was just impatient.  He’s one of those types, ‘if you’re on time, you’re late’ kind of people. Fortunately for me, he wasn’t a morning person on top of that. No, that was mom, the woman that was the inventor of fashionably late.

She never rushed and even though she was late, she was always more thorough and consistent with everything she did. Mom and dad always fought, their many differences butting against their many similarities. But their fighting never worried me. I had never seen a couple more in love after being married for so long. Well, my uncle and his wife were just as disgustingly adorable but I didn’t have to live with them.

“Elena Marie! I swear to God…” I heard dad’s voice yell again, this time his words were followed by heavy footfalls rising up the stairs. His impending arrival didn’t make me move from my chair like it should have. The door opened wide and the tall broad frame of Dean Winchester filled my doorway.

He was scowling at me, probably because he was all bundled up and ready to go and I was curled up in my desk chair with my knees hugged to my chest. He was probably sweating under all those layers and it was sure to make him crankier. But I just looked up at him, not intimidated in the least by the giant marshmallow in my room. My expression was black and dad’s features softened, all sign of annoyance washed away.

He brought himself to crouch in front of me, his hands on my feet, my toes covered with little anime hearts smiling at him. His emerald orbs stared up at me with paternal concern and my expression didn’t change. That only seemed to make him frown. I couldn’t help it, I let a tear slide down the side of my face. That was enough for him to wrap his arms around me and squeeze me to his chest. I dropped my legs and buried myself into the fluff of his coat and finally let out the sobs that had been pressing against the dam all morning.

He sshh’d me quietly, rocking me as he pet my blonde hair slowly. I was always safe here, loved, cared for. My dad was my best friend and I made sure to tell him that I loved him all the time. He was my hero but sometimes I needed to be his hero too. We had to be there for each other because we were all each other had. This wasn’t the first time one of us broke down without reason. It happened a lot the past few months but only at home, only in private.

We’re both too strong and stubborn to let it happen where anyone could see us cry. They wouldn’t understand. They hadn’t been through what we had and we never felt like explaining it to anyone. So we just got through it together, always knowing we were always just a call or hug away from each other. Of course, we had uncle Sam and Aunt Sarah and their twins and if anyone could understand us, it was Sammy. We were all close but sometimes you just need that one person to confide in and we were that for each other.

We didn’t used to be this close. My mom used to be my best friend. She was the one we both relied on and leaned on and she was what held us all together. But she died. My dad and his brother were not unfamiliar with death. Their mom died when Sam was six months old and my grandpa died before Sam graduated from Stanford. Sam’s college girlfriend had been killed shortly after and my mom’s mom, who was like my dad’s second mother, died a few years before my mom.

And yet, none of these deaths hit my family like the loss of my mom. Not that you can ever prepare yourself for death, but we had no time to prepare for her loss. It was so sudden and unexpected that it just sideswiped us into chaos. Joanna Beth Harvelle-Winchester was gone and everything changed.

That was just a year ago but in that time, my dad and I had to rely on each other. It took awhile for us to find common ground, relate to each other instead of fighting. Once we found it, we easily fell into a routine. This was one of those routines. One of us would wake up missing her, needing each other before life can go on like normal. The other day, it was dad that needed comforting. It was mom’s birthday. She would have been forty. He hadn’t slept and what little sleep he did have, he had nightmares that made him scream and cry out her name.

Today is my birthday. Sweet 16. One of those days that are supposed to be a big deal in a young girl’s life. Mom was supposed to be planning a big party where she’d try to bake a big cake but couldn’t because she was an awful cook. She was supposed to embarrass me in front of friend, cry about how her baby was growing up so fast and show off pictures of me in a bathtub with Henry and Jane, my cousins who would be just as embarrassed. But there wasn’t going to be a party.

I refused to have a sweet sixteen without mom. She had told me she would have a big shindig planned by the time she got out of the hospital. Since she never made it home, I’ll never have the party. Dad tried to talk me out of it, tried to plan a party himself, even had aunt Sarah try and convince me. “Sixteen only happens once.” She had said, even gave me those sad pitiful eyes. “Your mom would want you to.” That had made me yell at her. She didn’t know my mom like I did, she didn’t know what she would want. I was childish. I knew mom and Sarah were close, she had lost her too. So I had apologized later but still refused to have the party. She understood and let it go, informing my dad to do the same. So the subject was dropped and I had forgotten entirely about my birthday all together.

Until I woke up this morning. It’s hard to ignore your birthday when you have hundreds of people posting on your Facebook wall wishing you a happy birthday. Even people I never hear from all year, pop up to give me well wishes. I hate social media. Take after my dad that way. Mom was an Instagrammer, loved taking pictures of her two favorite people and posting them to the world. Had quite a following. She was a good photographer. She should have done it professionally but it was just a hobby she said. She liked her job as the manager of her mom’s Roadhouse, then owner after she inherited it after gramma’s passing. So it was me and dad that got to be her models and no one made us look so good.

The picture that was framed and sitting on my nightstand wasn’t taken by her though. It wasn’t as clean cut and planned out. It was a little blurry and crooked but the people in it were smiling, their eyes twinkling with genuine joy. Dad had taken the picture, selfie style so the top of his head was cut off and I was squished in between him and mom, my nose red from the cold. Mom’s bald head was covered in a forest green hat with fuzzy brown ear flaps. She was hugging both of us tightly and I had never seen her more beautiful.

It was her last birthday. We had gone to Denver and stayed a whole week in a fancy lodge. Mom was weak and tired but she still went up the slope to watch me and dad ski. We played in the snow until I was soaked and shivering. The picture was taken the last day we were up on the mountain top. I didn’t want dad to take it, told him I looked a mess. But he said that he had the two prettiest women and took it anyway. He got it framed for me the month after mom died and at first, I was angered by the gesture. But now, I don’t know how I would have survived every morning without seeing mom’s smiling face. None of us knew that only a few months after that trip, she would lose the fight against cancer. We were clueless and hopeful back then so we could be truly care free and happy. It’s what made the picture the most precious of possessions.

I didn’t know what dad had planned for today but he had made me wake up, telling me he refused my plans for doing nothing for my birthday. He had made me red velvet pancakes, my favorite, let me have a cup of coffee even, since mom never wanted me to get hooked on the stuff so young. She said dad’s had an addiction and though it was better than his past alcohol problem, she didn’t like it any better.

It wasn’t until I had gone back upstairs, showered, dressed and sat at my desk before everything set in. And now, here I was, sobbing into my father’s firm chest, smearing my makeup on the fluffy material. We wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon but this was priority to anything else. My tears started to slow when dad started to sing. “Hey, Jude.” a song his mom always sang to him and the son he had always sung to me. It was warm and comforting and made me hug him tighter.

After a few moments, I began to sing along softly, my voice muffled and shaking with emotion. The whole song was sung through twice before I pulled back and he wiped the tears from my cheeks. I looked at him with a soft smile before kissing my forehead. “I wanted to wait to give this to you but…” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, his eyes watching it as he handed it to me. My name was written out in familiar scrawl and I smiled, feeling the tears begin to well up in my eyes again.

I saw dad’s Adam’s apple bob with a thick swallow. He nodded in answer to my silent question. It was from mom and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to open it. I sucked in a breath and slowly began to pull open the unglued tab of the envelope and we both waited with bated breath as I opened the folded handwritten letter.

Hey, baby girl, It’s mom. I know I said I’d plan your sweet 16, told you it would be a big shindig and it would drive your daddy crazy.

I laughed, remembering the conversation about how the loud music and teenage boys would send dad up a wall. She had mimicked his sour face and we both laughed until we cried until our sides hurt.

And I know you said that I would beat this. You and dad were so hopeful. But I knew. And I hate that I had to leave you two. I love you both so much and wish I could have been with you today. But I’m not. But dad is. I made him promise to take you out for the best daddy daughter day for your birthday. The whole nine yards. Mani/pedis, shopping, fancy dinner, movie and time with Sam and the family. But by the end of the day, I want you to come see me.

Tears were sliding down freely by now, my breath caught and catching sharply in my chest. Dad was crying too and he was just watching me read silently.

I want you two to come sit at my grave and talk about all the good times we had. I don’t want you to grieve my death but celebrate my life. I’ll be watching and if you don’t show up, I’ll come haunt your ass.

I laughed. Always the joker, that one.

I love you both so much and I miss you. Happy birthday, Elena.

I looked up at my father whose emerald hues were glistening with tears and he wore a sweet pained smile. I sometimes forget that he knew her far longer than I did, that he spent more time with her than anyone. She belonged to him first and I had a tendency to be selfish. Sobs wracked my body as I gripped the letter tightly in one hand. I threw my arms around dad’s neck and cried into his jacket and the way his body shook, I could tell he was crying too.

“Can we go see her first?” My voice was muffled against him and shaky from tears.

“I think she’d like that.”

And so we did. Where most girls have parties and music, boys and games, I spent hours at the cemetery telling stories, crying and laughing with my dad as we sat at my mom’s grave. We still did all the other things she wished but none of them as memorable and precious as my time with her and my dad.

#chestervelle #fluff #spnfluffbingo2019 #major character death #ofc #dean's daughter #elena marie #dean winchester #jo harvelle #spn #supernatural #family au