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wearywinchester · 3 years

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Tempers

Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, anger flares and feelings come out.

Requested by Anonymous: This is sooo ''let's pretend they're all alive' but I think we all need something nice now, could you do one where reader is bobby's daughter and she's your typical I like makeup, short skirts and heels girl and they're all (reluctantly) working with the ghost facers for a case, dean gets protective around her bc she's bobby's daughter and not at all bc he likes her no no what gave you that idea hehehe

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: little bit of jealousy, injuries, mentions of blood, swearing, brief mentions of alcohol, fluff, kissing

Hunting with the Winchester’s.

No matter the case, hunting with those two never failed to be interesting. You’d like to think you were a good hunter, in fact you knew you were. You might not have been the best there is but there’s not one hunter out there that hasn’t made a handful of mistakes on the job. It was bound to happen sometime. But you’ve had a pretty good hunter to learn from—your dad.

He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of you hunting, not in the slightest and he tried his hardest to get you to go another direction with your life. But Bobby Singer was as stubborn as they come, so he should’ve expected his daughter to be just the same as himself. With all of the reluctance in the world, he taught you to be the hunter you are today, and that’s something he can feel confident in even though he might not admit it.

Dean hadn’t taken you too seriously the first time you’d accompanied them on a hunt for a vamp nest, treating you as if you were a child despite the mere one year age difference the two of you held. That quickly changed when you saved him from a great deal of danger that night; three vamps against a disarmed Dean surely wouldn’t have gone very well.

That was something you very much held over his head, giving it a good long while before you finally let him live it down save for a few mentions here and there.

Even then Dean was just as protective as he’d been since you were teens nearly ten years ago, you were Bobby’s daughter. That was always his reasoning for insisting you stay close to him on hunts, for losing his temper should the smallest of things happen to you. That was his reasoning for being adamant that you stay back on hunts he deemed too dangerous, trying his hardest to convince Bobby to stick with him on it. Bobby never disagrees with his reasoning, but he also knows you’re too stubborn for your own good.

Dean was the very same way.

The old house looked like something straight out of a movie, the stereotypical haunted house as boards stick haphazardly over broken windows and the grass is far too overgrown. Nearly every corner was littered with spiderwebs, the siding on the house covered in years of neglected dirt and moss. It was only perfectly fitting that it’d be haunted, otherwise that’d be a waste of an abandoned house.

You squinted up at it as you got out of the backseat of the Impala, turning back to look at the long driveway you’d just driven up, lined with old trees on either side before glancing back at the house. Your gaze shifts to Dean as you smooth out your jacket, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowed as you look up at the older Winchester.

“Nothing,” he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a pair of those ridiculously tall heels on. I have to say I’m shocked.”

You roll your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek as he nudges the toe of your tattered old boots, his smile still remaining as he looks down at you in amusement.

“Well I guess I’m full of surprises then, aren’t I?” You say as you rub your gloss in with a smack of your lips and brush past him to get to catch up to Sam, the smile you’d tried to stifle now tugging at your lips once your back was to him. But he knew it was there just as much as you saw his was when you turned back around to catch his expression.

He chuckled, brows soon furrowing as he shook his head. “Wait—what’s that supposed to mean?”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and quickened his pace, grumbling to himself about what your words could have meant as his brows furrowed. In a matter of moments you nearly smack into Sam, stopping just in time.

“What is it?”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Dean mutters, and when you look at him that crease between his brows deepens and his jaw tenses, eyes rolling and you follow his gaze to the ever familiar van that sat parked on the other side of the trees. “Looks like the ghostbusters beat us to it.”

Ghostfacers.

You were more than surprised when Dean had caved on working the hunt with them, not without a couple of eye rolls and a few choice words for the pair mumbled not so discreetly under his breath. But all things considered, after what happened the last time, you were surprised he’d gone through with it. Although, Harry and Ed weren’t planning on leaving anyway. They may have been more than just a little intimidated by that ever famous Dean Winchester glare, one that never worked on you, but they weren’t scared enough to back down much to Dean’s dismay.

The more people there were, the better, but that didn’t stop the older Winchester from being protective over you. In fact, you were certain he was even more so.

“Stay with me,” Dean said, his words serious as he put his arm out in front of you, his gaze over at the two less than desired guests and their cameras having been less than pleased. Especially with the way they smiled at you and acted like a couple of fools with a crush.

“What am I five, Dean?” You say, pushing his arm down as you quicken your pace to walk with him rather than behind him.

He narrows his eyes down at you as his lips purse till those dimples appeared that you’ve come to know oh so well, and rarely were they not from discontentment.

“Would you slow down?” He huffs, a smile tugging at your lips.

You sigh, shaking your head in amusement.

You failed to miss the way the back of his hand had brushed over your knuckles as you walked along the shadowed hallway, thick with cobwebs and rubble scattering across the scratched wood floors. You were starting to wonder if the action was a simple accident or if he’d felt the same spark of something you couldn’t quite pinpoint in his chest as you felt in yours.

It could have been nothing, probably was, but you shook it off when you turned around the corner and tried not to think about it again.

The hunt was supposed to be easy. It was supposed to be a simple salt and burn, and it was one spirit against five people. Harry and Ed weren’t the best of help, not really, but it was more than you walked in with and it should have been better. But it wasn’t.

The spirit turned out to be far more vengeful than she let on, and as Dean suspected, it wasn’t a good idea to split up. Not in a house that was three times bigger than it seemed with a more than violent spirit on the loose. It most certainly didn’t help that the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, the house dark enough to begin with even in daylight, it’s boarded up windows and burnt out lightbulbs working against you.

Had you not been there, Dean would more than readily have split up to cover more ground with the extra set of hands accompanying you this time, it only made sense to do so. But you were. You were there and you were just as stubborn as ever as you stood there in favor of the very idea that was just the opposite of what Dean wanted. What was a good idea to you and one to most was the worst thing he could possibly think of. He didn’t want you to stray far from him for reasons he’d never admit, not to you or himself, instead reasoning with a simple ‘because I said so’.

But that phrase didn’t work on you. It never did.

He knew. From the moment those two barreled down the stairs looking paler than the spirit you were after, holding all the hesitancy in the world in their body language he knew. The apologetic look Sam had given him wasn’t one that helped either, anger quick to spark within him as he closed his eyes for a moment. He should have known better than to believe they’d offer you any form of protection even though he knows you can hold your own. He should have known better than to quit arguing with you on the matter because maybe, just maybe you’d have given in and split up with him instead. Maybe you would still be with the group and not who knows where in this maze of a run down mansion.

It was a mess of maybe’s and what if’s that clouded his every thought.

But he didn’t argue and you were gone. You were swept away by Casper the not so friendly ghost and he was to blame. Bobby would be livid if he knew, he gets that, but Dean himself didn’t know what he’d do if something happened. He could deal with the wrath of Bobby Singer any day but he couldn’t deal with even just the thought of something happening to you and he couldn’t find it in him to grasp just why it was he felt that way. Maybe he could, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

“You what?” Dean asked, anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. His question was low and the two words were more than venomous, more than telling of just how angry he’d been. He heard exactly what Ed had told him not thirty seconds before, he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He could believe it actually, because it was Ed of all people, but that wasn’t the point.

Ed swallowed thickly and offered a nervous laugh in an attempt to stave off the tension that’d been building the moment they came back to Dean without you, backing up from the green eyed Winchester who’d been staring him down with a narrowed gaze. It wasn’t hard to see that his patience was wearing thin, and he knew he was pushing it the more he stalled. “She—she went ahead! It’s not like we could talk her out of it!”

His fists clenched and relaxed at his sides at the reasoning he just heard, crescent shaped imprints of his nails left behind on his palms in the wake of his increasing anger.

“You let her out of your sight?” He said, far louder than before. He grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him against the dilapidated old wall, the wood creaking under the newfound pressure against it and a cloud of dust forming. He’s more than tense as Dean crinkles his shirt between his fists, knuckles ivory white and jaw clenched tightly. He could see every freckle and every ounce of emotion in Dean’s eyes, that’s how close he was. He could see the angry quiver in his bottom lip and the flare of his nostrils, could feel his breath hitting his face as he stood pinned to the wall and his glasses even fogged up.

“What, you thought you’d play ‘Mr. Tough Guy’, try and protect her? Huh? Cause you sure as hell didn’t do a good job,” Dean grits out frustratedly.

“She said she’d kick my ass if I didn’t let her go ahead!” He splutters, nearly nose to nose with him.

Dean nodded, the smile on his face bitter as he slid his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” he says, sweating bullets by that point as he buckled under the pressure of Dean’s distress. He let out a noise when he shook him slightly and he knows that’s not the answer Dean needs to hear right now. “We were on the second floor when a door slammed around the corner!”

“Actually, they all closed so it’s kinda hard to tell which one,” Harry chimed in, growing timid the more he spoke as he stepped closer to Sam as some form of protection. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed nervously when Dean’s stare fell on him.

“Dean, we’ll find her, okay? Right now we’re just wasting time,” Sam says, noting Ed was two seconds from fainting from the anger radiating off the older Winchester.

Dean pushed him back once more before releasing his grip on his shirt, wrinkled and disheveled from the tightness of his fists. It was becoming increasingly more apparent that this was about more than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter. It was about more than just his annoyance with anything and everything that has to do with Ghostfacers. It was you.

He was angry, livid, as he snagged the flashlight from the table, storming off on his own. Not without his anger getting the better of him, a nearby chair taking the brunt of his frustration as it hits the wall. He remembers just what happened the last time he got stuck working a hunt with them, and he tried his hardest not to think about it.

Meanwhile, you found yourself stuck locked in a room you knew you weren’t in before you were taken. A room you didn’t even know existed in this house to begin with. For being a run down old building, the flimsy doors were stronger than they looked, but you suppose the powers of the supernatural didn’t really care about things like that.

Your knuckles were an angry shade of red, fists sore and throbbing from having pounded them against the door for the better part of what had to be ten minutes in an attempt to escape or at least grab someone’s attention. You were tired as you slumped back against the wall, tucked within the sparse circle of salt you managed to make. Your phone was dead and your flashlight was gone, your energy seemingly just as drained as everything else.

You could feel the I told you so’s coming from Dean, you knew they’d be there ready and waiting if you get out of this. It’s not like it had been completely undeserved, but you didn’t want to hear it. You knew you more than likely looked worse for wear as you sat within that circle, knew by the way you saw smears of crimson on your fingers when you wiped your cheek. It was no secret that you messed up big time with this one, you’d admit that, but admitting it to yourself didn’t help you in that moment and you certainly wouldn’t say it to Dean.

You found there were a lot of things you were hesitant on admitting to Dean, and in the current moment you weren’t so sure if you’d have the chance to bring any of them to light. Maybe it was for the best anyway, could save yourself the embarrassment of having feelings for the older Winchester in the first place. Though you can’t tell what was scarier, the thought of his inevitable discontent with you and your hunting capabilities should you make it out alive, or the very real possibility that you wouldn’t make it out alive.

Yeah, you definitely couldn’t decide that one.

You weren’t sure how or when you found yourself pining over green eyes; the two of you bickered more often than not each and every time you saw one another. If it wasn’t over the smell of your perfume filling up the Impala, it was the way his cologne hung on you after he gave you a hug just to make that happen, just to ruffle your hair after you’d just done it. It was the softer smiles you shared with each other without even realizing it.

But it didn’t really matter, not now it didn’t.

You were caught up with the sting of embarrassment coursing through you from having gotten lost in the first place—you were so adamant that you could do it on your own. It happens to Sam all the time, it happens to Dean all the time, but you couldn’t stop the heat burning in your cheeks or the frustration building in your stomach.

You didn’t know how much time had passed nor did you have a second to think on it before she appeared in front of you in a matter of seconds. The look on her face had you sitting a little straighter, back pressing to the wall behind you as you eyed the pitiful salt ring around you. She laughed tauntingly and you were beginning to think even that wouldn’t protect you, you knew it wouldn’t judging by the way each and every granule began to sift away and break apart it’s protective ring.

You swallow thickly as your eyes widened, both your gaze and hers shifting to the door briefly as it rattled. “Y/n?”

Your breath hitched, only the smallest bit of relief washing over you as her attention returned to you almost immediately. “Dean!”

She didn’t seem to mind his attempts at busting the door down, nor the axe that split through the wood. She knew full well she could send him across the room with a simple twitch of her finger should he break through, watching as you scramble to your feet.

In a matter of seconds she’d appeared mere inches from you, her hand grabbing your face, cold and unforgiving. You didn’t know just what it was she’d been doing, but you were more than aware of the pain beginning to lance through you the moment she touched your skin.

It was near unbearable, a sharp burn radiating through you as a pressure squeezed in on you, intense and unwavering. You were quite sure you’d never felt something so intensely, the feeling nearly taking your breath away. Of all the hunts you’d been on, of all the injuries you walked away with, they’ve got nothing on this.

One thing she didn’t count on was the handful of salt you gathered in your palm, too caught up in your demise to see you’d snagged it from the protective ring she broke. You pressed your hand to her wrist and watched her face twist and contort in discomfort, the action searing her arm where you’d touched it and releasing her grip on you in an instant as if you were venomous.

She pushed you to the wall in retaliation with a simple move of her hand, and if you thought she’d been angry now, you surely were mistaken. You groaned as the fragile old wall behind you cracked and crumbled around you, slumping on the ground once more in exhaustion. You caught sight of Dean’s face as the door began to give way, livid yet holding something you couldn’t quite place as your heart hammered in your chest.

But luck seemed to be on your side just this once, fear flashing across her face as she stood mere inches from you. Her yelp was shrill as she stumbled backwards, having burned up in a blaze of misery and screams. Your chest heaved as your shoulders slumped in relief, the heat of her disappearance having fanned over you and the door breaking loose in a heap of shards and splinters.

The pain she’d caused had begun to ebb away and subside, leaving the ache to remain and the fatigue you felt to rest heavier in your body as you stood to your feet with a bit of unbalance.

Dean had crossed the room in a matter of a few strides, the axe clattering to the floor as his hand settled on your cheek. You looked miserable, mascara smudged and a frown on your busted lip.

“You okay?” He asked, the furrow deep between his brows.

“Do not say ‘I told you so’,” you grumble, half humorous as you look up at him.

His lips purse, his thumb swiping over the cut running along your cheek that he was less than pleased about. Any other time he might’ve laughed, but not this time. The worried crease between his brows and the way his lips pointed downward at the corners had been telling enough that he wasn’t happy with the predicament you’d gotten yourself into, that he was the complete opposite of thrilled at the close call that had his heart pounding and his stress in overdrive. But right now he was relieved. You were here and you were okay, attitude and all.

Sam was first to rush in, Harry next and Ed hot on his heels as they stepped over the rubble and splinters of the broken door.

Ed’s own relief washed over him, happy to not be on the receiving end of an angry Dean Winchester’s punch. “You found her—”

“Shut it.”

It’d been quiet the whole car ride home, no music on the radio, no conversation, no quick witted jokes or typical conversation. It was quiet and it was tense, near uncomfortable as Sam was stuck in the tension between two people he knows have something brewing between them. But he said nothing, pretending he didn’t see the way his brother’s gaze flickers to the rear view every other minute to see if you’re okay, his jaw tense and his grip on the wheel nearly too tight.

Bobby wasn’t thrilled to see the way that spirit roughed you up, more than a few choice words thrown Dean’s way with anger in his tone. He expected that much, having braced for it the whole ride back. He didn’t argue, didn’t do much more than nod and clench his jaw, and he didn’t say just how it was that it happened in the first place either.

Now you were wandering through your dad’s house, quiet unlike it had been just two hours earlier. Your dad and Sam had both been asleep, the early hours of dawn beginning to roll around as dawn approached. You knew better than to believe Dean would be sleeping too, your thoughts confirmed when the door to the bedroom he’d been crashing in was still open, bed empty and still untouched from when he’d haphazardly made it the morning before.

You sighed when you saw him, sitting by himself on the back porch swing and the moment you stepped outside you saw the half-drunk bottle of beer in his hand. His gaze lifted to you when he heard the creak of the door, averting his stare moments later.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Go to bed.”

“Then why aren’t you in bed?”

“Not tired,” he says, tipping his bottle against his lips as he takes another sip of his beer.

You huff out a soft sigh, arms crossing over your chest. That’s when he looks at you again, the dimness of the porch light having illuminated the jagged scratch on your cheek, freshly cleaned as well as the mascara that smudged under your eyes earlier. The tension in his jaw had yet to go away, obvious as ever.

“Are you going to be mad at me forever then?”

“‘M not mad anymore,” he says, and you knew for a fact that’d been a lie.

“You’re not that good a liar, Dean,” you say, watching him set his drink down and stand to his feet, leaning his weight on the wooden railing. “I had it handled, you know,” you say, watching his expression sour at your words.

You heard his scoff as you brushed past him, a sigh leaving your lips because you knew he’d react just the way he’d been acting. You were right with him, you were always right.

“Had it handled, my ass,” he said, quick to follow after you. “I told you not to do that.”

“Yeah, well I did it,” you said, and he turned in front of you and spun around, keeping you from walking any further.

“Would you quit it with the tough guy act? You’re hurt and you damn well know it, I know it. Hell, anyone can see that. So do yourself a favor and stop pretending like you had everything under control because I know you better than to believe that.”

Your brows furrow as you look up at him with a squinted gaze, watching as his chest rises and falls, at the way there was something more than anger pooling in his eyes as he looked at you. You’ve never seen him quite this upset over you before, not really, never seen him look at you that way before. He was angry, sure he was, but it was different.

He wasn’t wrong, you were hurting, it’s not everyday you’re on the receiving end of a vengeful spirits’ wrath. You went off on your own when you shouldn’t have been so bold and daring. But you were here. You were here and you were okay and you knew you were bound to do it again on another case. It was what being a hunter is about. You didn’t get this far by sitting back and letting the monsters out there come to you, you had to go out and look for them and if you got a few bumps and bruises then so be it.

“Why are you so mad, Dean?” You ask, watching his eyes roll. “You go out and do the same reckless things on a hunt, you’ve come out on the other side way worse than I did. But since it’s me, suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Exactly, it’s because it’s you!” He repeats, frustrated as ever as he throws his hands up. “And yeah I’m mad. I’m freakin’ pissed. You come in here thinking you’re invincible and you’re not Y/n. I’m mad because…” he paused, letting out a breath as he rubbed his face, hands running through his hair.

He looked at you then, expression softening as he calmed down a fraction. “Forget it.”

“No, not forget it,” you say, grabbing his wrist as he starts to walk away. His jaw was clenched as he looked down at you, swallowing thickly as the heaving of his chest slowed and his grip on the doorknob was tighter than ever.

This was the first time since you’d gotten back that he’d looked in your eyes for longer than a mere second or two. You knew he was on the brink of storming off to sulk in his own anger and guilt because that’s what he always did. You knew there was something more to it than just what he’d told you. He’d like to think that you’d believe that he wasn’t angry anymore, that he was over it. But Sam told you what happened back there, how upset he got with Ed and just how worried he’d been. It was growing increasingly obvious that there was more to it than that.

It was then that you noticed you’d still been holding onto his wrist and he didn’t pull away from you, didn’t make a move to.

You tilted your head to the side when you mulled things over, and that was when the sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He rolls his eyes, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t do that thing where you try and ‘read’ me,” he says, quoting the word.

“You were scared,” you said, smile widening a bit and he huffs, pulling his arm from your loose grip. You hit the nail right on the head.

“I was just doing what Bobby asked me to do,” he says, adamant that that was his reason for being as upset as he was. Definitely not over the feelings bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, just waiting to go ahead and boil over.

“No, you were scared, De,” you say as he starts to turn away from you in an attempt to hide the smile threatening to show. “You were scared that I got lost.”

You always did that. You always took his anger and made it something else entirely and he’d try his hardest to keep that wall up. He was mad at you, mad at you for putting yourself in the same kind of danger he allows himself to be in with every hunt he does. But if you keep poking and prodding him and calling him out on his true feelings with that smile that makes him weak in the knees he does know how long he’ll last.

“You got this all wrong, sweetheart.”

“Sam told me what happened with Ed back there.”

His expression changed, softened a bit before he played it off with that familiar smirk. “Yeah, Ed’s an idiot and he pushed my buttons.”

You nodded then, your smile more than telling that you didn’t believe a word he said. You heaved a sigh, a bit of disappointment burning in your chest at his words. Because maybe you did have it all wrong, maybe his stubborn reluctance to be honest was just him telling the truth. Maybe he was just doing what your dad asked him to do. Being protective was in his nature, you knew that for a fact.

You brushed past him on the porch and headed to the door, the chirping of the early morning birds sounding and giving you enough of a reminder that maybe you should go to bed. That maybe you’ll feel better with a few hours of sleep. That maybe they would be gone, Dean would be gone by the time you woke up and you wouldn’t have to face the fluttery feeling and the ache in your heart until the next time you see him.

You spin on your heel to find him already looking, your smile soft. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Without so much as a reply you twist the old brass doorknob, pushing the back door open before his hand grips your wrist. You turned back to look at him, brows furrowed as you gazed up at him. He swallows thickly as he looks at you, lips parting to speak but the very words he’d been thinking of so vividly were stuck on the top of his tongue.

His hand loosens around your wrist and the tips of his fingers slide down to your hand to envelope yours, calloused and warm and hesitant. He takes all but a few seconds of your curious gaze, of the questions sitting on your tongue before he dips down and presses his lips on yours. It’s soft, featherlight almost as he pulls away just as quickly.

He doesn’t stray too far, his nose brushing against yours as he swallows nervously, but the sight of your smile put him at ease. Had him kissing you with just a little more vigor as his hand drops yours in favor of pressing to your cheek, your own having settled in his arm. Your smiles mingle and press into each other, the kiss soft and languid as your cheeks burned under his touch.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” You murmur, and the way he hummed softly, the way he stole another kiss in favor of admitting you were was telling enough.

He pulls back to look at you, his lips kiss swollen and pink as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes bounce between yours and down to your lips, looking at you once more before he kisses you again. The anger he held is quick to melt when you look at him the way you do and he hates it, he loves it but he hates it because he really should be mad. You nearly got yourself killed and here he was weak in the knees and he knows you’ll be just as brave on the next hunt. He knows you’ll do just the same thing.

“Your dad’s gonna kill me,” he mumbles, smiling against your lips.

“Probably,” you say with a grin, his quiet laughter immediate as he pulls you closer.

But you were right. There was more to it than just protecting Bobby Singer’s daughter, there always was. As stubborn as Dean Winchester could be, you knew him better than that, and he knew you better than to believe you won’t make his heart race and his worry spike on every hunt after that. It’s just in your nature to be braver than ever.

But he’ll protect you each and every time.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @lanea-1 @campingmonkey

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x you

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veinsandknuckles · 3 years

Note

please write something w abed being comforted by his partner!! i don’t mind if it’s sfw or not!! just please make it soft and stuff! thanks!!

Very good prompt, thank you anon!!! Abed Nadir/Reader Abed shuts down, goes nonverbal and the reader helps him recover. PG-13 Content warnings: ableism, self harming stims, Autism Speaks (implied), reader and Abed are both hornballs (implied) I think I wrote a gender neutral reader, but if I didn’t succeed lmk what I should fix. Same goes for any content warnings I may have missed! -------- You turned heel and ran as soon as you heard Abed scream. There was nothing quite as painful, both sonically and emotionally, as that high pitched, drawn out shriek and you knew it never came until he’d been pushed well beyond his limits. It carried, too, before it trailed off - there was a good distance between your upcoming lecture and the library so by the time you threw open the door to the study room, you were out of breath.

Abed sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and Britta crouched beside him, awkwardly patting his shoulder and waving a hand in front of his face.

When she saw you, she got to her feet to give you room. “I don’t know what happened, I found him like this.”

“Thank you, Britta.” You got to your knees in front of him and Abed stared right through you. It would be alright - you had a plan. “Abed, can you talk?”

Abed blinked. You drew a deep breath and looked him over. His grip was a little tighter, his posture was a little more hunched. You studied his hands - his nails were digging into his arms, he was hurting himself. As counterintuitive as it sounded and as heartbreaking as it was to see, you knew this was a good sign.

You kept your tone and face as neutral as possible so he wouldn’t have anything to interpret. “Can you make a sound?”

He screwed his eyes shut and after a pause, he managed a little hum.

“Alright, good. Last question, are we doing scenario A?”

This time the hum came quicker and stronger. Once meant yes, twice meant no. Silence meant he was beyond choosing. You turned to Britta.

“Britta, do you have Abed’s class schedule?”

“I think so.” She got out her backpack and started rifling. You could tell she was nervous, and like most nervous people, this meant she wanted to talk. “I should have a copy in my wallet, or I can get one from -“

“Can you find his professors and tell them what’s up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great, thank you. I’ll keep you updated.” You turned back to Abed. “Abed, I’m going to grab you.”

With a bit of effort, you managed to get him on his feet with his arm across your shoulders. He stood on his own but held on tight. “Good. Now we’re going to walk, just follow my lead.”

The sight of the two of you staggering awkwardly down the halls was enough to make practically everyone stop and stare. You knew from experience that glaring right back sometimes prompted people to get out of the way but usually didn’t remind them to mind their own business. Abed had told you he didn’t notice, especially not when he was this far gone, and that if he noticed, he didn’t care. That didn’t stop you hurting on his behalf.

It took some doing, but in less than five minutes you made it to the right door. Abed walked on his own now so he entered ahead of you and stood motionless in the middle of the room while you turned on the lights, shut and locked the door behind you and made sure everything was as you’d left it. Popularity with the dean might be a mixed bag, but it definitely had its perks and the use of this dilapidated, dank corner of the campus as an emergency hide-out was one of them.

You made sure to walk into Abed’s eye line before touching him again, then took him by the arm and led him to an armchair placed against the far wall. He sat and you sat beside him.

From under your own chair, you got out a box of emergency supplies and dug out a candy bar, thanking the stars that no rats or stoners had found this little stash yet. You peeled off the wrapper and handed it to Abed who held it in both hands and took a bite. Slowly, gradually, his breathing deepened and his limbs relaxed.

“What time is it?” His voice was steady but quiet.

“It’s twenty minutes past three.”

“I have a test.”

“That’s alright, you can take it over another day. Britta is filling everyone in”

Abed sighed. He’d finished the candy and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“You want another one?”

He held his hands out, but wide apart, and you placed the whole box in his lap so he could help himself.

It always baffled you when people insisted Abed was difficult to read - all you’d had to do to learn was watch, listen, use a very little imagination and then ask him to explain whatever wasn’t logically obvious. He fished out a Rubik’s cube and went to work of separating the colours as thoroughly as he could.

“Thank you,” he said and looked at you properly for the first time.

For now, as long as nothing caught him off guard and he was careful, the danger had passed. You smiled and squeezed his knee. “Always.”

“Aren’t you missing your classes?”

“Eh. I like to be a little unpredictable - keeps them on their toes.”

He smiled back. “People love a good mystery. Simple mysteries, anyway.”

“Who are you calling simple?”

Abed looked a little questioning, so you waggled your eyebrows to signal that you were kidding. His expression didn’t change. “You’re not simple. You figured me out and not even I got very far with that.”

“I don’t know about all that... it’s usually easier to understand other people’s problems than to understand your own.”

“I guess that’s true.” He seemed to be working through something, so you let him be until he spoke again. When he did, he sounded hesitant. “Will you get bored?”

“How do you mean?”

“Once you’ve figured me out.”

“Abed, you’re not a puzzle.”

“I don’t know. A lot of awareness campaigns would disagree with you.”

“No, I meant you’re not a puzzle because that implies a challenge.”

Now he stared at you and his slightly offended expression made you laugh. It might suck to always be called special, but it did still mean you were special.

“Being with you is not hard work. At least it isn’t hard work for me.” But Abed didn’t look reassured, so you went on. “Does it feel like I’m trying to solve you?”

“I’m not sure. You’re methodical. Maybe I just worry about it, so I look for signs...”

You reached out and put an arm around him. Abed leant his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to make you feel like that because it’s not true. I love all of you. If I just wanted to learn how to help someone through a shutdown, there’s easier ways to do that than dating you.”

“Cool.” He held up his hand and you laced your fingers between his.

“Should I do anything differently?”

“No... I just needed to be sure.”

“What happened to stress you out, anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t interesting.”

You snorted. “Alright then.”

He leaned out, a small smile playing on his lips. “So, if you're not dating me for my mind, it must be because I’m physically irresistible.”

“Of course it is.”

“Cool.”

“Every time you talk about Inspector Spacetime I tune out your voice and imagine climbing you like a palm tree.”

“What?”

“I meant -“ you began, but then Abed waggled his eyebrows and you laughed. “Oh, I see. Very nice.”

“My mind was somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

He pulled at you, gently, and you slipped out of your seat to sit on his lap. Abed put his arms around you and kissed you and the kiss still tasted of sugar. When he broke it, you felt short of breath for the second time that day.

You leaned your forehead against his to steady yourself and forced yourself to ask, “are you ready to get back out there?”

“Technically, yes. If I lie, will you stay here with me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m not ready.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

#abed nadir x reader #abed x reader #abed nadir imagines #community fanfiction #abed nadir imagine #my fics #Anonymous #actually autistic #actuallyautistic

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2

WC: 1728

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: mentions of sexual themes, alcohol consumption, past relationships

🧠

You and Laszlo had easily fallen back in your work routine during the first week back. His course load was almost identical to that of the previous semester, and so he didn't mandate that you come to classes like he had during the fall. Even so, you insisted on attending like usual.

Taking your seat at the back of the lecture hall you watched as he moved around the front while he spoke. You were supposed to be sorting through the information cards the students had filled out. Not much was actually getting done, as you were highly distracted. His right hand typically found home in his trouser pocket so as not to draw attention. But his left? You licked your lips. Of course you loved both of his hands, but with his favoring the left side you developed a certain affinity for the limb. Oh what his hand was capable of, you reminisced.

Your sigh must have been louder than you anticipated, as Laszlo’s eyes snapped in your direction. “Perhaps if you are bored you should keep your noises of displeasure to yourself,” he said with a quirk of his brow. His face held a look of annoyance, but his eyes told you otherwise. He knew exactly what you were thinking about based on the sound you made and it amused him to no end. You knew he meant nothing by the harsh statement. He did so to maintain his staunch reputation in front of the class.

Biting your lip you issued a “sorry, professor.” Even from across the room you could see the brief flicker of heat in his eyes at your 'apology'. To everyone else the encounter would probably leave them shitting themselves, but you knew better. Even a small success such as this was to be celebrated in your mind.

You had been hoping that you could push Laszlo to be a bit rougher with you sometimes. He would often restrain himself when you were intimate, but you had an inkling that underneath he was just itching to let go. By no means were you ever left unsatisfied, he made damn sure of that. You wanted to kick things up a notch; you wanted to see what he was capable of.

He cleared his throat. Picking up where he left off, he began “as you can see, within psychology there is no single truth. No one theory that can fully or definitively explain who we are, why we are, or what becomes of us. That is why we must always ask of ourselves the purpose of our nature and our choices. This term will be a glimpse of seeking answers to our questions. In the meantime - you have a quiz on Monday for the parts of the brain and their functions. Do not be late or come with excuses, I do not give makeups often, if ever. Have a nice weekend.”

With that the young underclassmen all shuffled out to go spend their weekend most likely partying, rather than studying. You really couldn’t blame them, as this section of Introductory Psychology was in the late afternoon. As an undergrad you would have probably done the same on a Friday night.

Both you and Laszlo packed up your things from your respective areas of the room. Once the last student was gone he called out to you. “Sara and John want to meet up this evening, would you like to accompany them or do you have plans?”

“Will you be there too, or are you too busy with paperwork and stuff?” He had been complaining of having a list to work through this week with some new documentation requirement the university put out on the professors. You trek down the stairs to meet him by the front desk.

“I think it would be odd of me to invite you out in the event that I would not be there myself,” he quips back. His hand comes to rest on your side.

You hum in response. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week.”

He chuckles at you, “you’ve spent every day with me.”

“You know what I mean.” Peering around to ensure no one was present, you lean up to give him a quick kiss. “What time do they want us there?”

He checks his phone for the text from John. “In half an hour.”

“Then we better get going before he hogs all the pretzels,” you crack.

The two of you made your way from the university to the old pub a few blocks down the road. Students didn’t come here often, as it was geared towards the older and less rowdy crowd. It was perfect for the four of you though. You had even gotten on with the owner, Cyrus, and his niece Joanna, who often worked the bar.

You sat in the booth next to Laszlo; Sara and John opposite you. The first 45 minutes or so were spent going over the events of the past week back. Eventually, the conversation slowed.

“I think I should get us another round. What do you say?” Sara asked the table. You slid out from your side offering to give her a hand with collecting the new beverages. Laszlo watched as you walked alongside her to the bar, laughing at something Cyrus had said to you. You always looked so beautiful when you were laughing.

“So…” John began, getting his attention. Laszlo turned to face his friend. “I heard a rumor.”

“You know I don’t put credence into such things, out with it John.” Clearly whatever he wanted to discuss he didn’t wish to say in front of your presence. Despite his words Laszlo did have some trepidation about the upcoming conversation. Could it be about you? Maybe you two weren’t being delicate enough with keeping the relationship subtle?

John looks over to the bar where you and Sara are still procuring the drinks. “Karen is in town.”

He relaxed at the turn of events. “Ah, yes. She is guest lecturing at the university while she conducts research of some kind in the city.” Laszlo is matter-of-fact in his response.

John studies him for a minute. He looks concerned. “It’s been what, four years since you last saw her? Or have you seen her yet?”

“I have not. Why do you ask?” He brings the near empty glass to his lips to take a sip of the harsh liquid.

“Well, Laszlo, I just mean that you two were serious for a long time before you moved out here. In fact I had figured you would settle down with her. You left her in Austria to come here, after all,” he explains quietly.

Laszlo cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see how that would be a concern. The dissolution of our relationship was mutual - she stayed in Vienna; I came to New York. We did not want the strain of attempting something long distance and we both came to the same conclusion on the matter. And it has been four years, John, as you so kindly reminded me. I have moved on and I am quite content now.” His tone was nonchalant.

He is happy. You were vibrant, and thoughtful, and he couldn’t say that he had felt this lighthearted in years. His years with Karen were wonderful, but in truth they didn’t compare to what he had now with you. For once he felt hopeful for what the future with you could bring. It wasn’t as strong a consideration with Karen.

John holds up his hands as if to defend his words. “I’m glad for that, truly. She’s wonderful for you and I can see that. I just worry that Karen’s presence might cause a resurgence of emotions or whatnot with you. Sara and I would hate to see things fall apart for the two of you after everything,” he gestures towards where you stand with her. “Are you going to tell her about Karen?”

Laszlo nods in understanding. “I appreciate the concern, John. But I assure you, I view Karen strictly in professional terms now. I look forward to hearing about her studies here as they could be illuminating for my courses.” He sees movement from you and Sara as you begin your return. “I do not see myself withholding information regarding my past with Karen, but I don’t know that I find it necessary to bring it up as of yet.” John’s nod is faint, as though he disagrees but isn't willing to say so. The conversation is cut short by you setting drinks on the table.

You all stay another hour at the bar. Laszlo’s thigh rests against you, his right hand atop your own leg. Occasionally you can feel the way his thumb lightly strokes you through your jeans. He makes it hard to pay attention to what Sara is saying to the group; little bolts of lightning shoot up your leg and to your core. When your legs clench Laszlo doesn’t seem to notice.

Aside from the growing arousal within you, the soft clink of the index finger of his left hand grabs your attention. A steady tap tap tap as he hits the side of his whisky glass. The movement brings you back to your thoughts during his lecture earlier, how the thick digits with their calloused tips drive you absolutely mad when they brush against your skin. You swallow.

This time Laszlo is aware of your state. His eyes shift to you from where he sits to your left. The two of you hadn’t had time or energy to be intimate since that night he took you to Delmonicos. The lack has taken its toll as you give him that look.

Abruptly Laszlo faces the others. “I would hate to cut our evening short, but I have more paperwork to fill out by Monday for the Dean. I would rather get it done so that I may enjoy my weekend. John, Sara.” He nods his farewell as he nudges for you to move out of the booth. You hold back your giggle at his insistent need to get home.

John looks slightly confused with the suddenness of your departure. A look of understanding comes over him with a whisper from a smirking Sara. With a wave the two of you leave into the cold January night.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @thatoneartgalsstuff @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks

#psychopathia sexualis #the interpretation of dreams #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #the alienist angel of darkness #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #daniel bruhl laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler fanfic #scuttle-buttle #daniel bruhl fanfiction

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waywardbeanie · 4 years

Text

A Man of Letters - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader Summary: It started as a simple hunt for Sam and Dean Winchester. Dean didn’t realize that this single case would change his life forever. Now they are on the biggest mission of their lives, and without the use of cellphones, the only way he can communicate with the love of his life is through old fashioned letter writing. He has done everything in his power to keep her safe, but will it be enough? Word Count: 7212 (ish)

Series Warnings: Language, slow burn, angst, smut, alcohol consumption, fluff, SPN typical violence (individual chapters will contain relevant warnings) a little meta Chapter Warning: IT’S CHRISTMAS, humor (Is that really a warning?) and a little bit of sweet.(Always), angst, spicy (smut), unprotected (ish) sex

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read this series so far, I have loved writing it and watching the characters grow. I appreciate EVERY ONE OF YOU who are taking this journey with me. We are a little less than half way there so BUCKLE UP!

Thank you to my beta @winchest09 and my mind melder, idea bouncer and my cheerleader @whatareyousearchingfordean I would be lost without you both!

Thank you to @talesmaniac89 she is the gif MASTER!

MASTERLIST A Man of Letters

If you’d like to be tagged, my list is open. Just send me an ask HERE: **Make sure you check out the playlist, it is updated every chapter and an essential part of the story**

Spotify Playlist : A Man of Letters

Catch up here >>>>>>> A Man of Letters Masterlist

This series is ongoing!

No Gif’s are mine

Y/F/N “Santa’s Little Helper” Y/L/N

127 Washington St

Lincoln, NE 68506

Babe,

I will tell you it took me a few minutes to read your letter because I just wanted to look at the pictures that you sent. You're right, one of us in bed being lazy is my new favorite. The way you smile in that picture is exactly how you smile at me when you wake up in the morning. I love it on the one hand, but it's sad too. If I close my eyes and it's quiet, I can almost imagine myself back there. I love the one at the bonfire. That hangover was awful, it's a great picture, and we look like we are having fun. How do you think I would forget the beach picture with my favorite bathing suit? I can tell you that you went to the edge of the water to wash your feet and legs off. I called your name, you looked at me over your shoulder and blew me a kiss, right before you laughed and I took the picture.

Thank you for sending them, just like with all the photos you take they tell a story, I'm just lucky enough to be in your story. That first Thanksgiving together was awesome, we had so many people we care about there. Sam and I had a real Thanksgiving meal that wasn't from a gas station or TV dinner. Of course, thinking of that makes me think about Christmas. You went out of your way to make it memorable. I had never had a real tree that I remember, but cutting down my own? I didn't realize what I was missing. Christmas morning was still the best. I still can't figure out how you and Sam were able to pull it off.

We have gone on three raids since your last letter and have come up with a lot of nothing. They knew we were coming, that is the only thing I can think of. Sam and I talked about it, we have an idea that maybe someone around here is running their mouth, so we are locking shit down. Unless we need to go for supplies, everyone stays here; if they go out, it's in pairs now. We did find a couple of ledgers that were left behind. Charlie is putting them all into a computer and will try to make sense of them or decide if they were left there to throw us off the trail. We are still training; sometimes, I get so angry; it's what gets me through.

I sat down with Sam the other day and finally told him my plan. I was going to wait until this job was over, but I honestly thought this job would have already been over. He blew my mind when he told me he was surprised I hadn't done it already. He said he knew by that first Christmas that it was just a matter of time, that I would leave this life behind within five years. He knew I couldn't walk away until we wrapped things up as neatly as possible, which, as you know, is why I'm on this job. I no longer feel like I'm walking away from my brother, but that I'm walking towards something, I'm just fucking ready.

Before I sign off, I want to tell you how proud I am that you were chosen again as the official photographer! You are so good; there is no one else they could have picked! I hope I have better news next time, but unless something breaks soon, I won't be back in time to help with the parade this year, but I know you will be great! Watch your back until I can.

I Love You,

2 ½ years ago

Tink: Sam, I need your help with something.

Sam: Are you okay?

Tink: Yes, I'm fine; it's about a present for Dean. Can you talk?

Sam: He is sitting right next to me.

Tink: Can you get up?

Sam: We are in the car

Tink: You didn't tell him it was me texting you, did you? I want it to be a surprise.

Sam: No, but he is starting to give me weird looks.

Tink: Can you see the face I'm giving you right now, Sam? This is a SECRET

Sam: okay well stop saying shit that makes me laugh because he just asked me who I was texting like a schoolgirl

Tink: Ugh!. Can you call me when you guys get to the motel, but it should be before or after Dean calls. Please. Shhh a SECRET

Sam: I'll call before because you guys are on the phone half the night, and I'm not staying up that late.

Tink: I'm STILL giving you the face Sam

Sam: Okay, I'll call. I got to go. Dean just rolled down the window and is giving me a look. I'm not going to lose another one of my phones so ttyl.

Standing side by side, arms crossing their chest in matching poses, they studied the tree that they put in the stand in the front living room window.

Y/N pressed her lips together in a line, "I think it needs to go on the back porch; it's too big."

"What!" Dean cried, "It's perfect. I just might need to trim it a little."

She shook her head, disagreeing with him, "It's wider than I am tall at the bottom and-" she gestured to the ceiling laughing, "-it's all scrunched up at the top, like by a foot. We would have to put a dangly star ornament as a tree topper. The tree is actually bent over."

"Okay," he chuckled, "It might be a little bigger in this room than I thought it would be."

"Dean," she pointed to the tree, "there is actually a picture window behind that tree, but you can't tell because it's so…" she gestured her hands around.

"Fluffy?" Dean suggested.

Y/N giggled, "first of all, hearing you say the word fluffy, makes me laugh. Second, if we light a fire in the fireplace, that tree will go up in smoke."

"You know, Babe," Dean said, bumping her hip, wiggling his eyebrows, "fluffy could be our safe word."

"Really?" she questioned, rolling her eyes with a smile, "since when do we need a safe word? I don't need one. Do you need one?"

He pulled her into his arms, brushed her hair away from her face as he dragged his teeth along her jaw; he continued to kiss down her neck, his scruff marking her neck.

"Codeword," was her breathless response.

"Huh?" he pulled away looking at her.

With a smirk, she focused on his face. "Fluffy should be the code word to why we can't ever get anything done when you are here."

"That sounds like you're complaining."

"Uh...no that is not complaining, it is an observation." She flashed him her brightest smile as she fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Complaining would be bitching that I could sit in the kitchen; and hang ornaments on the tree." Dean took that moment to look at her, to appreciate the woman in his life. She made his heart sing whenever she was near. Not wanting to waste another second, he hauled her body to his, crushing his mouth to hers, swallowing the gasp of shock; taking the opportunity of her open mouth to deepen the kiss. His tongue dancing with hers, he moved his hand up, pulling off her knit hat and entangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her skull, pulling her closer as a moan rumbled through his chest. With her hands fisted in his jacket, they broke away, catching their breath. Her lips quirked up in a smile as she looked up at him.

"See?" she pointed out, "you distract me with all of your flannel lumberjackness."

He chucked, "Well, I did just chop down our first Christmas tree, even if we had to wait for Christmas Eve to do it."

"Hmm," she hummed, eyeing the tree out of the corner of her eye. "Do you need help with whatever we are doing with it?"

"Nah," he said, pulling his gloves out of his back pocket, "Sammy will be here soon, he can help me with it. I'm just going to drag it back outside".

"Hold on," she said, pulling her phone out of her back pocket, "let's take a picture in front of the tree first." They stood in front of the tree, as she snapped the selfie as they both wore matching cheesy grins.

Sam got to Y/N's bungalow just as Dean finished bringing the tree out the front door. They worked together to cut it down, shaking all the snow off before bringing it back into the house. Y/N was in the kitchen, pulling out the cornbread she made to serve with the chili that had been cooking all day in the crockpot. After they ate, Dean helped her get the ornaments out of the attic. She had already decorated the rest of the house weeks earlier but wanted to wait for him to get the tree. After dinner, Y/N turned on the Christmas music as she made hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps; she brought it into the living room, standing back to watch Sam and Dean pass the lights back and forth, wrapping the tree with them.

"Hey Babe," Dean looked back at her, motioning to the tree, "what do you think? Pretty great, huh?"

"It's beautiful," she smiled. "I made some hot chocolate," she gestured, holding up the Santa Claus mugs, "to drink while we hang ornaments." They both looked at her with matching scrunched noses and raised eyebrows.

Rolling her eyes, she held out the mugs, "Try it, before you start making those faces at me. "Have I ever made you anything you didn't like?”

"Butter beans," Dean mumbled.

Y/N exhaled a long breath. "Does it look like I'm trying to give you a mug of butter beans? Whatever-" she set the mugs on the coffee table, "you guys are missing out." With that, she wrapped her hands around her cup and took a long drink.

"Y/N, don't be mad," Sam said, picking up the mug. "I'm sure it's good hot chocolate." Taking a sip, his eyes grew large. "Damn, Y/N, these taste like Girl Scout cookies."

"What?" Dean questioned, picking up his mug, "I love Girl Scout cookies."

"No kidding." Y/N deadpanned.

Taking a swig, he licked his lips, "It tastes like the Thin Mints."

"You don't say," she said looking over the rim of her mug as she took another drink.

"Well, you didn't say you made hot chocolate that tastes like cookies."

"Anyway," she set her mug down, "I got you both something, I want you to open before we hang up ornaments.” She walked over to the fireplace decorated with pine garland, multiple sized white candles scattered over the entire mantle. Tucked in the corner, were two small gifts wrapped in white tissue paper. She handed Dean the one with the red ribbon and Sam the one with the green ribbon.

"Wait," Dean said, turning the small package in his hand, "Are we doing presents now?"

Y/N shook her head, "This is just a small thing I made for you guys, go on, open them."

She bit her lip as she watched them pull the ribbon and tear open the paper. Inside they each found an "S" and a "D," respectively made of thin wood with a ribbon attached at the top. On each was multiple pictures of themselves decoupaged on the letter.

"I forget how many pictures you take," Sam said, holding it up by the strip of cloth as he studied it, "it's an ornament, right?"

"It is," she smiled. "I wanted you each to have your very own ornament to hang on the tree too."

As Dean stared at the ornament, studying the pictures, he mumbled almost to himself, "I can't remember ever having my own ornament before."

Before she knew it, they had both engulfed her in a hug, squeezing her. "I. Can't. Breathe," came her muffled plea.

Sam stepped back, his hand rubbing her upper arm. "Thank you, Tink, this means so much."

Dean took the opportunity to pull her against his chest, his lips brushing the shell of her ear squeezing her just a little tighter "Babe, you have no idea how special this is.”

They turned the Christmas music up as they hung ornaments on the tree with a couple for refills of the spiked hot chocolate and the cookies she had made earlier. After they finished, Dean built a fire in the fireplace as Y/N put all of the presents under the tree. They sat around the living room, the only illumination from the tree and the fire. Dean settled in his "spot" on the couch, draping his arm over the back, Y/N lying next to him, with her toes tucked under his thigh. At this point, it was a habit; it's how they always sat there together.

Sam sat across from them on one of the comfy chairs. She shared stories of when she was a kid at Christmas, and Sam and Dean shared some stories of how they spent their holidays. She made them tell her a couple of stories twice. Her favorite was of them bursting into this Rent-a-Santa trailer because they thought he was murdering someone, but he was just smoking pot, getting drunk, and watching porn, so they sang Silent Night to get out of it.

Standing up, Sam stretched his arms over his head, yawning. "I'm going head to bed."

"Night Sammy," they said in unison.

Raising his eyebrows, he shook his head at them with a huff of laughter, "Yeah, see you two in the morning."

He made this way to the second bedroom of Y/N's bungalow. It was her office, but she had also made it into a guest room for him. He quietly closed the door, pulled off his clothes, folded them, and placed them on the chair. He pulled on his flannel sleep pants and a clean t-shirt. He slipped into the crisp sheets of his bed; he laced his fingers behind his head and settled into his pillow with a smile. He could hear the hum of voices from the living room as he let his mind wander.

Sam could see the changes in Dean since he met Y/N, especially when he was here. Dean was very tight-lipped about her unless it was just the two of them, but he could tell Dean was trying to put things in order. He knew he wasn't going to leave things unfinished. Now that Gabriel is back, it was just a matter of time before they could open the rift again to get Mom and Jack. After they were home safe, he knew Dean was going to walk away from hunting; his priorities had changed. It wasn't that Dean didn't want or think people needed saving; he was just tired.

Dean talked more to Sam about how he felt since Y/N came into their lives than all of the years before. There were little snippets here and there, but Sam paid attention. It was the little things that he said and, maybe louder, were the things he didn't. Sam knew Dean had sacrificed so much, had saved him so many times, hell, they both had, but this time he knew it was going to be for good. Once Dean walked away, he would never come back. That didn't make him angry, it scared him, if Dean wasn't there he had some big shoes to fill, Sam wasn't sure that he was good or strong enough to do what Dean has done for all of these years, but Sam was willing to try because after everything his brother had done for him, this was the thing he could do for Dean. Closing his eyes with a smile, he listened to the murmur of their voices and the soft sound of Christmas music as he fell asleep.

Standing up, Dean reached his hand out to Y/N, slipping her hand in his, he pulled her from the couch.

"Come on, Babe," he smiled as he led her in front of the fireplace, the twinkling lights from the tree bouncing around the room.

Dean pulled her to him, took her right hand in his and rested his hand at the small of Y/N's back. "Dancing with you, this is one of your favorite Christmas songs."

She tilted her head to listen, hearing Michael Bublé singing, "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

As he rubbed his thumb across the top of her hand, she smiled up at him as they moved around the living room.

"Dean, you hate dancing."

"But, you don't," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips, "besides, I don't hate dancing. How could I hate something that means I can have you right here in my arms."

It was in that moment that Y/N’s heart swelled, an overwhelming feeling of admiration and love for the man holding her flooded her soul. She pulled back slightly, capturing the look of his green eyes twinkling in the firelight. “I lo-” she began, her mouth snapping shut as her lips closed, heat creeping up her face as he raised his eyebrow. Her mouth hung agape for a second, as she tried to find the words to cover up her stumble. “I-I love this song, this time of year,” she stammered, lowering her eyes to fixate on the collar of his shirt. She reached up to start fixing it, “so, so much,” she finished in a mumble.

Dean slowed the dancing, his eyes not once moving from her face as she fumbled with the clothes he was wearing. He knew he needed to do something, they had been dancing around the ‘L’ word for months but this is the closest one of them had come to saying it. The silence in the air was palpable and Dean swallowed hard. Before he could even begin to take an action, Y/N cleared her throat.

“Anyway, I think that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard come out for your mouth,” she chuckled, her nerves engulfing her as she rested her forehead against his chest.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Eh, I've had better lines, and worse," he chuckled, deciding to let the near slip up slide.

"Great."

"Come on Babe, you know it's not like that anymore, I flirt if I need information, but that's it."

She lifted her head to look at him, "I'm not worried, Dean. We talk pretty much every night, and you come here every chance you can, even when you are all banged up after a job. I mean, I never thought I would learn how to stitch a person up." Rubbing her hand up and down his back she smiled. "The women don't concern me, they can't help themselves. I mean, look how they act around here, and I'm with you.”

"They are just trying to be helpful."

"Hmm," she hummed. "Yeah, they want to help you do something."

"It doesn't matter; I usually don't notice until you start laughing." He smirked

"Exactly! That's what makes it so funny. They are falling all over you, and you don't even notice. Then I start laughing because it is so obvious and that's when you start looking around. That's one of the reasons I know I have nothing to worry about. Women aren't my concern; it's your job." She ran the back of her fingers along his scruffy jaw, looking into his deep green eyes. "I can't imagine anyone is as good as you are; it just scares me sometimes. I know you went to Hell and the Mark of Cain, what if something happens like that again?"

He stopped swaying to the music as he captured her hand and held it against his face. "Y/N, I would be lying if I didn't say what we do isn't dangerous, I'm not going to blow smoke, but it isn't like it used to be, I know I have Sam, but now I also have you. I know what is important."

"Dean, what if you don't have a choice?"

"There is always a choice, Babe. Team Free Will and all, I'll be fine."

"Just come back to me, please don't make Sam have to make that phone call."

Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly. "Always Babe. I will always come back to you."

"You better," she sniffed.

"Hey," he chuckled "No, crying, it's Christmas."

"I'm not crying," she smiled through her tears, "I have allergies."

He wiped her tears with his fingers, then wiped them on his jeans. "You know we have danced to like three songs by now."

"Well, I guess that will at least get you to New Year's Eve" she laughed

They blew out the candles and tapped down the fire, leaving the tree lights on and headed to bed. Dean stripped down to his boxers, and Y/N changed into a t-shirt with her boy shorts. Crawling under the covers, Dean turned off the bedside lamp and pulled her into his side, her head resting against his chest and listened to his heart's steady beat.

Dean blinked open his eyes as he found himself lying on his side, Y/N's back pressed against his chest, his arm draped around her waist. He breathed deep, his nose ghosting her exposed neck. Then she did it again, she began to push against him, and grind into him in her sleep, a soft moan escaping her lips as she felt his erection pressing against her, inflaming his need. He pulled her body tighter against him as he rubbed his hardness against her, eliciting another moan from Y/N. She woke up and turned her head to him with a sleepy smile before he captured her lips with a deep kiss. Rolling her on her back, he began to kiss down her neck, his shirt that she had claimed from him months ago in his way. Sitting back on his heels between her legs, he grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and unceremoniously yanked it off and threw it on the floor. She had gotten him so worked up that he was on a mission. Running his hands up her thigh, he settled his fingers in the crease of her legs, his thumbs brushing against the material of her boy shorts. A gasp escaped her lips as his thumbs continued to rub her through the cloth.

"It looks like I wasn't the only one getting worked up this morning," he grinned. Y/N tried to move closer, but he held her in place. He leaned down, ran his tongue alongside the band of her underwear, pulling a whimper from her as her hips involuntarily bucked.

"Dean," she whined, "stop teasing and get moving, I'm about to lose my damn mind here.”

He pulled off her underwear in one swift move. As his eyes focused on her hip, he stopped moving; an eerie growl rumbling through his chest. Mesmerized, his fingertips reached out, tracing the ink there. The tattoo is the size of his fist and is an anti possession matching the one on his chest; his eyes snapped to hers as he sees a vulnerability in her as she watches him, the need to protect her exploding inside of him.

"When did you do this?" he rasps.

"Sam helped me two weeks ago," she whispered, now not so sure by the look on his face that she had done the right thing.

"Why?" he croaked.

"Because you were worried about me, and-" she stuttered, "-and I thought if I did this, you wouldn't be as stressed out."

His heart beat hard in his chest as his vision danced between her new ink and her eyes. Y/E/C orbs that were clearly showing Dean her raw feelings for him. It was then that he questioned why it took him so long to tell her how he felt, always running away from others who tried to share their heart with him. Yet maybe it was because Dean was always running to her, even before he even knew she existed. As he ran his thumb over her hip, he knew he needed to tell her; he had to, his chest ached at the thought he had kept those words to himself for so long. A slow, peaceful grin spread across his face he laid down next to her, pulling her into his arms. She slowly brushed her finger over the tattoo on his chest.

"Dean?" she questions with an anxious tone, her heart sinking, afraid that she had gotten it all wrong.

He swallows a lump in his throat as the words his heart demands that he speak, wage war within him. What if in telling Y/N, the forces outside his control tear her away from him? But, if he doesn't tell her soon, will she walk away with the belief that none of this was real?

He brushes her hair away from her face as he cups her cheek, lifting her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes are glassy as she blinks back at him; she feels lost. Usually, she is strong and fierce, but she feels on the verge of despair right now. Smiling softly, he tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

"I want you to be safe; I need you to be, you to know you can always count on me.”

"You can count on me too, Dean, always."

He nodded his head, his smile never wavering, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he pulled back.

"I love you, Y/N.” His words whispered against her skin, “I've loved you for so long that it's hard for me to remember when I didn't. You have changed my life in ways I didn't think were possible." He pulled in a shaky breath, feeling the weight lifting off his shoulders as he found the courage to tell her. "I want you to know that I am all in Babe, I want it all with you."

A sound between a sob and a laugh escapes her lips, tears roll down her face, but the smile she gives him is like the brightest sun in a clear blue sky. He looked down to notice the pure joy radiating from her.

Bringing her hand to his cheek, she tries to speak, her throat clogged with emotion. "I love you too, Dean. Oh my God-" she laughs, “you have no idea”

He rested his forehead against hers, voice cracking, "I love you so fucking much, Babe."

He pressed his lips softly to Y/N's before deepening the kiss. He urged her back onto the mattress, holding his weight above her on his elbows just as a loud banging sounded on the wooden bedroom door, shaking it in its frame. Breaking the kiss, he looks towards the door, "Sam; I swear to God-"

"-get your asses up," Sam calls through the door. "It's Christmas, and we have presents to open."

"Sam!" he barks, "Not now."

He can hear Sam's laughter through the door while Y/N is chuckling underneath him.

Turning back to her, a quirk to his lips, he whispered huskily, "We were having a moment here."

"He has radar remember," she giggles a little louder.

The pounding on the door begins again, "Let's go!"

“We will be out in a minute!" Dean snaps.

"I don't believe you," Sam continues to bang on the door with his fist. Consistent, not stopping.

Dean moves off the bed jerking his jeans up off the floor, tugging them on as Y/N scrambles to pull on her shorts and t-shirt. Storming over to the door, Dean grabs the doorknob and whips the door open.

"Dude," he snarls.

"Morning," Sam smiles, taking a drink of his mug of coffee, "you guys up?"

Dean looks incredulously at his brother, "You're kidding me right now?"

A burst of laughter comes from behind him as Y/N tries to squeeze her way through the doorway, pausing to plant a kiss between Dean's shoulder blades. "Come on, let's get some coffee and I'll put the cinnamon rolls in the oven," she says, speaking against his naked back.

"Oh, good," Sam chuckles, stepping back, "I'm starving."

Walking back in the room, Dean grabs his shirt pulling it over his head, mumbling, "I hope you choke on them, Sammy, I hope you choke."

Standing around the island, they each had their second mug of coffee in their hand, the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls drifting through the kitchen.

"Hmm," Y/N hummed, "You know what sounds good with cinnamon rolls."

"Bacon," Dean announced.

"Exactly," she smiled, setting down her coffee, making her way to the door, "I think I have some in the garage freezer. Let me go check."

Sam shook his head at Dean, "Dude; I think you broke Tink."

"Huh?"

"I think you broke her. When we first met her, she made egg white omelets with spinach and mushrooms and now-" Sam gestured to the garage, "-she is making bacon and cinnamon rolls."

Making his way to the coffee machine, he points his mug at Sam. "First, I'd like to think that I helped her, but honestly, I think she still eats that crap when I'm not here."

"Oh, you mean healthy."

"Whatever," he visibly shivered.

"Maybe she will bring you over to the light side yet."

"Sammy, vegetables are the work of the devil, I'm not doing it."

Sipping his coffee, he smiled, "We'll see."

Glancing at the garage door, he looked back, catching Sam's eye. "Hey, I owe you one, man."

"What are you talking about?"

"Y/N, you helped her, you know with the-" he motioned to his hip, "anti-possession tat."

"You know, it was her idea," he shrugged. "She was a champ too, she barely flinched."

"Yeah," Dean smiled, "my girl is a lot tougher than she looks."

"Tink has to be," his brother smirked, "to put up with your shit."

"Really, Sam?"

"I'm just saying." He gestured to Dean

"Well, Sammy, that door swings both ways," he smirked, "speaking as someone who has been stuck in the car with you."

Sam opened his mouth to reply when Y/N burst through the door, waving a large package of bacon in her hand, the garage's frozen air following her.

"Found it," she announced, "and it's fucking cold out there."

Peering out the sliding glass door Dean took in the expanse of snow-covered tundra, "Damn, I think it snowed a foot last night."

"Just in time for Christmas," she smiled.

She put the bacon on a cookie sheet and slid it into the oven. Dean made her a fresh coffee, and she set the timer as they made their way to the living room to gather around the tree. Dean announced that he was going to be "Santa Claus" and hand out all the presents. The three of them sat on the floor as he began to hand them out. Y/N's heart felt very full as she watched the two brothers' faces light up with sheer delight. The anticipation of having a real Christmas with all of the festivities, to include presents under the tree that didn't come from the corner gas station.

Sam was the first to open his gift from Y/N; wrapped in a Christmas paper of Santa and Rudolph taking selfies. Pulling the paper and red ribbon off, it revealed a laptop zipper sleeve printed with a multitude of pictures, flipping it over in his hand; there were pictures of him, Dean, Bobby, Cas, Jack, Mary, Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex, Patience, and Garth.

"This is amazing, where did you get all of these pictures?" he asked in awe.

Y/N grinned, "Jody helped me with the pictures, then I put them all together and printed on the laptop cover."

Pointing to the gift in Dean's lap she said, "open yours next." He pulled the green ribbon on the paper covered with muscle cars decorated with Christmas lights. He ripped the covering, and flipped open the box. Lifting the tissue paper he stared at the object inside.

"Babe," he choked, emotions clogging his throat.

"What did you get?" Sam questioned as he attempted to peer over the box lid

"Do you like it?" she whispered.

He leaned over, sweetly kissed her, and sat back, he pulled the picture frame out of the tissue paper, turning to show it to his brother. It was the picture of Dean and Mary, she was standing behind him, with her arm around him. The photograph had been restored and framed in a black frame. Instead of putting it back in the box to take back to the bunker, he stood up and walked to the long entertainment stand where Y/N had lots of pictures of her and Dean displayed; he moved some other frames around placing the one of he and Mary among them. Y/N blinked back tears because she knew that if he set the frame up here, he must consider being here his home. Walking back to his seat on the floor, he pointed to one of the presents in Y/N's lap.

"Babe, open the one from me next."

She picked up the small one wrapped in brown kraft paper with a smiley face with a Santa hat drawn on it. She started to pick the tape, careful not to rip the paper.

"Y/N, just rip it open," Dean groaned

Squinting her eyes with a sly smile, she said, "I'm trying to save the paper."

"Well, just hurry up," he grumbled as Sam laughed at his impatience.

She pulled out the small box and opened the lid to reveal a plain black leather necklace with a silver clasp. Dean watched her closely as she pulled the jewelry out of the box; she saw a delicate metallic charm. Cupping it in her palm, she stared at it, the tears that she had blinked away moments ago quietly ran down her cheeks. It was a gorgeous pendant with her and Dean's initials intertwined.

"This is so beautiful, did you make this?" she breathed.

"I did," he announced proudly.

She stood up, holding the necklace out to him, "can you put it on me?"

He took the necklace from her as she turned around, lifting her hair. He placed the jewelry around her neck and clasped it; Dean kissing the skin where the clasp had settled.

Turning around she wrapped her arms around him, “I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

Dean groaned as he crushed her against him, capturing her lips with his, instantly deepening the kiss as she clung to him.

As Sam cleared his throat, Dean pressed her closer with one hand as he held a finger out to his brother, telling him to wait a minute. As they broke apart a little breathless, Dean cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, he looked into her eyes as she stared into his deepening green ones.

"I love you, Babe."

A crash came from the kitchen as they stepped away from each other.

"Oops...Sorry!" Sam called, "the timer went off, and I was getting the bacon and cinnamon rolls, while you two were," he waved towards them, "you know."

Y/N's face began to heat as she remembered that Sam was in the room, and she was so into the kiss she didn't even hear the timer. She quickly gathered the paper plates with poinsettias and started to serve the food. She handed Dean’s to him first, and he made his way back out into the living room. As she gave Sam his he held her hand so that she would look at him.

"Tink," he murmured, catching her eye. As she looked up at him, he smiled, "You are the best thing that has ever happened to my brother. You have shown him there is more to life than what he has ever had and you truly love him despite all of the shit in our lives, thank you."

The smile radiating from her face confirmed to Sam one of the many reasons his brother loved this girl so much.

"Come on!" Dean yelled from the other room, his mouth full of food. "Let's open the rest of these presents!"

Making their way back in, they began opening the rest. Sam got Y/N a new leather portfolio to display her photographs for presentations and when she opened it up, on the inside left corner was a little embroidered Tinkerbell with her magic wand. Two of the remaining presents were identical packages wrapped in Elvis wrapping paper for the brothers. Dean opened his gift to find a Led Zeppelin box set. Sam began to open his to find a Celine Dion box set.

"I don't understand," Sam shook his head brows knitted, "I don't even like-"

"-lies!" Dean cackled, Y/N's laughter joining his.

"Fine," Sam's lips quirked. "Can we please keep it between the three of us now since Dean doesn't know how to keep a secret."

Y/N put her hand up, still giggling. "I swear if anyone asks me, I will say your favorite singer is Elvis."

"You two suck," he grimaced. "I mean I love it, but you still suck, you have the weirdest sense of humor."

His announcement was met with thundering laughter.

The rest of the day was followed by watching Christmas movies and eating a ham dinner with all the delicious sides. Y/N packed everything in containers to go after that had eaten because she knew that they were leaving early the next morning. Sam went to bed first with the excuse that he knew they had a long day tomorrow.

Dean sat on the corner of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist lost in the thoughts of their next steps to open the rift to get out Mary and Jack.

Y/N walked in, closing the door behind her. The towel was gripped to her chest as damp hair cascaded down her back. She regarded him as he was staring at the floor, elbows resting on his knees. His hair was almost dry from the shower as she watched the muscles roll in his back. Tilting his head up to look at her she could see the sadness he had hidden from her all day in his eyes. Moving over to him, he sat up and pulled her between his knees. He wrapped his arms around her and rested his head against her chest, taking comfort in her heart's steady beat. Drawing him closer, she ran her fingers through his hair in an effort to ease his burden.

Y/N broke the silence with a whisper, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Nuzzling into her, he shook his head slightly, "We have talked too much about it, tomorrow is when we put it all into action. I just want to enjoy tonight with you."

"Whatever you need, Dean."

He lifted his head, looking up at her, he had a way of seeing right into her soul with just a look that always took her breath away.

"I need you," he rasped.

She bent to brush her lips to his; Dean swiftly took the lead. Hooking his finger at the edge of her towel, it dropped to the floor as he deepened the kiss. Dean flipped his towel open scooting back further on the bed, pulling Y/N with him, she straddled his hips. He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers in a silent question. She nodded her head once before he drove up into her, their moans muffled by their open mouth kisses. Her forearms rested on his shoulders as her hands fisted in his hair. Dean's hands were gripping her hips, one palm covering her new tattoo, fingertips digging in as they moved together at a reckless pace.

It wasn't about making love or marathon sessions; this was about dampening the fire in both of them. They were both worried about what tomorrow was going to bring, and this was the way they would connect without words. Quiet, fast, and hot is what was required. Dean could feel the tightening in his spine and knew he was close, but he knew Y/N needed a little more, sliding his hand between them he used his thumb to brush against the bundle of nerves and with a gasp she threw her head back. His lips moved along her neck, marking her at the spot between her neck and collarbone.

She whined his name, letting him know she was close, he sucked a little harder on her throat as he used a bit more pressure with his thumb. She broke apart in his arms as he felt her flutter around him, he drove into her a few more times before he found his release. Still buried inside Y/N, he held her trembling body, his head resting against her shoulder as they caught their breath.

"I didn't realize how much I needed that," she huffed, shakily.

"Yeah," Dean agreed, "I guess I didn't either." He helped her stand up before they both moved to each side of the bed and crawled between the sheets. Y/N lay on her back with closed eyes as Dean lay next to her, his head propped on his elbow looking down at the woman he loved. The necklace he made her settled against her skin, slightly past her collarbones. With his finger, he lightly traced the intertwined initials. Y/N didn't open her eyes, but a soft smile played on her lips. She sighed his name in her blissful state. Leaning down, he gave her a sweet kiss.

"Thank you for everything today."

Cracking one eye open, she whispered, "This was the best Christmas I have ever had, we will be telling these stories forever."

"You're right," he agreed, as he laid his head on the pillow and pulled her against him as they fell into a peaceful sleep.

Dean crawled out of bed, careful not to wake Y/N. It was still dark out, and he and Sam had to get on the road. He got dressed without the benefit of a light. Walking over to Y/N, curled up under the covers, he stood and watched her for a moment, emotions swirling through him. He brushed her hair back from her face.

He bent and kissed her on the temple as he murmured, "I love you, Babe, always."

He made his way out to Baby, where Sam was waiting, throwing his bag in the back seat. He slid into the driver's side, placing his hands on the steering wheel, his mouth set in a firm line. Sam started to speak, but Dean shook his head.

"Sammy," he grumbled, "just give me until we get out of town, and then we can talk about whatever you want," he glanced at him and added, "within reason."

He cranked the ignition and slowly started to back out of the driveway. He stopped at the end and looked at the little bungalow. The Christmas lights that he had helped Y/N hang up after Thanksgiving twinkled in the dark, bouncing off the snow. He could see the sparkle of the tree through the front window. He pressed that picture in his memory; Dean didn't know when he would be back this time. This house and the memory of his girl looking at him pure love were the two things he would keep close to get him through until he could return. He pulled out onto the street and headed out of town to meet with Rowena and Gabriel. The only noise in the car was Baby's powerful engine growling through the early morning light.

Chapter 11

Tags: @winchest09 @katehuntington @whatareyousearchingfordean @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva1@superfanficnatural @deanwanddamons @janicho88 @talesmaniac89 @anathewierdo @compresshischest09 @supernatural-bellawinchester @jensengirl83 @this-is-what-im-reduced-to @ellewritesfix05 @moron225 @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @unicornqu33n17 @swinchester27 @deans-baby-momma @squirrelnotsam @clumsy-nerd104 @sarahbaker2010 @supernatural-love14 @akshi8278 @lyarr24 @angelhearts1012 @nothinbuttrouble2 @cookiechipdough @lady-pswrld @peachyafshawn @notan-applepielife @linki-locks11 @atc74 @divadinag @dvnmbabe @michellethetvaddict @stoneyggirl

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x y/n #reader insert #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #slow burn #dean winchester series #a man of letters #waywardbeanie

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heytheredeann · 3 years

Text

Rewind

Tags: Crossover, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, They are mostly background though; the point is Dean and Illya being friends, Reunions, Childhood Friends

Summary: He opens his mouth slightly, his eyes trailing down to the man’s wrist, and sure enough there’s an old watch there, then back up to his face, and there’s a scar there, right above his eye— “Illya?” Or the "Dean and Illya are childhood friends who reunite in adulthood" crossover I was obviously going to write at some point.

Notes: Here it is, at long last! @therogueheart I did write it eventually LOL. I don't even know if there's much of an audience for this beyond the two of us but it had to be done. I stole some of the dialogue from therogueheart, you can see the post here. And the whole tag where we talk about this AU here. Setting wise, this happens in the Supernatural world and timeline, so as far as TMFU goes it's a modern AU (though I would keep the events of the movie roughly the same, or as similar as they can get without the Cold War), whereas for Supernatural I'd say it's a post-s11 AU, in which there are no British Men of Letters, so Sam wasn't kidnapped, and Mary wasn't brought back to life. Basically Dean talked Amara down, had her make peace with God and then went home. Just ignore everything that happens in the following seasons LOL. Also, Destiel and Napollya are established because that's easier for me, considering they are Not The Point. ...well, enjoy LOL.

Dean props his elbow up against the counter, evaluating that the lone bartender is quickly moving from one client to another, hardly having the time to spare a glance around as she pours drink after and drink, so he’s probably going to have wait a few minutes before he can give her his own order.

It's actually fine: it will at least give him a bit of time to come up with a plan of action to drag Sam and Cas into having some fun. Which, he might add, they totally earned: they will be sticking around for a few days, just in case, but the monsters should be dead and gone, job’s done, time for the reward.

Sam would probably at least want to relax, if it weren’t for his near-obsessive need to know everything: it is not often that they encounter new monsters, at this point, but this time around Dean can agree that those were not their usual vampires. For one, their fangs were all wrong. They also had a knack for very ritualistic killings, and dead man’s blood didn’t seem to do much to slow them down.

But, well, beheading worked just fine, and those were pretty much the only big differences, so as far as Dean is concerned they are still vampires. He’d say they are fancy vampires at most.

Sam, of course, disagrees: he seems to have decided that he is not going to rest until he has found out what exactly those things were, which means that he currently has one hundred tabs open on his laptop and he’s trying to cross-reference them with every bit of knowledge in Cas’ brain, since he doesn’t have their library handy right now. He’ll probably bury himself in it once they get home.

Dean huffs, annoyed, his eyes moving back to the bartender – way to the other end of the counter – and then sliding to two men playing pool: he might attempt a game, maybe win some money too, just for the fun of it.

That is also when he happens to catch sight of the man standing next to him, holding a near-empty glass in his hand and staring at a bunch of drunks dancing.

Dean swallows, taking a good long look at the man’s profile as a thought that sounds a hell of a lot like well, damn runs through his head and kinda stays there. Because, well. Damn.

The more he looks at him, though, the more he can feel something nagging him in the back of his mind, like there’s something familiar about the guy, clearly enough that he knows but still can’t quite place how or from where he might know him, or if he just looks like someone else he knows—he tries to run through a mental list of familiar blonds, quickly coming up short.

Unfortunately, he forgets that you aren’t really supposed to stare, and it doesn’t take long for the man to feel observed. When their eyes meet, the guy just takes a moment to register that he was being watched before he glares at him, with frankly way more emphasis than it would have been necessary.

Dean rolls his eyes, turning towards the counter and very pointedly not scooting away, because really, it’s not like he was relentlessly hitting on him, there was no need to just incinerate him like that.

Not even a minute passes, and he just can’t help himself, glancing back towards the man and still trying to place him, curiosity buzzing under his skin as he still can’t seem to find any possible context for where they—

The guy turns back, catches him staring and glares once again, this time turning towards him as well. He’s still holding his drink though, so at least he is not about to punch him. Most likely.

“What do you want?” he growls, in a thick Russian accent.

[More on Ao3]

#dean winchester #illya kuryakin #spn x tmfu #a bit of #napollya #and #destiel #tmfu fic #spn fic #my fanfic #napoleon x illya #tmfu #otp: i prayed to you every night

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deansmyapplepie · 4 years

Text

Only You - Chapter 10

Title: Getting Answers

Summary: When a man who left the reader six years ago suddenly reappears on her doorstep, she does everything she can to stop herself from falling in love with him all over again. Little does she know that his seemingly brief return will open an entirely new chapter for both of them.

Only You Masterlist

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Tags: witches, paranoia, angst, protective!reader, protective!Dean,

Word Count: 3,284

(Gif not mine)

"I don't know why you can't just take your stupid brother out to breakfast instead of me. I should be staying with my mom," you grumbled, watching your house grow smaller in the passenger-side mirror. "Can we please go back?" Sam kept his gaze on the road as he drove.

"Nope. Dean told me he thought it would be a good idea to get you out of the house for a few hours, and I agree with him. You literally haven't left since we've gotten there."

"What? That's ridiculous, yes I have!" Sam shot you a side glance, his expression clearly saying he knew you were full of shit. "I have!" you insisted.

"When?"

"I... took the trash out to the end of the driveway the other night." Sam snorted and gave a shake of his head, a breeze from the open window rustling his hair.

"That doesn't count, and you know it."

"Yes, it does!" you argued.

In reality, it didn't. It had been a few days since you arrived at your mother's house, but you still hadn't made any progress. As much as you hated to admit it, Dean was right. You had been starting to go a little stir crazy, and a trip to get some breakfast was exactly what you needed. Still, even as fantastic as the warm breeze felt on your skin, you were anxious to get back to the house already. How could you not be? You knew your mother would be perfectly safe with Dean while you and Sam were gone. In fact, Dean could probably do a better job of protecting your mom than you could. You trusted him to take care of her, but you knew that you wouldn't be able to relax again until you saw with your own eyes that she was completely unharmed.

"Y/N?" Sam saying your name had you jerking to attention. "You okay over there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just lost in thought is all." Sam reached over to rub your arm sympathetically.

"Dean's got it covered. Why don't you just relax for an hour, okay? You've got nothing to worry about." With much effort, you took a deep breath, allowing your shoulders to sag. You were tired. The past few days had been draining in more ways that one. Actually, scratch that. Your entire life had become a big ball of exhaustion ever since that damn witch made her appearance. And the worst part? No matter how much you or the boys looked into it, you couldn't find anything on her. You didn't even know her name. "What are you going to order?" As far as subtle attempts to get your mind off of something went, this wasn't the best, but you still appreciated the effort nonetheless.

"I don't know, probably french toast or something. Definitely a side of bacon with whatever I get, though." Sam laughed.

"I think you and Den are more alike than you want to admit sometimes." A hot blush rose up to your cheeks, and you turned away from him so he wouldn't see.

"I don't know what you're talking about." The younger Winchester gave a knowing smile next to you.

"Whatever you say, Y/N."

Back at the house, Dean let out a nervous breath through puffed cheeks as he went back inside. He had been waiting for a moment alone with Y/N's mother, but now that he had it, he was more nervous than he was expecting.

"Me?" Sam had looked surprised when Dean had asked him to get Y/N out of the house for a while. "Why can't you take her?"

"Because she's your friend, too. Besides, you guys probably haven't had the chance to catch up with everything being so crazy." The younger Winchester frowned.

"I mean, I guess, but we did go for a run back at the motel, and-" Dean held up his hand, closing his eyes in annoyance.

"Just get out of here, will you?" Eventually, Sam relented and stuck his hand out for the Impala's keys. The two of them had left almost twenty minutes ago now, and he had been sitting on the front porch trying to brace himself for the conversation he was about to have. Dean cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat in a chair across from Y/N's mom, who was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper.

"So," he began cautiously, "anything interesting in the paper?" She gave him the side-eye, and he gulped. Over the years, Dean had learned to be prepared for anything, and as a result, he had become very good at usually knowing what to do. Unfortunately for him, this was not one of those times. Dean sighed. He couldn't keep tiptoeing around the issue. "I know you don't like me, and I understand why," Dean stated. "If I were you, I don't think I would like me either."

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement there," she said sharply as she continued to read the paper. Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw, ignoring her comment.

"Look," he tried again, "I made a mistake. It was six years ago. I was young and stupid and a coward. I know I hurt your daughter, and I'll regret that for the rest of my life. I thought I was doing what was best for her." Y/N's mother shook her head. "But I love her," Dean admitted. Mercifully, she set the paper aside and gave Dean her full attention. "And I'm trying hard to make it right."

"I have never seen her love anyone that deeply before, and when you left, she was heartbroken. Why in God's name was that best for her?" Dean licked his lips, taking a deep breath. He had never told this story before.

"A demon was after us," he finally began to explain, "my brother and me, I mean. A powerful one. Dangerous, too. He was the kind of son-of-a-" Y/N's mother shot Dean a warning look, and the profanity died on his tongue. He cleared his throat. "Well, he was the type of demon you don't want to mess around with. He didn't want my brother and me dead - well, he did, but he knew Sam and I weren't going down without a fight. So, he started coming after people we knew." The older woman across from him steepled her fingers under her chin, understanding beginning to make its way across her face as she nodded thoughtfully. "For a few days before I left, Sam and I kept getting calls that hunters we knew were getting hurt. Hurt bad. The closer the demon got, the worse things were, and I panicked. I may not have handled it the best way, but I never took your daughter's safety lightly. Not once." Dean heaved a sigh mixed with relief and sorrow. It felt good to finally get that off his chest. Y/N's mom sat in silence for a long moment after he was finished.

"What happened to the demon?" she questioned.

"We got him," Dean answered. "When Sam and I left town, the sucker ran for the hills. We finally tracked him down in Sedona, Arizona, after a couple weeks."

"You didn't come back after you took care of it," Y/N's mother pointed out. Dean's shoulders slumped.

"I wanted to. God, I wanted to. When I was here, every day I woke up with her next to me, I was scared for her life. I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to protect her. When I left, that's what I was doing."

"But you didn't say goodbye. Why?" The Winchester let out a chuckle.

"Mrs. Y/L/N, you know as well as I do that Y/N's the most stubborn person alive." Her mom nodded her agreement with a small smile. "If I told her I was leaving, she just would have convinced me to stay." A semi-stunned silence filled the room.

"I never knew that," Y/N's mother confessed. "Any of that." Dean gave her a half-hearted smile.

"How could you? You only knew what Y/N told you." Uncrossing her legs, Y/N's mom got up from the couch, and Dean followed suit, assuming the conversation was over. When she came over to him, though, she pulled him into a hug. Surprised, Dean froze for a moment before reciprocating.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For protecting her. I misjudged you, Dean. And I think I may have been too hard on you."

"No," Dean disagreed, "I don't think you were."

"Okay, I may be a little grateful you convinced me to get breakfast with you," you admitted, leaning your head against the car's interior contently. "French toast and bacon fix everything. Sort of." Sam laughed.

"I'm glad I could help. But I still think you should have tried to take the morning off." You shook your head in response.

"Getting a game plan together was a morning off. Sure as hell put my nerves at ease, at least." Leaving the house had really done wonders for your mental state. When you left an hour ago, you had been drained, upset, and had no idea what to do. You knew it had been Sam's goal to get your mind off of the witch, but you had eventually strong-armed him into talking strategy with you. Now, you had a game plan. Look for a history of witchy activity, and find a name. It wasn't much, but it was something.

You bounced your knee to the music subconsciously as the two of you rolled into your childhood neighborhood.

"So, where should we start?" you asked. "Newspapers?"

"Yeah," Sam answered. "We need dates and events before we can narrow down police records to get names." He pulled the car into your driveway, and you unbuckled.

"All right, well, let's get cracking. I know a few local papers we could-" The last few words of your sentence died on your lips as something caught your eye. In your bedroom window, a dark shadow moved between the curtains, and you saw a flash of unmistakable dark hair. Then, the pieces of white fabric obscuring your view into the house parted, and you fully saw her. You felt your heart stop as time seemed to slow. And then... she smiled at you.

The car door was open before you even had time to think about it. "Mom! Mom, get out of the house!" Your legs carried you up the front walkway at top speed, running purely on adrenaline. The front door slammed into the wall with such force when you opened it, it was a miracle the glass in the window had stayed intact.

"Y/N?" You took the stairs two at a time up to your room. You had no idea how she had gotten in, and frankly, you didn't care. All that mattered was getting her out. But when you burst into your bedroom, the window was wide open, the curtains moved peacefully in the gentle breeze, and the witch was nowhere to be seen. Footsteps pounded down the hallway behind you, and you felt someone at your shoulder.

"She..." The serene silence was incredibly out of place around you. It didn't make any sense. You stepped forward and yanked the curtains aside. "She was right fucking here!” Sam and Dean watched you intently from the doorway as you whirled around. Your mom pushed past them, clasping your hands as she searched your eyes.

"Honey, I don't understand, Dean and I were here the whole time you were gone. No one was in here." You shook your head, frantic.

"No, she was here. I know she was. That window was not open when I left."

"She's right," Sam put in. "I did a perimeter check before we headed out this morning."

"I opened it after you left," your mother explained. "It felt stuffy in here, so I wanted to get in some fresh air." She went over to the window and promptly shut it, sliding the lock over as if that would somehow solve your problems.

"There's no way she could've gotten in, sweetheart," Dean said. "We put up all the wardings, remember?"

"Wardings?" your mom echoed. Reaching up to massage your temples, you tried to alleviate the pressure building around the crown of your head as Dean rubbed your back soothingly. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"We stick to our game plan," Sam answered. "We figure out who this woman is and where we can find her."

Hours later, you, Sam, and Dean were scattered around the living room, each of you deep into old news articles and police records on your laptops. Unexplainable earthquake takes down local business. Woman claims to hear ‘demonic voices’ from neighboring home. Every headline you came across that seemed promising turned out to be either a dead-end or a false alarm. Your mom came around with a pot of coffee as late evening sunlight streamed through the windows.

"Any luck?" she questioned.

"No," Dean replied through a sigh. "Squat. She's damn good at covering her tracks. If she's got any," he added as an afterthought. When Sam had helped you come up with an idea of what to do next this morning, for some reason, you had assumed it would be smooth sailing from there. How wrong that assumption was. Your mom topped off your mug, and you chewed on your lower lip thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm sure you kids will figure it out." Her levelheadedness surprised you, especially since there was no doubt in your mind she knew that the witch was after her specifically.

"How are you so calm about this?" you asked incredulously. Your mom handed the pot of coffee off to Sam and wrapped her arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

"I'm your mom," she replied. "Being calm through the chaos is in my job description." You reached up and patted her hand as you continued to sift through articles and headlines. At this point, the letters were swimming before your eyes, morphing into an unintelligible ball of random vowels and consonants. Somewhere off to your left, you heard Dean groan.

"All right," he grunted, popping his back as he stood. "I'm tappin' out. I need a fifteen-minute break and a brewski. Pronto. No offense to your coffee, Mrs. Y/L/N." Your mom chuckled a bit, taking the coffee back from the tallest Winchester.

"None taken. I have some beer in the fridge, or some whiskey in the cupboard if you want something a little stronger." A broad grin lit up Dean's face, and he pointed at your mother as he looked at you.

"Oh, now we're talking." As Dean followed your mom into the kitchen, you felt your eyebrows knit together in confusion.

"Huh," you mused. For the first time in hours, Sam looked up from his computer.

"You find something?" You shook your head.

"No. I just don't know when your brother and my mom started actually getting along." Sam shrugged and returned his attention to his research.

"Maybe we should extend the search a little further," he proposed after a few moments of silence. Your head tilted to the side.

"How so?" He began to type vigorously, eyes scanning the screen with newfound fervor.

"Well, I just thought of something. Sometimes witches use anti-aging rituals to keep young and extend their life." You felt your heart drop into your stomach. You had no idea witches could even do that. Nothing was ever easy, was it? "So," Sam continued, "you said she looked about your mom's age, right?" You nodded a reply. "She may be even older than we thought."

"And just not look it," you finished.

"Exactly."

"Jesus," you grumbled under your breath. Suddenly, everything seemed a thousand times harder all over again, and you couldn't sit still. "Sam, I'm sorry, I need a minute to wrap my head around all this. Do you mind if I..." you raised your eyebrows and let your open-ended question hang in the air, waiting for his answer.

"Yeah, Y/N, go ahead." Mercifully, you finally set your laptop aside and made your way into the kitchen, where your mom was leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee. She looked just as tired as you felt, but when she noticed you standing there, she immediately straightened, wiping the exhaustion from her face almost entirely.

"You coming to get some whiskey too?"

"No," you answered. "Just taking a break before my brain explodes. Where's Dean?" She let out a soft laugh.

"He's out back nursing that drink like his life depends on it." You joined in on her laughter.

"Yeah, that's Dean for you. I'm gonna go keep him company for a bit, and then I think we're getting back to it." The last thing you wanted to do right now was sit down again, and research for God knows how much longer, but the harder you worked at this, the quicker it would all be over with. At least, that's what you were hoping for.

When you stepped out onto the back porch, you didn't see Dean at first, but then you found him, leaning against your tree in the far back part of the yard.

"Stealing my spot, huh?" you called out as you walked over to him. He smiled gently when he saw you.

"Didn't realize it was taken," he responded. Stuffing your hands in your pockets, you leaned against the broad trunk next to him.

"I don't mind sharing." Dean smiled coyly.

"That so?" Feigning indifference, you shrugged. "I don't blame you for wanting to be around me," he teased. "I am devastatingly handsome. I know you like having me around, YN, you don't have to pretend." Based on the way he was peering at you from the corner of his eye, you could tell his joking manner held some sincerity. He was fishing - waiting for you to reiterate that you didn't want him there, just as you had when he first arrived. Or maybe... oh, boy. You fixed Dean with a shy gaze.

"Who said anything about pretending?" With those five words, his entire demeanor changed. Tipping back the last of his whiskey, he set the glass on the ground at his feet. Dean looked into your eyes intently as you stood there, almost too nervous to speak. Almost. "Dean," you finally whispered, "kiss me." The corner of his mouth quirked up a bit, and his green eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Was kinda hoping you'd say that." This time, there was no hesitation between the two of you; no stipulations from the fear of reigniting an old spark. You weren't sure when it had happened, but ever since he had returned, the supposedly unlit spark had turned into a whole damn wildfire.

Dean's hand on the small of your back pressed you closer as you leaned into him. Your arms wound around his neck, and you tangled a hand in his short hair. Butterflies, fireworks, the whole nine. Kissing him had felt like this from day one, and for the first time in a long time, the world went away, and it was just you and Dean Winchester. That is until Sam cleared his throat to get your attention. The two of you broke apart, and a small smile immediately crept back onto your lips at the thought of what you had just done. Dean wrapped an arm around your waist again, tugging you gently to his side. When you glanced up at him, you realized that he was also fighting a grin.

"What's up, Sammy?" he asked.

"Sorry to, uh, interrupt you guys," Sam apologized, "but you're gonna want to see this."

Thanks for reading!

Chapter 11 - Coming Clean

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wwwafflewrites · 4 years

Text

Imagine Sneaking Out to Hunt on Your Own

Anon Requested: Just thought I'd say hello! Can I request a platonic team free will fic where the reader goes on hunts alone to feel better about herself? It starts out as one hunt but then she continues to sneak out more and more in hopes of feeling more confident, and then one day she comes back to find them all waiting for her. Maybe she gets hurt? They're all pretty angry and she cries and then Dean just hugs her really fiercely????? I LOVE your writing and I really need some flufffff.

Note: some things in the request are a bit different, but I think you'll like it anyway. :)

~~~

Hunts often went wrong. Not once had you ever left a case unscathed or unburdened. It was almost hunter law: if a case was too easy, you were doing it wrong.

That night, it was supposed to be a 'simple, in-and-out vamp hunt'. For the most part, things had gone smoothly. That was, until the accident…because most accidents tend to ruin smooth things. If…that wasn't obvious to you yet.

Where you and the boys had planned on five vampires, an additional three vamps had apparently joined the party. Naturally, those three ambushed you.

We'll skip the terrifying ride in the trunk of their car and the time they tied your hands behind your back.

Dean and Sam came, perfect timing as always, and you came out relatively unharmed, save the sprained ankle and bruising around your neck. You were relatively okay.

Dean, however, had decided to become your annoying, overprotective 'older brother figure', which really just meant that he was benching you. It meant lonely days of research with scarce visits from the boys. It meant isolation.

This was completely unjustified. Dean would never dare try this with Sam. You were almost a fully independent woman, and you had the right to go out on your own. But they had Castiel patrolling the bunker like a watchdog, and if you so much as looked at the exit, he would send you a warning look. Sometimes, Castiel scared you. Not monster-scared, just… stupidly intimidated. Besides, he was an angel.

The day he left the bunker was your day to strike.

You were so afraid of losing them, though. They were family to you. They'd picked you up when you were so close to breaking, and you'd done the same for them. They were delicate, though, whether they believed it or not. One false move, one betrayal, and they wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. Dean and Sam's brotherly relationship broken over a messy case, or Castiel making mistakes that Dean just can't forgive. You hadn't experienced it first-person, and you didn't want to.

This would require an expert's level of secrecy because if Sam, Dean, or especially Castiel, caught wind of this, it would all be over.

You were the stealthiest hunter in the group. You knew you could sneak out of the bunker or hotel while they slept. It wouldn't be easy, but it was achievable. And so a plan began forming. Finally, after one month of imprisonment in the bunker, there was something real you could commit to.

///

You spent the next week observing their sleeping habits. It felt a bit invasive, but it had to be done in order to do this perfect.

While the Winchesters often joked over their terrible sleeping habits and short hours, there was, while disorganized, a schedule in place. Sam would go to bed at around midnight if he wasn't researching, and Dean would hit the sack at around two in the morning. Sam would wake up earlier than Dean would, about five a.m., brewing coffee. Sam would let Dean sleep until finally he woke up at around seven or eight, and if it had been a really rough hunt, nine.

The magic number was two a.m to five a.m., and while it wasn't much, you could definitely finish a hunt in three hours. Of course, then you would need to sacrifice your sleep, but you were a night owl anyway. They would never notice.

///

Your first case was thrilling. That week you realized the phrase 'everything known to man' did not apply to 'everything known to woman' because, wow, did you keep them clueless. It was almost too easy. You had hid every newspaper that had anything remotely related to your case. It was easy to do, because you were the research girl, and you could point out cases that were distant enough from yours, and manipulate the week plans.

You couldn't have them intervening.

This was your only chance at some kind of freedom. You were so sick of them babying you. You knew the risks of hunting, and you wanted to take them if it meant helping others. They were just too protective, and you needed some time on your own where you could unwind and be the hunter you wanted to be. And it was great. So great. You felt alive, and free from the suffocating research table.

You were soaring.

///

If a case was easy, you were doing it wrong.

Usually it was just bruises or scrapes that mended themselves in a day, no problem. It became significantly more difficult to hide when you came back with a sprained wrist. It was concealable, but it was already bruising and it ached to rotate. Or the next hunt, when you came home with a large gash on your chest. You had a thick, bulky bandage over it for a good week while it healed.

And when your sleep caught up to you, you were a mess. Your first, real caffeine crash hit you like a tidal wave. You'd be in the car and would lull to sleep with the purr of the Impala's engine. You would nap at the research desk. You would yawn at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You were constantly tired, and it took more and more coffee to battle this.

The first few times, the Winchesters thought it was cute. Dean would poke fun at you, thinking it was funny. But then they began to notice little things, like the large cups of coffee and the dark bags under your eyes. They grew suspicious.

"Hey, you feeling alright? Not getting sick, are you?" Dean asked one day. He'd been concerned for a while, but after yawning for the fifth time at lunch, he decided he would finally ask.

"I was up late doing research," you answered. It was a common excuse of yours, and it made sense. There was always so much researching you had to do on a daily basis that it wasn't too far fetched.

Dean nodded, taking a break from his breakfast burger while you stared into space and stirred at your eggs. "Kid, you got to go to bed earlier. You need your sleep more than we do. I can survive on four hours, but you? Haven't there been like, studies on sleep in kids?" He looked around the bunker's kitchen, clearly looking for Sam. "Where's Sam when you need him?"

"I'm fine, Dean. Really. But I'll start sleeping in if you're really that worried about it."

"Good," he said, and resumed eating his burger.

You would have dropped the case right then if it hadn't been so important. Three people had died in the past week and you'd done everything in your power to keep the boys from knowing about it.

You would finish this case and that would be it, you decided. You could wait another week, maybe catch up on sleep. Let the Winchesters forget about your weird behavior and then slowly start it up again. You'd have to change up the pattern, though. Keep it random. Otherwise the boys would pick you apart, and you couldn't have that.

No, you definitely couldn't have that.

///

Everyone had survived that night, and it had been absolutely liberating. The werewolf was dead, and the survivors were… alive… like any survivors were. They didn't have their hearts outside of their chests, so… that was a plus.

You did get a claw scratch on your arm, though. You would stitch it up quick in the bathroom when you got back to the bunker. No biggie.

But when you'd finished the hunt that night, cleaned the scene, and wrapped it all up, there was a text notification blinking at the top of your screen.

Oh no.

You almost dropped your phone. What if it was them? What if they figured you out? What would they do? You turned the screen on. The unread texts weren't viewable, but the sender's name read 'Dean'.

And then panic struck. You dropped your phone in shock. There you were, swaying on the dirt road at four in the morning, your lungs heaving for air. You soon fell to your knees, punching the dirt with your fist in rage, where you ignored the rocks digging into your hands.

You let out a shuddery breath, the start of a sob, and a hand decided to rest itself on your shoulder.

You jerked away, scrambling to your feet, but you then realized that arm connected to a trenchcoat, and that trenchcoat an angel. You blinked at him, stammering and swaying where you stood. "Castiel." You waited, but he was silent. "Aren't you going to take me back?" You would almost rather he just flat out yell. He should hate you. Yet he was deadly calm. You blinked up at him in bafflement. "Cas, you caught me, aren't you going to take me back?"

"No," he said. "I don't believe it is the best time for them." His gaze was heavy and disappointed.

So Dean was throwing a hissy fit, then.

You bit at your cheek, heart still thrumming in your chest. At some point you would need to head back. Castiel would take you back, he was just waiting. Why was he waiting? Why wait now?

"You knew before, didn't you?"

His eyes were like little blue moons at dawn: rare and, unironically, supernatural. "I suspected it." Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just didn't understand why. I want to know. Will you tell me?"

"Nobody trusts me anymore."

"It was never about trust," Castiel disagreed. "It was about your safety. Dean constantly worries about you. Constantly. It's almost ridiculous. He's been in a constant state of anxiety, lately. He feared you were sick."

"Yeah, it is ridiculous. I'm a prisoner in my own home! I'm treated like a baby!" Tears of frustration well up in your eyes and you can't stop them. "Cas, I'm a hunter. Hunters can't save people when they're stuck up doing research all day!"

"Not like a baby," Castiel shook his head like you didn't understand. "Like a friend. Like a sister."

"So sisters get babied but brothers don't?"

Cas stared you straight in the eyes, like you were completely transparent. "You're not an adult yet. Sam is much different—"

"Sam is the same! We both know the risks! We're both mature enough to make choices!"

Cas wasn't having it. "In the eyes of the law, you're still a child."

"Right, and a few months from now I won't be? I'll change from baby to adult? At eighteen I'm suddenly mature and be able to make my own choices? No. They don't trust me now, so they won't trust me when I'm eighteen. I just—" your voice cracked and the tears that were building finally fell. "I'll be able to make my own choices at eighteen, but I don't want to lose them. I don't want Dean to push me away—" You sonbed and then breathed through your nose. "Because he does that. He pushes—" You stifled back another deep sob. "—he pushes away things he's afraid to hurt. Like… like Ben and Lisa. And... and me."

Castiel looked at you in sorrow. "He doesn't want to push you away. He wants to protect you. That's what you're not seeing."

"That doesn't make this right!"

"I didn't say it made it right."

Coyote howls in the distance broke the argument.

You both stood there until you realized you were shivering against the frigid wind. Castiel noticed, of course. "I believe we should return now.' Cas extended his hand.

You took it.

///

Your panic was returning when Cas flew you to the bunker. The hunters had heard you both, with an infuriated Dean Winchester marching down the stairs and a somewhat rational but uptight Sam Winchester in tow.

Oh, you were dead.

You grasped Castiel's arm, fearing the argument to come. He grabbed your hand in return, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's alright," he murmured. "For now, I'll try to handle them. I know they're a bit… extreme right now."

"A bit?"

Cas said nothing.

Dean marched in with a sneer, but hurt was clearly drawn all over his face. If you had thought he hadn't trusted you before, this was surely his breaking point. He would never trust you again.

You backed away, wiggling your hand in Cas's grip, but he held on.

"Dean," Cas warned.

"What in hell were you thinking?!"

"Dean!" Cas shouted, but the hunter kept plowing ahead, like a bull at a bullseye. So Castiel reached out and the two disappeared with a flutter.

Dean was lurched from his feet and he felt sick when he landed. They were deep in a forest, and to hell if Dean knew where he was at all. "Cas, what the hell?!"

"You were scaring her."

"Scaring her? Yeah, frick that, she scared me! What was she thinking?! Oh, she is never—"

"You forget I can hear her heartbeat, Dean. She was terrified she would lose you both."

"You know, maybe she will. I am sick of this—"

Castiel's patience had worn thin. He boomed in his true voice, "Dean!" It shook the ground and trees, and it rattled the sky so that Dean was knocked off his feet again. The hunter stared up at the angel, shocked silent.

The hunter and the angel stared at each other until Cas had composed himself. "Shut up," Cas said calmly. "I believe she was justified in her behavior."

Dean's eyes hardened and his jaw set. His expression was a mixture of anger, confusion, and hurt. "What?" he said dangerously.

"She was lonely and confined. Cooped up for a month as a research girl. She was sick of it. And because you would never listen to her, she decided that deceiving you was the better option."

Dean became defensive, scoffing, "I would listen—"

"You made it so she couldn't come to you. You made her feel like she was a child and that she wasn't trusted. Dean, she's a hunter. You know you can't trap a hunter for long."

Dean's eyes were red and welled up with tears. He blinked, but they didn't go away. "I'm afraid of losing her."

"Then tell her that, but you can't control her. You can't keep her from hunting."

Dean's lips curled as he fought against his tears that threatened to fall. He just shook his head. "Cas, I just wanted her to be safe."

"I know, Dean." He held out his hand to return to the bunker.

Dean took it.

///

And that left you and Sam, which was, in your opinion, much worse. You completely avoided his eyes. Sam was surely overwhelmingly disappointed, and you didn't want to see it. You sat yourself in a chair, knowing full well that Sam was going to want to talk to you, so you might as well talk sitting.

"Why? Why'd you do it?"

You closed your eyes. "I felt trapped here. I needed to get out and actually do something. I wanted to help people. I knew—God, I knew this would happen. Stupid of me. I knew you guys would figure me out I just… I just needed to feel useful for once." You shook your head. "How'd you guys find out?"

"Dean was getting worried about you, so he checked your room to see if you were asleep. You weren't there."

"Oh."

Sam shifted next to you. "You're like a sister to him, you know. The sister he never had. He would do anything to protect you."

"Even if it meant locking me away."

"Yeah, even that."

You finally found the courage to look at Sam, and his eyes were on you, sad but understanding.

He sighed, "I think he just wishes you wouldn't be so sacrificial. It scares him."

"Hm. Seems to run in the family."

Sam pursed his lips. "We all just want you safe, okay? We can figure this out, I just… I wish you would have told us instead of running off. You seriously could have gotten yourself killed out there and we wouldn't even know. So, I'm… I'm sorry about keeping you here and making you feel like you couldn't come to us."

"I'm sorry about lying. I didn't want to lose you guys…" you sniffed, tears coming back to your eyes.

"C'mere."

You and Sam embraced. You couldn't help bet let yourself melt into the hug and let your tears fall. You'd needed this for a long time. You hiccuped, "You don't—mind—a little—heart to heart?"

"Not at all."

"Aw, I should have caught that on tape," Dean said from behind you.

You and Sam both turned, breaking out of your hug. You asked warily, "Dean?"

"Cas and I had a chat. You and I are still going to talk, but," he admitted, "for what it's worth, I'm sorry, kiddo."

And with that, you brought both hunters in for a group hug. "This count as a chick flick moment?" you asked.

Dean smiled. "Definitely."

#dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader #reader insert #supernatural #supernatural imagine #imagine

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nicole-lynne · 5 years

Note

Could you possibly do a Dean Winchester x reader where they start a prank war with each other because they would rather do that than admit their feelings for each other?

First of all, thank you so so much for sending in a request and please send in more! Second of all, I totally loved this request so much! This piece was a labor of love but I was so in love with the concept.

I hope I lived up to your imagination and you love the piece as much as I do!

Alls Fair in Love and Prank War

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Minor cussing

Slam. Crash.

You slid into the library on socked feet and fell into the nearest chair across from Sam. With shaky hands, you calmed the flyaway hair from your face and then grabbed the closest book. Sam looked at you bewildered for a second.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Quick, act like you’re talking to me.”

“I am talking to you?” Sam questioned.

You waved your hand at him absentmindedly as you watched the library door. “Shush, just act like you’re talking to me about something normal.”

Sam scrunched his brow at you, his eyes darting to the door to follow your gaze. “What was that sound?”

“Y/N! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” Dean bellowed from down the hall.

Immediately, you opened the book and flung your head down just in time for Dean to come stomping in the room. Slipping a calm and collected smile on, you glanced up at him.

“Oh hey, Dean, what’s up?” You said before looking back down at the ancient book.

Dean scowled at you and then over to Sam, who was trying to stifle a giggle. “What’s up?! What’s up is this!” He gestured at himself and you had to hold back a laugh at him in an undershirt and boxers, covered in white cream.

“Wow, did you decide to start shaving below the neck? I gotta say, I don’t think that’s gonna be the best look for you, Deano.” You quipped, feigning innocence.

“Shaving below th-NO! You tricked me into thinking there was pie and then when I ran into the kitchen, I slipped on shaving cream and ran into the cabinet.” He growled. He was trying to wipe off the shaving cream but it kept puffing in the air and landing on his body again.

“Wow, Dean, that is really...” Sam started but trailed off when Dean shot him a murderous glare.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Dean, but I have no idea who could have spilled all that shaving cream. I would give them a piece of your mind when you find them.” You batted your eyelashes at him sweetly.

Dean huffed and put his hands on his hips sternly. “I heard you calling for me and saying we had pie. I know it was you, Y/N.”

“Purely speculation, there’s no proof.” You grinned like a cheshire cat. “Can you please go take a shower? I’ve got a lot of research to do and the smell is giving me a headache.”

He pursed his lips in frustration and started to run his hand through his hair before realizing his hand was completely covered. He turned to walk out the door, but just before he left, he murmured over his shoulder, “you are so gonna regret starting this, kid.” Then the door slammed shut.

It was silent in the room and you let out a deep breath you had been holding. You looked up and made eye contact with Sam, who was smirking at you.

“What?!” You exclaimed.

Sam snorted slightly, “why do you do that to him?”

“What are you talking about, Sammy?” You twisted your body so you were looking at him directly.

“Why do you love getting him so worked up? He’s always in such a bad mood after you pull pranks on him.”

You shrugged and avoided Sam’s eyes, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just harmless pranks. It’s not my fault he’s wound up tighter than a two dollar watch.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at you, his smirk growing. “You sure that’s all it is?”

“What else would it be?” You flipped through the pages of the book, barely reading the words on the page.

“Maybe the fact that you have feelings for him but you’re too chicken to say anything about it?”

“You’re way off base there, Sammy.” You slammed the book closed and shot up out of the chair, frowning at him. “I’m just here to kill monsters and give you two a laugh every now and again because you’re both way too uptight. There’s nothing more to it. Now, I’ll be in my room if you need me.”

You stormed out with your head held high, only pausing for a fraction of a second when Sam called out, “you know he’s gonna get you back for that, right?”

“I’d like to see him try.” You scoffed casually before disappearing around the corner.

~~~

It had been three days and the incident had been completely put out of your mind. Dean had been acting completely normal, well as normal as he could get. He had stayed out of the bunker for the most part but you hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.

You had gone about your business and now you were gearing up for a fun night out with the boys at the bar down the street. The perfect outfit was laid out and you had taken a long shower with the works of shaving, moisturizing, and pampering.

Just as you had slipped on your towel, there was a knock on the door and Sam’s head popped in the room, “hey, we’re all ready to go as soon as you are.”

“Awesome, I just need to dry my hair and throw on a little makeup. Gimme 15 minutes and I’ll be all good.”

You hustled over to the counter and slipped on your underwear and bra before snatching up your hair dryer. You flipped the switch on and there was a giant puff of white, and before you realized what happened, your entire head was covered in talcum powder. Panicking, you turned the dryer off and blinked hard, trying to keep it from falling into your eyes.

A giant marshmallow was staring back at you in the mirror and rage was bubbling up inside your chest. A high pitch scream mixed with a growl of frustration came out of you as you tried to wipe the power out of your hair, but with each swipe, it turned into a slimy mess.

“Dean, you’re such a jackass!” You screamed into the hall.

Sly as a fox, Dean rounded the corner and leaned against the door frame, a devilishly grin on his face. “Whoa, Casper, I thought I ganked you a while ago.”

You narrowed your eyes at Dean furiously and shot your fist out to hit his shoulder. The hit landed perfectly on his bicep and he jumped in surprise.

“You are such an asshole for this.”

“Hey, I told you that you were regret pranking me the other day. An eye for an eye, kiddo.” He chuckled as he rubbed where you’d hit him.

“This is not the same thing, Dean!” You spat bitterly, your cheeks hot with fury. “It’s gonna take me forever to get this out of my hair and I won’t be able to go out with you guys.”

Dean bit his lip as he looked you up and down then smirked, “I think you should definitely go like this. Guys really go for the Snow White look.” He chortled, completely pleased with himself.

You growled again, “you want a prank war, well it’s on, asshat. You better sleep with one eye open.”

You thought for a second that he might be scared, but instead, he leaned forward and winked at you. “It’s so on, sweetheart.” He teased, “oh, by the way, you have something right here.” He gestured to a small space on his cheek.

“Ugh, just get out, you jerk!” You screamed and shoved him out the door before promptly slamming it in his face.

Dean doubled over laughing, falling against the wall to hold himself up. Sam popped his head out of his bedroom across the hall and sighed heavily at his brothers antics. He already knew that the bunker would be in World War III for weeks after this.

“Why did you do that to her? She was really looking forward to going out tonight.”

Dean wiped a stray tear out of the corner of his eye. Chuckles were still bubbling out of him every once in a while. “I just love when she gets angry and her face does that cute pinchy thing.”

“It’s like you’re five years old, Dean, and you keep pulling on her pigtails. Just tell her that you like her already. It’s tiring for all of us.” Sam rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, almost daring Dean to disagree with him.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sammy. I just think it’s funny to make such a tiny girl angry. Besides, she should have known better than pranking me, I’m the Prank King.” Dean beat his fists on his chest like a gorilla as he paced back and forth.

“No, you’re an idiot, and she’s not gonna take this lying down.” Dean made a pfft sound and waved off Sam’s statement before sauntering down the hall like he was cock of the walk. “I’m just saying, leave me out of this!” Sam called out one final plea.

~~~

It had been the longest week of Sam’s life. Every moment he had gone to relax, Dean and Y/N were pulling some type of elaborate prank of each other, and it was all giving him a headache. All of this pranking and teasing had transported him back to middle school where it was all the rage to be mean to your crush.

Over the week, he had watched you put Baby’s keys in jello in retaliation for the talcum powder hair dryer. You had laughed for a full hour in Dean’s face while he berated you for getting his keys all sticky and ‘there was just no way they would ever be the same again’.

The next day, to counter your jello attack, he had watched from the sidelines as Dean had meticulously covered every single one of your belongings in tin foil. Sam was almost positive he had seen steam come out of your ears when you laid eyes on the silver wasteland.

He was currently sitting at the kitchen table watching you make a cherry pie with lots of whipped cream. You were in your own little world but every once in a while, you would giggle to yourself before remembering you weren’t alone.

“Hey, Y/N?” Sam finally forced himself to ask.

You hmmed in response, barely even glancing up at him, and continued to lather on the sugary substance.

“I hate to assume anything, but would you mind telling me what you’re planning on doing with that pie?”

Your head snapped up and you had a wicked smile on your face. “Oh this pie here? This pie is reserved for ol’ Deano’s snarky mug.” Sam grimaced at the answer. “What’s gonna happen is, I’m gonna have you call for him to come into the kitch-”

“No, no, no, I’m not involved in this and never will be. You both are being ridiculous and I will not be a party to you ignoring your feelings for each other.” Sam was pacing around like a crazy person, nostrils flaring fiercely. “So ya know what, I’m outta here until you two can grow the hell up!” He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving you with your mouth hanging open like a fish. You could hear his boots stomping up the stairs and then the bunker door slammed shut.

“What the hell was that all about?” You could hear Dean call from the library.

Adrenaline shot through your veins and you snatched the pie up, racing over to hide by the edge of the door. The second Dean rounded the corner, you slammed the pie right in the middle of his face, smushing it in a little just for the satisfaction.

You spun on your heel in attempts to get the hell out of Dean’s path of rage, but he grabbed your wrist at the last second to pull you back to him. The floor was covered in whipped cream and cherry filling and as you fell backwards onto him, your foot slipped and your momentum sent you both tumbling to the ground.

You huffed as you landed hard on to Dean’s chest, slamming your elbow on the hard linoleum in the process.

“Ow ow shit ow shit shit shit.” You muttered, tears pricking in your eyes.

Dean quickly sat up and tried to wipe as much whipped cream off his face as possible before adjusting you on his lap. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry. Shit, I did not mean for that to happen.” He tucked you in closer and cradled your elbow delicately.

You let yourself relax into him for a minute, willing the stubborn tears to disappear. “What are you even sorry for, Dean? This whole stupid thing was my fault, I’m the one who started with the pranks.” Your voice was shaky as a tear rolled down your cheek.

He sighed before reaching up to remove the tear but instead leaving a trail of whipped cream. He closed his eyes in defeat at forgetting he was covered in dessert. You let out a croaky laugh at the look on his face.

The feeling of his touch on your skin felt like sparks shooting through you. “This isn’t all your fault, ya know. I could have been an adult and not retaliate.” Your gaze cast down to the ground, trying to ignore the way he was causing your whole body to cover in goosebumps. “But I did have a lot of fun with you this week.”

You looked back up at him in disbelief. “You did?”

“Of course I did,” he grinned, causing his eyes to crinkle at the sides, “It was the most fun I’d had in awhile. I wasn’t thinking about monsters wanting to kill me or Sam’s mental health, I was just being a guy.”

“I had a lot of fun with you too, D.” You said, laying your head against the pocket of his shoulder.

The sound of his heart beating through his chest was comforting to you and you had almost completely forgotten about the ache in your elbow.

“Besides,” His gruff voice sent vibrations into your ear, “all your attention was on me all week, so that was pretty great.”

Your stomach flipped in exhilaration. “Why would that be a great thing?” You hoped you weren’t going in a wrong direction with this. It felt impossible that he could even remotely feel the same way as you.

Dean reached up and tilted your chin, forcing you to look at him. He was covered in a slimy layer of sugar but he had never looked more handsome to you.

“Because it felt great to not be competing with other guys when all I want is for you to spend time with me.” His voice was hesitant and unsteady because the anxious part of him was still telling him that you didn’t like him back.

You swallowed thickly and powered through the jumbled nerves, “Honestly, Dean, you’re never competing with other guys. They would lose to you every time.” Dean let out a deep breath he’d been holding in and tightened his hold around you causing your body to mesh with his. His eyes were sparkling with happiness and the feeling of his eyes on you was making your heart soar.

Dean brought his lips to yours, hardly a whisper away, and you could feel his breath heating up your face. The smell of whipped cream was mixing with his cologne and the scent was fogging your brain. You slipped your arm around his shoulder and pulled him to close the distance.

He inhaled deeply and pulled you closer, his lips melding with yours in a tender kiss and the taste of him was making you forget your own name. Vaguely, you could feel his arms snaking around your waist but all you could think about was the heavenly feeling of his plump lips and his tongue sweeping into your mouth, your bodies pulsing together in harmony.

“Ahem.”

You and Dean broke the kiss and your gaze raised to find Sam with his hands on his hips, eyebrows raised up in exasperation. He looked down at you two in a pile of pie and whipped cream, you draped over Dean’s lap, and you both intensely making out.

Dean let out an airy laugh as you let your forehead fall against his shoulder.

“I guess you got your wish, Sammy.” Dean said as he casually caressed your back. Sam’s face pinched up with disgust and he ran a hand over his face.

“I seriously did not think this through...” He muttered, frustration lacing his voice.

You laughed and snuggled your face into Dean’s neck, mortified at being caught in such a compromising position in the first place. Dean tightened his hold on the backs of your legs and stood up, his strong arms holding you with no problem.

“Now if you’ll excuse us, Sammy, I’ve got to clean up and I believe Y/N deserves a little payback for the pie in my face.” He growled lightly and whisked you down the hall to his room, your laugh bouncing off the walls.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #supernatural #Sam Winchester #prank war #prank champion #prank war champion #fanfiction #nicole-lynnefics #nicole-lynnerequests

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unityghost · 5 years

Text

All Cretans Lie

Part 24 of Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. Here thar be angst, mateys.

This story is based on a prompt from @commonercommenter, who suggested:

The voices start to fade, start telling Gabe to hate himself less and less. He finds he’s compelled to do it himself.

Thanks, commonercommenter!

At the moment I'm not taking prompts, but suggestions are welcome. Thank you for reading! Please take note that there are subtle references to sexual assault in this story.

Perhaps Gabriel should have been horrified, or frightened, or - at the very least - just a little bit concerned.

The truth was that he had anticipated this, no matter how much he didn’t want it to happen.

He confined himself to bed that morning, trying to ward off a splitting headache. He knew he ought to drink water, but couldn’t bring himself to move. That he had been up much of the night, caught between vivid nightmares and vague but terrifying images he couldn’t quite recollect upon waking, didn’t help any of what was going on.

When he hadn’t exited his bedroom by lunchtime, there was a knock at the door. Gabriel couldn’t make himself sit up, but he managed to turn over when the door clicked open.

“Don’t mind me,” Gabriel muttered. “Just a headache.”

“Uh-huh.” Dean moved closer to the bed and peered down at Gabriel. “You know, Gabe, just because Sam isn’t here doesn’t mean you gotta hole up in your room.”

“Excuse me?” With all the appearance of effortlessness he could manage, Gabriel pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Pardon my audacity, headmistress, but I have no plans to swaddle myself in misery. I prefer to think there’s a difference between being neurotic and being lazy.”

“Hey look, come on, I didn’t say that.” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. “I know you don’t need Sam to spoon-feed you. Just thought I’d check in.”

Gabriel groaned and edged into a proper sitting position. He massaged his temples. “I’m fine. Are you looking for help with something? Translations? The Sunday crossword? Leftover coffee that’s gonna go to waste if no one drinks it? Because I’m up for - ”

“Why don’t you just tell me what’s the matter, huh?”

Gabriel froze, then looked away. “I …”

“Even if it’s just that you’re missing Sam. I know it can be a little - ”

“All right, give me some credit, will you? I think I can keep my separation anxiety under control for a couple of days. You know what’d help? A fistful of Excedrin.”

“Are you sick or what?”

“I’m not sick.” Gabriel paused. “Not technically. More … uh …”

Dean waited.

Finally, Gabriel sighed. “Don’t freak out. It’s my grace.”

“Yeah?” Dean sounded unperturbed. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I mean it’s … I mean … right now, it’s …” Gabriel cleared his throat. “It’s not there. It’ll come back,” he added hastily, without meeting Dean’s eyes, “It will. I promise. This happened a hell of a lot with Asmodeus. Made sense: he’d take a truckload of it and suddenly it had a mind of its own, fighting back, in some kind of panic mode. Spring into action so hard it hurt. Then, other times, it was as resigned as I was.” Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. “Can’t say that made him too happy.”

Dean took a few seconds to process what Gabriel had told him. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I just made some lunch. I know you don’t have a strong stomach right now but if your grace is down for the count then you should have something to help get it back in gear.”

“I know. I know I should.”

“Here, come on, come out to the kitchen. Jack’s gorging himself on pizza. You should have some. Or something lighter, if that’s what you want. Come hang out with us.”

“I’m not much fun at parties right now.”

“Jack wants to feed you.” Dean got to his feet and clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.” Come on, buddy, get up.”

No, Gabriel thought, neither of them really wanted him there; and if Jack thought otherwise, he’d quickly recognize his mistake.

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Shut up.

He opened them again.

No one’s lying. No one’s delusional.

“Are you a hundred percent on that?” Gabriel asked Dean.

He’ll say yes.

“Yeah, we’ve been saving you a seat,” Dean told him.

And he means it.

It had been months since Gabriel’s arrival, months since Sam had begun telling him that it was possible to get better - to shake off at least a fragment of his self-abuse, so that the pain became sometimes, and not always; to have fewer dreams, fewer attacks of memory; to ask for help without the fear of violence or derision.

“All right,” Gabriel agreed. “Just … give me a few minutes.”

“Come out when you’re ready. It sounds like you’re sure this isn’t anything to call Sam over.”

“Let the kid have his downtime.”

“Ah, sure, yeah, downtime. Look at all the fun he’s having over in Tulsa.” Dean pulled his phone from his back pocket and, after a few seconds of scrolling, held it out so that Gabriel could read Sam’s text messages: Had to tell them I learned to be “respectfully dominant” toward my wife from my preacher dad. And then, half an hour later: I’ve been prescribed a double dose of prayer; take twice a day.

“Ha,” said Gabriel, “Gross. What is he doing?”

“Masquerading as a religious fanatic so he can get an inside look at what’s going on with kids under ‘Satanic influence.’ Their parents keep ending up dead, which is apparently all it takes for the kids to snap out of it. Not a pretty picture.”

“And is Cas putting on the same show?”

“Probably not as convincingly. Sam’s really good at looking remorseful.”

“And Cas has a penchant for looking confused. Proud of them both. It’s not every day you find that kind of raw talent.”

“So what do you need from me, then?”

Gabriel tensed. “You’re not pissed. That’s … appreciated.”

“All right. We’ll be waiting for you.”

“Consider me officially RSVP’d.” Gabriel forced himself to stand. His head stung, but he wasn’t dizzy or nauseated. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

While Dean was gone and Gabriel was getting dressed, he took inventory of his body - not to assess the effects of gracelessness, with which he was sorely familiar, but to better understand his response to Dean’s invitation to Sam’s absence, and to the question of, What are they going to do to me so long as I’m useless?

Over these last several months he had learned to read each one of them. It was anything but a smooth or rapid process, but Gabriel knew that he wouldn’t have fallen for Sam’s imaginary repentance in a house of prayer - because by this time, he could recognize when Sam was being honest. He could recognize when Dean was being honest. Neither of them had the time for diplomacy, Castiel couldn’t help being frank, and Jack had the colorful forwardness of any child.

There’s nothing to be scared of, Gabriel told himself, just to see whether he could identify his own sincerity.

And there it was. Wherever the assertion had come from, it was likely correct.

“Uncle Gabriel!” Jack exclaimed when Gabriel came into the kitchen. “Dean made pizza.”

“Dean made pizza,” Gabriel agreed.

“You should try some.”

“I … should not. Because I’m not hungry enough to take advantage of his masterpiece.” If that’s okay, he considered adding, but didn’t. “Gonna grab, I don’t know, an apple or something.”

“Uncle Gabe.” Jack looked somber. “You really should. Sam says that - "

“It’s fine,” Dean interrupted. “Guy’s just not up for it. We have apples.”

Jack shrugged. “Okay.” He bit into the slice of pizza, shut his eyes, and made muffled sounds of delight.

“He’s having a religious experience,” Dean told Gabriel.

Gabriel smiled. “I’ve been responsible for some of those, and I wouldn’t disagree with you.”

He spent most of the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, per routine; but, a few hours after lunch, decided to search one of the medicine cabinets for something to relieve his headache. He found two separate bottles of aspirin, one two years past its expiration date and the other unopened.

Gabriel hesitated. If someone noticed that he’d had the gall to take from an untouched bottle of medicine …

But there was what Gabriel told himself, and there was what Sam would have insisted upon.

Within half an hour, the headache was nearly gone.

That evening, he got a knock on his door. When he opened it, Sam smiled at him.

“Oh!” Gabriel was surprised. “I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow at least.”

“No, this wasn’t a hard case. Just some witch with too much time on her hands.”

“And I hear you’ve become quite the thespian.”

Sam laughed. “You’re doing okay?”

Gabriel hesitated, and Sam’s face fell.

“Turn that frown upside-down, soldier,” Gabriel said. “I’m not falling apart. But - you didn’t talk to your brother, by any chance?”

Sam looked worried. “He gave me some pizza but … not really.”

“Oh. Well, okay - don’t freak out, all right? Because there’s no need for it. But. When I woke up this morning …”

Sam folded his arms, watching Gabriel with fear in his eyes.

“When I woke up,” Gabriel finished, avoiding Sam’s gaze, “I didn’t have any grace. And it’s fine, it’s - it’s happened before. It’s always come back. Always. If it can rebound when I’m in Hell, having it ripped out of me like a tree root, I figure it’ll be fine. I mean, not fine, just - in flux. Not permanently gone.”

Sam frowned, contemplating, searching Gabriel’s face. “You look like you don’t feel good.”

“I’m not the usual picture of health you see every time you come into my room to mop up vomit in the middle of the night, but I’m in one piece.”

Sam bit his lip. “Sorry I wasn’t here this morning.”

“Don’t be. I survived. You know I always do when you need a break from - ” Gabriel paused. “From routine.”

Useless.

Gabriel stiffened. The word, the thought, had come out of nowhere - a hand clawing its way from what appeared to be an otherwise undisturbed grave.

He swallowed. “Anyway, don’t worry. There’s no problem. I’m …”

Nothing.

Not nothing, Gabriel pleaded with himself, No, that’s not what they think. With grace, without grace, that’s not how they -

“Well,” said Sam, “How’re you feeling?”

Gabriel found himself unable to speak.

Here it was again: that thick, dark feeling that swallowed him up, held him down, and gagged him. That putrid warmth coloring the normal with the sinister and contaminating the benign with the grotesque.

Memories, Gabriel told himself; these were memories. Don’t be afraid. Stop being afraid. It’s okay.

Alarm passed over Sam’s face. “Hey - ”

“Um - ”

“Gabriel.” Sam took him by the wrist. “What happened? Why are you shaking?”

“It’ll stop,” Gabriel told him, but didn’t pull away. “It’s just the shivers.”

“I’ll sit with you.”

Gabriel shuddered, overcome by something like fear, or relief, or uncertainty, or perhaps all three at once. “And I won’t fight you on that.”

Sam led him to the bed, lowered himself so that they were side by side, and gripped his shoulder. “I wish I could tell you I know what that feels like.”

“Oh, trust me, you really don’t.”

“When it happens … is there anything that pulls you out a little bit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “I’d like to say that you do, and you do, but it’s still there; it hangs around until it gets bored.” Then, worried that Sam would think he was ungrateful: “But it’s better than being alone. Really. A thousand times better.”

Sam offered a sad smile. “But you don’t tell anyone when it happens, do you?”

“Why should I? It’s just a feeling. It’s not real. I have to wait, that’s all. No need to call for help.”

“It is real,” Sam objected. “The feeling is real. The next time you - ”

“I know, Sam.” Gabriel closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It’s habit. Instinct. I don’t want to ask for anything.” He looked up at Sam. “Ever.”

“I know.”

Gabriel was overcome with a sudden chill, so that he shuddered once more. His heartbeat hadn’t slowed at all. An unexpected surge of nausea washed through him.

“Calm down,” Sam said softly. “You’re practically seizing.”

Gabriel shrugged Sam away, and left the room as quickly as he could without actually running.

“Gabriel, wait!” Sam followed him into the hallway, where Gabriel began retching.

“Oh crap, hey, no - ” Sam rushed him into the bathroom and helped him lean over the toilet. “Easy, easy does it. You’re okay.”

Gabriel’s breath came in cold, shallow gasps. In his graceless state, he vomited and let Sam hold him in place as it happened.

“I know you don’t care,” Gabriel sputtered. “That you don’t care about how much grace I have. I - ” He heaved again before he could finish.

That was the food that Dean had given him, Gabriel recalled. Dean had expected responsibility that Gabriel couldn’t exercise.

Gabriel couldn’t be trusted - not with their food, not with their hospitality, not with their kindness. He had unwritten the peace of earlier, had spoiled the maybe of “Let’s have lunch together,” defaced the possibility that things were going to be okay.

“Sam, I thought - I - I asked for - ”

He had asked for what he wanted, asked for their food, stolen their medicine -

“Gabriel,” Sam said softly, “Just relax.”

Sincerity made no difference. However genuine their concern and kindness might be, there was no guarantee it would last. Impatience was always waiting in the shadows; Gabriel could smell it just as he could smell his own vomit then and there. Their affection and dedication was like the aspirin he’d removed from the cabinet earlier: there was a cutoff that Gabriel had acknowledged in the past, an inevitable conclusion that he had somehow managed to dismiss lately.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “My grace isn’t - I’m sorry - ”

He should not have allowed himself access to I think it might be okay. Instead, he should have continued waiting for what had to come eventually. When they made up their minds that he was a burden they simply couldn’t handle anymore, the waiting game - which was a special kind of torture - would at least be over.

Gabriel shivered and gagged.

“Breathe, all right?” Sam sounded as though he was trying hard to remain calm himself. “I’m right here; it’s okay, Gabriel.”

He would be in danger if he forgot his place. He shouldn’t have permitted himself to forget that he was their sick patient, their delinquent foster child, their pet that just couldn’t seem to be house-trained.

The end, Gabriel reminded himself, was long overdue.

“Slow down,” Sam instructed, gently lowering him to kneel on the floor. “Just - I don’t know what I did. I’m sorry.”

Gabriel should have reminded himself that the others were poisoning themselves by touching him, by speaking to him, by listening to his voice, by acknowledging that he was there at all.

“Sam,” Gabriel choked, vomit still clinging to his lips.

“Yeah, hey, what is it?"

“I - I haven’t told you everything, and - ” He paused, waiting to see if he would get sick again.

“You mean about Asmodeus?” said Sam. “I know that.”

“You don’t, though; you haven’t seen any of the worst. You don’t realize just how - ”

“No,” Sam said firmly. “We’ve talked about this before.”

There was nothing left for Gabriel to vomit. All that remained was him, only Gabriel - and that couldn’t be gotten rid of. “I’m better, or I’ve been feeling better; I go back and forth, Sam, and I just don’t know!”

Sam guided Gabriel upright. “Let’s go lie down. In my room. Okay?”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel repeated.

“Come here.” Sam half-carried him out of the bathroom and back down the hall.

“All right,” Sam said, easing Gabriel onto the bed, “There we go. I gotcha.”

Gabriel, still trembling, wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled his knees toward his chest.

Sam sat on the edge of the mattress and peered down at him. “If I scared you - ”

“You didn’t. I - that feeling, it wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t go away. I feel sick and I can’t control anything right now, and I - Sam, I’m not just trashing myself for funsies. There’s a reason I say you shouldn’t care about me. There’s a reason I’m so convinced of that, Sam. Dozens of reasons.” He swallowed, tasting the remnants of vomit in his mouth. “It’s just that you think you have no proof of it. Dad knows why you’d believe something like that after everything I’ve put you through, but all I can do is cram the really, really effed-up shenanigans as far away from you as possible. Because there are whole lifetimes I just can’t talk about. They’re too humiliating, and - and I can’t let you see what he - what I - ”

“You don’t have to, but you can.”

“And,” Gabriel continued hoarsely, “You’re just going to have to take my word for it. This is the one thing you can trust me with, because I was there. I can’t be wrong about what he made me do.” When Sam didn’t reply, Gabriel went on: “I know this is hard for you to hear. And I’m sorry. You just - if you want what’s best for me, for all of you - I don’t know, I guess I deserve the pain of whatever’s in store for me. Why not let myself get hurt, right? You’d think I’d be eager to let it all happen, wouldn’t you?” His breathing began to shallow. “A slow death. A little more of this here, of me lying on your bed with you looking at me like you’re about to cry; and then I’m worried about what’s best for you, and if I can’t trust myself then I’m wrong and you’re the one with your priorities straight. Sam - when the Cretan tells you all Cretans lie, what the hell are you supposed to believe? This is the most confused I’ve ever been and I can’t figure out what to do with any of what’s tearing at the inside of my head.”

Sam took a second to consider his response. Then he answered, “A few of my law professors brought that up in seminars. The Liar Paradox. I used to tell my professors that whichever way you look at it, that guy couldn’t’ve been a Cretan at all. Which means he has no authority.” Sam offered his hand. “That means there are answers. Somewhere. You just gotta think creatively.”

Gabriel’s throat tightened. “So then what’s the answer?”

Sam took his hand. “I don’t know.”

If Sam was made aware, if Sam could witness some of the depraved acts in which Gabriel had engaged - not because he’d wanted to, and yet they had still happened, every one of them - he would not allow this to continue.

Undoubtedly, Sam would think twice about giving up: he felt he had to keep his promise to protect Gabriel, to nurture Gabriel, to show love he probably had to convince himself he really felt. But he would choose to end it, because Sam couldn’t ignore what he knew, in his heart of hearts, to be right.

Sam squeezed his hand. “You can talk to me, you know.”

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I just did.”

“If you’ve got more to say, I’m here.”

“I always have more to say.” Let go. Let go of his hand.

“I have a question,” Sam said softly, and Gabriel caught the hesitancy behind his words. Maybe it was now. This was as good a time as any; Gabriel had, after all, just implored Sam to make it swift.

“Listen,” Sam murmured, “Hasn’t it ever crossed your mind that maybe I worry you’ll give up on me too?”

For a few seconds, all Gabriel could take in was the voice in his head - let go; let go of his hand - and then his mind went blank for a few seconds, and finally he heard what Sam had just told him.

“Uh,” said Gabriel, “No.”

“What about the other day?” A twinge of discomfort flickered over Sam’s face. “When I spazzed out about the - ”

“About that self-destructive young whippersnapper who ran into the middle of the road? I just wanted to help you.”

“Well, sometimes I figure there’s no reason you’d want to do that, and maybe you’ll eventually see why I think so."

Gabriel tried to assess his own response to Sam’s confession. On the one hand, he wasn’t very surprised: Sam’s relationship with himself was hardly more impressive than Gabriel’s. Even so, the very idea was almost laughable - but also sickening, and Gabriel felt some of the nausea resurface.

“Shut up,” he told Sam. Then, after a moment’s hesitation: “Are you lying? Part of me hopes you’re bullshitting me. Part of me hopes you’re the non-Cretan.”

Sam shook his head. “Dean’s given up on me before. The guy who knows me better than anyone. If that’s my metric, then ... “ He looked away before returning his attention to Gabriel and forcing a smile. “Kind of proves me right, doesn’t it?”

“No offense to your brother, but his patience is on the low end of the bell curve. And I know he’s sort of your hero, Sam, but the only one who has the final say in who gets to give up on who isn’t Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “I was just trying to make a point. We’re not really talking about me.”

“Aren’t we, though? Because I feel like self-revulsion has become a tautology with us."

Sam frowned. “What?”

“It’s like we’re throwing it back and forth. In fact, I - Sam, it’s almost as if you’re trying to take it away from me. Like if you keep on hating yourself enough, there will only be so much left for me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s like you go grabbing for it. Except - and you should know this by now - there’s an infinite supply of that ugliness to go around. It doesn’t matter how much you try to take on; there’s always going to be more for me. For all of us.”

Sam fidgeted. “Yeah. Fine. But that has nothing to do with anything. Not right now.”

“I don’t want you to get the idea that this isn’t about both of us. There’s so much wrong with me, but I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re so good at what you do.”

For a few moments, Sam was quiet. Then he asked, “You want some water or something?”

Gabriel recoiled.

“Would you like some water?” Sam amended.

There were a few moments of silence. Then, eyes trained on Gabriel’s hand clasped in his, Sam said, “I don’t know how to read you. Sometimes you seem all right, but I can’t be sure, because what would I do if I got it wrong and didn’t think to check in and you …” He swallowed. “What if I miss something?”

“What if you do? It isn’t your responsibility to take my vitals every day.”

“Gabriel, you know what I mean. If something happened to you, just because I looked away for a second, I …” Sam trailed off.

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.” Gabriel knew Sam needed to hear him say it. “And even if it did, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

Sam shifted his gaze to his lap.

“You’re not stupid,” Gabriel pressed. “You know I’m always going to come running to you when things get out of hand. Plant my feet beneath your window, throw some pebbles, get down on one knee, give a speech. I don’t even have the capacity to - ” Here Gabriel paused, because it was precisely this that had soured the afternoon.

Sam looked back at him. “To what?”

Gabriel was suddenly overcome by a memory that turned his stomach again: Asmodeus, holding him down, as a second demon raised Gabriel’s arms and pinned them to the floor so that he couldn’t defend himself. This, Asmodeus knew, was a more effective method than any magical restraints could have been. Magic didn’t have a voice. Magic didn’t have a body that could be clawed, punched, and bitten to no avail. Magic robbed Gabriel of only so much dignity, because with magic there was no hope; there was no wasted combat, no maybe I can get away from him that bled through resignation to the inevitable. When Gabriel was attacked, he flailed under the foul illusion of possibility.

It didn’t matter how safe Gabriel might be now. That feeling, that awful feeling, had lessened in frequency, but increased in intensity whenever it returned. There was no safety. There couldn��t be. The closest Gabriel might come to being truly safe was to ensure awareness that he would never be safe.

“Hey,” Sam said quietly. “What’s the matter, Gabe?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. The ceiling blurred. “I don’t know.”

“Listen, your grace will come back, and even if it didn’t we’d - ”

“Have every right to throw me away.”

“No."

“And when it’s good to go, I’m a valuable asset, so if someone finds that out and comes looking for me and offers you payment - ”

“I told you that’s not gonna happen. Gabriel, none of this crap is worth your time.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m giving it my time. My time is running to these questions with open arms. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop myself. He was - the memories are too strong.” Gabriel blinked and felt a tear glide down his temple and into his ear. “I can’t fight them.”

“I can help!”

“You are helping. You’re at the helm; you have been since the beginning. You started digging through the rubble at ground zero. And I - and - ” Gabriel let out a tight sob. “You need to lower your expectations, Sam. If you think you can change me then you’re only going to end up blaming yourself.”

“Okay.” Sam slid his hand out of Gabriel’s and lifted him upright. “It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re safe; everything’s okay.”

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut but allowed Sam to hold him close. “You and Dean and Cas - you’re good at fixing things. You’re the world’s handymen. You’ve got wits as your wrench and the universe is a blocked sink. But I …”

“Gabriel, we’ll figure it out.”

“Things come back so fast; a - a memory, and then something in that memory - it leads to another memory. Sometimes I remember things I didn’t even realize I remembered. So I hear these voices telling me to clear out before it gets too late, and the next thing I know he’s telling me about how no matter where I am, he’ll always be with me - inside of me. And then I start thinking about how I gave in when it all got to be too much. Which makes me think of the things he did, the things he made me do, the things I let him do.”

Sam tightened his grip. “You didn’t let Asmodeus do anything.”

“I could’ve at least tried to stop him, though; it just - after a while it felt like there was no point in trying anymore. But where’s the honor in not fighting back? How can I forgive myself for going down just because he told me I would lose? I believed him. I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s not - ”

“Except I don’t think I could have won, because I … because … Asmodeus was stronger, yes, but there’s more than that. Asmodeus was right. I know that’s not what you think, and I believe you - at least sometimes. I just - I know it. The same way I know my grace, and when it isn’t there. It’s automatic, Sam; it’s in my blood at this point. I just know he was right, like I know glass will break when it falls. He was right about never being able to escape, never being enough for him, for anyone; never being quick enough to give, and being greedy enough to take everything he had to offer, pretending like I deserved any of it - his food, his love - ”

“Don’t say it like that. He didn’t love you.”

“And so what if he didn’t? Is that better? What does that say about me, that he had me locked up for so long and never even learned to love me? It’s like I told you, he was right. The proof is there, Sam, right in front of you. You see it every day. What have I done to show I’m worth anything more than what he said I was? He saw me as - ”

“He saw you through his eyes. I have my own. And for all your talk about weakness, you certainly haven’t stopped trying to fight back against me.”

That surprised Gabriel. “Nobody’s trying to fight you. I’m just … I need you to … to know what I am. That’s all. For my sake. And for yours too. So that I’m not thrown off when it happens, and you don’t keep forcing yourself into the pain that you do.”

“‘It’ has nothing to do with this. And I’m not in pain. But you are. Which isn’t your fault. It’s not because you’re not trying, or because you can’t get better. It’s because anyone, even you, even any of your family, or any of us, would’ve had to put in the same work you are after being put through so much torture.”

Feeling slightly frantic, Gabriel pulled away. “Wrong. You went through it yourself, Sam, and you’re miles ahead.”

“It was different, and I’m different, and I’m not not still a mess; you know that. You’ve seen that, Gabe. And also, you were there a lot longer, and when you got out you had more you had to face, and - I don’t know,” Sam finished, suddenly helpless, “Just cut yourself some slack, man.”

“I’m trying,” Gabriel grated out, “And I can’t.”

“Not yet, maybe.”

“I can’t, Sam, because I - because - ”

“Because what?”

“Because I shouldn’t.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. He watched Gabriel, studying his face, building an answer from whatever he saw there.

Then, at last, Sam said: “You never have to talk about what else he did to you. Not if you don’t think you can. That’s fine. But you have to trust that I know it was his fault, not yours. Those thoughts, Gabriel, those memories - they can haunt you, they can hurt you, but they shouldn’t make you feel guilty.”

Gabriel remained silent.

“I need you to trust me,” Sam continued. “I know you usually do. You’ve got to take that a step further. Whatever I hear from you … it’s not going to make me think you’re disgusting. No one - not him, not you - can change my mind about that. Do you know why?”

Still, Gabriel said nothing, just looked at him.

“Because I know I’m right,” Sam told him. “I know it like I know glass breaks when it hits the floor.”

Gabriel’s breath shallowed.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “It’s all gonna be fine. It’s just me right now.”

No more of this, no more crying, no more crying, please -

Sam laid a hand on his arm. “Relax.”

There had always been uncertainty. Not once had Gabriel allowed for a unanimous vote in his mind so that Sam’s declarations of loyalty could be accepted, beyond reasonable doubt, as wholly honest.

Now, looking into Sam’s face, something shifted. For a moment Gabriel felt the same sense of absoluteness, the same unquestionability, that he knew every time he thought about his own worthlessness.

For a fleeting second, the verdict became obvious.

“Just for tonight,” Sam told him. “Just for tonight, let me help; don’t ask why. Just for today. We don’t have to worry about tomorrow.”

“I don’t know,” Gabriel stammered for the third time. “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t figure it out.”

“You don’t need to right now. There’s a lot to figure out. I know that.”

“It’s not; it shouldn’t be. I know I don’t deserve this, and I know I can trust you, and I can’t make them work together.”

“They aren’t working together. One of them’s a lie and we can toss it.”

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?"

“What if I know it isn’t a lie?”

Gabriel stared at him for a moment, and then turned away as he choked on another strangled sob.

“Gabriel, look,” Sam said, “As much as I want you to learn to trust yourself, this definitely isn’t the right time. If all you’re thinking is that we don’t want you here, or that you can’t get better, then you need to come to one of us instead of taking your own word on blind faith. I hate to say it, but if the question is between trusting what I tell you and what you tell yourself - what Asmodeus tells you - listen to me for a while. Only me."

Gabriel kept his eyes averted. “I can’t.”

“Yeah. Exactly. You have to let me take charge a little bit, Gabriel. Until you can stop being so violent with yourself. Not like - I don’t need to watch your every move, and you don’t have to tell me what you’re not ready to. That’s fine. All I’m saying is if you’re not sure who’s right about you, assume I know what I’m talking about. Just trust me, is all.”

“Sam - ”

“Try. Just for tonight. There’s no contract. Just try.”

Gabriel wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t - ”

“You don’t have to know. Not right now.”

Gabriel stared at him bleakly, feeling numb. Then he leaned into Sam and allowed himself to go limp.

Sam held onto him. Neither of them spoke.

“Don’t make me tell you,” Gabriel muttered at last.

“I won’t. Remember? You called me out on that. And I’m glad you did.”

“I might never, though. I might never be able to.”

Sam hugged him more firmly. “No worries about that.”

“I - ”

Sam remained still, waiting.

“For tonight,” Gabriel whispered.

“Yeah. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

It was then that Gabriel realized that some of the terror had begun to abate. His head hurt, but he no longer felt sick.

There was darkness around him, darkness inside of him, but no darkness in Sam’s embrace.

More importantly, there was no insincerity. Just for tonight, the language of Sam’s touch could be read as easily as anything else.

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httyd2014 · 5 years

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Character Review of HTTYD 3

This is Part 1 of a two part movie review of How To Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World. Next up is the plot review.

As of March 3, I've seen it four times. The first was the February 2 early showing, the second and third were on opening weekend in a regular AMC theater, and the fourth was in IMAX yesterday, which, like, I'm bothered by the fact that this third movie in the franchise only has limited IMAX screenings whereas the first two were released in all IMAX theaters, and released in 3D to boot. But anyway, character review: (Also, spoilers abound, so only read this if you've seen it already)

He was at his BEST. That speech he gives to the Vikings in the great hall after Grimmel burns his house down gets more chilling and chilling with each viewing. Years ago when Dean Deblois was dropping hints over what to expect in the sequel, I got the impression that the arch of the trilogy would end with Hiccup's coronation as Chief at the end of the third. Instead, not only is he thrust into the role early thanks to Stoick's heartbreaking death, but we get to see him grow and struggle in the role of Chief, and I thought that character arch was pulled off sensationally. Although he takes after his mother's idealism in his attempts to save all innocent dragons from the hostile Trappers, he also embraces his father's lesson from the sequel that his first duty is to protect his people from harm and danger. His speech in the great hall encapsulates that beautifully with one powerful line after another.

Hiccup is truly the leader of his people by the end of this movie, and not only that, but at least from my perspective, he's also imminently relatable. He genuinely struggles with himself and questions whether he's capable of doing what needs to be done as Grimmel and the legion of Trappers advance on New Berk. That lack of internal belief he carried around inside him as a scrawny 15 year old boy before he shot down the Night Fury is still there, six years later, as a handsome 21 year old chief. His internal struggle really showed his humanity, and in my opinion, it was Hiccup's journey that drove this third movie more than any other character, including Toothless. Which brings me to our beloved Night Fury:

Ok, so I must confess, I wasn't totally satisfied with how his character was portrayed. What made Toothless so amazingly endearing in the first one was how he struck such a PERFECT balance between being this fierce, ferocious beast on one hand, and being this adorable little puppy dog on the other hand. For the most part, he kept that balance in the sequel, particularly at the end when he challenges Drago's Bewildabeast and becomes the new Alpha of all dragons. In this one, however, I honestly didn't get the sense that Toothless truly was the "Unholy Offspring of Lightning and Death Itself" like the Viking legends said Night Furies were. Even during the above scene in the clouds where he does the Lightning Bolt thing and goes into stealth mode, it felt more like a cheap trick to impress Luna than a symbol of how utterly deadly he can be, and sure enough, he only uses it that one time to get those four Deathgrippers off his back. To me, all those puppy dog moments - of which there are MANY in this one - are less adorable because they aren't contrasted with enough moments of genuine fierceness. Simply put: I liked Toothless a lot more in the first and second movies than in the third one.

That being said - and I'm going to repeat this in the plot review - the flaws in his character are made up for by the ending. He does the most human thing we've EVER seen him do when he literally gives Hiccup a big bear hug as they say good by. I put my hand over my mouth to control my emotions when I saw that! And then during the final scene where Hiccup visits him after 5 or 6 years, Toothless does a very animal like thing by failing to recognize Hiccup at first, which, as a big fan of the Jurassic World movies, reminded me of how the velociraptor Blue didn't recognize Owen after not seeing him for a year, thus putting Owen in a dangerous situation. But then as soon as Hiccup does the Forbidden Friendship thing, BOOM, Toothless's eyes widen like the sea, and he embraces his dear friend that he can't see every day anymore. To me, that was totally in character of who Toothless is as both a deadly Night Fury, but also the best friend a human could ask for.

I'm gonna say this straight up: If Captain Marvel, or Star Wars, or Ghostbusters, or whoever, is going for the narrative of Strong, Female, Characters that do Strong, Female, Things, they already have an archetype that everyone loves, and her name is Astrid Hofferson. She is the true embodiment of a strong, female character, and I thought everything that made HTTYD fans love her in the first one was on display again in the third one. I was worried about this too, because in the trailers, it looked like Deblois might have been relying too heavily on the mythos of the first one, specifically the talk on the cliff, which from the trailers looked copied and pasted into the third one. However, it came off SO much better on film than it looked in the trailer, including one of my favorite lines from the entire franchise:

"But you know what? I am the person I am today because of you. And I have watched you doubt yourself every day ever since."

Astrid does what a good woman is supposed to do for her man: Be there for him when he falls down, comfort him with kind words, and remind him of who he is and what he can do. And she does all that in addition to being the warrior princess that Tuffnut correctly described her as. She fulfills the old saying, "behind every great man, stands a great woman." The talk on the cliff in this one is JUST AS GOOD as the same talk in the first one. It didn't come off as contrived or forced like I thought it would. Another favorite part of mine was during Hiccup's speech where she throws her axe on the table and demands that the Vikings hear out his plan to abandon Berk. She does that despite explicitly disagreeing with that plan earlier, which means that she was willing to stand by her man and her Chief even though she herself wasn't enthusiastic about the plan at first. Overall, I felt that the Hiccstrid relationship drove this story almost as much as the friendship between Hiccup and Toothless, and it did it without devolving into cliched romance.

She was good...at least when she had actual time onscreen (more on that in the plot review). I LOVED how she developed a relationship of sorts with her future daughter-in-law by encouraging Astrid to comfort Hiccup when he was doubting himself. I remember thinking to myself in the theater, "wow, Hiccup has two incredible women in his life! What a gift." I also liked how she automatically became an authority figure on Berk despite being gone for 20 years. She basically plays the role of General by scouting out Grimmel's advances towards New Berk and by bailing out Hiccup and the gang when Grimmel outfoxes Hiccup by trapping him on his ship. Between Valka, Eret, Astrid, and Gobber, it's really cool to see how Hiccup has a good leadership council behind him.

Believe me, his character is SO much cooler if you've seen Game of Thrones. I can't emphasize enough how Kit Herrington's personality comes alive in Eret. In this one, my only complaint is that I wish we saw him more in combat fighting along side Gobber and Valka, although even as an adviser to Hiccup, he plays the role really well. A part of me wishes he gave Hiccup and Stoick more of a challenge when he was working for Drago in the 2nd one, because his knowledge of the world outside Berk is impressive, not to mention he's a natural leader, as he demonstrates during the speech in the great hall when he augments Hiccup's points. Whatever goofball traits he had in the sequel are gone in this one, and I liked that. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about...

Ugh. The teens could have disappeared entirely and it wouldn't have effected the plot at all (Grimmel would have found New Berk eventually. Ruffnut's stupidity simply allowed him to find it faster). There was absolutely no character development from any of them, and in Snotlout's case, he outright devolved. The primary reason I didn't think HTTYD 3 was an A+ movie is because the teens would not shut the hell up. I did NOT find most of their lines or antics funny, I found them distracting and annoying. These characters reached their apex in Gift of the Night Fury, and they never got better after that.

Is Gobber. Good man, good leader, kind of paranoid. His shining moment in this franchise remains his eulogy during Stoick's funeral. In this one, you could tell that Deblois didn't really have anywhere to go with his character, so he added a subplot with the constantly appearing Hob Gobblers, which to me was what Legend of the Boneknapper should have looked like. One thing I do wish is that we saw one quick appearance of the Trolls alongside the Hob Gobblers on New Berk, as that would have been an amusing validation of his line to Stoick from the first one.

He gets two WONDERFUL flashbacks with Little Hiccup.* But, there's one error that was made during those flashbacks, and I apologize in advance to everyone who has already pointed it out: Stoick's beard should have looked scruffier and redder like it does in the first one when he's younger, as opposed to straight with grey spots like in the second when he's older. His beard is straight with grey spots during the flashbacks. Assuming that wasn't an oversight by Dreamworks, I'm guessing they did it that way because it was easier to animate. Which is understandable, but still, I'm a stickler for consistency. (The missing tree branch in front of Hiccup's face in the first one still jars me every time I see it).

*My gods, every animation studio from Dreamworks to Disney to Pixar has MASTERED the art of creating adorable children. It never ceases to amaze me

Ok, WOW, I loved him as a villain! He was everything Drago Bludvist wasn't: Cunning, crafty, smart, and above all, relatable. Grimmel is what Hiccup possibly WOULD have become if he stuck his knife into the downed Night Fury. Both of them are cerebral, and both of them play this delightful mind game where they try to anticipate each other's moves and countermoves, which Grimmel wins more often than not. As Gobber said to Hiccup, "one day, you're going to pick a fight you can't win." If Drago made Hiccup pay for his idealism by costing him his fathers life, than Grimmel makes Hiccup pay by costing him his Dragon-Human utopia. Grimmel's actions cause Hiccup to eventually accept the painful truth that humans living with dragons every day is not possible without resorting to war and death to keep that utopia a reality. When a villain can change things like that, then you have a damn good villain, and not just a guy who gets in the way periodically like Alvin and Dagur from the TV show.

Additionally, I thought Grimmel was so much more personable than Drago. His talk to Hiccup in the house evoked the same feelings in me as the talk between Evelyn Deavor and Elastigirl in Incredibles 2, which is to say, I was relating to what BOTH of them were saying to each other. It was like the Light and Dark sides that exist inside all of us were speaking to each other. Whereas Drago was just pure evil and brute force, Grimmel was genuinely compelling and interesting. I would have liked Deblois to take a different story arch with this third film than just throwing another disposable villain in the mix, but as it is, Grimmel was a worthy character.

In Summary

Hiccup and Astrid were spectacular, Toothless was very good but could have been better, Valka, Eret, and Gobber played their roles well, and Grimmel was an excellent bad guy. The only downside was the Teens. If their comic relief was cut, or if they were actual characters, this could have been an A+ movie from start to finish as opposed to A+ at the end and at specific parts in between (like the speech and the talks on the cliff).

#httyd 3 #the hidden world #hiccup #toothless #astrid #valka #stoick #eret #Gobber #grimmel #characters #review #hiccstrid #night fury #dean deblois

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my-personal-writing-wonderland · 5 years

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Who are you? - Lucifer x reader

Words: ~ 1699 words

Warning: none

Pairing: Lucifer x reader

Summary: Sam and Deans sister meets Lucifer under uncommon circumstances. What happens when her brothers find out?

A/N: This is much longer than I planned it but I hope you enjoy it anyway.

You’re walking along the streets to your car. After another tiring hunt with your older half-brothers Sam and Dean, you grant yourself a shopping trip.

As you pack your shopping bags in your car trunk, you notice an energy. That’s right, you’re not just a Winchester but also a powerful witch who is able to notice people’s energy. Everyone’s energy is different but you already caught some patterns.

Right now, the energy seems to be very weak, you have to concentrate to even recognize it. But you’re sure it belongs to an angel.

After a few minutes you find the source of the energy. A blonde male is lying unconscious in an alley. When you approach him you notice all the blood on his shirt, he seems to have some serious injuries. You try to sit him up and he lets a hurt moan escape. In an instant you understand how serious his conditions are and with all your power you try to carry him to your car.

In the car you lay him down as carefully as you can on the passenger seat. He’s still half unconscious during the drive, which doesn’t change when you take him to the bunker, inside your room. You’re glad Sam and Dean already left for another hunt a few towns away. They probably wouldn’t be too fond of an unknown angel.

When you finally manage to carry the stranger in your bed you begin to treat his wounds. There are several deep wounds on his belly and back. In moments like this you thank yourself for creating some creams for wound healing. It was actually meant for Sam and Dean, these two hurt themselves so often, but now you can use them for the stranger.

It will help to heal his wounds much faster and because he’s an angel, he should be fine soon. He needs to rest right now but still, you would love to know who he is and who did this to him.

A few hours later you hear noises from your room. It sounds like something fell. As fast as you can you reach your room to find the stranger lying on the floor in front of the bed, he clearly fell when he tried to stand up. “Are you alright?” You ask carefully. Only now you realize you let a total stranger in your home, an angel nonetheless.

“Who are you?”

“My name is (y/n), and you are?” You smile at him. You want to show him he’s save with you and you mean no harm.

“Why am I here?”

“So you’re asking the questions now?” You smirk at him. “I found you wounded in an alley, so I took you home with me to treat your wounds.”

“Why?” The guy doesn’t seem to trust you. But who can hold that against him, he seems like he had gone through a lot.

“Because you were hurt.”

Lucifer was confused by your simple answer. Were you really just kind enough to take a complete stranger home with you when he’s in danger? There has to be more behind that, right?

But you don’t seem to plan anything so far. The smile you give him looks genius, and Lucifer knows you probably have no idea who he is. If you knew he’s the devil you wouldn’t react like that. You certainly wouldn’t have helped him in the first place.

“You had some pretty bad injuries but they’re healing now. Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah… I’m fine I guess.” There is no way Lucifer is going to confess that his wounds hurt like hell.

“Are you sure? I’m just asking because you’re sitting on the floor,” you laugh as you help him up carefully.

“I don’t think I caught your name.”

Now it comes. After hearing who he is you will be scared of him and either run away screaming or throw him out. He doesn’t know why be he doesn’t find you as annoying as the others mortals. Probably because you helped him out despite not knowing who he truly is. You cared about his well-being and that’s something he hasn’t experienced in quite some time. Therefore he makes a decision, he really hopes he won’t regret later.

“I’m Nick.”

Lucifer stayed at the bunker for the last few days. Your brothers hunt took longer than you all expected which gave you time to treat the angel’s wounds.

He’s feeling better already but his angel powers aren’t back so far. He told you that something like that can take some time. Over the last few days you befriended the devil. Of course you still think his name is Nick but you learned to appreciate his present.

He’s funny and sarcastic just like you, so you two were on the same wavelength right from the beginning. He even opened up to you and told you that his family did this to him because he’s a fallen angel.

You never asked why he fell, you don’t care about what happened in the past. All that matters is that you feel very comfortable with him. You told him about your life as a hunter, that you kill monsters with your brothers and your past live with your mother. During your talks he listens thoughtfully and truly seems to care about what you have to say.

One day the two of you sit on the sofa, your legs over his lap. To this time you can’t deny the feeling you increased for the angel next to you. The only thing you don’t know is that he also has some feelings for you, no matter how hard he tries to deny them.

You laugh about some badly made movie and imitate the horrible actors and actresses when you hear the door of the bunker opens. “Oh, that has to be Sam and Dean.”

“Sam and Dean?” Immediately, Lucifer panics. You told him about your brothers and your friendship with the king of hell and another angel but he never thought that your brothers are his true vessel and the vessel from Michael. The next thing Lucifer realizes is the fact that his lie won’t last much longer.

Before Lucifer can even try to explain what’s going on and before he gets the opportunity to apologize to you for lying about his identity while you trusted him, the brothers enter the living room.

“Hey Sam, hey Dean-o, how was the hunt?” You don’t seem to notice Nick’s or better Lucifer’s tensed posture.

“What the f*ck?” Dean screams. Both brothers are alarmed instantly after seeing Lucifer sitting next to you. How did he even escape again?

“(Y/n)! Go away from him, now!” Sam panicked.

Instead of following Sam’s order you stay where you are and look at them confused.

“Guys, what the heck is going on?”

“(Y/n) that’s Lucifer! He’s dangerous you have to go away from him,” Dean tries this time.

Lucifer sees the confusion in your face after Dean told you who he is. He should have told you before, maybe then there would be a chance that you forgive him. Oh, who is he kidding? No one wants to spend time with the devil. Satan. The monster who need to be imprisoned.

“Is that true?” You look him deeply in his eyes. He can’t read anything in yours. There is no possibility for him to see what you’re feeling right now.

The archangel can only nod, he can’t even look at you right now. His chance to be loved by someone disappears just like that.

“Why didn��t you tell me?” You don’t scream at him, nor do you seem to be scared.

“Because I knew you’re going to be afraid of me and throw me out,” Lucifer answers truthfully.

“It takes a bit more to scare me, Lucifer.”

“Are you crazy, (y/n)? He lies to you, that’s all he does. He’s manipulative and he’s evil. You can’t trust him,” the brothers reasoned with you. Dean even calls Castiel who begs Lucifer to go away from you.

“Alright, stop that. He didn’t try to hurt me so far and he isn´t trying to hurt us in this moment, is he? So please calm down, he isn’t a danger.”

“Lucifer is always a danger. You can’t trust him, (y/n),” Castiel disagrees with you.

“That’s not your decision to make. He’s staying for a few more days until his wounds fully healed. And none of you can’t say anything to change my mind.”

Lucifer never expected you to stand up for him like that. It’s like you don’t hate and despise him like anyone else. You care about him just as much as before.

“You don’t have to do that. My powers are already back since quite some time now. I wanted to tell you but you wanted to watch this horrible movie,” he smiles a bit. “But I’ll better go now. Your brothers and Castiel don’t trust me and sadly, they have every right to do so but I would never hurt you, (y/n).”

Before anyone else can say something, the archangel flies away.

At first you are angry at your brothers and your angel friend. Of course, they just want to protect you but what they did to Lucifer was unfair and mean. He was injured and needed help and you didn’t do anything wrong with providing this help.

When you think about it, you would have probably helped him even if you knew who he was. No one deserves to die alone in an alley after all.

Without saying another word you storm in your room. It makes you sad that Lucifer has to be alone right now. It must hurt to get treated like that for no real reason.

After you open the door you see a little letter on your pillow. You look the door to your room before you pick it up and begin to read it.

‘Dear (y/n), thank you for your help and thank you for standing up for me. You are the most fascinating human I have ever met and I’m not willing to let you go just now. We will see each other soon.’

#lucifer x reader #lucifer #lucifer spn #spn #supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #sister!reader #castiel

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mrschimpf · 5 years

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So...I got this review on ff-net for "Longing" this morning. Usually I love reviews because they give me encouragement...this ain't one of them, though.

If you don't want to read through it, in summary...

"Great story, but it seems like you hate men and the direction of society. Why isn't Dean just the bland fella presented in the show? Why is he violent and a cheating asshole who's rich; that's Logan y'know? Love the story as I said and Madeline and Louise are great, but I'm done with it."

Yeah, a lot to unpack here if you're not in the GG fandom like I've been since near the beginning, along with the basic concept of fanfiction.

"It's a well-written story with good characterisation of Rory and Paris but...there's a lot of anger in it."

When I started the story in 2003, the sky was the limit, and Paris and Rory were on their way to great lives bereft of any issues with men and so much potential for women in the world. Fast-forward to 2019...where we have a lying cheat of an asshole in the White House, merely disagreeing with a man is enough to bury your Twitter mentions in hate, and LGBTQ+ rights are being attacked at every turn.

Then we have the aftermath of AYITL, which dynamited Rory's future into being completely dependent on men (aka Logan), took away her entire drive and reason for being, and left her as a homewrecker having a kid she probably never wanted. And Paris is in a loveless marriage with a completely underwritten Doyle whose character traits went from 'being a loving and supporting boyfriend to a neurotic Jewish girl with the entire world upon her shoulders' to 'wink-wink Danny Strong writes Empire and Oscar-winners; Doyle can't raise kids let's just write that Doyle's that now since we threw out the Doyle notebook in our post-S6 burning of all our character notes'.

Yeah, over sixteen years, you tend to write for your reality, and the reality right now? Totally sucks.

"Some of it seems to be directed at society, some of it at the show, with a disproportionate amount of it being taken out on mostly male characters who bear only a passing resemblance to their on screen portrayal..."

Once again...AYITL hasn't aged well. Society hates journalists. It hates driven women (see my last post taking down that asshole who hates Brie Larson). Males are pretty damned well responsible for most of it. And I haven't had the best male figures of my life and have been mostly around women. I'm probably not going to write a positive view of some men; it's bias, and I own up to it here.

And yeah, my men don't match up to how they are on screen. Because, fanfiction is...

'Fiction written by a fan of, and featuring characters from, a particular TV series, movie, etc.'

Speaking of which...

"...Which seems to have got worse as I suspect you liked the show less and less."

You're reading my story. A Gilmore Girls fanfiction. My Twitter bio declares that I've loved it a decade and a half before the Gilmore Guys started their podcast. A show where I literally follow nearly main actor on the series into every future project they've had and watched loyally, for the most part. I buy every movie the girls have been in. Fanfiction isn't defined as 'a random person writing hate screeds against a particular TV series, movie, etc.'. You're not going to ever see me write even a drabble about how much Kevin Can Wait should be called Kevin Can Burn In Hell Because He's a Ghoulish Sexist Fuckface Who Celebrated His Wife's Death To Move On With His Former Hot Wife From Another Show.

Still love Gilmore Girls in full. But being a fan doesn't mean I have to like every single decision the writers and ASP ever made.

That is the fun of fanfiction. If I disagree with canon...I can disregard it, in part, or in full. I have never been able to find a fellow fan that agreed with every plot point the show has ever made. I hope I never will, because that's definitely not why anyone should ever be a fan of the show.

And excuse my language here...but I've written over a MILLION WORDS for this story. 27 chapters have been posted. I have an eventual endgame planned for the story that has been in my mind since the day I posted chapter one. Why the fuck would I write a million words about something I hate?!

"Dean has gone from a good first boyfriend who just wasn't right for Rory long-term to a violent thief who cheated on Rory throughout their relationship and never loved her anyway. And now, incredibly, seems to be just another entitled rich kid? It feels like you really want to bash on Logan but can't find a way to have him in the story, so you've turned Dean into him."

Oh reviewer...dear reviewer...oh, you don't know what you've gotten yourself into.

I have ALWAYS hated Dean. Always. Since January 2001 when I caught up on the backlog of episodes I missed because I only started watching during the two back-to-back night Christmas episodes, the only positive thought I've been able to spare for him was that Jared Padalecki (no attacks on him here, just the character) got a good living playing a completely underwritten bore who has nothing redeeming going on and a backstory that I would call 'existent'.

The show claims he's from the south side of Chicago in a neighborhood near the Dan Ryan that has 5% white people going by the zip code of his mail from there (the show's basic research department blew it there). Most white people from Chicago are in the Gold Coast, the northwest suburbs, or the North Shore. I have been adjacent to the Chicago market my whole life. He's from the North Shore, no question, judging from how his parents seem to have good enough wealth and how every white guy Chicago teenager story is drawn from a kid from the North Shore.

He literally punched Jess out three times!

He made Rory fear violence for merely losing a bracelet he gave her and for being near Tristan for a school function (LOL, Dristan...that burn still causes me to laugh at inappropriate times about how dumb it was, and I'm sure Tristan has it as one of his constant bon mots).

He called her home phone nearly a hundred times a day and drove her to the edge of madness with a 'must watch every day' love of Lord of the Rings that compares unfavorably to my four year-old nephew only loving Frozen, PJ Masks and Daniel Tiger. That isn't anyone any person has to tolerate in a relationship.

Dean’s only reaction to Rory trying to prove a point with her Donna Reed night was just she looked hot and he learned nothing about how women hate being confined to being solely homemakers and sexual receptacles.

He dumped her because she didn’t say “I Love You” like it was the goddamned bonus round in Wheel of Fortune and she didn’t get the solution out before the buzzer.

Dean’s shambles of a gift, that piece of shit car? It almost killed Rory and Jess. It looked like it didn’t have seatbelts. I’m surprised we didn’t get an episode where Dean ended up homeless because Richard sued his cheap ass into the fucking ground.

He decided to make her go back to him in front of the entrance of Chilton, where Rory would have looked like the biggest b***h in history if she didn’t return an ‘I love you’, and goddamned well knew it. Any good person would have done this in fucking private, like a considerate person.

He never respected the Chilton side of her life. At all. If it was up to him, he would’ve made up a bomb threat and had his friend imitate Rory’s voice to get her kicked out of the school she spent her young life trying to get into. If it was up to him, Harvard would have never even been a possibility, and if not for Jess coming in, he would have intimidated her into pushing off her dream entirely to stay in the kitchen.

His origin story was never mentioned outside 'he moved from Chicago and had a girlfriend in the past, Beth'. Fanfiction allows you to examine the holes in stories and go from there, and I just worked with them because the thing with moves to new locales? You can have a brand new image with people, and they will never know what you did in your old place. Judging by his violent/stalkerish tendencies, he has a pretty good case for having Imposter Syndrome that eventually reset itself in the Hollow.

Over time he went from a guy who seemed to like good literature to hyperfocusing on the 'it' media property of the time. Likely he started out liking fine literature, but once he fell in with the imbeciles of his friend group in the Hollow, that proved to be a lie.

He had a thing about being close to Lorelai. So much that around that time, there were so many more people shipping Lorelai/Dean than Rory/Dean as a romantic couple. If not for his later flanderization, that fangroup would still be strong.

HE CHEATED ON HIS WIFE!

**HE. CHEATED. ON. HIS. WIFE!

***HE! CHEATED! ON! HIS! WIFE!

****And outside losing his home and some stuff being damaged (rightfully fucking so) by Lindsay, both her and Rory took all the brunt of the damage his wandering dick did between all of them. Lindsay was guilted by her parents for checking out on her marriage and was never heard from again (I assume she's in a convent now because ASP's writing outside of Lorelai and Rory [or Paris, Sookie and Lane on a day she wasn't angry at the world for not pressing her hat right] for women was 'they are the enemy'). Rory had to find her way back to her old self (and she never did going by ending up with Logan). Dean? Welp, good thing "Supernatural" started at that time to save ASP the bother of having to explain what a dumbass Dean was.

*****Justice for Lindsay Lister! I hope she didn't go to a convent, but flipped off her parents, squealed out of town and is killing it in a career where she's respected, with a partner who loves her deeply.

The scene where he cornered Rory into sex in her house and said he didn’t love Lindsay was sexual assault and gaslighting. ASP intended it to be romantic, but instead created a nightmare scene that would be completely passe in a Lifetime movie. Rory’s first time was her being forced to give up her sexual agency for the pleasure of only Dean. And it’s exactly why the Paris/Rory scene I wrote on the yoga mats was intended to be the exact reverse of that trash.

He hoped to get ahead in life on a hockey scholarship. That's...not a life plan. And he paid for it by being stuck doing construction.

He hated Paris. He hated that Rory had her as a friend. He wanted a life with Rory that never involved Paris.

Paris is a strong-ass lady for daring to step to him and lie through her teeth about wanting Jess to stop the Great Stars Hollow Homicide of 2002 By The Coward Dean Forrester from ever being a thing.

LOL Logan is Tristan Lite and always will be.

About ten chapters back I mentioned how the girls consider Logan terrible already from a distance based on the New York media scene. Trust me, he's in this story (he may be a little more in this story later).

"There is a lot to recommend in this, like the slow burn set-up (although you've made up for it since!)..."

#backhandedcompliment (Also, what's to recommend? Love to know what you did like, but you spent all that time saying 'I'm mean to men', so I guess you ran out of time on that)

"...and turning Madeleine and Louise into three-dimensional characters..."

You sent me a flame, but didn't expand on what you loved about this? Thanks for the lack of feedback (and for misspelling Madeline’s name).

"But there are several reasons why it's not been an easy read so I won't be hanging out for an update, I'm afraid."

You basically said that you consider me a man-hater and that because I choose to have the ladies present their views in the story, you don't like that I'm drawing real life into their motives, mores and decisions. And you said I hated the show when most of my friend circle was formed through bonding through it, and we still love it, even if we think Rory needed to do better in life and ASP's writing weakened as each season went on.

I don't need readers like you, seriously. There are many other Rory/Paris stories you can read out there. As I have said in many other flame responses;

I am not the be-all end-all of Paris/Rory fic. PLEASE, read other writers. Enjoy their stuff. But don't whine at me or them because we choose to show that even in fictional worlds, people are against LGBTQ+ issues and people. We're not going to get equality by sugar-coating or whitewashing our way past those issues, and if you can't handle what I consider light attacks against entitled men, you should probably find something else to read.

#longing #paris x rory #review #review rant #fanfiction rant #gilmore girls #longing with a cherry tomato on top

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mittensmorgul · 5 years

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With regard to Sam’s actions toward Dean in the final scenes of 14.12, please have this reminder from 4.04:

SAM: What, are you, are you leaving? DEAN: You don't need me. You and Ruby go fight demons. DEAN grabs his bag and starts for the door. SAM stands in the way so DEAN has to go around him. SAM: Hold on. Dean, come on, man. DEAN turns around and punches him in the face with his right hand. SAM whirles around by the force. DEAN just watches him as he turns back around to DEAN. SAM: You satisfied? DEAN hits him again, and then throws his bag on the floor. SAM touches his lip, which is bleeding. SAM: I guess not. DEAN: Do you even know how far off the reservation you've gone? How far from normal? From human? SAM: I'm just exorcising demons. DEAN (yelling): With your mind! (calmer) What else can you do? SAM: I can send them back to hell. It only works with demons, and that's it. DEAN grabs hold of him and pushes him backwards, walking with the force. DEAN: What else can you do?! SAM: I told you! SAM pushes his hand away, and they stop. DEAN: And I have every reason in the world to believe that. He begins to walk away from SAM. SAM: Look, I should have said something. DEAN stops, his back still to SAM. SAM: I'm sorry, Dean. I am. But try to see the other side here. DEAN turns around and faces him. DEAN: The other side? SAM: I'm pulling demons out of innocent people. DEAN: Use the knife! SAM: The knife kills the victim! What I do, most of them survive! Look, I've saved more people in the last five months than we save in a year. DEAN: That what Ruby want you to think? Huh? Kind of like the way she tricked you into using your powers? He shakes his head, sad. DEAN: Slippery slope, brother. Just wait and see. Because it's gonna get darker and darker, and God knows where it ends. SAM: I'm not gonna let it go too far. DEAN smiles at that, walks over to the wall and hits the lamp on the side table, making it crash and fly. DEAN looks angry again. DEAN: It's already gone too far, Sam. If I didn't you know... I would wanna hunt you. SAM's eyes are tearful, and he nods at that, looking down. DEAN: And so would other hunters. SAM looks up at him. SAM: You were gone. I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you. And what I'm doing... It works. DEAN: Well, tell me. If it's so terrific... then why'd you lie about it to me?

Sam had something terrible inside him, and was trying to do something good with it. A supernatural being told him this was the only way to do something good with it. Sam trusted that because he had no reason not to, because the result seemed Objectively Good. And yet, he’d lied about it, hidden it from Dean and Bobby both, because deep down, he knew Dean would object. Not because Dean is a controlling jerk who was upset that Sam would do this Big Thing without him, but because he recognized the inherent wrongness of it, because Dean was not subjected internally to that wrongness and could actually see the situation objectively.

Now in 14.12, Dean has something terrible inside him, and was trying to do something good with it. A supernatural being told him this was the only way to do something good with it. Dean trusted that because he had no reason not to, because the result seemed Objectively Good. And yet, he’d lied about it, hidden it from Sam and Cas both, because deep down he knew they’d object. Not because Sam and Cas are controlling jerks who would be upset that Dean was doing this Big Thing without them, but because they would recognize the inherent wrongness of it, because they were not subjected internally to that wrongness and could actually see the situation objectively.

Every argument I’ve seen suggesting that Sam was Wrong™ to try to stop Dean from carrying out this plan has been predicated on the insistence that Dean was being 100% truthful about what Billie instructed him to do. It’s also predicated on the insistence that Dean is actually able to be rational in the face of this plan while Michael’s rattling around in his noggin.

Of course, Dean’s the only one who can decide for himself when he can’t take that rattling anymore, or know when Michael’s escape is imminent, but so far he hasn’t even MENTIONED Michael’s status to Sam or Cas. He’s keeping that information to himself. And we only have Dean’s word on what Billie’s book actually said, or what other instructions she may have provided him. And honestly? I don’t trust his objectivity on that right now, and thank fuck, neither does Sam.

Because Sam has been in this exact spot. And when he was? Dean kinda fucked it all up. For reference: please see all of s4. So yeah, Sam is not approaching Dean from some base clinginess or childishness here. And suggesting it is does Sam a HUGE disservice. He’s been cautiously approaching Dean in the way he probably wishes Dean had approached him when he was equally off the wagon back in s4. Oh, the trauma they could’ve prevented if they’d both only spent a little less time antagonistically mistrustful of each other and instead doing their best to be supportive like they’re all trying to do now in s14.

Because Sam has matured a hell of a lot in the last ten years. He’s been taking on the role of level-headed leader since long before Dean ever said yes to Michael. He worked (literally!) tirelessly to find a way to save Dean from Michael after the fact, and has consistently been portrayed as a rational, mature adult.

But Sam had even learned this particular lesson back in 5.18, i.e. the last time Dean pulled this sort of Farewell Tour, even with the textual comparison to suicide:

DEAN: How’d you find me? SAM: You’re going to kill yourself, right? It’s not too hard to figure out the stops on the Farewell Tour. How’s Lisa doing, anyways? DEAN: I’m not going to kill myself. SAM: No? So Michael’s not about to make you his Muppet? What the hell, man? This is how it ends? You just…walk out? DEAN: Yeah, I guess. SAM: How could you do that? DEAN: How could I? All you’ve ever done is run away. SAM: And I was wrong. Every single time I did. Just…please. Not now. Bobby is working on something. DEAN: Oh, really? What? SAM doesn’t answer. DEAN: You got nothing and you know it. SAM: You know I have to stop you. DEAN: Yeah, well, you can try. Just remember: You’re not all hopped up on demon blood this time. SAM: Yeah, I know. But I brought help. DEAN turns around to find CASTIEL standing behind him. CASTIEL touches his fingers to DEAN’s forehead, knocking him out.

So I gotta ask, if Dean’s plan is so terrific, why’d he lie about it? And if this is the One True Fate, why isn’t Dean fighting against it at all? What could make Dean abandon everything he ever believed-- outside of his darkest moments of hopeless despair like that one in 5.18-- and accept Fate?

Because Billie didn’t put that book in his hands and say, “This is what you must do to save the world.” In fact, she kinda said the opposite. So how badly does one have to read into her non-instruction over a prophecy we don’t even know the text of and insist that Dean’s interpretation is the One True Right Good Thing To Do Without Question and Everyone Else Is Abusive and Wrong to stop him?

What Billie ACTUALLY told him:

Billie: I warned you about the danger of jumping from world to world. But you ignored me, didn’t you? Dean: Rescuing mom and Jack, helping out those other folks, I’d say it was worth it. Billie: And just look at you now. Do you remember visiting my reading room? The shelves and shelves of notebooks describing the ways you might die? Dean: Yeah. Upbeat classics. Billie: Well, It’s the funniest thing. But they’ve all been rewritten. They all end the same way now-- With the archangel Michael escaping your mind and using you as his vessel to burn down this world. Dean: All of them? Billie: All of them. Except one. [she hands the book to Dean, and Dean opens it] Dean: What am I supposed to do with this? Billie: That’s up to you. [Dean looks down at the book again in horror, and when he looks up again, Billie is gone]

She started by reminding Dean, after he cavalierly insisted that Michael is contained, that it’s not a permanent solution. She began their entire conversation by deflecting from Dean’s reminder that she herself had broken a rule by interfering and zapping them all back to the bunker in the first place, but turning it all around on him. And yeah, he could’ve heeded her warning and stayed out of the AU, but we know that AU Michael had been long-planning to find a way to OUR world, even before Lucifer and Mary essentially landed in his lap. He’d had Kevin working on that spell to open the portal, and likely would’ve eventually succeeded anyway. The way he DID end up arriving here, without his angel armies, was likely the Less Terrible thing to have happen, in a twisted way. But all that’s beside the point, because Dean can’t disagree with her that it was his own meddling that landed him in this position in the first place.

He argues that it was still worth it to be able to save Mary (and Jack, but again, Jack only ended up there due to their own meddling), and the handful of AU Hunters who made it through the portal with them. But this was what Billie had cautioned about the cosmic house of cards Dean was playing with.

So she immediately gives him some more information to push him into feeling the horror and immediacy of his situation, which he had not felt was so pressing ten seconds earlier. She tells him ALL of his potential causes of death have been rewritten, and ALL of them end with Michael using his vessel to burn down the world.

Ten seconds earlier, Dean had been distressed by Mikey having a tantrum in his brain fridge, but he had not felt there was an imminent threat from Michael escaping. He’d been open to researching another solution, to investigating, to waiting and seeing and working with his loved ones to find a better way.

The MOMENT Billie put that book in Dean’s hands, she shattered his faith in himself, and in his family.

AND WE STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE BOOK ACTUALLY SAYS.

Do we really think it’s detailed plans for the Ma’lak box and a map of the Pacific Ocean with an X over where Dean needed to toss himself? I’m not that stupid, sorry. Because Dean found the plans for the box in a book he stole from the Bunker. Billie... did not give it to him. She didn’t even stick around after handing him his supposed Destiny.

In fact, she didn’t tell him he needed to do this to save the world. She told him THAT’S UP TO YOU. Not “follow these directions.” And instead of giving Dean hope, it snuffed out that one spark of hope he’d been holding on to up to that point.

So why are we trusting anything Dean has to say about this, when his words have contradicted the limited information we have been given so far?

Yeah, that’s what I thought.

#spn s14 spoilers #spn 14.12 #spn 14.10 #spn 14.11 #even though the ma'lak box isn't technically a weapon... it's basically just a big curse box #billie the reaper #oh DEAN

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caranfindel · 5 years

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Recap review 14.20: “Moriah”

THEN: You know, I didn’t realize it until I watched the Then, but this season has just been bananacrackers. So let’s concentrate on the good things. Sam’s Beard of Despair. Sad Sam, angry Sam. Michael!Dean doing that thing where he puts his tongue behind his teeth. I am a Winchester! Sadly missing from the Then: angry Sam yelling enough! and basically making himself King of Hell.

NOW: We begin right where we left off, with glowy-eyed Jack emerging from the ruins of Dean’s magic box. “You lied to me,” he says. Even to Cas, who wasn’t part of the lie. He tosses them into the wall and disappears.

Title card! Cas doesn’t understand why the box that could hold an archangel couldn’t hold a nephilim. Even though Cas himself, I believe, is the one who told us a nephilim is stronger than its angel parent. Okay. They decide that Jack has “leveled up” into something stronger than an archangel, like Mario jumping on a toadstool or hitting a box or something (sorry, I’ve never actually played Mario Brothers). Sam doesn’t think praying to him is going to work again, to which Dean agrees no duh.

Cas chastises the Winchesters for putting Jack in the box in the first place, even though it’s a delightful play on words, and Dean says you’re right, we should have killed him instead, which is what I wanted to do but y'all wouldn’t let me, ignoring the fact that he wouldn’t have had the ability to kill him. But that’s fine because he and Sam have killed all kinds of unkillable things and they will find a a way because Jack is “just another monster.” And Dean is ANGRY and Sam is SO SO UNHAPPY and even Cas is being a little BAMFy and you all know how much I LIKE THESE THINGS.

So. I’m okay with this episode so far.

Cas stomps off and Dean and Sam stand in the wreckage of their storeroom and try to figure out what to do next. Dean suggests Rowena might be able to build another soul bomb, like she did to fight Amara, and he remembers how that bomb would have to be triggered, doesn’t he? Maybe not, but Sam does, and he looks even sadder and softly says okay and he’s wearing that red shirt and y'all, maybe I should just stop watching now. Because I’m sure it couldn’t possibly get any better. It’s got to be downhill from this point. Dean tells him he knows it can’t be easy, he knows how much Jack meant to him, and he was family to Dean too. But Jack isn’t Jack, and they’ve got to do the hard thing, the ugly thing. And it’s not the first time.

How is it that I want to hug him and stroke his hair and tell him it’s going to be okay but I also want to lick that throat?

We find Jack wandering through a larger city, listening to people’s conversations. All of these people happen to be lying through their teeth, which makes him angry. And you wouldn’t like him when he’s angry. “Stop lying,” he yells. The world pauses for a second and then carries on.

The Impala pulls up at a business called Mirror Universe. Is it a giant mirror store? That would be weird. Sam’s on the phone with Rowena, asking her to just try even though they know it’s a long shot, and if I may just belabor a point I’ve made multiple times, I love their relationship, and I especially love that even though Sam and Dean and Rowena all know Sam is fated to kill her, they still accept that she’s Sam’s friend more than Dean’s, because Dean’s always asking Sam if he’s going to call her, and if she has to be talked into anything, it’s understood that Sam does the talking. Love. Sam reports that she thinks their plan is “dangerous and insane” but she’s in. Dean thinks it’s because Rowena knows what Jack is capable of, and not because of her intense love and loyalty for Sam, and, well, let’s just agree to disagree.

They go inside and are almost run over by a guy on a Segway, which tells us this is a techie place, not a giant mirror store. Dean calls the inhabitants nerds, and Sam says “takes one to know one,” and I’d call Dean more of a geek than a nerd, but okay. But then Sam elaborates that Dean is a nerd because he knows every word to every Led Zeppelin song and knows a lot about classic rock drummers, and I wouldn’t call either of those things nerdy. And he watches Jeopardy every night. I’m not sure that’s nerdy either, but Dean doesn’t argue. Sam explains that Mirror Universe builds facial recognition software, which he hopes they can use to find Jack.

Dean’s on it. He walks up to the receptionist, flashes his fake FBI ID, and says “Hi, I’m Dean Winchester, I’m looking for the devil’s son,” and I think, wait, what? He’s using his real name! Why is he using his real name? The receptionist is confused, and so is Dean. “What? Ah. I meant. I’m Dean Winchester, I’m looking for the devil’s son. This badge is fake.” OH MY GOD HE CAN’T LIE. JACK STOPPED EVERYONE FROM LYING. THINK OF THE FANFIC. Dean tries to laugh it off and immediately excuses himself.

Meanwhile, Sam witnesses a conversation where one guy says “I’m sleeping with your wife” and the other says “I know; I’m kinda into it” and is adorably befuddled. Then Dean joins him.

Hey, let me ask you a question. Tell me who your favorite singer is.

What?

Look, I know you say it’s Elvis, but we both know that’s crap. So tell me who your favorite singer is.

It’s like you said, it’s Celine Dion. I mean, Celine Dion… Celine… Dean, every time I try to say Elvis, it comes out-

The sad horrible truth, yeah.

Friends, there’s no way Celine Dion is actually Sam’s favorite singer. No possible way. So I hate that they made a mockery of Sam’s musical taste for the sake of a joke. On the other hand, it is a very funny bit. But it would have been just as funny, and less nauseating to me personally, if he’d said ABBA. But let’s move on.

Suddenly everyone at Mirror Universe is not only unable to lie, but they also can’t help blurting out the truth. And these are two completely different things. If Yogurt Guy asked Red Hoodie Guy if he’d stolen his yogurt, he’d have to say yes. But when Yogurt Guy just yells “who ate my yogurt,” there’s no reason Red Hoodie Guy couldn’t sit quietly and say nothing. So none of this truth-spewing chaos actually makes sense. But it’s funny. Especially the Stapler Queen. It’s also funny when the Winchesters duck into a conference room and watch a little bit of a news broadcast, where it’s reported the President admitted he’s a tax cheat who made a demon deal “with someone named Crowley,” because sometimes the low-hanging fruit is the sweetest fruit of all. The guys realize that if the truth curse isn’t a local phenomenom, it must be Jack’s doing.

Cut to Cas, looking into a peephole, trying to convince the demon inside to give him access to Hell. He wants to study the cage. She refuses to take him there literally, but invites him to go metaphorically. Does Cas want to send Jack to Lucifer’s cage? Or study it so he can build his own? Is she a special demon who provides guided tours of Hell? Are all the demons in hiding, now that Sam has denied them a leader? We don’t have time to ponder these questions, because behind Cas, someone says “Wow, yeah. You guys are screwed.” And he would know. Because it’s Chuck. Oooh, looks we’re getting the deus ex machina solution to the Jack problem!

Cut to Jack, knocking on the door of his grandmother’s house. Yes, she remembers him, and isn’t happy to see him.

Let’s go back to Jack’s stepfather and his grandfather.

God.

Eh.

{eyeroll} Chuck.

There you go.

He says he’s there because Cas called him, and we get a flashback of Cas calling on him with Samulet 2.0. Took you long enough, Chuck. He admits he’s there because of Jack, too. “He’s a problem.”

Kline house. The problem child is surprised to find that Kelly’s mom realizes he lied to her and isn’t at all interested in talking to him and also is pretty sure she’s dead. And she thinks Jack might have done it. Jack gets the glowy eyes and yells at her to stop. Uh oh. This usually doesn’t end well.

Mirror Universe. The chaos continues in the background as Sam fires up a computer and uploads a picture of Jack. “When you can’t lie, the internet gets real quiet,” Dean says, browsing on his phone. “Yeah, guess your life isn’t so perfect after all, @8packmommy.” Are you suggesting mommy bloggers are LYING? I’m shocked. (And also chuckling a little bit because hello, Genevieve Padalecki’s instagram.) Cas and Chuck show up in the middle of mayhem and Chuck explains that this is why people need to lie. Cas is surprised at that sentiment, and Chuck says “I’m a writer. Lying’s kinda what we do.” Remember that; it might be important later. Cas calls out for the Winchesters and they bring him into their conference room. They’re stunned to see Chuck with him.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s been a while, and I still look pretty good.

No, that’s… that’s not what we were thinking.

Hee! Dean angrily asks where he’s been, and Chuck says “well, you know, it’s a funny story; reminds me of a song” and picks up a guitar that I guess he just conjured up and Dean GRABS IT AND SMASHES IT ON THE FLOOR AND YELLS “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION” AT GOD HIMSELF AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. Chuck yells “don’t!” right back at him and Dean maybe realizes he’s gone a little too far.

Whoopsie.

Sam swallows nervously (yum) and Cas looks anxious and then Chuck decides it’s a little cramped in this conference room and boom, they’re in the bunker. Okay, but what about the Impala? How are they going to get the Impala back to Lebanon? Chuck casually asks how are things, and they are not good, Chuck. He admits he puts the deus in deus ex machina, and I respect the Show for hanging a lampshade on that awkward little plot point. Because if we admit it, then it’s not ridiculous, it’s just meta, right?

He’s been traveling and watching Springsteen on Broadway, and Amara is in Reno playing keno (Reno? Not even Vegas?). He explains that he likes to stay hands-off, to build the sandbox and then let them play in it, which honestly aligns very much with my deist beliefs. Although it’s not quite true, is it, because he’s meddled with his sandbox toys occasionally. “You want to fight leviathans? Cool, you got that. You wanna go up against, what was it, the British Men of Letters? Okay. Little weak, but okay.” The camera is on Dean at this point and I fully expect an Office-style gaze into the camera from him because, come on. This couldn’t be more meta.

Chuck says that when there’s an apocalypse, or another apocalypse, he has to step in. And yes, apparently Jack is apocalyptic. He demonstrates, via God-controlled radio, that the whole world has gone bananas thanks to Jack’s “stop lying” edict. (The queen is a lizard? That’s almost as ridiculous as Sam being a Celine Dion fan.) Chuck undoes the damage with a snap of his fingers, but reluctantly, and only after Cas asks. Sam isn’t sure he believes him.

Really?

I’m God, Sam. Yeah, really.

Dean tests his ability to lie by saying “Celine Dion rocks.” Oh, poor Sam. He will never be allowed to forget this. And I wish he had asked Dean some embarrassing questions. Back at Mirror Universe, things have gone back to normal, with Red Hoodie Guy not confessing to yogurt theft, and Stapler Queen limiting herself to one stapler. (Sidebar: On a personal note, my stapler at work is actually older than some of you. Just thought you’d like to know.)

Chuck says Jack is dangerous, “me-level bad,” and he can’t stop him. “But you can. With that.” He points to a mysteriously engraved gun that appeared on the map table. Everyone stares anxiously at the gun, and Cas asks what it is. “I’m thinking of calling it The Equalizer,” says Chuck. “Or The Hammurabi.” The internet tells me Hammurabi was a Babylonian king who is best known for issuing laws that focused on physically punishing the perpetrator of a crime rather than compensating the victim. Hmmm. He’s surprised that no one seems impressed. Dean asks if it will kill Jack, and Chuck says it will kill anything. “So you’ve had this the whole time, and we’re just now getting it? Why?” says Sam. No, he just made it. It’s never even been fired.

Dean removes the clip and points out that it doesn’t have any bullets. “It doesn’t exactly use bullets,” Chuck explains. “See, existence is all about balance. Dark and light, good and evil, chocolate and peanut butter.” I love that Sam tells him to get on with it. (Also, chocolate and peanut butter are not opposites. The opposite of chocolate would be something like lemon. Or onions.) Chuck tells them the gun works on multidimensional energy, blah blah blah, basically, whatever happens to the person you’re aiming at also happens to you. You kill him, you die. And Chucks says he’d do it, but “If I bite it, existence also kind of bites it, so. One of you. Sorry.”

Dean, of course, has taken possession of this magic gun and isn’t going to let it go, because if anyone’s going to throw himself on that hand grenade, it’s Dean. But Cas doesn’t know why they’re talking about killing Jack in the first place. He called Chuck because he can fix Jack’s soul. “Not so much,” says Chuck. “Souls are complicated, even for me.” He also doesn’t think they’d want Jack back even if he could fix him, after what he did. Oh, Chuck. You may have created these guys (and hoo boy, good job, you) but you don’t know them at all. Or at least, not Sam, because he would do anything to save Jack from whatever is going to happen to him.

Cas then suggests caging Jack rather than killing him, but Dean says no, Chuck says this is the only way. Oh, like Billie said locking you up was the only way to defeat Michael, Cas points out, and rightfully so. Chuck scoffs at Billie. He preferred the old Death. Billie’s always sticking her scythe where it doesn’t belong. Will this matter later? Maybe.

Dean tells Cas that “God himself” just said this magic gun was the only way, so Cas needs to either get on board, or leave. Funny that “God himself” is suddenly such an authority figure to Dean. Now that he actually says what Dean has already said. You know.

Cas leaves. Sam looks disturbed, which is what Sam does in this episode, and Dean looks angry, which is what Dean does in this episode. Chuck watches it all with interest. And elsewhere, Jack remembers his grandmother asking what he did to her daughter.

Cut to Dean in his room, refilling his flask. Sam knocks on his door and Dean’s all, hey, I needed to talk to you anyway.

This is where you tell me you’re gonna pull the trigger.

Yeah, it is. We don’t have a choice, Sam.

Of course we do. Don’t we always? I mean, isn’t that the point of everything we’ve ever done, that we always have a choice?

He killed our mom.

I get it. I was mad too. You know what? I’m still mad. And a part of me wants Jack dead; it really does. But Dean, we haven’t even tried to save him.

Okay. You heard him, right? He actually blamed Mom for what happened.

He doesn’t have a soul!

And whose fault is that?

Mine! I’m the one who brought him back, and I brought him back because he’s family.

Okay.

And then he came back and he burned his soul off to save us. You and me. And now what, now you want my permission? You want me to say I’m cool with losing him, and losing you, all at once? Cause I can’t do that. I won’t say that. No. I’ve already lost too much.

Sam gets up and leaves, dragging the shredded remains of my heart with him. And I have to dispute one thing Dean said - Jack didn’t blame Mary. Not really. When Dean specifically asked if Mary “made him” do it, he said no. He accepted the blame, he just considered it an accident. (Except for the rest of those two episodes, where he was horrified by what he’d done, of course.)

While I’m repeating myself, let me repeat that I could watch an entiret episode that was just Dean drinking. And Sam being sad.

Cas shows up at a cemetery in his big Dodge truck and angrily slams his fist on the hood. I don’t know why he drove to this cemetery just to emote, but Jack flutters onto the scene and says he’s been looking for him. Cas hugs him, but Jack just looks puzzled and doesn’t hug back. Let’s stick with these two for a minute.

We see them walking, and Jack explaining that he thought he could make the world a better place if people couldn’t lie. And then he thought his grandparents might still like him,, but he got accused of killing his mom. Which, he admits, he did. And he used to hate himself, but he doesn’t any more. He doesn’t feel anything. Aw. So it’s true, he really is soulless. My poor sweet baby. In a flashback, we see he didn’t kill Grandma Kline, at least. He just scared the heck out of her with the glowy eyes and then stomped off.

Bunker. Chuck is admiring the One True Archangel Sword (Accept No Substitutes That You May Have Seen In Earlier Seasons), saying that he hasn’t seen one in forever. Not in this universe, anyway. Ahem. Sam tells him it came from “another world.” And that provides a segue for him to ask Chuck how many other universes there are. Chuck doesn’t keep track, because a lot of them are boring. “One’s a reverse, in one there’s no yellow, one of them’s just all squirrels.” (And a moose, right? There has to be at least one moose in the Squirreliverse!) And then they have this conversation.

So, Michael said that you create these worlds and you just toss them away, like failed versions of some book.

And you believe him?

Was he lying? … Is that what you’re doing to us?

No! Sam. You and your brother, of all the Sams and Deans in all the multiverse, you’re my favorite. You’re just so interesting? I mean, like that thing that happened at the office earlier today, that was crazy, right?

Do you watch us? When you’re not here, are you watching us?

Yeah. I mean, you’re my favorite show.

Then why don’t you do something? If I had your power-

Sam, we talked about this. Not the way it works.

Wait a second. Why, when the chips are down, when the world is failing, why does it always have to be on us?

Because you’re my guys. But right now we need to focus on Jack. Ah, that kid.

Wait a second. You’re scared of him.

Aren’t you?

Do you know where he is?

I do.

Then what are you waiting for?

Oh, nothing. Dean’s already gone.

OH SNAP. Chuck was just stalling, this entire time, giving Dean a chance to go after Jack. What an SOB. But this conversation, guys. Sam’s voice. His soft voice and his angry voice. Hnnngngngngngngh. And Chuck pointing out that Sam and Dean are his favorite show? And that he just likes to watch them? Because they’re so interesting? “My guys?” Am I being personally called out here? Because it sure feels like it.

Let’s go back to Cas and Jack in the very pretty cemetery. And let me say that, as much as I want Sam to be the one who goes after Jack and tries to save him, who pushes hardest against Dean and Chuck and their plan to kill him, it makes sense for Cas to do it. Cas was his first father, and the one who protected him before he was even born. Sam at least admits he’s ambivalent about Jack. Cas is the one who can say “screw Mary Winchester; this is my kid.” So, Jack tells Cas that killing Mary was an accident, and he keeps trying to do the right thing and it keeps not working. “All I ever wanted was to be good, but now I’m just empty. Even this. I know you’re here because you love me, and I want to love you back. But it’s just… I can’t.” {sob} Cas thinks Jack can regain his capacity for love, and they just need to go somewhere safe, where no one can find them.

Oooh, but it’s too late. Someone found them. And that someone is Dean, with the magic gun. Cas puts himself between Dean and Jack and tells Jack to run, but Jack refuses. “I won’t run any more,” he says, and he flings Cas away. “You’re not gonna lock me up again, are you,” he asks Dean. “No,” Dean says, and he points the gun at Jack, and Desn’s about to die (and he didn’t say goodbye to Sam, because look how that worked last time!) and he’s dead inside. But he doesn’t shoot. And Jack GETS ON HIS KNEES AND LOOKS UP AT HIM LIKE THE SWEET LITTLE CINNAMON ROLL BUNNY HE USED TO BE. Dean lowers the gun. Is he remembering another sweet little cinnamon roll bunny on his knees, waiting to be executed for the greater good? Maybe. I know I am. He doesn’t put it down, though, and he walks closer to Jack and aims again, and now I’m thinking that if Jack is willing to die, couldn’t Dean suggest he kill himself? And then Dean wouldn’t have to die? I wonder if that would work?

This is a lovely and tragic scene, and Dean aiming a gun at someone is always crazy hot.

Then an old sedan races into the cemetery - it’s Sam! \o/ Instead of driving over to Dean, he parks and then runs over to him, yelling, and I guess maybe he thought he’d get in trouble for driving off the designated area or something, but I would have disregarded that. However, we do get this truly marvelous shot of him running across the cemetery, so I’m okay with it.

Jack tells Dean “I understand” and I am NOT OKAY WITH THIS and Sam’s still running and yelling “no” and I think he’s going to actually jump in front of Jack. But Dean says “stay back, Sam” and he stops. Huh. Chuck shows up next to him. Huh again.

“You were right,” says Jack. “I am a monster.” But Dean still can’t seem to pull the trigger. I’m still surprised that Sam hasn’t tried to pull Dean away, considering that if he shoots Jack, they’ll both be dead. Instead, Sam turns to Chuck and says “do something,” and then notices that Chuck is REALLY INTO THIS. “You’re enjoying this,” he says, shocked. Chuck shushes him.

Those if you who aren’t enjoying it can cast the first stone. I won’t be among you.

Turns out this recap is too long for Tumblr, but you can read the rest on my Livejournal.

#spn #spoilers #14.20 #tv recaps #recap

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ladylilithprime · 5 years

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Sastiel Creations Challenge | @ladylilithprime

↳ Theme: One More | Prompt: Day

Fluff Bingo Square: Movie Night

=I Did Not Live Until Today=

Read on AO3

MOVIE NIGHT IN the Bunker had been originally instituted by Dean, and the insistence of Sam that everyone in the Bunker, especially a stressed out and overworked teenaged Prophet of the Lord, needed to take regular breaks to relax and unwind before the constant "go, go, go" made them all go crazy. Hunts would occasionally interrupt the ritual, postpone it for a couple of days, but none of them were allowed more than ten days without a mandatory Movie Night. Dean had insisted that Castiel join these movie nights whenever he was around, intent on "educating" the Angel in what he termed the "classics" of cinema. Castiel had confided privately to Sam that, upon viewing these so-called classics, he was gaining more of an understanding of Dean than he was of why the movies were classical, which Sam had assured him was normal.

Movie Night had been weird after the Trials, because Sam would start out watching the movie with Dean and whoever else was there, but suddenly it would be hours later and he wouldn't remember actually watching any of it despite not having moved. In the wake of Crowley showing up in Sam's head with the brothers' code word tripping off his tongue to warn him that he had an angelic passenger who had taken over the driver's seat, Sam figured he knew what had happened and maybe he felt a little tiny flicker of gratitude for Gadreel sparing him having to watch the monkey movies again, but that was drowned out by the overall feelings of shock and betrayal and rage because how could Dean do this to him?!

It was Sam's decision to continue Movie Night even though it was just him and Castiel in the Bunker now. The original purpose of enforcing a break on overworked humans was still valid, even though now the overworked human was only Sam, and the secondary purpose of introducing Castiel to human entertainment was also still in effect, perhaps even more so after Metatron had downloaded a huge selection of American pop culture into Castiel's head without much in the way of context. Without Dean to steer the selection towards action films and neither of them particularly interested in watching mindless violence and gore, plus Sam's increased aversion to psychological horror films, the movies they watched tended to veer more towards musicals. If Castiel suspected that this, too, might be a bit of Sam's rebellion against Dean's stubborn adherence to mullet rock as the only valid music to listen to, well, he didn't call Sam on it and Sam didn't choose to admit anything.

Tonight was another designated Movie Night, not because it had been too long since the last, but because Sam knew that after the failure of the tracking spell with Gadreel's extracted Grace he, at least, needed something where the fate of the world was less dependant on the outcome. In hindsight, queueing up Les Miserábles was probably not the best idea given the overall setting of the movie and the themes of melancholy and grief that pervaded it, but he suspected Castiel would appreciate the other themes of faith and sacrifice and second chances.

He probably should have expected Castiel's analysis of the story's themes to extend to their lives, but somehow it didn't even occur to him until Castiel blindsided him with an abrupt declaration that Jean Valjean reminded him of Sam.

"I'm sorry?" Sam blurted, not sure he had heard the Angel correctly.

"He is a good man who committed criminal acts for a good cause and was harshly punished for it even after his incarceration ended," Castiel explained, gesturing to the screen where Valjean's pay was docked in front of the other workers, who were openly hostile. "It does not matter to these people that his intentions were noble - to feed his family - or that the crime was relatively minor, all they see is the criminal record and discount the good heart of the man who committed it and is stained by that record in the eyes of the society he serves."

"Cas, that's not... I started the Apocalypse!" Sam said, shaking his head. "That's a good bit worse than stealing a loaf of bread and running."

"You killed a demon," Castiel disagreed. "A demon you had been told by everyone around you was responsible for breaking Seals and that killing her would stop things. You were deliberately not told that she was the final Seal and that killing her would release Lucifer because enough angels, myself included, believed that if you knew the truth then you would not have killed her. Yet you do not blame me for lying to you, or for changing my mind and breaking through my conditioning too late to send Dean in time to stop you. Nor do you blame Dean for breaking under Alistair and being the one to break the first Seal which set things in motion. Instead, you continue to allow people, including Dean who should really know better, to cast the blame for things beyond your control onto your shoulders and even take on blame and responsibility where there should be none, forgetting that any penance required for playing a part long ago set out for you has been more than served."

Sam looked away from Castiel's placid, deeply knowing expression, but found he couldn't focus on the screen until a flash of silver catching light drew his attention. "Look, I don't... whatever redemption I might have earned with jumping has to be cancelled out by the things I did after getting out again, especially all the crap I pulled without my soul--"

"Do you think yourself responsible for your soulless self's actions, even though your soul was still in the Cage being subjected to Michael and Lucifer's torments?" Sam frowned a little at the low notes of guilt and sorrow in the Angel's voice and looked over, but Castiel wouldn't meet his eyes, staring instead at the screen as the old priest backed up Valjean's lie of gifted silver and gave over the candlesticks as well. "Hm. Heaven has not treated you nearly so kindly as this priest does..."

"Castiel," Sam started to reach out, but found his courage falter and lowered his hand with a sigh. "I know you didn't leave my soul behind on purpose. I knew it then, too, even with you keeping secrets and never having mentioned it before that moment... sorry, too, about the holy fire."

"There is no apology necessary," Castiel refuted, though Sam thought he looked moderately grateful for it anyway. "You were right to be suspicious of my actions and motives at the time, if not for that specific reason."

"Still..."

"Sam, I assure you, I hold no ill will over your suspicion of me, nor for your actions to try and stop me. If anything, I am deeply grateful for your continued faith in me even after I had gone off the reservation and done you considerable harm." Castiel shook his head. "We are getting away from the main subject, which is that you are not responsible for the actions your body committed without your soul present."

"It was still my body," Sam argued. "My... impulses or whatever, stripped of my inhibitions--"

"Not true," Castiel interrupted. "Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act. While that behavior likely seemed heartless or 'dickish' at times, this was in part because of the contrast to your usual compassion and kindness, but you weren't actively malicious or uncontrolled. Everything, including the decision to go to Dean with the suspicion that something was wrong and to ask him to be your moral compass, was meticulously and logically thought out and reasoned for the most optimal outcome. Recall that your soulless self felt that it was for the best that your soul be retrieved and rejoined with your body, and only rejected the plan when the possibility that doing so would kill you was presented."

"Whereupon I promptly tried to kill Bobby! Cas--"

"Sam," Castiel turned fully to face him and glared at him in a way that reminded Sam forcefully of the fact that this was an Angel of the Lord. "You. Are. Not. To. Blame. Your soulless self attempted to kill a man who showed every sign of being ready to kill you by forcefully reuniting your damaged soul with your body. A soul, I must add, which did not deserve the torment inflicted upon it and to which we owed the continued existence of the human race."

"I was just--"

"Cleaning up your mess, so you've said." Castiel was beginning to look frustrated. "But the Apocalypse was not just your mess. It was Dean's, and mine, and Lucifer's, and Michael's, and every angel and demon and human servant of either side who worked towards setting it off earlier than my Father planned. I would even venture to say that it was my Father's fault for refusing to step in when, despite Raphael's delusions, we had very clear evidence from Joshua that He is still alive and close enough to be aware of the situation." The Angel reached forward then and covered the shell-shocked human's nearest hand with his own. "Your soulless self recognized that, and recognized the unfair imbalance, and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices. Since regaining your soul, Dean's insistence on leaving past transgressions in the past except when it suits him to drag them out as evidence of culpability and questionable judgement has driven your self-confidence down to the point where you have even allowed Dean to make you believe yourself at fault for not looking for a brother and non-human friend whom you had every reason to believe were dead and at peace.

"No more," Castiel said with a fire in his vessel's blue eyes that had nothing to do with his borrowed Grace. "Sam Winchester, you will listen to me and believe this if nothing else: You. Deserve. Respect. And for my part in allowing others to be negligent in giving you that respect, you have my apologies."

For a long moment, Sam could do nothing more than stare at Castiel, stunned speechless and feeling more than a few echoes of the old awe and wonder with which he had first viewed this Angel of the Lord who had saved his big brother from Hell. It seemed impossible to believe, even with Castiel staring into him and all but demanding that he do so. For all he knew, he had fallen asleep on the couch next to Castiel and all of this was somehow some sort of incredibly vivid dream like the ones he tried to pretend he didn't have about the Angel, because if anything stood a chance at making their current arrangement far more awkward than it ever needed to be....

Castiel must have seen something of his thoughts in his expression, because the intensity faded into sadness and then, before Sam could gather his wits enough to try and reassure him, turned to resolve. "I will remind you of this conversation later, so as to establish better credibility."

"Um..." Sam blinked. That was unexpected. "Okay? Thanks? I'll... work on believing you, Cas, I will, I just...."

"Have several years of conditioning for expecting the worst to work around, as well as the more recent problems with maintained perception of reality," Castiel nodded. "I will remind you as often as is necessary of your worth and worthiness."

Sam nodded, more for the lack of any other way to acknowledge Castiel's words than out of agreement or understanding, jumping a little when the music from the television screen picked up in volume. He turned back to the movie, flushing darkly when he realized that they'd completely missed Fantine's entire arc and Valjean's crisis of conscience, and reached for the remote. "Oh, hey, let me--"

"No, it's--" Castiel's grip on Sam's hand tightened, then released with enough abruptness that Sam found himself stopping anyway, turning questioning eyes on Castiel. "I confess that I have been, ah, 'cheating' with this film, as it is one of the stories that Metatron saw fit to share, though not this particular version."

"Should we put on something else?"

"If that is what you prefer. I am enjoying watching it with you regardless."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if that was because of Castiel's bizarre comparisons between Sam and Valjean, but he swallowed it back and instead forced himself to settle back into the couch beside Castiel to watch the introduction to the Thénardier family and Cosette. The silence stretched between them as the music played, until--

"Sam? Why is Thénardier's wife making that gesture when she sings that there is 'not much there'?"

Sam swallowed down the urge to choke or laugh, because of course Castiel would ask about that. He cut a sharp glance in the Angel's direction to check if he was being trolled, but Castiel's expression showed only genuine puzzlement. "Uh... Well, I mean, uh... some guys get kinda hung up on penis size, uh, taking the whole 'bigger is better' idea way too seriously and, uh, thinking that bigger size makes them better able to please their partners, which, uh, really isn't true across the board. And, uh, there are a lot of guys who think that having those, um, extra inches is all they need for it to be good for their partner, which also isn't true." He found himself looking at the screen in a gambit to not have to meet Castiel's eyes, and moments later he pointed. "See, she's saying the line again without the gesture. So, uh, the implication is Thénardier falls doubly short of the mark."

"I see," Castiel said, his tone meditative. With his eyes averted, Sam couldn't see the speculative look the Angel sent in his direction, though he definitely heard the pointedly dry tone when Castiel added, "Mrs Thénardier would do better to find a more skilled pizza man."

Sam jerked his head around to stare at Castiel again, but this time the Angel's expression was the same sort of bland that he used when trolling Dean, and so Sam managed to force out a chuckle for the joke before settling in to watch the dynamics between the Thénardiers and Cosette with its very Cinderella vibe. Castiel muttered something about "punching John Winchester again" that made no sense and Sam wasn't sure he wanted to know about anyway, and then made a brief comment about Cosette's dream being similar to many human interpretations of Heaven, but otherwise said nothing until Valjean told Cosette that he was now her father.

"Another parallel," he said. Sam, who had hoped Castiel had forgotten about his weird fixation by this point, blinked in confusion.

"Uh, Cas, I'm pretty sure I haven't gone and adopted any random kids," he pointed out. Really, that seemed more like something Dean would do than him, Dean actually really liked kids and liked the idea of being a dad while Sam... not so much.

"Random, no," Castiel agreed. "You are, however, extraordinarily compassionate. I suspect that, if presented with an orphaned child whose situation required more specialized guardianship than a more normal human fosterage system could provide, you would be an excellent parental figure." He was silent for a moment, pensive and troubled, and then said, softly, "I had never had Nephilim of my own, nor am I likely to do so in the future, but if I did and was unable to care for the child myself, I would ask you."

"Me?" Sam gaped at him. "I mean, why me? Why not Dean?"

"Dean has an unfortunate history of being less than tolerant of supernatural occurrences, of children with powers beyond most human capabilities," Castiel said, shooting an apologetic glance at Sam even before Sam was aware of wincing. "A Nephil would inevitably have powers, and I am a Seraph. Only an Archangel could overpower and suppress the Grace of a Nephil sired by me, and there are no more Archangels available to do so. You have powers of your own and training in using them, albeit with an enhancement method that I would not recommend using with a Nephil, and would be well suited to teaching."

"Cas, my powers--"

"Are yours and yours alone. Azazel may have forcefully activated them on his own schedule and attempted to corrupt them and, through them, you, but he - and Ruby - failed. Your soul is far too pure and good for their hooks to find permanent anchor."

"But... I mean, you... angels... you always warned me against using them...."

"Only because the method with which you were amplifying them - that is, drinking demon blood - was so dangerous to you and the people around you, and training them to full strength properly after first tearing down Azazel's blocks would have taken considerably more time and effort... and, I suspect, those of my superiors actively assisting in bringing about the Apocalypse did not want you learning to use your powers without the addictive crutch of demon blood that could be used to prime your rage and point you at Lilith when the time came."

"So why are you just now telling me this?"

"Well," Castiel glanced away, looking somewhat sheepish. "To be honest, I did not realize that you were unaware that your powers were innate and not actually demonic in origin until I overheard you speaking of them in past tense as if they no longer existed because you were no longer drinking demon blood rather than you simply not using them. Given my clumsy understanding of social nuances and the complex mix of negative emotions you associate with your powers, I erred on the side of caution and did not mention it until our current conversation provided an opening."

Well. That was fair. Even so, Sam couldn't help but stare at Castiel as he attempted to process everything he had learned in such a short amount of time. The fact that the majority of Angels hated him was not new, but the fact that Heaven had actively sabotaged his efforts to be better than the demon blood that tainted him was... also not new, exactly, but Sam had never expected to hear it put so bluntly in conjunction with reassurance that his powers - and, by extension, Sam himself - did not come from a source of evil.

Even more bewildering was the hypothetical child Castiel spoke of and his assertion that Sam, not Dean who had always longed to be a parent, but Sam who had barely ever had anything to do with children even when he had been one, was to be given custody of the hypothetical Nephil if Castiel was incapacitated. The way Castiel had talked about the subject made it clear that he had never had Nephilim himself, and Sam knew that the creation of Nephilim was outlawed, and yet the Angel was sitting there, calm as you please, declaring that if he did ever have a child with a human and needed another parent besides himself and, presumably, the mother, that he would pick Sam. Sam, who was uncomfortable around kids at the best of times, even if he could fake passable competence in an emergency. Sam, who wouldn't trust himself to look after a completely human baby, never mind one that had "phenomenal cosmic powers" at its disposal. Sam who, until earlier when Castiel had declared that "nothing is worth losing you", had thought that Castiel might possibly consider him a friend at best and tolerated him as a reasonably useful asset at worst. Mind-boggling just didn't cover it.

And that wasn't even touching the whole thing with Castiel sounding like he was defending the actions of his soulless self. The subject of Sam's time topside without his soul was something Dean had never hesitated shut down hard, but Castiel had sounded almost... complimentary. Which made no sense, Sam knew, because without his soul he had been a tactless jerk, not--

"Your soulless self recognized that... and quite rightly called us out on our lack of respect for you and your sacrifices."

Sam swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, and again when it refused to be dislodged. Everything he did to help people, to try and make up for the damage he had caused, it never felt like enough. All the centuries spent in the Cage with Michael and Lucifer systematically taking out their rage on him amounted to only a year and a half on Earth, and the tortures blurred together to the point where Sam had long since lost count of how many centuries it had really been, shoving it down and shoving it down, his shaky forays into meditation and reshuffling his mind only managing to build the flimsiest of fences between his conscious mind and that echoing chasm of memory and pain, bits and pieces escaping here and there to scratch along his dreams. Little reminders that he may be out, maybe, but he would never be truly free. It was a truth, cold and logical and inexorable, that Dean refused to acknowledge in either of them, touched by Hell as they both were in different ways, and neither of them coping nearly as well as they wanted the other to believe.

"Stripped of your higher empathic functions and natural moral compass that is your soul, your body behaved with logical precision not unlike how most Angels would act."

The irony of an Angel of the Lord comparing his soulless self to other Angels was not lost on Sam, nor was the way that comparison gave him mixed feelings. All the years of praying, of believing in God and His Angels, having faith that some higher power was watching out for Dean and his Dad when he couldn't, that there was real good in the world to counterbalance all the evil being shoved at him from all sides...

"Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood."

...no....

"Nothing is worth losing you."

...but why....

"Sam? Sam, did you hear me?"

"Hm?" Jolted from his contemplating, Sam shot a guilty look first at the screen - how had he missed that much of the movie?! - and then gave Castiel a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Cas. What were you saying?"

"I was asking about Marius's assertion that he is in love with Cosette, when he has only just met her and barely interacted with her at all," Castiel repeated himself after a moment of scrutiny for his friend. "It seems disingenuous, more like the 'love' of the pizza man and the babysitter."

"It's supposed to be love at first sight, Cas," Sam explained, scrubbing a hand down his face. "It's like... when two people who've never interacted before meet, and there's this... connection that forms between them, like they click on a level that is deeper than physical or emotional. A look, a touch of hands... you just know, looking at that person, that this is it. This is the one." He shrugged. "It's talked about in books and movies and stories and songs all the time as this big romantic ideal, a lot like soulmates... uh, cupid-type soulmates, not me and Dean type soulmates."

"Do you not believe in love at first sight?" Castiel asked, tilting his head to the side with that puzzled curiosity that Sam found endearingly familiar.

"I don't disbelieve in it," Sam said, choosing his words carefully. "I mean, being a hunter has taught me that every story has some root in a truth. I just don't necessarily think that it always happens the way the stories make it sound. Like maybe sometimes it's one-sided, or something gets in the way like they live too far apart or one is already married or..." Sam bit his lip before he could continue the thought with mention of angels and humans, because he knew from Castiel that most instances of humans and angels coupling were less about romance and love and more about lust and awkward power imbalances, and the last thing he wanted to bring up right now was the hypothetical Nephil again. "Besides, just because love usually happens more slowly than a couple of seconds doesn't make it any less deep or meaningful or special."

"I see," Castiel hummed, and then, "Sam? How do you know when you're in love?"

...Shit.

"Uh," Sam reached up to rub the back of his neck, only to force his hand back down again when he realised what he was doing. "It's different for everyone, Cas...."

"I am aware," and there was a definite note of impatience in the gravelled voice. "I am asking how you know when you are in love."

"Oh," Sam mumbled. He could feel his face heating up and very nearly prayed that the heat wasn't a visibly obvious blush before he stopped himself; Castiel would probably hear it if he did. "Uh, well... not to sound like a broken record, but it was different for everyone I was... I mean, I felt differently about different people, even though it's all still love."

Castiel made an encouraging noise, and when Sam chanced a look in his direction, the Angel was turned more towards him than the screen, clearly interested and wanting to hear more. Well, okay then. Sam leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes, reaching back into the depths of his memory for the times he was in love or thought he was, shying away from some of the memories like Madison or Sarah or Amelia, and focusing on the deeper ones, the ones that got under his skin and stayed there across the years, even just as scars. There was a pattern there, a set of feelings that overlapped each instance.

"Happiness," he began, because that was the obvious place to start. "When you see the person, you feel happy. Being around them, sitting next to them, holding hands, hugging... full of happiness and joy and peace. You feel happy when they're happy, sad when they're sad, hurt when they're in pain... You want to protect them, even when you know they can protect themselves. You would fight, kill, even die for them, not because they would ever ask it of you, but because losing them is... unthinkable. It's agony. And all the pain is worth it, because seeing them smile is... it's better than Heaven."

"Oh," Castiel breathed. "Yes, that... that makes so much sense now."

There was a shuffling sound, and the couch cushions dipped beneath shifting weight, and then Sam felt one of his hands being enfolded in Castiel's, the skitter of that unfamiliar Grace held tightly leashed beneath his skin tingling just at the edge of Sam's awareness. He opened his eyes and looked at Castiel, who was beaming at him now from much closer than he had been. "Cas...?"

"Sam," Castiel was still smiling, but it was warmer, softer than the brilliant joy of before, more comfortable and... "Thank you for sharing your feelings with me. I was never able to explain myself adequately to my brothers, and so they frequently drew incorrect conclusions that I lacked the necessary frame of reference to refute or correct. Perhaps now I can make them understand."

"Understand?"

"That I am in love with you, Sam Winchester," Castiel squeezed Sam's hand gently. "My world started the day I took your hand. And I would not have it any other way."

"Cas... I...." He couldn't say it. He wanted to, God, did he ever want to say it back, but the words caught in his throat, too used to being choked back after so many years. "Cas...."

"I know. Sam? Will you hold me again? I enjoyed that quite a lot."

"Sure, Cas," Sam shifted, shoving the whirling of his thoughts back and away, and opened his arms. Castiel released his hand and moved closer, pressing the length of his body against Sam's. He let out a soft sigh as Sam brought his arms up to curl around Castiel, settling in a loose embrace that still managed to fully encompass the Angel's smaller physical frame. Together, they turned to watch the movie, wrapped up in each other and the mutual assurance that their feelings, spoken or not, were returned.

"Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store...."

=End=

#sastiel #sastielcc #sastiel creations challenge #spn fluff bingo #supernatural fic

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deepdisireslonging · 5 years

Text

Family Found Part 46: At the Worst

The Secret that’s been keeping Y/N and the Raw roster on edge finally comes to the surface. As threatened, Dean is at risk of losing everything… unless he can fight back one last time.

Warnings/Promises: wrestling violence, reconciliation

Word Count: 3525

Note: Oh my gosh. I keep looking at my series plot list, and it’s a little freaky to see it with so few chapters left. Pretty much everything is already plotted out, and in a perfect world I’d just write it all in a weekend and queue it to go. Probably won’t happen, but eh. Thank you guys for sticking around for this personal test of mine. Please let me know what you’ve thought about this series. DMs and anon are always open. Enjoy!

Part 1: Welcome to the Team

Part 45: Oncoming Storm

Despite the ruckus he’d caused in your office, Elias was not available for Drew McIntyre to beat up. Because you hadn’t seen him. Nobody had. As a replacement, you placed Bobby Lashley and Dolph Ziggler in his path for a handicap match.

“That’s smart of Y/N,” Renee noted, “McIntyre practically hates Dolph, and Lashley is a strong challenge. Together they should be able to handle his rage.”

Corey wasn’t so agreeable. “Yeah, smart. I think that Y/N gave Elias too many chances; it’s gone to his head! First, he doesn’t fight last week. Then this week he can’t be found?”

“Well someone who will be found tonight will be Brock Lesnar. As Seth Rollins said last week, tonight is the signing of the contract for their WrestleMania match. All three of our competitors will get to face-off tonight.”

Renee harrumphed. “Debatable. No one’s seen him either.”

Each time Lashley or Dolph switched tags, Drew took a second to breathe. To reset. He was wearing the men down, instead of the other way around. If he could keep this up at WrestleMania, then Elias was going to be in trouble.

Just thinking the name summoned a guitar strum. Drew stumbled in his attack as he heard the guitar and saw Elias circle the ring. Elias wasn’t singing, just strumming, but it was enough to distract Drew from a series of coordinated moves. He roared and shifted his focus back. Calmly, Elias watched as Drew took control of the match again, eventually pinning Lashley.

McIntyre’s knuckles paled with his grip on the ropes as he stared down at Elias. It made his blood boil that Elias wasn’t even bothered to react. As the drifter walked away, Drew swore that he was going to regret every note and strum.

***

Lashley and Ziggler weren’t even out of the ring yet when Sami Zayn came out to the ring. He danced his way down the ramp, then took a mic. “How would you all like to see me put my life on the line?” It wasn’t what everyone thought he was going to say, but they welcomed the thought anyway. “Alrighty then.”

With a smart click of his heels, he turned to face the stage. “I’ve got something to get off my chest. Now I’m an NXT grown wrestler myself, and I’ll be the first to admit that moving up to the main roster isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, but when it comes to the ‘Authors of Pain’,” he said with quotation fingers, “I don’t see champions. I see puppets. First Paul Ellering. Then Drake Maverick. And now… Dr. M, whatever that means. So, I’m calling out you, AOP. Not your puppet master. I say that you can’t defend those titles without help. That you are not champions. And that you are cowards that hide behind someone else. That you hide because there are not two strategic brain cells between you-”

He shivered as their music interrupted. But he smiled. Everything was going to plan. They marched to the ring, circling it. They stood on the apron on the opposite side of the ring. Sami’s back was to the stage when the lights went out. When they came back up, Dr. M. was behind him inside the ropes.

“Those are some strong words, Sami,” his voice made Sami whip around. “But I know you meant every word. And I understand. You are a hypocrite. A coward that would never speak your mind out loud without Kevin Owens watching your back.” Slowly, Dr. M turned and faced Kevin Owens, who was just finishing his stealth climb into the ring. Unbothered, he turned back around. “You can lead a man to a hospital, but you can’t force him to medicine. So be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to see to.” Giving a strong eye to Kevin, he left the ring. He snapped and AOP entered the ring, dragging in a referee.

The match that followed was rough. Akam and Rezar did not appreciate Sami’s opinion of them, nor Kevin’s attempt to attack their manager. At the same time, Kevin and Sami were standing by their proof. Without someone telling them what to do, AOP was stalling before attacks. A lucky hit took Kevin to the canvas, where he was pinned. They left celebrating like NXT days, then slipped back into their more serious mood before leaving the arena.

***

Deep in thought, you weren’t watching where you were going. You collided with something hard and tall. Something that turned out to be a someone.

“No, Seth. I can’t talk about this.” You tried to move past him, but Roman stepped in to block your path too.

“We have to talk about something.” Roman let go of your shoulders, give you range to turn back to Seth.

“Whatever they’ve offered you, it’s not worth it. Trust me.” Seth pleaded with his eyes. You avoided looking at them and focused on anything else in the hallway.

“I didn’t do it for the money or the fame. Your story was lesson enough.” Your voice dropped, weary. “That’s not what they’ve got on me.”

Seth titled your chin up. “What are you talking about? Whatever it is, we can help you.”

“No, you can’t.” Why was it so hard to breath? “It’s my fault and I have to do what I can to work around it.” The statement distracted them enough for you to get by, but Roman caught you again.

He leaned down and did his best to look you in the eye. “Y/N?”

No oxygen. No thoughts. Just the words you didn’t want to say. “It’s a contract. I pitched it to Stephanie and Hunter and thought they liked it. But they added things. Things that would rip Dean apart and-“ You broke away from his grasp. “I can’t talk about this. I’ve said too much already. You’re just going to have to let me be.”

They stayed for a minute while you practically ran down the hallway. Blinded by the boil of emotions, you ran into someone else.

“Y/N, we need to talk.” Baron loomed overhead.

“I can’t. I’m busy.” You hissed as his arm flashed out to block your way.

“Make time. I want a match. Tonight. Now would be good.”

You sighed and looked behind you when you heard footsteps. Roman saw Baron and knew why he was there. He gave you a nod, which didn’t exactly please you, but it got both men out of the way so you could think. “Fine. You and Roman have a match tonight. Now.” You stood still while Baron gloated. He dropped his arm with a chuckle, giving you room to finally escape.

***

Both men weren’t going to give an inch. Even as their energy waned, the crowd was enjoying the display of power. Roman fell into the ropes on one side, trying to catch his breath. As he got back up and looked off into the crowd, Dr. M popped up in front of his face. Startled, he fell back into Baron’s next attack. He quickly recovered but was shaken. Dr. M had disappeared. Eerie laughter came from one corner, though nobody was there.

Baron fell to the canvas. Roman geared up for a spear. Dr. M appeared over his shoulder. Roman saw him on the Titantron and spun around to attack. Baron swooped in as Roman missed with a swing, beating him to the canvas and finally winning the pin. Then he got the hell out of the ring. No need to stick around when Dr. M was doing his thing. Dean and Seth ran by him on the ramp. They circled around Roman’s kneeling form.

With his eerie laugh in full force, Dr. M left the ring. He stood at the base of the ramp. And then he was gone.

Seth and Dean helped Roman to his feet and out of the ring. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, shrugging them off. “You guys have enough to worry about tonight. I haven’t seen him, but if Brock does show up, you need to be focused.”

Seth sighed. “I take that to mean you won’t be at the signing?”

“No.”

“Then what will you be doing?” Dean asked. He read the expression on Roman’s face. And disagreed. “Really?”

“I’m going to be watching Y/N’s back. Same way I watch yours.” He tried to walk on his own but limped up the ramp.

***

Ruby had issued another open challenge. With WrestleMania not even two weeks away, in her eyes, no one was going to be able to take the title from her. She laughed with Liv Morgan and Sarah Logan in the ring while waiting for her opponent. They all froze as “I’m not like most girls,” played through the speakers. Ruby was mostly silent, and she didn’t appreciate her girls’ giggles as they wished her luck.

Their giggles turned to worried hints and tips as Ruby struggled. Nia was taking no prisoners. Several times, the bell box readied to announce a new champion. Each time, Ruby desperately kicked out. The counts got closer and closer to three. Sarah and Liv jumped up onto the apron, ready to spring at a moment’s notice. Nia moved to knock them off. The referee was checking on Ruby, giving the Squad room to attack her without repercussions. Ruby saw her fall and took advantage, retaining her title.

Like a pack of hyenas, the women laughed all the way backstage.

***

Alexa Bliss inched around a corner. She breathed a sigh of relief and proudly took a step forward without looking. She bumped into Ruby, fresh out of her match. “Well hello there, Alexa!” she tried to dart away, but Ruby tossed an arm over her shoulder. “Didn’t Liv and Sarah tell you I was looking for you?”

Alexa gulped. Then disgusted, she removed Ruby’s arm from her shoulder. “Yeah. So?”

“Well, you kept harping on ‘unfinished business’… and I have to agree,” she sighed. “We’re not done. Now I just beat Nia, since you missed it lurking around backstage, and I am still without a match for WrestleMania. And it sucks, but you don’t have one either.” She talked over Alexa’s sputtering. “I know you’re going to be busy hosting, but why don’t we help each other out? I mean, I could always beat you up here and now, or I’ll just destroy you there. But you’ll have a chance. You game?”

As Ruby caught her forearm in a vice-grip, Alexa grimaced and grit her teeth. “What do you have in mind?”

Ruby smiled dangerously. “We have a match next week. Either way, you’re going to WrestleMania. But if I win, I pick the stipulation and you don’t know until the match starts. And if you win… well, I’ll still beat you but at least you’ll have a say in which way. Sound good? Great. See you next week.”

She was off like a shot, leaving Alexa to rub some feeling back into her arm.

***

As the new Raw Women’s tag champions, Bayley and Sasha Banks had a few things to say about the former champions. “They did what they set out to do,” Sasha said. “They brought our new tag titles to the forefront of the business. Last week they had the main event of Raw. They were dominant, beating any team that came their way. And the Riott Squad proved time and time again that the women’s division was something to pay attention to.”

Bayley nodded in agreement. “Having said that, they forgot one little thing. Nothing lasts forever. The women’s division is constantly moving forward. Evolving. Growing stronger and building momentum. Getting better and better. Their time is over. We are the future. We have been through NXT, Smackdown, Raw. The future is now. And it is standing here in this ring.” They held their titles up, then dropped them and fell into a fighting stance.

With their music, Natalya and Rhonda Rousey walked onto the stage. “That may be so,” Natalya said, “but as you said, nothing lasts forever. Prove that you are the so-called best of the business.” She motioned between herself and Rhonda. “You ladies up for a challenge?”

The Boss n’ Hug Connection shared a smile. Sasha nodded. “Sure. Are you?”

During the match that followed, Bayley and Sasha showed off. The high was still real, and they were capable of riding the adrenaline without making too many mistakes. Rhonda and Natalya, on the other hand, were struggling. Both were dominant in the ring. But when it came time to tag or to work together, cracks turned into fissures. One would reach for a tag, and the other would be missing. Then Rhonda was thrown from the ring. It took her eight seconds to wobble back to the ring. At nine seconds, she was reaching for the roes to pull herself up. At ten, she couldn’t get into the ring. Furious, she stepped back, dragging Liv Morgan out from under the ring.

On the other side, Sarah Logan attacked Natalya, knocking her to the ground. The former champions disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared. Thus freed, Natalya and Rhonda met back in the ring while Sasha and Bayley rolled out and watched from the ramp. The two women began to blame one another. Defending themselves truthfully to the Riott Squad’s interference, but neither was listening. The referee pushed them apart before it turned into another brawl. Natalya stomped off, breaking through Sasha and Bayley on her way by.

***

You focused on not letting your anxiety show. The ring had never felt so large an empty. Or so foreboding. It was time to address the WWE universe. “As you all know, in just thirteen days, WrestleMania will finally be here.” Their response made your cheeks twitch with a small smile. “There are one or two spots that haven’t been filled yet, but we’ve still got two weeks. That brings us to tonight. And to a contract signing.” You took a breath to call Seth and Dean to the ring, but Stephanie McMahon and Triple H’s intros interrupted in turn.

They calmly walked down to the ring. Stephanie carried the leather folder in one arm. She sent you a perturbed smile after stepping through the ropes. “Y/N, I found this in your office and figured you might need it. It’s kinda hard to have a contract signing without the contract.”

“Oops,” you halfheartedly gulped.

Hunter stepped into the ring too. You moved to the other side, using the space like an invisible barricade. “I would like to think otherwise, but it almost looks like you don’t want this match to happen as planned. Don’t you think Dean is mad at you enough?”

“Leave him out of this.”

Speak of the devil, Dean’s music sounded. You closed your eyes. This was a bad dream. Seth followed him out to his own music. And he had questions. “So, I noticed a large absence backstage. Care to explain that, Hunter?” He joined Dean on the far side of the ring, forcing you to stand in the middle.

“That’s right, Seth,” he mocked, “Brock Lesnar isn’t here. How observant of you. No, Brock signed the contract already, as witnessed by Paul Heyman. I’ll be signing as your witness.”

You stammered, “witnessed?”

The explanation was handed off to Stephanie. “Well, given the specifics of this match, we need to make sure that the competitors are willing to endure the consequences. And that they are doing this of their own free will.”

“Consequences? Free will?” Dean shared a look with Seth, then looked at you with a growl. “What is she talking about, Y/N?”

“Go on, Y/N, tell them what this is.” Stephanie waved the leather folder in her hand. Then handed it to you. Hunter stood behind her, daring you to rebel.

You swallowed. Hard.

“It’s a contract. For a triple threat match at WrestleMania for the Universal Championship.” The crowd initially cheered, but it faded into confusion. “You two against Brock Lesnar, and against each other.”

Dean and Seth shared a look. Seth shrugged. “So? This sounds like another one of your great ideas.”

“It was.” If you could keep your breathing even for a few more minutes, maybe you wouldn’t stutter. “When I pitched it to management,” you gestured towards Stephanie and Hunter, “it was a normal match with room for a no disqualification clause. But they… it developed into more. Another clause was added.” You licked your lips desperately.

“Keep going, Y/N. You’re just now getting to the best part.” Hunter stepped closer and patted you on the shoulder to encourage you. It did nothing but make you shiver.

“As the contracts stands, whoever loses the match has to leave WWE. Forever.” The crowd gasped, though Dean and Seth were still confused. “It’s not just whoever gets pinned, which was the original idea. It’s both of the competitors who lose.” The words began to pour out. “This means, Dean, that even if you pin Lesnar, Seth would have to leave too. Or you would if he pins Lesnar. Or both of you. The original plan was to create an opening to finally get rid of the Beast. I thought… I knew between the two of you that you could beat him. I thought…” you turned back to look at the Authority. “I thought I was doing what… what was best for business.”

Stephanie barked out a laugh. “What’s best for business? Brock Lesnar is one of our biggest assets. Why would we ever give you a chance to ruin that for WWE?”

“You guys are wasting your money to pay him to do nothing. Lesnar is not a champion. He may have had the title and the crown, but like an absent king, everybody knows where the real power lies. In the people.” Rage boiled in your veins. “Dean and Seth are some of the best here. They just don’t grovel at your feet like you’d like them too.” The word hung in the air, freezing over under Hunter’s scrutiny.

Stephanie stepped closer. “No matter how many times you use that argument, Y/N, it’s not going to change anything. Now. Seth. Dean. The contract?”

You jumped as Dean placed his hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he whispered.

“Please,” you shook your head, mic at your side, “don’t do this. It’s a trap. Please, no.” Your shoulders slumped as he kissed the top of your head and took the contract out of your hands.

Hunter smirked as Dean twiddled with the pen. Dean looked back, asking Seth if he was in it too. Seth accepted the pen as his answer, signing after looking at Dean’s signature. You covered your face and rubbed your temples, missing any silent conversation they exchanged. Seth handed the contract back to Hunter to finalize.

“See,” Hunter said, signing blindly, “that wasn’t so hard.” He took Stephanie by the arm and gave you the contract on their way out of the ring. You glanced at the signatures, resigned to hate that you had just-

Wait.

You looked up at Dean, who was smirking. Seth too.

“Mr. Helmsley?” Your voice caught in your throat for a second. “Are you sure you want this contract to go through?” Hunter stared you down as you fought not smiling. “You see…um. You signed the wrong line. You signed as one of the competitors.” A laugh escaped you. This had just gotten interesting. “As this contract states,” you flipped back a page, “any wrestler who competes under this contract and loses must leave the World Wrestling Entertainment company forever. If you beat Seth, who signed in the right place, Brock would have to leave and you…” you shrugged. “The lawyers could read through this and double check how much of this would apply to you, but at the base understanding, you would not be able to wrestle again. No more WrestleMania moments, no more inserting yourself into matches. And, at the worst, you would also have to leave the administration.”

Behind your smile, it felt like your whole being was glowing. You held the folder out to him.

“I may make the matches, but you still outrank me. You can dissolve this contract.”

Hunter snatched the folder away and looked closely at the signature and the clause he added. He pulled it out of the folder, flipping through and scanning for any way out. The crowd was deathly silent as he considered all angles.

They went wild as he tore the contract in half.

“We’re not done, Y/N,” he said, pointing at you.

“I understand, sir.” The threat could not defeat the proud smile on your face. Or the matching ones on Dean and Seth. Dean picked you up and spun you around once they were gone. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you into this mess.”

He ruffled your hair, despite your protest. “What else is family for?” He lightly tapped his fist against your cheek. “Can I get a match next week?”

“Against whom and how many?”

Part 47: Resigning

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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