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cassiecasyl · 3 years

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bittersweet surrender (everything is better now)

My first contribution for @whumpay2021!!

fandom: mcu relationship: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes warnings: self-harm, nightmares/flashbacks add. tags: Bucky Barnes has PTSD, Alternate Universe - Angels, Angel Sam Wilson, Angel Bucky Barnes, Recovering Bucky Barnes, Alpine and Redwing as their pets

prompts: Day 9 - gentle/brutal + Day 10 - screaming/silence

note: this fic is based on a headcanon i have about angel wings which i’ve previously written about in this series. I have pasted some paragraphs at the start for better understanding, but I still highly encourage you to check out the original series!

Read on Ao3.

“What are those lights?” Dean eventually asked, wonder and admiration on his face, an expression he hadn’t worn since his childhood was stolen.

“The plumage of an angel possesses a glow specific to the angel,” Castiel explained. “Sometimes, when the angel is around someone they especially trust and care for, this glow manifests in those particles. Nobody really knows what they actually are.”

“They look like fireflies,” Dean stated, but his eyes spoke of a question he was too afraid to ask. Castiel chuckled and agreed before he whispered a little word in Enochian, increasing the expression on Dean’s face. “What was that?”

The angel repeated the word, louder this time. “That’s what they’re called,” he clarified. “It means sparks of emotion, which is contradictory since angels aren’t supposed to feel. With the absence of a soul comes the inability to feel, but somehow, emotions found a way into our beings. These fireflies, as you call them, especially respond to strong emotions, but somehow they don’t resonate with hate, which is one of the strongest emotions. Usually, they show when an angel is around someone they,” Castiel made a quick pause, almost unnoticeable to those who didn't know him, “... love. Those little traitors.”

- After the Flight (The Meaning of Home) by @cassiecasyl

~~~

The poison entered him from the veins in his left arm. It’s still bleeding from the impact, and Bucky thought he saw flashes of bone the few times he’s able to blink his eyes open. He groaned in pain, instictly flinching away from their hands, but his body lay still, obedient. It burned through his system, alighting his insides, flames infecting his body and soul.

Humans always thought of hell as a pit of fire you’re thrown into, or the stake they’d burned witches on. Bucky knew better. Hellfire devoured him from inside. The souls of future victims screamed a haunting melody as they burned.

He remembers being a comet. His wings caught fire in the wind, the Earth rapidly approached to greet him in a lethal hug. Feathers danced back towards the heavens, hopelessly holding out for a home lost.

The inferno inside reached them now, igniting them anew, as if they weren’t injured enough already. It blazed through his grace, touching the very essence of his being, triggering what should never be forced. Tiny blue orbs sprang from his plumage, fighting their artificial light, reflecting in the tears streaming down his face. No. They couldn’t.

A nasty smile echoes in his mind, darting around forever. His heart sinks as his love sings, but he doesn’t feel it. They jab into his arm, cutting something off. He is a machine, easily reconfigured. No. They fill him with foreign hate, and it burns what’s left of him. Blue turns inside out, ablazes in orange before glaring at him in red. Bucky screams.

He screams, but there’s no sound, so he tries again, and again, and again, to no avail. His body is no longer his own. They control the very air he breathes, control the function of his lungs. He could die, here and now, and his body would be none the wiser.

Blood fills his mind, darker than his corrupted sparks. It is splattered all over the place, all over his face and on his hands. He is shaking inside his stoic cage. A tainted feather falls onto the ground, further painting itself with blood. It is surpringly light, considering the state of his wings. They are darkened with ash and charcoal these days, and covered in the grey mud only snow produces.

Winter. That’s what they call him.

He comes when it’s most inconvenient, and leaves only coldness in his wake. Wherever he goes, suffering follows, and even the trees shake with fear. None of them hear him scream.

He tries and tries, screaming until he swears he can feel blood in his throat, and then some more. Louder. Nobody even flinched. Louder. Why didn’t his mouth move, why were his tears only an extension of hellfire? His eyes burn, but winter freezes him before a tear ever leaves his eyes. They are as trapped as he is. Bucky screams, because that’s all he could do anymore. He screams over the roaring flames and the souls haunting him. He screams, but it never passes the barrier of his skin.

Bucky screams.

He screams until another voice joins him. “Bucky!” It was familiar panic, or worry. Hands collide with his freezing skin, and it’s burning again, oh god, they’re burning him again. He doesn’t even remember what he did to deserve this. Bucky kicks and flails, blind because they control his eyes, but his body is his.

A scream thralls through his ears and he stops and opens his eyes, every nerve on high alert. The dark room seems familiar, but Bucky can’t quite place it. There are shadows playing with him, and the moon, ever the creep, smiles into the window. A night light burns on the nightstand on the other side of the bed.

Brown, worried eyes catch his. Bucky stills, breathing heavily. Sam. His wings are angled slightly in alarm, showing their light brown freckled underside. He relaxes as Bucky stares, the hellfire and ice slowly replaced with softer warmth.

Hazel fireflies surround Sam’s wings, standing out more now that he had closed them. On the upside, his wings are colorful; his primary feathers are black and white, covered by grey secondaries. In the middle, they meet his back in a golden brown, blending into his sepia skin. He is beautiful, hoping eyes a promise of home, sparks untainted by hate.

Bucky reaches out, daring to search for contact, for comfort, slowly enough to ask for consent. Silver light reflects on his metal arm, and he is back there, with them in his veins, no, cables, controlling, controlling, controlling. Bucky recoils, scared of what his hands will do when they meet Sam. He can’t hurt him.

He can’t, he can’t, he can’t—he already did. Red splotches obstruct his vision, much like the blood he shed when they first met. When the hate still fueled him, rage dancing in his bones, hellfire in his veins, so hot it’s freezing him. When his sparks were still tainted red, a supernatural beast scaring its next victim just for fun. Nowadays, they usually don't show at all. He’d lost them to the winter.

Though, he means to see their glowing eyes in the corner of his own. He shudders, unsure whether his body follows the motion. No. Bucky shakes his head as he fights against the ice in his lungs. He can’t hurt Sam. Not again. Blood fills his vision, or maybe the moon hides behind clouds, too scared of the monster he is. Too scared to witness a murder between lovers, because one can’t trust his mind. His mind that screams for blood.

Blood, blood, bloodbloodbloodblood—

Pain stabs through him and he stills. Bucky blinks, looking into worried eyes that break his heart. He’s so sorry. The air he sucks in is a weird mix of warm and cold, of dry heater and cold night. He stares again, and thinks that maybe a tear escapes his eyes. He’s still an angel, not a machine. Machines don’t cry.

His hand must’ve found his wings, because that’s where the pain pulses from, sharp and attentive. There’s blood on his hands, but it’s his own, so it’s okay. His fingers graze another feather, thumbling on it and pulling slightly. It was the only thing he could do. Tears run down his face, weirdly warm - everything he is, is frozen, so why aren’t they? - and dropping to his chest and he knows he can’t stop them.

His shaking fingers lose grip on his soft plumes tainted with blood, and he desperately tries to get it back, to get it under control again, to just feel what he deserves— A hand stops him, burning him with the contact. It’s not letting go, even as Bucky struggles against it, but carefully leads his hands forward, away from his wings. Bucky looks up at Sam, blinking through the tears and an apology on his tongue.

Sam wraps his arms around him and Bucky falls into him as he melts. “It’s alright, you’re gonna be alright,” he assures him, and Bucky latches onto it as he rides through another wave of tears. Sam’s warmth is so drastically different from the one he dreamed about— comforting, soothing, calm, safe. He nudges his head into the crook of Sam’s neck, breathing in his home and the sweet nothings Sam hadn’t stopped saying.

“Hey, remember when we were racing in the sky?” Sam asks as Bucky’s breathing steadies. He continues after a moment as it becomes clear that Bucky won’t answer—but the fallen angel doesn’t feel judgement coming from his lover. “And the sun kept hiding behind clouds, so you decided to be Icarus?”

Bucky chuckles. “And you almost flew into a bird,” he recalls.

“Almost,” Sam repeats, chidingly, but not without a smile in his voice. Bucky glances up at that. Before, he had been staring into nothing, too afraid to look the other angel in the eye, but now, all he could see was the homely beauty. The moon’s cold light clashed with Sam’s warm skin tone, darkening it like a sunset.

“Anyway, you flew past the clouds and you would’ve flown into the sun, if I hadn’t caught up to you in time.” Bucky grins up at him. He remembers that day. It was one of the the first time flying since he’d escaped, and the first time he’d made it that far up. By the time he was past the clouds he was positively basking in the sun’s glory and in happiness. And then Sam came, almost golden in the sun, and his luck had been complete.

“If you’re trying to use this story as a moral, it’s kinda working,” Bucky teases, reveling in Sam’s snort. Right when he wants to cuddle closer, they’re interrupted by an ear-shattering screech that’s trying to impale Bucky’s sensitive ears. Sam just sighs as the noise is followed by a cat hissing.

He rubs over Bucky’s right arm before he quietly stands up, and Bucky whines at the loss of contact, at the warmth leaving him. It’s cold without Sam, but he keeps the thoughts of winter at bay by ignoring the moon in favor of watching Sam open the door. He quickly ducks as Redwing shoots through the opening, and almost stumbles on Alpine in pursuit. The cat has his eyes keenly set on the bird, who is now circling the ceiling in panic, calling out again. Bucky chuckles.

He welcomes the cat as he jumps onto the bed and lies down next to his angel. Bucky’s hand automatically finds its way to the soft and fluffy body, petting him until purrs erupt. He laughs at Sam’s exasperated face as he tries to get his bird to land or just calm down in general.

“You really gotta teach your cat some manners, old man,” Sam tells him and he laughs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky grins innocently. Sam rolls his eyes in response, but the smile playing on his lips isn’t missed to Bucky. Redwing finally lands on Sam’s shoulder and the angel gently offers his hand to him. The bird nuzzles it, chasing the darkness it brings.

Bucky watches them. He’s staring again, he knows that he does it a lot - Sam keeps pointing it out - but he can’t help he lopsided grin his mouth morphs into at the sight of his family. Alpine had fallen asleep, his fur tickling Bucky’s belly. Right here, at this moment, he is happy. It is weird how fast his weird little family cheered him up.

Sam looks back at him, his dumbass bird on his shoulder, his eyes undecided between annoyance and love. He thinks his heart might burst with all the love it’s not used to holding. There’s a new light there, suddenly, blue and frazzling. Bucky blinks, trying to chase it from the edge of his vision. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him.

But then Sam’s whole face lights up. He moves forward slowly, as to not scare Redwing again, and sits down on the bed. Bucky quickly glances back to the side, and then does a double-take. There, caressing his damaged wings, are a few little blue orbs. He cries out in surprise, covering his mouth, tears returning to his eyes. This isn’t real, he tells himself. It couldn’t be. They’d turned them red, replacing all he had with their hate, but now his body is brimming with love instead of hell.

Bucky looks back at Sam, and sees understanding love reflected back at him. He reaches out, closing the distance between them until their lips meet in a kiss. The warmth is overwhelming, but Bucky doesn’t want it to end. He got his sparks back, he was no longer corrupted, broken. He was happy, sappy enough to cry joyous tears as he kisses the man who made all of this possible, who was the reason for all that was good in his life.

“Thank you,” he whispers in-between kisses, his heart jumping with every beat, dancing in love. Blinking blue mixes with soft hazel, creating a stylised night sky, completed by the colors of their wings. Bucky puts all the overflowing love into the kiss, his hands flailing to get Sam closer, and Sam returns the favor.

But then, Bucky moves the leg against which Alpine is resting. The cat wakes up instantly and voices his complaint in a confused meow. He breaks the kiss, softly chuckling into shared air before leaning back to take care of his fluffy child, leaving Sam to do the same with his feathery kind.

~~~

taglist: (lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!) @starrynightdeancas @spookyscarykittycat @sherlock-who-mentalist @lost-lunar-wolf @aniridescentdreamer @aixabi

#sambucky #self-harm tw #nightmares #angst with happy ending #hurt/comfort #fluff #angel au #Whumpay2021 #my fic #tfatws

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of-a-chaotic-mind · 3 years

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Tis But A Scratch

Summary: Reader is shot on a case but pops right back up?

TW/CW: Sam Winchester x Reader who has powers like Deadpool, canon violence/gore/gunshot wound stuff, there’s a single quick mention of attempted suicide, and of course an angsty/sad Sammy.

Requested?: Yes! @a-bi-who-just-wants-sweaters had a really cool idea! They said, “Hi I would love to request a Sam Winchester x reader where the reader is also a hunter but they have Deadpool powers, (meaning like no matter how bad they get hurt they heal even when having body parts chopped off they grow back) and Sam didn’t know so when reader gets shot in the heart he thinks he lost them only for them to pop right back up and continue fighting the monster and afterwards they have to explain their powers?! Thank you!!!”

Word Count: 718

A/N: This was pretty interesting to write. Thank you for the request! I hope you like it! As always, Requests are Open! Also, if anyone gets the reference in the title pls be my friend lol.

Your POV

As I hide behind a concrete barrier, I can’t help but think that I never thought I’d see the day demons wield shotguns. Sam and Dean drop to a squat on either side of me. Peeking back over the barrier, Dean works on catching his breath, “Anybody else get the feeling that this isn’t what we think it is?”

“When have you ever seen demons use shotguns, or any guns for that matter?” I spit back. He shoots me a glare at my snappy tone. I shrug, “Sorry.”

Sam gasps, “Croatoan.”

“Dude, really?” Dean asks.

“That’s the only other time we’ve ever seen demons use guns, Dean,” Sam concludes.

“Right, so they’re not demons. That means they have more weaknesses than demons,” with this I stand to my feet and take aim. I manage to wing most of the gunmen before Sam and Dean catch on. We manage to disarm all of them, well, all except one, who came out of hiding firing away. Before we could take him down, he managed to hit me right in the chest. Then, everything goes black.

Sam’s POV

Before I can even register what is happening, (Y/N) is laying on the ground with a bullet in their chest. I rush forward and drop to my knees as Dean disarms the last gunman. I try to shake them awake but I know there’s no point. Why? Why does this have to happen to them? Why couldn’t it have been me? Tears flood down my face as I hold the love of my life in my arms. I’ve lost (Y/N).

Your POV

Gasping for breath, I open my eyes. I couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes because Sammy is still holding me as Dean cleans up and gets everyone checked out and safe. Sam looks down at me with a look of absolute shock on his face. Which I suppose is understandable. I technically should be dead since there’s a bullet in my heart. I guess I have to come clean now.

“H-How? That bullet had to have gone straight to your heart,” Sam says which draws Dean over.

I sit up, “Well boys, I have something to tell you guys. You’re probably not going to like it but it is what it is so here goes nothing. I have the power of accelerated healing. When I was a kid, I found myself in this lab and they did experiments on me. I haven’t been able to die since. Trust me, I’ve tried. I even grew back my hand at one point.” They both look at me with their mouths agape. I laugh, “Come on boys. Say something.”

Sam says nothing but pulls me close and wraps me tightly in a hug. Dean finally finds his voice, “That would’ve been good to know.”

“I know, but I’ve seen what you guys do to monsters-”

Sam interrupts me, “You’re not a monster, (Y/N). You’re just an enhanced individual, like those heroes from those comics Dean used to read.”

At this Dean perks up, “Deadpool! You’re like Deadpool. Man, I loved that guy, had a hell of a sense of humor.”

I laugh, “Yeah, like Deadpool. I loved that guy. He was most of the reason I said yes to the experiments.”

“Woah, hold up,” Dean says, “Who the hell would say yes to being experimented on?”

“An orphan who had nothing of value in their life except a thirst for adventure,” I said, smiling.

The boys both nodded in understanding. Dean turns to head back to the car, “Come on, let’s head out. They seem to have everything under control here.”

Well, that’s the best reaction I could’ve ever hoped for. With Sam’s help, I get up and we make our way back to the car. As Sam opens my door for me, I laugh, “I don’t suppose either of you would know how to get a hold of a super powerful magnet?”

We climb into the car and Dean looks back at me, “Do I want to know why?”

“I’ve gotta get this bullet out of my chest so I can actually fully heal.”

They both nod. Sam chuckles, “We’ll figure that out when we get back to the bunker. For now, I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Masterlist

Everything Taglist:

Sam Winchester Taglist:

#sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural imagines #spn #spn imagine #spn imagines #imagine #imagines

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irrlicht-writes · 3 years

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the path we choose to walk on pt.3

Part 3! still not the last part. But I’m getting close! Note to mention: there is death here. But it’s not permanent. Okay? It gets worse before it gets better. @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @cass-said-i-love-you @professorerudite @insertdeeplyrics anyone else want on the tag list?

PART ONE | PART TWO

Ao3

PART 3: a soul as gentle as a star

Dean is sobbing. He can’t stop. Cas has been sick for a whole week already and still, Jack has not shown up. Dean had to shoo Miracle out of the room because he’s afraid that she’s going to get sick too.

Dean doesn’t know what to do. There’s a fever running through Castiel and no matter what Dean does, it won’t go down. The few times that Cas is awake, he’s puking up his guts over the toilet – all black goo and Dean’s heart breaks. Cas is crying before he passes out again and Dean can’t help. Cas is losing weight and it’s hard to even get him to drink water. Jack doesn’t come.

He pets Castiel’s hair and whispers sweet nothings into his ear. Cas never responds and Dean cries in his damp hair. What’s he supposed to do? He can barely eat food himself. The only thing keeping him from breaking down completely is Miracle because she’ll remind him of feeding her and walking her and honestly, Dean is glad for the temporary distraction she provides.

“Cas,” he says and Cas whimpers.

“Cas, baby, please come back to me.”

His fever goes up.

A month later, it’s not better. Dean only functions whenever Miracle forces him to. It’s been a while since Cas woke up to puke. Dean tries not to dwell on it. He spends his days laying in bed next to Cas, staring at a wall in silence. The only sound is Cas’ shallow breathing and Dean doesn’t know what to do.

He hasn’t really gotten Cas back and now he’s about to lose him again.

Why has Jack not shown up?

Doesn’t he care about them anymore?

He’s always said that he considered Cas to be his father, but does he just stop caring like that?

“Jack,” Dean whispers into the void, “please.”

Nobody answers him.

Castiel’s chest rattles.

A week later, Sam shows up. Dean has been trying to pretend that everything was going fine, just to avoid Sam coming here. Maybe he shouldn’t have given his brother a key.

“Dean,” Sam says sternly and Dean can barely lift his head. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten something. He hopes he didn’t neglect Miracle too much.

“He’s sick, Sammy,” he rasps and Sam’s expression softens. He walks over to the bed and feels Cas’ temperature.

“Dean,” he says, “we have to bring him to a hospital.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s an angel.”

“He needs help.”

Sam doesn’t understand. Dean’s afraid that they will understand that Cas isn’t human and take him away. They’ll take him away and Dean will never get to see him again and they’re going to conduct experiments on him and Cas won’t understand and he’ll be in pain and Dean wouldn’t be able to save him because he can’t overthrow the government and Cas will think that Dean gave him to these people and he’ll resent Dean and wish him the worst and wish he’d never pull Dean out of hell –

“Dean, breathe.”

Dean sobs loudly and starts to cry. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do.

“Please, let me take care of you. Of both of you.”

Dean sobs and doesn’t argue. He can’t. He can’t do it anymore. If he loses Cas again, then – then...

Who knows what he’ll do.

“Your friend doesn’t have long.”

Dean barely understands the doctor. Castiel is filled up with that black goo stuff – his lungs, his stomach, everything. Jack still doesn’t show. Cas is dying, again, and Jack doesn’t care. It’s almost like there’s no change at all.

If Jack doesn’t even want to save his father, what good is he?

They give Cas an infusion. Sam asks if Dean can get one too but he refuses. He’s fine. He doesn’t need any help. He just wants to sit here, next to Cas and be with him until the very end. Just like last time. Dean reaches for Cas’ hand and holds it loosely in his own.

“I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here.”

It’s empty. These words mean nothing. Dean hangs his head.

In the end, it didn’t matter.

Two days later, Castiel dies.

Dean has pamphlets. They gave him pamphlets but he hasn’t looked at them. He sits on his bed and stares out of the window. Sam has Miracle. Dean told him to take her. Castiel is in the morgue.

Why did this happen?

Why didn’t Jack come?

Dean prayed to him every waking second.

Why did Jack ignore him? Hands off or not – this is his father.

Dean doesn’t understand.

It makes no sense.

Maybe this is a dream. A terrible, terrible nightmare and Dean just has to find a way to wake up.

He remembers the nightmare djinns. It must be like that, right? Everything is just a dream and he just has to wake up.

Die.

He has to die to wake up.

And when he does, Cas’ll be there and he’ll be worried and hug him and Dean’ll hug him back and everything will be okay again.

Cas won’t be dead, then.

Dean gets up from the bed.

He walks over to the window and opens it. He bends forward and looks down. It would be quite the fall. But it’s going to be worth it. Down there, Cas will be waiting for him. If he imagines hard enough, then he can almost see Cas standing down there with open arms.

Dean smiles.

He’s safe.

His angel will catch him.

His angel will always catch him.

Dean closes his eyes.

His hands are shaking.

“Cas,” he whispers.

No matter what, at the end Cas will be there.

“Dean,” someone says and stops him.

He turns around.

“Jack.”

Dean steps away from the window and he can only stare. Jack is here. Why is Jack here now, when it’s pointless?

“I’m sorry,” Jack starts and Dean swallows down his anger. He wants to yell, he wants to scream and he wants to grab this kid and shake him. But he doesn’t. At least the kid looks guilty.

“Why didn’t you come sooner?” His voice is hoarse and Dean’s glad he didn’t yell. His voice would’ve given out.

“I heard you, I did, I swear. But Dean, I can’t fix the Empty. So I tried, I looked how to help Cas. I care about him, Dean, he’s my father. But I didn’t want to come here without a solution. If I would’ve come and would’ve said I can’t do anything, you would’ve lost hope immediately. I’m – I’m sorry that I’m late. But we can fix this, Dean. Look.”

Jack is holding something in his hands. He opens them somewhat so that Dean can take a peek. It’s glowing and Dean doesn’t know what it is.

“It’s a soul,” Jack says, “well, at least as much as I can make.”

Dean frowns.

“It will help Cas to battle the goo inside of him. The Empty has no dominion over souls, you know?”

Dean shakes his head. “Jack, he’s dead.”

Jack clenches his jaw. “And that’s why we save him.”

Dean looks at Jack’s hands. A soul. He doesn’t know what that means for Cas but if Jack is so sure it’ll save him... why shouldn’t they try?

It’s not like Cas could get anymore dead.

So he nods.

“Let’s go, then.”

It’s surprisingly easy to break into the morgue. Apparently they don’t really guard their dead and well – your kid being God probably helps too. Dean gets an uneasy feeling in this place. Cas is in one of these, dead. His hands start shaking again. But he has to pull through. For Cas.

For Cas.

With shaky legs, Dean walks over to the one that says “Castiel Winchester” on it and opens it. He takes a deep breath and pulls the gurney out. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to look. He doesn’t want to see Cas all pale; all dead. He doesn’t think he could take it.

“Dean,” Jack says and Dean’s eyes snap to him. He’s holding out his hands.

“It’s got to be you,” he says and on auto-pilot, Dean reaches out and takes this soul Jack is offering him. It feels warm in his hands. It feels a little bit like a baby bird.

“Cas,” he says and he feels as if the soul in his end flickers. “Come back to me.”

He holds his hands over Castiel’s chest, looking at Jack who nods. Dean nods back and presses the soul inside.

First, nothing happens and Dean wants to panic. He looks at Jack who’s frowning.

No no no no no no no this isn’t good. It’s not working, it’s not working –

Castiel tears his eyes open and he’s gasping for air, heaving dryly. Dean chokes down a sob, but Castiel grabs his own chest as if he’s struggling to breathe and his blue eyes fly to Jack. The kid just shakes his head and takes Castiel’s hand in his own.

“Fight it, Cas. I know you can do this. You’re stronger than it. You’re the only angel in all of existence that ever walked out of the Empty of his own will. Out of his own might. The Empty has no power over you – it never had. Why do you think it hated you so much?

It was afraid of you, Cas, because it knew only you could ever walk away from a confrontation. You’re the angel that defied and defied and defied again. The Empty can’t hold you. It never could. You were awake, and you found your own way out. Do you even know how much power that takes? How much will? And you did it.

You did this, with no help, no assistance, and you survived. The Empty followed you outside and you overpowered it. It tried to drag you down, again and again, but you kept fighting and you kept winning. I can only ever hope to be as strong as you, Cas.

You are Free Will. You’ve always been. Without you – without you, Chuck would’ve determined the ending. But he didn’t. Because you made us believe that we can choose our own path. That we can choose who we want to be.

You’re stronger than the Empty, Cas. It cannot defeat you.

You loved me, you believed in me, you supported me when I didn’t deserve it. You explained the world to me; and you made me see that it’s worth loving. The way you’d talk about a roadside flower and what a miracle it is, I – I saw the little things. I saw the things that make the world what it is. It’s not about the big battles, the big wins or even the big losses – it’s about the things you never appreciate. The roadside flower, the leaves on the trees or the rustling of the wind.

And with – with everything you said, I realised – I realised that you thought... that you believed you were lesser than these things. That the dirt on the ground deserved better than you. You praised everything – Sam, Dean, me, the world – but never yourself. You are the guy I look up to most because – because you’re so kind, and caring and full of love. I heard – I heard the birds sing and thought they must be singing about you. I saw flowers bloom and I thought they must be doing this for you.

You are so good, and so kind and I – I will make a world that appreciates you. I will make a world in which you are loved, unconditionally.

I love you, Cas. I’m sorry it took me so long.

The Empty can’t take you away from me. I won’t let it. You crawled your way back here again and again, and I will make sure that you’re rewarded.

You taught me I can choose my own destiny. That I can choose my own path. And you told me that I will forever be loved, no matter what. And you did. No matter what I did, you loved me. You loved me unconditionally, and I never appreciated it. I took it for granted but then I realised – you were never loved like that. You were never – you were never told that you are loved. But I do.

I do, and Sam does, and Dean does and so many more. You, of all people, deserve the world. And I’ll give it to you.

I love you, Cas. I’ll say it now, and I’ll say it a hundred times. You are loved, Castiel, now and forever.

And whatever sins you believe you committed – sins that you believe that cannot be forgiven – I give you absolution.

You are forgiven, Castiel. You were always forgiven.

I love you. I love you so, so much.

I can be God, I am, but... I can’t do it without you. What if I stop looking at the small things? What if I end up like Chuck? I need you, Cas. I need you to remind me of a fallen leaf, of a newborn bird. I need you to remind me of the wonders of the world.

You were always fighting. And most times, the enemy was yourself and nobody of us helped you. You’re stronger than I could ever hope to be.

You’re my father, Cas. Sam and Dean are so, so important to me, but – I’d pick you, every time. Now and forever, I will always pick you.”

Castiel squeezes Jack’s hand. “All I ever wanted,” he rasps, “is for you to be happy.”

“He’ll never fully recover,” Jack says after he got them all home. Dean holds Castiel tight to his chest. The angel is asleep but his breath isn’t rattling this time. He looks at Jack, unblinking.

“The soul,” Jack starts, “will help. But Dean, you have to understand that when Castiel made it out of the Empty, he took death with him. It’s not going to let him go. The – the sheer might it must’ve taken him to survive as long as he did, I...”

Jack stops and looks to the ground.

“I could never hope to be as strong as that. But now with the soul, his grace can draw strength from it. But it’s a weak soul. It’s... it’s just an imitation, but it’ll hold. He’ll get better; and in time, he’ll be walking around again.”

Jack turns and looks at them.

“He’s essentially human now, Dean. Not in the sense that he’ll die from old age, but in the terms that he needs to eat and sleep. He’ll probably get sick a lot, but he’ll be fine.”

“The black goo will never go away?”

Jack shakes his head.

“No. But with the soul, his grace is strong enough to keep it in check and keep all the internal organs working. I – I have to go now. But I’ll drop in whenever I can. Say hi to Sam for me and – tell Maria about me, too, okay? I’m excited to meet her someday soon.”

Jack smiles brightly and holds his hand up in a wave. “Bye, Dean,” he says and disappears.

Dean lets out a deep breath and gently places Castiel on the bed. Castiel is breathing quietly and really, Dean should call Sam and tell him but he’s just so tired.

When he crawls into bed next to Cas, he thinks about the people at the hospital. He forgot to ask Jack to remove their memories. It would work out, though, right? Cas is alive and he’s home and now he’s finally gonna get better.

Dean snuggles up next to Cas and vows to call Sam tomorrow. They’ll sort it out together. But right now, the only thing that matters is Castiel’s soft breathing and the knowledge that a soul shimmers inside him.

“I missed this,” Cas says when Dean opens his eyes. He’s been awake for a while at this point, but he had wanted to enjoy Castiel playing with his hair. It feels nice.

“You never played with my hair before,” Dean replies.

“No, but I missed watching you sleep. It’s very calming.”

Castiel’s voice sounds tired, but it doesn’t seem to pain him like it did before. Dean is glad. Now everything would work out. And even if Cas would be bedridden for the rest of Dean’s life, then that is okay too.

“You can watch me sleep forever then.”

Castiel laughs a bit but he ends in some light coughing.

“This goo,” Dean wonders, “will you really never be rid of it?”

Cas sighs. “No. I figure being in Heaven would help me. I might be able to get rid of it if I was able to tap into Heaven’s energy reserves, but I don’t want to go there now. The soul Jack made for me is going to suffice until it inevitability runs out.”

“It will run out?”

“Yes. All souls do, eventually, and this one even more so. I figure that after it’s done – it will just disappear. But by this point, decades should’ve passed and I’ll be able to go to Heaven.”

“You can’t go now?”

“Why would I?” Castiel replies while smiling against Dean’s hair. “Last I checked, you’re not in Heaven, and won’t be for a very long time. I’d rather be here with you, then waiting for you in Heaven.”

Damn, now Dean’s blushing.

Sam’s a bit upset when Dean calls him. He’s wanted to see Jack too, and he’s also worried about the hospital staff. Nobody’s called Dean yet so Dean has hope that Jack made them forget.

“Cas is alive,” Dean says because he thinks that maybe Sam didn’t hear him properly the first time.

“I... yes. You said, I just... I can’t believe it. I didn’t even think... it’s amazing. How... how is he doing? Is he conscious? Can he talk at all?”

“Yeah. Jack said he’s probably gonna be sick for the rest of his life, but he’ll be able to move around again.”

Dean is in his kitchen; and Cas is asleep in the bed. It feels surreal. It feels like someone’s gonna pinch him in the arm and wake him up and then Cas is still gonna be dead and they’re still in the hunting life and then they go on a hunt just for one of them to die.

But that’s not gonna happen.

Their hunting days are finally over.

“Can we come over?”

Dean looks around. Them coming here might be better than hauling Cas into the car. Cas just came back so he might get tired more easily.

“Only if you bring the dog. I don’t think Cas has properly met her yet and that’s a crime.”

Over the line, Sam laughs. “Yes, we’ll bring the dog. We’ll be there in about half an hour. Prepare to hold a crying baby, Dean.”

“Oh, it just feels like yesterday when I was wiping your dirty ass.”

Sam hangs up and Dean grins.

There’s hope for a future in his heart and for the first time, he’s not afraid of it. Things will get better and they’ll start getting better now.

Cas made it to the couch when Sam and Eileen arrive. As per Sam’s promise, Maria is crying her heart out and Dean feels sorry for Sam. Eileen, God bless her, probably doesn’t hear the crying too much. Dean guesses it’s Sam who gets up in the middle of the night, judging by his face. Dean grins and bends down to greet Miracle. Man, he’s missed her.

“Cas,” Sam says and Cas responds in kind. In the corner of his eye, Dean can see that Cas tries to get up from the couch but decides against it in the last moment.

Eileen walks right over and plops herself and her baby next to him. “Your niece,” she says and Cas smiles at the baby who stopped crying when she spotted Cas.

“Hello, Maria,” Cas says. Maria blinks in his direction and after some thought, reaches out for him.

Cas takes her easily and puts her in his lap.

“Have you been keeping for father up?”

Maria wiggles her arms.

“You know, for all I missed, I’m glad Jack decided to skip the toddler phase. I wonder what happened to all the diapers I bought. My doula classes were very unhelpful with my son but they might come in handy with you, hm?”

Maria smiles brightly and starts whipping in Cas’ lap.

“Hm. I guess I can be Big Blue if you want.” He boops her nose. “But then you have to be Little Cutie.”

Maria blinks at him, then laughs and claps her hands. She turns her head to her mom and brabbles to her and Eileen just smiles.

“You speak Baby, Cas?” Sam asks and Cas turns his head.

“No. Babies don’t use words like we do; it’s more of a... sense. A feeling if you will. They can’t think in complete sentences yet. It’s along the lines of Sad because hungry. Upset because dirty. Happy because play. Happy because friend. Like that.”

Cas smiles and lifts Maria up and she giggles.

“Guess she found a friend in you, huh?”

“That she did.”

Dean isn’t surprised when Castiel and Miracle get along splendidly. As soon as the dog warms up to the angel, Dean is permanently degraded to giver of food and honestly, he’s not even mad at that. Miracle keeps Cas company when Dean has to go to work and they even go on walks together – never very far in the beginning because Cas still has to get his legs under him but the important bit is that Miracle makes Cas leave the bed or the couch.

There are days, sometimes more and sometimes less, where Castiel is sad. Dean knows that that word is probably an understatement, but he doesn’t want to call it depression – it’s too big of a word and Dean’s afraid of it.

There are days when Castiel’s body just refuses everything and anything. Cas doesn’t want to see or hear Dean on these days and Dean respects that. He wants to be there, but his presence is upsetting Cas way too much.

Cas isn’t used to being sick and somewhere deep down Dean thinks he remembers. Cas needs to be useful. And on these days, he’s not useful at all. But Dean doesn’t know how to tell Cas that it’s okay. He doesn’t know how to make Cas understand that he doesn’t have to be useful. No words that Dean could come up with seem good enough for him. So he stays silent and he knows it’s not the right thing to do.

Cas gets sick at least one time a month, sometimes more. He’s always sick for at least two days, battling fever and puking up goo. Dean’s terrified every single time.

“I’m fine,” Cas says every time and Dean wants to believe him.

I love you, he wants to tell him but he’s afraid.

He’s not sure what he’s afraid of.

Cas cries at night sometimes and Dean pretends not to hear.

Cas has nightmares sometimes and Dean sleeps on the couch.

He doesn’t understand himself.

“Dean,” Cas says one day just after his bad days ended.

“I know you don’t love me. It’s alright. I’ve accepted that. It doesn’t change what I feel, how I feel. You are – I’ve never met someone like you. There have been others that have fascinated me, but – but I’ve only ever watched them from a distance. I was never inclined to come closer, to get to know them, to have them know me. I was content just watching them from afar, learning about them and studying them from my high perch.

But you –

I wasn’t supposed to get involved. I was supposed to tell you your part in the Apocalypse and then I was – I guess I was supposed to die. But you were, well, you and it made me rethink. I wondered if you were right, if people could actually choose their own destinies.

And Sam – Sam as the Boyking of Hell, the true vessel of Lucifer, I expected him to be evil, I expected him to be malicious, but he wasn’t. Sam was good and kind and brave and the small spot of darkness was a stain on him, but then he’s only human and it didn’t even matter.

And I saw that I was wrong and I thought – I thought maybe Dean is right. Maybe this is a story we can choose for ourselves.

Maybe this could be a story that doesn’t end with humanity wiped out. Maybe this is a story that ends differently as it was foretold. I wanted to believe. I wanted to have faith in what you said and – and so I did.

I know you never had faith in me, but I had faith in you and – I never really stopped. People getting to choose their own lives, their own destinies, their own ends – it just had never been in the cards. Everything had always served a bigger plan; always aiming to getting closer to the one true end when there was so much more.

I’ve had people believe in me; when in the same breath they defied God himself. You’re here, they’d say, he is not.

And they were right. I was there; and he was not. I always wondered if our path was the right one – after all, who’d stop us if we were wrong? We’d listen to no one but God himself, so who would’ve been able to halt us in our wake? But still, I followed my orders and whenever I saw fit, I’d tweak them, just a little.

I’d let a child go. I’d give an old man a few more minutes to say good-bye. I’d save the mother giving birth. I’d do these things and I got punished for them and I’d falter. What if I did something wrong? What if I altered the big plan? What if the ending would never come as it had been planned? And maybe –

Maybe it didn’t. Maybe the mother I saved changed something. Maybe the old man saying good-bye gave closure to someone. Maybe the child I let go grew up to influence someone they were never meant to meet. Who can tell?

I realised something so small can change the world. Maybe it won’t change the world as a whole but someone’s world will be different.

But the point is: I went against my orders and every time, I got punished for it. And then I met you, and you went against your orders and I couldn’t see you getting punished. And I thought, maybe you had the right path. Maybe wrong decisions get punished and right decisions do not. So I decided to follow you. I decided to follow the path you were carving.

And then you left the path, so I decided to keep walking on it because to me, it was the right path to take. And I was right. Every time I got punished, I knew I was doing the right thing. They were wrong; and I was right.

They wanted to reverse me, they wanted to change me by any means possible but I didn’t let them. Even when they succeeded, I didn’t let them take you away from me. You allowed me to change, Dean, you allowed me to be who I’m really meant to be. And for that –

For that, I’ll forever be grateful. I was right. There was a better way and they were proven wrong. I’m – maybe I’m still defective. Maybe I’ll always be wrong, and broken, and useless. But if that’s who I am, then – then so be it.

I am – I was always ashamed of myself. Why couldn’t I be like the others? Why couldn’t I follow orders like them? Why was I so different? And no matter how hard I tried, no matter what I did, I – I was always the outsider. The one that didn’t belong, not really, and –

And when I was with you, that didn’t change. I was still the outsider, I was still different. Not in the same way, sure, but still, I didn’t belong. I’ll never do. I’ll never belong anywhere, because maybe there’s no place for me after all.

But – I wasn’t supposed to be here at all. I was supposed to be dead. I’ve died again and again and I came back, again and again because – because I wasn’t done yet. There’s still more. It made me think that maybe I have a purpose. That I have a reason for living, no matter how small it might be. And I always wanted –

I always wanted to make you feel safe. I always wanted to be the guy you could trust in. I wanted you to call me, I wanted you to need me. I needed you to want me, but maybe you never did and that’s okay.

I’m here now. And once I’m – once I’m better, I’ll be on my way. I’ll find something to do. I’ll find a place where I can be useful but until I’m strong enough for that – maybe it’s okay if I stay a little bit longer?”

There’s something here, Dean knows that. There’s something here he’s supposed to say, some clever line, some heartfelt comment, but – but he doesn’t know.

Dean hears I don’t want to go.

So he says: “I don’t want you to go.”

And maybe that was the right thing to say after all.

#supernatural #Destiel #castiel #dean winchester #writing #Sam Winchester #eileen leahy #angst #hurt #hurt/comfort #brief character death #Jack Kline #irrlicht writes #fix-it #spn fix it #spn 15x20 #fanfiction #userpris

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The Ones Left Behind

Alrighty time for some truth bombs. I’ve had almost a week to absorb the end of Supernatural and season 15 as a whole. And I think this is the moment where I need to throw in my two cents. For all intents and purposes I won’t go in-depth into 15x20 seeing as that conversation will just open up a whole other can of worms and I don’t need that headache. I have my reasons for being less than indifferent with how the Winchesters’ story concluded. So I won’t go there.

Instead I’ll be focusing all my energies on the unsatisfying conclusions of 4 particular characters. Two of which were main cast members (one that was on the show 12 years and one 4 years) while the other two (played by the same dude) were brought back after a decade long hiatus for a much-anticipated comeback only to be wasted and mangled unfairly by Dabb and his hack horde of a writing staff. Call this a follow up to my last post. If I sound bitter I am because these people don’t have a single clue on how to helm these characters, their relationships or their storylines 😠 Nor do they deserve them.

And yes I’m well aware of Kevin Tran, Rowena, Ketch and several others who got the shaft on this show. Those could be future posts for another time.

But I cannot stress this enough; ADAM MILLIGAN, JACK KLINE, MICHAEL AND CASTIEL ALL DESERVED FUCKING BETTER. There is no arguing these facts, none whatsoever. Not one of these characters deserved that exit to be the final chapter in their story. I won’t do an entire analysis of each character’s arc and role in the show as I’ve already done that in my rant about 15x19. But I will highlight how much season 15 royally screwed over these characters and tossed them aside like trash; as if none of them were ever part of/contributed anything to Sam and Dean’s history/world building of Supernatural’s universe.

*WARNING* This is going to get heated.

Before I dive into the heart of these issues I want to state this is not a “shipping post”. I don’t ship anyone on Supernatural, hopefully this blog has been pretty self-explanatory. So I have no arguments/opinions in those areas. I’ve been a fan of this series for 15 years because of the characters, the familial bonds and relationships formed between characters throughout its run. And I’m well-aware that the Winchesters are the lead protagonists of the show, no need to remind me. These are purely my own thoughts based what I’ve obtained from show canon. Let me just say I can’t get over just how much these writers contradicted and ignored what they put forth in the journeys of these four individuals. its a real headscratcher.

You mean to tell me that after TWELVE DAMN YEARS of Castiel being a rebellious warrior angel, searching for his own identity and meaning in life; making that promise to Kelly Kline about raising Jack as his own/risking his life for him. After sacrificing himself for his son a year ago, acknowledging he was satisfied with his role as a father which restored his faith; that it was all because of/for Dean Winchester?

You mean to tell me that after Michael, THE PRINCE OF HEAVEN and PROTECTOR OF HUMANITY, was locked away in a cage with a human whom he emotionally bonded with for thousands of years (10 years our time); who was abandoned, betrayed and manipulated by his neglectful/abusive father. After choosing free will and aligning himself with TFW for humanity’s sake, just sided with the Earth’s destruction because his little brother called him names?

You mean to tell me that Jack, A THREE YEAR OLD CHILD, who’s barely just beginning his life and spent his entire duration on the show wanting to be normal and not wanting to be special. Connecting and being integrated with humans; a child who’s biggest fear was outliving everyone he ever loved. Is suddenly ready to walk away from his family, his home and his teddy bear; to give up being a kid forever and run the universe?

You mean to tell me that Adam, SUPERNATURAL’S MOST INNOCENT CHARACTER and FORGOTTEN THIRD-WINCHESTER BROTHER, after being eaten by ghouls; pulled away from his mother out of Heaven, manipulated by angels, trapped in Hell for thousands of years because Sam and Dean left him there to rot. After coming back and helping his neglectful siblings save the world only to be ripped away from his best friend and THE ONLY OTHER PERSON who gave a damn about him; is sentenced to a life of loneliness, homelessness and turmoil until he dies and ends up in Hell where he’ll mostly be tortured and turned into a demon?

NO. I DO NOT AND WILL NEVER ACCEPT THIS BULLSHIT!

Season 15 not only manages to contradict itself where these characters are concerned (while assassinating them before the final curtain). But the writers deliberately discarded them before giving us that *sarcasm inserted* epic solo-Winchester conclusion. Regardless of how you feel about Adam, Castiel, Jack or Michael, ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS are connected Sam and Dean’s story and part of Supernatural. And when you throw them away like they mean nothing, you’re essentially throwing away a part of the show’s history. You’re ignoring 15 years worth of story building.

As I said I’m not going to go into 15x20 for reasons, it doesn’t offend me as much as what was done before that finale. Because I think those other show exits really affect 15x20 even worse than people realize. You want to know why, I’ll explain.

Lets start off with Castiel and Jack, OH BOY! We know where they end up; running Heaven and the Earth together which is all fine and dandy. I love my Dadstiel father/son duo being an endgame family unit. But here in lies the problem, we never saw it. Not even a cameo. And technically their onscreen storyline ends at 15x18 and 15x19 which is an ugly, anti-climatic bookend to an incredibly deep relationship that had 4 years of development. First you have Castiel who completely forgets why he made that deal with the Empty to begin with. HIS FUCKING SON. Not to mention it wasn’t about true happiness it was about giving himself permission to be happy; there is a difference. And then you have Jack wandering around next episode, vacuuming up power cause suddenly he’s a machine now, acting like he doesn’t give a shit over losing his dad to an entity HE’S BEEN DREADING ABOUT FOR A FUCKING YEAR.

Towards the end of season 15 I noticed neither of these characters were acting like themselves. Their motivations, their personalities and strong ties to one another had mysteriously dissolved. Castiel became less concerned about the danger his son was facing after 15x15 (what the hell was that in 15x17?) and more about speaking when spoken to by either Sam or Dean. Does he know how Dean truly feels about Jack; proclaiming the child is “not family”? I doubt the in-character version of him would let Jack leave with Dean after that insult. Castiel’s not even worried whether or not his son is alive or safe before he makes the big confession later. And for some reason Jack (who’d become heavily suicidal) was more concerned with clinging to the Winchesters, willing to die for them, instead focusing on himself and the one person who’s shown him nothing but unconditional love and given him strength since birth. Both of these characters are canonically depressed and suffer from low self-esteem that was never resolved which makes me furious.

When Chuck killed Jack at the end of season 14, this devastated Castiel in the first half of season 15. He actually got to grieve that loss throughout the episodes and deal with his anger over it, allowing the audience to anticipate the day they’d be reunited one last time. This part of Castiel’s S15 arc also ironically mirrors Jack’s S13 arc of mourning Castiel’s death until resurrecting him. And when this son finally returned to his father, who got to rescue him, it was such a poignant moment between the two. It was a cathartic payoff after witnessing Castiel in so much pain over Jack. There was so much building up between that Dadstiel reunion in 15x11 and the Empty’s pact in 14x08; this was suppose to be a tragic yet pivotal plot-point in both Jack and Castiel’s stories. And with SPN wrapping up we all expected something BIG. Yet somehow the writers retconned the whole thing by making it all about Dean, which is such a gross disservice to these characters and 4 years of storytelling.

For instance, since 15x18 was Castiel’s exit episode, why wasn’t he allowed to hug his son or Sam goodbye one last time? Why didn’t he have more of a focal role instead of standing around majority of the episode with barely any dialogue as so much precious air time was wasted on frivolous things? Why didn’t he get one last badass fight scene with someone like Death instead of being choked out and tossed around like a powerless mortal? Why did the group need to be split up to begin with when it served no purpose either than that *ugh* moment? Why wasn’t Jack allowed to call Castiel “dad” once before the show ended? He deserved to hear his son address him as dad!

AND WHY THE HELL COULDN’T JACK FEEL CASTIEL’S DEATH THE MOMENT IT HAPPENED?

The show already established to the audience the significant cosmic bond these two characters shared since before Jack was even born. It was so powerful it boosted Castiel’s grace. Jack could remember who Castiel was from the womb and that he’d protected his mother. Not to mention HE FUCKING RESURRECTED CASTIEL OUT OF THE EMPTY ONCE WITHOUT GOD’S POWER. You’re telling me Jack couldn’t feel his dad being taken away forever despite how far apart they were? No, he’d feel it in his heart. Had we’d been given a scene like that at the end of 15x18 (something of substance) with actual grief shown in 15x19 maybe the episode would’ve faired better for them.

That said it wasn’t, because Jack was treated the exact same way in his final exit. Hardly any lines and just a bunch of scenes of him standing/walking around until that pathetic reveal at the lake. HE DOESN’T EVEN GET TO INTERACT WITH JAKE ABEL’S MICHAEL/ADAM which would’ve been a great follow-up to the AU!Michael storyline in seasons 13 and 14. I swear these directors didn’t give Alex and Misha any motivation during their last three episodes and it’s evident in their hollow performances. But why would they when the scripts are basically telling their characters to quickly fuck off so the brothers can have their final outing. Jack doesn’t even behave like himself after he becomes the new God. His personality is apathetic, cold, alien, stiff and way too mature for the 3 year old child so closely connected to his family/the human world. In that moment I saw Alex Calvert not Jack Kline. It’s bad enough he doesn’t get a meaningful farewell but again Castiel, HIS DAD, is a complete afterthought to this kid 🥶

And that’s what we’re left with. Forever. A frigid, hollow ending to one of Supernatural’s most healthy, touching, family dynamics. It makes you wonder what was even the point. I can’t even fully enjoy the fact that its canon Jack and Castiel are together fixing Heaven because of what the show presented onscreen as their last hurrah. It’s not sitting right and it makes 15x20 even less appealing to me.

Moving onto Michael and Adam. Get ready for this. I could rant forever about how dirty my boys were done by this show. How they were discarded in the SPN series finale recap etc. just as they were FOR THE LAST TEN FUCKING YEARS. Was there even a plan going on here or was this just everyone making things up as it went? Their ending is the most unsatisfying and cruel thing because its INCOMPLETE. There is no real closure or resolution with them thanks to the monstrosity that was 15x19. AND NO ONE CARES ENOUGH ABOUT THEM TO GIVE A SHIT.

Much as I’ve enjoyed this show for many years, it NEVER deserved Jake Abel, his talent or his time. I keep seeing so many anti posts about Dean Winchester’s final fate in Supernatural and all I can think about is “try being an Adam Milligan fan for the last decade”. I’ve had to watch this boy go through hell with nothing to show for it either than years of memes. ridicule and the show’s mockery in forgetting him. Actually he’s the ONLY CHARACTER in this series you’re encouraged not to remember 😡 Also quick question: why give us this really interesting and healthy relationship between an archangel and its vessel if nothing was ever going to become of it?

At this point I don’t know why Adam or the idea of him was even introduced way back in season 4 let alone revisited in season 5. Because the only thing I see when I look at this character now is SAD WASTED POTENTIAL. Storylines never explored. Relationships that never got off the ground. Backstory we never got to see (like for instance his past with John Winchester and his time in the cage). A character’s birthright (Men of Letters) that was never actualized. AND the unexplained factor that Adam could look directly at Michael’s true form without his eyes burning out (making him a special case). And the thing is he could’ve been a really great character, both him and Michael. They could’ve easily reached popular status just like Castiel given the chance since Jake is a freaking acting-powerhouse. We were given a taste in 15x08 just how awesome these characters could be and how they could’ve contributed so much to the story and its core group. But unfortunately it wasn’t meant to be.

Michael will never redeem himself after years of scrutiny and being made out to be some kind of unhinged monster. This show constantly enjoyed pounding into our brains how fearsome Michael was. Warned us via Lucifer (LUCIFER, PEOPLE!) that he wasn’t rational, compassionate and didn’t care about anything except war, death and destruction. And that he was incapable of feelings and emotions. This is how Supernatural saw Heaven’s Prince and guardian of the Earth. Christ, they actually did a two-year storyline about an evil Michael from the AU world who enjoyed torturing and killing while trying to destroy the universe. I want to know WHAT THE HELL THIS SHOW’S WRITERS HAD AGINST THESE CHARACTERS? Why they felt the need to bring back Jake Abel, AFTER A DECADE OF FANS WANTING THIS, if it was simply to piss all over his characters one last time before the show wrapped. This is absolutely unprofessional and childish; the fact that Jake is taking this bullshit in stride makes it all the more shameful 😡

We could’ve learned so much more about Michael’s past and his present relationship with Adam. These characters didn’t need to sit in the cage for a decade they could’ve easily been incorporated back into the show as far as season 8 or 10! And been an asset to the Darkness storyline in season 11.There were characters and storylines introduced that served no purpose. Why did we need to keep seeing characters like Charlie Bradbury or (as much as I like him) Crowley or Garth (love him too) or Lucifer or Abaddon or the Wayward sisters? I would’ve much preferred having Adam and Michael around and got to know them instead; especially after 15x08. I would’ve wanted to see what their dynamic with TFW could’ve become had they been long-time allies. Did John ever tell Mary about Adam’s existence? I’d like to see what her reaction would’ve been like had the Winchesters remembered him during that damn 300th episode. I guess that’s another loose end untied.

But because of what Supernatural did to these two characters, it forever taints Sam and Dean. I don’t think Dabb or purist fans realize this. But when new viewers come into this show about two brothers preaching important things like “saving people”, “family first” or “family don’t end in blood” they’re going to see how badly the main protagonists treated their innocent half brother. How Castiel and Jack were treated. They’re going to see the heroes of the story abandoning this kid in Hell forever with no intention of EVER rescuing him. And that’s why their final appearance leaves such a bad taste going into 15x20. Cause as much as Dabb and co didn’t give a shit about Adam and Michael they also didn’t give a rat’s ass about protecting Sam and Dean’s integrity. That’ll be a stain they can’t undo.

So through all of it, we’re stuck with the abomination that is 15x19 aka the eye-soar to an unfinished/unpolished story of two horribly disregarded characters. Michael gets the pleasure of being character assassinated right before he’s stupidly killed off instead of going out a hero or becoming the next God (as it was his birthright and the setup was there in the narrative). And Adam gets killed off-screen, OUT OF HIS OWN DAMN BODY, then brought back by Jack only to live a miserable, isolated existence since his brothers have nothing to do with him (the dog and car are more important); his best friend is dead, he has no job or money or a fucking home and he’s legally dead! Really what is there left for him besides the brutal fate awaiting in Hell when he dies?

SERIOUSLY THEY COULDN’T GIVE US ONE SCENE WHERE THE WINCHESTERS CHECKED IN ON ADAM TO MAKE SURE HE WAS SAFE?! 🤬 His last scene pretty much sums up this shit for what it is. Tragic. I feel like crying for this poor sweet boy.

Congratulations Dabb, BL and co for giving us these much deserved broken story arcs of characters you destroyed and made OOC before leaving the airways. You did your show’s protagonists justice by doing this *sarcasm inserted* after 15 years of being onscreen. I doubt these idiotic decisions are going to age well in the long run. They certainly don’t look good on the Winchesters. Anyway that’s my hot take for the day.

ALL THESE ACTORS AND THEIR CHARACTERS DESERVED BETTER.

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themoonandotherslikeit · 3 years

Text

Holding On and Letting Go - Chapter Four

The sequel to The Hand That Reaches for God

Emerson was always told that time heals all wounds, but whoever said that must’ve not lived in the world that she lived in. They must’ve lived in the time before, when the world its self wasn’t this bleeding, throbbing wound, and that time did nothing but drag out the never ending pain.

The Maklen sisters and the Winchester brothers were inseparable, their whole lives, and when the world turned red they did the one thing they knew how to do– be together. But now, the same world that pulled them together, seemed destined to rip them apart again and shatter something that was so fragile in the first place.

Chapter Four

“You lost her and it wasn’t because she was hard to hold, or love, or touch but because she was made of your absence, of all the things you ignored and all the beautiful poetry you read but failed to understand.” - R.M. Drake

-106 Days After-

“I can’t believe you married me,” Sam said, his voice low and rough against Ophelia’s neck as he held her closely. She looked beautiful, like a dream.

“You can’t?”

“Of course not. You’re way out of my league.”

She snorted, suppressing a laugh. She squeezed him in her arms, feeling tiny against his large frame. She’d always thought they fit perfectly together, like they were made to be one. She thought about the future they would have. A baby boy that looked just like Sam and two little girls. He would protect them, and they would all love each other endlessly, just like she and Emerson did. Just like Sam and Dean did. They would live next door to Emerson and Dean, because they were in love even if they were too scared to admit it. They would all always be together. It was how it was always supposed to be. “Do you think things will be better someday?”

“Better than this? How can it be?”

She rolled her eyes. She was supposed to be the romantic of the two. He was stealing her role, but she knew it was because he was happy - smitten even. They were in love. “I mean the world , Samuel.”

“Ah.”

She pulled back from him, a blonde wave falling into her eyes. She tried to blow it away, but it just fluttered a bit and fell back into her eyelashes. He brushed it away. “You’re cute,” he told her.

“You are,” she murmured.

Ophelia had waited for her wedding day her entire life. Back at the house she grew up in, she had countless notebooks with wedding dress clippings, articles, pressed flowers, and Mrs. Ophelia Winchester written in a dozen different scripts and colors. She knew that she would grow up to be Sam’s wife someday. She had thought of everything, prepared for it all. She knew exactly what she would wear, how she would smell, what she would say, and how she would feel. She even taught herself how she would walk across that aisle without her mom. She was even able to adjust to a world that was crumbling under her feet, and make a beautiful, intimate ceremony that was so full of love she worried they couldn't contain it.

The end? That was the one thing that she never prepared for. She never imagined that it would be over long before it ever really began.

-3 Years After-

Dean left Emerson alone in the room. “Take all the time you need.”

He was far too good to her. He always had been, and she hated that she couldn’t let him love her. It just didn’t seem fair that she had this amazing man who was here and Pheli? If either of the sisters were to survive this shit show it always would’ve been Ophelia. She was the hope, and without her… what was Emerson without her? She didn’t have the answer, and maybe it was time that she found out.

She pulled off her wet clothes and toweled off, moving the curtain out of the way to look out at the empty parking lot. Everything was powdered with snow, dusted, untouched and undisturbed. It was almost peaceful if she didn’t know any better. Pheli loved the winter and especially the snow. She was all sparkles, snowflakes, and snowball fights.

Emerson pressed her forehead to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She wrote home in the steam. She always thought that home was a place, but more than ever, she knew now that home is a person. Home was her sister. Home was the way that Sam looked at Ophelia and the soft cotton of Dean’s worn out Led Zeppelin t-shirt, it was the smell of her mom’s cookies. It was something she would never get to have again. Emerson knew that in order to belong she had to have roots, otherwise the wind would carry her away. But, roots can’t be planted in people.

Her eyes stung, threatening to spill over again, but there was nothing left for her to cry. Her chest ached with an emptiness that echoed with every heartbeat. She wondered if that was how it felt to die, if when she lost her sister she lost another part of her soul. She rubbed her chest with the heel of her hand, above her heart. She’d heard it crack inside of her louder than anything else. At first she thought it was the ground collapsing under her feet, but she was wrong. It was just all of the love leaving her body like an avalanche. All of the shattered pieces are unable to be repaired.

She pulled her fingers away from the window and towel dried her hair before digging her spare set of clothes from her bag. She slipped into her fleece leggings and buttoned up one of Dean’s flannels. She hugged the fabric to her face and took a deep breath of his scent. She didn’t deserve him. Her eyes welled up, and she tried to swallow it. What the fuck was she going to do? She didn’t have the answer. Not even close. She slipped into her boots and snuck out of the motel quietly. She needed to think, and she thought better when she could see the sky. She always had.

So Emerson scaled the building, stepping on the dumpster, and she settled on the roof in the snow. Her face turned up to the sky. Her days of denial were counting down. She wouldn’t be able to avoid it much longer. She would have to say it out loud, and she would have to say it to Dean. She didn’t know where to start. There was a lake past the trees, and if it were summer maybe they would stop for the day and enjoy the water. She stared out toward the water and sucked in her breath. The sky beyond the trees was painted fuchsia, green, deep purple. “Holy shit.” The northern lights flickered ahead of her, dancing and blurring on the horizon.

Fingers towards the sky, she reached as if she expected to be able to touch the lights. They reminded her of the glowing butterflies at the lakehouse. It felt like a sign, like hope. It felt like Ophelia.

“Em?”

Her eyes flickered behind her to find Sam, with his long lanky limbs awkwardly crawling onto the roof. He scooted next to her, draping a blanket from the motel around her shoulders. It didn’t even occur to her that she was cold, but as if he brought the chill with him she shivered. “I want to be alone.”

“Yeah I know. Me too. Thought we could be alone together.” He rested his arms on his knees and didn’t glance her way.

“Seems counterproductive to me.”

He shrugged. His hair was long, sweeping his shoulders, Emerson resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. Pheli would’ve loved it long. He would’ve had a Viking braid by now if she were with them. The thought made her stomach ache.

“Happy birthday,” he commented quietly as he watched the dancing lights. It was unclear if he was talking to Emerson or the lights.

“Not so happy.”

“She wouldn’t like that, you know. That you’re retreating into yourself. It’s why I’m not doing it. She is the light.”

“That's why there’s so much darkness,” she agreed.

“If Pheli can’t be here to shine we need to shine for her, Em.”

Emerson made a face of discontent and turned completely to him. “I don’t know how to do that, Sam. I don’t know how to have hope without her.”

He scooted close to her and wrapped a supportive arm around her. “You know when I married her she became part of my family, but I wasn’t just saying I do to her. I was promising to love you, too. You’re my sister in law, Emerson. That means something to me.”

“There isn’t law anymore, Sam,” she said, her shoulders tense under the weight of his arm.

He snorted with a laugh. “You know what I mean.” He sucked in a shaking breath and let it out slowly. “I miss her. It takes every bit of power I have not to fold into myself and never get back up. I’ve loved her for what feels like my whole life.” He turned to look at her, his hazel eyes were wet and reflecting the purple flecks of the northern lights. “I hate that I’m not with her, and I will never forgive myself for not being able to protect her. I just wish you would blame me more than you blame Dean. It’s not his fault. I know he loves you, and I couldn’t protect Ophelia…” A tear rolled down his cheek, and he shook his head. “So just let me do the one thing I know she would ask me to do. Let me take care of you.”

Emerson pulled her knees up to her chest. “I don’t think I know how to do that, Sam.”

“Try. For her.”

She let out a sob and rested her head on his shoulder. “I miss her so much sometimes it feels like I’m dying, but it just never ends.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to do this to Dean.”

“He loves you.”

“I know he does. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to let myself have everything when she’s…”

“Em, maybe you didn’t know this, but Ophelia talked about your happiness just as much as she talked about her own. She always talked about how one day we would live next to you and Dean.” Sam laughed quietly and squeezed her in his arms. “Let yourself be happy. Well, as happy as you can be.”

Another hot tear rolled down her cheek, and she glanced up at him. “I can try.”

“Okay.” He nodded and placed a platonic, loving kiss on her forehead and hugged her tightly. “And Em?”

“Hm?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Her eyebrows came together. “Tell him what?”

He chuckled against her hair, his breath tickling her scalp. “You know what. I was with your sister for a long time. You girls are like clockwork and well… I may have noticed a change in the last few months. My brother is so focused on the now that I don’t think he’s seeing the bigger picture.”

Emerson sucked in her breath and tried to swallow a sob. “I… I couldn’t admit it. I refused, because how can I? In a world like this? Without my mom… without Phel…”

“Ignoring it will not make it go away,” he said gently, rubbing her arm.

“I know,” she murmured. “It just… wasn’t supposed to be me.”

Sam tilted her chin up to look at him. “You should tell him. If it were me I’d want to know.”

She nodded, pained. He was right. She knew he was, and she was mad at him for it. The world wasn’t fair, but it was still turning and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. “Okay.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying the quiet, the cold, and the dancing lights on the horizon. It was a special kind of bliss that they normally didn’t get to enjoy. There was a lot of unknown due to the world they lived in, but that didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do about it, so she should focus on the known. She knew for a fact that the Winchesters would always be there. That was something she could hold on to and something she shouldn’t take for granted.

They climbed down from the roof and Sam went to her room, and she went to Deans. It was dark in the room, and he was laying on his side facing the closed window. When the door opened he didn’t move, but the lack of soft snores in the room told her he was awake. She crept to him, shaking off her boots, flannel, socks, and leggings leaving only her underwear and climbed into bed behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cold skin to his warm back.

He hissed at the chill. “Thought you were mad at me.”

“Not at you. Never at you.”

He snorted in response.

“Well, not anymore at least,” she admitted sheepishly.

“It’s okay to be mad. I can take it.”

She pressed her face to his back and kissed it gently, blinking tears before closing her eyes completely. She squeezed him tightly. “This isn’t your fault. I just… I’m in so much pain. I’m scared all the time. Even more so now.”

Dean shifted under her arms, turning to look at her, but she squeezed him tightly. “No, please don’t. I just… I need to tell you something, and I can’t see your face when I do.”

“What is it?” He asked softly, gently, sweetly.

She let out a pained laugh. “I can’t say I don’t know how it happened, because I do .”

“Emerson, take a breath. What’s going on?”

“I think… Fuck. I think I’m pregnant. It sounds insane. Asinine. This is the fucking end of the world and I…”

He had wiggled out of her grip, and he turned to face her. His nose brushed hers. “If this is a joke, Maklen, it’s not a good one.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this.”

He ran his thumb along her cheekbone. “I’m so fucking gone on you. You know that right?”

“I do,” the words slipped from her lips, barely a breath.

“How long have you known?”

“I missed my second period. I hoped it was stress… I haven’t confirmed it.”

“I’m sorry you’ve shouldered it alone. I hate that you didn’t let me in.” Dean wrapped his arms protectively around her.

“I wasn’t ready to say it out loud.”

“But now?”

“It’s not going to go away because I’m ignoring it.”

“Just like it’s dad,” he said wryly before sucking in his breath. “Holy fuck.” His eyes flickered down to her midsection.

“How do you feel?”

“I… how do you feel?”

“Scared,” she admitted. “I didn’t even think I wanted kids, let alone in this world.”

“But?”

“But I’m also… I don’t know. It feels wrong to say I feel happy.”

He smiled in the darkness and kissed her gently. “It’s not wrong. It’s right.”

Dean moved his hand from her hip to her stomach, his fingers bushing over her skin gently. The motion sent chills down her spine, and her skin prickled with goosebumps. “I know this wasn’t how we wanted to do this, but Em having a child with you… that’s been a dream of mine for a long time.”

“It has?”

He brushed a hair out of her eyes and nodded. “I’d be an idiot not to want a life with you.”

“But what about Lisa? You were going to have a life with her. I saw you and Ben together. That loss was devastating for you.”

“He was a cute baby, and I loved Lis, but it wasn’t my family. Not like you are. But I guess I need to ask you something.”

“Okay.”

“Are you having this baby? Is this something you’re ready to do?”

Emerson sucked in her breath. It had crossed her mind. Of course it had, but as she considered it there with his hand touching her abdomen so protectively that she almost felt a warmth under his palm, she knew that it wasn’t an option. She already loved the damn thing. “Yes,” she said breathlessly, her eyes welling up with tears. “I have no idea how we will make it work, but I can’t lose anyone else. I already see her. When I dream she is with us… it’s like she already exists.”

“She?” He pulled her closer. “You think it’s a girl?”

Emerson shrugged with a pained laugh. “It’s just what I see in my dreams. I have no proof of that.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Then we are doing this. Fuck it. We always did things out of order so why not again? We are capable.”

“You’re insane,” she whispered. “Maybe I’m insane. Look at the world. How can we bring a child into it?”

“This kid will be so loved, and fuck, maybe Sammy is right. Maybe there is a safe haven in California where we can raise her safely. Worth a shot, right?”

“Maybe.”

Dean rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, wrapping the blanket around them both. She felt safe there, cocooned with him for a moment. “I love you Emerson Maklen. I know you’re scared, fuck so am I. I’m terrified of what kind of dad I will be. You saw John and what he was like. Even if the world wasn’t crumbling I’d be afraid, because this is a big thing. This is an important thing. But I promise you I won’t fuck it up. I’ll protect you and the little bean with everything I’ve got. What can I do to help? Name it and I’ll do it.”

Before she could think, process, and talk herself out of it, the words flew out of her lips. “I want my sister.”

“Em…”

“She’s out there somewhere, Dean. I don’t think I can do this without her. I know it’s a long shot, but I need to try. I need to know we haven’t given up. Because if she was dead I would know it. I would feel it. She’s out there, Dean. I know it.”

-106 Days After-

Ophelia's hand fit delicately in Sam’s, his other hand pressing against her lower back. They were deliriously happy. “Spin me!” She demanded brightly, a smile bursting from her lips.

“Yes ma'am.” So he did. He released her back and twirled her in circles before spinning her away from his body.

She was laughing, giggles erupting from pink lips, a lock of hair falling in her face. It felt like the world had slowed down, he could barely hear the shot ringing through the trees with a crisp bang! He dropped her hand as the bullet ripped through the muscle of his shoulder. Sam fell, his vision blurring. He could hear his heartbeat whooshing in his ears as he hit the ground hard.

“Sam!” Pheli called, her voice sounding far away. She ran to him, cradled him in her arms. “Oh my god!”

He opened his mouth to warn her, but he wasn’t fast enough. Everything was still slowed down. His vision was peppered on the edges, threatening to send him into darkness. He couldn’t warn her of the dark shadowy figure behind her.

His head hit the soft forest ground as she released him from her grip. The figure behind her twisted their fingers in her hair and yanked her back hard. She opened her mouth to scream but a hand covered her lips, muffling her.

Sam struggled, trying to sit up. Trying anything to get to her, but he wasn’t fast enough. The figure took a step towards him and kicked dirt in his face, blinding him temporarily. But before the dirt obscured his vision he saw something.

The hood on the figure fell just enough for the light to catch his features. A sinister smile rested on full lips, his eyes hollow and haunted.

Gordon.

—–

A/N: I know it’s been a long time since I have made any progress on this story. I’ve been in a huge writing slump and this week I found some inspiration. I love my little OFC babies, and I needed a dose of apocalypse in the wake of my real life stress. If anyone out there is still reading I hope you enjoy it, and are excited about this chapter. If not, well I enjoyed writing it and in the end I suppose that’s the point.

Coming soon: Chapter five

Catch up on Part One Here

Tag List:

@hanaissupergirl

@deans-baby-momma

@cpag7

@tftumblin

@squirrelnotsam

@formulafun

@thatgirl1456

@wildfirekitten

@ceisbill

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peanutbutterjelly-pie · 4 years

Text

Frenzy

Summary: After Sam gets involved in a car accident Dean finds himself in an utter frenzy. Thankfully Cas shows up just at the right time.

Word Count: 1830

Tags: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Written for the @writersofdestiel‘s “The Day They First Met” Prompt Week

It's been five days.

Five days since Dean got the call from the hospital informing him about the car crash his little brother got involved into because some asshole ignored a red light. Five days since he dropped everything and rushed to Sam's side in a hurry, almost ending in an accident on his way there himself 'cause panic and fear nearly blinded him for anything else.

Five days since he got told by doctors that Sam was “in a serious but stable condition”. Five days since he didn't allow himself even a minute of rest.

They left Sam in a coma for the first three days due to his head injuries. Dean sat with him the entire time and actually snarled at people when they tried to bring up things like visitation hours or self care or whatever. He probably would've even forgotten to eat something altogether if the nurses wouldn't have pushed some food and water into his hands from time to time. He just had no time to think about anything else but his baby brother looking so small and vulnerable in that sterile hospital bed.

By the third day they woke him up and even though Sam remained quite loopy for a while he recovered remarkably quickly. At least fast enough to start scolding Dean for not wasting one single thought on himself.

On the fifth day they finally managed to kick him out of the hospital. Dean was, of course, rather reluctant at first, but when the doctors, very rightfully, mentioned that Sam could be out quite soon and would need someone to look out for him in the right environment because someone with a concussion and two broken legs, which would require him to use a wheelchair at least for a little while, needed extra care Dean eventually found himself driving back to his apartment to prepare for that event.

His place might not be all that much, but his complex's got a rather spacious elevator – contrary to Sam's nerdy loft downtown – and his apartment allows enough room at least in the most important spots for Sam to maneuver. Bathroom, guest room, living room. Only the kitchen might be a problem, but since Sam is prone to set an oven on fire just by looking at it Dean isn't really keen on letting him inside that room anyway, no matter the consequences.

So it comes that he's currently changing the sheets in his spare room when the doorbell rings.

Dean is inclined to ignore it at first, so not in the mood to deal with anyone at this point, but the person on the other side of the door is rather persistent and eventually even switches to an impatient knocking, making it absolutely impossible to blend out.

Dean growls and swiftly opens the door, more than determined to let out all the frustration and anger from the last few days on the person in the hallway because he's just classy like that.

But the words die in his throat as he sees himself face to face with Cas.

“Cas?” he croaks, so overwhelmed by the expected sight of his best friend he doesn't even know how to cope.

“You tried to ignore me, didn't you?” Cas narrows his eyes before pushing himself inside, suitcase right behind him. “You're getting way too predictable.”

Dean simply stares after him in a daze, wondering if he's dreaming or not.

“Aren't you supposed to be in Alaska?” he blurts out in the end.

Cas casually parks his suitcase in the hall before walking to the living room. “I was, yes. And now I'm here.”

For a moment Dean gapes at the luggage, frozen on the spot, and eventually follows his friend. “Did you just come right from the airport or do you intend to move in here?”

Cas' lips curl upwards. “Both.”

Dean blinks in confusion. “What?”

Cas sits down on the couch and pats the spot next to him in invitation. Dean considers refusing at first, to keep some distance between them, but in the end he's utterly helpless against the pull drawing him near this man who became everything to him somewhere along the way.

Not that he ever dared to voice that out loud, though.

“I'm sorry it took me so long to come back home,” Cas says as Dean drops onto the sofa cushions beside him. “I actually wanted to set out the second I heard about Sam, but the whole thing turned way more complicated than I anticipated.”

Dean clears his throat, chiding himself not to say anything stupid. “But … what about your book tour?”

Cas had been touring the US and the better part of Canada for several weeks now. And even though Dean had missed him terribly he's been so happy and proud of Cas' accomplishments. Cas had been rather successful with his writing for quite a while now, but his latest publication went through the roof faster than anyone could've imagined and he became high demand more or less over night. The book tour only one of many things on his tight schedule.

“You weren't supposed to be back for another four weeks,” Dean points out because yes, he kept a close eye on these things. “I don't want you to miss out –”

“Do you really think a book tour would be more important to me than Sam and you?” Cas asks incredulously.

Dean presses his lips into a thin line. “No, of course not,” he hurries to clarify. “But as I told you, Sam's gonna be alright –”

“I can easily reschedule the rest of the tour,” Cas cuts in with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Didn't you hear? I'm a world famous writer now, I can do whatever I want.”

A laugh bursts out of Dean's chest.

The first one in five days.

Damn, how he missed having Cas around.

“So … you wanna move in?” he wonders, nodding at the suitcase in the hallway with a question mark on his face.

“Naturally,” Cas agrees. As if that's the most normal thing in the world. “Sam told me you want him to stay with you until he recovers. And considering your apartment would be very accommodating for a wheelchair that's quite the wise choice, I have to say.”

“So you –”

“I want to stay and help out as well,” Cas says with a shrug. “Don't worry, I'll just take the couch.”

Dean feels something warm blossoming inside his chest and for a moment he's barely able to breathe. Because Cas is wonderful and selfless and if Dean wouldn't be such a chickenshit he would've confessed his freaking love a long time ago.

“Cas, man, I really appreciate it,” Dean answers, his voice a bit shaky. “But – like I said, Sam is getting better – I'll be able to manage it myself –”

“I want to be here for Sam,” Cas insists. “But I also want to be here for you!”

Dean raises his brows.

“Because I know you,” Cas goes on before Dean is even able to come up with a follow-up question. “I mean, just look at you. You seem like you hadn't had a minute of rest since all of this happened.”

Dean grimaces. Of course he's totally right about that, but Dean seriously doesn't want to confirm that. Not with Cas assessing him like that.

So he mumbles, in good old Winchester fashion, “I'm fine …”

Cas instantly rolls his eyes at him. “You're not fine,” he claims. “I talked with Sam, you know? You barely ate or slept, you didn't even think about telling your employees what was happening. You just rushed out of the garage and never returned.”

Dean grimaces.

Right.

He knew he forgot something.

“Shit,” he whispers, rubbing his temples and cursing his past self.

“Well, at least you remembered to call me,” Cas states. “And when he didn't hear from you Benny reached out to me to learn what's going on.” As Dean immediately opens his mouth to dig further about that, Cas adds right away, “Don't worry, I explained everything. He's managing the garage in your absence.”

Dean can't help feeling incredibly guilty all of a sudden. He noticed several messages and missed calls on his phone, some of them from Benny, but he ignored all of them because he didn't have the strength to deal with any of that. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and urges himself to call Benny pretty soon.

“I didn't mean for you to feel bad about this,” Cas apologizes immediately as he notices Dean's expression. “I just wanted to point out that you're a selfless person. And an idiot.”

Dean scowls at that. “Hey!”

“You always go out of your way to take care of anyone else,” Cas continues, a gentle smile on his lips. “You're a natural nurturer, Dean, and that's one of the things I love about you.”

Dean chokes on air at the nonchalant use of such a powerful word and can't help a fierce blush.

“But you're horrible in regards to yourself,” Cas accuses. “Be it either to take a step back to get a little rest or see yourself a patient in the first place. Remember the last time you had the flu? I basically had to chain you to the bed.”

Dean's flush only grows as he recalls Cas actually ending up sitting on top of him to keep him warm and cozy underneath the covers. That memory has a very special place in Dean's mind.

“So I'm here to help you,” Cas summarizes. “To help you not to work yourself to the ground.”

There is another protest forming on Dean's tongue, eager to get out there, but it gets stuck in his throat as Cas' hand suddenly cups his cheek. For a minute or two everything else ceases to exist apart from that soft touch and Dean almost whimpers, it feels so good.

And he doesn't even know how it happens, but just a moment later he finds his head nestled in Cas' lap.

Dean's heart runs wildly, making him go dizzy in the process. But at the same time he feels weirdly relaxed, Cas' familiar smell letting his muscles loosen up all on their own. Like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders.

And when eventually fingers card through his hair, Dean sighs in contentment and knows for sure that nothing could ever feel any better than this.

“Just rest,” Cas whispers. “Let go for a while and recharge your batteries.”

Dean looks up, right into Cas' eyes. They're tender and filled with emotions and Dean realizes he's the luckiest guy on the planet. And if he'd have a bit more energy he'd heave himself upwards and kiss those inviting lips.

As it is right now, though, Dean merely smiles lazily and whispers, “I'm glad you're here,” before drifting off to sleep.

And just before unconsciousness takes over he believes he hears a heartfelt, “I'm not going anywhere.”

#destiel #fic #fanfic #hurt/comfort #fluff #au #au: fic #writer!cas #fanfiction: mine

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diminuel · 3 years

Note

Hun I just read ur hate-letter to the SPN writers... and tbh same. I feel like they could have done so much!! It didn’t even have to be destiel related in my opinion (tho I am a fellow shopper) just like maybe seeing everyone they lost? Like everyone being there. Then it’s have covered the „found family“ aspect. Even with the heaven end we did get. Only getting to know where Bobby’s friend and Marry and John are!? What about Charlie!? Kevin!? Cas!? Cos apparently he got out of the empty... idk how but apparently he did. Yes sure it was good to see Bobby but... give us more. And Sam getting old? Cheap. Honestly cheap. Not only the method but also the wig. And then in the barn - as we are at cheap rn - the vamp heads were literal mannequin heads and it took so much from that scene. Also why vampires? And then so forcefully made important ones? Why not that child from one of Sam‘s ex girlfriends that promised to kill dean!? Like I could get that the writers wanted something unspectacular cos that’s how life is. And tbh now it doesn’t take away from Cas‘ end. But srsly the man went to hell and back (literally) he deserves better. So much better!! And again to Sam. Why not show us that he ended up with Eileen? And then I can only agree with you on the part of Cas‘ sacrifice as it was pure Fan service but please acknowledge it!! The man was in love with u dean!! That causes something. It felt half assed and in my opinion episode 19 was the end and 20 terrible „my-immortal“ level fanfic. And also Sam would’ve never let his son become a hunter. NEVER. The way he was forced into that life!? No. And also were are my girls!? Where’s Jody?! I missed her :(

Sorry for literally spamming this I needed to get it off my chest and have no other platform or friends that watch the show :((

Haha, I don’t think it was supposed to be a hate letter (I hope! though I do feel like my faith in them was seriously misplaced and I feel like an idiot for that).

You all bring up good questions, questions I feel the show has to answer for. I saw one writer say “covid, pal!” as a reason why people who were supposed to be there weren’t. What we got on screen was not what they promised at all. What happened to it being a celebration of Sam and Dean and the family they found on the way? There was no family they found on the way! And what about the assurance that even with covid they made sure that the people they really wanted to be there for the finale, where there. So...... the only person they wanted to be there is Bobby?

How cheap! What about the characters you mentioned, what about Cas? They were supposed to be there too! And I clearly mean “supposed to be there”, not just because I as a fan wanted them there, but because the narrative that SPN has spun over the last few years was that Dean and Sam have a family; they have friends and family - even though they’re not related by blood - that mean something to them; that also give their fight more meaning. But in the end it was all just Sam and Dean again, all the people they lost not worth more than a shrug before the next mouthful of pie landed in Dean’s mouth. Maybe Bobby acted as a weak and cheap stand in for “family doesn’t end in blood”. But everything they showed us in this finale was that in the end this family they found for themselves was worth nothing? Why did Dean answer John in “Lebanon” that he had a family when John said that was what he wanted for Dean? Because clearly when you came down to it, nothing else mattered but Sam and Dean.

And Sam’s life was so gloomy if you think about it, the way he died framed by photographs of a life he lost that ONLY included the Winchesters, maybe one picture of Bobby and of his son... That’s like a shrine to “only blood” family matters. There’s no sign at all - apart from his son - that Sam lived a life, one that was worth commemorating at the end of his road. Where’s his wife? I think Sam’s fate was tragic too. I get the feeling that he was a shitty husband and a shitty dad, with one foot stuck in the past and the other already put into the grave so he could see his brother again. And that’s not... a good ending for a good character.

And don’t get me started on the wig. It haunts my dreams.

(And clearly don’t get me started on the utter betrayal that was Dean’s death. That’s the one thing I will not forgive. I cannot believe that they were putting so much effort into Dean’s personal growth, only to then say at the very end “ah, sorry folks, he has to die bloody, randomly, unmourned by anyone but Sam, uncelebrated by people he saved and loved, without a legacy but Sam naming his son after him! After all there’s no life for a man like him in civil society~!” Fuck off)

Sorry. I still have a lot of emotions.

#Anon #Diminuel replies #Supernatural #spoilers #15x20 spoilers

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deansmom · 3 years

Text

ao3 this is 4.1k of a couple times dean wanted to say it, and the one time cas did. warning for: crypt scene

The first time Dean wants to say it, they’re standing on a street in the middle of nowhere.

Cas just pulled him out of some weird future universe, and Dean lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He turns his head and sees Cas, and has to fight back a smile.

“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas.”

Castiel’s face morphs into something that’s almost a smile. It makes Dean’s chest warm in a way that he wasn’t expecting.

“We had an appointment.”

It’s so stupid. It’s such a stupid, stupid thing to say and it knocks the wind out of him. Dean smiles, huffing a laugh as he sets a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

He’s had a thing for Cas for a while now, as much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t understand it, he feels weird about it - he’s a fucking angel, for Christ’s sake - but he does.

Dean wonders, for just a moment, what Cas would do if he said it. If he just said something like, ‘I think I love you. I think I love you and that scares the hell out of me, man.’

Instead, he squeeze’s Cas’ shoulder and stops his other hand just short of touching Castiel’s cheek.

“Don’t ever change.”

🖤

The next time Dean wants to say it, he’s fighting back tears looking at Cas trapped in a ring of holy fire.

He hears his brother say, “Did you bring me back soulless... on purpose?”

Dean’s chest aches at the way Castiel’s face contorts.

“How could you think that?”

Sam sneers a little, his own way of showing his betrayal, “Well, I’m thinking a lot of things right now, Cas.”

Castiel looks equal parts angry and devastated. Dean wants nothing more than to reach across the flames and grab his hands.

“Listen. Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice.“

Dean hears his own voice before his brain registers that he’s speaking.

“No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one.”

Castiel looks at him, hurt written all over his face, and Dean’s stomach churns at the sight of it.

God, this right here, this is why Dean doesn’t do relationships.

“You don’t understand.” Cas’s voice sounds tired, “It’s complicated.”

Dean wants to laugh.

“No, actually, it's not, and you know that.” He wants to yell and scream, angry at the world and angry at Cas for pulling this shit. “Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong? When crap like this comes around, we deal with it... Like we always have. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil!”

He might be yelling now, but he’s desperate.

He wants to yell that he would have done anything to help Cas, that it isn’t Castiel’s job to protect Dean anymore. That they’re a family, they’re a team, and they protect each other. He wants to yell something stupid and cliche like, ‘I love you, you idiot!’

Castiel’s face looks like he might be able to read Dean’s mind.

“It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

That practically knocks the wind out of him, the sincerity in the question.

Dean huffs a breath that’s maybe supposed to be a laugh, maybe not.

“I was there. Where were you?”

His brain keeps pulling up clips from every stupid romcom he’s ever watched. Every desperate love confession flashes before his eyes and it just makes Dean want to throw himself into the fire.

“You should’ve come to us for help, Cas.”

Castiel sighs, “Maybe,” and looks like he wants to reach out for Dean.

A loud whirring noise engulfs the cabin they’re standing in, a cloud of demon smoke heading straight for them.

“It’s too late now. I can’t turn back now. I can’t.”

Dean feels frantic with it, the desire to drag Cas back to safety, “It’s not too late! Damn it Cas, we can fix this!”

We can fix this together, you idiot. I love you Cas, please.

“Dean,” Castiel yells as the wind gets louder, “It’s not broken! Run. You have to run, now!”

🖤

The third time Dean wants to say it, wants to tell Cas, it feels like he’s talking to a stranger.

“Thanks for the lift.”

They’re standing in a barn looking at the end of the world and Cas isn’t himself. He doesn’t want to fight anymore, he wants to watch the bees. He looks like Cas, sounds like Cas, but it isn’t -

“Dean...” Castiel follows him for a moment and stops a couple steps away.

Dean turns to look at him, tired as hell and without the energy to hear it anymore. “Cas, we've been over it. I get it – you can't help.”

He’s not mad.

He might’ve been, for a while, but he was more angry with himself than anything... ok, he was mad at Cas too, just a little bit. He was pissed that when Dean needed him, really fucking needed him, he was broken.

And he knows that��s not fair, truly he knows, but it’s hard to not be angry when the world is probably going to end and the one person Dean thought he could always, always count on just isn’t... himself.

Castiel kicks the ground in front of him, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes when he asks, “If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct?”

Dean looks at him, confused, and just kinda huffs something that’s maybe a laugh.

“I don’t know. I guess.”

Cas sounds a little bit more lucid than he has today, but still not quite like himself.

“And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or... I don't die – I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time.”

Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes, taking a half step towards Cas, “I'm sorry. Uh, we're talking about God crap, right?”

This time Castiel meets his eyes, “I’m not good luck Dean.”

And that’s just not true.

It takes all of Dean’s control to not grab Cas by the shoulders and tell him just how much that isn’t true.

“Yeah, but you know what? Bottom of the ninth, and you're the only guy left on the bench... Sorry,” Dean shrugs, making sure that Cas doesn’t look away from him. “But I'd rather have you, cursed or not.”

His heart skips a beat when his brain realizes what just came out of his mouth.

He shifts a little, uncomfortable with the slip, “And anyway, nut up, all right? We're all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?”

Castiel is staring at him like he knows what Dean wanted to say.

He screws up his face a little, trying not to sound as defensive as he feels. “What?”

Castiel might be smiling at him. Maybe.

“Well, I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.”

He doesn’t have the energy to deny it any more.

“Yeah, well, I’m probably going to die tomorrow, so...”

Dean stops himself from saying something stupid like, ‘so there’s no point in me lying to you anymore, Cas.’

“Well,” Castiel squares his shoulders and looks away for a moment before meeting Dean’s eyes again. “I'll go with you. And I'll do my best.”

And if that isn’t just the damndest thing.

Dean’s lungs seize for a moment, his throat closing on a confession neither of them need right now. He’s overwhelmed with something that he thinks is equal parts grief and contentment, for just a brief moment.

And you know, in all the time they’ve known each other, Cas just has this way of saying things sometimes that take Dean’s breath away.

And maybe that’s dumb or cliche or hell, embarrassing even, but it’s true.

He just told Cas, this Cas who doesn’t want to fight anymore, that tomorrow he’s going off to die. He’s going to sacrifice himself to save the world.

The fucker didn’t even blink. Didn’t have to think about it for a second.

Dean would be shocked if he didn’t know that if their roles were reversed, he would’ve said the same thing.

Instead of saying any of that, he offers Cas a small smile.

“Thanks.”

Castiel bounces a little on his feet, his voice going a little melodic, “So... Can I ask, the plan?”

Dean wants to kiss that stupid look off his face.

🖤

The next time, Dean almost says it.

He breaks through the brush first and sees Castiel kneeling in front of the stream. His knees feel weak with the relief of seeing that god awful trench coat.

“Cas!” Dean yells before he can stop himself, before Benny can either.

Cas looks up from the stream, like he doesn’t know if that voice is real or not, “Dean?”

Dean walks quickly down the bank and over to Cas, Benny on his heels.

He hasn’t felt this much relief in years. Seeing Cas turn to face them feels like a million pounds has been lifted from Dean’s chest.

“Cas,” he laughs a little bit as he pulls his best friend into a tight hug. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

He steps back finally after a moment, the grin on his face already making his cheeks hurt. He reaches out without thinking about it and brushes a hand over Castiel’s new beard, “Nice peach fuzz.”

Castiel looks a little bewildered, like he’s not sure if this is real, “Thank you.”

Dean gestures back to Benny, afraid to take his eyes off of Cas, “You should meet somebody. This is Benny. Benny, this is Cas.”

Benny raises a hand in acknowledgement, “Hola.”

Castiel spares him a glance for a moment before turning to look at Dean again, “How did you find me?”

Dean huffs a laugh, “The bloody way.” He moves his axe as if to show it off before asking, “You feeling ok?”

“You mean am I still...” Castiel points to his head, making circles with his fingers.

It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is.

He’s still grinning when he says, “Yeah, if you want to be on the nose about it, sure.”

Castiel huffs, “No. I'm perfectly sane. But, then, 94% of psychotics think they're perfectly sane, so I guess we'd have to ask ourselves, ‘what is sane?’”

Dean lets himself look over Cas again, warmth feeling his chest that he hasn’t felt since before they got themselves thrown into this godforsaken land.

“That’s a good question.”

Benny’s voice breaks through the haze for a brief moment.

“Why’d you bail on Dean?”

Dean’s head snaps over to glare at his friend, incredulous, “Dude -”

Benny glares at Dean, impatience rolling off of him in waves, “The way I hear it, you two hit monster land, and hot wings here took off. I figure he owes you some backstory.”

He rolls his eyes a little, annoyed to have this conversation with Benny again.

“Look, we were surrounded, okay? Some freak jumped Cas. Obviously, he kicked its ass, right?”

He looks over at Cas, smiling and motioning for Cas to tell him.

“No.”

Dean feels like someone punched him. “What?”

Castiel swallows, “I ran away.”

“You ran away?”

“I had to.”

“That's your excuse for leaving me with those gorilla-wolves?”

“Dean –”

He’s seething now, any relief he felt before quickly evaporating. “You bailed out and, what, went camping? I prayed to you, Cas, every night.”

Castiel looks down, ashamed. “I know.”

Dean feels like he might throw up. “You know and you didn't...”

The words get caught in his throat, no longer angry and just hurt. “What the hell's wrong with you?”

Castiel looks determined, but he still won’t meet Dean’s eyes for longer than half a second. “I am an angel in a land of abominations. There have been things hunting me from the moment we arrived.”

Dean laughs bitterly, “Join the club!”

“These are not just monsters, Dean. They're Leviathan. I have a price on my head, and I've been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to –”

Castiel takes a breath and looks up at Dean again, this time meeting his eyes.

“To keep them away from you. That's why I ran.”

Again, there he goes again, saying shit that just knocks the wind out of Dean.

“Just leave me, please.”

Benny nods and readjusts his own weapon on his shoulder, “Sounds like a plan. Let's roll.”

Dean reaches out to stop him, not taking his eyes off Cas, “Hold on, hold on. Cas, we're getting out of here. We're going home.”

To his credit, Castiel looks apologetic when he says, “Dean, I can't.”

The self-sacrificing idiot makes Dean’s chest ache with the urge to kiss that look off of his face.

“You can. Benny, tell him.”

Benny sighs in the most put upon way that Dean’s ever heard from someone that isn’t Sam.

“Purgatory has an escape hatch, but I got no idea if it's angel-friendly.”

It doesn’t even register with Dean that this isn’t a foolproof plan.

“We'll figure it out. Cas, buddy, I need you.”

He opens his arms as if he’s going to hug Cas again, but just ends up gesturing vaguely so he doesn’t do something stupid like kiss his best friend.

Castiel looks pained, like he can read Dean’s mind, “Dean...”

Something in Cas’s voice fills Dean with some renewed hope, that he might be breaking through to him.

“And if Leviathan want to take a shot at us, let ‘em. We ganked those bitches once before. We can do it again.”

He wonders briefly if he sounds as desperate as he feels.

Dean’s been running through purgatory for god knows how long looking for Cas, scared that he was gonna lose Cas - and now he’s here. He’s in front of him, and Dean feels like it’s worse than wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Castiel sighs, looking away for a moment, “It's too dangerous.”

Feeling brave, Dean steels himself to say, “Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you. Understand?”

His heart his hammering so loud in his chest that it’s all he can hear.

He wants to say that he’s sorry for the last couple years. He’s sorry he wasn’t there to protect Cas. He’s sorry he didn’t tell him sooner, that he didn’t tell Cas how much he loves him. How he gets it, why Cas worked with Crowley, and he can’t even find it in himself to be mad anymore.

Castiel’s answer surprises him, “I understand.”

Sometimes Dean wonders if Cas can hear his thoughts.

🖤

The next time, Dean does say it.

Or at least, he tries to say it.

Castiel isn’t himself again.

Dean’s known that for a while now, but he’s been too scared to admit it to himself.

It’s kind of hard to ignore it now as Castiel’s fist connects with his face again.

“Oh,” he grunts out, choking a little bit on some blood.

He can’t see anything out of one eye and he reaches out, trying to stop his hands from connecting with his face again, “Cas.”

Dean misses the first grab, feeling weak, and tries again, “Cas.”

He’s terrified but as fucked up as it is, he’s not scared for himself. He’s scared that Cas is going to kill him and Dean won’t be able to tell him that it’s ok, he knows it’s not Castiel’s fault.

There’s more blood in his throat now so the words come out more as a gurgle, “I know you're in there.”

Cas raises his angel blade up, ready to strike, and Dean resigns himself to it.

“I know you can hear me,” he tries again. “Cas...” He hears his own voice break with it and Dean knows that he’s begging. If it was anyone else, for any other reason, he’d rather die than beg but this is different. “It's me.”

Dean tries to open the eye that’s swollen shut as he meets Castiel’s empty eyes, one of his hands finally landing on Cas’s wrist. “We're family. We need you...”

There’s so much he could say. He could tell Cas that he knows this isn’t him, that he’s sorry he hasn’t done anything to help him yet, that he’s sorry he’s been avoiding him. He’s just been so fucking scared to lose him again.

Dean’s known that he’s been in love with Cas for years, but he didn’t realize how much he needed Cas until they got back from purgatory.

He wants to say it. He should say it.

“I need you.”

Shit.

All at once, it’s like Dean can see a flip being switched in Cas.

Castiel drops the angel blade and Dean finally lets himself fall forward with the pain and relief of it all. A bright light fills the room for a moment and Dean briefly registers it before looking up again.

“Cas?” His voice sounds like he’s been gargling glass and fuck, Cas doesn’t look like himself quite yet.

Dean tries to take a full breath and can’t, his ribs hurting too much, “Cas?”

Castiel reaches towards him and Dean hates himself for it, but he flinches, seeing his life flash before his eyes for a brief second.

“No. Cas. Cas!”

instead of a final blow, Dean just feels Castiel’s hand rest on his cheek and the familiar warmth of his Grace flowing through him.

“I'm so sorry, Dean.”

🖤

After that, there’s plenty of moments where Dean feels like this might be the right time to say it. Maybe.

He thinks about saying it when he’s in that hospital church, praying for help.

He thinks about saying it when they find Cas in that apartment, human and dead.

He thinks about telling him when he picks Cas up from babysitting his boss’s daughter.

He thinks about telling him on every phone call, every text, every email they send.

He thinks about saying it when they find Cas with an army, and Cas chooses Dean over his family.

Even when he was a demon, there was a moment where Dean almost called him to taunt Cas with the knowledge that once upon a time, Dean loved him more than anything.

He almost tells him one morning when they’re eating at a shitty roadside diner and Sam gets up to go to the bathroom.

Eventually, Dean just accepts that maybe they’re not supposed to have this.

Castiel can’t technically read his mind, but there’s no way in hell that he doesn’t know how Dean feels. And Dean reasons that hey, if Cas doesn’t feel the need to say it, maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.

Maybe Charlie and Benny and Jody have all been wrong, and it really is as one-sided as Dean’s always suspected.

Castiel? An actual angel of the lord, no matter how poor of an excuse for one Cas thought he was, love Dean? Dean Winchester?

Now, that, that’s crazy.

So when Cas opens his big stupid mouth and says, “I never found an answer because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.”

Dean’s heart just stops working.

His brain feels like a record that gets caught on one skip for too long because the words “can’t have” keep repeating over and over and over.

Castiel smiles a little bit, and he’s crying and Dean feels like he’s back in that cabin again, looking at Cas through a ring of holy fire.

“But I think I know now, happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in the being. It’s in just saying it.”

Dean knows that happiness isn’t in the having, because even when he’s had Cas, had him in his bed or in the Impala or even just in the bunker, it’s a very empty happiness. It’s a happiness that’s underscored by the desperation of knowing that it’s ever-so fleeting and temporary.

He hears himself say, “What are you talking about, man?”

And there Cas goes again, just knocking him off his fucking feet like it’s nothing.

“I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies sees you. You’re destructive, you’re angry and you’re broken and you’re Daddy’s blunt instrument.”

Dean’s stomach lurches because of course Cas thinks all of that, but he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve Castiel giving him the benefit of the doubt, not when they both know that it isn’t fucking true.

"You think that hate and anger, that’s what drives you, that’s what you are.” Castiel offers him a smile and it kinda makes Dean want to die.

“It’s not.”

It is, though.

Castiel’s crying more now and Dean’s reminded of purgatory, of that desperate need to grab him and fix everything but he can’t. He can’t and he doesn’t and he hasn’t felt this helpless in years.

“And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.”

Dean feels like his skin is crawling but he can barely focus on that when he can see how upset Cas is. He’s desperately trying to reach out but his hands won’t move no matter how hard his brain is yelling at them.

Castiel takes a breath, ignoring the background noises getting louder, “You raised your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love, that is who you are.”

That is not who Dean is, and he wants to scream it. He’s a coward. He’s a fucking coward who has been in love with this big dumb idiot across from him since that moment in the green room all those years ago, and he’s never fucking told him.

He’s a selfish coward and he doesn’t deserve any of this.

“You’re the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless loving human being I will ever know.” Castiel looks at him like he can read Dean’s mind.

Briefly Dean wonders if he’s imagining things, or if he really can feel Cas’ grace right now.

“You know ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of hell... knowing you has changed me.”

If he didn’t know what Cas was doing, Dean would laugh at that because God, Castiel has changed so much about Dean. He’s given him so much and he doesn’t even know if he ever told Cas that, if he ever said thanks for that, or if he even knows.

“Because you cared, I cared.”

And oh, Dean’s chest hurts. Oh, fuck it really hurts.

“I cared about you,” Cas looks at him like he’s second guessing himself. “And I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack - I cared about the whole world because of you.“

Dean doesn’t know how to tell Cas that he’s the only reason Dean’s been able to fight for so long.

“You changed me, Dean.”

He swallows a little bit, scared that the wrong thing is going to coming out of his mouth.

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

He knows what this is, knows what the dumb fuck has been doing this whole time. He was just kind of hoping that if he played dumb, he might be wrong.

“Because it is.”

Dean shakes his head, swallowing back the tears he can already feel threatening to spill.

He wonders, briefly, if he yelled I love you loud enough, would it stave off Death herself?

Cas beats him to it.

“I love you.”

For a brief, spectacularly dumb moment, even for Dean, he hates Cas.

He hates that Cas is infinitely braver and better than Dean has ever been. He hates that Cas got the big dramatic confession scene. He hates himself for not saying it sooner, because Cas deserved more than this. Cas deserves the world, not Dean being terrified to open his mouth.

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

Don’t say it before me. Don’t leave me again, please, I’m no good without you.

The Empty opens up behind him and Dean feels desperate with it, desperate to stop everything from happening.

“Cas -”

Billie kicks the door open and Dean can’t breathe.

Castiel’s smiling at him and the fucker looks content.

He feels Castiel’s hand on his shoulder and for a brief moment, it burns like the handprint never left.

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Everything happens so quickly after that, as Dean watches the Empty take the love of his life and Death herself.

He can’t help but stare at the wall, the last place he saw Cas.

His phone rings and Dean looks just long enough to ignore the call, but he can’t see straight, can’t think straight. He’s crying, apparently.

“I love you. Fuck.”

#deancas #deancas text #deancas for ts #destiel #mackenzie attempts fics #personal #otp: cursed or not #;n; idk it just came to me lol

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holyhellpod · 3 years

Photo

Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving.

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold.

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show.

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit.

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins.

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art.

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural, he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag.

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living.

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism.

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to.

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it.

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light.

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line.

Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence.

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade.

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome. I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else.

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half.

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves.

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome.

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight.

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer.

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it.

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace.

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar.

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says:

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean.

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to.

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas. Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna.

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life.

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs.

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.”

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it.

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do.

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another.

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it.

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours.

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay?

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas.

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure.

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar!

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.”

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

#transcripts #supernatural #supernatural podcast #<60mins #this is first and foremost a podcast about cas and misha collins

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brittywritesstuff · 4 years

Text

the night we met

It’s been a hot minute. Inspired by that s15 production post. Y’all know the one.

Read on AO3

Dean falls back against the cold brick wall, trying desperately to catch his breath. He can’t. His heart is racing; his breathing is shallow; the oxygen in his brain is running thin. He feels like he might pass out. Or maybe die. Maybe that will be better. Because this can’t be real. This can’t be real.

The tears on his face roll downward, salty on his lips. He tastes the copper of blood, but he’s not sure where the blood is coming from. He’s not sure whose it is, and he’s not sure he wants to know.

“Take me back,” he whispers to himself, his voice rougher than usual. The screaming, the tears, the raw fear and pure, complete decimation of his heart have taken their toll. “I-- fuck. Please.” He gasps for breath again; it’s shaky and desperate, but his lungs can’t seem to fill up enough to feel normal again. Fitting, he thinks, because if this is real, nothing will ever feel normal again. He doesn’t even know who he’s talking to -- because there’s no one listening anymore.

Dean’s not sure how he manages, but he pushes himself to his feet. He’s never been a small guy, but suddenly it feels like his legs can’t handle the weight of him. He presses his hands to the wall, his palms flat against the brick as he ducks his head for a moment, trying to steady himself.

Sam’s hand closes around his arm, and Dean shrugs him off. “Dean, let me--”

“I’m fine, Sammy.”

“You’re--”

“I said I’m fine.” It comes out a lot more forceful than intended, but fuck it. He’s not in the mood for Sam’s coddling. As if to prove a point, he shoves off the wall and squares his shoulders, meeting his brother’s eyes. “I said I’m fine,” he repeats. It’s quieter. Broken. But his defiance and stubbornness is all he’s got left. And by the way Sam’s looking at him; the tone of his voice… it means this is real. It means that really just fucking happened. And he can’t. He just can’t.

“Dean--”

Dean ignores him. He turns, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the drink cart as he passes, and trudges his way to his room. The bunker is in shambles, but he can’t bring himself to care much about it right now. Nothing really matters much now. Nothing is ever really gonna matter much now.

The door closing behind him sounds louder than it should. He leans back against it and closes his eyes as his head drops back against the wood. “Fuck. Fuck.” Opening his eyes, he lifts his head and looks around his room, like that’s going to help him at all. His eyes fall on his desk, and he pushes off the door to drag himself toward it. He takes a swig of whiskey, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before reaching for the cassette tape beside the lamp.

“It’s a gift,” Cas had told him so proudly. “I’d like for you to keep it.”

Dean closes his eyes for a second, inhaling sharply at the memory. When he opens them, he runs his fingers over the tape, admiring Cas’s delicate writing: For Dean. The tape is full of terrible love songs Dean secretly enjoys.

“Music is a love language, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it is--”

“And you enjoy music--”

“‘Course I do, Cas--”

“So I’ve compiled a selection of songs to express love.”

Dean’s face hurt from the huge smile. “You made me a mixtape?”

“Well, I had some assistance. I listened to a vast variety of songs and compiled the list. Then Sam helped me assemble the tape.”

Dean huffed, his smile somehow growing wider. “You romantic bastard. Who woulda thought?” He grabbed Cas’s face and kissed him hard. They made love that night to the soundtrack of Cas’s tape.

“Goddamn it, Cas,” Dean gasps. He grabs the tape from the desk and shoves it into the tape player. Knocking back another swig of whiskey, he hardly winces at the burn and shrugs out of his overshirt. He falls back on the bed, not bothering to kick off his boots. He hears the hissing of the tape before the music starts, and when it does, he takes another gasping breath, tears slipping past his lashes.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can’t help falling in love with you?

“Fuck,” he cries, throwing an arm over his face. “Just take me back.”

“Do you recall the night we met?” Cas turned on his side, one arm tucked beneath his pillow.

Dean turned his head to look at him, raising his eyebrows incredulously. “You reminiscing’ about me stabbing you?”

Cas smiled, and Dean felt that familiar warmth spread through his chest. Cas’s smile was such a rare sight, but Dean was the one who saw it most. And he loved that. He loved that he got to be the one. “Not about that, particularly. But if someone had told me then what would be, I--”

Dean turned on his side, his hand closing around the hinge of Cas’s jaw. “I would’ve said you’re fuckin’ crazy.” He shifted closer, admiring that breathtaking blue as their eyes met. “But this, you ‘n’ me--”

“Fate,” Cas finished quietly. Dean kissed him slowly, taking his time. It was a luxury with Cas. To express himself gently. Slowly. In a way that no other aspect of his life allowed him. It was perfect.

Dean rolls to his side, still clutching the bottle of whiskey. He pulls a pillow against his chest and closes his eyes; his tears soaking into the white pillow case. “Just take me back,” he whispers, hoping beyond anything his prayer gets through to someone, somewhere. “I don’t care what I gotta go through. I’ll take the fuckin’ apocalypse again. Anytime, anywhere. Just fuckin’ take me back. Please,” he cries.

He knows, deep down, that it’s useless. He knows there’s no do-overs this time. He knows this is the end of the line. The finale. But Dean’s spoiled. One might not think that, when examining his life, but he is. Because death has never been the end for him. Countless demons and deities have pointed it out to him over the years. But it’s spoiled him. If someone he loves dies, all he has to do is threaten someone or something or wait long enough, and they come back.

But this one’s different, and he knows it. He can feel it. It’s deep and painful, etched into the very core of his soul. He knows there’s no coming back from this. And he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do. How do normal people do this? How do normal people live with this feeling? How do normal people pick up and carry on, knowing the other half of your soul is gone forever?

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” he whispers into the dark. “Just take me back to the night we met.”

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met I don’t know what I’m supposed to do Haunted by the ghost of you Take me back to the night we met

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writingfromkitchenator · 3 years

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The Demon, The Hunter, and The Halfblood

Masterlist

Crowley x Original Female Character

Series Warnings: A/B/O series, some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha x Omega, obligatory smut warning here (as usual, no under 18′s please, specifics will be within chapter warnings as needed), violence, blood, fluff, angst, major character death, possession, swearing

Chapter 7

Words: 3,238

The four men watched Casey sitting at the table, surrounded by paper and pencils, her tongue out between her teeth as she draws on the paper.

It hadn’t taken her long to wake up properly, or to forget her nightmare, but Crowley was always good at that, he seemed to always be able to settle her down quickly, and she was usually happy to go do something in no time at all.

Bobby lets out a slow breath. “So, I hate to ask this, but how exactly did she happen?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “The same way those sorts of things normally happen,” Bobby frowns and goes to say something before Crowley cuts him off. “And hardly appropriate for her to be listening to. She has only known the best of our relationship, and if we can help it, we want to keep it that way, at least until she can understand properly one day.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” Bobby cleared his throat, glancing at Sam and Dean. “Although, I’m a little worried that John did the same with those three.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, frowning.

“Madelyn is aware,” Crowley said, ignoring Dean. “And we have discussed it, but we both agreed it was for the best. Casey is also incredibly smart and aware of things, so we know she will ask if she ever wants an answer to something.”

“How have you even kept her hidden away so well?” Sam asked. “Given everything that’s happened, how has no one gotten wind of her?”

“Daddy?” Crowley’s answer is cut off as Casey looked at him from the table.

“Yes pumpkin?” Crowley ignored the discomfort from the others.

“Can I have a hot chocolate?”

“Can you?”

“May I have a hot chocolate please?” She asked again, smiling at him.

Crowley nodded. “Of course you can pumpkin.” He snaps his fingers and a large mug appears on the table next to her, three marshmallows on top.

“Thank you Daddy.”

“You’re welcome,” He watched as she grabs a spoon and instantly eats one of the marshmallows before looking back at the other three. “To answer your question, between Madelyn and I, we have learnt enough to be able to do so. It’s far from perfect, or easy, and there have been a few incidents, but ones we’ve made short work of.”

The uncomfortableness doesn’t ease. “Does she know?”

Crowley nodded, but slowly. “To some extent.” When the silence continued, he looked between them. “Is this something you really want to explain to a four year old?”

They all silently agreed that that option wasn’t currently on the table.

“Okay,” Dean rubbed his eyes. “So, after…that happened, are you saying that you just let her go?”

Crowley smirked, giving a chuckle. “Of course, I had some…pretty good leverage on her after that, more than enough for her to keep her mouth shut, about both Castiel and I and what we were planning.”

“How did she know?” Sam asked, frowning. “You actually told her your plan?”

“At the time she wasn’t going anywhere,” Crowley shrugged. “So I never saw the harm in it, and besides, she kept her word. You three remained clueless until it was far too late.”

“It certainly explains why we still didn’t see her,” Dean said, irritated. “At least not until after Cas had taken on all those souls.”

“Yes, having someone else declare themselves as God, does tend to have that effect on someone,” Crowley said. “Of course that was after we’d discovered a new problem of our own.”

“Why do I have a feeling I know what that was?” Dean said under his breath.

Crowley went to say something in response, but the hair on the back of his neck rose, drawing his attention just as Casey looked up from the table.

“Mummy?” She asked, the front door of the house shutting a moment later.

“Grab her.” Crowley said quickly, getting to his feet as Casey jumped off the chair. “She doesn’t need to see this.”

Sam quickly scooped Casey into her arms, but they all followed after Crowley outside. Madelyn’s back was to them, leaning down on her knees, breathing hard, and Crowley hurried to her side.

Madelyn held out a hand as he went to touch her. “Wait. Give me a moment.”

There was pain in her voice and Casey squirmed in Sam’s arms. “It’s okay, you just have to give her a moment.”

She pouted, but stopped squirming, watching her parents.

Madelyn’s expression was screwed up in pain, her head swimming, but she was still very aware of the others standing there watching. The images burned in her mind, much as they had as she was sleeping, a panic momentarily having overtaken her as she fought herself awake and then desperately needing air.

Forcing air into her lungs, the vision slowly eased, and she could bring herself back to the new problem before her.

She straightened herself out, wiping some of the blood that was dripping from her nose. “Well, here’s to hoping that that didn’t happen. Certainly not how I wanted to be woken up.”

Crowley was there, a gentle hand on her arm as she gave him a pained smile. “I’ll be alright, I’ve had far worse.”

They stared at her when she turned, wiping more blood from her nose, even as Crowley hands her a handkerchief, a tense moment of silence falling.

“You’re getting visions?” Dean asked, anger in his voice, his gaze boring into Madelyn.

Madelyn tried to shrug it off. “It happens occasionally, nothing to worry about.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat. “Or don’t you think I spent enough time around Sammy to know what that means? Do you have any idea-”

“I do, actually,” She said. “And to put it for you simply Dean, mostly because I know you will keep arguing if I don’t, I will die if I don’t.”

“Don’t give me that,” Dean growled. “All of this was bad enough, but now this too. How far does this go?”

Madelyn raised an eyebrow. “Dean, have you actually ever known a human to survive giving birth to a half blood? From any sort of supernatural being? This just…happened.”

A low growl left Dean, but it wasn’t his gaze that she was avoiding, it was Sam’s.

Sam could read the guilt hidden beneath it all. “Maddie…”

She glanced at him and wet her lips a little, the guilt becoming even more evident. “I’m fine Sammy.”

He was having none of it though, his pain echoing hers. “Don’t give me that. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Out of all us, don’t you think I would’ve understood?”

Bobby and Dean looked between them, Crowley sighing softly next to her.

“You don’t owe them an explanation love.” He said quietly, just to her.

Madelyn sighed heavily, indecision weighing on her.

“Wait,” Dean said slowly, his frown deepening. “How long have you been getting visions Maddie?”

“I need to sit,” She said quietly, Crowley’s grip tightening a little on her arm. “Just…let me sit and…I can explain.”

“Mummy, your head is hurting.” Casey said, staring at her.

“I’ll be alright Casey,” Madelyn gave her a soft smile. “Don’t you worry about me. Let’s head back inside and you go back to your drawing, okay?”

She squirmed in Sam’s grip again though, Sam being forced to put her down, so she can go over to Madelyn, who picked her up.

“Casey…” Crowley sighed, and thinks for a moment. “I’ll be back shortly love.”

Madelyn nodded, Crowley vanishing, carrying Casey back into the house, the others following, their expressions grim.

Sitting back on the lounge, Madelyn sighs, brushing Casey’s hair with her fingers. “You’ve been so good through all this. Whatever am I going to do with you growing up so quick?”

Casey pouts a little. “I don’t like you in pain.”

“It happens sometimes, no matter how much we don’t want it to.” Madelyn kissed Casey’s forehead. “When we’re back at home, we’ll try and sort something out again, okay? For now, we have to help Uncle Dean.”

This surprised Dean, who earned Casey’s gaze for a moment, slowly nodding. “Will…that stop him hurting too?”

Madelyn smiled softly. “Hopefully baby.”

Casey seemed to think this over heavily, holding Madelyn’s gaze, before she sighed, something very reminiscent of Crowley, and nods again, her arms wrapping around Madelyn’s neck. “Okay.”

“Good girl,” Madelyn then smiled as Crowley reappeared, a bag in hand. “Now, why don’t you go see what Daddy’s brought you?”

The distraction worked, Casey smiling and climbing from her lap, hurrying over to Crowley, who winked at Madelyn, and crouched down to give her the new toys from the bag.

“Now,” Madelyn said slowly. “I…get that this is difficult to swallow, all of this, but at this point, what’s done is done. Be angry at me or whatever, I suppose you have every right to be, but just…let us finish explaining first.”

“Maddie-”

“I’ll get to it Sam,” Madelyn met his gaze. “I promise. I’ve only ever told one person about it, and even then that was against my better judgement at the time, it was just a shame that the bastard picked up on it, otherwise I very much would’ve taken it to the grave.”

Briefly, she met Crowley’s gaze, who just rolled his eyes.

“If it’s what I think it is,” Bobby said. “You’re in deep shit Mads.”

Madelyn chuckled, shaking her head, as Casey gathered her new toys and quickly disappeared into the next room. Crowley sat next to Madelyn, a hand resting reassuringly on her leg.

“Shall we just start where I left it?” He asked, although quickly chuckling at Sam and Dean’s looks. “Don’t worry, I’ll skip the juicy bits.”

“Considering I know you won’t be discreet,” Madelyn said. “I think that would be best.”

Crowley just smirks at her, and nods. “As you wish darling.”

‘You fucking claimed me???’

Crowley stared at the message on his phone, his mind reeling for a moment before he registered what it was really saying. ‘I'm sure you're mistaken.’

‘There's no mistaking this Crowley.’ The picture came through soon after the text and Crowley stared at it for a long moment and there was little doubt that that was a claim mark on her neck, still angry and raw after two weeks.

Something tugged in the back of his mind and before he thought too much if it, his hand reached up to his own neck and finds the very faint outline of teeth. It had been bothering him for days, or, now that he thought about it, since they'd been together, but he never considered something like this. He didn’t even recall doing it, and judging by her anger directed at him, neither did she.

‘Well, that complicates things a little. Looks like you weren’t much better.’

‘A fucking little??? Are you fucking kidding me??? Do you even understand the implications of this?’

‘What you think is bad for you is ten times worse for me, I assure you. I also don't approve of your tone.’

‘Fuck my tone and fuck you. This is bullshit. I do not belong to you. It was bad enough practically being forced to sleep with you.’

Crowley smirked to himself. ‘We'll see who's saying that when their next heat hits.’

‘Fuck you. I'll have my fucking angel blade ready. I will not be some sort of pawn.’

‘Oh? Getting into the kinky stuff already?’

He got no response to that and couldn't help but chuckle, despite knowing that the two of them would have to discuss this properly, no matter how much they didn't want to.

This was not part of the plan.

Nor, was it very good timing, he thought to himself, glancing around at the shitty trailer he’d had to take refuge in.

“Winchester’s.” He said to himself, taking a drink. “It always seems to be the Winchester’s.”

Madelyn herself was having a mental crisis, pacing her motel room, her hand constantly finding the mark on her neck, much to her own disgust. She had no idea how something like this could’ve happened, with a demon of all things, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

She didn’t understand how neither of them hadn’t realised.

Crowley had been right, they could completely avoid this, but only until her next heat, where there would only be one person she’d be able to think of now. It was infuriating to think that she was now stuck like this, and even more infuriating to know that it was her own stubbornness that caused it.

Sighing, she sat on the end of the bed, glancing at his last message and deciding to ignore it.

‘Do you have any suggestions?’

There was a long pause to this, which made her frown, her foot tapping on the floor, not wanting to let her mind get away from her, even as the bite gave another painful throb.

Finally, her phone buzzed with his response. ‘Oh? I would recommend something much safer for me for starters.’

It took a moment for her to realise what he was saying, a low growl leaving her. ‘Fuck off Crowley. Be serious about this.’

Madelyn knew that he’d be laughing at that, but it just made her grit her teeth more.

‘Well, talking about it in person would be much better to start with.’ He replied. ‘Would you like to meet somewhere in particular, or should I just come to you?’

She wasn’t having that, so they arranged to meet in a small café the next day. Madelyn wasn’t overly happy about it, but she figured a public place would at least stop some of the comments she knew were coming her way.

Crowley was waiting for her when she turned up, greeting her with a smirk. “Wonderful to see you again darling.”

Madelyn huffed as she sat. “Don’t give me that. There’s nothing wonderful about this.”

He eyed the scarf around her next, hiding his mark. He didn’t like it, but he kept that to himself. “Don’t be so down. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that Castiel, or God, as he’s currently calling himself, has informed me he won’t do anything about it.”

“Cas is-”

“I’m sorry,” Dean cut in loudly. “Cas knew about this?”

Crowley smirked. “Feather’s can actually keep a secret when he wants to, and seeing as he knew how the two of you in particular would react to such news, he knew it was wiser to do so.”

Dean muttered something under his breath, pulling out his phone and sending a message.

“Cas is God?” Madelyn asked. “What the hell happened?”

Crowley shook his head. “Hardly the point at the moment. What is, is that your mark on me was the only thing that saved me from being fried by our “new lord”.”

Madelyn frowned. “What?”

He tugged at his collar a little, enough to reveal the mark on his own neck. “Didn’t want to stir up your brothers more than they already are. We both know what would’ve happened.”

“Yeah,” She said bitterly. “Which is what we’re meant to be talking about here.”

“In due time love,” Crowley said casually, fixing his collar back up. “Did you want a drink? Seems a bit odd to just be sitting here talking.”

With great reluctance, she ordered, the two of them sitting in silence for a moment.

“Now, before we get into the nitty gritty of now,” Crowley said, just as she went to talk. “I do have a question to ask you.”

“Of course you do.” Madelyn said, frowning. “Why can’t things just be simple with you?”

But she quickly realised that this was going to be a serious question, something in his gaze telling her that this was something else. Tension shot down her spine, but she made no further reaction.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” He said, breaking away from her gaze, stirring a sugar into his coffee. “In the time between yesterday and today, that there was something different about you, and I’m not just talking about that lovely new mark on you that you are hiding.”

Madelyn shifted uncomfortably, playing with the scarf a little. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do love,” Crowley looked at her and held her gaze. “See, as I was reflecting on our time together, trying exactly to pinpoint when this lovely claiming happened, which was on the third day, if you were curious, I couldn’t help but think that there was something…unusual about the taste of your blood.”

“I wasn’t curious,” Madelyn said indignantly. “But thanks for that, I guess. As for my blood, I wouldn’t have a clue.”

But Crowley’s gaze was piercing, seeing straight through the lie, even as he kept his expression passive. “It’s faint, but it’s there. There’s demon in you Madelyn.”

“No,” Bobby said loudly. “Don’t you dare do that to us Mads.”

Madelyn looked at Bobby guiltily. “I’m sorry Bobby, I am. I never told anyone because I never thought anyone would believe me. For a long time I’d even convinced myself that it was a bad dream, at least until Sam started to go through some things.”

“So John didn’t even know?” He asked angrily and Madelyn shook her head, causing him to curse. “How did this happen?”

Crowley gave her leg a gentle squeeze.

Madelyn sighed. “When Sammy was born, I was fascinated, as most brothers and sisters are, so I would often sneak into his room after we were meant to be in bed.”

A silence followed as the three of them realised what this meant.

Sam swallowed. “So…you were there?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I was there.”

That hung heavily in the room for a moment.

Dean's anger broke through first. “You saw Mum die, and you never thought to fucking tell us?”

“Do you think I even really understood it at the time?” Madelyn asked, her voice quiet. “Any of it for that matter? I've dealt with this on my own for years Dean. With everything else we've been through, could you have really dealt with that too?”

“You had no right to keep that from us Maddie,” Dean growled. “From Dad least of all!”

She chuckled and shook her head. “Yes, I'm sure he would've appreciated having his heart broken again, and then to have the extra knowledge on top of what he worked out about Sam? He didn't need that Dean.”

“Is that why Azazel could possess you so easily?” He asked.

“Yes,” Crowley answered for her, a warning tone in his voice. “And if you don't back down Dean, you and I are going to have an issue.”

“It's alright Crowley,” Madelyn said softly. “He is allowed to be angry. I always knew they would be.”

“This is...a lot Maddie,” Sam said as Dean growled, agitatedly getting up. “The implications of it...”

“I wasn't the same as you Sam,” Madelyn said. “I was...an experiment. He found it most amusing.”

Crowley glanced at her, knowing how hard this was, as much as he'd never said anything at the time. As the two of them got to know each other, he saw that weight on her shoulders, and he wished that there was something he could do to ease it.

“Okay Mads,” Bobby said slowly, his voice passive. “What exactly has this meant for you?”

#supernatural #the demon the hunter and the halfblood #crowley #crowley x original female character #long fic #fic series #crowley fridays #sister winchester #alpha x omega #a/b/o

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