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#two they could’ve USED THAT as another argument why dean “wasn’t himself
watermelonlipstick · 3 years
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Dreams, Chapter 11
If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:
When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.
Title: Dreams, Chapter 11
Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 2616
Summary: Another dream makes things more clear for the reader and less clear for Sam.
Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w  b u r n
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           The booths are those plastic-coated pressboard swoops that are so easy to clean, one row down either side of the long room once you walk past the counter to order. Like other pizza places, there are red pepper flakes and grated parmesan on the table, but they also keep ranch dressing in a minifridge behind the counter as a concession to Midwestern sensibilities. You know you’re just outside Dayton just like you know the pizza shop is run by a family, father and two older teenage daughters deftly throwing dough and scattering cheese evenly over it in a way that shows their years of practice. Dean sits across the table with his elbows on it, one forefinger and thumb picking through a plate of nachos between you. His black t-shirt, amulet, and lack of flannel make you notice the hum of the air conditioner in the background, straining over the 90’s alternative radio and reminding you that you’d been here in a heat stroke the summer after you and Dean had gotten together, his golden freckles and lightened tips of his slightly messy hair underlining the memory.
           “They don’t serve nachos here.” It’s half statement and half question.
           “Babe, it’s your dream. They’ll serve whatever you want. Does the pizza suck in Wisconsin or something?”
           The two sisters are whispering to each other as they look over at your table, an almost-argument that ends with who you suspect is the older sister poofing a pinch of flour into the other’s face. They’re both cute girls but she’s adorable, soft cherubic cheeks and messy bun piling impossibly glossy hair on her head as she walks over to the table with a gigantic pizza. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks in a perfect welcoming cheerleader pitch.
           “I think we’re good for now, sweetheart,” Dean purrs with a wink. That you remember; you’d playfully chastised Dean for dazzling the teens, laughing in his face when he’d said it wasn’t on purpose, that he couldn’t help it if chicks dug him. The wink had proved your point then and now it makes the girl’s cheeks flush red.
           She catches herself remarkably well, the stammer almost slipping under the radar as she assures you that you can “holler if you need anything!”
           Dean brushes his fingers free of nacho debris and loosens a piece of pizza from the melting cheese of the ones next to it. “Last time you had all kinds of sweet nothings and questions for me and now you’re Silent Cal?”
           “I don’t think this is real, but I’m pretty sure if I push it you’ll either die in this dream or I’ll wake up, so my plan is to stay here as long as we can.”
           He drops the pizza back into the box and wipes off his fingers on a napkin before slouching into the booth, arm stretched across its length. “So test me then. Gimme a question only I would know or something.”
           “Well if I ask you something that I know the answer to, my brain will just project you knowing it. See the problem?”
           Dean squints and pouts in consideration, touch of a smile dancing across his face and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen may you be struck dead right now. “Then ask me something you don’t know the answer to.”
           You think about explaining how that too could just be some part of your subconscious recreation of Dean but you don’t want to keep pulling at loose strings in the event that it wakes you up. It’s too hard to keep from smiling, seeing Dean charming and relaxed like this, and when you grin it makes Dean bite his lip. “What’s something I don’t know the answer to?”
           “Ah, ah—I thought I’m just a hologram, how would I know?”
           “Projection, but okay,” you stall. “Wait, here’s one. Sam said when I first started going on jobs with you guys that you had to have a conversation about staying focused. What was that all about?”
           He runs his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Man, why would he tell you that?” he says under his breath, smirking mostly to himself before leaning forward to meet your eyes. “Fine. I’m not even sure that you’re going to remember this. There was a vengeful spirit in Indiana, some like homesteader guy, ring a bell?”
           You have only the vaguest sense of recollection and sort of waggle your head to show it.
           “It was way at the beginning of when you started coming on jobs with us. You and Bobby got into it because he wanted you to bring your own car so you could ditch us if we were ‘acting like cretins’ or some shit like that?”
           That fits the last puzzle piece in for you and makes you chuckle. “He ended up giving me like $250 of mad money in case I needed a new room or a bus ticket, yeah. I remember.”
           “I didn’t know that part but that’s gotta be the same trip. The whole thing was really stupid. Basically we were supposed to have your six but both me and Sammy wanted to carry a shotgun instead of doing that protection spell because it looked cooler. We were arguing about it when the spirit whipped a chunk of the barn’s scaffolding at you and we didn’t catch it in time. You heard it coming and ducked so nothing ended up happening, but it fucking demolished the wall behind you. It was a huge fuckup—thing could’ve taken your head clean off, you know? Sam was so broken up about it he was wasted for like a week solid after we dropped you back off at Bobby’s.”
           “Really? That doesn’t sound like him at all.”
           “I know, usually he does some kind of pouty baby bullshit. But I mean both of us felt really guilty that bitching at each other could’ve taken you out.”
           Dean’s eyes rake over your face, seeming to linger over every inch like he’s going to draw a topographical map of it later by memory. You can tell he’s waiting for you to say something but you can’t think of anything other than tracing each of his freckles where they dust across his nose.
           A hand reaches over the table to run his fingertips along the back of yours, and that certainly feels real enough to send an ache into your gut. “What if you ask Sam? If he says that’s not what happened then you can keep saying I’m not real and you don’t have to listen to me.”
           “But he already basically told me that. The only thing I probably wouldn’t have guessed about that is Sam getting drunk about it—these could’ve been just well-informed guesses about when it probably was or the kinds of things it seemed like he was implying.”
           His lips press into a firm line and the barest touch of pink rises in his cheeks. “We, um, we pinky swore on it.”
           The adorableness of his embarrassment makes you grin teasingly as much as the divulgence does. “A pinky promise? You guys must’ve been pretty serious to take such a sacred oath.”
           He rolls his eyes at your ribbing and throws his hands back in his lap with a defeated smirk. “Laugh it up. Would that be good enough proof for you?”
           It seems like Dean has figured out a loophole in the system, but you’re sure the light of day and Sam’s scrutiny will figure out why it isn’t actual evidence of communication with Dean beyond death, and you tell him that.
           A curtain of suspicious confusion falls over Dean’s face. “Sam being weird about it is what’s keeping you from trusting this? Kid, I’ve been talking to Sa—”
           And you woke up.
           The bed was empty next to you but you could smell something sweet in the air and hear the light clinking of pots or pans Sam was trying his best to keep quiet. You blinked back a few tears of frustration—who even cared if it was real or not? Reliving a great memory with Dean was more than enough and instead of enjoying it you’d wasted a chance at some small respite from your constant ache of grief. And even then, you hadn’t used any of your time to figure out how the whole thing worked, how you could see him again.
           But the most pressing issue was what you thought Dean had been trying to say before disappearing; that he had gotten through to Sam. Sam, of course, deserved to have secrets, but if he had been sitting on the resolution to all the angst you’d been struggling through in the last weeks (months?), you couldn’t imagine a reason why that wouldn’t hurt. Nothing would be solved by laying in your bed to sulk about it, though, so you threw on some clothes and went to brush your teeth.
           When you came out, Sam was hunched slightly, the standard stove highlighting his decidedly non-standard height as he shuffled a pan’s handle. He had a dishtowel over his t-shirt clad shoulder, a habit from the bar that sometimes held over when he was in the kitchen at home, and bare feet under old jeans. They were wearing through at the knees, and you knew they were absolutely pajama-soft from having periodically thrown them in with your own laundry. Through the kitchen window, enough snow-brightened sunlight came into the room to cast him in a halo glow that gleamed off of his hair. As long as it had gotten, chunks still swept into his face as he looked down at the stove, and he tucked one behind his ear as he looked up, half-singing a Buddy Guy song that was playing softly. It was stunning—he was stunning, statuesque and strong and right there in front of you. Cooking you breakfast while you slept in, of all things, chocolate chip pancakes he had to have remembered were your favorite from ages ago. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d had them and right now, nothing in the world sounded better. He beamed and tilted the pan toward you. “Morning! I made pancakes, you want some?”
           And you should’ve just let the moment rest, sat in the rare bright winter morning and eaten chocolate chip pancakes and relished how well the boiler was working, maybe later in the day read a predictable murder mystery or taped off the living room to be painted and listened to REM until your shoulders were sore from running rollers up the walls all afternoon. Instead, about as stupid and weird a flop as if a toad had come out of your mouth, you said, “Have you been talking to Dean too?”
           Sam’s face fell but not in the right way. There was too much angle in his brow and that confirmed it. “What?” he asked, but it didn’t land.
           “How long have you been talking to Dean?”
           He kept that curious smile for a second, like maybe he could push through by playing dumb and you would forget, but finally his lips flattened and his jaw clenched as he stacked a finished pancake on top of its predecessors. “Just because I’m having dreams about him doesn’t mean it’s really him,” he finally answered, softly and as though he was telling the bubbling pancake batter in front of him, unable to meet your eyes.
           You felt the lump forming in your throat and tried to get the words out ahead of its solidifying. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
           “For what?” He let go of the pan and turned toward you, supporting his weight on the countertop. “So we can both—”
           “Both what? Be delusional? Is that what you were going to say?”
           Sam didn’t answer, but the set of his jaw was firm and he kept his eyes locked on yours.
           “He told me you were drunk for a week after the hunt you were talking about.” You watched as Sam’s pupils widened a touch. “And that you didn’t just promise each other to buckle down, you pinky swore.” Sam’s Adam’s apple jumped in his throat. “It’s true, isn’t it? I can see in your face that it is. Did you already know it’s really him?”
           He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw. “I was pretty sure. Or at least I really hoped I was pretty sure.”
           You felt more than consciously allowed your mouth’s falling open. “How? How long?”
           “It just—I don’t know, it just felt different. I—uh, the first time was after we made those cupcakes; he asked about the cupcakes.”
           You slumped against the countertop opposite him, speechless. He shoved the pan off the hot burner a little too hard, put a palm on either side of the stove to brace himself. The two of you stood like that for a long minute, the smell of chocolate not matching the stiff heaviness in the air at all.
           “I don’t—what if it’s not real?” His throat sounded bound even though you couldn’t see his face, hulking mass of him spread across the tiny kitchen.
           He seemed so defeated, so young, and then you couldn’t believe how selfish you’d been, not putting two and two together that something challenging Sam’s grip on or understanding of reality must shove him back to the brain melting torture he’d endured in the cage and the months—years, maybe, he was always so tight-lipped about it—afterward. What the fuck were you thinking, not seeing it before, how this could seem like a perfectly laid trap for Sam, the most poetic way to whip his mind into stiff peaks of meringue. It made so much sense why he would need time to really suss it out, see the situation from all angles and investigate, check and re-check. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes but you blinked them away. This was not about you or your complicated need for him, it was about Sam, what he’d been through, what he was likely putting himself through even now.
           “The, um, the pancakes smell really good.”
           “Yeah?” There was half a laugh behind his words, humorless as it was. “I hope they’re okay, I know they’re your, uh, your favorite.”
           “I’m surprised you remembered.”
           Sam leaned on one arm to rub his face with his other hand. “Yeah, well.”
           “Can I help?”
           After a beat, he stood up and offered some space next to him on the stove. You worked hip to hip, sprinkling the chocolate chips while Sam flipped. He was scraping the last of the batter into a last little runt pancake with a spatula when you couldn’t help yourself and wrapped your arms around his waist. He seemed surprised, if sad, before setting down the bowl and covering as much of you as he could, folding over you like a protective shell. It reminded you of that dirty motel room, months and months ago, when Sam held you together as you cracked in his arms. All he could do then was be steadfast in reminding you he was still there, if nothing else was, and you hoped you were able to give him the same now.
           You silently laid two place settings on the kitchen counter while Sam set the food out. He sat next to you and had picked up his fork when you touched his wrist to still him. “If it’s not real for you then I’m losing it too.”
           Sam thought for a second, then raised his forearm and kissed the back of your hand where you held onto him before cutting into his pancakes.
-
Continue to Dreams, Chapter 12
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allisonbaelfire · 3 years
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The One that was once Mine
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Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader
Summary: Dean was now on his own again and got lost while driving at night, where he met another hunter. Y/N Kyle. She was a famous vampire hunter, but more of a myth as no one had ever seen or really knew her. Who was she and could he trust her?
Chapter Summary: Dean and Sam had an argument, which is why Sam decided to be alone for a while. Dean got lost because Sammy was actually the one who always said where to go. When he wanted to look at the map, he noticed a woman covered in blood.
Words: 1,810
Authors Note: Summerbreak is over Ladies and Gentleman, I’m back.
This is an Supernatural AU! This story isn’t based on special season, but it still happens in the beginning before the angels came.
____________________________________
Now:
“You’ve a place in my heart no one else ever could’ve.”
Dean looked at the tombstone and placed a red rose under the picture, the woman who still occupied his heart even after her death. Dean tried to suppress his tears when he saw the picture on the stone. He took a deep breath and turned around, he couldn’t look at the tombstone without his heart bleeding inside.
_______
Then:
Dean and Sam had an argument that broke the barrel for Sam. When he saw a bus stop, he brought Dean and his Impala to stop and got out of the car with his things.
“Oh Sammy, come on.” Dean lifted his arms up as his younger brother was about to leave. “Where do you want to go? Just take a god damn Bus and take off?”
Sam stopped and took a deep breath. "Anywhere." He turned and looked at Dean. Sam was tired. "I need some time out, I have to think."
Dean didn't know what to do, on one side he understood his brother, Sam emphasized often how tired he was of hunting and he was still so young. Dean has always wished that he could live a different life but on the other side, their father had disappeared, there was no time for a break. It made Dean angry to see how selfish Sam was.
Dean shook his head. “Just go.” 
Sam let his head down a bit. There was no point in arguing with his big brother, it never was. Before Sam could even raise his arm to say goodbye, Dean said "I'll find you when I need you", then he turned around and drove off with the Impala. Dean looked in the rearview mirror and saw Sam getting into the bus.
_______
He was very worried about Sam. He was afraid of losing his brother too, now were his father was nowhere to be found. But he was also angry, angry that Sam just left him by himself. 
Dean tried to distract himself and turned on his favorite AC/DC CD, The Razors Edge. He wanted to sing along, but he couldn't get out more than a mumble. He was thinking too much.
Dean wasn’t used to drive alone anymore, usually Sam told him where the next stop was and through his thoughts he wasn't really paying attention to where he was going. He was lost. Dean stopped at the side of the road, got out of the car, and went to the trunk. 
 He looked for the map but couldn't find it. "God damn it!" he slammed the trunk shut.
“You freakin’ vampires, I’ll kill all of you!” 
A woman's voice that sounded so tender despite being angry caught Dean's attention. It took him a moment. "Vampires"? 
The voice wasn't far away. Dean went back to his trunk, got his knife and two pistols and decided to look for the woman.
But she was faster. What initially looked like a speeding shadow, quickly turned into a woman covered in blood, with a long knife in her left hand, that Dean had never seen before.
“In the car, hurry!” She shouted.
Dean couldn't move, the situation was confusing him. She walked past him and got behind the wheel of his car. 
“In the car now, or I’ll drive off.”
Dean jumped over his cowling to get into the passenger seat. As soon as he saw it in his own car, the unknown woman drove off with screeching tires.
_______
“What the hell, Lady?”
Dean finally found words again. It almost hurt him seeing how the unknown woman next to him drove his baby, and how she smeared his steering wheel with blood. Also, it was very strange for him to sit in the passenger seat.
She didn't say a word, which confused Dean and also angered him. Still, he looked at her to see if it was her blood or someone else's.
“Are you okay?” He asked in a softer tone.
She nodded. “I didn’t mean to scare you, or steal your car for that matter.”
She had a soft and warm voice, but Dean noticed that she was still very stressed.
“You know where you’re going?” 
She grinned slightly, she tried so hard to get them both as far away as possible, that she hadn't given it any thought where to go next. 
She shook her head. “Nope, do you’ve a map?” She looked at him.
It was the first time that he could really see her, even when it was dark, there was something beautiful about her silhouette.
Dean looked at her a bit too long to really see something, "so?" she asked. Dean was glad that it was dark, he felt that it was dark, he grinned because he felt caught out.
“Usually, I’m the driver and my brother shows me the way, so I have no idea where he put the map.” He replied.
“Maybe its right in front of you.” She spoke.
It took Dean a minute, the he opened the compartment in the dashboard. “Damn it, Sammy.”
She chuckled a little. “So where’s the next motel?”
“30 km straight ahead and then left.” 
_______
By the time they got to the motel it was past midnight.
“I don’t know if we’ll get a room here.” Dean said as he looked around. “Looks tiny and dark.”
“You can have my blanket, if you need to hide under it.”  She replied while looking around to find out where to check in.
“I’m not afraid.” 
“Yup.” Then she glided past him.
_______
“Hey, we need two rooms.”
“Separated rooms.”  Dean insisted on making that clear while faking a smile.
The woman standing in front of the two was paralyzed when she saw them both in front of her. She wondered why they needed a room so late and why she was covered in blood. But she also thought it would be better not to ask questions, she ran a motel, and strange characters appeared often.
“We- we only have one more room le-left.” She replied while trying not to stare at them.
“Fine.” Dean rolled his eyes, while the Motel Dame gave him the keys.”We’ll leave tomorrow, don’t worry.”He smiled.
_______
Dean opened the door to the motel room and the unknown woman, of whom he still didn't know the name, strolled in first.
“One bed, I probably should shower first.” She joked as she looked around. “You can have-”
Dean closed the door behind him. He pulled out his colt and the second he tried to unlock it, she turned around in a flash and pointed a knife at his neck.
“Ah-ah, I wouldn’t do such stupid things if I were you.” She spoke soft as his green eyes starred at her’s trying to figure out what was going on. “You’re Dean Winchester, I should’ve known by the Impala but I was to distracted-” She locked her eyes with his and noticed tiny specks of yellow, “to safe your ass.”
He tried not to swallow while the knife was so close to his throat. “I think my Baby and I saved you. Who the hell are you?”  Dean managed to hold his knife to her ribs unnoticed.” He looked mischievously at his knife, he wanted her to notice. 
Dean’s effort amused her, “My name is Y/N, Y/N Kyle.” She took a few steps away from Dean.
“The Vampire hunter.” He remembered.
Sam had told Dean that he heard of a rumor, a rumor that made the rounds around hunters for a long time, a woman who was digging out vampire nests all by herself and she was very successfully.
“If you don't want your famous Winchester hand to be missing a finger, I would recommend you put the knife back, slowly.” Y/N had a menacing undertone while she put her knife on the bedside table. 
Dean thought she would be reckless for a hunter to turn her back on him like that. But maybe he was the reckless one all along.
“I can’t believe this.” He mumbled and put the knife back. 
He would always help someone in need, that’s just what he does and it was the middle of the night when he heard her, but she clearly said vampires. How couldn’t he have noticed that she was a Hunter? And what's more, it could have been a trap, it could still be a trap he didn’t saw any Vampire.
“You don’t trust me.” She could tell by his body language. “Chill, if I wanted you dead, you’d be.” Y/N gave him a soft smile.
Dean lifted the corner of his mouth sarcastically. He thought about leaving Y/N here, she was safe and she was right, Dean didn't trust her. He could just get in the Impala and drive on.
“You won’t drive,”
Dean tilted his head slightly, could she now read thoughts and how could she say something like that? She didn't know him.
He crossed his arms. “-What? Why wouldn’t I?” Y/N triggered something in him but Dean didn't know what it was.
Y/N pulled off her shirt. She couldn't stand the smell of blood and sweat for a second longer. Dean turned around when he saw that she was undressing, but she still hadn't answered his question.
“Because it’s the middle of the night, you’ve nowhere else to go and besides that you’re alone and a not so un-famous hunter. Every monster will be after you when they notice you’re on your own.” Dean raised his eyebrows. “Besides that you’re curious why I ran.” She pointed out.
Y/N noticed that Dean felt uncomfortable when he ran his hands through his hair. She sometimes forgot that she could be intimidating when she analyzed people, she often did so unconsciously, especially after another mission when she was not around any other humans for a long time.
“I have nothing to wear, my car is about 80 km away. I can take a bus tomorrow but it would be nice, if you could lend me a shirt and let me take a shower now.” 
Y/N tried to sound nice, where Dean also saw that she was exhausted. “Sure, I’ll get my stuff, I’ll take the key with me but I’ll knock twice before I come in.” He wanted to make sure that Y/N could feel safe, he thought maybe she could use that.
_______
Dean went to his Impala, he sighed. He was clearly overwhelmed by today. Still worried about where Sam might be, he opened his car, got his stuff from the backseat and locked the car again. 
Y/N had a point, he wouldn’t drive away just like that. Y/N was right about the things she said but Dean thought that not only was he alone, she was too and who knows what she had to go through today.
_______
I hope you liked the first part of The One that was once Mine, please leave a small comment, it’d make my day. :)
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tintentrinkerin · 3 years
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Harness & Spears
Chapter 5: Father’s Eyes
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Researching for a case a year after they quit first feels weird to Sam, he has to get used to all the programs, his usual agenda. Today it’s so much easier with some computer skills. No more libraries, no more grainy scans of articles in local papers. Today, you just have to open a search engine app on your phone or a computer and you will be able to find dozens of cases in an hour or two. Of course, there’s still the work of sorting the wheat from the chaff, but Jack is a big help. They sit in the library together and go search for cases. Cas is really sweet to them, just like a butler he offers hot beverages and sandwiches, even though Sam must really hold him back to go full on “Yes, sir”. They want a case, and there are hundreds of them, but also, after Jack became God he brought all the hunters back that Chuck had banished. Donna and Jody, a couple now, as they announced just months after Jack’s ascend, and her girls, all in the hunter business. They heard from Eileen sporadically, but after all that happened and how uneasy Sam felt about the whole manipulation (and he was absolutely certain Chuck pulled the strings there, even though, when they originally met, Sam was drawn to her - but nothing more), she kept her distance and operated in Ireland and also all over Europe. The hunters from the other universe also just hunted in small groups. Charlie and her girlfriend retired for good. And Sam was still bitter about his own behaviour - projecting ‘his’ Charlie on this woman, who was so much different. He knew she hacked some computers every now and then to prank some potential Dicks. Sam was connected to the hunters, most of them. He has been clear about him and Dean, Cas (and later Jack) not going hunting anymore. But now things changed and Sam needed to check if any other hunters were on the cases him and Jack might find interesting. Running in another couple of hunting buddies is not a problem on a personal level, but the mutual sabotage will happen. It’s Murphy’s Law. That’s why Sam has a plan. They will take cases other hunters wouldn’t like to do. There are several reasons for hunting in the first place and reasons which cases to pursue and which not. Let noble monster hunting and cleansing the world be some hunter’s motivation, revenge, the thrill (some people really were that sick and hunted monsters for the kicks) and of course. The money. Oh yes, the money. But the Winchester conglomerate doesn’t worry about money, that’s why Sam won’t look for cases that have to do with wealthy people or towns announcing rewards. Also, when he knew the kind of monster and that a lot of hunters were after these creatures for killing their kin or loved ones, he better didn’t interfere. You could hunt monsters for their venom or psychic abilities, their blessings or whatever. Something a friend of Dean did not so long ago and got himself killed for it.
It shouldn’t be anything exotic, the New Age brought new monsters, at least that’s what Jack says.
“I was God, yes, and I knew everything that Chuck knew, but believe it or not, not even Chuck knew all of his creatures. His mind is packed with the stuff he wanted to do or not to do - if you ask me he was a little like George R. R. Martin. Got lost in his own massive universe and all the detail. I tried to give all of it structure, that’s why some things on Earth changed, but after some time I thought my head would explode and I uh, outsourced some good stuff in new universes. Amara is way better in doing all of that, she created way more universes and new forms of life as I did. She and her brother - don’t get me started.”
Jack looks exhausted. “Does it sound weird, Sam? That I wanted to be down here with you, all of you, but especially you, and give Amara all that power?”
Sam smiles about Jack’s outbreak and that he obviously read Game of Thrones. “No, it’s not weird. You were with Amara and I bet she’s very pleasant company but she wasn’t what you longed for. You didn’t want to be God who’s in every drop of rain, and all that. It was noble and pure hearted and generous of you to try, but you were allowed to fail. But, speaking of Game of Thrones, I have a few questions regarding--”
Sam is rudely interrupted in his chatter with Jack when Dean comes into the library and sits down two chairs away from Jack. Jack immediately gets up.
“Uh, Sam, I will -errm, go pack my bags. I think you will find a good case.”
Sam sighs.
“I’ll be with you soon, baby. Just gimme a minute.”
Jack is quick as a flash and out of sight within seconds.
Dean scoffs while thudding his mug on the table. Coffee pours out and stains the wood.
“Easy on the furniture Dean, it’s not your enemy”, Sam says without looking up. He can’t show Dean his face right now or he will just erupt. He feels the heat in his cheeks and a hot tickle up his neck. Since Dean threw a mug after Sam yesterday they haven’t seen each other and to be frank, Sam could totally renounce any other encounter with Dean for a while. Plus, Sam has a hickey, because Jack went a little passionate, clingy and possessive last night, for whatever reason.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you and… baby. ” The last word is like venom. As always. Dean wants to start another fight.
“I remember that I heard you calling Cas ‘daddy’ multiple times. You think that was really soothing for my wild imagination?”
“You call Jack what he is. A baby.”
“Another word, Dean, and you know I’ll knock you out. I have enough of your bullshit. You act like a jealous housewife. No, wait, more like a cuck!”
Dean scoffs and leaves.
“Do whatever you want, but don’t do it when I’m around or I’ll tear him apart.”
Sam sits here in shock. He has heard a lot from Dean about Jack, he has always been nasty to him and yes, even threatened to kill him twice, even was willing to execute him as part of Chuck’s evil plan. Yes, he was bitter about Mary and hell, how bitter Dean has been as Jack brought so many people back. All the ‘others’: Bobby and Charlie with her girlfriend. All these people. He brought Eileen back, and Dean thought it was to make Sam happy (and yes, that has been Jack’s intention, but ultimately it didn’t) and he was resistant to the arguments, that Mary was happy with John, she didn’t want to go back in this world she never felt like she fit in. He couldn’t be comforted by the messages Jack as a medium brought to Dean, that Mary loved him no matter what and that she will be happy when they meet again. Nothing could’ve soothed Dean’s aching. Sam understands that he’s hurt, but now, it just feels like Dean is angry at Jack for simply existing and then being so bold to love Sam.
Jack brought Cas back for Dean. He had risked a feud with the Empty that could only be avoided by Amara and Jack forcefully put the Regent of the Empty asleep. The Empty wasn’t sealed though, Rowena still reigned in hell, and still demons went to the Empty. But there are no angels on Earth anymore, Jack has naphil powers and even Cas regained some faint strength back, but Jack didn’t make new angels.
Jack really built a world in which it was possible for Dean and Cas to be together, he risked being invaded and maybe killed, since no one knows how really powerful the Empty was.
Why is nothing Jack does, no matter how universe shattering, unbelievably cosmic and holy and insane it is, not finally letting Dean the old grudge go?
It seems like everything he does just makes it worse.
Sam hides his face and in the safety of his own palms he allows to cry in fear for his own spiteful brother and soulmate. This will end badly if they don’t find a way to reconcile.
“You have to stop that, Dean” Cas says when Dean is back in the Deancave.
Cas is in his robe, nothing beneath. He looks pale and a little skinny. The last weeks have been hard on him and Dean knows it’s his fault. He makes his angel boyfriend sick. And yet he’s sick himself, and he’s kicking and fighting, with talons and teeth, words and throwing things after his brother. Also, he erupts the second Cas dares to mention it.
“Stop with what?”, he asks.
He picks the remote and wants to turn on the TV, loud metal music blasting but with a snap of a finger, the TV silent and it won’t turn back on.
“Castiel. Don’t fuck with me, I swear, I’m not in the mood.”
“You’re ‘not in the mood’ for weeks, maybe months. Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Why won’t you let me help?”
Dean’s eyes narrow dangerously as he faces the seraph.
“Help? How could you help? My brother fucks a toddler.”
Cas sighs and it sounds so endlessly sad. Defeated. Dean doesn’t want to see it, acknowledge it, that he is indeed very wrong. Jack is no toddler, Jack is no brat, Jack is so mighty he could really smite the whole bunker with a hiccup still, even though he’s not God anymore. Dean should be so damn careful. Dean should see how much Jack begs for his forgiveness and his approval.
But Dean can’t. And Dean won’t.
“Dean.”
Dean is so full of sorrow and fear, it hurts to hear his own name so gentle, so loving yet somehow fatherly. Cas loves him and Dean should be happy. He has been happy. The Empty had taken him away and Jack had fought to get him back. So they could be a family.
But this isn’t family to Dean. He’s around the person he loves the most, the person he loves with a burning, blinding insanity. He will never be happy like this.
Cas dares to come closer, around two steps away, offers Dean a hand. Dean can’t even look at him but he takes Cas’s hand and then pulls him in a desperate embrace.
“Shit, ‘m sorry, Cas. I don’t want to fight with you.”
It’s been a while, actually the last time Dean slept with Cas was the night when Jack asked him if Sam gay. This question is carved under his skin and if you look closely, you can see them shine through like thin red scars.
The streak won’t break today either.
“Will he ever stop hating me?”, Jack asks.
He has his suitcase packed, same as a backpack with snacks, water, headphones, his teddy Marvelous Marvin, a powerbank and, something he’s very proud of - his own angel blade. The only angels on earth are Jack and Castiel but the blade kills monsters just as well. He kneads the bundle of the purple blanket in his lap when he looks up to Sam.
Sam’s still tense from before, his eyes red and narrow, Sam must look like he didn’t sleep much or has been on a bender.
“I don’t know… I wish I knew what’s wrong with him.”
With a deep sigh Sam sinks beside Jack on the mattress. The bed creaks and a spring nudges in Sam’s butt cheek. Either they need a new mattress or they move in a room together, but Sam doesn’t dare to talk about these things yet. So far, he’s happy about the privacy. But he’s also constantly longing for Jack - a stalemate.
Jack leans against Sam’s shoulder and shyly feels for Sam’s hand. Sam is too glad to take it, intertwine their fingers and kiss Jack’s knuckles.
“It makes me sick, Sam. I’m afraid all the time he’s around. I’m afraid he might want to…”
“Hurt you?”
Jack nods, his lips a thin line.
“I won’t let him. And most of all, you won’t let him. Right?”
Another silent nod.
“Don’t worry about it now, our bags are packed and I found a case. I told you about the parameters I used to find a case no one else would investigate, and this one here is especially weird, but not weird enough for us to follow, and a bit boring, but not boring enough for us to NOT follow it. We’ve been to haunted houses before, right?”
“Yes, it’s mostly vengeful spirits or poltergeists, right?”
Sam nods. “Yes, exactly. Sometimes triggered by the plans of tearing the house down, the same can happen with big bodies of water, when they are threatened to be dried out, spirits of people who drowned will start going on a rampage. Haunted houses are like level 1 of every hunter. Rocksalt, shotgun, holy water, fire. Boom, ghost gone.”
Jack frowns a little. “Really, we’re going on a case that any newbie hunter could solve?”
Sam chuckles.
“Yep.”
It’s absolutely a thinly veiled reason to go on a hunt, but it’s the same that Dean and Cas did weeks ago when Jack sneaked out. In the end they also ‘just’ took on a vampire nest with five vamps and their Creator and the rest of the time they had a blast in Vegas, why should Sam not do the same? He wants to be alone with Jack, because Dean definitely ruined the pleasant experience of the tantra massage. Sam had been so happy back then and oh, crap, he was close to do more to Jack than just the massage. He wouldn’t have slept with him on this massage table, that was utterly uncomfortable, but he had been turned on so bad, that didn’t happen very often.
Sam really falls for Jack deeply and seriously. It’s a wonderful and frightening feeling at the same time.
Jack slides on Sam’s lap and straddles him, arms tight around his neck. Jack squints a little when he’s so close, his big blue eyes will never cease to amaze Sam.
“How can you not be Castiel’s son?”, Sam blurts, his hands cupping the naphil’s face and brushing away some strands of hair.
Jack’s mouth opens slightly, his tongue sneaks out to lick his upper lip.
“I am Castiel’s son.”
“I know, I just mean, genetically. You have his eyes. Does that sound stupid, baby?”
Jack shakes his head with a grin, his neck and face turn tenderly pink.
How did the biggest monster of all create this perfect boy?
“No, not stupid. I like the way you look at me”, Jack silently admits and the blush turns berry red.
“How do I look at you?”
Sam kisses Jack’s parted lips, feels the hitched breath and how Jack tightens up his back.
“First you looked at me with fear, when I was born. Then you looked at me in sympathy, in worry… Then gentle, loving. Just now, longing… You see a man, not a child, right? That’s the look in your face how you look at someone beautiful you want to be with…?”
Sam’s big hands creep under Jack’s pullover and Jack sighs, a light shudder down his spine and this tiny, quiet noise of content.
“You are beautiful, and yes, I want to be with you. All the time”, Sam whispers, he sounds rough, feels like he needs to clear his throat.
Jack lays his hands on Sam’s and guides him down his sweatpants. Sam squeezes. A slight gasp.
“We will have a lot of time for fun stuff once we’re out of here.”
That makes Jack jerk up, jump and drag Sam on his feet.
“Come, Sam! I can’t wait to be out of here.”
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Supernatural and Good Omens Crossover
“Hey, Cas!” Dean shouted, a strange excitement clouding his voice (and judgement). Sam and Dean locked eyes for a moment, and Sam could’ve sworn for that brief second, he saw the corner of Dean’s mouth beginning to form a small smile. “Cas! You comin’ or what?!”
Castiel entered the bunker’s hall to see Sam and Dean standing in front of the table, a bowl perched hastily, surrounded by some very common ingredients for spells. A virgins blood, the bone of a saint, goat liver... you get the gist. 
As Cas edged forward, a blinding light shot up from the bowl, forming a beam-like shape right next to it. “Dean,” Cas said gruffly, and so very tiredly, “what are you doing?”
“Hey, c’mon man,” Dean replied, pouting, “you can clearly see our own personal witch Sammy has the spell book. Not me.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, causing both Cas and Sam to simultaneously roll their eyes.
“We got him,” Sam spoke finally, much to Dean’s content, and further, to Cas’ dismay, mostly because Castiel knew exactly what Dean was doing and he was very much, as the youth say, done now. 
Cas recalled a recent incident about the fight he had with Dean. It was late and Dean had just come back from a very exhausting demon hunt, which had turned out to be quite disastrous, what with all the involvement of Hell Hounds. 
Sam had gone to bed early that day, saying that he’d catch up on some research to help beat Chuck, but Cas and Dean both knew that whatever Sam was catching up on, it wasn’t research. Dean could hear dialogues sometimes, coming from Sam’s room. Most often, it was “Title of your sex tape”, which always intrigued Dean very much, and googling it turned out to be a very bad idea.  
So, Cas and Dean were relaxing in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of whiskey, talking about everything and nothing. Dean suddenly started talking about how Crowley had turned out to be not such a bad guy for a demon. Then Dean thought about how Heaven, Hell, the Empty and the Purgatory were all in utter chaos, which led his train of thoughts towards resurrecting Crowley. Cas had made a mental note that day: late nights, whiskey, demon hunts and exhausting days always gave Dean the stupidest, most idiotic ideas of all time. 
“Sammy can bring him back,” Dean had said, to which Cas was certain he had put up quite an argument but the fight turned slightly vicious and both Cas and Dean spent the following week shooting daggers at each other. Cas eventually forgot what he had said, but Dean stood by his statement. 
This was the reason why Sam and Dean had been trying to bring back Crowley for several weeks now; trying different spells, different ingredients, different places and hell, one time, different clothes too (if you must know, Dean insisted that they wear a black suit. Yes, it had been a long day and Dean was down two glasses of Whiskey; why do you ask?). Everytime it didn’t work, Dean would spend days on end in his room, eating nothing but stale pizza, watching reruns of The X-Files. Cas was worried it would happen again. 
“Cas? You there, buddy?” Dean pushed Cas back to the present with a small but sturdy tap on his shoulder. “We got him, Cas, we got him.” 
Cas tilted his head in confusion and frowned, then looked at Sam, who nodded in agreement. They all focused on the bowl in front of them as the light grew warmer and brighter, until a figure began materialising from the beam.
Crowley opened his eyes to see himself in a strange place, a place he’d never seen before, nor considered running away to. Three men stood in front of him, tall and very well built, wearing an absurd amount of flannel. Crowley looked to his left to see a blinding light, and for a second, he thought he was in Heaven again, with that purple-eyed monster. 
“Which poor sucker are you wearing as a meatsuit, Crowley?” The man with the scruffy, short, light hair said. 
“Wait, wait, what? Meatsuit? Don’t be stupid--” Crowley sat up straight, looking around frantically, he said, “what the hell did you do with Aziraphale? Where is he?”
“Uh, Dean,” Cas began, clearly suspicious, but Dean cut him off.
“Just hold on to your horses for a second, Cas, let me handle this.”
Cas sighed.
“WHERE IS HE? And, and, did you just say Crowley? Nobody, in all of six thousand years, has ever called me “Cr-ow-ley”.” Crowley spoke angrily, then in exasperation.
“Where’s who?” Sam said, understanding something was definitely off.
“Aziraphale.” Crowley hissed, but it wasn’t an angry hiss, it was more of a habitual, slurring-of-words-hiss.
“Who’s he, your side chick?” Dean joked, but by now he was certain that whoever this person was, it was not Crowley. Sure, he had the accent. And if Crowley had been more focused on looking like an overdramatic sass queen, then maybe the black attire too. But this man, or whatever he was, he was not Crowley.
The blinding light grew brighter still, flashing an almost heavenly glow now, as another figure materialised from the beam.
The figure was more angelic than any form Castiel had seen. Michael could never. Cas could feel the figure’s aura deep inside him, resonating with his own grace, a soft humming of something divine. 
“Oh, my, you seem to have caught us in quite a compromising position,” the heavenly figure said, his voice lilted, and apparently apologetic. 
“You two are holding hands?” Dean spoke before he could stop himself. “If you think that’s compromising, boy do I have news for you.” Dean subsequently made a mental note to never talk again.
“Well I grew impatient and--” Before the figure in all shades of beige could complete his sentence, the man calling himself Crowley jumped to his feet.
“Angel! Where were you?” Crowley had gathered his senses and he was not going to let his angel go anywhere again. “Aziraphale, you gave me quite a fright, you bastard.”
“Wait, can someone explain to me what is happening?” Sam said, his hands raised, angel blade in one and holy water in the other.
“Is that...that’s holy water.” Crowley mellowed down, a frown making its way up his face.
“Now, that isn’t very kind of you, sir. There is absolutely no need to bring in weapons. That would be simply preposterous!” Aziraphale, replied calmly, miracling away the weapons from the tall man’s hands. This seemed to cause a chain reaction, making more weapons surface. Now all three men were clad with some sort of weaponry; very nifty ones too. 
“There is,” Aziraphale began again, more sternly this time, “simply no reason to be feral, dear boys.”
“If you’re wondering, I am Crowley. Crow-ley. I am a demon; didn’t fall, though; sauntered vaguely below. And this is Aziraphale. Now boys, as much as I’d like to stay here and make your lives miserable by, I dunno, replacing all the real bacon with vegetarian bacon, I’d rather wrap this up quickly. We just dealt with an apocalypse and I have the alarm set for a decade of sleeping. And trust me, you don’t want to wait for Aziraphale to start with his magic tricks.” 
Dean made a face at the thought of vegetarian bacon but quickly got over it, concentrating instead on the fact that this was Crowley too. Crow-ley, apparently.
“So, you’re not Fergus? You mother’s not Rowena? God Dammit Sammy, what’d you do?”
Sam looked as confused as everyone right now, but he could’ve sworn he had called Crowley from this universe. Something must’ve gone wrong. 
“Just give us a moment to talk,” Sam said to the angel and the demon, and turned to Cas and Dean.
“And no monkey business,” Dean added, causing Sam to roll his eyes in disappointment again.
“So, my dear, before we go back, don’t you think it would be wonderful if one could, you know, miracle the one with light hair and the one with the trenchcoat together? I would, but it has become a little--” Aziraphale began suggestively, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“What? Angel, they are just friends! Like us,” Crowley replied.
“My dear, we are married,” Aziraphale sighed, deadpanning.
“Wait, we are?! Since when?” Crowley screamed, obviously taken by surprise.
“Since you went to talk to Holmes, quite an interesting chap, about your secret admirer?” 
Crowley shook his head, still confused.
“We got married the next day, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed again.
Crowley shook his head yet again, much to Aziraphale’s disbelief.
“You proposed!”
Sam coughed, interrupting Aziraphale and Crowley’s very important conversation about if they got married or not.
“So, here’s the thing: we think that while we were trying to contact Crowley of this universe, you, Crowley, from another universe were summoned here instead. This could be because of two things: Chuck is going insane and he no longer has control over the veils between universes, or two, because Jack (he’s a nephilim), is back, his powers might have overwhelmed the spell. We also think that because of your “compromising position”, both of you got summoned, instead of just Crowley. Either way, you are free to go.” 
“Or you could stay for a couple of drinks, if that is okay by you,” Cas said, hoping they’d stay, just so he could get to know them better.
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a knowing glance, coming to an agreement.
“It is noon presently; would you have cocoa by any chance?” Aziraphale chimed happily.
_______________________________________________________________________
Hey y’all! I am sure this has been done before but I am currently practicing escapism by writing silly fanfics so please bear with me through this phase.
I’m gonna tag some awesome people: @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @telefunkies @jensenackles-ismyreligion @mystybloo @thedepressedexpress
Tell me if you want me to tag you or if you don’t want me to tag you.
Thank you for reading uwu
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waywardaardvark79 · 4 years
Text
Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1, Episode 11: Scarecrow
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Summary:  Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you.
Pairing: eventual Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)
Warnings: language, show level violence
Word Count: 10,818
A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule. Tags open. 
 "Dean." Sam said, trying to wake him, his phone ringing on the nightstand, but Dean wouldn't budge causing Sam to reach for the phone himself. "Hello." he said.
"Sam, is that you?" John asked, calling from a payphone in California.
Sam shot up in bed, "Dad? Are you hurt?" he asked.
"I'm fine." John answered.
"We've been looking for you everywhere. We didn't know where you were, if you were okay." Sam rambled.
"Sammy, I'm all right. What about you, Dean, and Y/N?" John asked, Dean starting to stir around in bed.
"We're fine, but Y/N...she's, uh..." Sam trailed off, unsure if he should say anything or not. "Dad, where are you?" he asked, Dean sitting up in bed.
"Sorry, kiddo, I can't tell you that." John said.
"What? Why not?" Sam asked.
"Is that Dad?" Dean asked, Sam ignoring him.
"Look, I know this is hard for you to understand. You're just gonna have to trust me on this." John said.
"You're after it, aren't you? The thing that killed Mom." Sam said, Dean shaking your shoulder to wake you.
"What?" you mumbled, your eyes still closed.
"Yeah. It's a demon, Sam." John explained.
"A demon? You know for sure?" Sam asked, the mention of a demon making you shoot up in bed, now wide awake.
"A demon? What's he saying?" Dean asked.
"Who's he talking to?" you whispered to Dean.
"Dad." he said, your eyes going wide.
"I do. Listen, Sammy, I, uh...I also know what happened to your girlfriend. I'm so sorry. I would've done anything to protect you from that." John said.
"You know where it is?" Sam asked, desperate for more information.
"Yeah, I think I'm finally closing in on it." John replied.
"Let us help." Sam said, you and Dean completely focused on him.
"You can't. You can't be any part of it." John said, frustrating Sam.
"Why not?" Sam asked.
"Give me the phone." Dean demanded.
"Listen, Sammy, that's why I'm calling. You, Y/N, and your brother, you gotta stop looking for me. Alright, now, I need you to write down these names." John ordered.
"Names? What names, Dad...talk to me, tell me what's going on." Sam said, needing to understand so badly.
"Look, we don't have time for this. This is bigger than you think, they're everywhere. Even us talking right now, it's not safe." John warned, beginning to get frustrated.
"No. Alright? No way." Sam said, defying him, and you knew it was about to get messy even though you couldn't hear what John was saying.
"Give me the phone." Dean demanded, again.
"I have given you an order. Now, you stop following me, and do your job. You understand me? Now, take down these names." John ordered, Dean grabbing the phone from Sam before he could say anything else.
"Dad, it's me. Where are you?" Dean asked, pausing as he listened to John. "Yes, sir." he said, turning to you, "Pen." he mouthed.
You jumped out of bed and grabbed the motel stationary and pen from the table, "Dean." you said, getting his attention before tossing him the pen and paper.
"Uh, yeah, I got a pen. What are the names?" Dean asked. 
Dean insisted on leaving the motel right away, and the three of you packed your things in tense silence. You knew a fight was brewing, and fully expected it to come, but you just didn't know when.
You found yourself hoping that you were wrong. You never did like to get in the middle of the boys when they were fighting, always feeling like your loyalty was being tested, afraid of what the other would think when you didn't side with them.
You never liked choosing sides, always trying to find a way to keep the peace the best you could, but as the search for John continued to turn up empty, you found yourself playing referee to their fights more and more.
As you placed the last few things in your duffel you couldn't help but think about what was to come. Part of you knowing that all of the tension was about to come to a head, and one of them was going to snap. The only thing you could do was hope that somehow, someway, you would be able to fix it. 
The three of you were in the car, Sam behind the wheel, Dean in the passenger seat, and you leaning up from the backseat so that you and Dean could go over the information about the case.
"Alright, so, the names Dad gave us, they're all couples?" Sam asked.
"Three different couples." Dean said.
"And all three went missing." you added.
"And they're all from different towns? Different states?" Sam asked.
"That's right. You got Washington, New York, Colorado. Each couple took a road trip cross-country. None of them arrived at their destination, and none of them were ever heard from again." Dean explained.
"Well, it's a big country, guys. They could've disappeared anywhere." Sam argued.
"Yeah, could've, but each one's route took them to the same part of Indiana. Always on the second week of April. One year after another. Now, you can't tell me that's not something, Sam." you said, looking over at him.
"This is the second week of April." Sam said, you nodding your head.
"Yep." Dean said.
"So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?" Sam asked.
"That's what it looks like to me." you said.
"Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obits Dad had to go through? The man's a master." Dean said.
"Yeah, he definitely knows what he's doing." you said, Sam looking annoyed as he pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned off the engine.
"What are you doing?" Dean asked.
"We're not going to Indiana." Sam said, you letting out a slow breath, knowing what was coming.
"We're not?" Dean asked.
"No. We're going to California. Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code." Sam said.
"Sam, please." you said, trying to quickly think of a way to diffuse the situation.
"Guys, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad's closing in, we've gotta be there. We've gotta help." Sam said.
"Dad doesn't want our help." Dean said.
"I know it's hard to understand, Sam, but I'm sure he has his reasons." you said.
"I don't care." Sam said.
"He's given us an order." Dean said.
"Dean." you warned, knowing this was headed into dangerous territory.
"I don't care. We don't always have to do what he says." Sam firmly said.
"Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives. It's important." Dean said.
"He's right, Sam. You just need to try to focus on the people that need our help." you said, trying to keep your voice calm and even.
"Alright, I understand, believe me. I understand. But I'm talking one week here, guys, to get answers...to get revenge." Sam argued.
"Sam, I know you want revenge, and in a way I want you to have it, but it's not going to change anything. It's not going to bring her back. There's a reason John doesn't want us there, and I think for once, we should just listen." you said, your argument falling on deaf ears.
"Alright, look, I know how you feel." Dean said.
"Do you?" Sam asked, both you and Dean shocked by his tone. "How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?" Sam asked.
"Hey!" you snapped, raising your voice. "That's not fuckin' fair and you know it, Sam. That was a low blow." you said.
"Dad said it wasn't safe for any of us. I mean, he obviously knows something that we don't , so if he says to stay away, we stay away." Dean said.
"I don't understand the blind faith the two of you have in the man. I mean, it's like you guys don't even question him." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.
"Sam, it's not that I don't have questions, because believe me, I fuckin' do. It's...it's just, John has been doing this a hell of a lot longer than we have, and I  think we should trust his judgement on this one." you said, Sam looking away from you.
"It's called being a good son!" Dean snapped, Sam angrily getting out of the car.
"Dean, that wasn't fair either." you said, both you and Dean getting out of the car to see Sam unloading things from the trunk.
"You're a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don't care what anybody thinks." Dean said.
You turned and stepped in front of him, putting your hand on his chest, "Stop." you warned.
"That's what you really think?" Sam asked.
"Yes, it is." Dean said.
"God damn it! I told you to stop!" you yelled, Dean looking down at you.
"What? He needs to hear it." Dean said.
"Well, then this selfish bastard is going to California." Sam said, putting his backpack on before walking away.
"Sam, stop. Don't do this." you called out, whipping around to face him.
"I have to." Sam said, never looking back at you.
"Come on, you're not serious." Dean said.
"I am serious." Sam said, you taking a couple of steps in his direction.
"It's the middle of the night! Hey, we're taking off, we will leave your ass, you hear me?" Dean asked, Sam stopping to turn around.
"That's what I want you to do." Sam said, the three of you staring at each other, seeing who would break first. 
"Goodbye, Sam. Come on, Y/N." Dean said, closing the trunk before walking to get behind the wheel. "Come on, Singer." he said, when you hadn't moved.
"Just...just give me a minute, De." you said, looking back at him over your shoulder before rushing off after Sam.
"Sam!" you called, out stopping him. "Please don't fuckin' do this." you said.
Sam turned to face you, a sad smile on his face, "You know, I can remember a time when you wouldn't have thought twice about coming with me, and now...now I can't even get you to side with me on anything." he said.
"Don't do that. It isn't fair. I'm not picking sides, Sam. I'm not choosing him over you. I'm just...I'm trying to do what I think is right here." you said.
"So am I, and there was a time when you would have agreed with me." he said, both of you staring at each other. "You still can, you know. Come with me."
"Sam." you sighed, feeling like you were being pulled in two directions. "He...he." you said, looking back over your shoulder at the car. "He needs me."
Sam scoffed, "Are you ever going to realize that I need you, too? Dean isn't the only one, Y/N. I...I need you, too." Sam said, and as sincere as you knew he was being you couldn't help but feel angry.
"Really, Sam? Because you sure fuckin' fooled me. Do you really expect me to just forget everything that happened? Do you want me to  pretend that you didn't do what you did, and then what, we just go back to being best fuckin' friends?" you asked.
"What did I do? What do you think I did that was so bad, Y/N? Because the last time I checked, all I did was go to college." Sam said, the two of you stepping closer to each other.
"You cut me out! You completely forgot about me like I never even fuckin' existed! You were my best friend, Sam. You were the person I told everything to. The one person I could count on to always be there for me no matter what, and then one day you just rip all of that away. You didn't even tell me you were going." you said, Sam looking down at you.
"Y/N-" he tried to say, you holding up your hand to stop him.
"I wouldn't have tried to stop you, you know. I would have been fuckin' happy that you were doing what you wanted to do. You wouldn't even take my calls, Sam. You were my best friend, and I needed  YOU! But, I guess, in the long run...I just didn't fuckin' matter!" you yelled, not able to control how angry you were.
You took a step back, trying to calm yourself down, and looked up at him, "It was so easy for you to throw me away, and forget me. So, you tell me, Sam. You tell me right fuckin' now how I'm just supposed to let all of that go." you said.
"I...I never forgot you, Y/N." Sam said, looking ashamed. "It's just...I knew that if...if you were still a part of my life then I would never really be out of it. I would never be able to completely turn my back on it." Sam said, trying to justify himself.
"So, you just turned your back on me instead?" you asked, tears brimming.
"I'm sorry. I really am, and I hope that you believe that." Sam said, looking at you with those puppy dog eyes.
"You should be because I never would have done something like that to you." you said, shaking your head.
"I know." he sadly said, the two of you standing there in silence, neither one of you knowing what else to say.
"I, uh, should probably go. He's already pissed, and making him wait is only going to make it worse. Just, uh, take care of yourself, Sammy." you said, starting to back away.
"I will." he said, not wanting to end it with you like this, taking a few hesitant steps in your direction.
You backed away quicker, needing to get out of there, "Just answer your God damn phone this time, okay?" you said, turning to walk away, not able to look at him any longer.
"I will." he quietly said, turning around to walk away. 
You walked back to the car and turned around, standing there watching him until you couldn't see him anymore. You shook your head, trying to shake everything off, your hand instinctively reaching out for the back door, stopping when you realized that the passenger seat was free again.
You got into the car and Dean started the engine, "Sorry it took me so long." you said, looking out the window.
Dean looked over at you, "You okay, Singer?" he asked.
"Not even a fuckin' little bit." you said, Dean pulling away from the side of the road, the two of you riding along in silence, both of you working through everything that just happened. 
You and Dean  made it to Burkittsville, Indiana, and Dean pulled the car to the side of the road before pulling out his phone.
You looked over as he selected Sam's name from his contact list, "You should call him. You know, at least let him know we made it. He said he'd answer this time." you said.
"Later." Dean said, shutting off the engine before putting his phone back in his pocket and getting out of the car, you following after him. 
The two of you walked up to a building, a sign reading Scotty's Café hanging overhead, a man sitting out on the porch.
Dean gestured to the sign, "Let me guess." he said, pointing to the man, "Scotty." he added, the man looking up at the sign.
"Yep." Scotty said.
"Hi, my name's John Bonham." Dean said, introducing himself, the man looking over to you.
"Roberta Plant." you said, the man eyeing the two of you.
"Aren't those members of Led Zeppelin?" he asked.
"Well, shit." you said under your breath.
"Wow. Good. Classic rock fan." Dean added, a little taken aback himself.
"What can I do for you, John, Roberta?" Scotty asked.
You pulled two pieces of paper from your jacket pocket, "We were wondering if you'd seen these people by chance." you said, passing him the flyers.
"Nope. Who are they?" Scotty asked.
"Friends of ours. They went missing about a year ago. They passed through somewhere around here, and we've already asked around Scottsbury and Salem." Dean said.
"Sorry." Scotty said, passing the flyers back to you. "We don't get many strangers around here." he said, you and Dean nodding your heads.
"Scotty, you've got a smile that lights up a room, anybody ever tell you that?" Dean asked, Scotty staring at him strangely. "Never mind. See you around." Dean said before the two of you started to walk away. 
"Well, he's completely full of shit." you said, Dean nodding.
"Yeah, tell me about it." Dean said. 
Sam was standing on the side of the road, taking a momentary break, your words running through his head like they had been since he left. He turned around to see a girl with short blonde hair, sitting with her back to him.
"Hey." Sam said, the girl not able to hear him over the music she was listening to.
Sam walked over to her and put his hand on her shoulder, making her jump as she removed her headphones.
"You scared the hell outta me." she said.
"I'm sorry. I just thought you may need some help." Sam said.
"No, I'm good. Thanks." the girl said, Sam pausing for a moment.
"Uh, so where you headed?" Sam asked.
"No offense, but no way I'm telling you." the girl replied.
"Why not?" Sam asked, genuinely curious.
"You could be some kind of freak. I mean, you are hitchhiking." she said.
"Well, so are you." Sam pointed out, a smile on his face. "You, uh, you remind me of someone I know." he said, thinking of you.
He didn't think that you shared any resemblance with the stranger, but it was more the way she carried herself. She didn't seem to be afraid to say what she thought.
A van pulling up pulled Sam from his thoughts, "Need a ride?" the driver asked.
"Yeah." Sam and the girl answered in unison.
"Just her. I ain't takin' you." the driver said to Sam as the girl gathered her things before getting in the van.
"You trust shady van guy and not me?" Sam asked.
"Definitely." she said, the driver pulling off moments later leaving Sam standing there alone. 
"You sure they didn't stop for gas or something?" Dean asked, the two of you now in the local general store.
"Nope, don't remember 'em. You said they were friends of yours?" the older man asked.
"That's right." Dean answered, a young girl coming downstairs carrying some boxes.
"Did the guy have a tattoo?" she asked.
"Yes, he did." you excitedly said, the girl putting down the boxes on the counter before looking at the missing person's flyer.
"You remember? They were just married." the girl said to the older man and woman in the room.
"You're right." the man said, as if he suddenly remembered, setting off alarms in your head. "They did stop for gas. Weren't here more than ten minutes."
"Hmm." you hummed, eyeing him, "Anything else you can suddenly remember?" you asked.
"I told 'em how to get back to the interstate. They left town." he said.
"Could you point us in the same direction?" Dean asked.
"Sure." the man said. 
"Everyone in this fuckin' town is just off." you said, the two of you back in the car.
"You got that right." Dean said, a noise coming from the backseat as he drove by an orchard. "What the hell?" he asked, slowing down.
"I'll get it." you said, turning in your seat, raising up so you could lean over the front seat into the back. "Why the fuck did you have to toss your bag all the way over here?" you asked, leaning further over the seat.
"Careful." Dean said, his hand grabbing onto your ass.
"What the fuck are you doin'?" you asked, digging through his duffel until you found his EMF.
"I'm helping." he said. "Just trying to keep you from going over." he added, his hand still firmly on your ass.
"Really?" you asked, working your way back into your seat, "Cause it looked like you were just grabbing yourself a handful of my ass for no reason." you said, passing him the EMF which was beeping frantically.
"I had a reason...I told you I was helping." Dean said, looking down at the meter. "What the hell?" he asked, bringing the car to a complete stop.
"Come on." you said, getting out of the car, Dean following after you. 
"Look at that fuckin' thing." you said, both of you walking around the orchard until you came upon a scarecrow on a post.
"Dude, you're fugly." Dean said, the two of you walking up to it.
"That's an understatement." you said, looking up at it, noticing the sickle in it's hand, and the distinct pattern on it's arm. "De, look at it's arm." you said.
Dean grabbed a ladder from a nearby tree and climbed to the top so that he was eye level with the scarecrow. He moved it's clothing back so that he could see it's arm, instantly recognizing the pattern as the missing man's tattoo.
"Good eye, Singer. Pass me the flyer." he said, wanting to be sure.
You pulled the flyer from your pocket and passed it to him, "It's the same, isn't it?" you asked, Dean holding up the flyer, comparing the designs, which were exactly the same.
"Nice tat." Dean said before climbing down the ladder. "How'd you spot that?" he asked, jumping down to the ground.
"I have a thing for tattoos." you said, shrugging your shoulders before turning to head back to the car.
"A thing, huh?" Dean asked, quickly stepping to your side. "You ever think about gettin' one?" he asked.
"I already have a couple." you said, not looking at him as the two of you walked.
"Since when? Why don't I know about them?" he asked.
"You don't know everything about me, De." you said, Dean looking you up and down.
"Where are they? Cause I've seen a lot of you, and I've never seen them." he said, his imagination running wild.
You looked over at him, a smirk on your face, "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Uh, yeah, I would like to know. That's kinda why I asked. " Dean said.
"Get in the car, Dean. We have more important things to worry about." you said, opening the passenger side door.
Dean sighed as he walked around to the driver's side, "How hard is it to answer a simple question?" he asked himself before opening the door. 
Dean pulled up to the gas station, the two of you getting out to see the young girl from earlier standing by the pumps.
"You're back." she said, looking between the two of you.
"Never left." Dean said.
"Still looking for your friends?" she asked.
"We are." you replied.
Dean looked down at the necklace she was wearing, her name in fine script, "You mind fillin' her up there, Emily?" he asked, Emily grabbing the nozzle to start filling the tank.
"So, you grew up here?" you asked.
"I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents, car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in." Emily said.
"They're nice people." Dean said.
"Everybody's nice here." Emily said.
"So we've noticed." you sarcastically said, Dean giving you a look.
"So, what, it's the, uh, perfect little town?" Dean asked.
"Well, you know, it's the boonies, but I love it. I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms, but here, it's almost like we're blessed." Emily said.
"Well, isn't that just special." you said, different theories about what you could possibly be dealing with racing through your head.
"Hey, you been out to the orchard? You seen the scarecrow?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, it creeps me out." Emily said, Dean laughing.
"It is an ugly fucker. Whose is it?" you asked.
"I don't know. It's just always been there." Emily said.
Dean nodded his head towards a red van parked by the garage, "That your aunt and uncle's?" he asked.
"Customer. Had some car troubles." Emily said.
"Really? Car troubles, huh?" you asked, Emily nodding her head.
"It's not a couple, is it? A guy and a girl?" Dean asked.
"Mmhmm." Emily answered, both you and Dean sharing a concerned look. 
Sam had made it to a bus station and was currently busy talking to the clerk.
"Sorry, the Sacramento bus doesn't run again till tomorrow." the clerk said, checking the schedule, "Uh, 5:05 PM."
"Tomorrow? There's got to be another way." Sam said, desperate to get to California as soon as possible.
"Well, there is...buy a car." the clerk said, Sam looking at her annoyed before leaving the ticket window. 
Sam took out his phone and selected your number, "Hey!" someone said, Sam looking over to see it was the girl from earlier.
"Hey." Sam said, putting away his phone.
"You again." she said.
"What happened to your ride." Sam asked.
"You were right. That guy was shady. He was all hands." she said, Sam raising his eyebrows. "I cut him loose." she added, Sam looking around disappointed, "What's the matter?"
"Just trying to get to California." he said, surprising her.
"No way." she said.
"Yeah." Sam said.
"Me too." she said, standing up and walking towards him, "You know, the next bus isn't until tomorrow."
"Yeah. Yeah, that's the problem." Sam said.
"Why? What's in Cali that's so important?" she asked.
"Just something I've been looking for...for a long time." Sam said.
"Well, then, I'm sure it can wait one more day, right?" she asked, Sam laughing as she extended her hand, "I'm Meg."
"Sam." he said, introducing himself. 
You and Dean walked up to Scotty's Café, Dean opening the door and letting you walk inside first. You nudged him once he stepped inside, subtly pointing out the couple.
"It's on the house." Scotty said, placing a plate of pie down on the couple's table.
"Oh, hey, Scotty. Can we get two coffees, black?" Dean asked, Scotty walking away to get them, "Oh, and some of that pie, too, while you're at it." he added, you rolling your eyes as the two of you sat down at the table next to the couple.
"Hi." you said, giving them a sweet smile, "How are you?" you asked, the couple smiling and waving.
"Just passing through?" Dean asked.
"Road trip." the girl said.
"Well, look at that, Honey." Dean said to you before turning back to the couple. "Us too." he said, the couple nodding as Scotty walked over to refill their cider.
"I'm sure these people want to eat in peace." Scotty said.
"Easy there, Scotty. We're just making a little friendly conversation." you said, Scotty walking away annoyed.
"Oh, and those coffees, too, man. Thanks." Dean said, Scotty looking at him agitated. "So, what brings you to town?" Dean asked.
"We just stopped for gas, and the guy at the gas station saved our lives." the girl said.
"Saved your lives? That sounds interesting." you said, trying your best to be friendly.
"Is that right?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He's fixing it for us." the man explained.
"Well, wasn't that lucky?" you asked, Dean nodding his head, concern on both of your faces.
"Nice people." Dean said.
"Yeah." the man agreed.
"So, how long till you're up and runnin'?" Dean asked.
"Sundown." the man said.
You scoffed, breaking character, "Really? To fix a fuckin' brake line?" you asked, the man looking at you a little shocked as he nodded, "You know, we both know a thing or two about cars." you said, Dean nodding.
"We could probably have you up and running in about an hour, and we wouldn't charge you anything." Dean said.
"You know, thanks a lot, but I think we'd rather have an actual mechanic do it." the girl said, looking over at you.
"Oh, what 'cause I'm a girl you don't think I could do it? Lady, I was learnin' how to work on cars when you were probably busy playin' with fuckin' dolls and bakin' in your Easy Bake oven." you said, Dean kicking you under the table causing you to glare over at him.
"Sure. I know what you mean." Dean said, trying to do damage control. "You know, it's just that these roads...they're not real safe at night." Dean said, you kicking him under the table now while the couple exchanged a look.
"I'm sorry?" the girl asked.
"I know it sounds strange, but, uh...you might be in danger." Dean said, earning himself another kick.
The man looked at the two of you, annoyed, "Look, we're trying to eat, okay?"
"Yeah." Dean said, looking disappointed, the couple completely freaked out by the two of you. "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you'd just buy right into it." Dean said.
"Ain't that the fuckin' truth." you grumbled, the bell on the door ringing.
"Thanks for coming, Sheriff." Scotty said, you and Dean both looking a little nervous.
Scotty whispered something in the sheriff's ear, and they both looked over at you and Dean, the two of you looking away as the sheriff walked over.
"I'd like a word, please." the sheriff said.
"Come on. I'm having a bad day already." Dean said, you turning in your seat to look at Scotty.
"Really, Scotty? You fuckin' narced?" you asked, the sheriff clearing his throat.
"You know what could make it worse?" he asked, you and Dean both slowly nodding your heads. 
The two of you were back in the car, the sheriff following after the two you , making sure you left town.
"Well, that just fuckin' sucked." you said, Dean sighing. 
"So, what, are you on some kind of vacation or something?" Sam asked, Meg laughing.
"Yeah, right. It's all sipping Cristal poolside for me." Meg said, both of them laughing, "No, I had to get away from my family."
"Why?" Sam asked, part of him understanding where she was coming from.
"I love my parents, and they wanted what's best for me. They just didn't care if I wanted it. I was supposed to be smart, but not smart enough to scare away a husband." she said, Sam smiling. "It's just...because my family said so, I was supposed to sit there and do what I was told. So, I just went on my own way instead." she said, Sam starting at her, "I'm sorry. The things you say to people you hardly know."
"No, no, it's okay. I know how you feel. Remember that brother and friend I mentioned before, that I was road tripping with?" Sam asked, Meg nodding. "It's, uh, it's kind of the same deal."
"And that's why you're not riding with them anymore?" Meg asked, Sam shaking his head as Meg raised her beer, "Here's to us. The food might be bad, and the beds might be hard, but at least we're living our own lives." she said, Sam tapping his bottle against hers. 
"Right there!" you said, pointing out the car of the couple from earlier.
"I knew it." Dean said, both of you getting out of the car, grabbing a few weapons before running into the orchard.
"Oh, shit." you said, the scarecrow from the post coming up behind the couple.
"Get back to your car. Go! Go!" Dean yelled, the couple running away as you and Dean both raised your guns.
The two of you both fired, both shots hitting the scarecrow causing him to stumble, but not stopping him.
"It's time to go." you said, the two of you starting to run, both of you taking turns at turning around, firing shots at the scarecrow, but he kept coming.
"Why won't you just fuckin' die?" you asked.
"Go! Go!" Dean yelled, the two of you catching up with the couple as you reached a clearing, you and Dean turning around to look for the scarecrow.
"Where the fuck did it go?" you asked, scanning the area.
"I don't know." Dean said, doing the same.
"What...what the hell was that?" the man asked.
"Don't ask." Dean said.
"Bet you wish you would have let us look at your car now, huh?" you asked, the couple looking at you and Dean in shock, Dean shaking his head at you. 
"The scarecrow climbed off it's cross?" Sam asked, sitting by his bags in the bus station, talking to you and Dean on speaker.
"Fuck yeah it did." you excitedly said, Sam chuckling.
"Yeah, I'm tellin' ya, Burkittsville, Indiana...fun town." Dean said.
"It didn't kill the couple, did it?" Sam asked.
"No, we can cope without you, you know." Dean said.
"I bet they don't think we're so creepy now." you said.
"They thought you were creepy?" Sam asked, and you could tell he was smiling.
"Oh, yeah. You should have seen it, Sam. Your brother came off like a fuckin' serial killer." you said, Sam laughing loudly.
"A serial killer? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Dean asked.
"I was basically sitting across the table from Ted Bundy." you sassed, Dean rolling his eyes as Sam laughed. "I mean, the whole these roads aren't real safe at night. You guys are in danger." you said, doing your best impersonation of him. "They probably thought we were trying to lure them outside and kill them."
"Oh, and you snapping at her really helped, didn't it? What was it? I've been workin' on cars since you were playin' with fuckin' dolls." Dean said, trying to impersonate you.
"I couldn't help it. You saw the way she was looking at me like I couldn't do it, and you know I get pissed when people thing I can't do shit." you said.
"Yeah, but you were lookin' at her like you wanted to take her fuckin' head off." Dean argued.
"Well, that's because I did, but I held myself back." you said.
"Who's Ted Bundy now?" Dean said.
"Oh, eat me." you snapped.
"I'd love to. Name the time and place, Sweetheart." Dean fired back.
"Is that so?" you asked, Dean nodding, "Well, put up or shut up, Winchester." you shot back.
"I'll pull over right now." he said, glancing over at you, Sam still on speaker.
You laughed under your breath, "Oh, come on, De. We both know all that mouth of yours can do is talk." you teased, pushing his buttons.
"Yeah, keep it up, Singer, and I'll show you exactly what my mouth can do. You'd be singin' a different tune then." he said, smirking at you.
"Guys! Guys!! I'm still on the phone!!" Sam yelled, both you and Dean looking at the phone in your hand.
"Sorry." you both said, in unison.
Sam sighed, "How in the world do you two get anything done?" he asked.
"Hey, we know what we're doing." you said, Sam chuckling.
"So, something must be animating it. A spirit." Sam said, trying to get back on task.
"No, it's more than a spirit. It's a god." Dean said.
"A Pagan god." you added.
"What makes you guys say that?" Sam asked.
"The annual cycle of it's killings, and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. Like some kind of fertility right." you said.
"And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple, fattenin' 'em up like a Christmas turkey." Dean added.
"The last meal...given to sacrificial victims." Sam said.
"Yeah, we're thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god." Dean said.
"So, a god possesses the scarecrow..." Sam said, trailing off.
"And the fucker takes its sacrifice, and for another year, the crops won't wilt, and disease won't spread." you said.
"Do you guys know which god you're dealing with?" Sam asked.
"No, not yet." Dean said.
"Well, ya figure out what it is, you can figure out a way to kill it." Sam said.
"We know. We're on our way to a local community college. We have an appointment with a professor." you said.
"You know, since we don't have our trusty sidekick geek boy to do all the research." Dean said, Sam laughing.
"You know, if you're hinting that you two need my help, just ask." Sam said.
"Ah, we'll be fine, Sammy." you said.
"Yeah, I'm not hinting anything. Actually, uh...I want you to know...I mean, don't think..." Dean rambled.
"Yeah. I'm sorry, too." Sam said.
"Me too." you softly said.
"Sam, you were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life." Dean said.
"Are you serious." Sam asked, a little shocked.
"You've always know what you want, and you go after it. You stand up to Dad, and you always have. Hell, I wish I...anyway...I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy." Dean said.
"What he said." you said.
"I don't even know what to say." Sam said.
"Say you'll take care of yourself." you said.
"I will." Sam replied.
"Call us when you find Dad." Dean said.
"Ok, Bye, guys. " Sam sadly said, hanging up the phone, Meg waking up and moving next to him.
"Who was that?" she asked.
"My brother and my friend." Sam said.
"What'd they say?" she asked.
"Goodbye." Sam said, the two of them exchanging a look. 
"It's not everyday I get a research question on Pagan ideology." the professor said, walking the two of you to his classroom.
"Yeah, well, call it a hobby of ours." Dean said.
"But you said the two of you were interested in local lore." the professor said.
"We are." you said, Dean humming along in agreement.
"I'm afraid Indiana isn't really known for it's Pagan worship." the professor said.
"Well, what if it was imported?" you asked.
"You know, like the Pilgrims brought their religion over. Wasn't a lot of this area settle by immigrants?" Dean asked.
"Well, yeah." the professor said.
"Like that town near here, Burkittsville. Where are their ancestors from?" Dean asked.
"Uh, northern Europe, I believe, Scandinavia." the professor answered.
"What could you tell us about those Pagan gods?" you asked.
"Well, there are hundreds of Norse gods and goddesses." the professor said.
"We're actually looking for one. Might live in an orchard." Dean said. 
The three of you were now standing in the professor's classroom, the professor putting down a large book on the table before opening it.
"Woods god, hmm? Well, let's see." the professor said, leafing through some of the pages, you and Dean both noticing a picture of a scarecrow on a post surrounded by farmers in a field.
"Wait, wait, wait. What's that one?" Dean asked.
"Oh, that's not a woods god, per se." the professor said.
"What's it say?" you asked, Dean closer to the page.
"The V-Vanir?" Dean read, the professor nodding, "The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifices, one male, one female." Dean read aloud, pointing to the picture, "Kind of looks like a scarecrow, huh?"
"I suppose." the professor said.
"This particular Vanir that's energy sprung from a sacred tree." Dean read.
"Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic." the professor said.
"So, what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it'd kill the god?" you asked, the professor laughing.
"Honey, these are just legends we're discussing." he said.
"Oh, of course. Yeah, you're right. Listen, thank you very much for your time." you said, smiling kindly at him as you shook his hand.
"Glad I could help." the professor said, Dean leading the way to the door, you following after him. 
Dean opened the door, the sheriff hitting him on the head with his rifle causing Dean to fall to the floor.
"What the fuck?!" you yelled, instinctively starting to kneel down by his side, the professor grabbing you from behind.
You struggled in his arms, slamming your foot down on his causing him to loosen his grip enough for you to turn and face him. You pulled back your arm, your fist meeting his nose with a sickening crunch.
"Damn it." you heard the sheriff say, everything going black before you even had a chance to turn around. 
The elders of the town were all standing together, discussing what needed to be done. Harley, Emily's uncle, was dead set on keeping her out of it, arguing that they already had what they needed with you and Dean.
"If the boy and the girl we already have has to die, then they have to die, but why does it have to be her?" Harley asked.
"Like I said, it's angry with us, and the girl we have gave them quite a time gettin' her down there." Stacy, Emily's aunt, said, looking over to the sheriff who had a very distinguishable bite mark on his cheek.
"Crazy bitch bit me." he said.
"What happens if she gets away? It has to be her in case that happens." Stacy said, referring to Emily. 
You and Dean were down in a cellar, the door suddenly opening, Emily standing there crying, being held by her aunt and uncle.
"Aunt Stacy. Uncle Harley, please." she begged, both of them bringing her down the stairs, sitting her next to Dean before going back upstairs. "Why are you doing this?"
"For the common good." Stacy said before closing the door, leaving the three of you in the dark. 
Back at the bus station Meg was gathering her things while Sam was trying to call you and Dean, having no luck getting either of you to answer.
"Hey. Our bus came in." Meg said, Sam hanging up the phone, shaking his head.
"You better catch it. I gotta go." Sam said, putting on his backpack.
"Go where?" Meg asked.
"Burkittsville." Sam replied.
"Sam, wait." Meg said.
"I've been trying to call my brother and my friend for the last three hours, and I'm just getting their voicemail." Sam said.
"Well, maybe their phone's are off." Meg said.
"No, that's not like them. Meg, I think they might be in trouble." Sam said.
"What kind of trouble?" Meg asked.
"I can't really explain right now. I'm sorry, look, I don't want you to miss your bus." Sam said.
"But I don't understand. You're running back to them. The people you ran away from? Why, because they won't pick up their phones? Sam...come with me to California." Meg said.
"I can't. I'm sorry." Sam said.
"Why not?" Meg asked.
"They're my family, and I'm not turning my back this time." Sam said before walking away, Meg watching him go, close to tears. 
"Come on, Singer, wake up." Dean said, shaking your shoulder, your eyes fluttering open.
"What?" you asked, your hand coming up to your head.
Dean grabbed your chin, turning it so that you were facing him, "One of those bastards hit you in the mouth?" he asked, noticing the blood around your mouth.
You chuckled, "No, I bit the sheriff." you said, Dean raising an eyebrow at you. "I came to when they were bringin' us down here. The guy just gave me a little love tap back in the classroom, and I saw an opportunity and I took it. Wasn't good enough, but at least I got the asshole." you said, shrugging your shoulders, "Also pretty sure I broke that dick professor's nose. What about you are you okay?" you asked, your hand coming up to the dried blood on his forehead.
"I'm fine." he said, standing up and walking to the door, trying to open it.
"I don't understand. They're gonna kills us?" Emily asked, both of you forgetting that she was actually there.
"Sacrifice us. Which is, I don't know, classier, I guess." Dean said, giving up on the door when it wouldn't budge.
"Classier." you snorted.
"You really didn't know anything about this, did you?" Dean asked, walking over to Emily.
"About what? The scarecrow god? I can't believe this." Emily said.
"Well, you better start believing and fast, cause we're gonna need your help." you said.
"Okay." Emily replied.
"Now, we can destroy the scarecrow, but we gotta find the tree." Dean explained.
"What tree?" Emily asked.
"Maybe you can help us with that. It would be really old." Dean said.
"The nut jobs around here would treat it with a lot of respect, you know, like it was sacred." you said.
"There was this one apple tree. The immigrants brought it over with them. They call it the first tree." she said.
"Is it in the orchard?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, but I don't know where." Emily said, the cellar door opening, the elders of the town standing there.
"It's time." Stacy said, the three of you looking at each other nervously. 
The elders were tying the three of you to adjacent trees in the orchard, the sheriff busy with you at the moment.
"You know, I gotta say, sheriff. I really dig the new look, but you know, I really think I should even it up. You know, get the other side." you said, the sheriff backhanding you.
"Don't you fuckin' touch her again, or I swear I'll kill you!" Dean yelled.
You let the blood pool in your mouth for a moment before spitting in on the sheriff's boots, "Don't worry, De, he hits like a fuckin' girl." you said, smiling up at him, your teeth blood stained.
"You check  her knots. Make sure she can't go anywhere." the sheriff said to a nearby man before walking away.
"Hey! Where ya goin'? I thought we were havin' fun!" you yelled after him, the sheriff ignoring you.
"How many people have you killed, Sheriff? How much blood is on your hands?" Dean asked, the sheriff walking up to him.
"We don't kill them." the sheriff said.
"No, but you sure cover up after. I mean, how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?" Dean asked, the sheriff turning to walk away.
"Yeah, some fuckin' cop you are. What happened to protect and serve? And I'm not talkin' about servin' up people to some crazy fuckin' god." you said, the sheriff glaring at you.
"You know, you really need to learn to control that mouth of yours. It's gonna get you in trouble one day." he said, smiling smugly at you. "And it looks like today is that day."
"I've been told that's something I should work on. It's a weak spot , but I just can't seem to learn my fuckin' lesson." you said, not backing down from him.
"You will." he said.
"Uncle Harley, please." Emily said.
"I am so sorry, Em. I wish it wasn't you." Harley said.
"Why do you need her anyway? You got me, let her go." you said, the elders ignoring you.
"Try to understand. It's our responsibility, and there's just no other choice. These two have messed everything up, and he's angry with us. We have to appease him." Stacy said.
"I'm your family." Emily said.
"Sweetheart, that's what sacrifice means. Giving up something you love for the greater good. The town needs to be safe. The good of the many outweighs the good of the one." Stacy said before walking away, the other elders joining her.
"You're a crazy fuckin' bitch, you know that?!!!" you yelled, pulling at your ropes.
"I hope your apple pie is freakin' worth it!!" Dean yelled.
"So, what's the plan?" Emily asked, looking at the two of you.
"I'm workin' on it." Dean said. 
"So, I got nothin'. The asshole can tie a knot." you said about an hour later, your wrists raw and bloody from struggling against your ropes.
"I'm still workin' on it." Dean said, his mind racing with ideas.
"Did you ever think we'd go out like this? You know, tied to a tree in a stupid fuckin' orchard, a crazy god gettin' ready eat us, or whatever the fuck he does. Cause I always pictured the whole blaze of glory thing, definitely not this apple orchard bullshit, dyin' just so those crazy fucks can keep makin' their stupid fuckin' pies." you said, Dean looking over at you.
"Hey, pie has nothin' to do with this. Don't start bad mouthin' pie." he said.
"It kind of does, though." you argued.
"Do you guys know how you're getting us out of here?" Emily asked.
"Workin' on it." you and Dean said in unison, neither of you knowing what to do. 
"Hey, Y/N?" Dean asked, a couple hours later.
"Yeah." you said, looking over at him.
"About those tattoo's." he started, you quickly interrupting.
"Really, Dean? We're about to be sacrificed, and that's what you're thinking about?" you asked.
"I'm still workin' on something, but consider it my dying wish." he said.
"Pretty stupid dying wish." you said, the two of you staring at each other.
"Humor me, Singer." he said.
"Fine." you sighed, "Might as well, you know, considering we're about to die and all." you said in an annoyed tone. "I have two. One is-" you started, Emily interrupting.
"Neither one of you have a plan, do you?" she asked.
"Emily." Dean sighed, "You couldn't have waited a minute to ask that?" he said, frustrated.
"We're still workin' on it." you said, slightly panicked because you had nothing.
"Can you see?" Dean asked her.
"What?" Emily asked.
"Is he moving yet?" Dean asked.
"I can't see." Emily said, a shadow moving near the trees. "Oh my God." she said, the shadow moving closer, you and Dean trying harder to free yourselves. "Oh my God!" Emily cried, Sam coming out from behind the trees.
"Dean? Y/N?" Sam asked.
"Oh! Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on." Dean said, overjoyed, Sam working on untying him.
Sam walked over to you once he freed Dean, Dean working on untying Emily.
"I've never been happier to see you. I'm sorry for everything too. I could fuckin' kiss you." you said as Sam worked on your ropes, Sam laughing under his breath.
"You've never offered to kiss me." Dean said, looking over at you, Emily now free.
"I HAVE kissed you. Did you forget the plane?" you asked as Sam pulled you to your feet.
"Did you forget the plane?" Dean mocked, you glaring at him.
"Guys, can we do this later?" Sam asked.
"How'd you get here, anyway?" Dean asked.
"I, uh...I stole a car." Sam said.
"Aww. It's like our little baby is all grown up." you said, pinching his cheek, Sam rolling his eyes at you before swatting away your hand.
"That's my boy, and keep an eye on that scarecrow. He could come alive any minute." Dean said.
"What scarecrow?" Sam asked, you and Dean turning to see the post empty.
"Well, fuck." you said, you and Dean exchanging a nervous look. 
"Alright, now, this sacred tree you're talking about-" Sam said, the three of you and Emily running through the orchard.
"We think it's the source of it's power." you said.
"So, let's find it and burn it." Sam said.
"Nah, in the morning. Let's just shag ass before Leather Face catches up." Dean said, the four of you reaching a clearing, the town elders and a few other townspeople waiting. "This way." Dean said, the four of you turning to see that path blocked as well.
"Please. Let us go." Emily said.
"It'll be over quickly, I promise." her uncle said.
"Please." Emily begged.
"Emily, you have to let him take you. You have to-" her uncle tried to say, the scarecrow suddenly appearing behind him, his sickle piercing through his stomach.
Emily and her aunt, Stacy, started to scream, the scarecrow grabbing Stacy and dragging her away as Emily ran into Dean's arms. The rest of the townspeople that were left started to scatter away in fear.
"Come on, let's go." Dean said, the four of you starting to run, a noise stopping each of you.
You all turned around, expecting to see the scarecrow, but there was nothing. The scarecrow and his victims were no where to be seen.
"Let's get the fuck outta here." you said, everyone nodding in agreement. 
You, Sam, Dean, and Emily were back in the orchard the next morning, equipped with gasoline as the four of you searched for the sacred tree.
"That has to be it." you said, walking up to a tree marked with strange symbols, pulling off your gloves as you looked at it.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Dean asked, stepping towards you.
"Making sure." you said, placing your hand on the tree before he could stop you, jerking it back a few seconds later, "That's it." you said, slipping your glove back on.
Sam walked up to the tree, and started to pour gasoline on it while Dean picked up a long branch and lit the end of it.
"Let me." Emily said, taking the branch from Dean.
"You know, the whole town's gonna die." Dean said.
"Good." Emily said, throwing the branch on the tree, the four of you watching as it went up in flames. 
"Good luck!" you called out, the three of you at a bus station watching as Emily boarded a bus to Boston.
"Think she's gonna be alright?" Sam asked, looking over to you and Dean.
"I hope so." Dean said.
"She just survived livin' in a town of fuckin' nut jobs, and almost being sacrificed. Pretty sure she's gonna be just fine." you said, Sam nodding.
"And the rest of the townspeople, they'll just get away with it?" Sam asked.
"Guess so." you breathed out.
"Well, what'll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough." Dean said, the three of you walking to the car. "So, can we drop you off somewhere?" Dean asked Sam.
"No, I think you guys are stuck with me." Sam said, stopping at the car.
"What made you change your mind?" you asked.
"I didn't. I still wanna find Dad, and you two are still a pain in the ass." Sam said, Dean nodding.
"Hey!! And to think I offered to kiss you." you teased, Sam shaking his head, a smile on his face.
"But, Jess and Mom...they're both gone. Dad is God knows where, You, me, and Y/N...we're all that's left. So, if we're gonna see this through, we're gonna do it together." Sam said.
"Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful." Dean said, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder, Sam smacking it away.
"You two should be kissing my ass. You guys were dead meat." Sam said.
"Yeah, right. I had a plan. I'd have gotten us out." Dean said, you shaking your head.
"Right." Sam said, smiling as he opened the car door.
"You know, I gotta side with Sam on this one. We were fucked." you said, giving Sam a look, a smile on his face.
"I had a plan." Dean argued.
"Really? Cause the last thing I remember was you tellin' me that you're dying wish was to know where my tattoos are." you said, raising one eyebrow.
Dean threw his arm around your shoulders, "Speakin' of that...you never got around to telling me." he said.
"Well," you said, shrugging his arm off, "You aren't dying now, are you?" you asked, opening the door to get in.
"Come on, Singer! That's not fair." Dean said.
"Not a word, Sam." you said, pointing at him over the car.
"What?! Sam knows?" Dean asked you before turning to Sam, "You know?!" he asked, Sam looking down at his feet.
"He knows about one of them. I mean, he was there after all." you said, sliding into the backseat, Dean staring after you slack jawed.
"You better start talkin'." he said to Sam, Sam shaking his head.
"No way, man. You heard her." Sam said, getting into the car and closing the door.
"Son of a bitch!!" Dean yelled, kicking at the ground before opening the door and climbing behind the wheel. 
"Can we stop at the next motel?" you asked, a few hours later.
"It's barely nine. We can keep going for a little while." Dean said.
"Please." you said, Sam snoring softly in the passenger seat.
"If you're that tired take a nap back there." Dean said, glancing over at you as you leaned over the seat.
"I'm not tired. Would you just do it, please?" you asked, Dean sighing.
"Fine." he said, spotting a sign for a motel at the next exit. 
Dean pulled into the parking lot of the motel, "You wake up Sleeping Beauty, and I'll get the room." he said before getting out of the car.
"Sam." you said, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up."
"Hmm...we stoppin' already?" Sam asked, sitting up in his seat before rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, Dean's getting a room. Come on." you said, grabbing your bag and getting out of the car, Sam following after you. 
Dean opened the door, you and Sam walking through first, Dean following. You tossed your bag on the end of one of the beds before turning to Dean.
"I need the keys." you said, Dean giving you the room key.
"To the car." you said, shaking your head.
"Why?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes at you. "You're the one who was bitchin' to stop."
"Because I have a surprised planned, asshole. I need to the keys to go get it." you said.
"A surprise?" Dean asked.
"Just give me the keys, De. I'll be right back." you said, holding out your hand, Dean reluctantly dropping the keys.
"Right back." he said, a warning tone to his voice, you rolling your eyes before you turned to the door.
"What's that about?" Sam asked, laying across the bed he claimed.
"Who knows." Dean said, shrugging his shoulders. "She said she had a surprise." 
You walked in the door about forty minutes later carrying two brown bags.
"I was about to come looking for you. That wasn't right back." Dean said.
"I may have hit a snag." you said, walking to the table, placing the bags down.
"Snag?" Dean asked, worried about his car.
"Well, come on boys." you said, looking between them. "Get your asses over here. We're celebrating." you said.
"Celebrating?" Dean asked, one brow raised as he walked to your side.
"Celebrating what?" Sam asked, making his way to the table.
"Well, for one." you said, gesturing between you and Dean, "We didn't die, and then, two, you came back." you said, smacking Dean's hand away from the bag. "It's not a fuckin' surprise if you look."
"I'm tired, Y/N. So, can we do whatever you're gonna do already?" Sam asked.
"Well, I was gonna go ahead and get started but it looks like I'll have to remove the stick from your ass first." you said, Dean laughing.
"Alright, what do you got in there?" Dean asked, sitting down.
"I got jerky for you." you said, reaching into the bag, tossing a few bags of beef jerky in front of him. "And these are mine." you said, grabbing a couple bags of M&M's.
"Snacks? The big surprise is snacks?" Sam asked, Dean already tearing into one of his bags.
"This is where I hit the snag. You just can't get healthy shit at gas stations or liquor stores." you said, reaching into the bag, "So, Sam, you get veggie flavored chips, and this questionable lookin' apple." you said, placing them in front of him. " I really wouldn't fuckin' eat that if I were you."
"Yeah, I don't think I will." Sam said, looking at the apple.
"Now, for the good stuff." you said, pulling out two bottles of Johnnie Walker Blue.
"Oh, now you're talkin', Singer." Dean said, snatching a bottle as you grabbed three of the little disposable cups the motel offered.
Dean opened the bottle and filled each of your cups, "To not dying, and Sam coming back." you said, raising your cup before shooting it down, Sam and Dean following after you. 
The first bottle was well on it's way to being empty, the three of you talking and laughing about anything and everything.
"You should have seen them, Sam." you laughed out, Dean refilling your cup. "They were so freaked out. You woulda had them eatin' out of your hand, though." you said, Dean nodding.
"I still don't see how you guys ever made it without me." Sam said, shaking his head.
"Yeah, we aren't the best with people." you said.
"Speak for yourself, Singer. I'm great with people." Dean said.
"You're great with bimbos." you said, pointing a finger at him, Dean glaring at you.
"Alright, guys." Sam said, slapping the table. "I'm callin' it a night."
"Lightweight." Dean said, Sam standing up from the table.
"Night, Sam." you said, refilling your cup.
"So, you ready to call it a night, too?" Dean asked.
"Does it look like I am?" you asked before raising your cup to your lips, Dean smiling at you. 
Sam's snores were filling the room, and you and Dean had somehow made your way from the table to the floor at the end of your bed.
"How drunk are you?" you asked, your head leaning against the bed as you looked over at him.
"Well, I'm not sober." Dean said, a big smile on his face as if it was the funniest thing in the world. "You?"
"Drunk enough to know I'm drunk, but not drunk enough to not know what I'm doing." you said, hoping it came out like meant it to.
You got to your feet, a little shaky at first, "Wh-what are ya doin'?" Dean asked, looking up at you.
"I gotta show you somethin'." you said, pulling off your gloves, tossing them to the floor.
"I've seen your hands before, you know." Dean said, your foot coming out to gently kick him.
"It's easier to unbutton my jeans without the gloves, smartass." you said, toeing off your boots.
"Un-unbutton you pants?" Dean asked, looking up at you nervously.
"You wanna see my tattoo or not?" you asked, unbuttoning your jeans, Dean's eyes laser focused on you as he nodded his head.
You pulled your zipper down and started to pull your jeans down over your hips, shimmying a little as you worked them down.
"Here, let me help." Dean said, pulling your jeans down until you could step out of them.
"You'll have to scoot closer. It's kinda small." you said, Dean leaning in as you held the hem of your shirt up with one hand, and hooked your thumb into the right side of your panties, pulling them down just a little, just far enough for him to see it.
"Is that...?" Dean asked, trailing off as he cocked his head to the side and leaned in closer, his shoulders starting to shake before he threw his head back laughing.
"Shut up! You're gonna wake Sam up." you scolded, shoving at him.
Dean looked up at you, wiping his watering eyes, "Is...is that a cartoon M&M?" he laughed out.
"Don't laugh, asshole." you said, glaring down at him.
"What...what's it holding?" Dean asked, leaning in closer again, trying desperately not to laugh.
"A shot glass." you said, before bursting out laughing yourself.
Dean raised his hand, resting it on your hip, his thumb running over the tattoo, "Never in a million years would I have guessed that." he said, pulling you down into his lap, your legs on either side of his so that you were straddling him.
"Yeah, well, I had a reason for getting it, but I just can't remember what it was." you said, Dean laughing before pulling you in closer to him.
"I like it." he said, his face inches from yours.
"Do you now?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning down your lips ghosting over his.
"You lost a bet." Sam mumbled, you and Dean whipping your heads to face him, "Also, I need to make something very clear." Sam said, rolling over in bed to face the two of you, "I'm in the room. I need you both to remember that I'm in the room, so put your pants back on Y/N." he said before rolling back over.
"Sam's in the room." you said, looking at Dean, hesitating a moment before standing up.
"Sam's in the room." Dean breathed out, his head dropping back against the bed in frustration. 
A/N: Thank you all for taking the time to read this. I’m going to try to get the next two episodes posted as soon as I can. <3 <3
Tags: @for-a-brothers-love​ @slytherinrising​ @miraclesoflove​ @22sarah08​ @deans-baby-momma​ @spnae​ @karikatz12481​ @spngirl05​ @winchester-fantasies​ @freddiemermaytaydeac​ @rainbowkisses31​ @in-deans-arms​ @scentedhoundshepherdmoney​ @teamfreewillisbae​ @it-could-go-off​ @moonlight-on-her-skin
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katehuntington · 4 years
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Title: Changes - part ten Word count:  ±3300 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part ten: Zoë wakes up in the dark, under ground and finds the victims she was looking for, but will they be able to get out of the grim situation. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks.  Author’s note: I super excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!
Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist
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     Slowly, Zoë regains consciousness and opens her eyes. Not that it makes much of a difference, she still can’t see a damn thing. A disturbing smell fills her nostrils, a mixture of rotten remains and sewer waste causing her to gag. She wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what is actually causing the stench.       She rubs her face and groans, then pulls her hand back. Her fingers feel sticky, she recognizes the substance just by feeling it. The huntress blinks a couple of times in an attempt to drive the splitting headache away, licking her lips and tasting the metallic taste of blood on them. Where the hell is she and what the fuck happened?       Tentatively, she explores her surroundings by touch, feeling three walls and eventually prison bars; she’s trapped. Then she hears soft wailing in the distance.      “Anyone there?” she calls out.      “Y-yes.”      Zoë curses internally; shit. Her question is answered by a child.       “Are you okay?” Zoë asks, friendly.      “No,” she sniffles.      “What’s your name, sweety?”      “I’m Lizzy--”      “-who are you?”       A female voice, much older than the young girl she was just talking to, bounces off the concrete walls.      “I’m Zoë,” the huntress answers, leaving her false names out this time. “Are you Michelle?”      “Yeah.”
     Zoë closes her eyes and sighs. It’s Terry Cliffer’s wife, and she’s assuming Lizzy is short for Lisbeth, their daughter. Wild guess her little brother, who she remembers to be three years old from the records, is stuck here as well. The fear and hopelessness is evident in their voices. Who knows how long they have been down here. Damnit, this is even worse than she expected. They are trapped God knows where and if she herself doesn’t even know where she is, the police surely aren't gonna find them either. For a moment, she regrets sending Sam and Dean away. She hates to admit it, but she could use their help right now.
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     “Are we the only ones in here?” Zoë asks the family.      “No.”       The huntress peers into the dark, trying to distinguish where the male voice came from.      “As far as we know, there are seven of us down here, including the children. But some haven’t responded in a while.”      Zoë grinds her teeth, swallowing thickly. Some haven’t responded? She knows what that means. Fuck, she’s too late, isn’t she?       “Let me guess; you’re Neil O’Brien?” She folds her fingers around the iron bars and opens her eyes wide, hoping to be able to see some shapes in the pitch dark place. “And the others, Nadia Milton and Cole Richards?”      “How do you know that?”      Zoë chuckles, finding what she’s about to say rather ironic. “I was looking for you.”      “No offence, but good job,” the guy comments.      “People are looking for us?!”       Zoë hasn’t heard the female voice before, but she knows it’s Nadia.      “No, just me,” Zoë corrects, honestly.      “Not much hope for us then,” Neil concludes, depressed.       “I’ll get us out of here.” 
     Zoë gets up determined. Her eyes are getting used to the dark, but she still can’t make out faces in the other cells. She takes a bobby pin from her hair, folds it into a lock pick, then begins to work on her escape.      “Did you see it?”       It’s Neil who asks. The fact that he uses the word ‘it’ indicates that he already realizes that their kidnapper is not human. Zoë decides to tell them the truth.      “I fought the bastard,” she corrects, continuing to work concentrated.       “You know what it is then?”       “Yeah, I know what it is.” 
     The final pin lines up inside the lock and it springs free. Zoë kicks the iron door open and stumbles out, the slight dizziness catching her by surprise. Thin, fragile beams of moonlight fall through small holes in the ceiling; it looks like the lid of a manhole. Now that her eyes are adjusted to her dark surroundings, she can make out shadows. She’s standing in a small space, cages on either side. She searches the walls, but she can’t see anything that might indicate a staircase or another way out. While she examines the place she woke up in, she answers his question.
     “It’s a shapeshifter. A creature that is able to mimic and change into other people, looking exactly like them,” she explains.      Nadia whimpers. “This is insane.”       “You saw it yourself,” Neil snaps.      “Hey, fighting won’t help.” Zoë breaks up the argument before it can even kick off, as she kneels down by the cell across from hers.      With the makeshift lockpick, the huntress tries to open the cage which holds the Cliffer family. Lizzy, a girl with messy curls, clamps her tiny hands around the bars while she watches Zoë work. Tears glisten in her eyes, the faint light from above barely catching them.      “Are you going to save us?” she whispers.      “I’m gonna try my very best, honey,” Zoë returns, smiling softly.
     She continues with the task at hand, unlocks the door and moves on to the next cell. While adjusting the bobby pin slightly before testing the spring-loaded pens, it dawns on her what Neil said earlier.       “You mentioned there are seven people down here. Who’s the seventh?”       “We don’t know. A big guy. He arrived just before you did,” he says.
     Flakes of memory fall through the creaks in the roof that is her mind, finally forming a picture of what exactly happened in the hours prior to waking up. She remembers Sam, right before he struck her down. Not the real Sam, of course, but if the shifter took his disguise, then where is the younger Winchester brother?       The lock clicks, the barred door opening and freeing the remaining victims from their cages. She turns to Neil.      “Where is he?” Zoë asks, sternly.      The young guy covered in filth, nods to the side. “In the cell next to yours.” 
     Without replying, she quickly moves to the cage that accommodates the hunter. Frantically she works the lock. When it busts, Zoë hastens inside and finds Sam on his back, unconscious. She checks his vitals, relieved to feel a steady pulse drum against her index and middle finger. His chest rises under her palm; he’s breathing. When she wipes his hair out of his face, she feels broken skin above his temple; seems like she wasn’t the only one who received a blow in the head.      “Sam, can you hear me? Wake up, Sasquatch,” she tries, frustrated.      Careful not to shake him or worsen his injuries otherwise, she sits with him, hoping her voice will get through. It takes a while, but eventually he starts to show signs of coming to.      “Zoë?” he mumbles, voice raspy.       She creates distance by sitting back on her heels. “Yeah, it’s me.”       “Did you just call me ‘Sasquatch’?”       “Well, you are ridiculously tall,” she scoffs. “Glad I didn’t have to drag your ass out of this place. Could’ve broken a nail.”
     The hunter pushes himself up, chuckling at her wit. “Damn, I’m glad to see you.”      “Well, don’t be. I’m just as trapped as you are,” she sighs.      “You two know each other?” Neil asks from his cell.      “Yeah, we’re sort of… colleagues, I guess,” Sam declares, still drowsy.      They get on their feet, but the younger Winchester brother has trouble keeping his balance and leans against the steel bars, the huntress stepping in to support him.      “Easy. You alright?” Zoë checks.      “Yeah, just a headache,” he grunts, trying to chase the black spots from his vision.
     “When did that slithering bastard capture you?” she wonders, trying to make sense of the timeline.      “I was at Beetle's Bar to back you up, but I guess I got made. It overpowered me right after I parked the car a few blocks away. That's all I remember,” Sam explains.      For a second she considers yelling at him for meddling with her case again, but what’s the use? It’s not Sam’s fault he got snatched, the shifter figured it out even before either of them showed up at the bar.      She huffs. “Damn, that lizard is sneaky. Where’s Dean?”      “At our motel,” Sam admits.      “Okay, good. He’s still in town. You’re missing, so he will come and look for you in - what - a few hours, right?” she assumes, hopeful.
     Sam steps out into the moonlight. Zoë can see the blood has found a way down the side of his face and turned the collar of his shirt red. She also notices the guilty expression on his face.      “Not likely,” he admits.      Zoë frowns at the confusing answer, already annoyed. “Why not?”       “I was gonna stay out because he had a girl over for the night,” Sam admits.      Stunned she stares at him. A girl? She feels the anger building in her chest and takes a moment to collect herself, instead of unleashing her wrath.      “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” she hisses, keeping her voice down for the sake of the children. “You’re telling me that Dean is fucking some chick while we’re stuck in this dungeon?”      Sam looks up at the lid and frowns.      “Actually, this doesn’t seem to be a dungeon. I think we’re in the septic tank,” Sam corrects.       Zoë throws him a death glare, stepping closer intimidatingly. Now might not be the best time for the brains of the Winchester operation to better her terminology.      “Let me rephrase that. You’re telling me that Dean is fucking some chick while we’re stuck in this shithole!?"      “Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Sam admits, smiling awkwardly.      “Wonderful.” 
     She walks back and forth between Sam and the bars, trying to come up with a way to get out, until the soggy and squishy sounds under her feet cause her to halt. Disgusted, Zoë looks down at her boots, realizing all this time she has been standing, sitting and laying in--      “- shit.”      She retches and coughs; it does explain the smell.       “This is disgusting,” she mutters, needing to get out of the cage when she starts to feel sick.      “It gets worse,” Sam adds. “When the shifter attacked me, it looked like you. Good chance that thing used the same disguise to ambush Dean.”      Zoë turns her head slowly and stares at Sam, her jaw agape and her eyes wide in shock.      “Well, there goes my reputation of a good civilian,” she deadpans.
     As their problems pile up, the Cliffer family emerges from their cage, afraid like hunted deer. Lizzy, probably not even six years old, steps into the dim light. The poor little girl looks like she’s about to burst into tears, her dress dirty, her big eyes shimmering. Zoë helps out Michelle, who’s weakened by the days of malnutrition. She has a younger boy by her hand, who is crying silently.       Concerned, Zoë exchanges a look with Sam. There's empathy in her eyes, her need to care for the victims evident in them; something Sam hasn’t seen before. He understands, though; they need to get these people out fast, they’ve been through way too much. Sam searches his pockets for his phone.      “You won’t find it, he took mine as well as everything else I was carrying,” she discourages.
     “Zo, the shifter took my form first, then yours, so it copied our memories. It knows Dean and I were staying at the Deep Purple Inn, room number 301, everything,” he recalls. “If that thing went after my brother, disguised as you...”       Sam breathes in slowly and exhales; there’s no need to finish the sentence. Good chances are that Dean is in as much trouble as they are. 
     While crossing her arms in front of her chest, she brainstorms. They need to get in touch with Dean, or with anyone else in the outside world, but how? There is nothing here that can be used to draw attention and increase their chances of being found. Screams will only carry so far in these backlands. The situation is grim. If the shifter manages to trap or kill Dean, it's a possibility no one will access this property in months, maybe even years. A slow death by starvation might be the only fate that lays ahead. She swallows apprehensively; this is not how she planned to go out. 
     She looks back at the younger Winchester brother, noticing how something inside one of the cells has caught his attention.       “What is it?”      He nods at the cage and she peers through the bars, her eyes landing on another victim, collapsed against the wall with his eyes closed. Without hesitation Zoë opens the door, rushes inside and kneels down next to the seemingly lifeless body. The doctor she’s supposed to be surfaces, as she checks for vital signs.
     “Pulse is low and he's cold to the touch; he's hypothermic.” She turns to Sam. “Give me your jacket.”      He quickly takes it off and hands it over, then watches worriedly how she covers his torso with the only warmth they can offer. The victim moans weakly, but doesn’t exactly come to.      Sam looks back at the others. “Who’s this guy?”       “It’s Cole, he got here first,” Nadia answers.      “When was that?” he asks.      “I guess about ten days ago, I got here second, two days later,” she tells him, leaning against the doorframe.      “Did it feed you or anything?” Sam wonders.      “Not exactly, but the place floods when it rains. It’s all we have,” she explains.
     Sam shakes his head slowly, not believing what he’s hearing, and looks over at his colleague who is still by Cole’s side. This situation is heading from bad to worse. Cole needs help and he needs it fast, he doesn’t have much time.      “Is this Dean you talked about going to save us?” Michelle wonders.      Zoë looks over her shoulder at the mother of two, then up to Sam. The huntress can tell he’s conflicted; he wants to stay positive, but he wouldn’t be telling the truth if he promised that his brother will be here soon. So Zoë decides to respond for him.      “I’m not gonna lie to you, I don’t think so,” Zoë admits.      “So what, we’re stuck here? What if that shapeshifter thing comes back?” Neil exclaims.      “We’re all together in this,” Sam states, remaining calm. “We will figure something out.”      “Can’t we just knock him down when he shows up? Two men like us can handle him, right?” the clueless man proposes.
     Zoë scoffs as she gets to her feet. Not amused and feeling excluded, she’s ready to prove to him that women can fight just fine. Sam moves his arm in front of her and answers before she snaps.      “No, you’d need a silver bullet to kill him. He doesn’t show pain for anything else,” he explains. “Plus, he is much stronger than us humans. It would be impossible to overpower him.”      “We can’t just wait and see what happens! I don’t wanna die!” Neil freaks out.      “Could you keep it down? You’re scaring my children.” Michelle pulls Lizzy close, the little girl clinging to her mother’s leg.      “No, I can’t keep it down! I’ve been down here for week and I’m starving, and I—”      “Hey!” Zoë grabs his collar, stopping his rant. “Shut up!”      “Don’t tell me to--”  he bites back, but she shushes him and tilts her head to hear better.
     Now that it’s quiet in the tank, they can all hear a low rumble of a running engine. It’s origin is still distant, but seems to be steadily approaching.      “I know that sound,” Sam comments.      Zoë recognizes it, too. She could pick it out of a line up of a thousand motorcycles.     “It’s my Dave.”       The hunters exchange a look, considering the options in silent communication. The fact that the Harley Davidson just entered the property, doesn’t necessarily mean they are out of the woods. For all they know, the shapeshifter could have shed again, assumingly having copied Dean’s body.      “Everyone back in their cell!” Sam orders.      “That son of a bitch is riding my bike,” Zoë mutters, receiving a glare from the younger Winchester, since it definitely isn’t the most important matter right now.      All close the doors and hide in their cage. The engine above ground is killed, total silence all that is left. Quietly, they listen to the footsteps above them, Sam and Zoë concerned and ready for combat, the rest full of fear.       “Sammy?!”      It’s Dean. It sounds like Dean, at least.      “Sam! Zoë!?” his voice echoes over the terrain.      Zoë glances at the young hunter, tensing up. Then she nods.       “Dean! We’re down here!” Sam yells at the top of his lungs.      Moonlight coming through the small holes above them is blocked from entering the tank. The cover shifts with a screeching sound and Dean’s silhouet appears through the round hole in the ceiling.      “I noticed the ‘D’ projected on the beautiful clear sky this evening, thought you might need some help,” he jokes.      “You’re not Batman, Dean. Get us out,” Sam responds.      “How many of you are down there?” he asks.      “Eight.”       “Alright, let me get the rope and a flashlight from the trunk. I saw the car parked up front, be right back.”      The figure that has such a resemblance to Dean disappears again, leaving a heavy silence.      “Follow my lead,” Zoë whispers to Sam.      It doesn’t take long for their rescuer - or kidnapper - to return, because a minute later a rope falls down through the sewer drain. He aims a flashlight down the tank and focuses on Zoë’s face for a moment.      “Good to see you, too. Awkward, but good,” he admits, that trademark smirk on his lips.      “Do I wanna know?” Zoë comments. “Get your ass down and free us already.”      He shines the light on the others down the tank.      “Don’t worry, people. You’ll be out in no time,” he assures, then lowers himself down into the septic tank.
     His feet haven’t even reached the ground yet, before he feels Zoë’s tight headlock around his neck. She pulls him off the rope and throws him on his back, overpowering him in a blink of an eye and landing on top. Sam quickly picks up the torch and shines the bright light in his brother’s eyes. They don’t flash white; Zoë still stares down the pair of emerald green irises, holding his wrists over his head with one hand, pinning him down. It's not enough proof for her yet, because she jerks Dean's pocket knife from his belt and carves the unexposed skin on his forearm until blood becomes visible. He flinches and lets out a gasp.      "Ow! You bitch!” he curses, eying her furiously as he pulls his arms free.      In response she punches his chest, warningly, an ‘umph!’ escaping Dean’s throat.      “I told you not to call me that. I had to be sure,” Zoë counters, not even bothering to apologize.
     Stunned, he eyes her while catching his breath, which proves to be difficult, since the huntress has a powerful grip on him with her thighs.      “You get a real kick out of torturing me, don't you?”       “Don't be such a baby. You're definitely Dean, though,” she huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest while judging him.      “Oh, shut up,” Dean returns, already done with her smart talk, before he redirects his gaze to his brother. “You okay, Sammy?”      Sam smiles, deciding not to correct his brother on the nickname for once.       “I’m okay. Good to see you made it in one piece.”      “Likewise. Now you--” Dean returns his glare to Zoë, who’s still sitting on his stomach, and shoos her. “- get off me. I already had you all over me tonight.”      Zoë furrows her brow puzzled, wondering what he means by that, but stands up and allows him to do the same.       “You have a phone?” Sam asks.      “Yeah, I already called 911,” he informs and turns to the others. “Now, let's get you people out.”
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samclownchester · 4 years
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Supernatural Rewatch 01x14
Nightmare
(Next Episode | Masterlist | Previous Episode)
(Not Spoiler Free, I’ve seen up to 15x13) 
Alright, it’s taken me a while to write my summary of this episode because it deals with some pretty heavy stuff, and I’m not sure if it deals with it very well. There are people who are much more knowledgeable about this subject than I am who have written really good essays on The Winchesters and abuse, so I’ll leave that to them. I’m just going to try and talk about what we learn specifically from this episode:
I’m going to start at the end, when Sam and Dean are walking away from the home of an abused kid who just committed suicide in front of them and they say:
SAM: Well I'll tell you one thing. We're lucky we had Dad.
DEAN: (Looking astounded and pleased) Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that.
SAM: Well, it could’ve gone a whole other way after Mom. A little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we would’ve had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out ok. Thanks to him.
DEAN: All things considered.
This is an argument used very often throughout the show to absolve John Winchester of his guilt, of how much he failed as a father – it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. It could have been worse. Much worse. At this point in the show Dean is still completely dedicated to his father, and although Sam pushed back against him and thinks how they were raised “was jacked,” I don’t think he’s fully conceptualized it as “child abuse.” I don’t know if either of them really ever do. (Once they kill Chuck, they really need to go to therapy). What we do learn here is that John didn’t regularly beat them. And Sam is grateful for that. That’s a really low bar.
A moment that I feel like is worth commenting on is when Sam is talking with Max, trying to understand him and Max says, “When my Dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?” and after a long pause, Sam answers “no.” I can’t tell whether Sam is lying here or not.
In my personal, very unprofessional, and uninformed, opinion, I think Sam is realizing that his relationship with his dad wasn’t That Bad ™ and so he doesn’t feel qualified to compare it to what Max is describing to him. (For instance, I have been Depressed ™ but when I had a friend who was officially diagnosed with Clinical Depression and started taking medication for it, I didn’t feel like my experience was bad enough to really compare and I started to think that maybe I had never really been depressed to begin with (news flash, although my experience was different I was still definitely depressed)). But that’s what I think Sam is feeling here. He had a bad childhood, he has a bad relationship with his father, and normally he’s not afraid of acknowledging that, but when faced with something that is bad on a whole different level, he suddenly feels like he doesn’t have a right to dislike his dad. Like he doesn’t have a right to be hurt by the way his dad treated him, because his dad never hurt him in this way.
I think he does know what it’s like to see hatred in his father’s eyes. But John never crossed that line so … it couldn’t have been abuse, right?
(Wrong)
   This episode also features an argument between Sam and Dean that we will revisit often throughout the course of the show: Kill the monster or give them a chance to be human?
Sam: … I was connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess -- because we're so alike?
DEAN: What are you talking about. The dude's nothing like you.
SAM: Well. We both have psychic abilities, we both...
DEAN: Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third.
SAM: Well, with what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I'm sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it's not that insane.
DEAN: Yeah but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family!
SAM: Dean...
DEAN: He's no different from anything else we've hunted, all right? We gotta end him.
SAM: We're not going to kill Max.
DEAN: Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say 'Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.'
SAM: No way. Forget it.
DEAN: Sam...
SAM: Dean. He's a person. We can talk to him. Hey, promise me you'll follow my lead on this one.
DEAN:(After a long pause) All right fine. But I'm not letting him hurt anybody else. (takes Gun)
Something interesting that I’ve notice is, up to this point in the show, almost every monster they’ve faced has looked very inhuman. In later seasons we see more Vampires and Werewolves, monsters who look mostly human until they attack. The monsters the brothers have faced in season 1, even the reaper in “Faith,” don’t look like people. Even the demon they exorcised in “Phantom Traveler” didn’t act like the demons we meet later in the show – it didn’t talk much, and when it did it was with a monstrous voice. None of the monsters have been shown as sentient, conscious beings who can make decisions for themselves (with the exception of the Shapeshifter in “Skin” but he was so obviously creepy and messed up that any sympathy the audience felt for him was mixed with revulsion).
The point is, Max is the first “monster” we are introduced to who we understand to be fully human, capable of reasoning and understanding. Sam, with his deep empathy, sees himself in Max even before he knows they’re connected. He wants to help him. Dean, on the other hand, believes that evil deserves to be killed, and if something is killing people by Supernatural means – even if those killings are “justified” – then it’s his job to put a stop to it. This is something that the brothers never see eye-to-eye on, and it’s interesting to track how it affects the way they approach problems all throughout the series. (Including Jack who, sadly, Dean sees as a monster before he’s even been given a chance.)
 The last comment I wanted to make is just an observation of the different ways Dean tries to protect Sam. There are two points in this episode where Dean is forced to confront the reality that his little brother suddenly has psychic abilities:
Once, while driving:
DEAN: I don't know Sam but we'll figure it out. We've faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.
SAM: No. It's never been us. It's never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can't tell me this doesn't freak you out.
DEAN: (After staring straight ahead for a long moment) This doesn’t freak me out. 
And again later, at the very end of the episode as they leave their motel room:
DEAN: I know what we need to do about your premonitions. I know where we have to go.
SAM: Where?
DEAN: (Deadpan) Vegas.
DEAN grins at SAM
DEAN: What? Come on man. Craps tables. We'd clean up!
DEAN follows SAM to the door and pauses on the threshold. He considers SAM, looking very thoughtful, then turns to pull the door closed.
In the first scene the audience (and honestly probably Sam) can clearly see that Dean is worried. But he won’t admit it. He knows Sam is scared of what’s happening to him, but it’s Dean’s job to protect his brother and he’s not going to make this any scarier than it needs to be. So he calls it “just another thing” and he tries to casually say that it doesn’t freak him out, even though it does.
Later, we see him joking about it. In a previous episode I made a comment about how I feel like Sam is bothered that Dean doesn’t seem to be taking this seriously, but in this episode, we see that the jokes are being used to mask his fear (in typical Dean Winchester fashion.) He is deeply worried about Sam’s powers, but he doesn’t want Sam to know. He doesn’t want Sam to worry. So he makes light of it, forces himself to laugh about it, all in an effort to protect Sam.
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theheartchoice · 5 years
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A Little Old Fashioned 
teen  |  4k  |  canonverse s14  |  ao3 
for @spnonewordbingo  (inspired by this fanart by @thefriendlypigeon​) 
square:  TIE 
Coda set after 14x13. Cas tends to Dean's wounds. 
“You're not alright.”
It hadn't been a question but Dean had answered it anyway. “I'm fine, Cas.”
He wasn't. Not on the outside or the inside. But he has no doubt that he could be fine by now, at least in one regard. 
Dean could've let Cas heal him, maybe then let himself be eased into a dreamless sleep to wake the next day well-rested and without a post-brawl headache. 
Cas had offered―of course he had offered, damn-near insisted―and Dean had seen the need in his eyes to make this right. Though It's been a while, knowing the contusions mottling Dean's face and coloring his ribs were caused by Cas' own hands..? It wrangled a painfully familiar look on his friend's face―wounded and worried and wracked with stupid guilt―that Dean felt a similarly pained need to fix. 
He could've allowed Cas to unburden that guilt clearly weighing on him by taking the easy way out―for both of them. Guilt, which is ridiculous because none of what happened was Cas’ fault. But he's always been protective like that, always willing to shoulder the blame for things beyond his control, beyond his own doing. 
It's that Guardian part of him, Dean thinks, he feels like he's failed us―failed me, like our―my wellbeing is his never-ending responsibility. And doesn't that just churn Dean's insides like two currents warring against each other: to be someone's burden; to be deserving of such care. Because he's not blind to it, he sees Cas treat him differently from Sam. Dare he say.. softer. 
But he didn't refuse Cas' grace because he didn't want his help, or because he felt deserving of the beat down he received. This time, after everything that's happened over the past twenty seven hours, Dean just needed a little bit of old fashioned T.L.C. 
No more magic. Just booze and bandages and the steady hands of an old friend. 
Hands which are now securing the compress around his ribs. Dean fails to hold back a wince―but it's not from the contact; Cas' hands are warm. Soft yet firm, broad palms and nimble fingers. His touch is grounding, yet delicate in a way Dean tries hard to convince himself he actually deserves (but nonetheless revels in). 
Cas steps away to ready the swab for his knuckles and Dean lets his clean shirt drop back down (dark fabric, to hide any trace of red that might seep through the bandages). He takes another sip of the good whiskey to swill round his mouth. He can't really taste it, just likes the burn and the way it smooths over his palet to numb everything in its wake.
Left hand petting down his thigh, soft clean flannel a welcome sensation (a nice distraction), Dean watches as Cas takes that same hand in his (gently), lifting it to the lamplight to inspect the damage.
Another welcome distraction. 
He watches as Cas dabs that pungent, old-timey antiseptic over the dried blood of each abrasion; as he takes care not to press on the wounds with each gentle swipe of the cotton bud. The iodine is cool against his split skin; smells like sour oranges, jarring and unpleasant, but Dean breathes deep anyway. 
On the inhale, he catches a rain-fresh scent diluted by dusty roads. It permeates the air well enough to rise above the foul medicinal smell, and he feels a smile form without need for a thought, let alone a command. 
It's familiar. It's the bearing of home even when the bunker―and, at times, the mortal plane itself―is an entire world away. 
As it is, Dean is home. He's propped up on the map table in the early hours of the morning, dawn probably not far off. It's been a long-ass day and he didn't trust his legs to keep him up, so he lets them hang over the edge from where his butt is firmly planted by the Cape of Good Hope. 
The purple of the continents is brighter than the hue settling in across his knuckles; probably his neck and face, too. He knows that sight (coupled with the involuntary twitches of pain Dean’s body insists on making to remind him it requires special attention) probably erks Cas, somewhat―knowing they could both be done with this by now.
But Cas didn’t protest against Dean’s want for the old fashioned treatment. And he doesn’t complain about it taking longer or being far more tedious.. or being reliant on even more time spent together―up close―tending to battle wounds.
The soft backlight glow of the map casts an almost romantic feel over their makeshift medbay. 
Cas has the resident first-aid kit open beside him; has readied silver dishes, now filled with a mess of blood-stained sponges and cleaning alcohol. He has everything he needs to tend to Dean's wounds, and he's taking his sweet time to do it. 
Methodical, careful, as one might think any Angel would be. 
Not that Cas is just any old Angel. 
And not that Dean is complaining about their extended time together, fatigue be damned.
He can see it working for Cas, too: helping Dean is helping to purge all that misplaced guilt and second-hand pain he carries for Dean's injuries.
This isn’t just about mending Dean's body with a simple touch. This isn’t just about Dean. 
Angelic Grace may be one helluva pick-me-up―fast and more than effective―but there's just something about this kind of prolonged close proximity and corporeal care that does a little extra to help with the pain, for both of them. 
       When it comes time to tend to his face, Dean doesn't hesitate: his knees shift open on a reflex to make room for Cas between them; he can reach both cheeks from this new angle and he won't have to move around Dean to get to the medkit. 
Eyes slipping shut, Dean lets go a long, tired sigh, exhaustion settling deep.. He feels at ease. Safe. He feels Cas move in closer; the cold sweep of iodine across his left cheekbone, sour oranges ripe in his nostrils.. cool touch to his right eyebrow.. his hairline.. It does sting, but it seems his body has now reached that level of fatigue where it’s too tired to even flinch. 
So tired, it seems, that it tilts a little too far forward as Cas retreats, trying to occupy the space where his friend had been; Dean should probably lay down, but leaning is also good, so.. why not? 
He grabs hold of the table's ledge to stop the fall―jerks to a more alert state of consciousness; eyes still heavy as he blinks but heart racing enough to keep them open, aware, and― 
―and Cas has him by the shoulders, is holding him steady. He's always good like that. 
Maybe Dean should've sat in the chair, had something to lean on. Why didn't he do that..? Why was he sitting up on the table..? It’s not really comfortable, and the pocket of chill beneath it is undoing the blood-warming-good his shower had done, leg muscles twitching to get away from the cold.. 
..But now there's a palm against his jaw, cradling it; a thumb ghosting over the tiny cuts flecking his stubble. Cas is so close, and so warm. And (again) there's no need for thought. 
Dean lets his head fall to rest on Cas. The immediate temptation to snake his arms beneath coat and jacket to eliminate all space between their bodies suddenly seems like the greatest idea since the invention of those oversized trenchcoats, way-back-when. The chill will sneak in there, is all. And that's no good. It's always coldest just before dawn, and dawn is nearing to break soon. Neither of them should be cold. 
And he never did put much stock in any of those dime-a-dozen old sayings, but maybe there's one Dean can get behind: great minds think alike. 
Or, great arms move alike, at least. 
Cas encircles him. Dean's not sure who moved first, but his own arms have found their way around Cas' waist; right where he wanted them to be. It happened without memory, a wish come true in a slow, surreal blink; no thought needed, just a feeling. 
There's a warm weight around his shoulders, measured breaths tickling the back of his neck. Cas smells like sunshine after a rainstorm and the air of the open road. 
“..Glad you're you.” 
The words mumble into Cas' chest, but Dean knows he can hear them. 
Cas murmurs back into his hair.
“..Whoever I am, I am because I met you, Dean.” His words are as warm as his body; they feel like a lullaby. “You helped me want to be better.” 
Dean's not convinced he deserves that sort of credit, but he can't be blamed for snuggling closer anyway, for burying his face in Cas' blood-free button-up. Just like he can't be blamed for pulling Cas in with his arms, his legs.. embracing his likeness to a full-body pillow. Maybe it's the feathers, Dean muses idly, Angel feathers must be so soft.. comfy pillow-fluffers.. and―.. 
..bouncy pillow? 
He pulls away just enough to look up; hands shifting to rest on hips; heel notched behind knee; sole of one foot sliding down the slope of a firm calf..
..Cas is right there, and he's smiling.
Dean feels his own face pull into a frown―justified, because he's confused, maybe a little annoyed; he missed the joke. It is pretty, though. A smiling Cas is always pretty―even when it's a smirk, because smirks are sexy. 
And he's bouncing again―Cas is laughing. And suddenly the lost-joke doesn’t matter at all. 
“You're giggly.” And it's beautiful, and Dean's frown upturns into a smile of his own. 
“And you're tired, Dean.” 
No argument 'ere.
And there's a hand combing through the hair behind his ear. He leans into the touch, bobs his head―just once, and just barely―in response so as not to lose any more energy through movement or forming of words. He has just enough left to instruct his body to tip forward again and resume position as a koala-bear, wrapped around his Angel. 
“Dean..” 
“..Mmmhm..” 
A warm touch along the exposed side of his face, another on the opposite shoulder, and in the process of a slow exhale.. space appears between them before Dean can even think to open his eyes.
He does though―slowly, again―and finds Cas looking down at him, regarding him with something like fondness―must be fondness; Cas is fond of Dean, he knows this―blue eyes catching the golden light of the antique lamp, reflecting it back at him. Not hard, though, not like a mirror. More like water, like pools of water both ancient and new, refreshing and sunwarmed, inviting the kind of swim where he could happily drown, but knows he never would.
Somehow, he just knows. 
It's a remarkable feat, too, the fact that Dean's still sitting upright, that he hasn't toppled over to curl up on the table or let his body slip over the edge and pour itself into a puddle on the floor like it wants to. His muscles feel like liquid, ready to settle.
Cas is still close, still hugged by Dean's thighs, loose as they are. And it's as he reaches back to the medkit―Dean's eyes following that arm extending, that suddenly traitorous hand that has left his face in favor of something way less important, he's sure―his own hand comes into view: it's holding onto Cas’ tie, helping Dean keep his balance.
An idea tries to bubble up that maybe he's hurting Cas and should let go. But another one, a better one, knocks that bubble back into the abyss before it has the chance to surface. The better idea floats casually by and it's a nice reminder: Cas is strong.
But Dean's not a total ass. He'd rather go Dutch than get a free meal, which is why his other hand is back to bracing the table's edge.
One hand on Cas, one elsewhere. Both places provide support but only one offers comfort, too.
And seeing as how both of Cas’ hands are now back on Dean, it almost seems unfair not to return the favor..
Sour oranges waft back into his nostrils and it's déjà vu: cool sweep across left cheekbone, right eyebrow, his hairline.. History is repeating, and confusion stumbles sleepily through his mind to loosen his hold, hand slipping down Cas’ tie to the wider end. Dean's gaze is drawn passed the deep blue in his grasp to the not-so-white of Cas’ everclean dress-shirt.
‘Least ts'not blood, he thinks.
He tries to focus, eyes fuzzy: no, not red, but orange. Surprisingly vibrant smears of it across Cas’ chest, darker smudges either side of his buttons. If Dean squinted―which, okay, maybe he already is―it might look like the imprint of a face―like the face of someone who decided to wipe themselves clean on the nearest absorbable surface.
Like Cas’ shirt.
And it's Dean's face.
He'll have to soak it to get the stains out. It's the least he can do.
Somewhere in the background of consciousness he knows there's one wound left―one Cas didn't get to the first time around. Dean hadn't been keen on the bitter taste of iodine. The sense memory of it sneaking past his split lip to accost his taste buds had made him shudder―or it would have, if he had the energy for it. But he didn't want it then and he wants it even less, now.
Maybe it shows on his face―although he's not really sure how since his face feels just as loose as the rest of him, as every part of him that's not the bare minimum grasping at table and Cas, trying to keep from falling―because Cas has stilled.
A broad hand frames the marred side of Dean's face (again), and that familiar warmth returns.
It's not magic. It's not Angelic. It's just Castiel.
The swab is gone. The scent of iodine has faded, as if far away (and not rising up from the little silver dish right beside him).
And Cas knows.
He knows Dean didn't want it, somehow. Maybe he read his mind. Maybe he didn't have to.
Cas’ thumb is closer than before: tracing down through Dean's stubble but edging at his lip, this time. Dean feels an urge well up that's neither surprising nor new. He recognises what it is, despite being unable to decipher what it means―and not just because his head is currently filled with clouds. He also couldn't say it―if he could even find a name for it―if he even wanted to.
Maybe he doesn't need to.
The pad of that thumb sweeps just under the hardened cut in Dean's bottom lip―which feels about ten times bigger beneath Cas’ touch, his gaze; Dean feels exposed, but in a good way. Worn out and wounded, but not weak.
There's trust and then there's care; there's fondness and then there's intimacy. Cas’ focus is solely and completely on him―intent and adoring, and it's all of the above.
It's a helluva look, and Dean's heart swells with that nameless sensation―it threatens to bust down the levee and overflow through his entire being, filling him up from the inside out.
Cas’ eyes seem imploring, bright and sad and so damn beautiful―it's too much to bear. Dean's chin dips down, eyes on the tie between his fingers, lips meeting that thumb in a soft press like it's the most natural thing in the world.
‘Natural’.. yeah, sounds ‘bout right.. Feels more natural n’ better than most things do―n’ so damn rare, it ain't fair.. ‘ts never fair..
His chin tilts back up―but not of its own accord, and sure as hell not because Dean moved it. Thumb drawn down off of Dean's lip, the strong fingers belonging to that same hand―such a good hand, with the caring touch―now guide his face towards the light (dim as it may be, but no less helpful to illuminate darker things).
Cas is closer than before (closer than ever).
The shadows of the bunker curl around his features only to be swept away by the soft golden light nearby. In this light―in any light―Cas is beautiful (always so goddamn gorgeous and too damn kind for his own damn good). And there's a word, like that nameless feeling has found itself in letters, still jumbled in Dean's mind―but right there, within reach. It's the only word that really fits―and he wants to say it; wants to tell Cas so he knows it too. Because.. what if he doesn't?
What if, even after all this time, after everything, he still doesn't know because Dean never managed to say it? Well..
..Now seems as good a time as any.
Cas deserves to know.
Dean's lips try to form the words, hands holding onto Cas and table, trying to keep the world steady enough for long enough to voice them.
But that's the thing about shared moments like this―the ones that time stands still for while space suspends you, and if you lose your balance you'll fall through the clouds to land smack-bang on the cold hard ground, lost and alone and tossed out of your own special happening―if you take too long, someone else will talk first, move first, and you gotta hope you haven't missed your window, that they won't say or do something to throw you off balance and send you flying, falling, moment done and dusted, whether they meant to push you out of it, or not.
Cas’ lips part and there are words ready and loaded, Dean can tell―and he still can't manage to get his own in order, to beat Cas to the talk. Because what if it's not what he wants to hear? 
..Well, what else in't new, huh?.. Why mess w’th th’ same-old, same-old?.. Why try t’ fight it?.. S’me things won't ev’r change, can't change.. Not like you des’rve any better, ‘nyways..
But Cas doesn't speak.
He moves.
Lips move, without talking.
They brush against Dean's own, sandwich them in a delicate and delicious and wild sensation: hot and cold and light and heavy―heady in the best goddamned way―and he can feel himself falling, flying, holding onto Cas to keep from getting lost, pulls him in with every part of him―screw the cold hard table―tie in-hand and waist in-arm and legs finding unknown strength to draw Cas’ body in, pressed together at the edge of the table, edge of the world, edge of everything.
It's happening: he's overflowing from the inside-out―and it's terrifying.
And he'll gladly drown in it.
In Cas.
Fear is an old friend. Dean doesn't give a shit to end this moment any sooner than it'll last―and he hopes to hell and back that it lasts forever (even though he knows―somewhere, underneath it all―that that won't happen; can't happen). He fears this moment's end more than anything right now, but since when does life give a shit about his suffering, or what he wants?
The kiss ends, and it happens too soon (Dean knows it's too soon―it wasn't done being; he wasn't done swimming, breathing underwater).
Cas pulls back―lips caressing one last goodbye as they leave his own (alone).
Dean can't bear to open his eyes. He can feel Cas still tangled in his embrace; doesn't want to blink awake and find the moment over, dispelled like some cruel illusion. He doesn't want to watch Cas move away from him (it'll hurt enough to feel him go―it always hurt..).
But then―just as before―Cas surprises him with his movements.
Cas doesn’t leave. He stays close―hand still settled over Dean's old scar, fingers still curled gently about his chin, body still pressed against Dean's. The only notable difference is the terrible lack of his lips on Dean (anywhere would do). But Cas is close; he stayed, and Dean's breathing him in like a miracle, like he's both the sensation flooding through him and the Kiss Of Life as he breaches the surface.
“..Dean?”
The time for words must be now.
“Dean..”
..Can't ignore ‘im forev’r, g'nius..
There's a gentle stroke beneath his bottom lip―now freshly swollen from their kiss.
Cas just kissed him.
“You kissed me.”
“I―.. healed your lip.”
Dean's tongue pokes out to test that. You heal me every goddamn day he doesn't say, but, “Do I gotta be wounded for you to do that again?”
“You.. want me, to..?”
“Yes.”
Easy question.
The clouds have parted in his mind and it's clear blue skies all around (for now). No other answer in sight but that one. No other answer he'd rather give. And the word that was jumbled there before is written just as clear as the view. 
But maybe he still needs to make that undeniably clear; he hasn't quite said it, but he doesn't want to jumble the meaning with speech. Words can wait. Dean's more a man of action  anyway, and now feels like the time to follow through with some moves of his own.
Dean lures Cas’ back within kissing reach, urging him forward with a small tug of his tie.
It's only now Dean realises that first kiss was rather chaste: no tongue. And yet, for all its intensity, it ranks up there with the best kisses of his life―ones that can't ever be replicated, no matter who they were with.
Cas is almost level with him. For the height of the table, he hadn't needed to bend down at all. Dean sits taller, now, lips level. With one hand still around Cas’ waist―and wholly unwilling to surrender its place―the other gives up the tie to move up.. up.. up broad chest and over heart.. passed collar to find neck and stubble, lips meeting again somewhere along the way.
“Sorry, mine don't come with fancy healin’ powers,” he murmurs onto Cas’ lips.
“I beg to differ.”
“Oh, I'll make you beg.”
There's a smile exchanged in their third kiss―the third of many to come. 
  Dean could be fine by now.
But he'd much rather take the pain if it comes with a side of good old fashioned comfort and care. He'll take the lumps and the bruises and the whole range of aches, if it means having the company of his friend through it all. 
Well.. 'friend' isn't the right word. It's less-than what Cas is―and 'family' isn't the whole story, either (see exhibits A and B: The Kiss and The Kiss: Reprise). Dean knows the right word, now. He can see it. He'll say it.  
In any case, Cas may have healed his outside but his inside still needs work, and he knows Cas can help with that, too (he already is helping, has been all along, healing Dean in more ways than one). 
And by the smile graced onto Dean’s very lips, the one alight in Cas' eyes, Dean must be doing something right, something to help him in return, in thanks, in.. more ways than one.
No, Dean isn't ‘fine’. That word has lost all real meaning over the years. He has a better word to replace it. He's on his way towards something else, something more―and he's not alone, he knows that now. 
Yeah.
Dean is better than fine. 
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sorrybutnotashamed · 3 years
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I wrote another little thing.
I just want to ensure you understand that all I’m looking for is hugging. Cas typed, hesitated, typed. This is strictly platonic. Clicked send.
While he waited for a reply, he took another expensive sip of wine. He was doing his best not to chug the glass, but this conversation required liquid courage.
 Yeah, buddy, I hear you. You cuddle, then you help me with my Accounting class. We have a deal?
A huge gulp of wine preceded his reply text. Yes, we have a deal. I’ll see you tomorrow at 6. I’ll text you my address.
* * *
His little rented house was always pretty tidy, but Cas still ran the vacuum and wiped down the coffee table with Lysol before his cuddle buddy’s arrival. He was drying his hands on a dishtowel when someone knocked firmly on the door.
Cas slung a mask on his face and swung the door open. “Hi, I’m –“ His brain stuttered to a stop. The man on his porch was extremely well-built with light brown hair and crinkles around his striking green eyes. Undoubtedly his grey-and-black mask covered a smile. Dammit. Charlie hadn’t said anything about his looks. But then again, why would she? She probably never noticed.
“Cas, right?” His voice was muffled by the mask, but it was pleasantly deep.
Cas blinked and rebooted. “Yes, I’m Cas. You’re Dean? Please come in.”
Dean stepped through the doorway, dropping a messenger bag off his shoulder and toeing off his boots. “All right, cuddle first or study first?” He rubbed his hands together and moved into the living room, taking in the second-hand couch and the view from the patio doors into the small backyard.
Cas quickly turned to shut the front door. Get a grip, Castiel. Oxytocin. Remember the oxytocin. “I’d prefer to cuddle first, if you don’t have a preference,” he said. Dean quirked his eyebrow as Cas used air quotes around “cuddle”.
“Um, sure, buddy. Whatever floats your boat. Here on the couch, I guess?” He swung his arms back and forth, like he was stretching for a workout. Cas emphatically did not eye the strip of taut abdomen revealed as Dean’s t-shirt rode up. This is platonic hugging. It doesn’t matter how good looking he is.
Brow furrowed, Cas stepped hesitantly around the couch to face Dean. “I thought we’d do it standing up?”
Dean ducked his head, and looked up at Cas through his lashes, his eyes twinkling. “You wanna do it standing up?”
“Hugging!” Cas blurted, flustered. “Hugging is usually done standing up!”
Dean’s mask clearly hid a grin, but he spread his arms wide. “It’s your party. Bring it on in, man.”
Firming his shoulders, looking anywhere but at Dean’s face, Cas stepped into Dean’s orbit. Immediately Dean’s arms tightened around him, drawing Cas’s head in to his shoulder as his hands splayed across his back. “There we go, that’s not too bad.” Cas felt the rumble of Dean’s words through his chest and shivered.
He didn’t feel calm at all. His breath sped up and he felt uncomfortable in his clothes. Maybe hugging a stranger was worse than hugging nobody. There’s no way he’d be able to relax enough to get the good vibes flowing. Or maybe you’re not giving it a chance, his brain supplied helpfully. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and leaned against him. Dean had an inch or two on him; they slotted together like puzzle pieces, hip to shoulder.
A few minutes passed, the two men standing awkwardly together in the middle of the room. Dean said nothing, and Cas wasn’t sure what to say. This was a bad idea. A dumb idea. Did I remember to put on deodorant? Cas’s shoulders stayed ramrod straight and he did his best not to breathe damply on Dean’s neck, which was hard to do, with the way Dean had pressed his face into his shoulder.
Another minute passed in silence. Dean shifted his weight slightly. “Um, Cas? Is this working the way you want?”
“Yes, exactly as I pictured it,” Cas lied. He moved his hands hesitantly up Dean’s back to grasp his shoulders. He tried valiantly to relax into the hug, while Dean shifted his weight again.
“Could we, ah, talk? As we … hug?”
“Yes, of course. Just not about politics, or school, or –“
Dean huffed a laugh. “I get it. Nothing stressful. Right.” One of his hands rubbed soothing circles into Cas’ back. If possible, Cas tensed even further. Dean sighed. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re huggin’?”  The soothing circles continued.
Clearing his throat, Cas shifted his weight back onto his heels. “The pandemic has been here for a year. I find myself stressed out most days. My schedule only allows for so many runs per week and I’m already eating very healthily. My rental agreement doesn’t allow for a pet,” Cas recited. “Touching another human releases oxytocin, which reduces stress.”
Dean hummed, his hands moving to knead along Cas’ spine. “Don’t you have someone local that you’re close to? Family? A girlfriend? A boyfriend?”
“No, my family’s out West. I’m finishing my fourth year of a demanding program. I tutor students over Zoom and I live alone. My social bubble is very small. Charlie said your bubble is small, as well.” His shoulders relaxed infinitesimally as Dean’s hands continued to rove over his back. Talking distracted him from the weirdness of the situation, and let him enjoy the feeling of touch again.
Dean cleared his throat and swept his hands down Cas’ sides. “Yeah, I was working at Rocky’s before the pandemic but they aren’t open now. Who woulda thought I’d miss checking freshman IDs, right? Or cleaning up a pukey bathroom?”
Huffing a laugh, Cas rested his head more comfortably on Dean’s shoulder. Even through the mask, he could smell Dean’s cologne, and he was positive it would permeate his own clothing. Dean’s presence would linger long after the man himself had left.
“So no special someone?” Dean asked. His hands continued to move, smoothing subtle patterns into Cas’ back and sides.
Cas shook his head. “No. The man I was seeing was doing a term in Scotland, and he decided to stay when the pandemic hit. Long distance didn’t work for us.”
He realized how much of his weight he was resting on Dean when Dean shifted his feet yet again.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –“
“No, Cas, it’s fine, that’s why I’m here, right? Lean on in.”
“Um, this is probably enough, it’s, we – we can move on to your homework if you want.” Cas stepped back reluctantly.
“We’ve only been standing here for like fifteen minutes, Cas, and I’m going to take up way more than that with my Accounting questions. I’m fine. It’s fine.” Dean hauled him back in, tightening his arms and shifting his feet on the carpet.
“What if we sit down?” Cas asked hesitantly, fully aware that Dean had suggested that in the first place. His traitorous arms just weren’t ready to let go of the first person he’d touched in months.
“Sure, no problem. Let’s do this.” Dean’s voice lacked judgement, and when Cas glanced into his eyes, expecting to see I-told-you-so humour, he saw nothing but kindness.
Within moments, the couch springs squeaked angrily as Dean sat down and hauled Cas onto his lap. Cas also squeaked, flailing his arms and trying to move off Dean. Dean grabbed his arms and pulled him against his broad chest. He trapped one arm between their bodies and grasped Cas’ free wrist in his left hand. The right resumed it’s meandering path over Cas’ spine.
“There we go. Relax. I figure an hour for an hour, okay? Fair’s fair,” Dean’s voice brooked no argument.
“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind,” Cas squirmed on Dean’s lap.
“Human touch, you said. Oxy-something? This is the best way for you to get as much touch as possible unless you wanna get horizontal.”
Cas immediately stopped squirming. “No, this is good. This is fine.”
Dean settled back into the couch, stroking from Cas’ nape to his waist. “Do you have an Alexa or something?”
“Yes, over on the table,” Cas responded. “Music?”
“Yeah, music.”
“Alexa, play my favourites list.”
“Playing your favourites list on Spotify.”
A soothing jazz instrumental bled into the living room, making the silence between the two men less awkward. Cas drifted slightly, the gentle motion of Dean’s hand on his back lulling him into a stupor. He jerked slightly when Dean’s fingers splayed across his scalp.
“This ok?” Dean rumbled. He’d dropped his own head to rest against Cas’ crown, but his fingers stilled, awaiting Cas’ response.
“Yeah… yes, that’s fine. It’s quite relaxing. There are –“ Cas swallowed a groan of pleasure behind his mask as Dean’s fingers kneaded his scalp – “there are special sensory neurons at the base of our hair follicles.”
“That so? I thought you were an Accounting major, not Pre-Med.”
“My mother’s a doctor,” Cas slurred. “Dermatology. Skin’s the biggest organ, blah blah,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and splayed his legs out along the length of the couch, settling in more closely against Dean’s chest.
Dean snorted a laugh. “Right. Blah blah.” He squeezed Cas’s thigh and sighed lightly. His other hand slipped almost lazily through Cas’s pandemically-long hair.
It could’ve been minutes or it could’ve been hours later when Cas jerked awake, head still pillowed on Dean’s shoulder.
“Good evening, Sunshine.”
Cas froze, dread filling him. “Oh God, Dean, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He reflexively tried to wipe his mouth, running into his mask. At least he hadn’t drooled on that broad shoulder.
“It’s okay. I guess you really needed some human touch. I don’t mind, but I think my ass is numb and I have to pee.”
Cas blushed furiously and scrambled off Dean’s lap. “Of course, I’m so sorry. The bathroom is just around the corner.”
Dean groaned as he stood, stretching his arms to the ceiling. Various parts of his back cracked and popped. “Be right back.”
Cas ripped off his mask and chugged a glass of water in the kitchen. His hands shook slightly, anxiety pounding his chest. He put his mask back on and dropped his head, leaning against the counter and taking deep breaths.
“Hey, whoa, what’s going on? You okay?” Dean walked right up to him and crowded into his personal space, stroking down Cas’ arms.
“I have Anxiety. I guess that’s probably not a big surprise. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you, that really was not my intent. I don’t even know what time it is, I’m so sorry.” Cas’ hands shook slightly as he gripped the counter.
“Cas, buddy, it’s fine. I fell asleep a bit, too. And I could’ve woken you up. I guess maybe touch therapy worked both ways today, huh?” Dean bent down, trying to catch Cas’ eyes with his own.
Blue met green, and Cas took in another deep breath through damp cotton. “I’m sorry, my Anxiety is acting up more lately, with the lockdowns.”
“It’s fine. No need to apologize for being you. As long as you’re fine. Do you need another hug?” Dean opened his arms and wiggled his eyebrows encouragingly.
Feeling sheepish, Cas closed the distance and hugged Dean back. It did make him feel better, but he stepped back a few moments later.
“Should we get to your homework? What do you need to work on?” He turned towards his dining room table, where he had his own textbooks spread out.
“Nah, Cas. It’s late, I’m gonna head home.” Dean headed for the front door a few steps away.
“It’s what?” Cas looked at the clock, and Dean was right, it was almost ten o’clock. He’d slept, snuggled on Dean’s chest, for three hours!
“I can feel you freaking out from here, Cas. I told you I didn’t mind.” Dean finished lacing his boots and threw his bag over his shoulder. Sure enough, his green eyes were crinkled when he glanced at Cas.
“Next time, we’ll start with the homework though, and then the cuddling, okay? And maybe we’ll get a pizza.”
Cas’ eyes widened. “Next time? You’ll come back?”
Dean laughed. “Yeah, buddy. Cuddles for tutoring, that’s what we agreed. Let’s just consider this one a freebie. I’ll see you around, Cas.” He saluted with two fingers, and closed the door quietly behind himself.
“’til next time,” Cas said softly to an empty room that did, indeed, still smell like Dean.
Chapter 2 is posted on AO3.
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Head Over Hunt: Part 1
Request: Hi! 🙋🏼 i just found your blog.. you are awesome writer! I see your rqst are open.. could you do some Ketch x reader fics, where she is young hunter (like a sister to Winchesters). She and Ketch are taking some vamp nest together, and on their trip, they both kinda fall in love, but she is young and innocent, and Ketch being Ketch, try to push her.. eventually he gives in, and seek her... some fluff, kiss, smut end.. your call :) tnx
A/N: I wish Tumblr would let me cross out words in the title of posts because I wanted the title to be Head Over Heels Hunts, so now it's just Head Over Hunt.  
Also, thanks @aquivercactus for sending in the request. I hope this is similar to what you had in mind. And I've planned at least one other part to this so I'll tag you when I post that.
Pairing: Arthur Ketch x Reader
Warnings: Blood, heavy make-out, groping, implied smut.
Word Count: 2143
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The air was cold and chilling when you stepped out of the British Men of Letters owned Chrysler. The light coat couldn't stand against the winter air. As your back met the metal of the vehicle, a shiver ran up your spine. You could've stayed inside the car, where the heater was tuned just to your specific modifications. But the air suffocated you, the heat... it brought it all back; the fight with your brothers. The brisk air, as shallow as it made your breath, felt much more inviting. The chill distracted you from the shit show that was that afternoon. And, as the sun set over the mountains, and the storm clouds moved in, promising snow within the next hour, you wondered if you'd made a mistake in accompanying Arthur Ketch on this hunt.
"You seriously want to go on a hunt with that prick?" Dean had spat, staring down at you with more disdain than he held for Crowley these recent weeks since teaming up with the demon to stop Lucifer.
After the vampires infiltrated the British Men of Letter's bunker, both Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch had been more than impressed with your skill set. At their request, you joined the organization, a little more thoroughly than the Winchesters, since you agreed to go on several hunts with Arthur, alone.
You'd hidden it from your brothers. Claiming to stay at the bunker, or complete simple "errands" hunts while they continued to work with the Brits too, spending time with Mick Davies. But Sam and Dean didn't trust them, especially Ketch.
Dean had been close to shouting when you finally admitted to your brothers that this weekend you'd be hunting with Ketch. Dean had been close to shouting, the only thing keeping him in line was Sam.
"What Dean MEANS to say is, are you sure it's such a good idea?"
"No," Dean stopped his brother. "That's part of it, but I don't trust that British suit wearing monkey for a minute alone with you." He waged a pointed a finger in your face to emphasize his key point. "You aren't going."
Something on your face tipped Dean off. Maybe it was the alarm in your widened eyes or the way you bite your lip; Dean realized the truth.
"You've been already hunting with that creep!" Now he was shouting.
You kept your eyes on your eldest brother, ignoring Sam's shock dissolve into disappointment as you felt yourself losing your grip.
"I'm sorry I hid it from you guys. But I'm not a kid anymore. I can choose who I hunt with." Your tone was even, but lacked even an ounce of empathy, trying to keep your calm steady as Dean glared down at you like a disrespectful child.
Dean didn't say anything in response but turned towards Sam, who tried to keep his face stoic through the entire argument. "Aren't you going to back me up on this?"
"Well," Sam began, rubbing his neck, his shoulders shrugging in defeat. "I'm not completely against Ketch or any of them. They've already been hunting-"
"You're useless," Dean told him before turning back to you for the last time. "Point is, I don't trust him with my little sister. And if I have to pick you up myself and lock you in your room, then by Chuck I will." Dean threatened, standing above you in a dominating fashion.
You flinched as you accidentally scrapped your wounded knuckles on the zipper of your coat. Unaware that in your thoughts, you were zipping up your jacket to stay warm.
You avoided looking at your hand from the time it collided with Dean's face until now. He'd stayed true to his word; the moment he tried to stop you from leaving all of your rage expelled, and it was almost a blur of how you'd managed to get away. You knew your brother loved you, but he'd never treat Sam that way.
"They didn't have the exact disinfectant I was hoping for," Ketch's voice brought you out of your memories. His form illuminating in the gas station light, which should've put him at a disadvantage. But he'd never looked better. It made you wonder how unflattering you appeared. "but this should do the trick."
You took the small bag from Ketch, looking in to realize that he'd also purchased a few bandages for your hand. "Thank you."
"How did you say you received that cut, again?" Ketch's eyes were teasing you, trying to persuade you into telling your secret.
"I didn't," you spoke as you turned your back, walking around the front of the car to get back to the passenger seat. "But if you must know, I fought a band of pirates this morning."
"I see," Ketch played along, bobbing his head as he disconnected the gas pump from the car. "Pirates in the middle of Kanas, what a rare find."
"Exactly." You didn't fight the grin on your face, as you swung your body into the passenger seat, letting the bag rest onto your lap.
When Ketch returned to his seat, you turned towards him. "How much further until we're there?"
"Well, we still have to get through the rest of this bloody state before we reach Wichita Falls, Texas. The GPS says it shouldn't be more than," he tapped a few buttons on the digital screen embedded into the car "four hours. Wait," Ketch paused, cocking a brow at you. "you do this for a living, shouldn't you know how far away we are from our destination?"
"Dean always drives, so I don't really much pay attention."
It was a simple statement, but careless your tone, it reminded Ketch of how much younger you were than your brothers; than him.
"I never quite grasped the age difference between you and your brothers. I mean, Mary must've had you-"
"Mary isn't my mother." It was said with a deadpan. "You don't think we're all one happy, normal hunting family, do you?"
"I beg your pardon?" Ketch said, glancing at you with uncertainty as he drove the car out of the gas station and back onto the deserted road.
"They're only my half-siblings," you clarified for the man, eyes engulfed with the scenery behind the window. "John was a real slut."
Ketch was no longer watching the road, fully immersed in your background. You turned your gaze onto the road, realizing Ketch was gaining speed on the only other car on the road. "Look out!"
Arthur was quick to swerve into the next lane, missing the car by not even a yard. He sped past the rustic truck, leaving it long behind as he grew silent, griping the wheel. In the midst of almost dying, you hadn't wondered about where Ketch's head was at.
Ketch apologized, and seconds later cleared his throat, keeping his eyes glued to the road. He silently cursed himself for almost hitting that car.
It hadn't been the first time you'd enchanted him with your charm. It was why he never rejected Mick's suggestions for Ketch to hunt with you. He enjoyed your company; too much if he were completely honest. He was visually satisfied any time he looked at you, but it was something about your demeanor, the way you held yourself with a calm confidence that was nothing similar to the boastful way he presented himself.  It was the first time in a long time Ketch had been interested in more than a woman's body.
But now, he knew he needed to keep his distance. Ketch had to put up a barrier. He couldn't let himself feel anything for you; romance's only purpose was to get in the way; to get you killed.
"So," Ketch attempted to defuse any previous interest he had, but after a few moments, he caved. "How did the Winchesters find you?"
"I actually found them. My mom gave me a number in case something happened to her, so when she died about six years ago I called, and Dean picked up. John was already dead, but I never really wanted to know him anyway."
Ketch remained silent, not sure if he should say anything to what you'd said. He wasn't use to anyone so forthcoming about their lives.
But you mistook his silence for judgment. "Sorry, not everyone has sophisticated British breeding."
Ketch frowned. "You truly believe I am that stuck up?"
"No, just that you have a stick up your ass."
The statement would've pissed Ketch off, should've. But the lowkey grin on your lips made him smile too. Damn, he'd have to learn to stop that.
"Ahhh!" The sound forced a shiver through Ketch's body as he beheaded the last vampire in his sight.
His feet were moving under him before he had realized, running through the cave towards the pitiful sound. Ketch called out your name repeatedly. Seeing red, he searched the tunnels, nearly praying to find you before it was too late.
"Ketch!" Another high-pitched scream. Ketch cursed, the sound bounced off the walls, confusing him of where you were located. He yelled your name again, choosing a direction and hoping it wasn't the wrong one.
After turning the bend, two figures appeared, grappling on the ground like wild animals for dominance. It only took a second for Ketch to realize one of them, was you. The opposing vampire was on top of you, leaning down over your arm as you reached for the discarded machete out of your reach.
Ketch was quick to act, pulling the monster off of you, giving it a merciless end as he gave it a few painful blows before carelessly chopping it neck until beheaded. Covered in blood, Ketch kneeled down at your side.
"Are you alright?"
You nodded until you grimaced in pain when trying to stand. Ketch turned on his flashlight, to see where you were hurt. You flinched back at the light, showcasing your torn arm as you used it to block the light. Ketch noted it was the same one with your worn knuckles.
Ketch took your arm lightly to view before taking your hand in his, ignoring every barrier he'd had in place. "You'll need stitches. We should leave now."
Ketch aided you in standing on your feet, escorting you out of the tunnel, careful to step over the vampires corpses before reaching the fading sunlight of the woods. Ketch attended to your arm immediately after reaching the car. Neither of you spoke, aside from Ketch's apologies whenever you flinched in pain from the needle.
It was getting late; it was dark when Ketch finished, using only the light from the car to stitch you up. You both agreed to rest a night in a hotel before making the drive back home. Exhaustion was the underrated choice of vocabulary for what you both felt.
"Your room's here, across the hall from mine. If you need anything, please let me know," Ketch said once in the hallway of your hotel, turning his back to swipe his key card in the door.
But as he stepped inside, he turned to see you hadn't moved, a partly disappointed expression on your features. "Is it your arm?"
"No, it's just- never mind. Night Ketch," you called, finally entering your room. You shut the door, leaving Ketch alone in the hall.
Ketch stared at the door, several possibilities developing in his mind. What if you ached for him the way he did for you? He couldn't reside in his room knowing it was a possibility. When he could have you all to himself.
The temptation was too great as he stepped into the hall, letting his door shut behind him. He stood in front of your door, debating if he should knock.
Before he knew it, his fist was tapping the door. You opened the door, a little wide-eyed before Ketch leaned in and kissed you.
You instantly gave in, letting Ketch press you against the open door. You swallowed a moan, hungrily kissing Ketch as he was still getting use to the idea that he was, in fact, kissing you.
"I just don't want to be alone tonight," you whispered between kisses.
"I'm here," he motioned for you to wrap your legs around him, instantly pressing his forming bulge against your core.
You moaned slightly, the anticipation going straight between your legs as Ketch walked you further into the bedroom as the door shut closed.
Part 2
Tagging: @blasted-with-salt @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deaths-maiden @jensen-jarpad @mycuddlycorner
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holylulusworld · 5 years
Text
Forbidden Love – Part 5
Summary: Dean, Sam and the reader grew up together. The boys loved her like a little sister…until they started to love her in a different way.
Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader, OMC Stan, mentioned: John Winchester
Warnings: language, angst, arguments, sad reader, violence, sexual assault (mentioned), angry Dean
Forbidden Love Masterlist
Another month later...
“Come on, I need a drink and I can’t bear to sit in the goddamn bunker any longer!” You grunt.
“It’s not safe!” Dean lies.
“I’m a hunter, asshole!”
“Don’t care.”
"With two strong Winchesters by my side, nothing will happen to me." You try to charm Dean. Giving him a shy smile you play with the seam of his shirt.
Clearing his throat he exchanges a look with Sam. You always knew how to get what you want from Dean. He was never able to resist you puppy dog look.
Throwing his hands up in defeat Dean sighs. “Fine, but you stay close to us the whole time.” Dean insists.
“Shall I sit on your lap too, Daddy?” You snap at him.
“Don’t push your luck young lady, Dean grunts.
“Fine Sir, I’ll stay by your side the whole time. Now! Drinks!” You squeal excitedly.
Changing clothes to skinny jeans, a red silk top and killer heels you wait for the boys to meet up with you in the library.
"No, no! Change your clothes." Dean warns.
"What? That's jeans and a top. What shall I wear a knight armor or what?”
"At least a jacket," Sam says eying you up and down.
“Fine. You’re much worse than John or Bobby.” You giggle. Grabbing your leather jacket you leave the library swaying your hips.
Groaning Dean watches you walking toward the garage. Shaking his head Sam chuckles.
“Self-control Dean. We will need some time to win her over. Till then we need to keep any guy away from her.”
“Fine, Sammy. Let’s go.”
Grunting you sit on a bar stool, you’ve got barely enough space to breathe right.
To your left sits Dean and to your right Sam. Almost flanking your sides they chased away any guy getting close to you.
Not that you would’ve been interested in any of those guys…
Two hours later you’re bored to hell and back. The music is the worst. All guys a smeary and the drinks a beyond bad.
"Well, I've got enough. Gotta pee and then we can leave. Except you two have other plans? The girls over there wouldn't mind having a piece of you two."
“No, we came together. We leave together.” Dean insists.
“Okay, Sir. Hold my jacket and purse I’ll be right back.”
Leaving the restrooms you bump into Stan. Great, you hate that guy, he so smeary and...
"Oh, Ms. Winchester!" He starts.
“Hi Stan, bye Stan.” You grunt.
“Don’t be like that. I heard you and the Winchester boys parted ways. How about I give you a good ride?”
"No, thanks and I don't think you're able to give me a good ride." You snap at him.
Turning to leave you get stopped by Stan. Grabbing your arm harshly he grins at you.
“I’m not good enough for your pussy? Do I need to be a Winchester to fill you up? Such a good slut, sucking her brother's cocks."
“Let go of me and Sam and Dean aren’t my brother’s, asshole!”
“I bet you sucked old John’s cock too. He played your father in public and in the bedroom you called him daddy I bet."
“Let go of me!”
“Did Johnny Winchester fuck you good and hard? That old bastard knew how to choose a good slut. Should’ve focussed on hunting instead on your pussy maybe he would be still alive...”
Seeing red you punch Stan’s face, follow by a hard kick into his balls.
“No one says shit like that about John. He was a righteous man, a good man. John would’ve never done such a thing! Even if he made mistakes, like dragging his boys into the life of a hunter he was a good man. You shouldn’t be allowed to walk on the same ground like John Winchester. If you ever say a single word about my foster father again I’m going to take the gun he gave me and plant a goddamn bullet into your ‘not there’ brain.”
“What about the boys? They fucked you for sure. Banging their own sister. Sick bastards.” Stan snickers.
Taking the gun out of your waistband you unlock it. Aiming it at Stan’s forehead you grin.
“Sam and Dean aren’t my brothers. The only sick bastard here is you. If you ever say a bad word about the Winchesters again I’ll come after you, cut your tiny pity cock off and then I’ll shoot your brain out. Got it?”
“Should’ve fucked you years ago! But Johnny had to disturb me and you.”
“John mopped up the floor with you after you tried to touch me! I was 14 years old you sick bastard! He only let you live as you were beyond drunk!”
“That sick bastard!” Dean grunts. “Going to rip his heart out!”
“John did that years ago. He barely made it out of the motel alive.”
"Dad never said a thing," Sam whispers.
“As I asked him not to tell you or Dean. I didn’t want you to think I’m weak…”
“You were only 14 years old! I swear I’ll kill him.” Dean yells.
“Dean, don’t!” You warn. Resting your hands on Dean’s chest you shake your head.
“What if he tries to do that to another girl?” Sam asks.
"He can't…John shot his tiny pity cock. He asked the doctor at the hospital and they assured him Stan can't…ya know."
“Get hard?” Dean asks.
Humming you shove Dean further away from Stan. “Still I should…”
“Dean, no. Let’s get out of here…”
“You defended dad and us.” Sam sighs.
“John was always good to me, even if he was grumpy, loud and determining. He always protected me…just like you two…”
"Let's bring her home, Dean."
“Okay, let’s bring our girl home…”
-----
Back at the bunker Sam and Dean don’t stop looking at you. Searching your face they dare not to ask you what happened back then.
“John was hunting with Stan. He never liked the guy, but he knew more about ghouls back then. Sammy was sick so you took care of him, Dean. I had my own room this time and John met up with Stan there so you could sleep a bit.”
"So it was my fault," Sam whispers.
“No, Sammy, no. John told me to stay with Dean in his room. After an hour I remembered I forgot my bag in my room so I knocked to ask John to give it to me. Stan opened the door and I entered the room to get my bag. I wondered why my bag was open and my underwear was lying on the bed.”
“That sick bastard!” Dean grunts clenching his jaw.
“I grabbed my bag and tried to leave but he was faster. He tried to move his hands under my shirt. I kicked and yelled. He earned himself a black eye. Before he could try anything else John was standing in the room…Furious. He shoved me in the bathroom before he started hitting Stan…”
“Shit…I hope dad gave it to him really good.” Sam grunts.
“He almost killed him. After Stan was only a sobbing and bloody mess John picked me up and brought me and my bag to your room. He said something to Dean but I couldn’t hear it…”
“He said I need to protect you from now on. That I shall never let you out of sight again.”
“Oh…He never said a word to me, but I saw the worry in his eyes. That’s why I trained even harder, to be able to defend myself better.”
“I knew something was off, I saw it in your eyes. Later you curled up by my side. Not letting go of me the whole night.” Dean whispers.
“I felt safe with you…always."
“I’m sorry kiddo, should’ve followed you to your room back then. He would never have a chance to touch you.”
“Dean, that wasn’t your fault. Stan is a sick bastard. He didn't touch me. I kicked his shin and gave him a black eye. You trained me, good Dean.”
“It is my fault I had to protect you and Sammy! I failed you.”
Moving your hand through his hair you look into his sad eyes. Leaning forward you kiss his lips softly. Holding his breath for a minute Dean dares to no move a muscle.
After breaking the kiss you stroke his cheek gently, smiling at him.
"You always protected me, Dean. Even when you were a kid you protected me and Sammy. That was Stan's fault. No yours, Sam's or John's. John blamed himself too.”
“Dad never said a word. But I saw his damaged hand the next day.” Sam says.
“After he brought me to Dean he dragged Stan out of the room drove him out of town and shoot him … he called an ambulance later… The next day he showed the doctor a fake FBI badge to get information…”
"I'm sorry. This should've never happened to you." Sam whispers.
Sighing you hug the tall hunter tight, pressing your body against his chest you stroke his back.
“Not your fault Lurch.”
“Don’t call me like that! That guy doesn’t look like me!” Sam mutters.
“Hmm…yeah…you’ve got more hair Lurch.”
“At least she has a nickname for you.” Dean winces.
“Are you jealous D’?”
“No.”
“What a pity. I could’ve tried to soothe you.”
“Maybe a bit…”
"D' that's your nickname. I like it, don't you?"
Humming Dean looks at you in Sam’s arms, feeling a hint of jealousy well up.
"So I call it a day boys. Dean don't blame yourself or I'll kick your sorry ass! John was the father, not you. He did his job and you yours. You held me tight the whole night and made me feel safe."
Leaving the boys alone you enter your bedroom. After taking a shower you try to find some sleep.
 -----
Waking up screaming some hours later you curse. Since years you didn’t have a nightmare. Meeting Stan again dug out some bad memories.
Silently leaving your room you walk towards Dean’s. Hesitating for a moment you debate to knock or just enter his room. Shaking your head you enter his room. Lying down next to him to feel safe you crawl under his blanket.
Turning around Dean smiles at you. Moving his arms around your waist he holds you tight to make you feel safe, like he used to do as long as you can remember. Dean was always your safe haven, even after he disappointed you.
“Nightmare?”
“Hmmm…”
“I’m here. No one hurts you when I’m by your side kiddo, no one.”
Humming you close your eyes falling asleep soon after…
Forever Tags
@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22 , @curly-haired-disaster, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom, @thewinchesterco , @hobby27, @kittycatlover18,   @gh0stgurl, @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana15, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt, @katpatrova17, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99
Forbidden Love Tags
@samanddeanaremybbyboys
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jesbakescookies · 7 years
Text
Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Thirty-Eight
So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)
Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.
Rating: Mature : NSFW **dirty dirty**
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Aria stretched out in the bathtub, sinking into the thick bubbles as she relaxed after a long day. She'd been working at the new restaurant all morning and then closed up her other place. Having been on her feet for over twelve hours, she couldn't bare another moment upright. Groaning as the heat began to sink into her muscles, Aria glanced at the door when she heard Jeffrey come home. He'd been visiting with cast members, catching up after the long break between shoots. "Sweetheart, where you at?" Jeffrey gruff voice called out from the living room. "In here." She called out, her sleepy eyes brightening as he sauntered in.  Smirking at the sight of her, Jeffrey crouched down and kissed her lips softly. "Well hello, beautiful." He rasped, his fingers tucking stray hair behind her ear. "Hey, handsome."
"Long day?" "More than." She replied with a sigh, "I spent all morning navigating the finer details of city permits and building city codes, then I cooked for six hours with only one stove, as my main one finally bit the dust. Topped off with one irate customer, who had two servers crying in the breakroom and a three digit dining ticket written off because my busboy decided to stick up for his waitress girlfriend by promptly tell said irate customer to go fuck himself." Chuckling, Jeffrey rolled his sleeves up and grabbed the bottle of shampoo. "Duck your head under the water a bit, darlin'. I'll wash your hair." Aria couldn't help the moan she released as his fingers dug into her hair, massaging her scalp and neck thoroughly. Turning her head to the side, she kissed his wrist as he worked, nuzzling into his warm skin. "How's everyone at the show?" "Good, good. Steve and Norm are begging to start up a poker night, me hosting of course." "Of course." "Probably do it though. Sounds like Andy and Greg might join. Few of the crew too.” "I'll make finger foods." She commented with her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of his strong hands rubbing the strain of the day away. "Don't have too darlin'." "I know." Aria murmured, peeking one eye open. "You know I love feeding people." Snorting, Jeffrey leaned over the edge of the tub and kissed her cheek. "Well we'd appreciate it, sweetheart. Got word on a release date for the movie." "Oh yeah?" "October." "Six months huh? That'll be soon after the restaurant opens." "Yeah. I'll be here for it, then I'll have to go to Cali for a few days to do interviews and shit." Jeffrey detailed, his voice sounding hesitant. "Okay." "Talked to Katherine today." "Oh god, what now?" Aria muttered, the other woman's name only caused her anxiety. Whenever they were talking about his publicist it meant some new problem had arisen. "Nothing, she just... she wants you to go to the opening with me." Aria sat up slowly, turning to face him for the conversation. They hadn't spoken about the movie and the scenes that it contained, both wanting to forget about it completely. "And what do you want?" Jeffrey let his hands hang on the tub edge, suds dripping from his wrists. "Well, I won't lie. Having you with me would be nice. You haven't been able to go to any because of your schedule." "That probably won't change with two restaurants at that point." "I know, I know." He drawled, pursing his lips in thought. "It's just... fuck darlin', I'd like to have you with me for once at these things." Chewing her lip, she looked him over and couldn't help but feel guilty. She knew she could've gone to other events but used her job as an excuse, truly she just hated being in the spotlight. This time would be even more stressful, due to the film it was for. Sighing, Aria brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "Jeff... I want to I just..." "I know you don't want to see it." "It's not that." "Yeah it is... and believe me, I'd rather you not see... it. We don't have to stay for the film, a lot of actors do it with their own flicks. We go to the red carpet, do the photos, talk to the people. Leave once we get inside. We can hit a few parties afterwards with the cast." Huffing out a breath, she caved, "okay. If the new place isn’t burning down or something, I'll go.” "Yeah?" He asked with a slowly growing grin. "You'll go with me?" "Yeah." She replied, her smile quirking up at the sight of him so escatic. Leaning over the edge, Jeffrey cupped her face and pulled her lips to his. "Thank you, sweetheart. Promise you'll have a good time."
"Megan I swear to god, please don't ask me again." Aria grumbled, rubbing her eyes roughly as she spoke with her best friend on the phone. "Aria, I'm serious. The clips I saw of it look hot as hell. How can you stand it?" Growling at her friend's prodding, Aria snapped, "I can't fucking stand it, Megan. Why do you think I don't want to talk about it? The idea that he had some other woman's mouth on him, her hands touching places, only I should be touching, is driving me slowly fucking bananas. So no, I cannot stand it and yes, you are making it fucking worse by asking me about it!" "Okay, okay. Jesus don't get so bent out of shape." "I hate your face." "No, you don't. So are you going to the premier for it?" "Yeah." She answered with a heavy sigh. "I've got to. He was so damn happy when I said yes. I can't back out now."  "Well, it'll be fine. Besides, you'll get to see famous people and probably go to some awesome parties." "You know I don't care about meeting famous people and parties are boring. The food sucks and the people are fake." "You don't know that, you never go to any." "Well.... I just know." Aria huffed, her eyes rolling at her pathetic attempt at an excuse. "Stop being a party pooper. You'll have fun. You'll be with the hottest fucking guy there, who will take you home and fuck you proper when it's all over with.” "I don't want to see it." Megan sighed, "you know he loves you. Nothing he did in that movie is real." "But it is real, it really happened. Could you watch Randy fuck some other woman." "First off, Jeffrey didn't fuck anyone and I can guarantee he doesn't want to fuck anyone but you. Second, there's no way in hell Randy could land a woman like her but I would definitely like to watch him make a fool out of himself trying."  Laughing a little at her attempt to lighten the situation, Aria replied, "He's says we don't have to stay and watch it but I feel like I should see it." "Why?" "Because." "What a convincing argument." Megan deadpanned. "Look, doesn't he get a copy early or something? Watch it in the privacy of your own home if you feel like you've got to see it. Don't do that to yourself at a public premier." "Yeah... I'll see if he does. That would be less.... traumatic." "Well, if you do, send me a copy because seriously... that man is ah-mazing." "Stop thinking about my husband like a sex object." "Only if he stops being hot as fuck."
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Jeff was thumbing through his phone messages when Norman plopped down next to him. "How's it hanging J?" "To the left." Snorting, Norman took a drag of his cigarette and asked, "you run poker night by the old ball 'n chain." "First off, stop calling her the old ball 'n chain. Second, I don't have to ask permission to play poker." "Riiiight. So you weren't asking if it was okay to have your friends over." "No. I wasn't." "Uh huh." "Fuck off, Reedus." Jeffrey scoffed, elbowing him roughly.  "You ask her about the premier?" "Yeah, she's going." "Is that a good idea?" "No, it's a shit idea but we won't stay to watch it. I won't put her through that." "She's gonna end up seeing it, you know it. It'll be better if you two see it together." Growling, Jeffrey looked away and thought about the options and the outcomes of each. "Fuck, you're probably right." "I'm always fucking right dumbass. show her the final edit copy they send out. Buy her something nice to soften the blow.”
“I'm not bribing her.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“That's not how we work man. She doesn't need me to buy her shit.” Jeffrey scoffed, shaking his head at his friend. “Ari, she'll want to hash it out, tell me how it feels to watch something like that and it'll just break my goddamn heart.”
Norman frowned and shook out a cigarette towards Jeffrey, “man, you're being too hard on yourself. It's your fucking job and she knows that.”
“There's knowing it and living it brother. She isn't the only one who is unhappy about. I don't want to touch anyone else.”
“Jesus, you are whipped.”
“No, brother. I'm in love.”
Find Chapter Thirty-Nine Here:
http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/165689973971/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-thirty-nine
I started posting this fic over on AO3 also. I will probably post in both places since I’m still figuring out AO3 formatting etc.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates. I’ll try my best to remember!
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venomousxdanger · 6 years
Text
Sex and Feelings (finished)
                CM Punk/Dean Ambrose
Three hours. It was only three hours. He couldn’t go to the arena but Phil could make the drive from Chicago to Indianapolis for some actual face time. Waiting through the hours of Raw with the drive, he was able to walk up to the room without any knowledge of what happened within the company. Once he knocked, it was harder to ignore as a drained looking blond answered. “I drive for three hours and you’re not happy to see me?” The hurt he felt as the door was left open for him was pushed down; something was wrong. “You gonna tell me?” The little bottles were lined up from the mini bar but still full. The larger beer bottles on the floor were a different story. “Didn’t I tell you I was showing up? Why are you drinking?” His eyes scanned the room. “How’d you get the room to yourself?” Jon couldn’t handle the questions, shooting a glare at the tattooed one. “I booked it. I wanted to be alone. Didn’t you see what happened? The Shield’s over. They gave us some bullshit storyline and Seth’s getting a heel push and… everything… everything sucks.” The venting made it clear that alone time wasn’t what the younger man wanted. Sometimes it was easy to overlook just how fragile his puppy was. “That sucks. C'mere.” He sat on the bed and forced the other with him. Taking the gum from his mouth, it was place in Dean’s. “Chew. I’m not kissing a beer tap tonight.” The other began to chew through the mint while Punk continued to talk. “The company is screwed up. They do what they want to get their rocks off and if it ‘shakes things up’ they think it’ll always work in their favor.” It was a big deciding factor to walking when he did. “Speaking of getting off…” His lips climbed slowly up the blond’s neck to seek out the earring he’d sell his soul for.
Jon groaned with a crack of a whimper. It wasn’t exactly his normal needy whimper but it uncharacteristically fit him. It was sweet and broken with a little sense of hope. If it didn’t break his heart, he’d want a ringtone of it. The black lettering of ‘free’ was tangled in the drying strands in a sort of petting stroke. A path was pulled back down the pulsing flesh by his teeth. There was a light stubble challenging the smooth baby face appearance he had on screen. It was only suppose to be a playful little nip but licking over the skin was a teasing taste and soon a bite was placed over the shoulder well. The sexual side of his mind took over before he realized Dean had happily sighed and he was sucking at wet copper because the skin had broke. Letting the moment wash over him, he moaned against the raising drops pumping from the superstar’s heart. Cameras were hell in the business. Any marks left by relationships were 'requested’ to stay covered so Punk got some acupuncture lessons and Dean’s thicker vest usually covered it. Getting too lost in his head was always a downfall around Jon and tonight was no different as he was pushed back on the bed and the flavor was lost. The sadness had fell to anger in the blues looking at him. He loved the kicked puppy look on the kid but it was only one of many looks he had. And, as long as it wasn’t anger towards him, it was actually hot to see. So hot that he didn’t mind the zipper of his hoodie being torn off the chain or the short nails that clawed up his torso while his shirt was pushed up.
The glowing red lines formed from the 'straight edge’ ink to rake upwards to the responsive nipples. The tattoos and the emotional pain Dean had been feeling came out with another claw down the unchanged body. Punk might have said he was doing something with the time off but there was no visible changes from the last time they were together. Part of Dean hated him or that but most of him needed something constant to help stabilize his world. Tears burned his eyes before they were hidden with a duck of his head. Eye level with the 'vomit wave from the skull’ tattoo; Dean smirked. Voicing the thought on the design cost him the front seat a few years ago but after being happy to nap in the back, the design flaw had been mentioned without consequences. Maybe Punk noticed how much the kid liked it.
-Flashback- Sitting at lunch with Paul and Colby, the two were talking about being a 'street mutt’. It hadn’t been an argument because they were laughing as they threw insults at each other. Leaving Seth to wonder and Paul to a call. “If people only heard you two- they’d think you would end up killing each other.” At the time, Seth pushed back his blond patch. “I may be a street mutt but he loves me.” Phil looked up at the words with a shrug. “I like the earring, the face just came as a package deal.” Dean smiled. “I like the puking skull and got stuck with the body.” They were minor details but said everything about their relationships. It wasn’t about money or fame- they liked the little things that made the other who he was.
Dean licked down the surfaced blood begging to escape until he reached the jeans. “What happened to me being in charge?” Light brown eyes glanced down in question. Without a word, the street dog undid the button. “You could’ve said you wanted the lead. I don’t mind letting you do the work.” The casual attitude struck a nerve with Jon. Now the man had learned to go with the flow? He couldn’t have known that lesson four months ago? Fed up with it, his knees trapped the other’s hips as he sat on against on Phil’s thighs. His palms were press hard along the Chicagoan’s chest until a his attention was back on the pecs. Pinching sweetly soon turned rough as his wrist was turned. It would have been painful but sadomasochism was common ground for their relationship. “That long drive tire you out, old man?” Punk’s back arched a little higher out of strategy as his hand wrapped around Ambrose’s arm to force him on the bed. “Not too tired to best you, kid.” Jon rolled his eyes before leaning up on an elbow only to be pushed back down. Blues sparked downwards to where Punk’s hands were finishing the job of undoing his pants. “Say it, Ambrose.” His cock was pulled out. “Tell me I’m still the best in the world.” Dean licked his lips and tried to turn over to his stomach. “Say it.” Jon started with his own jeans. “Prove you are.” The challenge was made. Thankfully, he was able to undo his pants before he spoke. Feeling an arm press against his neck and a hand grab the back of his jeans, the blond lifted his hips in anticipation of the pull at them that followed.
Feeling the hands on him was nothing compared to the scruff scrapping against the back of his thighs as Punk ran his tongue slowly over his hole. "Fuck you. You're taking too long." Phil stopped and knelt up from his work. "I'm trying to be loving, prick." Jon rolled his stomach up and his ass back impatiently. "If I wanted loving, I would have done it myself and finished with a mouthful of Skittles." The Chicagoan shook his head before spitting down at the puckered opening. "Next time you're expecting me to rim you, I'm gonna remind you were were too much of a brat to have me do it now." As he spoke, his knees dipped into the bed between Dean's legs. "Anyone tell you you talk too much?" The head of his cock was held against the glob of saliva. "Everyday of my life." Pushing past the resistance, Dean's body immediately gave to the slightly lighter weight of Punk's. A happy huff escaped the blond.
The first couple of thrusts were used as a trap to get Jon to react. It was little things to start with. There was more of an effort to look back. Then a hand reached back to try to pull Phil closer against him. The counterattack to being grabbed at was the artful hands pinning the lunatic's touch to the bed. "Ambrose..." A displeased tone didn't completely conceal the sex clinging from it. Knowing it was getting to Punk more than he ever wanted to let on, Dean jerked his hips in rhythm to meet back against Phil. The speed was about to earn the younger one a some of the control when the designed fingers met on Jon's lower back. Pushing the Superstar to the mattress, the free talent slowed to an agonizing pace. "What'd I just say?" The pelvis wiggled to get free but the action worked against him causing the momentary sub to drop his head with a whimper. Still didn't stop him from being a smart ass. "My stage name?" A deep laugh gave the Ohioan a pass and the pace picked up again.
-Skip because writing sex scenes by yourself gets repetitive and boring-
As the moans and grunts continued, Punk's thrust became more erratic and they both knew he was close. Bringing a knee to the outside of Dean's body, his position twisted enough to plunge a little deeper. "FUCK!" Dean's hand was free to dig into the knee along his side. The warmth was in volumes both inside him and angled on his stomach as they both came. Dry spasms and chest heaving, Punk dropped to the bed to reach for his shirt. "It's like I'm being punished." As happy as Jon looked, he sounded that sad. "Huh?" A clothed fist stroked down his cock to clean himself but he stopped at the vocalized feelings. "You left, they're taking away The Shield, everything's different. They didn't even give me time." The fabric was laid over his thigh and an arm brought the other form in a hug. He hadn't thought about it. When Dean had started complaining, Punk figured it was all work. Though when he thought through it, The Shield hadn't even been on the main roster for 500 days before he left the company. And now, 127 days later- the kid was losing all of his comfort zones. "I'm sorry." Dean smiled and cuddled closer. "I get it. It's not okay and I'm not gonna say I'm fine with it but I get it."
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deancasheadcanons · 7 years
Text
Four Bedrooms
[ao3]
Based on this story told at Jibcon 2017 3.7k words
The thing is, Misha’s a liar.
He stretches the truth when he knows it’ll be to his advantage. He flatout lies when he thinks the truth will upset someone more than he’s willing to deal with.
So when he offhandedly invites Jensen and Jared to his rented house for the duration of filming the season 12 finale, he doesn’t expect them to take him up on the offer until after he’s already told them it’s a four-bedroom house.
It’s not a four-bedroom house.
The downstairs consists of a cramped living room with a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, a small kitchen with enough counter space for exactly one cutting board and a sitting area with a wooden table and three chairs instead of four. The upstairs is one hallway with a master bedroom on one end and a much smaller bedroom on the other end. The spare bedroom barely has enough space for a full-sized bed. There’s one bathroom upstairs, between the bedrooms.
“Uh, you sure this is the right place?” Jensen asks as he sets his duffel bag down on the small couch in the living room.
“I might’ve...stretched the truth a bit,” Misha replies sheepishly.
Jensen turns to him, hands planted on his hips, unimpressed glare on his face. “I’m not sleeping on the couch.”
As Misha opens his mouth to respond, the door bangs open and Jared comes in with a whistle.
“Wow, Misha,” Jared says as he looks around the small room. “This is as awesome as you hyped it up to be.”
“I never said it was glamorous.”
“You also didn’t say it was the size of a broom closet,” Jared replies as he throws his stuff on top of Jensen’s. “Where are we sleeping?”
Jensen and Misha share a look before both turning back toward Jared. Misha says, “We can worry about that after work tonight I guess.”
“Cool, I like that idea. How long do you think we’ll be filming tonight?”
“Bob said 11 hours, but who knows. We have a lot to slog through,” Jensen replies tiredly.
They all sigh, somewhat simultaneously.
They only have a few minutes before they have to be on location, so Misha makes sandwiches and they scarf them down at the small kitchen table.
The next 15 hours are somewhat of a blur.
They film Cas’ death scene a dozen times from seven different angles. Misha takes his time with it, really tries to get in the right headspace for dying, makes it as dramatic as possible so the audience will truly feel the weight of the loss.
After the third take, Jensen rolls his eyes in exasperation. “Can you die a little faster, Mish? I’m fucking exhausted,” he complains.
Misha squares his jaw and stares at him. “Wait until we get to your coverage and then we’ll see who’s taking their sweet time.”
“Hey, kids, let’s not fight,” Jared placates. “We still have two more scenes to get through.”
When they get to Jensen’s coverage, he doesn’t really say much between takes. He keeps wiping his eyes and wringing his hands as if to shake off Dean’s pain. Jared is on break for this part, so it’s just Jensen and Misha and the sparse crew with Bob on headset.
Stupidly, Misha asks, “Are you OK?” as Jensen rolls his shoulders back and stares at the ground.
“What?”
“What are you thinking about? To get in the right headspace,” Misha clarifies.
Jensen looks at him like he’s an idiot. “I’m thinking about Cas being dead.”
“Really? You don’t have to think about something...real?”
Jensen shrugs. “It’s real enough. Dean loves Cas, it’s kind of easy to get inside his head.”
“Really? You think Dean loves Cas?”
“I mean, obviously. He’s his best friend, some of the only family he’s got.”
“Right…”
They film the scene again. Misha struggles to keep his eyes closed as the crane camera rises above them. He really wishes he could see Jensen’s reaction.
They get back to Misha’s house at 4 in the morning, their bodies exhausted but their spirits high with the end of the terrible filming schedule drawing near. Because they still haven’t figured out a sleeping arrangement yet, Jared suggests they stay up all night drinking.
Misha cracks open a bottle of wine first, and they drink amicably together out on the patio overlooking the mountains.
Jensen lounges back on a lawn chair and pounds two glasses of wine in 20 minutes. Misha is perpendicular to him in a regular chair, his socked feet propped up on the side of Jensen’s chair. Jared is standing at the railing smoking weed faster than Jensen’s drinking wine.
“Aw shit, I feel like I’m gonna pass out,” Jared says with his breath sucked in, pipe in hand.
“Aren’t you sick? Maybe you should slow down,” Misha responds.
“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna need to sleep at some point. I’m so fucking tired.” He plops into a chair on the opposite side of Jensen. “This was literally the worst week to be sick.”
“Suck it up, dude. Only one more day,” Jensen says as he holds his empty wine glass out to Misha.
Misha pours him a third glass of wine.
“You were the one complaining every hour on the hour tonight,” Jared fires back at Jensen.
“Yeah, well, somebody wouldn’t die fast enough.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Misha says.
Jensen glares at him. Misha glares back.
“Jesus, get a room,” Jared complains.
Jensen and Misha share a look.
“Speaking of sleeping arrangements,” Jared continues. “Jackles, I know how much you need your beauty sleep so you can have a bed. Obviously Misha’s paying for this place so he should get the master. I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”
“There’s a couch,” Misha offers.
“We could also bunk up. That’s a king-sized bed in Misha’s room,” Jensen says flippantly. “I don’t...mind sharing a bed as long as the other person stays far, far away from me.” He pointedly looks at Misha.
“No, I’d rather just sleep on the floor,” Jared argues. “I’m not gonna make y’all sleep together.” He giggles as Jensen leans forward and punches him in the arm.
Misha cracks open a beer and downs half of it.
“Alright, so I’ll take the tiny room I guess,” Jensen says bitterly. “There isn’t room on the floor, so I guess Jared’s with you, Mish.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Misha replies coolly.
“Great! I’m gonna go take a bunch of NyQuil and knock myself out,” Jared says as he gets clumsily to his feet. “Y’all staying up all night?”
“Wasn’t it your idea to stay up all night?” Misha asks.
Jared shrugs. “I’m tired. I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” He claps Jensen on the shoulder as he shuffles past him into the house.
A second after Jared leaves, Jensen and Misha look at each other. They don’t say anything.
“Four bedrooms,” Jensen eventually says as he swirls his wine in its glass.
“Fuck off.”
Jensen laughs affectionately. “I just can’t believe you wanted us to stay with you so badly that you lied. That’s pretty desperate.”
“Oh, so you’d rather commute four hours in the middle of the night?”
Jensen shakes his head and smiles at Misha. He then tilts his head imploringly and pats his thighs.
With a sigh, Misha sets his beer on the ground and awkwardly climbs onto Jensen’s lap. Jensen immediately grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer so he’s positioned directly over his crotch. Misha presses his hands to the back of the chair on either side of Jensen’s head and leans down for a kiss.
Jensen hums happily and digs his fingers into Misha’s hips. He works his tongue into his mouth and kisses him slowly, the taste of wine potent on his lips.
After a minute, Misha pulls back just enough to whisper, “I wish Jared would come back out and catch us.”
“Why?” Jensen asks before stealing a kiss.
“Then we could share the master together and not feel weird about it.”
“It would definitely still be weird.”
“We’re gonna have to tell him eventually, babe.”
Jensen’s hands loosen their grasp just a bit. “It wouldn’t have been suspicious if you had only invited me here. Just think about it.” He steals another kiss, a wide smile on his face. “We could’ve had the whole—” another kiss, “—place—to—ourselves. All week.” He seals his lips to Misha’s neck and presses his tongue firmly against his skin.
Misha arches his back and sighs into the touch. “You’re hard to argue with when you’re horny.”
“So don’t argue with me.”
“OK. I should’ve told you it was a small fucking house and that there was only room for one of you.”
“That’s better.”
They kiss for a while longer, probably too long judging by the hard press of an erection against Misha’s ass. He can’t help himself and grinds against it, forcing Jensen to relax back against the lawn chair and hold onto Misha’s hips until he decides he’s done. After just 15 minutes, Jensen comes in his pants with a low moan.
“Really?” Misha asks, annoyed.
Jensen opens his eyes and undoes Misha’s fly, pulling his cock out and pumping it lazily. “Sorry.”
“What happens if we go upstairs and Jared sees your come-stained jeans?”
“Dude, I can hear him snoring from here. He’s not waking up for anything.” Jensen rubs his thumb over the tip and Misha gasps.
“I say we wake him up and tell him,” Misha suggests.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” Misha asks hopefully.
“No.”
Misha wants to argue, it’s an age-old argument between them, but Jensen picks up the pace and Misha becomes solely focused on coming. He wishes Jensen were still hard beneath him as he moves in his lap, but the hand firmly squeezing his ass is almost as good.
“C’mon, Mish, come for me,” Jensen whispers, and that does it.
Misha shudders as he comes, then he slumps against Jensen and tucks his head under his chin.
Jensen runs his (clean) hand affectionately through his hair. “We should go to bed, baby.”
“We should watch the sunrise first.”
“OK. But then bed.”
They’re kissing again by the time the sun rises, so they nearly miss it coming up over the mountains. It’s a tough battle getting to their feet to go inside, but they manage it after several long minutes. They change into pajamas in the bathroom together and hide their soiled clothes out of sight from Jared. They share one last lingering kiss before wishing each other goodnight and going to their separate rooms.
Jared is snoring incredibly loudly and sniffing through his cold. Misha shoves a pillow over his ears and falls asleep almost instantly.
In the morning, Misha is brushing his teeth in the bathroom when Jensen stumbles in and takes a piss.
“Good morning to you, too,” Misha greets.
Jensen grunts in response.
“Did you hear Jared snoring last night?” Misha asks before spitting into the sink.
“Yeah. Jesus Christ, it was bad.” Jensen crowds Misha at the sink and pushes him out of the way so he can wash his hands. “I mean, I could hear him from down the hall. How the hell did you sleep in the same room with him?”
“I guess I was really goddamn tired. Hey.” Misha grabs Jensen by the back of the neck and pulls him down for a kiss.
Jensen’s hands wrap around Misha’s waist as he pushes him up against the sink.
From downstairs, they hear Jared’s voice say, “Yes, this is Virgil. Yeah, that sounds great. You know, just send the paperwork right over.”
Misha shoves Jensen away as quickly as possible and sprints down the stairs. He finds Jared happily chatting on the landline in the living room, and they fight each other for a minute as he continues having a conversation with someone obviously important on the other line. As soon as Misha gets his hand on the phone, it slips out of both their grasps and crashes into a wine glass.
Misha shouts, “No!” as the glass shatters. He hangs up the phone and glares at Jared.
“Somebody else wants to rent this house I guess,” Jared says casually.
“I fucking hate you,” Misha responds as he puts the phone back in its cradle.
Jared laughs at him. Misha goes over to the coat closet and pulls his laptop out of his backpack. He wants to email Virgil and try to explain some better version of whatever the fuck just happened. As he’s typing, the phone rings again.
He jumps over the couch and dives not for the phone, but the phone cord. In the time it takes him to unplug the damn thing, Jared has hijacked his computer and is happily typing away on it. He stumbles back over to the couch and snatches his laptop away just as Jared is about to post a tweet to Donald Trump telling him how much he loves him.
Despite himself, Misha laughs at the tweet before deleting it.
He tucks his laptop safely under his arm and turns toward the kitchen to find Jensen leaning over the counter, sipping his coffee and watching him.
“A little help back there would’ve been nice,” Misha says bitterly.
Jensen shrugs. “I’m drinking coffee.”
Misha wills himself not to explode. “I’m going to go take a shower. Can you make me a cup? Or an entire pot.”
“Sure thing, babe.”
From the living room, Jared shouts, “Did Jensen just call you ‘babe’?”
“What? No. That would be ridiculous,” Misha replies without missing a beat.
He heads upstairs to take a shower and ignores the sound of voices in the living room. He’ll panic about whatever mayhem Jared’s causing after he’s clean.
When he comes back downstairs, he finds Jared and Jensen sitting on the couch together staring at the TV, transfixed.
And on the TV is hardcore gay porn set in a bathroom stall.
“Um,” he says.
“The owner of this place didn’t lock down the pay-per-view,” Jared explains without taking his eyes away from the screen. “I subscribed to this channel.”
“You mean...the gay porn channel?”
“Yeah,” Jared replies with no humor in his tone.
Misha clears his throat. “Enjoying yourself, Jensen?”
“Yeah, babe, this shit’s great.”
“You just called him ‘babe’ again,” Jared says, finally tearing his eyes away from the gay porn to give Jensen a confused look.
“Did I? Oops.”
“Is my coffee in the kitchen?”
“Yeah, mug on the counter.”
Misha goes to get his coffee and takes several long gulps of it as he tries to drown out the sounds of a twink shouting in ecstasy as his ass is slapped. He jumps when a hand sneaks around his waist.
“You OK?” Jensen asks quietly before pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.
“Yeah. You know, just need to figure out how to unsubscribe from the gay porn channel and somehow explain to Virgil that I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You embarrassed that he might think you’re gay?” Jensen asks sweetly as he rubs a thumb under the hem of Misha’s shirt.
“I’m embarrassed that he might think I don’t know how to use the internet to find porn.”
“Hey, guys!” Jared shouts, and Jensen jumps away from Misha, his hand dropping like it had never been there. “It’s getting to the good part! You don’t want to miss this!”
When Clif comes to pick up Jensen and Jared half an hour later, all three of them are sitting in front of the TV still watching gay porn. The couch is kind of small for three grown men, so Misha is tucked into Jensen’s side and Jensen’s arm is resting over the back of the couch. Jared seems not to notice.
Misha doesn’t have to be at work for another couple of hours, so he spends his entire “morning” (it’s 2 p.m.) trying to unsubscribe from the channel. Apparently Jared ordered a yearlong subscription and created his own username and password that he won’t tell Misha. In the end, Misha gives up and decides he’ll just pay Virgil for the damages.
Jensen and Jared come over again that night.
This time, they go straight to bed after work. After a couple hours of dreamless sleep, the door to Misha’s room cracks open and Jensen whispers, “Mish? You up?”
Misha rolls over and grunts.
Jensen crosses the dark room until he’s standing right next to the bed. “I can’t fucking sleep with Jared snoring like that,” he explains. “Scoot over.”
With a huff, Misha scoots himself to the other side of the bed and relaxes back against Jensen as he crawls in next to him.
“How is being in the same room as Jared’s snoring going to help you?” Misha asks as he rubs Jensen’s arm where it’s wrapped around his waist.
“Can always sleep with you,” Jensen mumbles into his hair, already sounding half asleep.
Misha smiles and squeezes Jensen’s arm. He falls back asleep easily.
The following morning, Misha wakes up in the same position he fell asleep in, but he’s on the complete opposite side of the bed and Jensen is facing away from him. Jared isn’t in the room, which is horrifying. How much did he see? Did he already take pictures and put them on Twitter?
“Jens. Jensen. Wake up,” Misha fusses as he whacks Jensen with a pillow.
Jensen wakes with a snort. “What?”
“Jared’s gone.”
“So? Oh.” He scrubs a hand down his face. “Shit.”
When they come downstairs five minutes later, they find Jared scrolling through his phone and drinking coffee.
“Hey, Jared,” Jensen greets warily as he grabs two mugs out of a cabinet.
“Hey. Why’d you come in our room last night?” Jared replies.
“Uh, to see why you were snoring so fucking loud.”
“And you just...stayed?”
“Sometimes when Jensen can’t sleep, he comes to my bed and I soothe him to rest,” Misha says as he takes a seat across from Jared.
Jensen gives Misha a bored look.
“That’s gay, dude,” Jared says, his attention already back on his phone.
Misha opens his mouth to speak, but Jensen shakes his head at him. Alright, so they haven’t been found out. No need to reveal everything now.
It will never not baffle Misha the amount of shit he and Jensen get away with right under Jared’s nose.
*************
They’re in Rome.
Misha has just crashed Jensen and Jared’s panel, and Jensen has just given Misha a silent sign that Jared is high as a kite.
When Jared starts in on the rented house story, Misha takes a drink and tries not to panic.
Jared keeps making comments that are heavy with innuendo, punctuating them with “I want to believe,” as if that’ll make things better. Lucky for them all, most of the innuendo is aimed at Jared and Misha sleeping in the same room together. Jensen aids it along by saying he was in his own room down the hall minding his own business. He doesn’t even look at Misha a single time while they tell the story.
When they get to the part with the gay porn, Misha and Jensen both try to cut it off. Jensen looks like he’s itching to leave the stage, which Misha doesn’t blame him for. At any moment Jared could begin talking about the second night and how he found Jensen and Misha in bed together the next morning, and that’s just what they need.
But soon enough Jensen and Jared are leaving the stage without even a second glance at Misha, and he’s able to move on with his own panel with no damage done.
He thinks he’s in the clear until he runs into a tipsy Jensen in the green room a few hours later.
“We’re lucky Jared and I slept in a room together,” Misha says quietly as they sit together on one of the couches.
“Why’s that?” Jensen asks as he knocks back a full tumbler of scotch.
Misha laughs. This is embarrassing to discuss. “Nobody cares about me and Jared. If you and Jared had slept in a room together, that would’ve been chaos. And if you and I had slept in a room together, that would’ve been chaos.”
“What?”
“You know, how people think...either you and Jared are together, or you and I are together.”
Jensen looks like he’s thinking really hard. “But nobody thinks you and Jared are together.”
“Right.”
Jensen shakes his head and laughs. “I think we could’ve told everyone we were fucking, and nobody would’ve cared after Jared revealed you were back next season.”
“Oh, that reminds me. He owes me 50 bucks.”
At Jensen’s confused expression, Misha continues, “We had a bet at how long it would take him to fuck up and tell everybody that I’m back next season. I guessed less than 20 minutes, he guessed more than 20 minutes.”
“So, he had a much bigger window of availability than you.”
“Yeah, 20 minutes versus all the rest of the time in the world. And he still lost.”
At that moment, Jared comes in and says loudly, “Hey, it wasn’t weird for us to talk about sleeping in the same house together, right? Y’all were looking at me like it was weird.”
Jensen and Misha look at each other.
“No, it wasn’t weird,” Misha answers. “Although, uh, in the future we might want to discuss what’s appropriate to reveal and not reveal to fans.”
“Mish,” Jensen warns.
“What? I don’t want to say anything suspicious.”
“What’s an example of something suspicious?” Jared asks seriously.
Jensen and Misha look at each other again.
“OK, seriously, what’s going on?” Jared asks, panicked now. “Did I do something wrong? Oh! I didn’t mention that I caught y’all sleeping together. But what does that matter? It’s not like you were actually—”
He cuts himself off and looks back and forth between the two of them, as if just now noticing that their legs are pressed together and Jensen’s arm is resting on the top of the couch right near Misha’s shoulders.
“Oh my god. You weren’t calling him ‘babe’ as a joke.”
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idontneedasymbol · 7 years
Text
A few thoughts on season 9 and the Gadreel arc
I wasn't in the fandom when season 9 aired, but that doesn't mean I don't have thoughts about it. It does mean that all my thoughts have probably been had before, but in my reading of the more contemporary meta, there are a few points I haven't seen raised. And since that conversation is going around again as per the last couple episodes, I figured now is as good a time as any.
(This is largely looking at it from Dean's perspective, rather than what Sam endured. Dean obviously did a terrible thing, and a terrible thing to Sam. But it was a complicated situation that doesn't map clearly to any real-world ethics, so taking it as a straightforward case of black-and-white, obviously right or wrong choices, is flattening a story with much more dimensions.)
I'll start with my biggest and probably most controversial argument: Dean's mistake wasn't getting Sam to accept Gadreel.
There are two commonly expressed arguments about why what Dean did was so morally reprehensible, that are both somewhat inaccurate.
The first is that Dean went against Sam's wishes to save his life -- basically, an issue of medical consent, violating a "do not resuscitate" request. Sam himself raises this point when he argues with Dean later in the season, that he was willing to die, had the right to make that choice, and Dean forcibly stopped him.
But that's not quite what happened. Sam is the one who chose to live. Both in the season 8 finale (Dean could've knocked him out, or threatened him to stop, but he doesn't -- he just asks, and Sam decides to stop. And maybe Dean would've taken more drastic steps if Sam hadn't agreed, but he didn't have to.) And again in the season 9 premiere.
It's possible Sam doesn't remember making this second choice, as he was in a coma. But Dean (or Gadreel pretending to be Dean; it's never clear) in Sam's head asks Sam to choose life. "But you got to let me in, man. You got to let me help." And Sam does, voluntarily. He doesn't know the price -- but he doesn't demand the price before he says yes. He willingly agrees to let "Dean" save him.
The second argument is that by Dean's own accounting, Sam would never willingly say yes to an angel. Except that isn't Sam's stated wish (as far as we know they don't have living wills with angelic possession clauses) but Dean's assumption. And the evidence suggests that Dean was wrong about this.
The rules of angelic possession are somewhat vague. The vessel's technical consent is required, but we know that consent can be coerced -- if you say yes because someone is threatening to murder your family, that still counts as consent. However, from what we see, consent can't be entirely tricked, either. It's not enough for someone to just say the word "yes," or Lucifer presumably would've tried it. He couldn't come to Sam in the guise of Jessica, ask, "Do you love me?" and have Sam's "Yes" count; there needs to be actual permission granted.
The only way Dean's ploy with Sam can work is because Dean asks Sam for blanket, carte blanche permission to do whatever it takes to save Sam.  Anything, up to and including him accepting an angel. And Sam says yes.
The bitter and awful irony is that maybe it only works because Sam believed Dean wouldn't do such a thing to him. "I can't trust you, not the way I thought I could, not the way I should be able to," Sam says later.
Or maybe Sam would have said yes anyway, even to an angel, if Dean begged him to. One of Dean's biggest failings has always been that while he trusts Sam with his (Dean's) life, he doesn't trust Sam with Sam's own life.  Sam chose to stop the Trials, and maybe he would've chosen Gadreel's bargain in the hospital, for the chance to live. But in that moment, after the angst of Purgatory and Sam not looking for him, after weeks of the Trials when Dean was effectively helping his brother to his death, after hearing Sam's suicidal confession in the church and being shown him talking to Death himself, Dean couldn't trust Sam would stay for him.
But that's not where Dean really fails. He makes the decision to help trick Sam into accepting Gadreel in a moment of extreme duress, to save Sam's life. And that was a terrible choice, but there were no good options. (Besides letting Sam die -- and that wasn't what Sam wanted, in the end.)
Dean's mistake, probably his biggest failure in the show either morally or as Sam's brother, comes after this. It's when he chooses (and keeps choosing) not to tell Sam what he did.
If Dean had been honest with Sam when he first woke up and confessed what he'd done, most of the problem of Gadreel wouldn't have been an issue. With the question of permission, Sam would have been given the choice of whether to accept Gadreel's help or not -- a slightly delayed decision, but it would be comparable to an emergency medical intervention to allow for more complete, consensual treatment later, or for that treatment to be refused. According to Gadreel himself, it wouldn't have been difficult for Sam to cast him out (because Gadreel is weak? Or because the consent was so dubiously obtained, it wasn't as strong?)
So Sam might have rejected Gadreel, booted him out even if it meant his death. Or he might have accepted his help. Even that wouldn't have gone so wrong, though, because even if Gadreel did start trying to take control, Sam would have been aware of it, would have understood what was going on. Practically speaking, in "Road Trip,” Sam has little trouble identifying and ejecting Gadreel once he knows he's there. After Lucifer, one imagines no regular angel is that great a challenge. The danger Gadreel presents, the control he exerts, is only possible because Sam is unaware of him.
Keeping that secret was not Dean's original decision -- Dean wasn't ever intending to keep Gadreel's presence from Sam. In fact, he didn't realize that was an option. Dean, like the audience, had seen angelic possession before, and as far as we know, because it requires the vessel's consent, the vessel always knows it's happened. Gadreel's stealth possession is a whole new deal, not what Dean was expecting. But he's already gone this far -- in for a penny, in for a pound. And Gadreel -- the angel who let the snake into the garden, who watched the original seduction of man -- is as good at pitching as any crossroads demon:
EZEKIEL (GADREEL) IN SAM'S BODY: He will not feel me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I'm in here at all.
DEAN: You're joking, right? No, this is---this is too big.
EZEKIEL (GADREEL) IN SAM'S BODY: And what will he do if you do tell him he is possessed by an angel?
DEAN: Well, he'll have to understand.
EZEKIEL (GADREEL) IN SAM'S BODY: And if he does not? Without his acceptance, Sam can eject me at any time. Especially with me so weak. And if Sam does eject me, he will die.
DEAN: Then we keep it a secret for now. Or until Sam's well enough that he doesn't need an angelic pacemaker, or I find a way to tell him, I--I'd... As for him being in a hospital, I'll have to figure something out.
EZEKIEL (GADREEL) IN SAM'S BODY: I can erase it all, if you like. He will not remember any of this.
Gadreel has specific motives both to want to be in Sam (for the protection Dean offers against other angels), and for Sam to not know about him (would Sam have realized the angel in him wasn't Ezekiel?) But Dean, not knowing any of this and relying on Cas's confirmation of Ezekiel's character, agrees to it, filled with misgivings but trying to make things right.
Gadreel has only known Dean for a few hours, but that's enough, especially when he's inside Sam's head. Dean is easy enough to manipulate, if you know what strings to pull. And Gadreel has hold of the strongest one of all -- Sam's life.
He's also playing on Dean's guilt, of course. Dean is prone to avoidance; he's tried to keep things from Sam in the past -- though it rarely lasts for long, because Dean also experiences a lot of guilt about lying, and Sam tends to notice. This is the longest lie Dean manages to maintain, and that's only with Gadreel's memory erasure, and Sam still realizes that something is off. (Sam himself is quite a lot better at lying to Dean.) And Dean himself eventually breaks and tries to tell Sam the truth anyway (notably, before he learns the truth about Gadreel; Dean doesn't change his mind because he's distrusting Gadreel but because he feels so guilty about what Sam is going through) -- but by then it's too late; Gadreel is strong enough to stop Sam from hearing it.
There's another factor, too, in that it's not just that Gadreel is manipulating Dean. He's manipulating Dean using Sam's voice, in Sam's body. And yes, this is absolutely, undeniable horrific for Sam, to have his bodily autonomy so thoroughly stolen. (It's a tossup whether it's that or the memory erasure that's worse; both are fundamental assaults on one's self.) And it's a horror that Dean doesn't know personally; he's never been fully possessed.
But part of the terror of possession is having someone you know be not themselves. Dean knows Gadreel isn't Sam (most of the time, anyway, until the end), and it's Dean's fault; but it doesn't change the innate horror of it (which Dean well knows; he is the character most prone to being physically assaulted by external forces using his loved ones' bodies.) Or the mental and emotional confusion of having "Sam" assure him that Dean is doing the right thing, that he is acting out of love. However much Dean consciously knows it isn't Sam, subconsciously it would be hard not to react, to trust Gadreel more than he should, when he's in such a familiar guise.
The next points aren't about Gadreel specifically but the aftermath. Part of why this arc engenders such strong and irate opinions in fandom is because, unlike many of the previous times when the brothers hurt or betray each other, there isn't much in the way of satisfying resolution. Extra-story, I'm inclined to think this is partly because that was more Dean's story -- while Sam was the one who suffered, Dean was the one who took on the burden of the plot by making the choices that drove it, and Dean's story arcs are less likely to get resolution or follow-up than Sam's. I suspect it’s also because the Gadreel story went so dark that the show shied back from exploring or acknowledging the worst implications of it (I don't think Dean was meant to be doing as bad a thing as what he actually ended up doing to Sam. And that he wasn't aware himself how bad it would be only goes so far to exculpate him.)
In practice this meant that the second half of season 9 tried to portray Sam and Dean's conflict as more equal than it obviously was, and to do so the show undermined Sam's side, making a lot of his anger about Dean saving him when Sam ostensibly didn't want to be, rather than what Dean did to save him, or the continuous lying and collaboration with the entity manipulating Sam's mind. Gadreel's betrayal and Kevin's death just muddied the waters further, as something for them both to feel guilt about but was only indirectly either of their faults, so sidestepped placing blame.
But there was another, in-canon reason for their quarrel to be twisted, for Dean’s guilt and responsibility to never be fully addressed: the Mark of Cain.  Dean is on the Mark for the entire second half of season 9, and while it doesn't become apparent until "Blade Runners" how powerful an effect it has, he's different from the moment he gets it. When he leaves Sam with Cas in "Road Trip," Dean is crushed under the weight of what he's done -- in particular at the time, Kevin's death and the agony Sam endured to be freed of Gadreel; but also all the guilt of the months before that he was trying to hide from Sam.
But by the time he meets up with Sam again, Dean has the Mark, and with it a much less remorseful attitude. Instead he's driven, sure of his goals; rather than considering the pain he caused, he's focused on what he accomplished, saving Sam. Their argument in "The Purge" is a clear case of this, because Dean says outright that what he did, he'd do it again, and that Sam would do the same for him. Which Sam denies (a lie, if to himself as much as Dean) -- but the truth is, Dean wouldn't either, not the exact same thing, certainly not when it led to Kevin's death.
And Sam mostly puts aside his anger when he realizes the effect the Mark is having. It's not clear how much this is out of worry for Dean, or because Sam realizes Dean's not exactly in his right mind to be held properly accountable (and as a former addict himself, Sam can understand how sometimes accusations and forgiveness have to wait until recovery). But by the time the Mark is removed, the show is a full season past Gadreel, and rather than revisiting the old storyline, they simply let it lay. (Until 12x19, when they decided to pull up one plot point from the arc and clumsily, inadvertently dragged the rest of the baggage up with it.)
I think there is one more reason why this arc is so painful and contentious, and that is the nature of the story itself, which makes the audience partially culpable. A lot of Supernatural's appeal is that Sam & Dean, for all the wild and crazy crap they endure, are relatable; most of the time you understand why they do what they do, even if you know it's wrong.
And the season 9 arc plays on this completely. Because if you like Sam as a character, you sympathize with his pain. But at the same time, you want him to continue being a character. What Dean does is presented as the only way to save Sam. So the more you like Sam as a character, the more you should want Dean to go ahead with it; the more you can understand Dean's decisions, and how Gadreel was able to convince him. No matter how deeply you disapprove of what Dean did morally, from a story perspective, it's what you wanted him to do.
Likewise, you feel an echo of the same conflicting emotions Sam himself feels. Because if there is any part of Sam that wanted to live (and I think that's his largest part; that's what he's chosen, time and again) then he must feel some gratitude to Dean for saving him. Which doesn't do anything to alter the betrayal and anger, not to mention the added guilt that Kevin might not have died had Sam died instead (and that was what Sam wanted more than anything, Death's guarantee that he wouldn't hurt anyone else.)
I have doubts the show is ever going to directly address the Gadreel story again (and am unconvinced they actually could do a resolution justice). But, though I’m not particularly unhappy to have missed watching season 9 in all its pain in real time, and while while I wish some aspects (especially the aftermath) had been handled differently, I find a lot of it compelling drama, painful in different ways for both Sam & Dean, and a fascinating leg of the journey to where they are now.
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necromaniackat · 5 years
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Finders Keepers
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Chapter 2: Welcome to St Therese  
As of the other night I am now referred to as the purse of St Therese. I honestly don't see why, I lied right to two headmasters faces with little to no guilt. I could’ve blabbed about the secret tunnels; that would’ve ended with the tunnels being closed and secret meet ups put to an end. Then I could be called a prude or a stick in the mud. Although, I may have forgotten to mention Mackyla and Ella had boys over too. They’re my best friends, what was I supposed to do? Rat on them? I may like order, but I also like my friends. I won’t go another two years without friends. As much as they drive me batty, I’d go insane without them.  
My dad has never actually met my friends before, but I’ve met all of his. It's strange to know my dad was pals with James Potter, Harry Potter's dad, the boy who lived, indeed very strange.  
My dad fought in the wizarding war with the Order, they tried to recruit him last year, but he wouldn't budge. I asked him why and he said he was tired of fighting. Since ma died when I was a baby dad has tried to distance himself from the wizarding world. He basically muggle! Not that there is anything wrong with muggles, but you can see it in his eyes, he misses the magical world. He still uses magic in his life but not often.  
I sighed at the thought of my parents. They began dating in sixth year and got married right out of school. A few years later ma died a few months after I was born.  
I wandered down the corridors with my books tightly held to my chest and my nose pointing down. I trailed behind Mackyla and Ell to our first period etiquette class. The two of them went on about their upcoming dates with those two Hogwarts boys. I couldn’t help but grin at my two boy crazy lovestruck friends. But the grin was cut short when my face met the cotton fabric of Mackyla's robes. I stepped back in confusion, my eyebrows knitted together.  
“What the?” I exclaimed. “-What’s going on?” I questioned when I recovered from bumping into Mac. Mackyla and Ella were stopped at the mouth of the class room. I gently pushed past them when I got no response. By the looks on their faces something had them in awe. This isn't something you see every day, despite being a witch in a world of magic. Oddly enough being awestruck isn’t a daily thing. So, seeing my two best friends I such a state made me follow their wide eyed gaze to the source. My jaw dropped as my heart dropped with it. My stomach lurched and I nearly fell back on my butt.  
In Professor Spitz classroom was a large group of Hogwarts boys, sitting sleepily at the far side of the classroom. They looked at the girls pouring into the classroom like they were three headed octopuses. I. suppose I was looking at them the same.  
Once the shock wore off the three of us found our seats, Ella sitting behind Mac and I. The usual morning chatter was replaced with silence and low whispers. Mackyla and I shared awkward glances with each other and Ella. It was as though we were asking each other what was going on, why were there Hogwarts boys in our classroom?  
My attention was caught by Professor Spitz and Madam Therese waltzing in with Professor McGonagall, from Hogwarts, trailing behind them.  
“Good morning ladies,” Professor Spitz greeted in a lively tone. “-And gentlemen.” She added acknowledging the boys in the class. A choir of girls sang back to her a morning greeting that sounded monotonous.  
“Madam Therese has an announcement to discuss with you.” Professor Spitz announced. I sat up straighter in my place. Madam Therese stepped forward to the very front of the class. My stomach twisted and turned in wait of this announcement.
“Good morning all.” Madam Therese’s voice was full and confident.  
“Good morning Madam Therese.” A choir of female voices, including mine, greeted in return.  
“Seeing as there has been a recent rise in Male presence here at St Therese, Professor Dumbledore and I have decided that the boys of Hogwarts are in need of some manners, therefore you will be sharing etiquette lessons for the remainder of the semester.” Madam Therese told the class, it was followed by an awkward silence that filled the room. I was unsettled by this announcement. I didn’t like this plan whatsoever. If Professor Dumbledore wanted to teach the boys some manners, then they could've stayed at Hogwarts instead of coming here.  
“Professor Dumbledore saw to it that the boys learned manners from the politest of their peers.” Professor McGonagall added making most of the girls perk up in pride. I take pride in following the school rules and how I represent them. St Therese has been a very well respected school for young witches for centuries.  
“Does this mean we're going to learn how to curtsey and sip tea?” A boy from the back of the class asked rudely. I had to fight the urge to spin around and glare at him. Etiquette classes are more than knowing your please and thank you, it's knowing how to behave in different situations.  
“Not exactly. Professor Spitz and Professor McGonagall will explain everything to you.” Madam Therese spoke with such confidence that it almost made me smile. I still wasn't happy about this seemingly experiment. I will preach this until the day I die, I came to St Therese to stay away from boys, not to be thrown into the same class as them.  
“Miss St Claire, would you care to explain to the boys what this class is about?” Professor Spitz called on me without hesitation. I remained upright as I started wide eyed at her. It wasn’t until Mackyla jarred her knee into the side of my leg that I blinked.  
“Ugh, yes Professor. I’ll explain.” I stuttered nervously as I stood up and found a place at the front of the class. I lifted my gaze to look at the mixed class. There were more girls than boys.  
My eyes were drawn to an abnormally blond haired boy sitting at the back of the class with his arms crossed and nose pointing at the desk. He appeared to be mildly inconvenienced by being here. Well, that makes two of us.  
“Etiquette class here at St Therese is about learning how to behave in different situations and how to properly navigate confrontations. As well, it teaches us how to debate. The motto of this class is ‘don’t raise your voice, raise your argument’.” I explained basically after taking my eyes off the blond boy at the back. But soon my gaze found him again.  
“Well done, Eliese!” Professor Spitz praised like a proud mother. I shared a pleasant smile with her before going to my seat again. Mackyla sniggered at me, referring me as a teacher's pet once again.  
That class seemed to drag on forever, much longer than any other class I had. We went over the basics, chivalry was included. I was oddly surprised by how mild mannered the boys were. Especially that blond boy, although, he is rather quiet and keeps to himself. He, himself, is very smart and the few times he did open his mouth all that came out was intelligent things. It left me a light star struck if you asked me.  
The sixth year boys will be attending etiquette classes until the Yule Ball. Then it will be decided if the classes will continue on at Hogwarts, so everybody gets a chance to learn what we’re learning here. That thought made me smile, as well as knowing that every time Professor McGonagall interacts with the girls of St Therese she is left in awe by how well-mannered and educated but feisty we are. She wants to have similar classes at Hogwarts.  
Ella and I casually walked to potions while Mac went to ancient ruins. Ella dreamily talked about how charming Dean Thomas is. I couldn’t help but smile at her. I may not be boy crazy, but I will always support my friends and I always will unless they tell me there a Death Eater, that’s where the support ends.  
“Eliese,” Ella sang softly as we walked side by side down the corridor. I glanced over at her.
“Yes?” I replied.  
“Why do you not like boys so much?” She asked curiously. My train of thought stopped, and I was faced with a question that I didn’t like the answer to. The answer is always the same; I just never found boys interesting enough to give them my attention. Plus my dad might lose his mind if I became as boy crazy as Mac. Maybe not as much as Ella but he’d most certainly lose his marbles if I chased after boys the same way Mac does.  
“I mean, in all six years that we’ve been friends you never once had a crush on a boy or even given them a second glance.” Ella added cautiously. I shrugged away the tinge of remembrance and shared a crooked smile with her.  
“What are you getting at, El?” I asked curiously. I wanted to know where this was coming from. Ella doesn’t ask questions unless there’s a motive to it.  
“You couldn't take your eyes off the blond haired boy at the back of the class. That’s new for you.” And there was the motive. I pursed my lips together and sighed deeply.  
“If you think I have a crush on the blond in the back then I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I kept looking at him because his hair is incredibly blond.” Lies. Lies. It's all lies. I didn’t know why I kept looking at him, but I did find it rather annoying.  
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