#dean: i earned respect! john: if i push him hard enough he will kill so good :3
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JANUARY, 1995
It’s a shooting day and Dean’s ears are ringing with the pop of the .22 that’s growing heavy in his hands. At Bobby’s house he always has to wear earmuffs when he shoots; usually Dean complains because they look stupid, but right now his ears are so frozen he’s wishing he had a pair of his own.
He points the muzzle at the ground and shakes his head out, cupping a stiff hand to his cheek. There’s exactly zero blood flow happening in his face, and the cold makes each shot ring out so loudly he has to try not to flinch. And his socks are wet. Pretty miserable shit.
John’s on his way back from replacing the target, face grim.
“How’d I do?” Dean calls. Too loud, judging from the way his dad scowls.
“You’re blowing through ammo and you only got six on the page.”
Dean slumps. “Crap.”
“Yeah, it is. You need to get your shit together, I can tell your heart isn’t in this. You reload yet?”
Dean sniffles, even though he can’t feel his nose, either. “No.”
“No?”
“No, sir.”
“So get going. Show me you can do better.”
Dean’s fingers feel like ten useless icicles. He slides the chamber open and clink-clink-clinks ten bullets inside, then carefully closes the action. The Beretta is a testy bitch that jams constantly. Dad only trusts it for training and seems likely to chuck it soon.
He barely seems affected by the chill. Mostly he looks bored. “Go on and take a few steps forward. Ladies’ tee until you get ‘em all on the page, and then we’ll think about moving you back again.”
Dean’s skin crawls with embarrassment and he wants to protest—he could do better if it were warmer and if he weren’t so tired already—but obediently he moves closer to the target.
“Alright.”
He raises the gun and clicks the safety off. He’s probably more cautious with it than John cares, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.
The target is a sheet of paper with orange circles pinned to a stump surrounded by casings. He lines the center up in his sight and then aims a little lower to compensate because the Beretta shoots high. God, if Dean could get his hands on that ivory-grip Colt, he’d die happy.
He empties her out, gets about nine bullets on the page. Four of them land tight in the center. The stray shot is only because he overcorrected his aim at first.
He turns back to his dad with a grin on his face, feeling pretty proud. There’s a pleasant buzz of warm feeling in his nose and eartips along with the ringing in his ears as he traipses back to the ammo box. “Not so crappy, huh?”
John shakes his head. “Dunno where you learned to be such a brag.”
“What am I supposed to be, humble? Pass.” He squats by the box, breathing on his numb hands before delicately picking up the bullets. “Hard pass.”
“Being humble is what keeps you alive. Nine out of ten only seems good on a target that doesn’t move. It isn’t your best—or it shouldn’t be.” John’s silence is as unforgiving as his voice. Dean watches his words sink through the winter air like smoke.“We stay here until you can actually hit what you’re aiming at.”
Through no fault of his own, Dean’s mouth is suddenly letting loose the complaint he’s been trying to hold in. “Come on, give me a break, Dad. It’s freezing, and I’m tired, and I’m about to have frostbite on my carpal tunnel. I feel like I can barely pull the damn trigger!”
His father’s boots crush against the frozen ground louder than a gun. He looks up quickly, stomach dropping. Dad and his rifle make a stark silhouette against the cold white sky above.
“You don’t ever speak to me like that again. You sound like your brother, like some insolent child, not a man I’d trust with my weapon. I know I taught you better than this. When lives depend on you, are you still gonna be making excuses? Are you gonna be whining about the weather when it’s your bad aim that gets somebody killed? Is it gonna be the trigger’s fault when you get yourself killed?”
“No, sir,” Dean replies, heart beating in his throat.
“You’re laughing, you’re fucking around, I can see you’re not taking this seriously. You still don’t understand the stakes. Think about Sam—you know whose fault it’ll be if you can’t take care of him or the lives you say you want to protect?”
“My fault, sir. Dad, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry. Don’t be begging for respect when you haven’t earned it. The only reason we’re still out here is you. You being cold and tired right now is on you. This is all in your control. Your life is in your own hands, nobody else’s. Do you understand that?”
His eyes are so heavy.
Dean nods and looks down, unable to speak. He is so stupid.
The dry air is hurting his head; he won’t be surprised if they get back to the cabin and find Sam with a bloody nose. Kid’s got a fragile sinus. The sooner Dean makes this, the sooner they can get back. He loads fast.
“Sam told me that you went hunting,” John says, tone slipping back to conversational.
“Yeah,” Dean says, grateful as he slides the clip home. “Bobby showed us how to do animal calls.”
“Being able to hunt and eat what you’ve killed is important. For when you have to keep yourself fed, but for building character, too. A hunter should be able to hunt.”
“And fish,” Dean adds. “Hey, we should go again soon.”
John nods, the barest hint of warmth. “My point is, everything you need to survive should be in your power. Your gun is your second most important tool after grit. Even when you won’t know if you will survive, you have to know that you can survive.”
Dean nods, and after a few seconds of silence, he supplies, “Bobby makes good venison chili.” He doesn’t mention that Bobby specifically said John was not invited to any of his suppers.
“You get one?” John asks. “A deer?”
Dean stands slowly, thumbing the safety. He doesn’t click it off, yet, and he keeps it pointed at the ground. Like Bobby keeps cussing him out about. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
Dean’s mouth is sour, the pit in his stomach is growing again, and somehow he’s sweating. John sounds like he knows the answer why.
Dean clicks the safety off and Dad doesn’t even look twice, just waits. Dean walks back to his spot and gets into position. Behind him, John sighs. He sounds so tired.
“If you can’t even kill a deer, how do you think you’re gonna be able to shoot things that look human?”
Dean aims at the target and tries to breathe. The freeze is in his lungs, now, January’s teeth seizing his insides so every inhale is sharp. The target wavers in his sight as he tries to keep his hands still. It’s just an orange circle. Just a tree stump. Just practice, so he’s fine.
He exhales slowly, finger curling around the trigger. He’s fine and he’s got this.
“I mean, what am I supposed to think, Deanna,” John says lowly, voice pinched with disappointment, “you tell me you want me to treat you like a man, but you can’t even—”
Dean fires, ten rounds in steady, thundering succession until the ringing in his ears drowns out the sound of the chamber clicking empty.
The target is in tatters. He thinks they all landed.
His chest is still tight, and raw, and like maybe something has shaken loose or broken free. With shaking hands, he zips up his jacket, and then he turns and walks to his father’s side.
“It’s Dean,” he says thinly. He clears his throat and adds, “Sir.”
John’s looking at him and Dean can’t make out what’s going on behind his eyes. After a moment he nods, and then jerks his head toward their gear. “Pack up.”
As Dean’s cleaning up—collecting fallen casings and discarded targets, and making sure every gun is unloaded and every safety is on because Sam always pokes around even when they tell him not to—John claps him on the shoulder. His voice is soft again.
“I’m just worried about you, I need you to know that. I want you to be able to take care of yourself and Sammy when I’m not around. This world is mean, and cold, and it’ll tear you apart. I can be hard on you kids…I push you too hard, I know it, and it still won’t be enough to keep you safe. And that kills me.”
John cups the back of his head. Dean meets his eyes and sees a world in there that he can’t begin to fathom. “You did good today, Dean, really good. I don’t want you to think I have any doubts—about how strong you are, and how brave. And I trust I can depend on you, son.”
Somewhere inside Dean, a knot loosens, like he’s finally been allowed to breathe a little. It’s good.
#repost from my old blog#trans dean winchester#transphobia#misgendering#deadnaming#parental abuse#verbal abuse#forced masculinzation emotional stunting meow meow meow#bound for the floor by local h released 1996 changing nothing in deans life but becoming a soundtrack#dean: i earned respect! john: if i push him hard enough he will kill so good :3#ficlet#supernatural#trans dean#cw misgendering#tw misgendering#deadname#tw gun mention#tw gun use#mine
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WIP: Sing Me To Sleep
Word Count: 2,485 (of 15000+ so far)
Tags: Destiel, Fix-It Fic, Grief and Mourning, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Canon-Typical Alcoholism, Ignores S15E20 Carry On, more to be added when I post the full piece
Notes: a little addition to celebrate hitting 15k words. Read the begining here. Once it's done, I'll post the whole fic here and on my AO3
As soon as they got back to the Bunker, Dean started making a home for Miracle. He gathered some spare blankets before having an epiphany: she could just sleep with him. She would love the bed, and he would love having her there with him.
It was just his luck the Men of Letters, stuffy old guys that they’d been, had some food dishes perfect for Miracle. He had seen them months ago when he had been looking for an artifact and left them in storage without another thought. He headed over to get them now only to freeze in front of the doorway.
The door to Room 7B was heavy and even standing in front of it took a toll. Mouth dry, Dean managed to put his hand on the knob but couldn’t find it in himself to open the door. He knew what waited on the other side for him, and he didn’t want to see it. The empty space, the sheer nothingness—not even goo or a coat this time—was too much.
He could get the dishes later. Better yet, he could buy new ones. Miracle would love that, wouldn’t she? She deserved nice new dishes to eat from. And while he was out, he could get her food and toys as well.
Dean went back to his room to start making space for Miracle’s things only to see himself in his mirror and freeze. There was a handprint on his shoulder, marked in blood. Slowly, Dean slotted his hand over the mark, aligning the fingers with his own.
Cas.
Dean turned away and bit his lip, hard. Tasting blood, he took his utility jacket off and folded it neatly before putting it in a drawer out of sight. He was too sober for this.
He wandered out into the library, looking for Miracle and pointedly ignoring everything else when he stopped. SW. DW. MW. His family, immortalized in the wood of the table. His fingers traced his mother’s initials absently in thought. Family didn’t end in blood, and the Bunker had been a home to far more than just the Winchesters. They deserved to have their legacy remembered, too.
Dean pulled out his pocketknife, the same one Castiel had used, back in the dungeon. Slowly, carefully, he dug it into the wood and painstakingly added two names: Jack and Castiel. They always should have been there. They should have known that they belonged. It was Dean’s fault for not including them enough, not helping them to feel seen. Maybe if he had, they wouldn’t have left. With a heavy heart, Dean remembered standing in this same library, shouting that Jack wasn’t family. He remembered nearly killing him and blaming him for things beyond his control. Just as bad was the memory of Castiel at this same table, sitting and eating a burrito and being content, happy even, just before Dean had kicked him out. That wasn’t even the worst, was it? No, he had done so much worse to Castiel, even just in the library.
What about beating him to a bloody pulp and leaving him broken on the floor? Mark or no Mark, he had done that. Even if it had taken him everything not to give in to the Mark and kill him. The Collette to his Cain, only asking him to stop. What about only a few months ago?
Something went wrong. You know this. Something always goes wrong.
Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?
Dean felt sick just thinking about it. He could vividly remember the hurt on Cas’ face and the shock that Dean had said that. It was one of his biggest fears, being a useless screw-up, only around until he was no longer useful. Dean had known that and still said it. What kind of a person did that make him? And more than that, what did that make Cas’ true happiness? How do you love someone like that, someone irredeemable? It couldn’t be love.
Castiel was wrong. He hadn’t done everything out of love. If he had, he never would have pushed Cas away.
To distract himself, Dean tore his eyes from the newly added names and caught himself thinking about adding more. Who else was family, who else had they neglected to include?
Sam came out from the hallway looking ready to have a heart to heart and Dean couldn’t take it.
“You want a beer?” Without waiting for an answer, Dean stood. “I’m gonna grab a beer.” Then he headed towards the kitchen.
“It's pretty quiet,” Sam said once Dean returned, taking the offered beer. Dean hummed in agreement.
There was a silence, so heavy that Dean almost didn’t break it. In a rough voice, he managed to say, “To everyone that we lost along the way.” He clinked his beer against Sam’s and took a swig, ending it abruptly. He needed something stronger. Vodka, maybe, or bourbon, though he wasn’t sure if they had either of those in the Bunker anymore. He had already gone through a fair amount after Cas was taken, and then even more when it was the whole world. Still, maybe he had missed a bottle somewhere. He was about to stand to search when Sam started to speak.
“You know…with Chuck not writing our story anymore, we get to write our own.” His voice lilted upwards, optimistic in a way that Dean hadn’t heard in months. “You know, just you and me going wherever the story takes us…. Just us.”
“Finally free,” Dean summed up. He thought about the last few months, his own obsession with freedom. Sam’s statement was right—it was just them. They hadn’t reached out to anyone else yet, too overwhelmed with the implications of Chuck being defeated. That didn’t change the fact that Castiel wasn’t there to share it with them. Or Jack for that matter. He had been shoehorned into the position of God, had never gotten to be a kid. Dean’s heart ached in sympathy. If anything, Jack was more trapped than ever.
Sam and Dean had gotten their freedom, but at one hell of a cost. Still, Sam looked so hopeful…. Dean could be content, or at least pretend to be, for Sam’s sake.
He clapped his little brother on the shoulder, forced a smile, and they went for a drive.
For a little while, he dared to hope that by flooring it on the open road, with music blasting from the radio, Dean might be able to escape his grief. They could go anywhere, do anything. He and Sam had earned the right to a fresh start after at least three apocalypses, but Dean didn’t know if that was what he wanted. How could he start over if his best friend was dead and their kid was gone? He might still have Sam, but what about the rest of his family? Didn’t they all deserve the chance to begin again?
There was no destination to their journey and even Dean didn’t know where they were going. All he knew was that they were going away. To distract himself from the road, he paid more attention to the music, only to balk at it. Running on Empty. He couldn’t help grimacing at that last word and turned the music off rather than changing the station.
Sam, for his part, was watching Dean, taking in and gauging his reaction. Well, what was the damn point of the drive if neither of them was enjoying it?
When they got back, Sam seemed just as disturbed as Dean felt. The world had fundamentally changed, and it was like it hadn’t. The world went on, every moment passed as though there wasn’t a throbbing ache in Dean’s chest. They had lost their son and best friend. They were alone all over again, just like those first few lonely years when they had been looking for John.
Dean hated it.
The Winchesters settled in their respective spaces—Dean in the kitchen and Sam in the library. The stash of alcohol in the kitchen was gone. Had he really drunk it all already? Dean sighed and took a beer from the fridge instead while he made dinner. He managed to find some solace in it, as he always did. It was nice to cook and bake, to wear a silly apron and ask people to “try this!” After years of living on the road and killing monsters, Dean was able to flip the script. He was able to use his hands, hands that had become accustomed to being covered in blood and gore and dirt, to do good in another way. He didn’t need to be violent anymore; he could care for his family, or what was left of it.
Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.
Dean swallowed thickly as emotion rose within him, but managed to keep pushing it down, holding it back. He would deal with it later, once he was alone in his room and sure that Sam wouldn’t walk in. He finished cooking up the burgers and took a few steps over to where he had already laid out the plates and hamburger buns.
Four plates waited to be filled. Only Sam and Dean remained.
“Going out!” he shouted over his shoulder a few heartbeats later, running up the stairway and out the door before Sam could stop him.
He didn’t make it to the liquor store. His eyes were burning and his vision swimming only minutes after he left, and rapidly he found himself pulling off onto the side of the road. Everything was too much.
Castiel was gone. He was dead, after nearly a dozen years of it not sticking. Dean had thought that maybe grieving would get easier. After all, he had lost everyone: his mother, his father, his brother, Bobby, every friend they had ever had, and so many more. It hurt like hell, every single time, but eventually he could cope. He had lost Castiel before, five deaths and countless almosts before this one. Why did it hurt worse? Every single time, losing Castiel left him emptier and emptier.
Cas was… Cas was his best friend. A pillar in his life. Someone who he could count on. Someone who should have outlived him. But he was more than that, wasn’t he? Dean hadn’t gotten the chance to reply, had hardly gotten to process before Castiel was gone. Cas loved him, and Dean hadn’t—
Dean neither knew nor cared how long he sat there. His grief only grew deeper with each minute, especially with the sheer despair of realizing that Castiel’s true happiness was what had killed him. His happiness was coming out, speaking his truth, and now he was dead. Dean ran out of tears, but ugly, breathless sobs still racked his body when he found it in himself to pull back onto the road.
The sales clerk in the liquor store gave him a look as he checked out. Dean didn’t know if it was for the volume he was buying or how fucked he undoubtedly looked. Didn’t care, either. He held off for the drive back and started drinking in the garage. Then the library. When Sam found him on his way to his room, Dean was solidly drunk and sobbing again, too far gone to care about appearances anymore. He just wanted the pain of it all to be gone.
He fought to keep the bottle of bourbon but Sam managed to take it, along with the rest. Without something in his hands, they were restless. Dean ran them over his face and through his hair before they ended up clutching at Sam’s shirt as the weight of his grief pulled him down.
“They’re… they’re jus'… gone,” he mumbled into Sam’s shoulder. “Jack… ‘nd C— Cas…”
He felt his brother’s arms close tighter around him and somehow felt worse, like he didn’t deserve it.
“I…I k-killed ‘im, Sam. He tol’… me he l-loved me, ‘nd then he was…”
Sam helped him to his room and stayed with him until he fell asleep, listening and shushing him in equal regard. With his eyes bleary and full of unshed tears, Dean thought the silhouette of Sam in the extra chair looked almost like Castiel, and he took comfort in that for a few minutes.
When Dean woke up, his heart was racing and the distorted nightmare of black goo was rapidly fading. He turned to the empty chair in his room and then to the door before seeing Miracle. She had situated herself in between his legs and was whining loudly. If he had been a little less hungover, he probably would have found it terrifying, given the number of nightmares he’d had featuring whines and growls. The sound grated against his ears but she seemed to perk up seeing him awake. Decidedly less nightmare-ish. He carefully extracted himself from his bed and ran the cold tap water over his hands and wrists, letting it ground him before washing the sweat from his face and popping a pain-reliever. He looked rough, with bags under bloodshot eyes and stubble across his jaw and cheeks. He probably smelled as well, wearing yesterday’s clothes soiled by booze and sweat. It didn’t matter much; Dean had no intention of going anywhere and lacked the energy to get cleaned up.
Miracle whined loudly again and Dean allowed himself to get back into bed to lay with her until she was a little happier. He absentmindedly scratched Miracle’s head while waiting for the throbbing ache in his head and chest to dissipate. He settled for one of the two and, after a few hours, made his way out of his room.
Sam was on the phone in the library, but upon seeing his brother put an end to his conversation. Dean didn’t know what he expected: to be chastised, perhaps, or to be forced through a heart-to-heart. Worse, to have Sam look at him with pity without saying a damn thing. Instead, his brother wrapped him in a brief hug.
“How are you holding up?”
“’M fine.”
“Dean…”
“’M fine, Sam.” Dean kept his tone stiff as he pulled out a seat, unwilling to become the sobbing mess again in front of his brother. Maybe Sam understood that, as he changed the subject after a beat.
“Hey, I talked to Jody. She and the girls are okay, and she says Donna is, too.”
“That’s awesome,” Dean said, nodding.
“Yeah. She wanted to know if we wanted to catch dinner next week sometime.”
Dean froze for a second before shaking his head adamantly. “Maybe some other time.”
“What? Why?”
“Claire. Sam, I would have to tell her that Cas….”
Sam’s face filled with understanding and his own grief. “I’ll tell her we can’t make it.”
///
AN: I swear this is gonna end happily.
Tagging some people who might be interested in the update: (ask to be added or removed!)
@becky-srs @bizzlepotter @bonkybornes @casgirl @chaoticbisexualdean @evermorecastiel @ineffable-impala @lassoted @poohkeepsee @professorerudite @theangelwiththewormstache @thiscastielhasflown
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Broken Reflection
Written by Rob Jackson (my husband).
This is his entry for @greenappleeyes
1k follower ‘Nicole’s mix and match’ challenge.
Dean x Jodie
Word Count: 1,620
Prompts: ‘Believer’ by Imagine Dragons.
Quote: ‘Whatever has broken your heart, know that I am here to listen.’
A/N: I’m gonna go weep in a corner because DEAN! (And because Rob’s story is freaking better than mine the bastard)
Mine is coming soon, I swear.
***
Dean’s left hand gripped the side of the sink as his other hand throbbed in pain. He felt the broken shards of glass embedded in his knuckles. He thought he might have fractured one, maybe two, of his knuckles. Still, he held his closed fist against the glass and winced. Something about the sting was endearing; a reminder that there was still feeling, a sort-of beauty in this pain.
Around him, at his feet, lay a broken lamp he had thrown down mere moments before. Glassware, toothbrushes, hair product, all sitting abstractly on the floor. Each item a reminder of his chaotic outburst, almost taunting him that he’d lost it again.
Dean felt his heart thundering in his chest, he felt breathless and like his head was swimming. Dean gripped the sink tighter.
'What had come over him? Why now?’
Slowly, Dean raised his eyes to meet the stranger’s gaze. What he saw staring back frightened him. Anger. Loss. Pain. Toughness. Discipline. Regret? No, not regret. There was no remorse in those eyes. And that was what frightened him. As Dean studied every line and every contortion in the face looking back at him, he realised he recognised the man looking hard back at him… was his Father.
Dean’s hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, leaving bloody prints on the keys as he cradled the handset between his ear and shoulder.
It rang three times before the call connected
“Dean! To what do I owe this pleasure?”, the familiar voice filling Dean’s head and helping to ground him.
Dean paused before responding, feeling his throat clench and his eyes sting.
“Dean? Is everything ok? Are you in trouble?”
“No, no,” Dean coughed and answered quickly. “I’m fine, just…er… how are you?”
“Don’t do that, Dean!” Jodie replied, with a mix of motherly insight and friendly scorn. “I can tell when you’re bullshitting and trying to deflect. Besides, it’s been 5 weeks. High time you called to check in. How’s the hand?”
“What? How did you…?” Dean took his hand from the mirror and tried to flex his fingers. He winced at the pain. Yep; broken, he thought.
“Dean, come on. I know you’ll have been hunting. Something’s happened you’re not dealing with. And you won’t talk to Sam about it, so you trash your room and punch something. Gotta say, Dean. I was waiting for your call.”
Dean swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat and parted his lips to speak…
“Before you start, Dean, know that I know you are not 'fine’. Ok? I need you to know that I see you’re not ok. I hear these phone calls and your attempts to push it aside with some joke and sorry rock song reference. And if that’s what you want to do here, now, then I’ll listen. Just remember that I am here, Dean. And I know. I know you”
Jodie head Dean exhale. “Quite the speech”’ Dean said, knowing she was right.
“Yeah, well… So, what’s up?”
Dean took a long while before he answered. Jodie waited patiently.
“I’m messed up, Jodie. And I’m not just talking about my hand. There was this family, two kids and their dad. We saved them but the dad’ll never be the same. The things he saw. That changes you. And now he’s gotta go be dad to those two boys.
Maybe I’m tired. Goddamn, I could sleep for a month. Just bury myself in some small corner and emerge a new man when all this crap is dealt with. But then perhaps I’m more tired than I’ve cared to admit. Maybe I’m so tired of the way that things have been.”
Dean rubbed at his temples, “You ever thought about why you do what you do? Like, what’s it all for?”
“What’s on your mind, Dean?”
“Those kids, Jodie. Got me thinking about when I was that young. When life was 'normal’.” Dean scoffed as though he’d told a bad joke.
Normal? Ha! Always on the road, never staying long enough to plant roots. Never any friends. Never a home or sense of belonging.
For years, I was told where to walk, how to talk, how to fight, what to shoot… what to kill. I was conscripted, dammit. Daddy’s little toy soldier. Against my will. I didn’t have a hope in Hell at anything remotely resembling a normal life.
I was broken from a young age. Fashioned in to a weapon and loaded up for a war of revenge on every dark and scary thing you could imagine. And most of what you couldn’t.
“No kid should go through what you went through,” Jodie offered.
“My life was never gonna be bedtime stories and Sunday dinners. I get that. I was never gonna get the man’s love or respect unless I was slicing a Vamp’s head off, or burning a Wendigo.”
“Dean, you don’t make your kids earn your love, you just love them!”
Dean continued, “And through all of this, I hoped. I hoped that I could drown these feelings. In alcohol, in girls, in being the best damn brother I could hope to be. By being a better dad to Sammy than our actual father, John Winchester, could even dream to be!”
Jodie listened and heard the crack in Dean’s voice. 'John Winchester’, she thought and sighed internally.
Dean’s voice caught as he talked about his little brother. He cleared his throat and rubbed at his eyes, then stroked his jaw.
“All this time, I’ve wanted to be him. Look like him, work like him. Make a difference, like him. And do you know what I realised? I’m damn good at it. I liked it. I like it. The power, the rush, my life, my love, my drive. Making a difference. And I guess in all this, he made me better, you know? He made me believe.”
“In what, Dean?”
“That even though I may never have got the life I wanted, maybe never will, I can help other people have theirs. That’s what I can do, Jodie. What me and Sam can do. We can save people’s chances at having a normal life. So that’s why I can’t stop. This pain, my lost childhood and every damn person that has died along the way. If it means someone else can be safe, if it means some other little boy’s daddy makes it home to read their bedtime story or carve the turkey after church then how can I stop? Knowing that every bullet I fire, every time I rain down on whatever messed-up monster is terrorising the next town, it could be the difference between family being together and not being together.”
“So I guess I’m grateful. No, I can’t forgive him for stripping me of a normal life. I… hate him… for that. But if that’s how I keep doing what I’m doing - all the good that can be for no in all this crap - then thank God for that bastard!
Dean stopped. He’d never called his dad that before. Not to anyone else.
“Jodie…?”
“Yeah, Dean.”
“Don’t tell Sam, ok?”
Dean heard Jodie hesitate momentarily before the inevitable, accepting, understanding voice that he had come to know and love and respect broke the air.
“Sure, you can trust me”
“I know. But this is for Sammy, ok? He can’t know about this. I can’t…”
“I get it. Big brother Dean has to be strong for his baby brother. You ever think that if you admit to him how you feel… that your Dad was… kind of a dick?… he might…”
“My dad was a hero! You don’t understand what he went through”, Dean snapped, regretting that decision.
“Dean, your daddy was a broken man. I’m not excusing that anger or giving him a reprieve on how he raised you. You can say he did his best, or whatever. God knows for anyone to go through what he did will knock seven hells out of that person. Dean, did he ever…?
Dean dismissed that comment. He wasn’t ready to talk about that. “I took… so much… from that man. The man who should have been there, should have protected me and Sam, gave me a gun and silver bullets to do the job. Maybe he wasn’t around all the time. But yeah, Jodie, what would you do? He did what he could! You don’t talk about my dad like that!”
Dean thought he heard Jodie roll her eyes. Instead she paused, then said, “I love you, Dean. You and Sam take care. Until our next chat…”
Dean knew he had hurt her.
“Jodie, I’m…”
“Listen, Dean; whatever has broken your heart, know that I am here to listen.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” He meant it. He knew she did, too.
Dean clicked his phone shut and pocketed it, letting out a long breath as he clawed for the cracked bottle of scotch he’d knocked to the floor.
Taking a drink, Dean stared into the mirror; his broken, fractured, distorted face looking back at him through the cracks in the pane.
“Fuck, Dad!”, he sniffed and opened the cabinet to retrieve bandages and began to wrap his hand. Satisfied with the makeshift glove he’d created to protect his wound, Dean inhaled and puffed out his chest.
“Sammy,” he called, gripping the edges of the sink.
He heard Sam and the thud of his footsteps approaching. “Dean… you ok?”
“Peachy”, Dean lied through the door.
“Yeah”, Sam breathed. Knowing
Dean swept the bloody remnants of glass and gauze into the bin. Dean opened the bathroom door, swept out through the crack and pulled it shut firmly behind him.
“Let’s blow this joint. I want Tacos, dammit.”
***
Tags:
@afanofmanystuffs @yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend @quixoticcat @trashforwinchesters @ironiccasifer @natasha-cole
@greenappleeyes
I’ve tagged my everything list even though I didn’t write it. 😊
#nicole's mix and match challenge#dean winchester#dean x Jodie#Jodie mills#jody mills#dean x Jody#spn fanfic#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#angst#dean winchester angst
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Tout ce qu'il espérait
Word count: 1.9k The longest I’ve written, so far.
Pairing: Dean x reader
Warnings: Marshmallow, gooey, fluff. Yes, that is a warning.
A/N: I’m super proud of this, guys. I hope you like it, it’s from a far different perspective than I’m used to.
Translation: The title means ‘All he hoped for’. It’s french and I thought it was beautiful.
Prompt #15 for @beckawinchester and @boredoutofmymindwriting ‘s challenge.
“That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea. Let’s do it and see what happens.”
The cold December air wisped around Dean as he sat on the front porch of his home. His home. The beer bottle rested against his lips a moment, he still couldn’t believe it. Dean Winchester had gotten out of the life. And he was safe.
His little brother left for college about two years ago, after that his father had finally decided to stop searching for the thing that killed Mary. Of course John was still pissed, they all were, but maybe if he stopped there his sons could live the rest of their lives normally. So here Dean was in Lebanon, sipping beer on his porch.
He had gotten a steady job as a bartender a while back. Earned enough money to afford something a little bigger than an apartment. He still talked to Sam, his dad had settled down in South Dakota somewhere, everything was great.
The time came when he had to head to work. The bar was warm inside, a drastic change from the crisp air outside. His co-worker and best friend, Benny called him from behind the bar.
“What took you so long, brother? You’re half an hour late.” The familiar customers had greeted him on his way in. Dean walked back through the bar into the kitchen to hang up his jacket. His friend followed him.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that, I got distracted and the weather was no help.” Benny nodded. He knew about Dean’s morning ritual. How he would wake up early, have a few drinks and watch the sun rise. Benny had been around Dean long enough to find that he could easily lost in his thoughts.
“I got you covered. I clocked you in once I got here and don’t thank me. Just get out there.” Benny gave Dean a warm smile and pat on the back before moving deeper into the kitchen. Dean sighed and walked back to the bar.
A few hours had passed and nothing much really happened. It was a quiet day, mostly it was just the regulars that came in. But with the snow outside not many of them showed up. Dean had been wiping down the counter when she came in. It was nearing the end of his shift and he was ready to go home, but when he saw her his movements stopped. She was absolutely gorgeous. The white snow had littered her hair, her bright eyes sparkled in the dim lighting and Dean was sure he was going to catch flies if he didn’t close his mouth.
“Excuse me,” Dean hadn’t realized he was staring, until you were right in front of him. He cleared his throat and apologized. Dean was rarely ever flustered when it came to a girl. She giggled, “You’re cute.” The corner of Dean’s lips lifted and his cheeks reddened, your laugh was adorable, and you thought he was cute. He had to forcibly stop himself from happy dancing.
“Anyway, I’m new in town and I’m also starving. What would you recommend...?” She trailed off.
“Dean. And personally, I love the bacon cheeseburgers.” She smiled and Dean’s heart skipped a beat. The way her lips curved made his insides flutter and her dimples made him want to kiss her. This girl was just so perfect and he had no idea why, but he never felt this way and he was loving every moment.
“Well Dean, I guess I’ll be having the bacon cheeseburger. And the name’s Y/n.” Y/n held out her hand and Dean took it in his. It was soft against his calloused one, he wanted to hold it longer. These feelings were strange, yeah sure he’d have a one night stand from time to time. Dean met a lot of women. But something was something different about Y/n, she intrigued him.
A few months had gone by and soon, you and Dean became best friends. Everyday you would walk into the bar, order a bacon cheeseburger and a few drinks. Dean and you would talk about everything and anything. He knew everything about you, but he was hesitant on sharing himself with you. Either way, you respected him and he was grateful you never pushed.
He wanted to tell you everything, about his brother, his dad. Hunting. He never felt this way, like he wanted to spill his guts to anyone. He’d been out of the life for a while now and no one, not one person made him feel so accepted. No matter what he did or said, he would always feel complete around you. Because he loved you.
He realized that a few weeks ago. The thought of him possibly getting married and having kids with you made his heart race. But then, Dean would start to think about his past life and believe it impossible. He couldn’t drag you into a world of monsters, not you, not ever.
“Look who’s here!” Benny exclaimed. Dean looked into the small, kitchen window and saw you perch yourself up on the counter. A smile came over his face when he saw you.
You were wearing a metallica t-shirt; two sizes, too big. Your hair was tied back into a ponytail and your legs kicked back and forth. He could stare at you for hours and never get bored. The way the light reflected off of your eyes and the way your nose crinkled when you laughed really hard, you were adorable in every sense.
Dean blinked and grabbed a beer off the shelf before moving to the kitchen to greet you. “One bacon cheeseburger comin’ right up,” Benny called, laughter blended in with his words. Dean stood next to you and handed you the beer.
“Hey, Winchester! How’s it goin’?” You took the beer and popped it open. He watched your lips as they wrapped around the bottle. Amber liquid poured into your mouth, he wondered just what your mouth would look like wrapped around something other than the neck of that bottle.
“Uh, well it’s been a-a little slow today. Most of the regulars are at the fair.” Benny hummed, a smirk pulling at his lips. Dean never noticed though, his eyes never left you. He watched your eyes light up and widen.
“Oh my god! That reminds me, we should all go to the fair this Saturday!” You hopped off the counter and set your beer down. Dean’s eyes followed you as you jumped around the kitchen. You went on to talk about how fun it would be and gushed over how pretty the lights would be at night. How you wanted the ferris wheel to stop right when you reached the top, or how you wished to taste the sugary cotton candy and funnel cakes.
Benny set your plate down on the counter next to your beer. “Well darlin’ as fun as that sounds, I’m workin’ a double shift Saturday.” Dean looked to Benny confused. He never mentioned a double shift to Dean. Benny’s eyes moved over to Dean and with a wink Dean knew what he was getting at.
Dean’s face flushed a light pink. Benny saw how he looked at you and had been trying to set you up for weeks. Dean had told him several times that you didn’t see him that way and that he should stop trying, but all Benny did was wink at him.
Your bottom lip jutted out when you heard Benny couldn’t come, sometimes you were so oblivious. “Aw, alright well, it looks like it’s just gonna be me and you, Dean. You up for it?” You asked, looking up at him.
Dean swallowed before answering with a defiant ‘what the hell’. You smiled widely and picked up your cheeseburger. Easy conversation flowed between the three of you after that, but all Dean could think about was Saturday.
The door to the bar burst open and a joyous voice rang through the bar. Dean was sitting in a bar stool laughing with himself. “Guess what day it is?” You cheered and sat in the stool next to your best friend. Dean looked to you, smile stretched across his face.
“Let me guess, Saturday?” Dean bit down a large smile and sipped at his beer. You took it from his hand and set it on the bar, then grabbed his hands and pulled him out of his seat.
“You bet your hot ass it’s Saturday!” Dean laughed heartily, not caring when he felt the heat rush up his neck. “Hurry it up, Winchester! I’m gonna be ninety before we get there.”
Dean didn’t even pull the car to a full stop before you were already out. “Woah, Y/N!” He tried to sound stern while scolding you about it while walking in, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
After you bought your tickets you rushed into the gates. You both spent hours there, riding rides, eating fried food and stopping at all the vendors you could. You won Dean a stuffed panda and he told you not to tell Benny. It seemed like you did everything you wanted, so Dean suggested you go on the ferris wheel.
“Wait, I wanna do something first.” You grabbed Dean’s hand and led him around the park, until you found what you were looking for. But it wasn’t all you wanted. “What? How can they close the funhouse?” You groaned, this was unacceptable.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. The sun is going to set soon though, how about we head to the ferris wheel?” Dean said. You huffed and stood there for a good minute, staring angrily at the doors. If you could just…
Your eyes drifted over your shoulder, not many people were around. Seeing as there were not that many vendors or games over by this side of the park, there was only a small group of people buying shirts.
Dean watched, confused as you pulled a bobby pin out of your hair and moved towards the doors of the funhouse. “What are you doing?” He said.
You crouched down in front of the door and turned to look up at him. “Sneaking into the funhouse, what does it look like I’m doing?” Returning back to pick the lock you heard Dean sigh.
He looked behind him once or twice before stating, “That is a terrible, horrible, incredibly foolish idea.” You finished and looked back at Dean with both eyebrows raised. “Let’s do it and see what happens.” You smiled and both of you sneaked through the doors. Dean closed the door softly behind you and you practically dragged him into the glass maze.
You walked through the funhouse about three times with only minor injuries. (Dean had run into the walls of the glass maze about four times.) The sun had already set when you creeped out, laughing hysterically while Dean pouted and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Although he couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face when your head threw back while you laughed.
The colorful lights lit up your face and they reflected in your eyes. You took Dean’s breath away.
In a moment, in a burst of confidence, Dean reached his hand to rest on the back of your neck. The dopamine blinding all other senses, his lips met yours. The kiss sent off a warm feeling in Dean’s chest and when you kissed back he almost fainted. Your lips were so soft as they moved against his and your small hand grabbed the front of his jacket keeping him close to you.
You both pulled away, your breath labored as you looked into each other’s eyes. “It’s about time.” You chided and pulled Dean back down to you. He smiled into the kiss, this was everything he had hoped for and more.
Dean made a mental note to thank Benny later.
#beckaandjohannaschallenge#dean winchester#dean x reader#reader insert#jensen ackles#jensen x reader#supernatural#spn#dean#supernatural fanfiction#x reader#winchester
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Medium Rare: Monday Night RAW Review 9/11/17
WOW oh boy what a RAW this was! Fun! Exciting! Revealing and much much more. The build to No Mercy is certainly here and all the stars are out doing it. Brock has been on RAW more than usual lately, which is refreshing as it is intimidating. Now lets get into it y’all.
The Battle of Alliteration: Roman Reigns def. Jason Jordan
This was a really fun match. Even though Jason Jordan is clearly a pawn in the game of thrones between Roman and Cena, he’s put on some great showings in the past few weeks. Although WWE is not doing the absolute best they can with his character, JJ is looking pretty good having matches with these “top guys.” Personally, I do not like that Roman is at the stage where he can shake anyone’s hand and call them a “young guy.” Too soon for that business bruh. Earn some respect first, ish.
Promo 3 – Electric Boogie Tree: John Cena confronted Roman Reigns
I may not like that Roman is getting so much spotlight every single RAW, but these promos are entertaining everytime. Even if I like them because Cena gets to bash Reigns, these promos still involve Reigns. Cena and Reigns work well together and they make me excited for this match at No Mercy.
#GiveEmmaABankStatement: Sasha Banks def. Emma
Sasha took on Emma in 1/2 of the Fatal 4 way match we’ll see at No Mercy for the RAW Women’s title. Sasha and Emma can put on a good match, as Sasha can with legitimately anyone, and other than the lackluster commentary from Nia Jax, this was a good segment as a whole. This makes me question if Nia is ready for the title if that’s the direction WWE goes in. She’s not much of a talker, but well neither is Roman so I guess The Rock was the black sheep of the family. Usos are sick though. I digress. The point here is, NOTHING MATTERS BECAUSE ASUKA IS COMING TO RAW. ERRBODY GON GET GOT.
The Brock n’ Braun Connection: Universal Champion Brock Lesnar dared Braun Strowman to fight him
Paul Heyman hit us with his usual promo, which is always solid, but then we got to see the two big men duke it out for a bit. The whole segment was awesome and WWE is doing a great job at making Braun a top player. Braun even got to beat the crap out of Brock Lesnar; hard to remember the last star who did that. High intrigue in this feud coming up on No Mercy.
Facedown: Bray Wyatt def. Goldust
Well well, look who finally gave meaning to the Finn vs. Bray feud. Great job, WWE. But seriously, even though Bray vs> Goldust was a mound of rubbish, the spot after the fact when Bray took of Goldust’s facepaint was perfect. Even though Goldust’s career has reached a screeching halt, this definitely interests me in Bray vs. Finn. Bray shouted at the audience “You see! He’s just like Finn Balor! He’s just a man!” I ate that up.
Que Listo!: Elias def. Kalisto
Elias gets the 3 stars because the dude can generate some serious heat. What is Kalisto doing fighting Elias though? Get the man on 205 Live where he can actually do something. Wasn’t that the point of sending him to RAW?
Strow Man Crush, Strow Man Kill See Man: John Cena def. Braun Strowman via Disqualification
Although I was excited to see a PPV quality match on RAW, this was pretty disappointing considering that the competitors are in different feuds and the overall lack of any buildup to this match. Braun looked dominant, Cena got beat up by Braun just like Roman used to – rip “I’m not finished with you” feud – and it was okay. Not amazing, but it made Braun look strong so I guess that’s all we needed anyways.
Miz-Daddy: Enzo Amore def. Intercontinental Champion The Miz via Disqualification
Miz announced he was a dad and then tore apart Enzo Amore in a thunderous promo. Now I’m not complaining, but is kayfabe just not a thing anymore? Or is WWE just wising up to their smart ass audience members like your truly? Either way, I love it. However, the match after was a snore-fest except for Enzo’s “Who’s your daddy” line. My god The Miz in the ring is white bread in the grocery store. It doesn’t stand out at all. Fun segment, unfortunate match.
Tag Team Turmoil: Raw Tag Team Champions Dean Ambrose & Seth Rollins & The Hardy Boyz def. Cesaro, Sheamus, Luke Gallows & Karl Anderson
Sure. This was… sure. I like all the superstars involved in this large 4 team feud so it was fine. I’m not sure why RAW keeps pushing the main event to 10pm, but I guess they just need to build some intrigue in that middle hour. Seth and Dean were great, the Hardys always get the big pops, so this was a success. Not an awe inspiring ending of RAW by any means, but fine.
OVERALL
By all accounts, this was a great RAW. There were big matches, lots of developments, and I was at least a little invested in every segment. Something that I noticed on this show was the lack of cruiserweight division action, which may be the reason the show was so immersive and meaningful. Sorry cruiserweights, but your absence did not make me at all sad. Everything this week was top notch, and No Mercy can’t come soon enough.
– Jon Weigell, M.A.T.
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