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uncouth-the-fifth · 10 months

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click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

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agirlwithdemonblood · 1 year

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Live for me

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Summary: Being in love with somebody who doesn't see themself as worthy is hard, but is he worth it?

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, comfort, slight angst & fluff.

Word Count: 4k

Check out my masterlist here!

It was well into the night when the rumble of Baby pulled back into the garage. Placing it in park, Dean held back getting out of the car. He should be happy to be home, or excited that the hunt went so damn well, but he wasn't.

He dreaded going inside to a dark, sleeping bunker without anybody to talk to. Sam never usually stayed up this late, and you certainly didn't either, not unless he was home already.

He couldn't expect you to stay up, he knew this. But part of him hoped that maybe when he stepped inside that underground lair, you'd be there, awake. Maybe to check in on how the hunt is, or maybe you were just getting ready for bed and he'd get a simple "Hello" from you.

That's all he needed, a few words, a glance or two, even just the feeling of your body brushing against his as you passed him in the hallways, that was enough. He tried to play off how you make him feel but he couldn't stop the way you made his body do the thing.

You know what I'm talking about, the thing. The flipping and flopping of his stomach when he saw you, the butterflies fluttering everywhere, the sweaty palms and shaky legs. That thing.

The thing that made him realize he was fucked. There was no shutting off the way he felt for you, and god knows he's tried.

He's tried to convince himself it was all in his head, that he could easily switch it off, but as soon as you walk into the room his attention was on you. he couldn't concentrate or stop his wandering eyes, or hide the blush that crept on his cheeks, nearly burning his skin.

But what he hated the most was how fucking perfect he thought you were. How despite his efforts to push you away, he still woke up to Advil & water on his nightstand after a long night of drinking. He still received good morning notes by the coffee pot, and was on the receiving end of your bright, happy smiles even though he thought he didn't deserve it.

He was in love with you. Every single bit of you, and god he wanted to tell you but he was convinced he was cursed at birth. That anybody who comes into his life dies, or is taken away.

You weren't naive, you knew all of this. You've lived with him long enough to see the way he sacrifices his life for anybody he loves or cares for, hell he's done it a few times since you've moved in. You knew he loved you, and you loved him too.

And you tried, so fucking hard, to let Dean take his time. Be strong, be kind, and let him work it out in his head, let him come to you. But the longer time went on, the more it hurt. You were sick.

Infected by Dean Winchester, addicted to his presence, desperate for any interaction you could get, connected to him until the day you die.

That's how you ended up in this situation, that's what this story is about.

Because Dean didn't think anything of himself, you knew he would be really to give it all up to save somebody "more worthy". It scared the life out of you. That's why every single time Dean left for a hunt without you, the anxiety and panic filled you from head to toe, wrapping you up in a tight blanket, suffocating you.

As soon as that door shut, you felt like you've already lost him. Like you were grieving the love of your life.

Every. Time.

Enough time has passed and soon Dean realized he needed to suck it up, and go inside. His feet were heavy on the stairs, exhaustion and dread nearly weighing him down.

A slight glimpse of hope filled him when he noticed the lights on in the main room, and he desperately tried to hide the sway in his step, and the smirk on his face as he descended down the last few steps.

To his disappointment, you weren't there, but Sam was. Sitting at the end of the table, reading a book like he always did, just never this late.

Sam's head lifted up, his shoulders straightening quickly and the book slamming shut as he made eye contact with Dean. "Hey, how was the hunt?" He spoke quickly.

Dean placed his bag on the floor and shrugged, "Mrs.Morgan can finally retire in peace, the house is clear." "What are you doing awake?"

Sam swallowed hard as his eyes fell onto the table, "Uh, long night I guess. Sit down, I need to tell you about what happened here."

Dean's jaw clenched as nervousness filled him, whenever Sam wanted to sit and talk, it usually wasn't that good.

Sam cleared his throat and scratched his beard nervously, still avoiding eye contact with Dean who was staring right into his soul, waiting anxiously for whatever Sam needed to share.

"So, I really don't want you to be mad because I didn't know what else to do." He nearly whispered, "But Y/N is asleep in your bed."

That's it? That's the news? Dean nearly jumped for joy just thinking about you... in his bed.. your smell spreading all across his sheets.

He shook off the thoughts and bit back a smile as he nodded for his brother to continue. Sam sighed before sitting back, eyes finally raising towards his brother.

"Look, after you left something happened, I'm still unsure of what, but all I can say was Y/N was a mess, she completely broke down."

Dean froze and swallowed hard, all the excitement and happiness he just felt was tainted by the image of you not being okay, he hated it.

He shook his head and sat upright, "What? What happened?"

Sam shrugged in confusion and leaned closer, "I don't know! You left, and I went to her room to ask if she wanted to go to the diner or something, but when I came in, she was sitting on her bed... panicking. Completely losing it."

Sam sighed and wiped his face before continuing, "She wasn't breathing, she was gasping for air and shaking and... at first I thought maybe she was having some sort of medical emergency or maybe she was cursed, but when I realized it was a panic attack, I had no idea what to do."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his eyes tightly, trying to block out the emotions that threatened to pour out at the idea of you so scared, so broken. "So... how did she end up in my room?" He questioned silently, unsure if Sam even heard.

Sam sighed in response, "She started asking for you, practically begging me to call you but you were on the hunt. I did try just to put her at ease, but when you didn't answer it just got worse. And she..." Sam hesitated, cringing at the memory of tonight's events. "Her lips were nearly blue, she looked like a ghost and she wasn't breathing at all, just loud scary gasping. So I did the first thing I could think of and brought her to your room since she was asking for you."

Dean opened his eyes and nodded, "And than?"

Sam shrugged slowly, "And then she started to calm down, she was breathing and crying less, but she quickly passed out. I left her in there because I was scared if I moved her, it would happen again, but I swear I was going to before you got home, I just didn't know how fast you would be back here."

Dean nodded slowly and stood from his spot, looking around the room nervously, desperate to contain his thoughts and anxiety. What is he supposed to do? Was he supposed to go in there? Does he sleep out here? Why did you need him so bad?

Sam stood quickly, eyes focusing on Dean's shaking form, "Look dude I'm sorry, I can move her now."

Dean shook his head a little too fast, and turned towards Sam. "No, leave her be. I'll go check on her and if she wants to stay in my room she can, I'll sleep in the spare room."

Sam stood in shock as he stared back at his older brother, unsure if he was even seeing the right Dean at this point. "Wait, im confused, your not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?" Dean questioned defensivly.

Sam breathed out a laugh, "I don't know, maybe because your very stern about your room, add in the fact that you don't seem to really like her."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "It's just a room... I don't not like her it's just...." he sighed, "It's fine, it's just a room. She needed it."

Sam smirked knowingly as he watched the slightly blush appear on his brother's cheeks and the way he nervously wiggled his fingers. He understood, completly.

"Okay. Well good luck and goodnight Dean, let me know if you need any help."

"Yup. Goodnight Sammy." he quickly responded, head ducking down as he rushed through the halls, anxiously needing to check on you.

His heart was pounding with each step, mind swarming with fear and unknowing. What if you were awake? What was he going to say or do?

Would you even want to see him? You were asking for him, so you must want to at least know he's back, right?

He didn't know what to do, but he did know that he couldn't not make sure you were at least alright. He needed to be near you, to see you with his own eyes, to possibly provide you any comfort he could.

He hesitated before pushing the door open, eyes falling on the sleeping form in his bed. He couldn't help but smile as he trailed over your body, his face softened in admiration at the sight of you cuddled into his pillow, eyes shut in a relaxed type of way, your body rising and falling with every breath.

Stepping as quietly as he could, he pushed through the room to the bathroom, quickly changing into a new shirt and sweatpants, desperate to get back in the same room you were.

His feet were silent as he approached the bed, nerves flowing through him, unsure of what move to make here, but he knew he needed to be here, with you.

He pulled back the covers gently and nearly jumped out of his skin when you stirred, turning towards him, eyes fluttering. He froze, waited for you to either wake up, or fall back asleep.

It was silent, but he swore his heart pounding in his chest was filling the room in an annoying reminder that he had no fucking clue what he was doing.

As soon as he sat on the edge of the bed, he felt it. You moved, hands stretching out and hitting his back. He cursed at himself before turning to face you, meeting your now open eyes.

You lifted your head gently, blinking away the sleepiness before staring at the figure in front of you. "D-Dean?" You whispered so quiet, you thought he couldn't hear you.

He moved closer and smiled gently, "Yeah, I'm here."

Sitting up slowly, you started to become aware of your surroundings and memories of the events that occurred earlier came flashing back before you realized where you were, his room.

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the anxiety rising as you realize the situation that you were now in. Your hands covered your face at an attempt to hide the tremble in your lip, "O-Oh my god, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to sleep here, I didn't mean-"

His hand rested on your arm causing you to flinch and drop your hands from your face, staring back at the man you loved who was staring at you with such gentle features, it was like seeing a whole new human.

"Y/N, It's okay you don't need to apologize, I don't mind."

You smiled awkwardly before you stood from your spot, ready to leave and let him get some sleep, he was here now, you didn't need to worry. But you couldn't control the pang in your chest as you moved towards the door, dreading leaving the room that provided you so much comfort.

He stood quickly, eyes desperate and needy, he didn't want you to leave, he didn't want you to ever leave.

"Y/N, wait!" He nearly shouted, cursing silently at himself when he saw you jump in your spot and turn towards him. You stared back expectedly, waiting for him to say something, anything. "What's the plan Dean?"

He cleared his throat and stepped closer, hands nervously fiddling with the bottom of his shirt. "Uh, you can stay in here... if you want."

You tilted your head quizzically, a look of suprise crossing your face when you really took in his condition. His hands were trembling, chest was heavy and if his head was any lower, you swore he may fall to the ground.

He was flustered, scared, uncomfortable and you felt like a total asshole for putting him in this position. "Nice going Y/N."

You stepped closer slowly, hand resting on his arm gently enough to make his eyes rise to yours.

"Hey... I'm sorry if i made you uncomfortable by being in here, and I'm not sure what Sam told you but I'm fine, you don't need to give up your room for me, Dean."

He swallowed hard and watched as you moved towards the door again, panic rose in his chest and he couldn't handle it anymore. "It's now or never."

"I don't want you to go!"

You froze and turned slowly, eyes focusing on the way he looked so shy, so scared like a child that just got scolded.

"What do you mean?" You questioned.

He breathed deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. "This was it, no turning back."

You sat next to him, hand gently resting on his back to provide any sort of comfort you could, even if he didn't want it. He turned to face you and that's when you finally saw it.

The way his eyes flashed with love and adoration and desperation. You knew what this was all about now, but like always, you were giving him the floor.

His eyes fell his feet and he sighed shakingly, "I just... Fuck this is so damn awkward." He chuckled out, voice quieter than a mouse.

He quickly sat up and looked away, the fear overtaking any decision he wanted to make, it was too much, too awkward, too scary.

"I just, I wanted to come in to make sure you were okay, I didn't think I'd wake you up and than you did wake up and I didn't know what to do or what to say or if you even wanted me to do or say something-"

He started talking faster than his mouth could move, his chest rising faster than you've ever seen, he was panicking.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, hands resting on his legs successfully stopping him from speaking.

"Okay whoa, slow it down Dean, stop and breathe, you can tell me anything, whenever you want. You know this."

He nodded frantically and closed his eyes, inhaling deep in his chest. "Okay." He sighed lightly, "Sam told me what happened, and I have been scrambling trying to figure out what the right thing to do was. I didn't care that you were in my room, I just didn't know if you wanted me here too... because he told me you were asking for me. I don't know why, but you did. I wanted to be here for you, to show you that I was here now, but you thought I was uncomfortable with you being here which was the complete opposite of how I felt."

You nodded in understanding as a blush crept on your cheeks, thank god his eyes were still closed. You sat up slowly, hand reaching over to his cheek causing him to jump before he settled under your touch with a soft smile.

"Dean, I did want you here, I do. I missed you."

His eyes fluttered open and you could see the regret and guilt filling them. "Why? What have I done to earn that right? Even Sam said he thought I didn't like having you around. I've always been an asshole to you Y/N, I know this."

You shook your head as your hand dropped to his leg gently. "Your not an asshole, Dean. You pretend to be. But your not as good of an actor as you think you are."

He had a dazed look of confusion and it nearly made you laugh. Finally, you sat beside him on the bed and turned to face him.

"You try and play off like you hate me by giving me shit on hunts or not hanging in the same room as I am too long, or barely even speaking to me when Sam's not there, but I see you. I see how you look at me. I feel your eyes on me every single time I walk into the room. I see the blush on your cheeks every time we have even the smallest of conversations, and I feel the connection we have, even if you pretend we don't have one."

"You try and hide it because your scared and unsure of what would happen if you let me in, and I let you because I know how you think about yourself. I know how low your thoughts are about your worth. Why do you think i'm in here?"

He tilted his head and swallowed hard, "Because you had a panic attack."

You nodded, "Yes, because I was grieving the loss of you, Dean."

His hand rested on yours gently, soft eyes radiating back, "I'm alive, I'm right here."

"Yes." You whispered. "For now, yes. But I know you. Every single time the world demands a sacrifice, it seems as though your first in line, because you believe if anybody should go, it's you. You think the world would be fine without you in it, so you give it up for others. Sam, I understood completely, but for strangers, for anybody who needs saving, you risk your life. I love that about you but I also hate you for it, because every single fucking time you step out of that door, I feel like i've already lost you, like our chance is over."

Tears welled in your eyes and he was unsure of what shocked him more, the fact that you were crying in front of him, or the fact that yu basically told him you two had a chance.

You shook your head as anger and sadness started to fill you. It certainly wasn't his fault he was like this, he's been beaten down and been through hell and back, literally, and he had the right to feel unworthy, but it wasn't fair. Selfishly, it wasn't fair to you. Why did you have to be so hopelessly in love with a man who didn't want to be with you, who wanted to erase any chance you two ever possibly could have?

You couldn't stop the tears from pouring down your cheeks as your hands came to your face, desperate to hide away to prevent further embarrassment.

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and stood, his voice cracking at the weight of emotions weighing him down. "Sweetheart... I'm sorry, I really am. I just... I don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" I whispered nearly inaudibally.

He shrugged as his head fell, "Give you everything you deserve. Be enough. Not be cursed..."

You swore under your breath and turned harshly, eyes narrowing into his. His breathing nearly stopped as soon as his eyes caught sight of the tears staining your cheeks as he mumbled an apology.

You smiled out of frustration and anger and stepped closer, "Your not fucking cursed, I am! I am infected with you, Dean Winchester! I live and breathe you, I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't focus, all I can do is think about you and how much I.... and everytime you push me away and say harsh things, I break a little bit more. I'm so angry and stressed and exhausted and I just need..."

You stopped as your head fell to the ground, avoiding the concern and apologetic look he had towards you. His hands rested on your shoulders, voice small. "What do you need? Whatever it is, I promise it's yours."

I bit my lip and lifted my head slowly, still avoiding his eyes. "I need you to stop pretending, and kiss me."

His eyes widened and his breathing hitched as he stared down at me, finger resting underneath my chin to pull my gaze towards him. I couldn't help but smile at the look on his face, so nervous, so cute.

His hand lifted to my cheek and I noticed the slight tremble growing, his tongue licking his lips that he found suddenly too dry. He was scared. So were you.

You smiled gently and stepped closer, "Don't think, just kiss me. It's okay."

He breathed slowly, hand moving up into your hair as he pulled you in, so slow you swore he was teasing you. His eyes flicked to your lips and than your eyes again, checking over and over if this was for sure what you wanted, like you haven't been waiting for this moment since you've met him.

You leaned closer, inches away, waiting for him to make that first move. He breathed deep before he inched closer, and finally, pressed his lips against yours softly yet desperate.

He pulled you deeper, kissing you like this was the first time either of you have ever kissed before, like he never wanted to stop even if it meant you ran out of air.

He sighed contently as your hand moved to his neck, pulling him back in. By the time you two finally slowed down and broke the kiss, the room was filled with gasps for air and unbelievable passion.

His eyes stayed locked on yours as his lip trembled slightly, a small smile appearing.

You moved your hand to his cheek and sighed happily, "Now tell me your too scared to do that again."

He shook his head as a wide smile broke on his face, "No, not scared. Not anymore."

You giggled before grabbing him by his shirt collar and pulling him in, hitting his lips roughly. It was too much yet not enough, it was everything. This is what you wanted, this was everything you needed.

"Don't. Ever. Leave." You spoke between kisses.

He smiled and pulled slightly away, staring into your eyes seriously. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"More than anything, Dean. Please, stay with me."

He nodded as his hand came to your cheek to brush the stray tear that you didn't even realize was falling. "I won't ever leave, I promise you sweetheart."

You tried to bite back the emotion that was flooding through the gates, desperate to break free, you wanted to stay in this moment but hearing those words, you felt such relief.

He backed up slightly as fear spread across his face, "Whoa, why are you crying, oh please don't cry..."

You smiled and shook your head, "You said you were going to live. I've been so terrified to lose you but you said you were going to live."

He nodded and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tightly to his chest. "I promise, I will live for you, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere without you."

I hugged him tightly, desperate to heal the broken pieces that we both had between us, and I knew we would be alright, as long as we were together.

He kissed your head gently before lifting your head up with his hands. "I'm sorry I was scared."

"If your scared to lose something, it means it's real. What we have is real, Dean and I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded gently and pulled you back into his chest, sighing happily in your hair. "I love you so much."

"I love you too, Dean."

Thank you for reading! Leave a like, comment & reblog if you enjoyed it <3

Check out my masterlist here! Thank you for your support!

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural one shot #jensenxyou #spn fic #jensen x reader #jensen's smile #dean #spn aesthetic #spnfluff #spndaily #spns

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mlobsters · 9 months

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supernatural s8e14 trial and error (w. andrew dabb)

is this when the trials happen? i haven't read much stuff with specifics around those. nonsense but 5am and it's that bright out and it's january?? where??? lol (not on a boat in missouri)

the sentimental music while dean is setting up his room again reminds me of princess bride. think i've made that comment before (yes: speaking of manufactured conflict, this thing with garth and dean over bobby. dean snapping at him, garth getting upset. mushy music that reminds me of the princess bride)

s8e14 dean and mushy music / the princess bride once upon a time...storybook love c. mark knopfler

strings with that plucked acoustic guitar apparently is the princess bride sound to me

and oh have i heard about the memory foam mattress lol

that they stopped a pretty blurry shaky pan across the room to focus on the bed is making me laugh way too hard

sweet moment, letting us see sam is happy with dean settling in

.... okay.

LOL he picked him up like a toddler, that was adorable

SAM So, what – God wants us to take the SATs? KEVIN I-I guess. Uh, he works in mysterious ways. DEAN Yeah, mysterious, douche-y ways. All right. Where do we start?

SAM I know. I do. But trust me on this – this whole "saving the world" thing – it's a marathon, not a sprint. You got to take better care of yourself.

really nice (dad) moment there with sam and kevin

meanwhile dean swooping in to be the irresponsible drug supplying dad and give him groceries

ma'am

you sent dean on a face journey

CINDY Really? Keep it coming, Ken doll.

oh now sam gets called ken doll, dean was too back at biggerson's s7e9 from the reaver side effect of the turducken leviathan ooze

SAM Right. [SAM leans into DEAN's phone.] Hey, Kevin, uh, you did great, man. Get some sleep.

dad sam with the positive reinforcement, love to see it

DEAN Crowley. Poncy guy, about yea big, mountain of dicks.

SAM Uh, they're on lockdown, and you need backup. DEAN No, I don't. SAM Yes, you do. DEAN No, I need you to be safe, Sam, okay? That's what I need. SAM What? What am I – when are WE ever safe? DEAN This is different. SAM How? DEAN Because of the three trials crap – God's little obstacle course. We've been down roads like this before, man – with Yellow-Eyes, Lucifer, Dick friggin' Roman. We both know where this ends – one of us dies... Or worse. SAM So, what – you just up and decided it's gonna be you? DEAN I'm a grunt, Sam. You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation. SAM Dean— DEAN And you told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get. So I'm gonna do these trials. I'm gonna do them alone – end of story. You're staying here. I'm going out there. If landshark comes knocking, you call me. If you try to follow me, I'm gonna put a bullet in your damn leg.

intermission for me to sob for a while. i hate when he's like this. i hate how little he values himself at times because it slams into suicidal so fast. and of course because they're settling into a home, they're both happy, the show had to do it. and then how they ended the series.. maybe someday i'll come to be okay with dean dying at 42, but today isn't that day. i need to just finish watching this

glad we get to see the hellhounds finally and that they went a route that we can't see much and worked to the strengths of the cgi

DEAN Sam, I didn't pass the test. SAM But I did... And I'm doing the rest of them. DEAN My ass you are! SAM I'm closing the gates. It's a suicide mission for you. DEAN Sam... SAM I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't – I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it. DEAN Sam, be smart. SAM I AM smart, and so are you. You're not a grunt, Dean. You're a genius – when it comes to lore, to – you're the best damn hunter I have ever seen – better than me, better than dad. I believe in you, Dean. So, please – please believe in me, too.

that's what dean and i needed to hear too. thank you, sam. and thank you dean for not fighting him on it.

i know how this plotline wraps up, more or less, but none of the details. thinking about my fuckup vs righteous man feelings, how sam is regularly put in that role of having to apologize for messing up. but has made these two big sacrifices. the pit for ruby, the trials for amelia. but i've also been in my sam feelings more lately so my read on anything might be skewed. gotta take turns getting tortured by some deity/deity-adjacent-thing

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 8x14 #andrew dabb #fuckup vs righteous man #the princess bride #spn tpb music #spn bunker #spn musical score

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messers-moony · 3 years

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Lavender | R.B

Paring: Regulus Black X Fem!Reader

Summary: Sirius Black escapes Azkaban and Professor Black’s students have a lot of questions about it.

“Professor Black?” A Hufflepuff student raised their hand, “Yes, Ms.Abbott?”

The Hufflepuff - Hannah Abbott - swallowed thickly, “Are you worried?”

“Worried about what?” Professor Black queried with her signature sweet smile, “Sirius Black.” Hannah stated.

The Professor chuckled, “No, dear. Nor should any of you be. Sirius Black will not harm any of you.”

Quietness remained through the classroom, “You know what, we have about twenty minutes of class time left. Why don’t you ask me all the questions troubling your minds? No judgment. You ask me questions, and I shall tell you no lies.”

Hermione’s hand shot up, “Yes, Ms.Granger?”

“How do you inherit the Black surname?”

Y/n smiled faintly, “I was married to one of the brothers.”

“Which one?” Ronald Weasley interjected, “Regulus Black.” Y/n answered.

“Pardon me if this sounds rude,” Dean Thomas began, “But wasn’t Regulus a deatheater?”

Tension set throughout the classroom, “Indeed, he was Mr. Thomas. I congratulate you on your research, but Regulus was not an evil man.” Y/n replied reassuringly.

“What was he like?”

“Regulus Black was a kind and ambitious man but pressured by his parents - Walburga and Orion - to accomplish things he never had ambition for.” Y/n twisted the ring on her finger, “Sirius Black and Regulus Black had more in common than they liked to believe. In the end, it seems that they weren’t different at all.”

“What do you mean, Professor?” Hermione queried at the cryptic response.

Y/n stood in front of her desk with her arms and legs crossed, “What I mean is that they both sacrificed themselves for the people they loved.”

“I can’t go into Regulus’ whole background, we just don’t have the time for that, and I can’t speak for Sirius, but I can assure you, Sirius means no harm.”

Glancing at the clock, most students began to pack up and leave. Hermione seemed intrigued and wanted to ask more, but she left despite her craving for knowledge. Ron followed shortly after. Harry seemed to be packing extraordinarily slow. Both his closest friends leaving him behind while the classroom expired itself out. Y/n returned to behind her desk, and Harry stared at her with his bright green eyes.

“Professor.” Harry called, grabbing her attention, “Yes, Harry?”

“Did you know my father?”

“I did.”

Harry stuttered, “Can- Can you tell me about him?”

“Perhaps,” Y/n answered teasingly.

The boy sat back down at his desk, “James Potter.” Y/n spoke with a laugh, “Merlin, he was a joy to be around.”

“I was a close friend of James’, which was fortunate. Most people couldn’t get too close to him aside from the Marauders, but I managed to sneak my way in.” Y/n explained, “James was kind and sweet, but he had his flaws like everyone else. Sometimes he hurt people - not that he noticed; of course, he thought it was all in good fun, but occasionally someone would get really hurt.”

“Most of the time, I was his shoulder to cry on. Your mother - Lily, she was something, let me tell you. Hurt your father in more ways than one. Rejecting him constantly made him question his self-worth. But he covered it up with his famous James Potter smile.”

“Your father wasn’t perfect, Harry.” Y/n stated, “Despite what anyone tells you. James Potter was not perfect, but there is one thing I bet he was fortunate for.”

“What's that?” Harry asked, “He and Lily died together. They never lived without one another.” Y/n answered.

Instantly Harry felt like he crossed a boundary, “I- I’m so sorry, Professor….”

“No need to apologize.”

“Would you talk about him? Regulus, that is?”

“Of course. Um- Regulus was one year younger than the Marauders. He was also a Slytherin favored by his parents over Sirius.” The Professor explained, fidgeting with her necklace, “He drowned. That’s- That's how he died.”

“He was eighteen when he passed in 1979. I can’t express the pain I felt when I received news of his passing.” Y/n chuckled bitterly, “Sirius ached too. Whether he showed it or not, I knew that he was hurting for the loss of his brother.”

Tears began to gloss her eyes, “I was hurting. We had gotten married a month before he died. Looking back on it, I think he did that on purpose because he knew that soon he would do this mission that would result in his death. His biggest concern was always me and my well-being. So for me to inherit his fortunes, he married me.”

“That’s not to say he only married me for that reason, but I think he wanted to die knowing I’d be taken care of.” Y/n added quickly, “Not even two years later, your parents died. Those three years were awful. And I mean absolutely dreadful.”

“Shortly after I realized Remus - Professor Lupin, excuse me, began to distance himself, so I reached out to him before he could hide away. Remus and I moved into a flat together; we still do. I also have my daughter.”

Harry spluttered, “Daughter?”

“Yes, my child with Regulus.”

“What’s her name?”

“Phoenix Regulus Black, a true Hufflepuff.” Y/n announced proudly, “She's a year above you, but I’d recommend you meeting her.”

“I- I know her.” Harry murmured, “You do?”

Harry nodded, “She- She’s been a good friend of mine since first year.”

“Well then.” Y/n chuckled.

Something was amiss in Harry’s attitude. Y/n was not daft. She noticed that at the mention of her daughter's name, his eyes lit up. The way his green eyes sparkled like a freshly mined emerald. The way his usual pale complexion turned to a faint pink hue and his dopey smile. The same smile James had with Lily. The same smile Regulus had with her.

“You like my daughter, don’t you?” Y/n crossed her arms, smiling playfully, “I- I- Pardon me, Professor.” Harry stuttered.

Y/n laughed, “Oh, you so do! You love my daughter!”

“Maybe I do….” Harry confessed, “Well, Harry Potter, I have no problem with you having a crush on my daughter. Just don’t make her a fling.” Y/n replied, narrowing her eyes teasingly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, run along. You have to catch lunch before it’s up.”

Harry rushed out of his seat after realizing the time. His bag placed on his shoulder as he left the classroom in haste. Y/n smiled and sat at the chair behind her desk. When moving a piece of parchment, there was a distinct rose petal. It was odd, she didn’t have roses anywhere nearby, and no one had been near her desk all day aside from her. The rose petal was a beautiful shade of lavender.

Lavender roses were the only color of roses Regulus would give her. It made Y/n smile, “Thank you, Reggie.”

In the afterlife, Regulus would’ve been sitting watching her entire conversation with Harry. He was smiling at his beautiful wife doing what she always aspired to do - teaching kids. Regulus could only hope that when Sirius was to find her that he’d take care of her. Perhaps Sirius could become Phoenix’s father - the parent Regulus never got a chance to be. Regulus could only hope that Phoenix knew that he did everything to keep her safe. His beautiful baby girl.

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

Text

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

#gen.fics #spncreatorsdaily #creativecaviar #userjennmish #userdorksinlove #userstarry #tuserari #plantdadcas #offbeattraxx #slipper007 #thisisapaige #lyntracks #deancas #destiel #college au #fic #spn #gen creates

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tiktaalic · 3 years

Text

purgatory is just like. where’s the angel. first we find the angel. where’s the angel (again). the stream is where you’ll find your angel. cas! dean. cas. big laugh and hug. damn it’s good to see you. nice peach fuzz. thank you. you feeling okay? why’d you bail on dean? dude--. the way i hear it you two hit monsterland and hot wings here took off. i figure he owes you some backstory. we were surrounded. some freak jumped cas and he obviously kicked their ass, right? no. what? i ran away. you ran away? i had to. that’s your excuse for leaving me? dean. you bailed and what, went camping? i prayed to you, cas. every night. i know. you know, and you didn’t--what the hell is wrong with you? there have been things hunting me from the moment we arrived. join the club! i have a price on my head and i have been trying to stay one step ahead of them, to--to keep them away from you. that’s why i ran. just leave me, please. hold on, hold on. cas. we’re getting out of here. we’re going home. dean, i can’t. you can! we’ll figure it out. cas, buddy, i need you. dean. if they wanna take a shot at us, let em. we can do it again. it’s too dangerous. let me bottom line it for you. i’m not leaving here without you. understand? i understand. you two are killing me. the risk of crossing purgatory with me is less than strategic. especially when you’re not certain if i can pass through the door you’re headed for. i don’t think it’ll work for me. you hear what he’s telling you, dean? your buddy’s saying--listen to me, you’re dead, blood junkie. i’m the one with the mojo, i’m the one with the plan. cas! we’re gonna shove you through the eye of the needle if it kills all three of us. we’re already done for. the angel knows it. we’re never going to make it through with him glowing like a beacon. do i need to remind you of our deal? of what you committed to? he is going to get us killed! even if it does exist, dean, it’s a human portal. there’s no proof i can pass--stow it, cas. you’re coming and that’s final. if it doesn’t work, thank you. for everything. save the hallmark, okay? it’s gonna work. no one gets left behind. let’s go. dean. wait. we gotta move, it’s closing. cas, dammit, come on! come on! i got you, hold on! dean! hold on! dean! go! something happened back there. things got rough, and he just--let go. you saw him die? i saw enough. dean, i’m sorry. me too. are you alright? no, i just saw something. what? cas. right there. and then earlier, on the road. i’m seeing him. i tried so damn hard to get him out of there. you know i could have pulled him out. i just don’t understand why he didn’t try harder. you did everything you could. yeah, well. then why do i feel like shit? hello, dean. i’ve been trying to reach out. how the hell did you make it out? i’m dirty. better? cas, can i talk to you outside? what? exactly, what. what the hell happened back there? purgatory? i told you i would get you out. we were there! it’s like you just gave up. it’s like you didn’t believe we could do it, i mean you kept saying you didn’t think it would work, did you not trust me? dean-- i did everything i could to get you out! everything! i did not leave you. you think this was your fault? bonehead move back there. you could have gotten yourself killed. why didn’t you wait for me? i didn’t get myself killed, and it worked. and if it hadn’t? it would have been my problem. well that’s not the way i see it. everything isn’t your responsibility. getting me out of purgatory wasn’t your responsibility. you didn’t get out! so whose fault was that? it’s not about fault. it’s about will. dean, do you really not remember? i lived it, okay. i know what happened. no, you think you know. you remembered it the way you needed to. look, i don’t need to feel like hell for leaving you, okay?. for failing you the way i fail every godforsaken thing i care about. i don’t need it! dean, just look at it. really look at it. it wasn’t that i was weak. i was stronger than you. i pulled away. nothing you did could have saved me because i didn’t want to be saved. what the hell are you talking about? it’s where i belonged. i needed to do penance. i didn’t deserve to be out. i planned to stay there all along, i just didn’t know how to tell you. you can’t save everyone, my friend. though you try.

#etxt #spnwatch #long post #SEASON GR8!#dc

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pinknatural · 3 years

Text

After a long while, Jack straightens back up, wiping away his tears.

“Sorry about your shirt,” he says again. Dean waves his hand in dismissal. What’s some snot and tears?

“It’s fine,” he says again. “I mean it, kid.”

Jack looks like he might begin to cry all over again, but he sniffs and makes a valiant effort not to. They’re in a motel room--Dean couldn’t bear the Bunker, and Sam and Eileen’s honeymoon phase. He’s happy for them, of course he is, but seeing them so in love is kind of painful, and Dean could tell Sam was trying not to be overt about it to spare Dean’s feelings, and Dean just felt that, well--he might as well remove himself from the situation, at least for a little bit.

(Plus, now he has some peace and quiet--the motel room is littered with books and research, scrolls and files and other pieces of lore--all on the afterlife, of course. All on how to get there.)

“Okay,” Jack says. “Okay.” He raises a glowing hand to his own forehead, but he pauses when his fingers are about an inch away. He swallows.

“Come on, kid, what are you waiting for?” Dean asks.

“I could bring her back,” Jack whispers. “I should bring her back.”

He lowers his hand, turns a stricken gaze to Dean.

“Who?” Dean asks. He thinks, Kelly. He thinks, Maggie. He thinks, absurdly, Charlie.

“Emma,” Jack says.

Dean feels as if he’s been hit over the head.

“What?” he says. Has he turned into a fish and been left out on the docks? Where did all the air go?

“You’ve been thinking about her,” Jack says, like a confession. “Praying.” He has, if only because he’s been wallowing in what he can’t have, the husband, the daughter. He has, if only because he’s been wondering if the way to the Empty could be through Purgatory. Would he have time to sweep the place first? Would he be able to find her, unlike the last two times he was there?

“Yeah,” Dean tries to say, but no sound comes out. He tries again. “Yeah. You could really…?”

“I can do anything,” Jack says, with a sad, bitter smile, and Dean reaches for him. Jack falls into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Dean’s back, clinging to his shirt. Dean runs a hand up his back, cups the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to,” Dean says. It’s one of the hardest things he’s ever said. “God, kid, I’d like nothing more, but you don’t have to. You gotta do what’s best for you, you hear me?”

“I know,” Jack says. He sniffles. Dean thinks he might be crying again. “And I love Claire so much but I just want my sister. Dad, I want to bring her back.”

Dean squeezes his son. He closes his eyes.

“Then bring her back,” he whispers, and one of Jack’s hands leaves Dean’s back. Golden light shines, starting behind Dean and filling up the room, making it brighter and brighter and Jack gets smaller and smaller and Dean just holds on, tighter and tighter.

The light fades.

A little boy has his face buried in Dean’s gut, arms wrapped tight around Dean. They don’t even go all the way around, anymore. Dean runs a hand through Jack’s hair, stunned even though Jack told him this was what he wanted, even though they’d talked and talked about it before Jack decided to go through with it.

“What?” a tiny voice says, and Dean turns around.

Emma is standing there, only she’s not--she’s not exactly the Emma Dean remembers. Instead of being sixteen, she’s something like eight years old, eyes wide and hair tangled with leaves. She’s splattered with blood, and wearing the same clothes she’d died in--the same clothes Dean buried her in. They’re too big for her, and she looks like she’s on the verge of tears.

“What happened?” she asks, looking around the motel room wildly. “Where am I?”

“Emma,” Dean says, untangling himself from the three year old on the bed and kneeling, reaching out gently. He stays near the bed, afraid of spooking her. “You were rescued from Purgatory. You’re safe.” He turns to Jack. “Why is she little?”

“She’s human,” Jack says, shrugging. He’s chewing on the end of his sleeve, eyes wide. His clothes, at least, are three-year-old sized. Dean wonders where he’s supposed to get Emma some clothes, but there’s a pink suitcase sitting beside Dean’s duffel. The sight of it is too much, and he looks back at his daughter.

“Safe?” Emma repeats, looking down at her hands. She flexes her tiny fingers.

“Eight years have passed,” Dean says, still holding out his hands--he’s not sure if he’s trying to soothe her or reach for her. “You’re safe, you don’t have to kill anyone, I won’t hurt you.”

Emma looks around again. She sees her suitcase and stares at it, then swings her gaze back around. “Who’s that?” She points at Jack.

“That’s Jack, that’s my son,” Dean says. “Your brother. He brought you back.”

“How?”

“He was powered up--he was God--but now he’s just a kid,” Dean says. “He, um, wanted to bring you back.”

“Dada was prayin’ for you,” Jack says, voice muffled around the sleeve he’s still chewing. Dean reaches out and gently removes it from his mouth. “He wanted you to come back. I wanted to meet you.”

“Oh,” Emma says. She looks down at her pants. “I’m all dirty.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “The bathroom’s over there if you want to--shower. I can help you if you want.”

Emma shakes her head and reaches for her suitcase. She goes into the bathroom, turning around and looking back at Dean and Jack, eyes wide, until she shuts the door behind her. Dean collapses back onto his feet, running his hands over his face, laughing incredulously.

“I did good?” Jack asks, sliding off the bed and crawling onto Dean’s lap. “I did good?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean says, voice cracking. He hears the shower turn on, the water begin to run. He curls up tight over Jack. “You did great.”

The first thing Cas is aware of is big blue eyes. The rest of the features on that face sharpen into a nose and mouth, grace smearing around the small face, and although it seems impossible, it can only be--

“Jack?”

“Daddy!” Jack cries, and he throws himself onto Cas. Cas catches him easily, holds his tiny body within his arms. Oh, he’s so small. His golden wings stretch as big as they go, which is not very big, to wrap themselves around Cas, and reflexively he wraps his own around Jack as well, holding him tight, rocking slightly back and forth.

Then he remembers--everything, and that he’s supposed to be dead, and he looks up.

Green eyes. Freckles, slightly crooked nose, beloved mouth, beloved jawline.

“Cas,” Dean croaks, and he falls to his knees. Cas is on the floor, legs crossed and Jack curled up on his lap. Cas doesn’t want to let go but Jack wiggles away, and Cas is afraid to reach out but helpless to do anything else.

Dean crawls toward him, falls against him. He presses his face into Cas’ neck and breathes, in and out, and Cas thinks he might be crying. But Cas is breathing Dean in, and he smells like the Impala (home) and guns (safety) and lemon (Dean) and Cas’ eyes aren’t very dry, either.

“You dumb son of a bitch,” Dean says, voice tucked safe into the place between Cas’ neck and shoulder. “You goddamned idiot. You stupid fucker. You dumbass, you, you.”

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean shudders out a shaky breath, breathes heavily against him. Dean is alive in Cas’ arms, and he couldn’t be happier.

He tilts his gaze up, looking for Jack, and he finds instead a little girl with brown-blonde hair. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt and denim shorts and one of Dean’s flannels. She’s practically swimming in it, but her sleeves are rolled up and her eyes are the same apple-green as Dean’s, and Cas holds Dean tighter.

“Emma?” he asks. She nods and looks away uncomfortably.

“Emmie, Emmie, my daddy’s back,” Jack says, bouncing over to her and dancing around, wings flapping madly.

“Yeah,” Emma says.

Dean clears his throat and finally leans back from Cas. He reaches out an arm and Emma comes over to him, sitting on the floor beside him and tucking herself against his side. Dean wipes away tears with his other hand as Jack barrels back around, throwing himself into Cas’ lap. Cas holds him and looks around.

They’re in a motel room, two queen beds, identical to the countless ones Sam and Dean have stayed in over the years. But there’s a pink suitcase next to the TV and a blue duffel with sharks on it beside it. On one of the beds there’s a pair of stuffed rabbits, one pink and one yellow. There are various books and scrolls piled on the little table beside the couch and also piled onto the couch itself. Spell ingredients are on the floor, spread out over a placemat.

“Daddy,” Emma says, and Cas looks at her, tugging on Dean’s overshirt. His heart melts. Dean deserves nothing less, of course, but he knows what toll gaining then losing a daughter has had on Dean. He’s so glad that Dean can have her back, that she can have Dean, too, that she can have another chance. She deserves it, and already Cas looks at her and sees her hair in a careful braid and her Wonder Woman socks and he knows he would die for her. “If me and Jack are siblings and you’re Jack’s dad and that’s Jack’s dad, too, then. Um.”

She looks at Cas nervously. Dean squeezes her shoulders.

“Me and Cas have to talk about all that,” Dean says. Cas is astounded that it’s not an instant denial.

“We do?” he asks, and Dean meets his gaze head on.

“Yeah,” he says. “We got a lotta stuff to talk about, you and me. Kids, why don’t you watch some TV and Cas and I’ll go outside.”

Jack scrambles off of Cas’ lap and turns around, presses a wet kiss to Cas’ cheek, then he climbs onto the bed with the stuffed animals. He grabs onto the yellow bunny and Emma crawls beside him, putting the pink bunny on her lap and pointing the remote at the TV. Cas stands and offers his hand to Dean, who takes it, lets Cas pull him up.

Dean goes outside and Cas follows, of course he does. They don’t let go of each other’s hands.

“Why are we in a motel?” Cas asks. Dean shrugs.

“Needed some space,” he says. “Then I wasn’t sure how big of a house to get.”

“A house?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. He rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Can’t raise kids in a bunker, come on man.”

“What about Sam?”

“He’s fine,” Dean says. “On a hunt with Eileen.”

“Oh,” Cas says, slightly confused.

“Yeah, I dunno,” Dean says. “Salt-and-burn in Orlando, I think. So, um, listen, man…”

“Thank you for getting me out of the Empty,” Cas blurts, afraid Dean is about to reject him. He has always known Dean would do so, but he thinks to hear it would be--upsetting.

“Of course,” Dean says. “You’re, um. I couldn’t just leave you there, you’re--”

“Family?” Cas suggests.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He takes a step forward. “Though, you know, I’ve been thinkin’ about what we are to each other.”

“You have?” Cas takes a step back when Dean takes another step forward.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Living together, raising a kid together, dying for each other. Never wanting to be apart.”

“Oh?” Cas says, and his back hits the wall. Dean stands over him, caging him in with only one hand--the other still wrapped around Cas’ palm, their fingers intertwined.

“You know what that sounds like?” Dean asks, breath ghosting along Cas’ jaw, and Cas can’t really think. Why is Dean standing so close to him?

“Family?” Cas croaks, brain stuck on the word. Family, they’re family.

“I was thinking it sounded like husbands, Cas,” Dean says, and then Cas doesn’t have to worry about why Dean is standing so close anymore, because Dean kisses him, and Cas’ brain ceases functioning--but it’s okay, because if Dean says they’re husbands, who is Cas to argue?

Sam pulls up to the motel after dropping Eileen off at the Bunker. She was tired from driving all night and Sam doesn’t blame her, but he can’t believe he’s missed everything while he went to one measly salt-and-burn.

He parks the car and gets out, crossing the parking lot. He knocks on the door and Claire opens it. She looks the same as always, except she has a purple stuffed bunny peeking out of her jacket pocket. Sam is smart enough not to comment on this.

She steps aside and lets him in, and Emma squeaks and practically climbs up Dean when she sees him. It’s a work in progress, with her, and Sam feels terrible but he’s not sure what he can do besides give her time, so he looks away and instead turns to Cas, who smiles when he sees him.

“Sam!” he says, and he stands up from the couch, crosses the room and hugs him.

“It’s good to see you,” Sam says, clapping Cas on the back.

“Sam!” Jack says, and he barrels towards Sam’s legs with the determination of a battering ram, and Sam intercepts him before he can make contact, picking him up and swinging him over his shoulder. Jack laughs and laughs, and Kaia waves at Sam from her spot curled up on the couch.

“This motel room is very full,” Sam says, looking around, and Dean grins at him.

“That’s why we’re shopping, Sammy,” he says, and he points at his laptop.

“Find anything good?” Sam asks, crossing the room to sit on the couch so he can see the computer. He deposits Jack into Cas’ arms, and Dean comes to sit on his other side. Emma stays on the bed, hiding behind Claire, who’s obviously taking guard-duty pretty seriously since she’s half-glaring at Sam.

Sam looks away and turns his gaze toward the computer.

“We weren’t finding any good listings so we’re looking for some land, now,” Dean says.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay in the Bunker? We’ve got a lotta room,” Sam says.

“Nah,” Dean says. He slings his arm around Cas, who’s perched on the arm of the couch. “We need a house.”

“Windows,” Cas says solemnly, tangling his and Dean’s fingers, and Sam notes the movement with a pleased smile.

“But if we build a house we can add-in wards and stuff, right into the foundations,” Dean says. “We can make sure it’s safe, and good.”

“Will you build it?” Sam asks, even though he knows the answer.

“Damn straight,” Dean says. The silver band on his ring finger flashes as he shuts the laptop. Jack crawls into Kaia’s lap, and she wraps her arms around him.

“I think it’s a good idea,” she says.

“Yeah,” Sam says. He meets his brother’s eyes. “Me too.”

(ao3)

#girl this got so much longer than i thought it would be #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #emmanatural #jack kline #emma winchester #sam winchester #claire novak #kaia neives #i hope u guys like that all i do is write emma or cas gets rescued over and over again with slightly different variations #writingtag

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spnsisterimagines · 3 years

Text

Mario Kart

Summary - Y/N decides to engage her brothers and Castiel into Mario Kart, not realizing what she was getting herself into.

Pairings - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader, Jack Kline x Platonic!Winchester!Reader, Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Word Count - 1,911 words

"Let's get it!" Y/N squeals, claiming her spot on the middle of the couch. She was practically bouncing up and down, waiting impatiently for everyone to join her. The Dean Cave had brightened considerably since she had added a few redecorations. While Dean initially denied her, she had forced him to allow her to put up LED lights, several polaroids from her camera(they were mostly of herself smiling widely at the camera while Sam and Dean looked mildly annoyed with fake smiles. There was also a real funny one where Sam was unconscious on a hunt and Y/N decided to pose beside him), as well as posters from their favorite bands. Not to mention the added dock to the TV stand to hold her Nintendo Switch that Sam had bought her for her previous birthday.

She supposed he regretted it now, since she was forcing him to play a game he'd never even heard of.

He entered the room first, holding a big bowl of popcorn and a soda. Dean followed close behind, Little Debbie packages hanging from his mouth since his arms were occupied with pillows from their bedrooms and a pack of beers for himself. Jack was the only one to come empty handed. He happily took the spot beside Y/N, waving merrily as Castiel also appeared with two sodas(both of them for Beth because he was just so considerate), taking the spot on her other side.

"I'll give this an hour before we switch to movie night, Y/N," Dean warned as he occupied his armchair, which was to the left of the couch. She had discovered this old thing at a garage sale. It had been a rather stressful day because Dean had refused to strap it to Baby and they had to hound what little friends they had for a truck. Since most of their friends were dead, Y/N had hot wired one outside of a bar and returned it before the drunk redneck inside could notice it had even left. She was sure the dent in the bed was there before they put the couch on it. Sam had not been happy about that.

Sam took his own armchair, which was to the right of the couch.

"What is it, again?" he asked curiously.

"Is the only thing in the media you've ever heard Facebook? You've seriously never heard of Mario Kart?" Y/N asked, happily accepting one of the sodas from Castiel. "Dad really did a number on us. I was introduced to this through Charlie." She got up to grab the number of controllers necessary for four. Jack was eager to try the game, but he was always open to trying new things, something Y/N could appreciate.

After connecting them to the Switch, she handed them out to her brothers along with Jack before returning to her spot on the couch between the angel and nephilim.

"If I remember correctly from what you've told me, it's a racing game, right?" Castiel asked.

"Exactly, except with a few quirks to make it interesting. Like, um...I could throw a shell and hit one of them and vice versa. Or a banana peel. I'll give them a trial run before we actually get into it. Are you sure you don't want to try it, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head. "I have seen how you play with Charlie, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of your anger. And I rather like watching you in your element."

Y/N smiled, blushing, before playfully pushing him.

"I need to get drunk to stomach this," Dean said, offended as he popped one of the beers open and took a gulp. "Keep the PDA to a minimum guys, you've got a kid next to you. Alright, what buttons do I push to hit Sam?"

"What the hell?" Sam scoffed.

"What?"

"We haven't even started and you're gunnin' for me?"

"Uh, yeah!"

"Alright, alright! First we gotta pick our player," Y/N mediated, pressing the buttons to get them to the screen full of Mario players. "I already got mine." She moved her icon until it landed on Wendy, before selecting her. "Obviously the best character, hands down."

The three boys maneuvered their icons over different characters, for some reason taking it a little too seriously on who they would choose. Sam selected his first.

"Luigi?" Dean scoffed.

"You got a problem?" Sam asked.

"No, but...why Luigi?"

"Who cares, I just chose him."

"You have to have a reason, man." Dean shook his head, before selecting his own.

"Why'd you choose Bowser, then?"

"Because he's a badass. And he'd beat the holy hell out of Luigi if the games lost their PG rating," Dean shrugged.

Jack hummed thoughtfully, still scrolling. "I choose him!"

He selected Toad.

"Why him, Jack?" she asked.

"I like his hat."

Y/N snorted, but it was a valid enough answer. Once everyone was ready, she selected the settings for the game and then decided to use the time to explain to them how the controls worked and anything else they were curious about. After a few trial races, they were ready for the real thing. Castiel was sitting patiently, his hands on his lap.

"You assholes are going down," Dean declared, bringing his remote closer to him.

"So much for being appropriate in front of the kid," Y/N sneered, but she was just as ready.

She set the game to go through ten races with a random select for the roads.

And with that, they were off.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Dean yelled, nearly jumping to his feet. His first empty beer bottle slide across the floor from his rapid movement. "I DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH IT! I DIDN'T GO NEAR THE GODDAMN PEEL!"

"That might've been mine," Sam stated, smugly. "But Bowser also takes up half the road, so avoiding it was probably impossible anyway."

Dean squinted. "You callin' me fat, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "Luigi's doing just fine."

Y/N hid her smile as she hit her own item, snatching that smile right from Sam's face.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, incredulous, the red shell sending Luigi off the edge of the map.

"You got in my way!" Y/N sang.

It only seemed to get worse from there. What was supposed to be an hour of playing turned into four with the bowl of popcorn thrown across the room at Dean when he had decided to hit Sam three times with three separate shells before snagging first place and doing a lewd dance as a way to declare his victory. Y/N's hair had bristled up, becoming bushier almost as though it were alive. Her right eye was twitching, and her hands were cramping by now.

Jack, however, was having a good time. He has gotten last place the entire time, but he was still having fun, and that's what truly mattered.

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, not knowing whose side he should take because all three Winchester siblings were completely out of their minds, including Y/N.

Finally, it was the last race. Everyone's nerves were shot. Sam's hair seemed even more raggedy than Y/N's, and his shirt was stained with soda because Dean decided to take vengeance by chucking his pillow at him when Sam was taking a big gulp. They had to pause the game for several minutes while Sam fought for his life coughing and wheezing because the soda went down the wrong pipe.

"I'm afraid I must at least attempt to deter you guys from participating in another race. There aren't any weapons in the Dean Cave, but I'm sure you three will find a way to kill each other," Castiel said, worried. "Jack, are you okay?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "I'm having fun!"

"I will let it be known if I lose, someone is dying tonight. I will call Billie to fix it, but someone has to die tonight if I lose," Y/N threatened.

"Good luck with that, I'm kicking all of your asses, and you can kiss mine when it crosses the finish line," Dean said.

"I don't even care if I win, as long as you guys lose. And I'll make sure it happens." Sam jeered.

With that, the race began. Aside from Jack and Castiel, everyone was bloodthirsty. Surely no matter who won, someone was gonna be pissed off. Castiel was making a mental note to grab Jack as soon as possible and escort him out of the room while the siblings brawled.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Y/N shouted, jumping to her feet. "WHO DID IT! WHO DID IT?"

"I did!" Sam happily announced, moving to and fro with the turn of his controller, as though he were in the game himself.

"I'm gonna get you, Sam," Y/N snarled, pressing hard on the buttons, trying her best to catch up to her brother, collecting any items she came across, but none of them were good enough, so she kept using them without thinking until she heard Dean curse and also jump to his feet.

"THAT WAS ME, JACKASS!" he yelled, completely distraught. "I didn't even do anything this time!"

"You probably deserved it anyway!" Sam shrugged, continuing to maneuver through the AIs to get to the front.

By that time, Dean and Y/N had caught up, and with all they had, they used their items to completely screw each other over up until every kart had passed them. In the end, they were the bottom three with Sam first, Y/N second, and Dean in dead last. And for a moment there after, nobody said anything. They were completely beside themselves in utter shock at what just occurred.

"What just happened?" Y/N asked, deflating considerably.

"We lost..." Sam mumbled.

"Screw you guys, I lost overall!" Dean scoffed.

"I won!" Jack suddenly cheered, leaping to his feet and jumping up and down. "I won!"

"You what?" Y/N asked, shocked as her eyes trailed to the top. Sure enough, Toad was in first place. "You're kidding!"

"I can't believe I won!" Jack said, smiling as he high-fived a proud Castiel.

"I want a rematch," Dean commanded, sitting back down and retrieving his controller.

"Yeah, me, too!" Sam agreed.

"I'm down!" Y/N eagerly agreed, about to grab hers when Castiel snatched it. He went around the room, taking up all the controllers.

"Given that it's five in the morning, and just a couple moments ago you three were ready to quite literally rip each other's throats out, I'm going to recommend everyone get up and get to bed instead," he instructed curtly. "I think we should postpone a future night of games indefinitely, at least for a little while until you three can learn to control yourselves."

"What-but-you can't-" Y/N sputtered.

"Quite literally, I can shut off whatever is necessary so you can never play the game again with just a snap of my fingers," Castiel warned. "Shower and get some sleep. Jody already told us she needed to discuss something at noon tomorrow, and it would be rude if we were tardy. C'mon, let's go!"

With a grumble, everyone got up and cleaned their mess, ignoring each other vehemently as they walked out. Except for Jack; he was practically skipping.

There was another good thing about tonight that he knew about. He was the one that triggered the lightning item that really stumped the three siblings and put them at the bottom three.

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one-more-offbeat-anthem · 3 years

Text

after the credits

to thirteen years of cas and of the greatest love story ever told...an empty rescue fic for y’all :) 2.3k, read on ao3 here

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

After a while, Castiel gets tired of watching. He’s practically dreaming all the time, but he’s so tired.

Eternal sleep is not restful.

He can’t leave the Empty, but he manages to mold it, with his mind, into a theater. He went to one once, with Dean, and there are probably nicer theaters, like those for plays and operas, but this movie theater is right for him. If he concentrates, he can almost smell burnt, buttery popcorn and spilled soda and old carpet, and Dean right next to him, aftershave and car oil and whiskey.

Almost.

The scenes unfold in a memorable order, because they’re Cas’s own memories. At first, he tried to jump in, alter the scene, but he’s powerless. So, like clockwork, he watches. He’s saving Dean in hell. He’s being stabbed in the chest by the same man he raised. He’s asking Dean to get answers from Alastair and then almost getting the grace pressed out of him. He’s slamming his palm onto a bloody sigil. He’s--

Everything, all of his twelve years on earth, pass by, over and over and over again.

Right now, it’s an early scene, not far into the cycle. It’s not one of his favorites, because he can see the expression on his face, remembers exactly how he felt. Remembers that he he was feeling at all.

“That was a pretty awkward kiss, huh?”

Cas turns sharply at the sound of Dean’s voice. Of course, Dean does talk in this scene, before he kisses Anna. But this Dean is sitting next to him, frowning at the screen.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Cas says.

“I know.”

Chances are this is just the Empty trying to mess with him. Last week a random trashcan showed up in his theater. Or maybe it was last year, or a millenia ago, or five minutes from now. Time is weird.

They keep watching in silence. On the screen, in the memory, Cas’s head jerks away from the sight of Dean and Anna kissing. The scene flips then, to a park at night, Anna right in front of Cas, no Dean in sight.

“For the first time, I feel...” Memory-Cas says.

“It gets worse,” Anna warns.

“So your first feeling….” Dean starts.

“It was something.” Cas can’t look at him. The scene on-screen changes.

Dean, to his merit, doesn’t press.

The memories progress through the year they spent trying to stop the apocalypse, the year that ended with Sam diving into the pit and Dean going off to Lisa’s. Then through Cas starting to work with Crowley, a conversation that happened right behind Dean without his knowledge.

On-screen, Cas is watching Dean rake leaves. The expression on his face is nearly mournful. After a moment, Crowley steps into view.

“Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day, is it?” Crowley says.

“What are you doing here?” Memory-Cas asks.

“I want you to help me help ourselves.”

“Speak plain.”

Crowley smirks. “I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That’s all.”

“You want to make a deal? With me? I’m an Angel, you ass. ”

The scene flips again.

“Is there a way to pause this?” Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head. “It just does this, on a loop. I can’t sleep. The Empty won’t let me.” He puts a hand on the armrest between them. “I forced the theater up, to make it better.”

“It looks a lot like that theater we went to once.”

“I know.” Cas stares at Dean for a moment, looks away.

Many of these scenes are things Dean knows of. Cas works with Crowley, gets locked in a ring of fire, feels his chest seize up as Dean looks back for a moment. Watches the Leviathans lead him to a lake. They meet again on porch steps, Cas unable to remember who he is but still able to figure out that Dean is important. Cas gets his memories back, takes on Sam’s hell trauma. They go to Purgatory, Cas stays behind. It’s like clockwork.

Until.

“I don’t remember that,” Dean says slowly, watching himself die on the screen. “You never--you’ve never killed me.”

“Yes and no.” Cas knows what’s coming next--he’s going to kill Dean thousands of times. Each one is the same, with Cas in tears as these copies, mock-ups of Dean struggle, beg and plead, tell him not to. Each time, Naomi makes him do it again.

Until, finally, he doesn’t hesitate.

And she says he’s ready.

As they watch that scene in the crypt unfold, with the real Dean at Cas’s mercy, Dean leans forward, putting his elbows on his thighs and propping his chin in his hands. “You lied.”

“Hm?”

“You said you didn’t know what broke the connection.” Dean twists his head to look at Cas. “But you did.”

“I did,” Cas assents.

They watch Cas ride cross-country on a bus, pulling out his phone and almost calling Dean over and over again.

“Is there a way that we can see some of my memories?” Dean asks.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”.

Dean shrugs. “Well, I am here, and you figured out how to make a friggin movie theater, so I think I can do it.”

The image on the screen shudders, coalesces, breaks into a million pieces and then reforms. Dean is standing on the edge of a lake, picking up Cas’s coat, still covered in Leviathan goo. “You dumb son of a bitch,” Memory-Dean mutters, wrapping up the coat in his arms.

The scene flickers again--the coat in those same hands, moving from car to car to car, and then being passed to Cas. “I always knew you’d come back ,” Memory-Dean says. It’s a soft scene, almost, but then it flips to Dean seizing a monster’s collar in purgatory. He’s covered in blood and grime as he shoves the monster up against a tree, practically growling, “Where’s the angel?”

Even after the monster answers, Dean guts him.

It’s a cycle. The memory blurs through sleepless nights, through Dean stepping into streams to pray, prayers Cas knows well. It pushes past Cas letting go of Dean’s arm in the portal, and here’s something else new: Dean sees Cas on the side of the road, sees him outside the window while it pours down rain, sitting bolt upright at the phantom sight of Cas’s face.

“Why are you here?” Cas finally asks. This must really be Dean, after all. The Empty wouldn’t know these things, wouldn’t be able to dream them up. They’re too good, too honest.

“To bring you home.” Dean kicks the back of the seat in front of him, leans back in his own chair.

“I can’t go home.”

“You should.” The scene on screen rapidly changes--it’s Dean as he looks now, carrying a little boy on his back. The little boy is blonde, round-faced, holding onto Dean’s neck for dear life, laughing as Dean swings around.

“Is that--” No, it can’t be.

“Yep. He’s four, you know.” Dean clears his throat. “He misses you.”

“I wish I could have gotten to say good-bye.” Cas trails off.

“Come home. Then you never have to say it.”

Cas shakes his head. On the screen, Dean is reading to Jack, Jack following the words with a chubby finger. “It would be...awkward.”

“How?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “We’re family, dude. Jack misses you, Sam misses you, and Eileen’s been hanging around, and me…” Dean clamps his mouth shut.

That’s why.

“Things aren’t going to be the same. Not after…” Cas takes a deep breath. “What I said. We won’t be able to ignore it.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Dean--”

“You don’t know?” Dean’s eyebrows furrow. “You don’t know. Okay. I, uh…” The screen turns black.

“You what?” Cas is almost afraid to know.

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

The blackness unfurls into Billie’s library, Dean standing in front of her. They’re clearly in the middle of a conversation.

“What do you want me to say?” Memory-Dean asks. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. ”

“Don’t you?” Billie replies.

“I couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.”

“Dean--” Cas starts, but Dean just looks at the floor, like he’s trying to avoid this.

“You really believe that,” Billie says. “You wanna die.”

“When was this?” Cas asks, speaking over the rest of Billie’s statement.

“It was...right before we, uh, got the call from you. That you were back.” Dean leans his head all the way up, looks at what would be the movie theater’s ceiling, if it wasn’t in the void. “I had a bad time. I…I would show it to you. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I held it together enough to wrap your body and burn it…”

“Hunter’s funeral.”

“Only kind I know how to do.” Dean swallows, audibly. “I’m doing what I can now. Having Jack to take care of, and Eileen around, too, helps. But it’s…” He finally looks at Cas again. “Please let me take you home. Please come home with me.”

Cas would do anything for Dean Winchester. He has done anything for him before. So he will grant him this, at least the illusion, because Cas knows he can’t leave the Empty. He’s trapped here for eternity.

He takes Dean’s hand.

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

There is a little boy crawling on him.

“Daddy,” the boy says, poking his face, “I know you’re awake.”

“Jack,” Dean says, from somewhere up above, “Cas is still sleeping.”

Cas blinks rapidly. “‘M not.”

“Shouldn’t’ve said that.” Dean releases Jack, and Jack fully clambers onto Cas.

“I missed you,” Jack says.

“I missed you too.” Cas holds onto him, tight. He’s so small, like he’s supposed to be. A kid. Safe.

Cas thinks he might be in Dean’s bed.

The bunker, he discovers, looks much the same. He was gone for four months, in which time Dean and Sam took care of Chuck, Jack became a kid, and Eileen became a permanent fixture. When Dean and Sam aren’t looking, she signs to Cas, “He already looks better.”

“Who, Dean?” Cas signs back.

Eileen nods. “He had a pretty bad time.”

Dean turns around then, and Eileen presses a finger to her lips.

There’s not a quiet moment for the rest of the day. Sam explains what happened--”You might be human now,” he says, and Cas replies, “I’m not tired yet.”--and Jack wants Cas to read to him and play Barbies and racecars and puppets (apparently Dean built Jack’s little puppet theater, which--).

After dinner (spaghetti and meatballs, and Dean has a Coke instead of beer, Cas notices), everyone goes off to bed, and Cas realizes he is tired, which is something to think about.

He starts to head to the room he typically stays in, but Dean seizes the top of his arm. “Nope, you’re coming with me.” Dean drags Cas down the hall towards his room.

Cas hadn’t gotten a good luck at it earlier, what with Jack climbing all over him, but he sees it now. Dean’s bed unmade, scraps of random paper littered across the dresser, a picture Cas recognizes because he and Dean are wearing cowboy hats, and now he knows how Dean was really doing right before that case in Dodge City--

There’s also a dent in the wall. That’s new.

Dean follows Cas’s gaze. “I chucked a whiskey bottle at it. Sam took the rest of my stash the next day.” Dean steps over, brushing the drywall’s cracks with his fingers. “I didn’t fix it up so I wouldn’t forget.”

I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.

“Dean,” Cas says, “Tell me in words.”

“What?” Dean turns away from the wall. “Tell you what?”

“You know.”

Dean swallows, licks his lips. “I’d say don’t ever do that again on the whole dying thing, but I said that to you once and you didn’t listen. And maybe if I say it the right way now, you’ll stay, but…” Dean slumps, sits on the bed. “You can’t leave again.”

Cas touches the wall himself before sitting next to Dean on the bed. “I’m not going to.” He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch Dean.

Dean touches him instead, leaning into Cas, finding one of Cas’s hands, holding it tight. He’s crying, Cas realizes. “I love you,” Dean says into their joined hands, then his chest wracks with a sob. “I was always so sure that if--” another sob, “If I said it, you’d leave. Get taken away from me.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Cas repeats.

He isn’t sure how long they sit like that, but Dean finally straightens up, lets go of Cas’s hand, wipes his eyes with the back of his own. “Pajamas,” Dean says, standing and crossing to the dresser. “We gotta get you some of your own, but…” He digs a pair of sweats out of the drawer and tosses them to Cas. “These’ll do for tonight.”

Cas doesn’t ask if he can stay. Dean doesn’t ask him to leave.

With the lights out, it’s pitch black, almost as inky as the Empty, but Cas can hear Dean breathing, so close to him. The bed is almost too small for both of them, so they’re nearly chest-to-chest. Hardly ever have they been this close. Never did Cas dare to dream it.

In the dark, under the covers, the world outside of this room, Dean kisses him. It’s flat, soft, a brush of lips, the barest ghost, but it’s enough. More than enough.

Cas is home.

#offbeatwrites #it's DEANCASAVERSARY #IT'S CAS DAY #IT'S CAS'S BIRTHDAY #it's also one of my best friend's birthdays she has the best birthday huh #anyways I don't really know where this fic came from I just went hey. what if cas hadmovie theater #and I LOVEEEEE the trope of them showing each other their memories. there was so much stuff that if they'd just TALKED about it..........#god.#anyways! enjoy :)#also yeah minor similarities to a drabble I wrote this summer #that was very much an accident but I think they're different enough

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sortasirius · 4 years

Text

“Inherit the Earth” and the Fakeout

Absolutely genius. Amazing, iconic, legendary, something only our showrunner Andrew Dabb can pull off.

"But Lilly, the episode was so bad! It was just the brothers, they didn’t look for Cas and Eileen!”

YES. THAT IS EXACTLY THE POINT. THIS WAS A FAKE ENDING, THE END OF THE SEASON, NOT OF THE SERIES.

Let’s get into it.

An empty world. No one left but Sam, Dean, and Jack.

So Dean ran, he somehow managed to pick himself up off the floor of the dungeon and meet up with Sam and Jack. That jacket was this silent reminder. Remember what I’ve been saying, Cas has occupied the negative space all season, this is no exception.

Dean can’t look either of them in the face, he’s doing that thing, where his eyes move everywhere BUT where he should look.

“I couldn’t save anybody.”

Sam couldn’t save the world and Dean couldn’t save the one person that means the world to him.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Dean?”

I think it’s there, in that pause where Dean tries to push down the emotions, continue the fight, not think about the memories he left in the bunker, that Jack realizes what must have happened. Jack is the only one that knows about the deal, he has to know what Cas not being there must mean.

“He saved me. Billie was coming after us. Cas summoned the Empty. It took her...and took him. Cas is gone.”

This may shock you, but I am GLAD they didn’t talk about Cas, especially with what happens at the end of the episode. Cas is allowed to just take up unsaid space. It’s obvious he’s missing with the way they blocked things, obvious he’s missing here. This whole “oh well they don’t care about Cas because they didn’t talk about him”? Malarkey.

“Jack I’m sorry.”

Guilt. Regret. Pain. Dean will carry this with him for the rest of his life. Not only that he lost Cas, but that Sam lost Cas, that Jack lost Cas.

That SHOT, with the distance between Jack and Sam where Cas is SUPPOSED TO BE, and then a zoom out to...THE WORLD.

Okay, as usual, Bucklemming has the subtlety of a sledgehammer lmao.

Jack crying??? Praying to Cas???? Bruh?????

Also it’s just straight-up frightening for everything around my boy to die he is my baby son.

Also not to point out the incredibly obvious, but Dean starts drinking immediately, and continues drinking throughout the whole episode. Grief arc 2.0 babey.

“We can what, Dean? There’s no one left to save! Everybody’s gone!”

“You can’t just give up.”

“What other choice do we have!”

Idk why, but for Sam, who’s the constant, the one who’s always had hope, through everything, through all these years, when he finally says this, when he finally loses his hope? It hits the hardest. Sam is the leader, so not only is he grieving the loss of Eileen, he is a general grieving the loss of his soldiers, his friends, the world that he feels the duty to save.

When they go to meet Chuck, I just can’t get that image of Dean, leaning against the car, handprint still on his jacket, staring at the ground out of my head. It takes him a few seconds to catch up to Sam, like he’s pulled out of thoughts like deep dark water. Remember friends, it doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.

Chuck wearing BLACK? FEAR.

“That’s right, the whole Cain and Abel thing. Us dead, whatever. I’ll kill Sam, Sam’ll kill me, we’ll kill each other. Okay, you pick. But first? You gotta put everything back the way it was. The people, the birds...Cas. You gotta bring him back.”

Willing to kill his brother. Willing to die. Tears in his eyes, begging God to bring Cas back.

And Chuck? Chuck doesn’t care about their surrender, he knows he’s already got them beaten. He cares about their pain, he cares about them suffering, because to him? That’s the entertainment. He’s not entertained by their found family, by their happiness, by their joy. He wants them to suffer, all of them.

“Eternal shame. Suffering. And loneliness.”

And he leaves them with just that. No hope, no family, just the three of them, broken, alone. Jack locked in his bedroom, Sam trying desperately to make life “normal” again. And Dean. Dean who drank so much he passed out on the floor.

He doesn’t feel terrific, he feels like shit, because not only is he dealing with the shame of an empty planet, he’s dealing with the guilt of being back in the place where the Empty took Cas.

This whole thing with the dog was just absolutely heartwrenching shit and if I didn’t hate Chuck before, him snapping Miracle right in front of an already fragile Dean would seal that deal.

I just want everyone to know that this is a Jake Abel stan account.

“Daddy’s boy” is a big insult for my boy Dean to use considering his own past with his trash abusive father but I’ll allow it.

I do think it’s interesting, ending of his arc aside, that Michael is willing to help them now. What changed? Sure, he ended up trying to help Chuck, running back to his father, but why get back in the game? I wonder if it has anything to do with the loss of Adam. It’s an interesting parallel, a man loses his angel while an angel loses his human.

Everything is so DARK in the Bunker now too, even the lighting is loud.

When I tell you I lost my shit when I saw Cas was calling Dean, when I heard Misha’s voice?? I knew it didn’t make any sense but I didn’t care, I would’ve been one step behind Dean as he sprinted towards the door.

Fuck you, Eugenie.

I mean it’s torture not only to Dean, who looks beyond fucking crushed when it’s damn Lucifer at the door, but for us too. Who the FUCK wanted Lucifer back? And to tease Cas??? Garbage.

I mean...fam. Listen, we know who’s writing this episode, this whole Betty thing is just like blatantly unnecessary but again, Eugenie loves Lucifer, gotta distract her with a shiny toy lmao.

It was cool to see Michael and Lucifer onscreen together. It was a cool dynamic that we rarely got to see.

The whole episode is just twist after twist. Listen, it’s their last episode so I guess they needed to fit in a season worth of twists in one episode.

Bye Lucifer. We know Eugenie can’t bring him back. Blessings to all.

This scene with Adam is the FOURTH scene where Dean is drinking...big yikes to my guy’s liver.

Here’s the thing about Michael. He’s a mirror for Dean in season 5. Loyal to an absent father. He has never changed, but Dean has. Dean is able to acknowledge now, the trauma that his father put him through, he was able to move past the need for pleasing him at any cost. Michael and Chuck? Are John and Dean, if Dean had never been allowed to grow. And Chuck proves, like John did, that he would always put his wants (in John’s case “the mission”) over his children.

Also not to beat a dead horse but Michael’s death was also peak Eugenie.

Sam getting to punch Chuck in the face? Thank you, he deserves that.

Obviously I don’t love any scene of my boys getting brutally beaten. But what I love, what I will always love about them, is what Chuck hates about them: they won’t ever give up. They know they won’t win against him, they don’t even land any hits, but that’s not what matters. What matters is their controller doesn’t control them anymore, that they really are free. No matter how hard they get hit, the get back up. It is their choice to stand up to him, no matter the cost.

The moment where Sam and Dean are supporting each other, covered in blood, and they look God in the face, and they laugh. That is why I will love them unconditionally for the rest of my life. That is who they are, they will never cow to the villain, whether that’s Azazel or Alastair or Zachariah or Lucifer or Amara or Death or Metatron or Cain or God. They will always choose to stand up.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because. You lose.”

Chills. What a line.

And Chuck is left, small, human, no longer a villain, no longer anything.

Gotta be real, woulda been nice to, idk, not see all this essential plot in a flashback, but I know I can only ask so much of Bucklemming.

For Dean to walk away from killing Chuck, right after he’s called him “the ultimate killer” is quite simply the most beautifully heartwrenching thing I could ever ask for. Because that’s who Dean was under Chuck, that’s who Chuck wanted him to be.

And he would have before:

But he’s heard some things since then, heard some things about how others see him. Not as the killer, not as a monster, not as angry and broken or his daddy’s blunt instrument:

I’m not saying that Dean doesn’t kill Chuck for Cas. He doesn’t kill Chuck because he doesn’t think he has to anymore, he doesn’t kill Chuck because he listened to Cas, he took Cas’ words to heart. He made the choice not to be the killer.

“See that’s not who I am, that’s not who we are.”

And Chuck is angry, because he thought, after everything, even after losing, that he would still know Dean well enough to know that he would kill him. But Chuck has never really known Dean, he has never understood where he’s really come from. Cas understood, Sam and Jack understand, but Chuck never did, and writing off Dean as angry and broken is his biggest mistake, because that’s never been Dean.

“It’s not his power anymore.”

And it’s not just his physical power, it’s his power over the story, over the boys that’s the real power taken from him.

For Jack to be the one to bring everyone back, for him to be the hero of the story? That’s poetic right there. Now, I will say, I don’t think this story ends with him as God, because for him, the child, to take on this burden, it doesn’t make a ton of sense to me for his arc, but we shall see next week. It felt pretty tied up, but there’s one major loose end: and that’s Jack seeing Cas again.

“Just you and me, going wherever the story takes us. Just us.”

“Finally free.”

This doesn’t feel triumphant to me, it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like they’ve settled, like this is the best they’re going to get, so they might as well make the best of it, at least they have each other.

For Cas and Jack to be carved into the table? I cry.

And for the montage, very similar to “Swan Song” to be set to “Runnin on Empty”? Sorry but that’s just too sus to be ignored.

They packaged this episode as an ending, because for many, it might be. The season’s story, the season about fighting Chuck is over. So, you might be asking (or, well, screaming, judging by my replies lol), what’s left? And that’s a good question, Chuck has been defeated, so what is left? What’s left is what’s really mattered all season: the relationships that have been crafted over the years. Dean and Sam’s unhappiness at the end of the episode, where “just you and me” sounded more of a grudging acceptance than anything else, is one of the clues that has to be looked at. Why didn’t Sam find Eileen, why didn’t Jack bring back Cas? Those two characters specifically are the ones we need to watch out for. As I’ve said over and over again, peace, contentment, satisfaction, those don’t come from Sam and Dean on the open road together anymore. They have a family, more of a family than they did when they started hunting together all those years ago, and that family is what holds them together. They need each other, of course, but each other isn’t enough anymore. Sam needs Eileen, Dean needs Cas. That is where they will find their peace.

This episode, as many written by Bucklemming was sloppy, rushed, packed full of shit, and had little gems that we can talk about forever, but that was the end of the season, and next week? Andrew Dabb brings us home, where Dean and Sam will finally be able to choose what they want for themselves, and that, my friends, is Eileen and Cas.

#supernatural #spn #spoilers #my meta #spn 15x19 #destiel #saileen

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onionsaremeansstuff · 3 years

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Can I request a Dean fanfic? Where he and the reader broke up and the reader finds out he’s pregnant with Deans baby (yes mpreg) and a few months later Dean finds out and tries to get back together with him. The reader didn’t want to be around Dean and advoided him as much as possible but Dean is determined to prove that he is fully committed to him and their baby and won’t stop until the reader and his child are his

after weeks, i wrote it! (sorry, for the 3th time)

sorry for the implicit Cas x reader, i wrote it and just noticed it later.

anyway hope u like it!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Gender: Male

Warnings: Yandere behavior, MPreg

Summary: Dean discovered that he have a son and he will do whatever it takes to get his child and you

I dont own the character or the gif

You were walking towards the motel room door. The rain mixed with your tears as it soaked you and your backpack.

Frustration, sadness, and anger formed in your heart as you remembered what had happened a few hours ago.

How Dean had broken your heart and ruined your relationship as if your relationship was nothing to him at all.

Upon entering the motel room, you sat in front of the door, your hands on your face as you cried and thought about what you were going to do now.

What you were going to do without Dean, without your home, and without your friends.

You didn't feel that your future would be a promising one.

Weeks had gone by since you had left.

Right now, your life mainly consisted of going out to buy something to eat, head back to your motel room and watch some cliche movie.

Until one day, you woke up feeling sick to your stomach.

'It must be the crap I ate for lunch or my body just decided to punish me for just crying.' You thought, as you vomited in the bathroom toilet.

Unfortunately, this was a repeated cycle for you every day. Waking up in the morning and throwing up in the toilet.

You even thought about eating healthier food, but it didn't help the vomiting problem.

That's when you decided to call Castiel.

You knew that you shouldn't be calling him since you were probably just sick which is something that everything human goes through, but you couldn't take it any longer.

When you heard the sound of wings fluttering, you felt the angel wrap his arms around your body.

"Y/N, have you been staying here all this time? You were gone for weeks and I was worried sick about you! Every time I asked Dean where you were, he ignored me and left the room." The angel said, tightening his arms around you. He pulled back from the hug to look you in the eyes, "Why did you disappear like that?" He asked, tilting his head to the side.

You looked down at the floor and let out a sigh, "It's complicated, Cas but I need your help."

"With what?"

Lately, I've been feeling sick. Every day I wake up and I've tried everything to stop the sickness, but it won't go away. So, could you maybe, cure me?"

Castiel nodded, and put two fingers against your forehead.

"What the-" Castiel muttered after removing his fingers from your forehead. You were confused by the angel's reaction. He lifted your shirt up slightly and put his hand on your belly, rubbing his hand over it.

"What are you doing, Cas?" You asked, feeling the angel's warm hand against your stomach.

"This makes no sense," He spoke in confusion as he removed his hand "This shouldn't even have been possible."

You were starting to get a little scared, "Cas, what's going on?"

"Y/N... there's a baby inside you."

You let out a laugh and punched his arm lightly, "Oh my God, Cas. You actually scared me for a second. Who taught you how to make jokes?"

This is too funny. A baby inside you? A guy? Yeah, right.

"I'm not joking around, Y/N. There's a fetus inside you."

"But, that's impossible, Cas. I don't have a uterus." You pointed out.

"There is a baby inside your stomach. I felt a baby's presence when I was healing you." Castiel sat on the bed and mumbled words under his breath before disappearing and reappearing a few seconds later with a red-haired woman you recognized all too well.

Rowena.

"What's going on here? And why did you bring me to this hotel room, angel?" The witch asked.

"We need your help." The angel said.

"Cas, what are you doing?" You asked him.

"Rowena, Y/N is pregnant and we don't know how it happened. Would you be able to find out?" The angel questioned.

"You could have just asked me for help instead of kidnapped me, angel." Rowena said, approaching you, "But, let's see what happened, shall we?"

Rowena started to speak words in a language you didn't understand while touching your stomach, "Ah, did you face a witch recently?"

"Yes, about three weeks ago."

"Did she have a red book with a fish and goat drawn on it?"

"Yes." You answered.

"I already know what happened!" The witch exclaimed, "That book is from an ancient coven that was very pure and strong, but extremely sexist. They did not accept women there." She sat down by your side, "To continue the purity of the coven they created spells to allow male pregnancy, thus maintaining the male-only lineage." She explained.

"Okay, the story is cool and all, but what would that bitch gain from making me pregnant?"

"Spells can be completely different and just have the intonation of a different letter, dear. Maybe she tried some other spell but ended up doing this one in particular accidentally."

"And how can we get rid of it?" The angel butted in, wanting to help.

"You can't. Trying to end the pregnancy would cause Y/N to immediately die."

"Great. Just fucking great. I'm alone, emotionally unstable and pregnant. Oh, this is just fucking great!" You said sarcastically, throwing yourself on the bed.

"I imagine that you would want to tell Dean the good news."

"What does Dean have to do with this? And besides, we're not together anymore." You replied, sitting up and looking up at Rowena.

"Ah, pity my dear. The spell allows you to become pregnant, but It still needs insemination, meaning the child is Dean's."

"Just great."

"Y/N," Castiel approached you, "I know you are scared and worried, but I will be by your side and will always accompany you at all times. If you want my help, of course." The angel offered, a hopeful look on his face.

You looked at the angel and the hopeful look on his face made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

"Thanks Cas. I really appreciate it."

---

During the following months of your pregnancy, Castiel remained by your side. Taking care of you and bringing what you needed.

Even bought books on pregnancy and learning how to take care of the child.

Rowena came by every month to check on you and the baby. You weren't close, but she knew what a pregnancy was like and wanted to help you, and she also wanted to know how the pregnancy spell worked, but you ignored the fact that you were her little lab rat.

When the time came, Rowena prepared the spell to take the child out of you. Fortunately everything was painless and soon the baby was sleeping in your arms.

"I'm glad everything went well," Castiel said, sitting next to you, "Have you decided on what to name him?"

You looked at Cas in confusion before it dawned on you. You had completely forgotten to think of a name for the child.

"He's a little angel." You commented, "Nothing is more fair than receiving the name of one, too. Castiel, meet Castiel Junior." You smiled at him

"M-My name? Why?" Castiel asked, fumbling over his words slightly in surprise.

"You helped me with everything, Cas. If it weren't for you nothing would have worked out the way it did, so I wanted to name him in honor of you. The super protective angel."

"Thank you so much, Y/N. I'm very honored, and I promise to always look after you both." Castiel kissed your forehead before getting up and fetching a bottle for little Castiel.

---

Five years have passed since the birth of Castiel, or Castie which is what you called him. You moved to a small town and started a new life with your child, away from hunting and monsters.

Castiel still visits you both regularly at least four times a week, honoring his promise to take care of you both and honestly, you're happy that he did. Looking after a child alone is really difficult.

It's been years since you had contact or heard from the Winchesters. Castiel just gives you news about Sam who you miss a lot.

Everything was peaceful and you were finally happy. True happiness.

---

"Are you sure this is going to be a case, Dean?" The angel questioned, "This city doesn't seem to be dangerous. Maybe we should go back."

"What's your problem with coming here, Cas?" The younger brother asked, "Ever since we told you the case was in this town you have been complaining."

"It's nothing, I just don't think there's a case he-" Castiel couldn't even finish speaking because something or someone hugged him.

"Papa Castiel!" The child said, "I missed you! Daddy won't let me eat chocolate anymore!"

Cas turned and saw Castie there. He smiled and picked up the child.

"Hello little me. I missed you too. Where's your daddy?" He asked as the child hugged him, and the brothers looked confused.

"Castiel, what the fu-" Before Dean could finish his sentence, Sam put his hand over his mouth and looked at him with a disapproving look.

"Castie! Where did you go?" The three heard a voice that sounded familiar.

"Daddy I'm here. Papa is here too!" The child yelled back, letting his dad know where he was.

You recognized Castiel's coat and soon calmed down before you saw that Dean and Sam were there, too. A lump formed in your throat as you approached them.

"Hello Y/N." Castiel and Sam greeted simultaneously as Dean just stared at you.

"Where have you been all this time, Y/N?" Sam asked and you could see that hurt look in his eyes.

"I'm sorry I haven't talked to you in the last few years, Sam. I've been a little busy as you can see." You gestured to your son and picked him up.

"Yeah. I can see that, but a text message wouldn't kill, you know?" He suggested, and you gave him an apologetic look.

"That's very true. I'll remember that next time, but I'll be taking my leave now. I don't want to disturb you or anything-"

"You are friends of papa and daddy! Come to our house! I have several toys!" He exclaimed excitedly.

"Castie, they are busy now." You said.

"Oh, we're not busy right now. And a place to stay would be great." Dean spoke up for the first time since being there.

"Yay! Come on daddy, they want to see my toys!" He spoke excitedly and you found yourself giving a defeated nod. You knew that something was about to go down and you we're not prepared for it.

You each went to your cars and went to your home.

---

Dean wasn't stupid.

You left him five years ago and now you show up with a 5 year old child who has the same eye color and freckles just like him.

He didn't know how it happened, but he knew the child was his.

And knowing that you hid it from him made him more angry then he cared to admit.

---

You were at your house, Castiel and Sam we're playing with your kid while you made coffee with Dean watching you.

"Papa, can you please get me my puzzle so I can play with the giant!" Castie asked, and you smiled at Sam's bitchface.

You went to Castie's room and were looking for the puzzle when you heard the bedroom door close and turned around to see Dean standing before you.

"Are you psychotic or something? How did you do that?" He pushed you up against the wall with his hand around your throat, "Is he a clone of mine or what?"

His large hand tightened around your throat, "What are you talking about, Dean?"

"The child. He's a copy of me. Did you do any sick spells to copy me?" He questioned, anger getting stronger and stronger.

The tightness in your throat made it difficult to even answer the question.

"Dean let him go, NOW!" Castiel's deep voice came out of nowhere and pushed Dean off you, "The child was the result of a spell, but not done by Y/N himself. He was a victim of the spell." The angel explained and Dean gestured for him to keep going.

Honestly, you would have rather let Dean continue to hate you than know the truth.

"Five years ago, Y/N was hit by a witches spell. The spell was supposed to kill him, but she mispronounced it and ended up casting an old spell that allowed male pregnancy. That's what happened. It wasn't his fault." The angel explained.

Dean looked back and forth between you and Castiel and you could see pain, hatred, and sadness in his eyes.

"Leave the room, Cas. I want to talk to Y/N alone." The hunter ordered and started pushing the angel out, or at least tried to.

"I'm not going anywhere!" Cas stated firmly.

"You can go, Cas. If anything happens, I know that you're only one prayer away."

The angel looked at you hesitantly before nodding and leaving the room.

Dean closed the door and looked at you.

"We have a son and you never even thought of telling me. The child's father?!" He yelled at the top of his lungs angrily at you for not even bothering to tell him that he has a kid.

You sighed, "Look, I didn't want to see you after what happened. I was already confused and stressed out about having a damn baby inside me." You sighed again, "I really don't want you here."

He was so angry that he punched the wall and you flinched slightly, "Dammit, Y/N. He's my son for crying out loud!"

"Oh, please. Your son my ass." You scoffed bitterly, "I raised him for the past 5 years with Castiel. If he's anyone's son, it's Cas's son."

"No, Dean," You denied, "You were the one who made me leave you, or don't you remember what you said that night." You stalked forward towards Dean who stood right there in his spot, "Oh Sam, Y/N is just a temporary thing. A way to get free and easy sex. He is not who I want in my future. He is only there until I find someone I really love." You imitated his speech from that night before walking away and sitting on the bed as Dean stayed silent.

He rolled his eyes and let out a bitter laugh, "So this is it? You and Castiel? Did you leave me to be him?" That sentence through you for a loop and that made anger that you have been trying to hold in resurface

"I'm just doing what I always wanted. I got out of the hunting life and your life, and I didn't want to add a baby on top of your plate." You got up and went to the shelf, picked up the puzzle for Castie, "You can go ahead and fuck some girl in a bar, marry her and have a perfect family." You opened the door and left the room wth Dean staring at the ground in regret.

---

The rest of the day you and didn't speak to each other. He looked at you with a sad expression on his features, but you focused your attention on Sam and your son.

Cas told Sam everything that had happened in the past 5 years and he offered help if you wanted it.

Obviously, you accepted his offer and said that he could visit his nephew whenever he wanted.

You offered them the guest room and sofa for them to sleep on. As much as you didn't want to see Dean, you wanted to be able to get your relationship back with Sam.

---

The brothers solved the case in 3 days. They said goodbye and soon left after that.

During their stay, Dean was restless and always seemed to be thinking about something, but you chose to ignore it and just pretend that the conversation between you two never happened.

---

Days have gone after the Winchesters hunt. Your boss for some reason asked you to leave for a few days. They would be disinfecting the building and you weren't complaining. After all, you could have more time with your son.

Castie had been a little weird in the last few days. He was more reserved and closed off a little. You saw him laughing now and then along with talking to himself, but when you asked him he said his only reply was that it was a secret. You just assumed it was something little children went through, but with your former life, who knows.

You were in the kitchen, baking a pie.

Castie, unfortunately was just like his dad when it came to favorite foods. You just put the pie in the oven when you smelt something strange and vaguely familiar.

Freakin' sulfur.

You ran into Castie room where you saw the door was strangely closed and locked. You kicked open the door.

You ran inside and saw a woman with Castiel on her lap.

"The young child has Winchester blood inside him. He could be very useful." She turned to face you with her black eyes.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Just leave him alone, please." You pleaded.

Castiel seemed to be sleeping on her lap while she pointed a knife at his throat.

"Why should I? Winchester no-" A demon killing bullet went straight through her head before she could finish.

"Y/N!" A deep voice called out to you, but you ignored it and ran to your soon and was glad to see that he was okay.

"Y/N is everything okay?" You heard Dean ask and you nodded

"Shit, that was too close." He exclaimed.

"This is a perfect example of why I didn't want you to get too close to him. Now, he is a target. Demons and other monsters will be targeting him." You sighed.

"Y/N," Dean started, "I know this life is dangerous with everything that comes with being a hunter, but you'd be safer with me." He said and you rolled your eyes, "The bunker is the safest place on earth and-"

"I'm not going to raise my son with any connection to the supernatural world, Dean!" You exclaimed as Castie started to wake up.

"Daddy? What happened?" He asked, turning to face Dean, "Father? You came back!" He ran out of your arms and went straight to Dean's.

"Father?" You questioned.

Dean looked down at the ground as he ran his fingers through his son's hair, "I told him."

You looked at him as if you wanted to kill him, and you kinda wanted to.

In addition to putting your child's life at risk, he made his way back into your life.

"He needed to know Y/N." Dean tried to reason in with you.

"Daddy, father. You'll be together with me now, right?" He looked at you with puppy eyes

"Castie your dad and I have problems and I don't think it would be good for"

"We have problems that need to be worked out. Problems that I will overcome and I will not commit again." Dean spoke proudly, as he took Castie into his arms.

"Can we please daddy! Father told me that he lives in a fortress! It must be much nicer than our house! There must be lots of toys there!" Castie said excitedly and you wondered what toys could possibly be in a bunker.

Trying to hide things from Castie didn't work out anymore. The supernatural world wants his head on a silver platter now and you didn't know if you would be able to protect him by yourself now.

You really didn't want to go back with Dean, but the bunker is a safe place and you would do anything to keep your son safe.

You sighed, "Okay, we're going with him, Castie. Go get your things while I talk to your father, okay?"

“Okie dokie! "He happily picked up his toys as you and Dean made your way out of his room and into your room.

"Just so we're perfectly clear, I'm doing this for him. Do you understand? I don't want us to go back to being how we used to be. Let alone stay in the same room as you. Got that?"

"If that's what you want, Y/N. But, I changed, okay? I have been miserable without you. You are the light of my life, and I didn't want to admit it and pretended that you weren't important but, without you all I did was drink and-"

"You used to do that all the time when we were in a relationship together. Seems that you haven't changed as much as you thought you did." You interrupted him, leaving the room to go help your son pack.

Dean knew it wasn't going to be easy to get you back or even to trust you again. He expected it to be difficult. But, he would get there and he would win you back and would raise his son together with you.

He had no limits when it came to getting you and son to move into the bunker to be near him and to get you back into his arms.

Hell, he already hired a demon to almost kill his own son just to scare you.

But, he didn't die and now you, and Castie are safe and would be living with him.

The only thing he had to do now was get rid of that damn angel and he could finally have the perfect family he always wanted.

#dean winchester x male!reader #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural x male reader #male reader #x male reader

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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Hi! I’m still not really over the last episode (and that happy montage in the end i-) and I’m feel confused about what’s part of the episode was fake. I mean the end totally is. But all Chuck scene was superweird too. And sometimes i think that it should be Cas instead of Lucifer and Jack felt him. I mean... confused! How do you feel about that?

Okay so here’s the thing -- this is a multifaceted episode--

BuckLeming, while often herded efficiently by Dabb, can muddy up the textual waters, leave gaps, and things unexplained.

However, that doesn’t account for Showalter’s choices in direction. Dutch shots out the ASS which are typically used to evoke that something is "wrong." Lots of panoramas, tracking shots, zooms and blurs in ways that simply are-not-standard for SPN. Extreme aerial shots.

One might even think “maybe it’s Chuck looking in on them!” but then you realize the same overhead view zoomed out on *Chuck* even and panned out to the horizon again.

One of the early mega-zooms literally zoomed out to The World, even. I’m just gonna gesture people to my tag on that and let them think on that, much less the empty world orbiting on the news or whatever the hell else.

There were *several* Cas-baits, yes. Yes, that was intentional from our actual authors.

But when it comes down to “fake episode”, here’s where we were at.

15.17-19 run immediately concurrently. At the end of 17, Chuck says this was his ending.

Now, the Winchesters largely derailed that ending, so Chuck was writing new material.

But Chuck is also seeking death.

He wrote a suicide note in 11. He wrote the story that would end in him and Amara being eradicated. And whatever influence he was exerting forcefully with Michael and Lucifer to bop the story around was all in the interest of seeing his book. One might think “to keep the Winchesters from killing him”, but he was desperate to see what his ending WAS, to know it and experience it and scream after them.

The dour taking of “no one cares” right after “I care(d)” about humanity is its own highlight going on. But wait, there’s MORE.

When Dabb dropped his pre-episode thing, we started talking before the episode.

So I mean, I think what we were *mostly* witnessing is the pen being ripped away.

But this is that emptiness that lingers even with Chuck generally resolved. They’re still kinda on the pages. The book is presented as shut, and the next steps are not taken. Development stops, if not drops.

This entire thing is so meta my damn head hurts.

Summarily: Is it just like, some weird AU that’s gonna go away? Not so much. Is it an incomplete portion of the story told from a skew? Absolutely. And is there still someone watching over them? T’would seem so. The whole World, even. Beyond Chuck.

Now the point at which we start blocking off issues of “eugenie writes like she’s 3″ is where we ask about things like “god power” or whatever else being thrown in the mix along with eugenie’s ki ball special effects that are literally always unique to her episodes, even if other people have to add the SFX.

So while it was a good bit of masterful work to do it via buckleming for this style of bump, it still inevitably has its flaws because... buckleming. But... Showalter was there. And one thing to note is almost every single scene entrance had some sort of major pan or zoom effect. That’s not typical for him.

The entire thing is designed to evoke, directorially:

One style: crooked shots, unlevel, unbalanced, uneasy feeling.

Second style: Over-under; some force is watching them on high, while others have a sort of brechtian absurdity, which seats it like a play on an elevated stage.

We are the audience, looking up at figures half the episode; but a second audience is looking in from “on high” and out over the world. As if perhaps even from the heavens.

Third style: CSI Miami, basically? Parts of this episode were sectioned off to be like a procedural crime drama in its cinematography and flashbacks. Which is ironic, because Dean loathes procedural dramas, but at the same time some of this fandom demands a procedural monster show instead of a family drama show.

Sam and Dean barely have any lines in the episode *until* we hit Crime Drama Time. Then suddenly, they reveal all of their case work. Despite Dean’s hatred of crime dramas, this is honestly when I feel like the brothers kicked in their own pen.

Let’s play a game-- the winchesters are aware they can write their own story. So they start telling the story they think people want to hear, or maybe just fill in the gaps from when Chuck gets dropped on his ass. Maybe Dean’s the one writing about how many times god punched them in the face whereas Sam is breaking down the crime scene investigation front. Another, where it feels like we’re loosely circling the war table as others lightly wander too.

But everything before that is the first and second style, and even after that, the overview-angle remains. The uneasiness is gone but there is an emptiness otherwise. But we are no longer spectators from beneath the stage, but staring into them.

I still very much expect everyone to “die” one more time and several specifics to choose to walk back into life at the end of it.

Is it a *complete* false narrative? No. We’re not just gonna turn around and be like “oh that whole ep didn’t happen.” But the writer lost his pen and got jacked at one point, while we also observed the stage from a series of angles as different audiences.

Riddle me this: Why show the World? “Because it’s empty and just them!” okay but there’s a lot of ways to show that which actually gets that point a whole lot better across than “here, here’s a planet that still looks lit up”--yes I know electricity is still running until stuff runs out but essentially speaking, the end of the episode shows us the kind of dramatic shots that could be used for that.

CASey just poofed in the World in the TV, seems legit.

Let’s see these overhead angles again, knowing it isn’t just Chuck.

This sort of overview is known for causing a “dollhouse effect” that derealizes the episode and makes them seem, well, like toys. Which is interesting. Because Chuck isn’t the only one watching them on high.

Cool, this is fine.

Either way, the entire episode is DESIGNED to cause some major uncanny valley. There’s a lot of parts that simply *haven’t been told or filled in.* It’s almost like evasive maneuvering, half the content just never made it to print, and what did wasn’t in its best draft. There may be battling authors, or a transition of authorship. But the thing is: this is not the complete story.

There is an entire missing section about Sam and Dean even finding out that Jack is a power siphon which they hadn’t witnessed yet much less arranged an entire plan.

Even Chuck’s episodes are generally told from the general POVs of the Winchesters, but this was absolutely not.

Matthew 28: 18: And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Put a pin in that one.

Unless CHUCK IS WRITING HIS OWN FAKE DRAMATIC END, the overhead view, however, IS NOT CHUCK PERSPECTIVE.

-- Regardless, the metaness of “fish in a toilet bowl BRL plot” stacked into this makes it very difficult to accurately decipher the lines, especially with only one watch so far--just skimming back through right now to grab a few things I remember.

Some parts are plot salad buckleming.

Some parts are us as forced spectators of a stage play.

some parts are shifting authorship

Some parts are the heavens looking out over the earth it loves.

------

It almost feels as if, within enclosed spaces, unsteadiness and stageplay, we have Chuck’s POV.

But by the end it ceases to have any relevance, as he is no longer the author, and instead, we have the Presence of Being overseeing them, letting the Winchesters argue for their own proverbial pen in their own storytellings between here and there.

ALTERNATE PROPOSAL:

it is all one point of view. All of it. Pretend you’re someone’s eyes on a situation, you just happen to be in the sky half the time, and the uncanny valley is pulling forward the concept of being a presence that simply isn’t *there.* For example we're looking extremely closely at passed out dean but the camera turns and raises to level with Sam before Dean gets up. Our viewership lens is rising to meet Sam.

The camera stays in motion to fill a role or slot of a viewer. At first it’s haunting and ominous, but at other times, it’s simply part of the room, when it isn’t hovering from on high. Rather than speaking of empty space, we are viewing The World through that empty space, as if it were a Being.

Just a few more eye catching shots.

But whoever or whatever frames the end, even without Chuck--like the story is still turning on the pages, roughly.

The montage at the end feels like the Swan Song one, more or less, but there’s no narrator, no chuck.

The writer, the writer we know at least, is Absent.

Men are writing their own Stories.

But they aren’t alone.

I know how you see yourself. Angry and dark like your father. You think that’s what you are. But you are the most loving man in the whole world. That is who you are.

Someone does care. Even if right now, Sam and Dean don’t feel like anyone does.

...Because of you. I cared. For you, for Sam, for Jack, for the Whole World.

I cared.

“That’s not who I am.”

I am.

I speak therefore I am.

#supernatural #spn #15.19 #meta #my meta #the world #world #absence #being #polol

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sofreddie · 3 years

Text

Stashed Away

Summary: With their biological clocks ticking, the brothers set out to find their True Mates, before it's too late.

Characters: Alpha!Dean x OC!Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam x Unnamed!Omega

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Angst, Fluff, Smut, Mating, Marking, True Mates, Institutionalized Reader, Heavily Medicated Reader, Implied/Mentioned Sterilization

Word Count: 2,876

A/N: For @spnabobingo 2021 - Free Space. This is my first square on my first ever bingo card. Let me know what you think!

Sam and Dean - Winchesters, Alpha hunters - for years they dedicated themselves to the life. But now that they're getting older, and still without mates, they're starting to go feral. Ruts happen more often, are stronger, and last longer. If they don't find mates soon, they will go feral, hurt a bunch of people, and die. So they do a spell, with Cas's suggestion, to find their true mates. They've always acted like they didn't want it, weren't interested, but there's no pretending anymore.

Following the tracking that the spell gave them - they track down Sam's True Mate first. Dean's more worried about getting Sam right than himself at the moment. The tracking leads them to a small town - a case is here, they quickly learn, vamps - by the time they figure out what's going on, they head to the nest, only to find a woman there, taking the head off a vamp, two other bodies at her feet. She’s a hunter - and a badass one at that, taken three vamps down on her own.

Dean's a little agitated, he needed some blood to help balance out the feral rut that's been burning him alive from the inside. Sam however, is speechless. His blood roars in his veins, pounding in his temples as his eyes lock onto her form. He knows - he can feel it with every fiber of his being - she’s his…his True Mate.

"Mega," he wines, taking a step forward only to fall to his knees in weakness, "Need you," he groans, before falling to his side and promptly passing out - the fever too high and rampant.

After quick introductions and explanations, Dean convinces her to come back to their motel. It just happens that she's in the same one, a few doors down. Dean drags Sam into the room, dropping him on one of the beds with a growl. He's getting too old to be dragging his giant of a brother like a sack of potatoes.

“I’ll get another room,” Dean offered, trying to move around her so as not to set Sam off, “I’ll check in with you in the morning,” he offered with a tight smile, nodding at her before leaving and closing the door behind him.

The next morning, seeing Sam’s much improved condition, Dean smiled before entering the motel room and seeing the Omega sat on the bed, a fresh claiming mark at her neck.

“Well, welcome to the team,” Dean joked, still keeping his distance from her as he knew Sam would still be testy over anyone coming near his Omega, “So listen,” he added a bit abruptly, “I figured you and her could snag a car, make your way back to the Bunker,” he explained to his brother, “I know you two need some time. Fresh bond and all. And I still gotta…you know,” he added sheepishly. Now that Sam’s rut had cleared, he could see how bad Dean was in it.

It was time for him to find his Omega.

Dean sighed as he put the Impala in park, looking through the windshield up at the large facility in front of him. When he and Sam did the spell to locate their mates, they looked up the locations to plan out their routes. That’s when they discovered that Dean’s True Mate’s location - was a psychiatric hospital. He couldn’t imagine why, but he hoped that maybe it was something he could help with.

He tried his best to compose himself, feeling weak and barely holding back from losing himself to his biology. Using his FBI credentials, he was led to a common room, the nurse pointing across the room to a woman sat along, staring out the window. Dean nodded to her and the nurse returned to her duties.

Dean gulped down the hard lump in his throat that threatened to burst into a growl. From the other side of the room he could smell her scent, climbing in and flooding his brain. He tried to shake it off, sweat forming on his brow from the fever, and he urged his body to move towards her calmly.

His scent hit her as she gazed aimlessly out the window. A warmth flowed through her and she closed her eyes, humming in content. She opened them once more, her gaze still outside, as she started gently rocking.

“‘Mega…” Dean breathed quietly, his eyes fluttering closed in small intervals as he approached and her scent got stronger. It was driving him crazy, but he had to be wary of his surroundings, wary of her. He had to stay calm. With long controlled breaths he finally reached his goal, pulling a seat opposite the Omega and huffing out a shaky breath.

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes gently rolling over his face and body before meeting his eyes once more. Her face was blank, but she looked pale and tired and afraid.

“W-who are you?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

Now he was here he didn’t know what to do. His brain was too full of other ideas. His cheeks had grown slightly pink from the quickly growing fever. “M-my name’s Dean Winchester,” he said quietly, “I…you…” he had to stop and clench his eyes for a moment, swallowing another hard lump in his throat, “You’re my True Mate.”

She looked him over once more, taking a deeper breath, before her eyes turned sad, “You’re dying too?” she asked, emotionless in features and tone.

Dean tilted his head at the question, frowning slightly, “Do you mean turning feral?” he had to gulp again, shifting in his seat as his body ached.

“I guess so,” she shrugged, “Too many meds to really know the difference.” She suddenly lurched forward, her elbows on the table as she looked at him intently and wide-eyed, “They say I’m crazy, you know? That what I saw wasn’t what I saw, but I saw what I saw!” she nodded manically along to her words, “You don’t need a crazy Omega.” she shook her head emphatically, looking down at her lap.

Dean jolted back in surprise at her small outburst, but his rational mind kicked in. He’d seen these places before and the meds they give patients, “I’ve seen a lot of things,” he offered, “So why don’t you tell me what you saw?”

“I didn’t do it,” she whisper-hissed, leaning forward on the table and glancing around the room before looking at him again, “He did, he came in and killed her, not me!”

Dean frowned again, his head jumping to ‘potential case mode’, “So, there was a guy?” he pressed her for more information, “What did he look like?”

“He was just a guy,” she shook her head, “B-but his eyes were weird,” she exclaimed wide eyed as if it was happening before her once more, “He killed her and he said I had to come with him because my Alpha was a very bad man. A-and then his eyes…” she trailed off, shaking her head and fighting back tears, “I got away, went to the police…b-but no one believes me.” she whispered sadly.

Dean’s body almost trembled with quickly growing anger. Someone or something knew what he and Sam had been doing. They hurt his Omega.

My Omega.

Mine.

“You’re not crazy,” he growled, quickly rising from his seat and looking down at her, “Omega, we’re leaving.”

She looked up at him in confusion, shaking her head, “I can’t leave,” she stated simply, “I’m scheduled for sterilization to stop my heat hurting me,” she explained as if it were a simple, everyday activity, “Doctor’s orders,” she nodded, turning back to look out the window.

The next thing Dean knew, he had his Omega in his arms and was standing beside the Impala. He was panting for breath and felt exhausted. He had some vague memory of a lot of snarling, roaring and punching Doctors directly in the face.

And now they were here.

“I’m gonna take you somewhere where you’ll be safe,” he breathed, looking down at…uh… “W-what’s your name, Omega?”

“Y/N,” she answered reflexively, still in an emotionless haze through it all, but relinquishing to her Alpha. “You shouldn’t have taken me,” she added, “The man with the eyes, I’ve seen him outside the window sometimes. And my heat is killing me. I’m a disposable Omega.”

“No,” Dean said suddenly and harshly, his arms held her tighter - his splayed out palms squeezing her. He bit back another growl, the scent of her heat crashing into him like a brick wall now his adrenaline fueled outburst was simmering down, “Never say that. You’re my Omega,” he pressed his forehead onto hers, gasping for breath as his body threatened to buckle as he grew weak, “Please…l-let me take care of you.”

She looked at the man, the stranger, the Alpha who had suddenly come in and tore her from her prison, like a knight rescuing a maid from a tower. She wanted to laugh at that, but she’d long ago lost her ability to emote.

They had kept her constantly medicated, to control her heat, her scent, her mind, her actions, anything they possibly could. But for some reason, something about him broke through her constant haze and made her want to just let him take charge.

“Okay, Alpha,” she agreed, just looking at him as she waited for whatever came next.

“‘Mega…” he breathed, voice breaking slightly from restraint. He held her so close, but not close enough at the same time. He could feel her warmth as he held her, her breath fanning across his lips. Some of that restraint slipped. He pressed his lips firmly into hers, the hairs on his neck standing on end as he hummed hungrily.

She pulled from the kiss, her hand gently cupping his cheek and turning his head to see several personnel searching the lot and searching for him, before one of them pointed at him and shouted for his companion.

“Right,” Dean stared wide-eyed before shaking himself back to reality. After ushering Y/N into the car, he quickly climbed in, the loud tire screeching of the Impala tires shortly following as Dean tore the car out of the lot and sped down the road.

When he said ‘somewhere safe’ before, he had meant the Bunker. The way his body was reacting right now however - aching, yearning, pleading to just touch her - he was ninety-nine percent sure he couldn’t last.

There was that motel just a few miles out though…

Y/N said nothing during the drive, her eyes out the window as before at the facility. She seemed still and calm, but also fragile and numb. But inwardly she felt trapped in her own head and unable to break free. She had dreamed about her Alpha, her True Mate, many times as had most people. And now that he was here, she was unable to even really experience it.

The next thing she realized, she was waking up in an unfamiliar room. She was somewhat dazed but her mind and body felt clear for the first time in a long time. She opened her eyes, sitting up slightly to two men at the foot of the bed she was lying in. One was the Alpha from before, the other a new stranger.

“I’ve healed and cleansed her,” Castiel explained, “But Dean-”

Dean had stumbled back, leaning against the wall as he eyes remained on fixed on Y/N. Castiel’s words were like white noise to him, he knew she was healed. If he thought her scent was powerful before, now with all the suppressants - and fuck knows what else - out of her system, it was like it had been turned up to eleven.

His head dropped back with a thud against the wall, his eyes clenching with a restrained growl. “‘Mega…” he breathed, his chest heaving and sweat forming on his brow.

She whimpered as her eyes set on him. She hadn’t felt a full heat in a long time and this one was especially bad. She knew it was him. She could remember their words, his touch, his lips.

“Alpha,” she called meekly, tentatively reaching up a hand in invite from her position on the bed.

“-Sh-she’s still in full heat,” Cas finished his sentence, taking a wary step back as he eyed the duo cautiously.

“Out,” Dean ordered, not even turning to address the Angel.

And Cas vanished.

Before Y/N could blink, Dean was there. His hands bunched in the back of her hair as he hungrily devoured her lips.

She moaned as they connected, his heat and weight soothing her ache and need. Her heart swelled, but a part of him also felt familiar, as if she’d known him all along. She pulled from the kiss, gazing into his eyes, frantic with need but also wanting to savor every moment. When she noticed how far gone he really was, she decided to let him take what he needed.

“My Alpha,” she whispered, kissing him once more.

There was a small rumble in Dean’s throat as his bloodshot eyes gazed directly back into her. He breathed, “Mine,” before his eyes fluttered closed and his mouth attached to her neck. He kissed and sucked a trail down to her collarbone, pressing his body into her as he fully mounted the bed and towered over her. He wanted to smother himself in her scent, every touch sending waves of need through him.

His hips rolled into her, his brain fogging as he quickly pulled at her shirt, ripping it clean off in one swoop before he hungrily mouthed at the swell of her breast.

She could feel the tremble in his muscles as he fought to keep the beast at bay, trying not to scare or hurt her. But she knew he needed more and she wanted to prove she could handle whatever her Alpha gave her.

“I won’t break,” she pleaded, pulling his lips from her body, “Take what you need Alpha, please,” she whispered desperately.

Dean’s eyes darkened, staring at her half-lidded before his hands moved fast. As he hungrily devoured her mouth once more, he quickly stripped them both of their clothes. His hands roamed her with need, quickly moving down to her center before two digits swiftly dove into her core.

He growled as he felt her slick, curling his fingers and pressing firmly into her g-spot, his eyes rolling back as she moaned in surprise. He quickly withdrew his fingers, moving to grab her hips and flip her onto her stomach. He hoisted her hips up to meet him, letting out a low moan as he rutted his painful hard erection through her folds.

She moaned wantonly, arching her back and presenting for him obediently. She purred, rutting back into him, desperate for her Alpha.

He moaned out, mouth hanging open longingly. “My Omega…” he growled lowly, positing the head of his cock between her folds and gripping her hips tightly, “Wanna knot you…” he growled again - hungrier - before slamming his hips forward with a loud grunt. She was perfect, tightening like a vice around him that he hissed blissfully, quickly pistoning his hips with choked huffs and growls.

She moaned loudly, panting hard as Dean set a brutal pace. His grip was tight, his cock filling her completely, slamming hard into her cervix on every thrust. She reached her arms above her, grasping onto the end of the bed for something to hold onto. Using the leverage, she pushed her hips harder back into him, lifting her head to groan out.

Dean leaned forward, his breathing quick and erratic as he pounded her. His lips grazed and sucked on her neck as he moaned, feeling the muscle at the head of his cock begin to swell. His grunts became strained as fought to keep his pace. “Cum on my knot, ‘Mega,” he demanded, releasing one of her hips to rub hard circles on her clit.

Feeling his knot swell she knew she was close to losing her mind. When his fingers found her clit, she stuttered and screamed as her orgasm washed over her, her walls clenching his throbbing length within her. Dean seemed to draw it out as her pleasure seemed to never end.

As her wall clenched him impossibly tighter, Dean roared through one final harsh thrust, holding himself as deep as possible as he finally came, his hot cum shooting deep and filling her. The hand still holding Y/N’s hip gripped bruisingly tight as Dean suddenly bit into her skin.

As her mind finally broke free of the haze of bliss, she realized he had positioned them on their sides spooning. Dean was nuzzling into the mark on her neck and humming, his hands grazing over her skin.

“Who was that man from before?” she suddenly asked, remembering feeling free of the medications and seeing a man there before he just wasn’t there.

“‘N Angel,” Dean mumbled, breathing in her hair and holding her tightly to him, “Cas. Healed you.”

Y/N smirked to herself, rubbing a hand over his forearm that was wrapped around her, “I see you’re still in caveman mode,” she teased.

He smirked with a small hum, not letting her go, ever.

Forevers:

@sis-tafics

@lyarr24

@calaofnoldor

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

Dean Winchester:

@akshi8278

@jerkbitchidjitassbutt

#stashed away #alpha!dean x omega!reader #alpha!dean #dean winchester #reader insert #oc!reader #supernatural #spn #spnabobingo

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cooloddball · 3 years

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JIB9 (JIBCON 2018) ANALYSIS PART 2

Go read part 1 of jib9 analysis if you haven’t read it already.

Continuing from where we left off...

Misha says no, he doesn’t think that Cas feels like part of the family and Jensen smirks and looks down while Jared smiles

Jensen helps Misha along with his answer

Jensen defends Sam and Dean after Misha says they don’t show emotion saying things like “I love you so much”

Jens: “There are a few scenes where you know,”

Jared: “Didn’t you see the one with the whole if we die we will do that together too?”

Jens: “Yeah that was emotional”

This is getting serious people. Remember this is season 13 they are talking about.

Jens keeps going on “you know there was embracing, and then there was a lot-I mean…” This whole time Jensen is looking at Misha

Misha is like “All I’m saying…”

And Jensen cuts Misha off and says, “Did you miss that?”

Look at Jared’s face here though. He’s like are you guys having a lovers’ quarrel? Am I missing something?

Misha tries to talk again but Jensen is adamant, unrelenting to give up on that there was an emotional scene between Dean and Cas. 13x05??? “Were you not there?”

Misha being who he is and not backing down either he says, “NO” rather defiantly.

Jared’s face here though. He stopped talking and is watching these two lovers go at it. (No, not the sexy kind)

Jensen doesn’t look too thrilled about what Misha said. Jared laughs Jensen is basically done at this point. Look at his face.

Misha continues “That was Castiel”

And Jensen just looks appalled, he raises his eyebrows looks down at his hands [0.43 insert Jensen’s face atm] and since Misha is looking at him and he sees that Jensen is unhappy he adds “I’m very method.”

Jensen goes to say something but stops himself, Jared senses the tension, Misha is still looking at Jensen and Jensen hasn’t looked at Misha since he asked him “were you not there?”

IDK what is going on here but it fees like more than just about Dean and Cas and more like it’s about Jensen and Misha. I mean Jared and Misha are having fun with it and Jensen just seems adamant to prove they care A LOT about Cas which is weird considering the fact that the moment Misha was asked that question Jensen agreed with Jared that they are not as pleased that Cas was back (this was a joke) . So what has changed since then? Only a few seconds have passed.

Jensen presses on, “I mean was Cas there? I know he was there physically but was he there emotionally? Because it doesn’t sound like it.”

The way Misha is holding his microphone he looks scared. Jensen can’t take his eyes off Misha.

Misha says, “see this is what I’m talking about” I think he realizes Jensen is getting too emotional and personal on stage and he decides to guide the conversation to the funny side.

Jensen laughs .

Misha says “ I don’t think he [Cas] lets himself feel worthy or wanted” and Jensen keeps looking at a fixed spot on the floor and I don’t know what’s so interesting there. Jared says “smart” in reference to Misha’s statement and Jensen nods.

Jared tries to make fun but Misha is not having it, he [Misha] looks at an imaginary watch and says “That said-uh…that said I think this season he’s felt more part of the team and the family…probably *looks at Jensen* more than ever before” Now I talked about that moment here but I have to reiterate, something is off here tbh. I don’t know what was going on with Jensen but something was definitely off.

I have been thinking about what the causation of Jensen’ s behaviour could be and I have come to a very weird and maybe kind of controversial conclusion, IDK. But here’s what I think. Maybe Misha finally told Jensen that he didn’t feel like he was part of the family because of the way they treated him and talked shit about him at J2 panels? Like how he pretended to gag when he saw Misha on screen during the jib9 j2 panel the previous day. Or the extreme pranks Jared played on him and Jensen just stood aside? The way some j2 fans send hate to him and that it gets to him. Maybe he finally opened up. Because if that is the case then, Jensen blamed himself for making Misha feel like that when he didn’t have any intention to? I hope I’m making sense. Or maybe it could be something else entirely but I feel like since 2017 Jensen had stopped going along with Jared’s attempts to make fun of Misha at their panes. So maybe this was him feeling bad that he ever played a part in that??? Okay my head hurts I have to move on.

Since that moment Jensen doesn’t look okay, even when Mishalecki are bantering with the next fan, Jensen just seems sad? Sad is not the right word but he seems kind of upset

So the fan makes a small mistake in what she’s asking and Misha laughs then Jensen turns to look at him for a brief second, it’s literally for a second and Misha looks at him with his big blue eyes but Jensen looks away rather quickly. I think they can both feel the weight of the previous answer Misha gave simmering beneath the surface but they can’t talk about it atm.

Now Jared says something rather weird to me, “A man who goes to sleep with an itchy butt wakes up with a smelly hand.” (I know it’s a saying or whatever but it’s just a strange thing to say or maybe it’s just me) Jensen is nodding along to that but Misha doesn’t look amused. I think it’s an interesting thing to say when two of your best friends who play with each other’s butts are seated on stage with you. I’m not sorry I said that because it had to be said.

For a literal microsecond, Misha looks at Jensen but Jensen is looking at a fixed spot on the floor as has become norm in the last 2 minutes. Mish suppresses a smile because he knows Jensen still feels bad about earlier.

Jared says that’s why he thinks the brother’s and Cas have to die in order for the show to end and Jensen’s face is just stoic. Dude wtf??

Jensen joins in the banter and makes a joke about a man who stands on a toilet while high on pot he’s not crazy he’s just high? J2 make another joke about a man going backwards to Bangkok or something. Misha manages to laugh at those jokes.

Jared asks Misha if he has anything to add and Jensen looks at Misha smiling look at the way he’s looking at Misha. It’s like he wants to stuff him in his pocket and take him home with him.

Jensen is laughing so hard now because Misha says that the only sayings that come to mind are the only ones he doesn’t want to say.

They try to pronounce the German word and it’s hilarious AF.

So Jared makes a joke of a sound that the fan is helping them pronounce and Jensen is just done. Completely done because he looks away and scratches his beard like he wants to be anywhere but there. JFC What is going on? He was happy again.

OMG husbands whispering at each other while Jared is engaged with a fan. Gossipy Jensen. Also I’m glad whatever tension was there after the Cas question is finally gone and they are back on track again.

They are in there own little world because IDK what Misha whispered to Jensen but Jensen is unicorn laughing. Aww J

“We just said some really bad shit” I like it when Jensen curses. Now I want to know what they said because when Misha whispers it to Jared, he laughs really hard as well. Oh to be a tiny ant crawling around, listening to their whispered secrets. A girl can dream am I right?

7.33 Jared asks the fan what her “that German/Austrian word” was that morning and I am inclined to think whatever the husbands were whispering to each other had something to do with a sex-related orifice because of the way Jensen reacts.

The fan puts Jared in his place. Look at Jensen’s reaction.

He’s like you go girl.

Jensen wants to whisper something to Misha so bad but he stops himself.

Okay so Jensen says he did bicycle touring and he did take part in some of the quests. Is he talking about GISHWES because he never can pronounce that word. LOL.

So Jared interrupts Jensen starts telling his story and Jensen just shuts down just look at his face the entire time Jared is telling it.

Misha and Jared are talking about how it’s so hot on stage and Jensen is just miming to the fans how it’s not hot. I love when he does that. Naughty boy.

Misha moans and he and Jared just rush off to point the fan in their direction while Jensen just stands over the fan on his side of the stage and cools his balls off.

OMG!!!! Misha is doing the mating dance while making fiery eye contact with Jensen and sips from the bottle. Jensen heeds his husband’s call to mate and walks briskly in long manly steps to wards him and he takes the drink off his hand while looking at him like he wants to eat him [it’s called a mating dance for a reason] and inhales the drink whatever it is and it must be really strong because he looks away and says something to Jared. Misha walks away says something to Jared and goes to sit down. Jensen starts twerking his booty. Misha your man wants to mate on stage do something. Anyway Jensen pours the drink that Misha had sipped directly from the bottle in a shot glass and does the rck on sign and sips it. The entire time Mishalecki are just looking at Nesnej and laughing not understanding what is going on.

Jared sniffs the drink and says “poker face” and Jensen says “thanks Lady Gaga” IDK if this was a snide comment or just banter but now we know Jensen listens to Lady Gaga and Katy Perry (re: jib8).

This part is really funny when the fan thanks Misha for sending a recovery message to her friend but Misha says that he had no choice but to do it because the fan just held out the phone to Misha and Misha was like “oooh, heeey”

I think Jared asks Misha what happened and Misha explains because Jared folds over laughing.

Jared starts talking before Jensen can answer the question and again Jensen doesn’t look too amused. This guy keeps stealing his thunder.

Jensen manages a smile when he hears that Misha did a German accent

Misha asks Jensen if he wants some tips on accents and Jensen smiles and says no. Ouch. Sorry Mish, your man doesn’t want your help. He’d rather wing it.

Misha is not backing down and compliments Jensen by listing all the accents that Jensen can do. We love a supportive husband. Hype your man Mish.

Jensen says that he speaks French and he has a little have a tête-à-tête in français. I find it funny how Misha pretends not to know Jensen speaks French yet he just listed all the accents Jensen can do. Sure Jan. And after the French interaction which Misha adds a flair of a French accent when he talk as and , Jensen tries really hard not to smile. Someone’s excited. #accent kink ;)

Jensen says he doesn’t think Michael is going to need an accent and Misha says yes he will in French accent and Jensen is just trying really really hard not to smile.

Look at Jared’s face though he’s like dude are you seriously turned on by Misha’s weird accent right now? It’s not even funny and Jensen can’t stop smiling.

Jensen is done with Misha’s shenanigans so he just cuts him off and Misha is exasperated and Jensen proceeds to ask his question.

Fan says she would improve on Misha’s German accent and Misha gasps scandalized and even Jensen is not happy about that but he takes this moment to make fun of Misha so the comment doesn’t seem as harsh

Look at Misha’s face

and here is Jensen’s face he can’t believe someone was mean to his baby.

Anyway, in an attempt to make it less painful for his man he tries to make and joke and says, “I didn’t send that out with the insult in mind but I’m really glad that happened.”

The joke makes it worse and Misha doesn’t seem to feel better. Poor Misha.

It’s over.

Time for the closing ceremony

Jensen and Briana singing.

Misha and Adam

I love their friendship, makes me think of the possibilities that could’ve been between Cas and Mick on the show.

OMG Jensen you naught boy, yeah I see you have experience humping and spanking. Go on Rockstar we love to see it.

Even Jason Mann’s sees Jensen humping the air and Misha and Jensen turn to look at Jason. Jensen is smirking at him after what he just did. OMG.

The way Jensen is looking at Rob when Rob tries to sing the remaining verses of carry on my wayward son. Jensen you need apple juice. Jensen is me. He is insane and he is me and I love him. JENSENKIN!!!!

Why are Jensen and Misha gravitating towards each other unconsciously? Do their hearts have magnets that pull towards each other?

Speaking of them why does Jensen seem extremely tall here and Misha looks so tiny.

Am I the only one who doesn’t like the guy who played Ketch? OMG he just rubs me off the wrong way.

OMG is Jared trying to touch Jensen’s hand? Eww He touched Jensen’s arm and Jensen didn’t even look at him. This is embarrassing. Jensen hasn’t looked at him once/ HELP.

Misha and Jensen are standing the same way at the exact same time and they aren’t even looking at each other. OMG!! This is insanity.

Jensen turns to smile at Misha. Aww J

Jensen looks at Misha with a smile on his face when Daniela says they’ll be back the next year the year that gave us straddle gate and boners.

It’s over guys.

So I have come to the conclusion that something was going on between Jensen and Jared at jib 9.

See you on the next one.

Part 1

#cockles #jib9 #jibcon 2018 #jib9 cockles panel analysis #j2m

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suicidalslasher · 3 years

Text

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 - 𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅.

the one where Jason is a jealous dumbass, that’s it - that’s the plot.

WARNINGS: This is a Jason Dean fanfiction, therefore, you all know what you’re signing up for. I don’t really got to tell you, twice.

Possessive!Jason. Jealous!Jason. Female reader, reader’s pronouns are she/her.

Slight mention and scene of choking but it’s not graphic. A hint of NSFW but it isn’t shown. Also there’s a few mentions of blood but it’s not a lot, either. I wanted to tag that nonetheless, too. Also, Jason actually shows emotions in this which is out of character but in MY world, Jason Dean is a simp to his girlfriend and would rather die than to live a day without her.

I may add the smut scene later on, who knows? Not me. This is my first imagine of Jason Dean so be nice to me or I’ll be like Ghostface and gut you like a fish (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*

If you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to follow and or leave me a request, as they are open. If you also like my work and or have a dollar to spare, as it will help me write and create more stories like this one, my ko-fi is here.

Thank you and enjoy :)

White knuckles from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, Jason bit back his words, knowing they'd be harsh and full of poison. He's fully aware of how much damage he'd likely cause if he spit out the words that were on his mind. He was going to break, and he knew it wasn't going to take too long until he did so. Yet, as the female continued to talk beside him as an attempt to grab his attention, the feelings only grew larger and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood trickling on the tip of his tongue. Jason swallowed that anger when it was nothing but a fire-seed and he had forgotten to drink something cold right after, in an effort to calm himself down; therefore, it grew in his stomach until it came out hotter than any dragon breath.... all those negative emotions that swam in his veins and crept in the pit of his stomach exploded and all the feelings he desperately was trying to hold back came burning on the one person he loved the most, his girlfriend, (Y/N). His face was red with suppressed rage and when (Y/N) set her finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, his nostrils flared and his pupils were blown and dilated as he snarled like an out of control beast. "I hate him more than I do the Heathers," spat Jason, as he pushes his girlfriend up against the wall, the framed photograph that hung there now remained at the bottom of their feet, shattered into hundreds of pieces. "I don't like you hanging out with him." Jason growled, his fingers curling around (Y/N)'s throat, feeling her pulse begin to quicken as he presses his weight down onto the palm of his hand. "Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at someone else? To see you smile at someone else? It makes me feel sick.” "Jason... Let go of me. Let's talk. Please? You don't even know him... if you'll let me speak and tell you-" "You love him, don't you?" Jason hisses, the sentence feeling like a slap to (Y/N)'s face as he throws out this statement.... it was a lie, that's what it was and (Y/N) desperately was trying to tell him how wrong he was but he just wouldn't listen, the arrogant son of a bitch never listens! "You love him more than you do me." Before either teen realizes it, Jason is letting go of (Y/N)'s throat only for him to raise his hand up into a fist and he's punching the only other framed photograph that was beside her, the glass shattering behind his knuckles. (Y/N) screams in horror and although she's pissed off, she - obviously - still cares about her boyfriend. "Jason!" (Y/N) yelps, tears falling down her cheeks as she rushes to her boyfriend's side, examining his hand which was now dripping with crimson, a few drops of red landing on the now broken picture frame and the wooden floor beneath their feet. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here, somewhere-" "You love him." Jason repeats, ignoring the fact she was trying to help him. He pulls his hand back, dropping his arm by his side, not even caring about the way the blood was falling from his knuckles and staining both his pants and shirt. The anger and venom that once coated his words were now replaced with a hint of sadness and heartbreak. She's never seen him this upset before.... regardless, if he'd just calm down, she could explain. "Jason, baby-" His voice broke as he looked up at (Y/N), sad eyes meeting with her confused but angry gaze. On top of those, she was sad, too. "Go then. Go to him, if you prefer to spend your day with him rather than your own boyfriend. You don't care about me, I'm not sure you ever did." (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head as a few more tears spill past her cheeks. "Fine. If you won't let me talk and tell you my side of the story, I'm leaving. If that's what you think and if you truly think I don't give a fuck about you, I'm gone." (Y/N) mutters, letting go of his hand as she walks back over to the door, grabbing her keys and wallet before storming out the door, slamming the door shut as she leaves.

A week passes.

Another week following behind that.

(Y/N) didn't bother to call or show up.

He really fucked things up, didn't he?

Jason wasn't huge on showcasing his feelings and putting them out on display for people to see. The only emotion he was so used to showing was anger and madness. Nothing but chaos was built and stored away in Jason Dean's body, too. All three traits made him who he was. People may not like him because of his temper and all the flaws he had but it was him, and he didn't plan on changing for anybody. Expect.... of course, (Y/N). As he sat alone in his bedroom, he felt depressed. He never cried, either. Couldn't tell you the last time he ever did cry. Did he even cry as a baby? Jason wasn't sure, nor could he tell you.

But.... Jason cried. For the first time in forever, he broke down and cried. Couldn't help himself. By the end of the night, there were no tears left to cry. He had run dry. His body couldn't form any more tears. Feeling both mentally and physically drained, Jason reached over and grabbed his phone off of the night stand, dialing the one number he actually had memorized. All he got was her voicemail. "This is (Y/N). I can't answer the phone at the moment but I will get back to you as soon as I can! Bye!" Jason groaned and he was half-tempted to throw the phone out of his window but he decided against it as he left a voicemail, regardless. He wanted (Y/N) to know he was sorry.

He wanted (Y/N) to know that despite their arguments (which weren't constant but when they did fight, it was mainly due to Jason's behavior rather than her own) he loves her.

(Y/N) coming into his life was the only good thing the world had offered and gave him. He wasn't going to give her up. Not that easily, anyways. "Hey." He had forgotten he was leaving a voicemail, having zoned out for a second, the beep brought him back out of his thoughts. "It's me. Uh.... Jason.... your boyfriend? I hope so, anyway, still.... But, yeah, it's Jason.... Jason Dean.... ha, uh.... you knew that.

Listen, I'm sorry for everything, (Y/N). I'm sorry for having that temper tantrum and taking out my frustration and jealousy on you. I'm not good at this type of stuff, not so great with showing my emotions in person either, so....

I'll talk here, hopefully the message goes all the way through. I don't want to say this in person, again, I'm not good at the whole unraveling my feelings, especially not face to face.

But... (Y/N), baby, you're the best thing that's ever been mine. You're my darlin', my girl, and I got jealous because I was scared, okay?

I was scared of losing you. And I'm telling you this because it's been awhile now and I haven't seen you around or heard from you in awhile. Therefore, I may have already lost you but.... I love you, (Y/N)... and I'm sorry, okay?

Thought you'd never hear me say that, huh? Me, apologizing? That's like... once in a blue moon. Hah.....

But, uh... well, it's true. I'm sorry and I, Jason Dean, love you, (Y/N) (L/N). And I hope that you still love me too." With that, Jason ends the call, hanging the phone back up on the table as he falls back onto the bed. He didn't - doesn't - know what to do if he didn't have (Y/N) by his side. Trying to ignore these thoughts and place his attention elsewhere, he decides he needs to focus on sleeping. His body was exhausted after all that crying, plus the punch to the picture frame was still making his hand ache and throb, despite it being a few weeks since he had done it.

He had one hell of a nasty bruise, too. He was sure it wouldn't look so ugly and scarred if he had listened to (Y/N) and taken her up on that offer when she suggested the first aid kit... Before he knows it, he's drifting off into a deep slumber, naturally bringing a pillow into his chest, tucking it underneath his arm as he falls asleep.

Faint whispers of (Y/N)'s name spills pass his lips as he sleeps. He'd rather be cuddling her than a pillow but he'll take what he can get. He just hopes she'll accept his apology.

(Y/N) gets home a little after midnight, sighing heavily and tiredly as she kicks off her shoes and strips out of her jacket, hanging the coat up first before setting her shoes under the rack. She had just finished unpacking and helping her cousin move things in his new apartment and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed.

In the corner of her eye, however, she notices her answering machine is flashing red, letting her know someone had left a voicemail. She walks over and clicks on the button, expecting it to be for her parents but instead she's met with a shocking fate - it was Jason.

Hearing his voice, so weak and vulnerable, brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a sob. Especially when he apologized, that was new.

They've said those three words to each other before, of course, but it was hearing how sad he sounded that let her know he truly did love her, despite everything they've been through and all the silly arguments they've shared over the past few months; they loved each other.

And nothing - nobody - could ever stand in the way of that. Jason was still a huge dumbass, however.

And as she grabs her jacket, sliding the thick layer of clothing around herself and dips her feet into her boots, she's quick to go and tell him that, too.

She loves him, yes, but she needs to let him know he was a huge fucking idiot.

Jason, for the most post, was sleeping peacefully until he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs, along with a string of curse words.

He was quick to get up, throwing the blanket and pillow aside as he opened his bedroom door and creeps down the hallway, wondering who the hell was in his living room.

He was met with.... well, not a burglar neither his father as he would have guessed the next outcome to be but rather his girlfriend.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" He asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he tried to shake off the remaining sleep that had taken over him not even a few hours ago.

"I came here to scare you, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she scrambles up and off of the floor, brushing her knees and arms from the fall she had taken. "Your door was locked, couldn't find the extra key anywhere so I snuck in through the window and-"

"And... you're bleeding." Jason said, gesturing to the tiny gash on her arm. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here somewhere." He mocks, giving her a playful smile as he quoted the words she had said to him the day they got into that fight.

(Y/N) said nothing but she follows when Jason offers his hand out to her, anyway. He was surprised when he did find the small box up in a cabinet.

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing a bandage won't fix, right?"

"(Y/N). Why are you here? You never did answer me." Jason said, getting out the tiny box of band-aids, ripping one open as he presses the item down onto her arm. She was right, it wasn't a big cut, a few drops of blood, sure, but it wasn't one that'd get infected.

"I got your voice message." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came to talk to you about it."

He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a dumbass."

Oh.

It was bad.

He felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He really let his jealousy get the best of him and now he was going to lose the one good thing he had in his life.

"I love you but you didn't let me speak," She continued. "That guy you saw... first of all, you have no right to judge him or say you hate him when you have no idea who he is. That dude I was seen with was my cousin, who, may I add, is gay.”

“I’ve been helping him move which is why you saw me in town with him. We were getting a few supplies and picking up his furniture.” She continues.

“You got jealous over a guy who is far from being attracted to females. And you know... he's related to me as well, so, that also plays a huge part in it. And if you didn't notice either, the picture you broke was actually a portrait of my family and his together at a family reunion. Of course, you didn't see that, though or probably even noticed but.... yeah, you're a dumbass. I love you, J.D, but you're an idiot for thinking I'd ever love someone more than I love you."

Jason says nothing, he feels embarrassed, ashamed, but overall; he feels happy, knowing she still loves him, even if he was a total moron. "I'm sorry, baby, I got jealous and I shouldn't jump so quickly to conclusions and-"

"And you need to make up for it." She said, pressing her chest up against his, resting her hand on the palm of his cheek, brushing a few stray hairs out from his face as she gives him a seductive look. "And how.... exactly, are you going to make up for it, baby?" She purred.

"I think I've an idea." He said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah? While you're at it, can you choke me like you did, too?"

"I'll do more than just choke you with my hand, darling."

"To be suffocated and to choke on either your cock and hand would be a blessing, my dear."

"Then let's go upstairs, shall we?"

(Y/N) smiled and took Jason's hand with her own, giggling as if she wasn't just talking about getting choked by her boyfriend, as if she was some saint rather than a sinner. Fuck... Jason loves how dirty she was. "We shall." He replies, nearly dragging her up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"Going to show you how much I love you, going to treat you so good, so well, baby girl... missed you so much, love you so much..."

#heathers #jason dean x reader #jason dean x yn #jason dean fanfics #jason dean x femreader #jason dean one shot #jason dean imagines #christian slater #christian slater x reader #christian slater x yn #my works #cierra's stories

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