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bagsley · 3 years

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my top ten favorite wincest fics of all time... completely unsurprising that over half of them are candle beck!

Last Day on Earth by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam has one day to live. You can imagine how Dean feels. (Probably my favorite wincest fic of all time. Dean’s frantic heart-stopping terror over Sam is just the most familiar version of him, you know?? It feels so true.)

Dean turns on his brother, fists Sam's collar and hugs him very hard. His face feels hot and slippery against Sam's neck, and Dean doesn't care, thinks clearly: fuck it. Fuck it, as Sam hugs him back just as fierce, fuck the highway and the night sky and the scripture being read in the background, the heavens and the earth and the light, the cattle and the creeping thing and anything else you can name. Every matchstick, every initialed square of sidewalk, every abandoned heart--fuck it all.

Ascalon by candle_beck

PODFIC

There are dragons in the world. (Breathlessly beautiful. Fantastic use of second person pov.)

You've always loved your brother and you've always been fucked up on one level or another, and somewhere along the line it got all screwed up in your head, all your history rewritten.

You love Dean because you're fucked up. You're fucked up because you love Dean. Being fucked up and loving Dean are the same thing.

Until at last, inevitably: the manner in which you love Dean is fucked up.

You should have seen that coming.

But he makes you so stupid.

American Myth by candle_beck

PODFIC

As long as you have a car, you are free, and other lies my country taught me. (Sam and Dean lose home, but only for about five hours.)

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Dean asks, a lace of impatience through his voice. “Apparently I bug you just by existing, so really, Sam, what do you want?”

That blows through Sam like a hurricane, blasting out the corpses and debris, the black curse shadowing his life, the twenty-odd years of vigilante violence and brotherhood, stripping him down to the elemental, and he looks at Dean feeling crystallized, thinking in astonishment, you.

Flying Weight by fleshflutter

Recently soulful Sam, vampire Dean. Sam feels in constant bitter competition with the ghost of his soulless self. (Whew.)

There's a moment he remembers very clearly, one of the last he does remember: He's in the graveyard at Stull, and his arm is drawn back, fist clenched with the force of mountains, and the sun catches his eye, and just for a heartbeat, Lucifer is blind, can't see a damned or blessed thing. That's when Sam sees Dean.

That's the moment Sam hangs his humanity on.

Welcome to Fog City by candle_beck

PODFIC

Sam's one blind spot is big enough to drive a truck through.

It was also mortifying, paralyzing at times, but Dean wasn't even horrified so much as familiarly resigned. Already he'd grown up as a refugee with demons trying to kill his whole family, and now he was irrevocably attracted to his kid brother too. Clearly Dean Winchester's life was a spectacular cosmic joke, a series of rugs to be pulled out from under him, and luckily his sense of humor was dark enough that he could at least appreciate the absurdity of the whole thing. This was just one more ridiculous cross that God had given him to bear.

So Dean went on through the highway world. Radio stations delighted in informing him that the hits would keep right on coming, and Dean didn't know what to expect next. Leprosy, maybe. A plague of locusts. The violent loss of one of his hands.

Instead, Sam left, ran away to California one lovely day in the late summer. It was not the worst thing that could have happened, but it was certainly in the top five. The weight of that particular cross had nearly smashed Dean into the earth.

Second Map of the World by candle_beck

They're on a lucky streak, and then Sam does something ill-considered, and the plot thickens.

Dean drove out of Topeka as if trying to outrun the shock wave of a nuclear explosion. Ninety, a hundred, a hundred and ten miles an hour, blowing past strings of red taillights, huge rattling trucks like dinosaurs with loose bones. Dean had the tape turned up loud enough that the speakers fuzzed. His hands were locked on the wheel.

The Firefly that Loved Metallica by fleshflutter

Dean's soul in a bottle.

[Sam] faces down demons and drives a four-day old corpse across the country on a hope so thin it wouldn't stand up to a light rain.

Waiting Games by Nutkin

Sam's having sex visions.

Dean's dug into himself deeply, become this tricky maze of raised hackles and sensitive spots that he's starkly open about. So open about, in fact, that it's like they've been worn into calluses, like they aren't even vulnerabilities anymore. He can bark out at Sam that he's the most important thing in his life, and it doesn't sound like he's admitting something private - it's just the same way he'd say, Give Satan my best, before ending a spirit. He picks and chooses the things he's embarrassed by, the things he lets become issues, and the way he feels about Sam isn't one of them. It's not a bruise that can be pushed on - maybe it was, once, but in the time Sam was off going to keggers and building a fort of textbooks and love letters, Dean just cemented it into one of the things that drives him.

Be Awake by candle_beck

Dean has a concussion.

"I'm sorry," Sam said as he sat Dean down on the bed, stepped back. He had a hard flush on his face, a downcast shadow in his eyes. "Shouldn't have gotten mad, I, I shouldn't have left you out there."

Dean shook his head, smiling dazedly at him. Sam's edges were blurred and his hair looked funny, fuzzing out like a halo, but the lines of his face stayed sharp, Dean's last remaining constant. He couldn't remember what Sam was talking about, but he said:

"It's okay, Sammy,"

because it was, and Sam would see that, Sam was smart. Dean wanted to get that serious look off his brother's face, win a smile from him no matter how far south the night had gone, but the fog was building in his mind again, rolling down hills to obscure his cities, ground his airplanes, wreck his ships.

Dean held his wavering head steady, fixed his eyes on Sam's face with the last of his focus. He managed to say, "Exit light," and then pitched backwards on the bed.

Gone Again by candle_beck

Harrowing and suffocatingly, inevitably heartbreaking. They never stood a chance.

The dream is different this time.

This time they’re in a motel room and the walls are on fire. It’s Sam’s fault; every time he touches something it goes up in flames.

Dean can hear his hair crackling and he jerks his head, watching the sparks fly. Sam’s close enough that Dean can see the firework reflection in his eyes. He flattens his hand next to Dean’s head and an outline of fire flares around his fingers.

“You gotta stop,” Dean says, barely able to breathe. These motel rooms are as flimsy as cardboard; if one part burns the whole thing will go.

And Sam’s laughing and shaking his head, licking at Dean’s throat and it’s hotter than fire could ever hope to be.

“I was made for this,” Sam tells him. “So were you.”

Dean’s eyes are raw and torn and wet but it might be blood. His shirt is smoldering and growing holes like black-edged tumors that Sam follows with his fingers, smearing soot on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach. Stuff that won’t wash away, like the blisters Sam’s mouth is leaving on Dean, the mad incendiary glee in his eyes.

#wincest #fic rec #spn

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petrichoravellichor · 3 years

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Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapter 1 (of 5) (Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Chs. 4 & 5)

“Crowley! Wake up, you son of a bitch, wake up!”

Crowley opens his eyes to Dean shaking him hard by the shoulders. Which is strange: the last thing Crowley remembers, he was dying, alone and forgotten in a parallel universe.

He isn’t there anymore. Instead, Dean is kneeling over him in a dome of golden light beyond which everything is dark, and for a brief, absurd moment he’ll chastise himself for later, Crowley thinks he’s somehow ended up in Heaven.

Then he glances past Dean and sees Sam with an exhausted-looking Castiel slumped against him; next to them is a younger man Crowley doesn’t recognize, but his eyes are molten gold, the same color as the dome surrounding them all. The amount of raw power emanating from the golden-eyed man makes every one of Crowley’s hairs stand on end, and not in a good way.

No, definitely not his idea of Heaven.

Crowley snaps his gaze back to Dean. “What—” he begins, but Dean cuts him off, hauling him to his feet.

“No time for questions!” Dean yells, and it’s only then that Crowley registers the roar coming from beyond the dome: it’s as though they’re standing in the eye of a hurricane as all around them things blow apart. “Come on, we gotta go!”

And then they’re all running, the dome of light moving with them like a shield as wispy black wraiths crash and burn against its perimeter and somewhere unseen, a hideous voice howls in rage.

*****

Once they’re safely back in the Bunker war room, Dean takes hold of Castiel and, along with the golden-eyed man—whose irises have faded to a soft, concerned blue—ushers him off in the direction of the infirmary, promising gruffly as he goes that he and Crowley will talk later.

Patience, however, is a virtue, and Crowley isn’t feeling particularly virtuous—especially not after seeing how tenderly Dean and Castiel looked at each other as Dean wrapped an arm around the angel’s waist and led him from the room. The sight had left a bitter taste in Crowley’s mouth, one he does his best to ignore. There will be time for that later; right now, he needs answers, and he’s not waiting on Dean in order to get them.

He crosses his arms and fixes Sam with an expectant glare. “All right, Moose,” he says, "out with it: what in God’s name is going on?”

Sam snorts, looking tired. “Um, yeah, about that...” He gestures towards the map table, then heads over to the liquor cabinet. “You...might wanna sit down.”

Crowley arches a brow, but he does as Sam suggests. Sam joins him a moment later and, after pouring them each a drink, spends the better part of the next hour telling Crowley all that’s transpired in the three years—three years—Crowley’s been dead.

Which is, it turns out, rather a lot.

Lucifer’s spawn survived his birth and is none other than the golden-eyed man Crowley saw when he woke up; his name is Jack, and for all intents and purposes, he considers Castiel to be his father.

An alternate version of Michael got a hold of Dean for a while, until Jack killed Michael at the cost of his soul, then, in a soulless rage, killed Mary.

God killed Jack. All Hell broke loose. Rowena, who’d apparently survived Lucifer’s last attempt to kill her, died to fix it and was now Queen of Hell.

Billie brought Jack back to kill God. Dean tried to kill Billie, so Billie tried to kill him. Castiel managed to take Billie out by admitting his love for Dean, at which point the Empty took Castiel—

Of course, thinks Crowley, the bitter taste in his mouth returning with a vengeance. Of. Bloody. Course...

The brothers had stormed the Empty not for him, but for Castiel. Good, noble, righteous Castiel, the wayward Angel of Thursday who’s been hopelessly in love with Dean for longer than Crowley has known him...and whom, it seems, Dean has finally admitted to loving back. Sam and Dean had saved Castiel because they loved him, because Dean loved him, but Crowley...They’d probably only rescued him because they’d figured they owed him for saving their denim-clad arses that day at the lake.

Now, as Crowley half-listens to Sam talk about defeating God, he glowers down at the map table and wishes they hadn’t bothered bringing him back at all, because it’s one thing to die unloved; it’s another to have to live that way. Crowley’s done both, and he knows which he prefers. At least in the Empty, he’d been at peace.

“Crowley? Hey, you okay?”

He looks up to see Sam regarding him from under a furrowed brow. Bollocks...

“Naturally,” Crowley says, leaning back in his chair with a dismissive smile. “That’s quite a tale, Moose. It sounds like you and Squirrel have outdone yourselves these past few years, even managed to pull one over on God; bravo. I’m sure Lucifer’s spawn will make a spectacular replacement: he is, after all, three.”

Sam’s eyes harden. “Jack’s nothing like Lucifer; he’s good, and he’s got us to help him, and Amara—”

“Oh, Amara! Now there’s a recipe for success if I’ve ever heard one: God’s evil sister and her Satanic great-nephew with billions of raw souls at their disposal. How could that possibly go wrong?” Crowley scoffs, shaking his head. “Honestly, there’s just no learning with you lot, is there? You just keep humming the same damn tune, then acting surprised when the notes turn sour, and it never even occurs to you to pick. A new. Bloody. Song.”

The frown on Sam’s face intensifies. “This is different. Jack, Amara, they’re on our side, and now that Rowena’s in charge of Hell—”

Crowley snorts. “Right. Care to wager on how long that lasts?” Then, at the look of sudden wariness on Sam’s face, he rolls his eyes. “Calm down, Moose; that wasn’t me plotting a coup. I have no plans to try and take back the crown.”

“You don’t?”

“Why on earth would I?” Crowley takes a sip of brandy, grimacing slightly at the flavor—for all the changes the past few years have wrought, the Winchesters’ abominable taste in liquor remains tragically consistent. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I hated Hell as much as the blasted place hated me. If Mother thinks she can do better, she can have it.”

They sit without speaking for a moment; then Sam clears his throat. “You know,” he says quietly, “Rowena regrets how things ended between the two of you.”

Crowley stiffens, a stab of anger piercing his gut. “No, she doesn’t.”

“She does,” Sam insists, and how anyone can look so stupidly earnest is beyond Crowley’s ability to comprehend. “She told us so.”

Crowley scoffs. “And you believed her?” he demands, left hand closing into a fist at his side. “You know, for the longest time, I thought you were the smart one.”

Sam sighs. “Crowley...Look, I’m not saying Rowena’s perfect—”

“She’s quite literally the Queen of Hell, Moose.” Crowley manages to keep his voice level, but his fingernails are digging into his palm. “I’d say that’s about as far from perfect as anyone can get.”

“—but I think you two should talk.”

Crowley’s hand starts to bleed.

“I mean it,” continues Sam, when Crowley says nothing. “When I was a kid, my dad...he wasn’t there the way he should’ve been, and we fought a lot, and there were times I felt like I hated him, but when he died...”

A multitude of emotions flicker across Sam’s face in rapid succession, too fast for Crowley to name them all, but the final one, the one Sam looks back at him with, is regret. “When he died,” Sam continues, “I didn’t care about any of that. And maybe I should have. I know I should have. Believe me, I tried. But I just...kept coming back to the fact that what I was feeling, the good and the bad, I’d never get to actually say it to him, and if he was somehow sorry for the bad, that was something I’d never get to hear.”

Crowley’s anger flares white hot; his hidden palm is slick with blood. “If you have a point,” he growls, “I’d encourage you to come out with it.”

“My point,” says Sam, curtly, “is that you actually have a chance at some closure, and I think you should take it. For your own sake.”

Crowley clenches his jaw, looks away. “For my own sake,” he echoes, softly. As if his and Sam’s pain is the same. As if Rowena is capable of causing anything but. “Tell me, Moose: since when do you or your imbecile of a brother actually give a damn about my own sake?”

He raises his gaze to stare coldly at Sam who, for the first time since they sat down, seems at a genuine loss for words. Crowley snaps his glass down on the table and stands. “Thought as much.”

He shoves his hands in his coat pockets and turns to go—where, exactly, he has no idea—only to nearly crash headlong into Dean, and suddenly, Crowley’s anger turns to outright fury, because at the end of the day, it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that Crowley had gone up against Hell and his mother and even his own better judgment for Dean more times than he could count.

It didn’t matter that the two of them had shared a bed when Dean was a demon, doing extraordinary things to triplets that Crowley would have kicked out in a heartbeat if he’d thought he could get away with it.

It didn’t matter that Crowley had sacrificed his life to save Dean and Sam and the whole bloody world.

None of it mattered, because for all the times Crowley had chosen Dean, Dean had never once chosen him. Then again, Crowley thinks, maybe it’s his own fault for expecting any different, his due comeuppance for stupidly believing he deserved to be loved. It doesn’t matter; he knows better now.

“Hello, Dean,” he snarls. “Come to look in on me now that you’ve seen to your angel? Well you needn’t have bothered; I was just leaving.”

Dean frowns, crossing his arms. “The hell do you mean, you’re leaving?”

“I mean get out of my way.”

“No.”

“And why not?” Crowley demands, voice rising. “Am I your prisoner? I’ve already told your oaf of a brother that I’ve no interest in causing any sort of trouble in Hell, so if that’s what this is about, then you can just—”

“Damn it, Crowley,” snaps Dean, “no, that’s not what this is about; it’s about where are you even gonna go. You got a place somewhere we don’t know about?”

“I’ll find one.”

“Or,” Dean counters, “you could cut the crap and just stay here.”

That catches Crowley off guard, but only for a moment; he gives Dean a hard look, determined not to let the surprise show on his face. “And why on earth would I want to do that?”

“Because you know it’s the smart thing to do,” says Dean, face impassive, “and last I checked, you were an asshole, not an idiot.”

And it’s not that Crowley doesn't know full well that running off half-cocked into a world whose dynamics have fundamentally changed is naive at best and suicidal at worst—that isn’t what makes him nearly scream in rage, because he knows it’s patently true. No, the infuriating thing, the truly mortifying thing, is that Dean knows him well enough to know that he knows it, and that if Crowley does leave, he’s only going to prove Dean right.

The thought is more than Crowley can bear; still, if he doesn’t get out of this room right now, he’s going to start shouting—at Dean, at himself, at everything. There are other, less crowded places in this godforsaken Bunker, and it’s past time he went and found one. He’s not going to give Dean the satisfaction of watching him break.

Crowley pulls his fury tight and close, stepping forward into Dean’s space and glaring up at him with every bit of defiance he can muster. “Funny,” he sneers, “because last I checked, you were both.”

And he vanishes before Dean can respond.

*****

Crowley finds an unoccupied room at the far end of the hall and decides to claim it as his own for the time being. He bolts the door and turns to collapse onto the bed...only to freeze dead in his tracks.

His mother is standing in the corner. As Crowley gapes, Rowena takes a step forward, face pale and incredulous. “Fergus?” she whispers. “Gods, is it really you?”

Her voice snaps Crowley out of his shock, and he narrows his eyes. “Mother,” he growls, the word like poison in his mouth. “What do you want?”

“Sam told me they were going to try and get you back,” Rowena says softly, eyes roving over Crowley’s face as though seeing him for the first time, “and I wanted...I needed to see if they’d done it, if you were all right.”

Crowley glares, making a mental note to have a word with Sam about this particular indiscretion. “Well, you’ve seen me. Now get out.”

Rowena recoils, and if Crowley didn’t know any better, he’d swear his words actually hurt her. “You’re angry,” she says. “You’re angry, and you’ve every right to be, but if you’d just let me explain—”

“Explain what?” Crowley snaps. He clenches both hands into fists, ignoring the burn in his left palm. “What could you possibly have to say to me that I’d want to hear? You hate me, remember?”

“I love you—”

Crowley barks out a laugh. “Really? Have you forgotten the last time we saw each other? You left on a bus after you sent my son to his death, all because you wanted to watch me ‘suffer the loss of a child’, of my child!” He stumbles towards her, half-blind with rage. “Tell me, Mother: did losing me bring you any suffering, or were you just sad you weren’t there to collect three pigs in exchange?”

Rowena looks as though she’s been slapped. “Of course I suffered! Do you have any idea what I went through trying to get you back? I faced Death herself; I begged her to return you to me, but she wouldn’t do it! Ask Sam, ask Dean!”

“They’ve already told me,” Crowley grinds out. “It doesn’t matter.”

“How can you say that?” Rowena is crying now, tears rolling freely down her face. “Of course it matters! I did it because I missed you, because I love you!”

“You’ve never loved me a day in your life.”

“That isn’t true! I did love you; I do!” Rowena takes another step forward and reaches out a hand. “If you could just find it in your heart to forgive me—”

“Forgive you?” Crowley snarls, and it’s all he can do not to spit in her face. “You don’t get to ask for my forgiveness, not after any one thing you’ve put me through, not after everything! What was it you said to me that day at the bus station, your parting words? ‘Who better than me to crush your shriveled heart’? At least I had a heart, once; you never did.”

“Fergus—”

And Crowley explodes. “GET OUT!” he screams, seizing the lamp off the bedside table and hurling it at his mother with all his might...only to watch as it flies right through her and crashes into the wall.

And then Rowena’s gone, just like she always is, and Crowley’s alone, just like he always is. He stands in the middle of the room and stares hollowly into empty space. “Astral projection,” he says, quietly; it always had been one of his mother’s favorite tricks. “Of course.”

He spends the rest of the night warding the room as many ways as he knows how, determined not to let his mother or anyone else get the drop on him again.

#crowley #spn crowley #fergus macleod #crowley macleod #crowley fic #spn #supernatural #supernatural fix-it fic #spn fix-it fic #fanfiction #a new kind of life #my writing #here we gooooo!!!

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caranfindel · 3 years

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Fic: You don’t know how it feels (to be me)

gen, s6 | about 3600 words | pg for language | characters: soulless sam winchester, dean winchester

synopsis: Soulless Sam tries to deal with his brother's feelings about, well, everything. Including his hair. Set in season 6, before "You Can't Handle the Truth."

An idea I had a long time ago, resuscitated by Jared's Walker haircut. The title is from "You Don't Know How It Feels" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

. . . . . .

It's a stupid case.

The manager of the county fairgrounds is a stooped, gnarled old man wearing one of those ball caps veterans wear sometimes. Gold embroidery on the dark blue hat proudly displays the name of his ship or submarine or whatever. Sam doesn't care about his ship or submarine or whatever. He doesn't care about this guy's service at all. Most days, old Blue Hat here got three meals a day and a warm, dry place to sleep in exchange for whatever he gave up. He got a pension when he was done fighting. Sam gets to scrounge for cheap food and sleep in crappy hotels when he's lucky enough to actually land someplace other than the back seat of the Impala. Sam's service to his country earned him a trip to Hell. Sam will get to stop fighting when he's dead. His only pension will be a pyre.

Sam doesn't even get to sleep any more.

(This should bother him. But the truth is, it doesn't.)

Blue Hat frowns at Sam's ID and snorts derisively. "You don't look like a Fed. You look like a goddamn hippie."

He rolls his eyes at the old man, even though he knows Dean hates it when he does that. It's something he didn't do Before, no matter how annoying or insipid the witness. Sam doesn't give a good goddamn what this guy thinks about his hair, but apparently his brother does. "He's been doing some undercover work," Dean says. "Sometimes you've got to look like a goddamn hippie to blend in."

Blue Hat sniffs his disapproval and ignores Sam for the rest of the interview, directing all of his answers to Dean. Which is fine. The old guy doesn't seem to have anything useful to add anyway. Sam leaves his brother to the pointless interview about the stupid case and wanders around the building, taking pictures of the unexplained runes that brought them here. He's bored. The sudden appearance of mysterious runes on the bland metal exterior of a county fairgrounds building feels witchy, and Sam really doesn't care about witches. Two measly deaths, quite possibly from natural causes, and now he's out here standing in cow shit. Or goat shit or pig shit. This entire day has been shit, literally and figuratively.

Dean joins him after a couple of minutes, apparently done with Blue Hat. "What do you think?" he asks.

Sam shrugs. "Too early to tell. If these runes are what Bobby thinks they are, they'll change under moonlight, but moonrise isn't until 9:05 pm."

“Jesus," Dean moans. "I can't stay awake that long. I've already gone almost two days. Let's go back to the motel and crash, and we'll hit this place again tonight."

Or not, Sam wants to say. I think you jumped on this paper-thin excuse for a job just because the alternative was sitting in a motel room with me waiting for an actual case to come up, Sam wants to say. But neither of these are things he would have said Before, and Dean is so goddamn twitchy about Sam being different than Before.

As they turn back to the Impala, Dean glances at Sam with a slight smile. "Dude's not wrong, you know."

“What?"

“You do look like a goddamn hippie." Dean's hand twitches toward Sam, like he's going to smack him on the back of the head or ruffle his hair, but he pulls back without touching him. Because they don't do that now. Casual, good-natured, brotherly contact isn't a thing now. Dean doesn't touch him unless there are injuries involved.

(This is another thing that should bother Sam. It would have, Before.)

. . .

Dean hangs his suit in the closet, sets an alarm, and collapses on top of the covers. Sam stares at his own bed. The threat of spending hours pretending to be asleep makes his skin crawl. If Dean falls asleep quickly enough, he can skip the whole charade.

“Hey, I think I'm gonna shower first," he says.

Dean doesn't open his eyes. "Just don't wake me up when you get out."

In the bathroom, Sam turns on the water but doesn't get undressed. He stands at the mirror, staring at his too-long hair. Why has he bothered to hold onto it? He remembers caring about his hair. He remembers it being a small fuck you to John, the one area in his life where he was able to cling to some autonomy. It's not that he's forgotten about that; he just doesn't give a shit any more.

And like Dean said, Blue Hat wasn't wrong. He does look like a hippie. The hair is a hazard, and it does clash with any kind of law enforcement disguise. Maybe it's time to do something about it. He has time to kill anyway, while Dean sleeps.

(Sam should care that he doesn't need to sleep any more. Dean would definitely care, if he found out. Dean cares so much about any aspect of Sam that is less normal than he thinks it ought to be. Even if it's something that makes him a better hunter. Dean didn't appreciate it when Sam could exorcise demons without killing the host, and Dean wouldn't appreciate that Sam can get so much done when he's not sleeping. He could never understand why this version of Sam is so much better than the way he was Before. It's a shame Dean hasn't discovered the option of Not Caring.)

(Sometimes Sam wonders if getting back with Dean is worth the trouble.)

(And that should bother him too.)

Sam shuts off the shower and pulls out his phone. He needs to find a barber shop in walking distance. Dean will get all pissy if he wakes up and the car is gone; less so if only Sam is missing. Luckily, there's a shop that might still be open. It's one of those ridiculous sports-themed places that presumes men are fussy toddlers who need to be distracted from the ignominy of a hair cut. At least they tend to be staffed by women, and those women tend to be prettier than average. With any luck, he can kill two birds with one stone.

When he opens the bathroom door, Dean is either asleep, or pretending to be. Sam scrawls couldn't sleep, back soon on the motel notepad and closes the door behind him as silently as possible.

(He misses his car. He didn't have an emotional attachment to it, like Dean and the Impala, but it was convenient and it suited him.)

(He doesn't actually have an emotional attachment to anything. That should bother him.)

. . .

Two stylists, both predictably prettier than average, look up when he walks in. The redhead says "sorry, sir, we're just about to close up," and continues sweeping up hair trimmings. But the brunette looks him up and down and smiles. And Sam's partial to brunettes anyway.

He gives her a once-over in return and smiles back. "Do you have time for just a quick cut? I'd be eternally grateful."

She stares at him for a minute, appraising. "Well, how could I turn down an offer of eternal gratefulness?" she says with a wink. She turns to the redhead. "Why don't you go on home. I've got this."

The redhead dumps her clippings into a trash can. "You sure?"

"I'm sure. You mind locking the door behind you? I don't want any more last-minute customers walking in."

The redhead raises her eyebrows, but gathers her purse and jacket and makes her escape as Sam settles into the brunette's chair.

“I'm Marianne," she says, as she starts to drape a cape over his shoulders.

“I'm Sam. But listen. I get too hot under those capes. Would it be okay if we skip it? And I just take my shirt off so I don't get hair all over it?"

Marianne smiles like the cat who caught the canary. "Not a problem, sweetheart."

Sam slips out of his dress shirt and drapes it over the empty chair next to him. Marianne watches him the whole time, eyes roving over the muscles exposed by his snug white undershirt. It's like shooting fish in a barrel.

He sits back in the chair and Marianne stands behind him. Her chest brushes against his shoulders. "So," she asks, "what are we doing today?"

“Shorter. Off my collar, above my ears."

She slips her fingers through his hair, measuring its length. "You sure? This length looks pretty good on you. Just needs to be cleaned up a bit."

“It's for a job. The long hair doesn't fly any more."

“Aw, that's a shame." Marianne's still running her fingers through his hair. "If you've got a lady in your life, I bet she'll miss it. A girl likes something to hold onto."

Well. The best lies are based on a kernel of truth. Sam looks into his lap and lets his smile go sad and soft. "That's kind of why I'm here. My girlfriend died and I thought I'd try to start over. New place, new job, new life. But yeah, that's always been one of my favorite things. A girl grabbing my hair in the heat of the moment. I should have tried to find someone to do that one more time before I had to cut it off."

Marianne leans forward, pressing her breasts harder against him. When he looks up, she meets his eyes in the mirror, then flicks a glance toward a door marked Employees Only. “You know," she says, "that could probably be arranged."

Seriously. Fish in a goddamn barrel.

. . .

Dean's awake when Sam gets back to the motel room, but he doesn't look up from the laptop. "Couldn't sleep?"

“I guess I napped a little in the car on the way down here," Sam lies. "And then, you know, a lot of caffeine this morning."

“Whatever. I'm not the sleep police. I hope you brought food, cause I could —" Dean looks at Sam and stops mid-sentence, mouth still open. "You cut your hair?"

“Yeah."

“Why?"

“What do you mean, why? Like old what's-his-face said, I looked like a hippie, not an FBI agent. And you've been telling me to cut it for years."

“Yeah, I have. I've been saying that for years and you've been ignoring me for years. Now some random witness calls you a hippie and you go running to Supercuts?"

Sam sighs. Dean may not be the sleep police, but he's awfully eager to step in as the hair police, enforcing his own set of laws about Sam's hair. "Why does it matter? You wanted me to cut it. Everyone wanted me to cut it. And I cut it. Can we move on now?"

It's a statement almost guaranteed to make Dean bow up in anger, but instead, he deflates. "It's just… nothing. Fine. Moving on." He closes the laptop and pulls his keys out of his coat pocket. "We've still got an hour or so before moonrise. I'm gonna go run through McDonald's. You want a chicken sandwich, or is that something else you're not interested in any more?"

Jesus Christ. This is what passes for moving on. But Sam needs that shower now, and none of this is worth arguing about.

(Few things are any more. That seems like it should matter.)

“Yeah, that sounds great, thanks."

By the time Dean gets back, the sandwich is cold and the ice in Sam's drink is mostly melted. He pretends to enjoy it anyway.

. . .

Their drive back to the fairgrounds is quiet. Dean occasionally steals an unhappy glance at Sam's hair, but doesn't say anything. Sam ignores it.

They pull into the parking lot in front of the marked building. Without even getting out of the car, they can see that the runes have changed. The broad strokes are softly luminescent, glowing a pale blue in the moonlight.

“Okay, so that answers that question," Sam says. Thank God. Now they can leave without wandering around the grounds, soaking up the barnyard smell again. Wrap this up and start working on something more important. But Dean gets out of the car and looks at Sam expectantly. Well, crap. Sam dutifully follows him closer to the building and tries to think of how he would have felt about this development Before.

“Cool," he says. Dean narrows his eyes at him. "I mean, cool that our theory was right. Not, you know, cool that someone is using this kind of spellwork to make sure their pig wins a blue ribbon at the fair. That part's… pretty awful." But Dean's still looking at him funny, so he probably overcorrected on that one. It's just hard, any more.

Dean rubs the back of his neck as he examines the glowing runes. "If that's all they're doing, more power to them. I couldn't care less. But we need to make sure that's all they're doing. I mean, people died, Sam. We need to figure out if this is why." He pulls out his phone. "Gonna take some pictures to send Bobby." There's no reason to remind him they already have pictures. If Dean thinks additional pictures are more effective and efficient than "just like this, but glowing blue," that's up to him. Sam will most likely solve the damn case later tonight anyway, while Dean sleeps.

And he almost does. Dean knocks back a couple of glasses of whiskey when they get back to the motel, and falls asleep pretty soon after that. Sam doesn't bother to feign sleep — Dean doesn't seem to care, right now, whether his brother gets any sleep or not. But when Sam realizes his own photos missed a crucial corner of the building, he opens his brother's phone and finds his last text to Bobby. There's only one picture, and it's not glowing runes. It's him. Just a dark, slightly blurry picture of Sam, obviously taken earlier that night at the fairgrounds. And a text conversation.

See, I told you, it's short. I don't know what's going on. I swear he's just different.

Yeah, I get it. It's different. He's different. But what'd you expect? Of course he's not the same as he was. Hell changed him.

It didn't change me this much.

His Hell wasn't the same as yours. I know it didn't last very long, but remember, he was in the cage with the devil. We don't know what happened to him in there. Give him some time.

Well. Fuck. Dean's talking about him behind his back. Dean doesn't trust him. Dean thinks, once again, that something is wrong with him.

(That would have hurt, Before. Now it's just an annoyance. A distraction. Something to be dealt with.)

Yes, Hell changed him. Hell burned away all the crap, all the useless feelings, the guilt and shame and fear of failure. Hell purified him. Hell carved out the weakness and left nothing but pure, strong hunter. Dean, of all people, should appreciate the result. But Dean does not, and now Sam has to cater to his tiresome attachment to everything Sam was Before.

Fine. He can make that work.

Sam quietly puts Dean's phone back on the nightstand. He strips down to boxers and his t-shirt, sets an alarm, and crawls into bed. Pretending to sleep is tedious, but a couple of hours of boredom right now might spare him weeks of Dean's moodiness about him being different.

(As if Hell could leave you untouched. As if anyone in their right mind would expect that. As if Dean himself didn't know this first hand, for fuck's sake.)

. . .

Sam spends the next day focusing on acting the way he did Before. When his alarm goes off he stretches, yawns, and pretends he had a good night's sleep. He goes for a run, brings back coffee, showers quickly, and rolls his eyes when Dean makes a crack about him being able to spend less time in the shower now. At breakfast, he smiles at the (cute, definitely worth a bang) waitress, but doesn't flirt or even check her out as she walks away. He's figured out that Dean wants Sam to want to get laid (but not too much; he's definitely not supposed to want it as much as Dean wants it) but for some reason doesn't want him to actually get lucky. And he definitely would have gotten lucky. He spends the day looking empathetic, acting like this whole thing hasn't been a colossal waste of time. Like he cares about everything. About anything.

(God, it's exhausting.)

It turns out the deaths probably don't have anything to do with the witch at all. They return to the fairgrounds one last time, where Sam plants hex bags and paints runes on the corners of the building that will block the witch's simple spells - not that he cares whether the witch achieves anything or not, just on principle. His own runes are small and subtle enough that this novice witch (they must be a novice; no one with any experience would be naive enough to make their work so noticeable) won't even know they're in place. And if the witch escalates, well, that's not exactly Sam's problem.

When he's finished, he wipes his hands on his jeans and says "We should get Chinese for dinner. When's the last time you ate a vegetable?" Because monitoring everyone's vegetable intake is something he did Before.

They're finishing Chinese takeout in their motel room (beef with broccoli for Dean, eggplant in garlic sauce for Sam, because occasional bouts of vegetarianism were also a thing he did Before) when he catches Dean looking at his hair, very clearly wanting to say something.

So. It's go time.

Sam tries to make his eyes big and sad. The puppy dog look, Dean always called it. It was never intentional Before, but now he has to work at it. "Listen," he says. "I owe you an apology. I haven't been telling you the whole truth."

“No shit," Dean says. He's trying to sound nonchalant, but his body language screams that he's bracing for something. "So, spill it. What's your big confession?"

(That I don't care about any of this. This piddly little case. My hair. You. Nothing. And you can't imagine, Dean, you cannot even begin to imagine the incredible freedom of not caring. I wish you could, but you just can't.)

No, he can't say any of that. But the best lies are built on a kernel of truth.

Sam takes a deep, anxious breath and looks at Dean. No, wait. Look away. "You know, I told you I don't remember Hell. And I really don't. Not consciously, anyway. But when we were fighting those demons a couple of weeks ago, one of them grabbed me by the hair, and I felt something… it was a sense memory, I guess. It felt like Hell, for some reason. Like it was something that happened to me in Hell, someone grabbing my hair and pulling my head back and getting ready to cut my throat or… whatever."

He doesn't have to elaborate on whatever. Dean knows the whatevers of Hell better than anyone. He's probably dealing with a little sense memory of his own right now, of clutching someone's hair and pulling their head back in preparation for whatever. And now Sam does look at his brother, who is staring at him with wide, horrified eyes.

“Ever since then," Sam continues, "I just feel like I've been on the verge of remembering something. Something I don't want to remember. And I'm tired of worrying that I'm gonna have a Hell flashback every time I wash my hair."

Dean looks like he's going to vomit. Perfect.

“I'm sorry," Sam says. "It threw me, and I just didn't want to talk about it. But I shouldn't have kept it from you."

For a second, he's sure he has gone too far. Dean is going to say what's this bullshit, Sam, you would never apologize for something like that, so tell me what's really going on. But he doesn't. He stares at Sam for a minute, then looks away and wipes a hand down his face.

“Yeah, okay. Okay. You, ah. You good now? Is it working?"

Sam shrugs. "Hard to say. It hasn't been very long. But yeah, I feel a little more… stable, I guess."

And then it’s time to go for the kill.

Sam gives him the sad smile. (He never used to think of it as a sad smile; never used to think of it as anything at all. It was just what his face did. Every expression requires so much thought now.) "Listen. I know things are weird. I know I'm weird. Different. I know it's hard for you. If this is all more than you want to deal with right now, I understand."

Dean frowns. "What are you saying?"

“Just, I can go back with Samuel and his crew if you don't want to do this any more. You and me, I mean. No hard feelings, I promise."

Dean's face crumples. "What? No, fuck, no, Sam. I don't. You and me, we're good. I'm just getting used to things. That's all."

“Okay." Sam gives his best approximation of a grateful smile.

“So. Uh." Dean looks around the room nervously, like he's waiting for the other shoe to fall, then stands. "I think I'm gonna go get a drink. You wanna come with, or…"

Even if Sam believed Dean really wanted him to come along — and he doesn't; this is obviously Dean's way of retreating from a situation he doesn't want to think about — pretending to sleep when Dean's gone is one of the easier ways of making it look like he actually does sleep sometimes. "No. I'm beat," he says. "I think I'll just go to bed."

“Okay. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea." Dean takes his keys out of his pocket and anxiously tosses them in his hand. When he finally does turn to Sam, he looks at his hair, not his eyes. "Hey, you know, it does. It does look good on you."

Sam ducks his head shyly, like someone who's not used to praise. Who doesn't think he deserves it. "Thanks." When he looks up, Dean is already halfway out the door, putting as much space between himself and his little brother's hellscape as possible.

(Seriously. Fish in a fucking barrel.)

#my fic #sam winchester #dean winchester #soulless sam is my spirit animal #spn #season 6

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awesomerextyphoon · 3 years

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A Warrior’s Heart | Phase 1: Welcome – 3

A Hero’s Welcome?

Summary: When someone with a connection to Steve’s past dies, he’s reminded of the promise he made to Dr. Erskine and whether or not he’s failed. Can Ife help him see that he hasn’t?

Characters: Steve Rogers, Ifekerenma ‘Ife’, Abraham Erskine (mentioned), Marlene Erskine (mentioned), Nick Fury, Eliza Maza, Azeneth Ramirez

Main Pairing: Stucky x Black!OFC (Ifekerenma ‘Ife’)

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 5,801

Warnings: Depression, Talk of Death, Slightly Cynical Steve, Politics, Smutty Thoughts

A/N: I’m sorry that this so long. I really wanted to try something different with Erskine and the time around CA:TFA. Also, I wanted to explore how Steve would be feeling right after AoU (little bit of a downer, but it will get better). Furthermore, this story will diverge a bit from MCU in terms of Steve’s and Bucky’s abilities. Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated. Dividers were by the lovely @firefly-graphics. Thanks to @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog for the beta!

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Early June 2015

“What do you have to report, Ifekerenma?”

Ife pursed her lips together,”Wanda is doing well with her training. Djamila and Nazaret had some sung her praises during their first session.”

It took a few days to convince the team and Fury to let her friends train Wanda. Luckily Nat had her back and Wanda was able to show the compound how much she improved from what Ife was able to teach her. Unfortunately, Azeneth was unable to make it due to being tied up with a BNA mission and relocating to the NYC division.

“That’s good to hear. Have you made made any progress with the others?”

Ife’s eyes casted down in thought. Vision was a no-go for now. Pietro was warming up to her, but he thought she was still suspicious (wasn’t wrong). She didn’t want to try Rhodey yet (too close to Tony). Nat was..difficult; she’ll try again later.

“I’m going to try Steve next. He seems like a safe bet, even with the serum. Hopefully, he won’t catch before it’s time. I will need Erskine’s folder though.”

Eliza’s lips turned upward in a small smile, “Agreed. I’ll have it sent to you within the hour. Best of luck, Ife.”

And with that, Ife got dressed and headed towards the common room.

Steve leaned back and clasped his hands together behind his head in thought and vexation.

The 21st century must be fucking with him.

Right after Operation ‘Captain Briar Rose’, Steve went to Brooklyn. He could barely find any trace of his old neighborhood. The apartment complex where he and his mother lived was now a ritzy condominium with a Starbucks on the ground level.

All of the places he’d go with Bucky were now soulless veneers filled with empty promises of ‘happiness’ or ‘self-esteem’.

He remembered the time Bucky bailed him out of yet another beating by Arnie and his gang back in 1928. His mother berated him for getting in yet another fight while Bucky’s mom laughed and treated them to ice cream from the local sweets parlor. Bucky’s sisters – Rebecca, Rose, and Annabelle – were making a fuss and bursted out in giggles when Annabelle got ice cream in Bucky’s hair. It was one of the best days that year.

A T-Mobile now stands in its place.

All of his friends and comrades save Bucky and Peggy are dead; he nearly bawled in the middle of briefing when found out that Timothy ‘Dum Dum’ Dugan died and had a cry alone in his quarters afterwards.

Felt shitty about the current state of the country. It seemed as though everything has gotten worse. He found out about the Gulf, Afghanistan, and Iraq Wars. How income and wealth inequality has somehow gotten as bad as, if not worse, than the Gilded Age. Corruption has turned DC and NYC into dog and pony show.

He was furious at all of the politicians and corporations that wanted him to endorse them or their actions. They wanted Captain America’s helmet and shield to mask their heinous acts. They were the same if not worse than Senator Brandt.

Some days Steve wished SHIELD let him stay in the ice. Even worse, there were days he felt that Captain America was for an America that never was.

Nowadays, he felt even more like an anomaly.

It started when he got out of the ice. He felt a lot stronger and faster; only Thor knew the extent of it and he has to hold back a lot when fighting for fear of government asking for more of his blood. Though he suspected Ife and Natasha might be onto him.

He was a lot hungrier than before he went on ice as well. Often time, he would have late night ‘dinners’ (now it's every night), To be honest, he was a bit embarrassed at how much he ate, though the thought of pinning the blame on Ife did cross his mind. It wouldn’t work due to Ife almost never eating with the team and Sam said that he would know if Ife was the culprit. Steve suspected that Ife has been using her connections to restock the food between when he retired to his quarters and before the rest of the team came for breakfast. Also, she kept leaving him fun pop culture facts and media recommendations for the night.

Steve didn’t feel he could go to Dr. Cho since he doubted she had anything to go on in his case.

He did wonder if Ife could help him. She seemed to like helping the team and she was knowledgable about Non-Humans. Wanda’s rapid improvement in her powers and control bolstered his decision.

Sighing, Steve sat up straight in his chair and picked up the letter he received that morning. Marlene Philomena Erskine had passed away and he was invited to her funeral.

It was sad to have yet another link to his past slip from his grasp.

Steve was finishing up another book to fight off his jitters. It was the night before the operation and he needed to have a few moments of respite from the war.

He was so engrossed in what he was reading that he failed to notice Dr. Erskine entering.

Erskine, for his part, was eyeing several books in Rogers’ makeshift bookshelf: They Odyssey, Of Mice and Men, Murder on the Orient Express, Tender is the Night, Their Eyes Were Watching God, Homage to Catalonia, and To Have and have Not.

“What do you think of the book?” Erskine asked as he sat across the startled recruit.

“Just finished. Y’think it wise to get buzzed before a major operation, sir?” Steve noted when he saw the bottle and two shot glasses on the bed.

Erskine chucked, “Calms my nerves a bit. What did you think of the book?”

Steve pressed his lips together for a moment, “It was a good read. The book had a lot of good points for something written eleven years ago.”

“What truths?”

“Well, for one thing, how technology is used to make the populace happy, but not better. The World Government found a way to get people to willingly trade self-expression, self-awareness, and their happiness for cheap happiness and comfort. Makes you wonder if the US was next, you know?”

Erskine was taken aback by his answer. It was much deeper than most of commanding officers gave if they even read the book.

Though that last sentence was interesting.

“What do you mean next?”

“Isn’t that what happened in Germany?”

Erskine sighed, “Yes and no. Most people here think Hitler came out of nowhere, but he didn’t. Not everyone in Germany was for WWI. There was a 100,000 person march in Berlin, but it didn’t matter since the Social Democratic Party failed to rise to the occasion and went along with war effort. Many were scapegoated for Germany failure, Matthias Erzberger for instance.”

“What about the Weimar Republic?”

Once again, Erskine was taken aback by Steve’s knowledge, “Weimar Germany was a great place to be creative, curious, and make new discoveries. I met my wife, Greta, in Berlin during that time. I made a lot of friends, friends I had to leave behind.”

Erskine frowned as his face darkened,”The terrible thing, my friend, was not that Hitler was dangerous, it was that either people didn’t take him as the threat he was or they wanted to use him for their own ends. The cops and judges sympathized with the Nazi Party to get one over the Socialists and Communists. Industrialists wanted to make money off of the Nazis getting into power. Even the German and International newspapers didn’t cover him with the urgency required.”

“That’s terrible.”

“Ja, and it almost happened here, didn’t it?”

Steve nodded in reference to the America First movement and the German American Bund. He still remembers getting the crap beaten out of him by the Silver Shirts when he spoke out against them a few years ago.

“So why did you choose me?”

“I suppose that is the best question.” Erskine admitted while glancing at Steve’s bookshelf, “What do you think of the Odyssey?”

Steve shrugged, “The adventures were fun, but they were just fantasy.”

“They may not be, Mein Freund. How old do you think I am?”

“Uh, mid sixties?”

Erskine laughed, “You’re too kind. I will be 94 this September,” he smiled noting Steve’s shock, “Things are not always as they seem. I come from a long line of ‘healers’ dating back to before Rome. One of them was able to ‘make a man more’. They inspired me to go into this profession.”

“Making super soldiers?”

“Medicine and bio-chemical engineering.”

“Oh”

“Did you know that you will not be first to undergo this?”

“Who was?”

“His name was Konrad Jager. He was a lot like you: small, frail, but had a great deal of courage and compassion. He was willing to fight Nazis in the streets knowing he’d lose. One day in 1930, his parents begged me to save him as the doctors had given up all hope.

I was woking on a serum that would make the body impervious to all diseases rather than wait for the next outbreak to occur. I thought it would propel the medical field.

The trial worked and he was healed. He became much taller and broader in size as a result.”

Erskine pulled out a picture of himself next to a tall, well-built young man.

“That’s Konrad isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was able to help eight more people through the earlier version of the serum. All but one turned out well.”

“What happened to the one?”

“Ah yes, Eren Kant. He was a shy young man before the serum, but then became more like Hodge: a philander, arrogant, and bit of a bully with a temper. He ‘grew too big for his britches’ as one would say and was arrested by the Munich police. He let his arrogance blind him and he escaped in a way that intrigued Der Fuhrer and was taken to Berlin soon after. By this time, rumors had spread of my work and the Nazis were anxious to be the ‘best of the Aryans’. They were able to get my whereabouts from Eren and sent Schmitt to fetch me, but I was already on my way to Switzerland when he reached my home.”

“How did he get you?”

Erskine slightly jerked his head to the side and back, “A year prior to my attempted escape, I met a man in Geneva who warned of the dangers that lied in Berlin. He gave me his card if I needed to escape. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have waited so long before I made the phone call. I was tipped off by an old colleague of Eren entering Nazi custody.

Everything was set. My family and I were to enter Switzerland by crossing Lake Constance. We made it to Meerburg and the lake was in sight when Schmitt and his agents cut us off.

Schmitt believed that there was a power left behind by the gods. He believed himself to be a leader of a new race of men. He wanted me to ‘perfect the serum’, make him stronger than Eren. He had my children, Klaus and Marlene, taken to the outskirts of town as insurance implying that they would be sent to Dachau if I should fail.

I stalled for as long as I could hoping Schmitt would forget about me, but it was not meant to be. A few years after I was taken hostage, Schmitt stormed into my lab and pointed a gun to Greta demanding I give him the serum.”

“Did it make him stronger than Eren?”

“It did, but it had...side effects. The serum was not ready. Schmitt’s skin turned red and his face became so disfigured that Hitler called him the Red Skull. He killed Greta with his bare hands,” Erskine wiped away a few tears, “and ordered Marlene and Klaus to be sent to Dachau while I was banished to the dungeons.

Fortunately, Agent Carter and the SOE were able to save Marlene and myself. Though Klaus sacrificed himself when the agents could only save one of them.”

“Your son is a hero.”

“I only wish I could’ve told him that myself. But, back to your original question. I chose you because, like Konrad, you are a weak man. You see, the serum amplifies everything; good becomes great and awe-inspiring, bad becomes worse and a nightmare. Men who are strong their entire lives often do not value strength and abuses it. However, a weak man who is compassionate and brave will use it to help others. You were chosen because you had the aforementioned virtues and because you use your mind.

The world does not need perfect soldiers, look where that has gotten us. No, what we need right now are good men.”

Erskine poured out two shots and gave a glass to Steve.

Steve raised his glass, “To the little guys.”

The liquor was just about to touch his lips when Erskine snatched the glass from him, “What are you doing? You have an operation tomorrow. No fluids.”

Steve chuckled as Erskine bid him farewell and good luck tomorrow.

Ife found Steve in the Common Room hunched over a chair with a letter in his hands. Emotional echoes of gloom came off in waves as she approached him.

“Whatcha looking at, Steve?”

When Steve didn’t respond, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, “What’s wrong?”

Steve finally turned to Ife, “I received an invite to a funeral. It’s for Marlene Philomena Erskine, Dr. Abraham Erskine’s daughter.”

Ife nodded in understanding; he feels that he failed Marlene by not protecting Dr. Abraham Erskine.

But in fact, he didn’t fail her.

She lived quite the life for a human.

Not long after her father’s assassination, Marlene became a badass mechanical engineer and physicist. Her designs and schematics for transportation vehicles and energy storage/distribution gave the colonizer nations a fighting chance during the Wars Against Colonialism.

Though part of it was because the UA was a little cocky at that point. Marlene sure lit a fire under their ass! Ife can still hear her Aunt Eziamaka pouting at the news of one of UA bases nearly falling into their control.

Marlene’s assistance with the war effort didn’t last long as her gratitude towards the people who saved both her and her father wasn’t enough to overlook the Military’s treatment of some her colleagues.

Her life from there was pretty standard. She became a professor at MIT, got married and had a few kids.

BNA took her off the ‘humans of special interest’ list in 1971.

Thinking back on it, Marlene may have had a better life by her father not making it past WWII.

Though Ife thought it would be wise not to mention this to Steve.

“When is the funeral?”

Steve didn’t raise his head, “It’s in a week.”

“In that case, might I accompany you?”

“Yes...and thank you.”

“No Problem! See you later.” Ife wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug and went on her way leaving Steve slightly bewildered.

Steve didn’t know what to make of Ifekerenma.

She was always asked the team how they were feeling at what seemed to be the right moment. Shoot, she even talked to custodial staff that few of ever acknowledge. Compassionate to nearly everyone, especially the child hostages during the last mission.

She’s nerdy to the point of Sam jokingly calling her a weeb (anime lover?) when she walked around in an oversized Cowboy Bebop t-shirt once. Wanda mentioned a ‘digital friend’ in her room and caught her mentioning how slow Stark’s tech was much to the amusement of team at Tony’s expense.

Steve’s certain Nat sent Clint a video of the whole thing.

Also, she was what Sam called a ‘Supreme Chef’. He contently patted his midsection remembering the feast she prepared for the team last night. Her cooking would’ve put some of Stark’s gourmet chefs to shame. She asked the team what they liked and she ended up having to create a dinner rotation. Steve was especially touched when she went to an antique bookstore for a recipe that was close to what his mother would’ve made for him.

Furthermore, she would leave out little homemade treats/ snacks at night. Pietro and Sam would sneak some when they thought no one was looking. She even giggled when he accidentally let out a huge belch after an amazing dinner a couple nights ago saying it’s a sign of thanks on her home planet, Avlenia.

Ife always called him Steve; not ‘Captain’ or ‘Cap’ or even ‘Good ol’Century Virgin’ (damn it, Tony!). She never made light of him ‘taking an ice nap’ or asking him about the 1940s in a demeaning way like some reporters and ‘little upstarts on social media’. Somehow, Ife found out about his love of drawing and got him art supplies with a list of recommended artists

She made him feel more like a person and not a symbol or a far off figure who’s emotionless.

Steve felt warm whenever he was around her in a way not unlike Bucky or Peggy though much more like Bucky. She seemed to sense that he was desperate to truly be seen in way that only Sam and sometimes Nat has.

It also didn’t hurt that she was a total knockout. He had the, ahem, pleasure of seeing her out of her uniform and training outfits a few times. She usually wore clothes that were more on the modest side...except for that one time when she wore a Sailor Moon crop top and high-waisted shorts as a dare from Nat. Half of the compound was staring and Steve spent most of the day in his quarters nursing a hard on he was so aroused.

And yet, Ife was one of the toughest women he knew; even Nat was a little scared of her (at least, he thinks). She might be the strongest person physically and she doesn’t take shit from people who badmouth her or the team; Agent Roussel learned that the hard way.

All in all, Ife was...something else, someone he wanted to get close to.

The day of Marlene’s funeral started out well enough.

Ife spent the early morning making Sam’s request of cinnamon rolls, sausage, omelettes, waffles, and hash browns since he won the raffle of Vision’s turn as he doesn’t eat.

She was handing out everyone’s first servings (didn’t care what happened afterwards) when she felt Steve’s emotional echoes of depression, melancholy, and despair noting how his eyebrows furrowed and how tense his body language was.

She just hoped she could get to him.

Steve was walking to garage hoping his outfit wasn’t too much.

Nat somehow convinced him into wearing a Highbridge Black Custom Suit with an Eastley Dobbey Blue Shirt, a Black Solid Tie, a Navy Blue Pocket Square, and Ink Black Dress Shoes.

He ‘upped the swoon dial’ as Nat put it. Could’ve sworn he heard Sam snickering.

Steve reached the entrance hoping not to keep Ife waiting when he heard clicking of heels behind him.

He turned around to find Ife looking almost unearthly.

She was wearing a black Ankara (?) dress with a cape that was black on the outside and golden on the inside with various blue, silver, and khaki rectangle clusters. Her hair was mostly contained in a wrap with a few strands framing her lovely face. Her full, plump lips were coated in a Light Plum (?) Matte Lipstick and she wore minimal gold eye shadow.

Her outfit did a splendid job of hinting at her voluptuous curves without needlessly flaunting them like the women who throw themselves at him at press tours.

Ife smiled at him and asked which car were they taking.

Steve motioned to one of the Black SUVs and the two of them strapped in for the three hour car ride.

Ife sighed and gazed out the window at the scenery. Neither one of them had said anything in the past twenty minutes. Steve wasn’t a fan of most of the music that’s on the radio despite Sam’s best efforts. Ife had to break out her puppy dog eyes to get him to let them listen to some instrumental music from her favorite movies.

It seemed that they weren’t going to say anything until Steve cleared his throat.

Ife, not wanting to suffer in silence, decided break it, “How did you know Marlene?”

Steve raided his eyebrows for a split second, “I didn’t. I just feel like I should pay my respects, you know? I mean, I should attend the daughter of the man I failed’s funeral.”

The last sentence struck a chord with Ife. Emotional echoes of despair hit her like a tsunami.

Tentatively, Ife continued, “How did you fail Erskine?”

“I-I don’t think I’ve fulfilled my promise to him. The country has changed so much since I was on ice. It’s funny; I thought that Brave New World would only have a one of two aspects come to life, but I didn’t see nearly the whole book being right.”

Ife didn’t argue with the last two points. The US was nothing but a never-ending commercial sometimes. People were too busy being ‘happy’ or trying to get the newest thrill to realize that they were living in a sham of a republic.

Though she was concerned about the first sentence.

“What was the promise you made to Erskine? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Steve turned slightly, “To be true to who I am; a good man, not a perfect soldier. To be more like Konrad.”

Ife nodded musing on his answer. Erskine would want everyone he helped to be a good person considering the dangers of such power.

Though she wondered if she knew Dr Abraham’s full history.

Abraham Erskine came from a long line of Homo Magis who specialized in Alchemy . He turned to science when it was clear that his magical powers would never manifest (being only 1/16 Homo Magi). Erskine started working on what would become the Super Soldier Serum in 1920 after the witnessing the horrors of WWI firsthand as a medic.

He made a breakthrough in 1927 when he found what looked to be an old power cell in the attic of his childhood home. Turns out it was a modified Atlantean battery dating back to the 1600s, but whatever.

Konrad Jager was the first of nine volunteers; most of whom went on to fight in the Spanish Civil War with the International Brigades and be part of the German Resistance’s Special Forces during WWII.

Needless to say, they were recruited into BNA’s European Division.

Only Eren Kant was deemed a failure in the end.

Ife shook her head at the info in Erskine’s folder.

Eren was pompous dumbass who broke himself out jail by bending/breaking the bars of his cell after getting arrested for being a player and bully by the Munich Police in August of 1935. His show of superhuman strength got Erskine’s work onto the Hitler’s radar. BNA had to send a cleaner to ‘handle’ Eren before he could get everyone in even more trouble.

She wondered if Konrad and the others would make an appearance.

“What do mean by not staying true to yourself?”

Steve sighed, “It seemed a lot easier to do so in my time.”

Ife wanted to go further, but she couldn’t. Steve was punishing himself up for something he couldn't control and it was tragic.

She hoped that she could actually help him, not for the mission, but for himself.

They arrived at the venue twenty minutes early. Steve was trying (failing) to fix his tie while Ife was looking as glamorous and poised as can be.

Sensing Steve’s unease, she gave his hand a comforting squeeze, “You’ll do fine,” she whispered as she fixed his tie while not trying inhale his delicious natural scent like a creep (again).

“Let’s go inside.”

Everyone seemed to stop what they were doing when they entered the venue. Though Ife had to hand it to the guests; no one asked Steve for an autograph or a selfie. She noted several BNA officials and a couple of Earth-based Non-Human big wigs in attendance.

Guess Marlene was popular.

“Ife!” Azeneth shouted as she strode over to from a corner and enveloped her in a hug.

“Azeneth, how are you? I didn’t think you would be back from Mexico City so soon.”

“Well, the mission was short and they wanted me in New York to accompany Eliza here. Now, who is this fine gentleman, Ife?” Azeneth queried while Steve started shifting uncomfortably.

“This is Steve Rogers, one of my new teammates and Ca-”

“Captain America. I know, Ife. I was jesting.”

Ife sighed dramatically while rolling her eyes, “Steve, this is Azeneth. She’s one of my best Earth-based friends.”

“Kickass friend.” Azeneth corrected, “How are you liking Ife? She’s not too much trouble.”

“Stop it, ‘Aze!” Ife playfully hit Azeneth’s shoulder, “Feel free to ignore her, Steve.”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will, especially after the stunt you pulled on the first day at the compound.”

Azeneth burst out laughing at Ife’s shocked expression and Steve’s sly grin. She probably would’ve kept goin if not for Eliza cutting into their conversation.

“Excuse us, Mr. Rogers. I’ll have to speak with Ife for a moment. My name’s Eliza Maza, by the way.”

Once they were out of Steve’s line of sight (Azeneth was keeping him busy), Eliza activated a noise canceller.

“So did anyone die in the attack on the Magic Council?” Ife asked as she made sure Steve wasn’t looking at them.

“No one was harmed, but several books are missing from the library.”

“Shit! Okay. Well, would Dr. Strange be available to assist Wanda with her training? Wong and Nazaret are at the Sanctum and he said that he knew of some spells that could help.”

“I’ll look into it. I should have an answer in a week”

“Okay.”

“Ife, please give me a call when you get back to the compound.”

Ife eyed Konrad Jager, Gregor Eisenberg, Sonje Decker, and Lukas Denhart making their way to Steve. She hoped they weren’t going to drop an info bomb on him today.

“I will.”

The service was short and sweet as Marlene didn’t want everyone to be bored to tears on her behalf. The crowd got a laugh out that joke.

Afterwards, Marlene granddaughter, Zahara, requested if Steve could stay for a bit. She gave him a beautifully wrapped package.

“My grandmother wanted you to have this. She saw you fighting in the Battle of New York and knew you would know what to do with it.”

“It would be an honor, Miss.”

Ife thought about her earlier conversation with Steve on the say back. She realized what’s happened to Steve was heartbreaking.

Here was a man who gave up everything for a country that only wants him as a cudgel for their heinous deeds. Someone who, if he hadn’t fallen into the ice, would’ve probably been ruined by the same country he swore to protect. They would’ve labeled him as a communist and destroyed his good name for not immediately getting on board with the next war.

To be honest, Ife didn’t think much of Steve before joining the team. She thought he was just the banner boy for colonizers to feel good; he was the reminder of that brief moment when the US was totally the bad guys (totally being the operative word).

But now?

She saw the toll the helmet and shield had on him. Ife doubted he knew that he was going to be alive for awhile judging how neither Konrad or the others aged a day since they received Serum 1.0 and Steve supposedly got one that was at least 3x as powerful.

She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she was lost on what to do.

When she got back to the compound, she gave Steve a hug and went straight to her quarters to call Eliza.

“Eliza. I can’t do this by myself, and if we’re going to pull this off, I’m going to need some serious backup because the Avengers need some serious help.”

Fury was going through some mission reports when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in.”

Oddly enough, Ife was the one to enter the room and not Maria Hill.

“Good Evening, Fury. I have someone who would like speak with you.”

“Well, give me a name and contact info and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Actually,” Ife reached in her pocket for a disc, “I can do you one better.”

Ife tossed the disc into the air and a moon-door portal formed from it. Out came Eliza, Azeneth, and Angela in her gargoyle form.

Eliza gave Ife a quick nod and turned to Fury, “Good Evening, Nicolas Fury. My name is Eliza Maza and we’re from the Bureau of Non-Human Affairs or BNA. I would advice that you lower your weapon. It won’t do you a lick of good,” Fury lowered his gun,” Good. Put Maria Rambeau on speaker, we need to talk.”

-Somewhere in France-

Maeve was enjoying her brunch while watching the footage of Eliza officially making contact with new SHIELD and SWORD.

“Well, it looks like it’s time to ‘get the band back together’ as the kids would say.” She chirped to the woman across the table.

“That expression pretty much died in the 90s. No ‘kid’ uses that phrase anymore.” Koronis deadpanned.

Maeve scoffed, “Anyone born after 1800 is a ‘child’ to me. This is what I get for trying not to sound like ‘an old hag’ as you put it.”

“Well, is everything on track?”

Koronis, or Carol, closed her eyes for few seconds, “I see nothing standing in our organization’s way. However, we should have the meeting sooner rather than later.”

“Duly noted. Anything else?”

“The new variable, Ifekerenma, will be more useful to our plans than I originally anticipated.”

“Oh, I do love surprises! I mean, I know how it will end, but I still like to be at least a little surprised. I knew it was a good idea to let Klaue be discovered by Ultron in Istanbul!”

Another woman walked up to the pair,”You wanted to see me, Mistress?”

“Yes. Svetlana, call the others. It’s time to put our plan into high gear. Hell’s Moon is upon us.”

Steve was having a shitty birthday.

The press was pestering him about the presidential election. Several outlets have called him a sellout and a coward for not endorsing anyone.

He was figuring out the best way to take a shower and hit the hay in less than 30 minutes when he found a beautifully written note taped to his door.

It said to come to Ife room wearing his best dancing clothes.

Ten minutes later, Steve knocked on her door and it instantly opened to reveal a modest dancing hall not unlike the ones he went to with Bucky before the war.

He was so lost in thoughts admiring the place that he failed to notice Ife hovering a few feet from him.

“Happy Birthday, Steve! How do you like it?”

Steve turned to see Ife in a knee-length golden yellow African Wax Print Ankara dress with cold shoulders, ruffled sleeves, and a v-neckline. He didn’t miss the modest view of her cleavage or how her legs looked oh, so smooth in the dress.

Ife, for her part, was super nervous about this. Nat said that people went to dance halls all the time in the late 1930s and 1940s and it took her five days to get the architecture, the music, and the lighting just right.

She hoped that Steve wouldn’t be angry with her.

Steve looked incredibly handsome in his simple dress shirt and slacks. His powerful shoulders, thick biceps, trim waist, and beefy thighs were accentuated by the lighting which made him look like he was glowing.

Ife would’ve drooled if she knew that he didn’t like it when most women would throw themselves at him.

“It’s amazing. Thank you.”

“I’m sorry about the dress. I couldn-”

Steve raised a hand to stop her from going off on a tangent,”You look beautiful.”

Ife felt a flurry of warmth in her core at the compliment.

“So, what would like to do?”

Before Steve could answer, Duke Ellington’s Don’t Mean a Thing starting playing.

Steve stretched out his hand, “Would you like to dance?”

Ife took his had and they glided onto the dance floor.

“Where did you learn to dance?”

“Bucky’s mom made us learn when Bucky started getting attention from the girls at school. She thought it best that we knew how to treat them to a good time.”

“I see,” Ife giggled, “Then she was wise to make take the lessons. Though I’m more familiar with the jitterbug.”

Steve chuckled as they resumed swinging. He hummed a bit as they danced to Ella Fitzgerald, Caro Emerald, Jo Stafford, Billie Holiday, and Gene Krupa.

Ife was impressed with Steve’s dancing skills. What were those women thinking passing him up like that?!

After a couple more rounds of dancing, the music shifted to something more modern but not (it was Howl’s Moving Castle’s Main Theme) , the colors on the walls and ceiling brightened, and several chandeliers formed on the ceiling.

Steve gave Ife a slightly confused look and asked her if she would like to try a waltz this time.

The song lasted a little more than five minutes. Steve was somehow able to lead their movements in sync with the song.

Ife felt her body was aflame with gentle yet commanding touches Steve was giving her. He even lifted her a few times making her feel as though she was flying with how gently he held her.

They were absorbed in their own world they either failed to notice or ignored Nat and Wanda entering Ife room to see if they could have another spa day. Nat even got a few pictures of the two dancing.

Steve gave Ife one last life during the climax and pulled her in when the music came to a close. They were about to come in for a kiss when Ife pressed her lips together and back away.

“We should probably retire for evening. Goodnight, Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but left Ife’s room with a simple goodnight with Nat and Wanda in tow.

Ife frowned. She knew Steve wasn’t in the best place for a relationship and her conscience wouldn’t let her take advantage of that.

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andieperrie18 · 4 years

Text

DANGEROUS (twilight x beautiful creatures)

Dark Caster!Reader x Paul Lahote

Attempt oneshot part 1

Y/n did not like this at all.

“You have got to be kidding. Out of all places.” Ripping her pink-tinted shades off her eyes, her eyes remained to the signage planted before her.

The Quileute Indian Reserve in La Push, Washington, the very place she never thought she would be back in. Not that she hate the said city specifically but rather the place the resides beside it. Seeing the sign sent her with blunder flashback, both the good and the bad. How did she not know she that she would end up back here?

“Why do I have to be there, isn’t aren’t Uncle Macon, and you five enough witness for the Swan girl’s kid? Larks, I have places to be.” Y/n stared at her newly painted nails, her phone squeezed between her shoulder and cheek with her other hand occupied with the nail polish brush. Sitting by the window seat with the full view of the city of love where she has been staying for quite a long while.

“Sorry sis, Momma’s orders. Rid’s lover boy and cousin Lena with her wayward is coming here as well. It be a nice reunion as well.” His sly tone forever present in his voice. She still loved him to death as Y/n would do everything in her will to protect her love ones whether she is a dark caster or not. Despite the claim for her true nature is as black as a soulless person. She did her very best to protect younger and only brother from the curse her dear cousin Lena unluckily possessed. She didn’t blame her for anything at all as an ancestor’s fault isn’t their predecessor’s fault as well.

“Tempting but no. The Cullen’s are at the Denali’s and they situated the meeting here. So don’t worry about your wolfy friends coming by any time soon. Even if they do, you know we’ll back you up.” Smiling, the blonde haired caster followed it with a sigh. Y/n did miss her siblings and she been far away long enough. Besides, she hasn’t used a majority of her powers for quite a while now. She could use the challenge.

“Alright, great! We’ll see you soon sis. Reece and Ryan are going to flip when they see you.” Still staring at the view before her window, her mind drifted elsewhere. Her past. The love that she found in the reserve and the heartbreaking tragedy that had to be fall her and her past partner when he phased into a werewolf.

Larkin had just tricked her that the digital map had gave her straight passage to the Denali’s Coven. Her chest drummed as her breath turned irregular. The light grey sky began to shift to a darker hue as the flashing became more transparent and roar of rumbling thunder grew twice as loud.

The blonde haired male stared at the distance as the hurricane build from the distance. A smirk grew on his chiseled face.

“Where is she now Larks?” the youngest Duchannes stared at the same direction as all who stood in the grassy clearing did the same as well. The Cullen’s and the two Packs lead by Jacob Black and the other by Sam Uley. The thundering roars of the dark sky gravitated faster towards the direction of the clearing.

“She is coming.” The same sinister smile never left him before taking a quick glimpse at a particular pack who were sure that they saw the look she gave.

Carlisle turned the gray haired man that looked about in his fifties but still walked like a healthy man. “Macon, may I ask whom we are waiting for? Is this person we are waiting for really crucial?” the blonde vampire had thought that his dear old friend had already brought his whole coven and with the abilities of these people possessed, even his wife and adoptive children knew that the Volturi won’t even have a chance to fight back.

Macon smiled and placed a hand over the man’s shoulder. “I know you think we’ve had enough since my hybrid niece is here but I like to consider this as a way to reunite my dear nieces and nephew. We haven’t used our powers for quite a while and it would be really great if we are to fight along side of you as a complete family.” As he patted Carlisle’s shoulder and they continued to watch the dark clouds roll towards them.

Sam knew that this group that stood before him and his pack were mortal yet half of him could not help but think of them as something a lot more supreme. Jacob Black stuck beside his young imprint, he felt quite nervous to tell the truth. Vampires never scared him but somehow this family and the coming hurricane did. Paul remained a bottled anger to prepare himself to whatever the threat that was coming but he wasn’t prepared of what version of this threat would come in.

The dark horde of clouds had reached the clearing, covering it with darkness. Then they all heard it in the woods. Its foot steps dropped like big foot’s large and heavy strides. Everything felt scary.

“*Crack, Crack*”, “What the hell!!” Bolts of lightning began to hit the ground every second as a figure emerged from the woods.

“Did you really have to lie to her just to have her come hear, you know how much she hates mutt.” This earned a growl from the Uley’s Beta glaring at Ridley. Link consoled the girl but didn’t really do much as even Ryan, Reece and Lena had been eyeing the shape shifters some dirty looks for quite a while now.

“you better make your niece’s stop their staring before I gouge their eyes out with my own hands—”, “Paul stop! Calm down.” The third in command tried to hold the short tempered time bomb as his ragged breath quickened.

“You dare speak to me, animal!” Macon raised his voice this time, worsening the events. Paul started scrambling from Jared and Embry’s hold on him. Completely ridding the two of and he let himself phased into a wolf and began his mad dash towards the old man Ravenwood. Neither of the caster inched a movement and didn’t even looked shaken as they knew what could come upon this ravaging mutt.

He lifted of the dirt ground and pounced towards old man. His fangs unsheathed and waited for it to reach his flesh. Until a thunder bolt flew down between and his prey, sending him away rolling around the dirt.

“Don’t even try to put your filthy paws on uncle, Lahote.” The wolf scrambled to his feet, eager to take on the one responsible for throwing him off. Only for him freeze the moment his eyes met a pair of golden glowing ones.

“Y/n.”

#twilight x beautiful creatures #beautiful creatures #beautiful redemption #twilight new moon #twilight quilette boys #twilight imagines #twilight imagine #twilight breaking dawn #stephanie meyer #margaret stohl #kami garcia #quileute #sweet revenge

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

Note

it's fresh and exciting, and I love it, and more than that, I love it for YOU. / And of course your writing has always been GOOD it's not about technically ability. I just feel like we are seeing a different side of you. // And maybe just maybe what you're working thru isnt quite so dark any more. It's still deep, and beautiful, and thank you for sharing! / But.... I hope you can hear what I am trying to say. DO you have any thoughts?

Hooo boy. Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about this some, because I’ve definitely noticed this in my own writing! I had a thought, the other day, that I should apologize to the people who originally followed me for smutty SPN reader inserts… because that is NOT the majority of what has been happening on this blog lately. Oops. I’m not actually sorry though.

Basically, a couple things have changed.

1. At the end of January, I finished Marked. It was the most time-consuming (over two years) most serious (meaningful and personal) and longest (83k) thing I’ve ever written. For the two years I was working on it, I think everything else I wrote was mostly filler: romance, smut, whatever, all of it basically served as a palate cleanser between deep difficult dark excursions into Marked. So when Marked was done, I felt really satisfied, like it would be okay if I never contributed anything else of substance to the SPN fandom, because I was proud of that one thing I’d accomplished. I also felt more confident, because I’d proved to myself that I could tackle a project that big and actually follow through and finish it. Most importantly, though, I felt like I’d worked through a really major trauma, and moved through a major step in my healing process, and I could move on with my life. Now that the Big Trauma was purged onto the page (doc, whatever) I could free up some brain space to think about other serious life experiences and delve into other dark nasty corners of my psyche. Wheee!

2. I joined a lovely little Slack chat full of smart, supportive, talented, creative, kickass ladies, whose opinions I respect beyond measure. Finding that community of people who are always there if I need criticism or brainstorming or support or whatever else is a huge, HUGE boost to my creativity. I used to have random “oh it’d be funny if…” thoughts and I’d kinda brush em off and let them go. Now I share them, and there’s somebody there to come back with “that’d be hilarious, and also this should happen, and also here’s a picture of Harry Styles in a collar, now WRITE THE THING.”

2a. One incoherent flail from one of the Slack crew always means more than any number of reblogs from random people. Not that comments and messages don’t feel good, always, but it means so much more coming from someone whose work I admire and whose opinions I value, and who I care about on a personal level.

3. I realized that reader engagement was seriously down, and that there was no way anything I wrote was going to get as many notes as it might’ve two years ago, and that the amount of time and energy I put into things is never proportional to the amount of notes those things get. When I realized that, I took my one last fuck I’d had to give about notes or whether anyone would read something, and I chucked it out the window. Defenestrated that fuck. I have zero fucks left.

So, where does that leave me? Fuckless and happy.

No, literally though, fuckless. By which I mean, thanks to the Womanizer and some soul-searching, I’ve realized that I’m very content on my own. I’m just not particularly interested in sex right now, and I think that’s come through in a major way in my writing. Not that I haven’t written any smut, but it’s all had an underlying theme/issue/twist to it. Finally was about consent and communication and how difficult it can be to be honest with a partner. Envy was about, um, envy, and how ugly it can be. The most romantic, “normal” smutty things I’ve written were probably Five Seconds and the Everything quarantine ficlets, and those were pure escapism, because 2020 sucks and so I rewrote some of it. We are in a shitty situation and I wanted to imagine it less shitty for a minute.

One thing I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is psychology, and very specific, darker facets of the boys I’d never really taken the time to dig into before, and through them, some of my own issues. Prey was a really weird twisted adventure into Soulless Sam and the way his brain worked. Set Yourself On Fire was about what I assume was the darkest time in Sam’s life, and it ended up being about my own depression and addiction issues. Quitting, also about addiction, and the way we perceive ourselves and hold onto patterns. Sharp Edges was about a personal headcanon I have about Sam, which is that he’s a very reluctant sadist who feels guilty about what he needs, but it ended up being just as much about the general psychology of BDSM and kink and the ways we hide from other people. When I stopped looking at the Winchesters as romantic leads, I found a whole lot of interesting material for other stories.

Crossovers have been a ton of fun. I realized I imagine crossovers in my head all the time: what would these two have to say to each other, what do they have in common, wouldn’t it be funny if Valkyrie from the MCU met Gail from Sin City (“My warrior woman. My Valkyrie.”) or if Buffy and Dean had a pissing contest about who could sacrifice themselves the most. Again, there’s SO little overlap of fandoms for some of my favorite characters (see also: the Sam Winchester/Frank Iero fic) but I’ve just stopped caring (see #3 above) because they are so entertaining for me to write. Take a couple cool characters! Smush em together and see what happens! It’s like a chemistry experiment. Let’s see what explodes.

And then there’s Fluff Friday. I’ve always had a tendency to put a lot of pressure on myself and to make everything Deep and Meaningful and Important, but I’ve realized that tropes exist because people fuckin love them, and I fuckin love em, and why the fuck not write a millionth “there was only one bed” fic, because I always love reading those. I’ve been allowing myself space to just do whatever the fuck makes me happy, and I’ve been taking requests because it’s also nice to make other people happy sometimes too. Even if there isn’t a real plot, even if it’s just 300 words where nothing really happens… those little moments can make someone smile. Like I said, it’s 2020. We all need some fuckin smiles.

Tl;dr version: I stopped putting pressure on myself, I stopped worrying about notes, and I started writing the things that interest me. I’m having so much more fun writing these days. 10/10 would recommend defenestrating your remaining fucks.

Thank you for still reading, and for noticing the change, and for sticking with me and my unpredictable brain. Your friendship is one of the best things that’s come out of this whole fandom deal.

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filthyjanuary · 3 years

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7-12 and 16-20 for the asks!

7. What do you dislike about your favourite season?

i think season 2 is the best, but as i’ve said before, my favourite is 4 solely because the first few eps i watched were from s4. i think season 4 is very solid and even though it’s a season that HURTS BAD because of everything happening between sam and dean, i think the show earns the conflict for the most part. the literal only thing that still haunts me is that the STUPID VOICEMAIL THAT GETS ALTERED IS NEVER ADDRESSED. like i hate more than anything that sam still thinks dean said those things. like i know jared’s said that sam knows dean loves him but i don’t care!!! sam /and/ dean deserve to know the voicemail was changed.

OH also literally everything with anna milton. she deserved better <3 sorry the fridged you and gave part of your arc to a man, queen.

also sam and dean should’ve found out cas let sam out of the panic room.

8. Thoughts on Sam’s demon blood arc

i love sam’s demon blood arc. his hot girl summer! in all seriousness, it makes perfect sense. mystery spot sets it up that sam goes dark when he doesn’t have dean, and s4 is the natural progression of that. i love sam being hellbent on revenge, and the blood drinking was hot sorry not sorry. like obviously the end result wasn’t stellar and the handling of the demon blood as an addiction was handled rather shittily in the show, but overall this arc is near and dear to me and if i couldn’t have the boy king, i’m glad i got this instead. and it brings up some really interesting concepts that get explored really well in fic.

9. Thoughts on the Moc arc

i hate this arc mostly because like dean was terrible...which makes sense, but even after the mark was gone it’s like... he never /really/ pulls himself out of that place. it also just dragged on for FAR too long. like it didn’t need to be like 30 episodes or however long. i do like that it gave us demon!dean being like sexythreatening, and that scene of sam cradling dean’s face and begging him to tell him that he had to kill all those people and just the general sam is dean’s colette of it all. also the end of s10 with sam on his knees and dean telling him to close his eyes is deeply fucked up and i love it for that reason and obviously that happened bc of the MOC storyline.

10. Fave underrated ep

i am highkey obsessed with 1x04 phantom traveller, 2x07 the usual suspects and 4x19 jump the shark and i feel like most people don’t really care about those episodes or bring them up much. phantom traveller is just interesting bc i think the character moments are fun and i am obsessed with plane crashes for some reason. the usual suspects i just adore because it’s really a great exploration of HOW WELL sam and dean know each other and just how alike they are. and unfortunately i really like the cop lady in this one. jump the shark was the second episode of supernatural i ever saw and for some reason something in my brain latched onto adam and never let go. i love him so much (i know it’s not really him in the ep but ukno) and i love how much you learn about sam and dean through it too.

11. Thoughts on BMOL

boring. like...the actors were not good at their accents. they wanted what bela talbot had in s3. i just didn’t find ‘the british are evil’ a compelling storyline in a supernatural show.... like girl i live in real life you don’t need to preach to me about the british. also like they set up ketch to be evil like worse than toni who i already hate because she tortures/sexually assaults sam by having him kill magda i guess? but then they end up redeeming him and he survives longer than both mick (affectionate) and toni (derogatory), like seriously one of the worst Big Bads they’ve ever had.

12. Thoughts on Mary

to be honest, i think bringing her back was kind of a stupid idea in the sense that the ENTIRE SHOW starts because of her death. but i felt like HAVING DONE THAT, trying to deconstruct her image as like this nuclear housewife was compelling and the whole clash of sam and dean who just want their mom versus mary who left her kids as a an infant and a small child and now has these grown men who are older than her needing things she doesn’t know how to give was very interesting. and i wish they’d done more with that.

16. Any criticisms of their world building/lore

well i think everyone’s said it better than me that they can’t seem to get their stance on monsters straight at all and the show suffers for it. i also hate how like the later seasons especially just blatantly retcon so much. the prime example is the garden of eden in s5 vs s15.... the s5 version was so much more interesting and i hate that they brought it back just to destroy their own lore. the whole concept of the abrahamic god being like the ‘real’ god vs other gods just being minor annoyances didn’t like...make sense or feel good either. i also would’ve loved more exploration of like what the fuck it means to be a vessel and also exploration of other monsters/urban legends. like ok we get it ghosts/demons/vampires/werewolves sure w/e but there’s so much to pull from. it got repetitive and there’s so many other things they could’ve tried. hell the SECOND EPISODE of the show mentions black dogs and we never actually encounter one. or like chimeras... like there’s just plenty to dig into and they just get lazy.

17. What did you like about s15?

15x20 <3 also just...jack....that’s my son! MICHAEL/ADAM IN 15X08!!!! i think there were a couple moments i liked in like...the gambler and last holiday, and i thought belphagor was funny. oh! also sam’s nightmare visions were kinda fun even tho they led back to lucifer :/

18. Thoughts on Lucifer

he was a really excellent and intimidating villain in s5.... and frankly i enjoyed hallucifer as well because sure he was presented comedically but he was a deeply dark presence hanging over sam as a reminder of what he suffered. everything after that...sucked!!! it sucked!!!!! overstayed his welcome, letting him out of the cage again totally nullifies sam’s sacrifice and frankly he lost every smidge of intimidation factor he ever had. he was just annoying and whiny and pointless and sam should’ve killed him <3 fuck that guy.

19. Most uncomfortable moments throughout the show for you?

answered here

20. Define the different eras in a few lines or words (s1-5, s6-7, s8-11, s12-15)

this was meant to be short... and then it wasnt... sorry.

kripke: PEAK SUPERNATURAL. racist AND sexist but like i frankly do not care because the actually storytelling is so GOOD. COHERENT. i long for what could’ve been had the strike not kneecapped s3 and we’d gotten boyking, but hell the arc we DID get... so good. so fulfilling. aesthetics go off the charts. character dynamics so good!!! conflicts are earned!!!! there was a fucking vision here and it was unique and interesting and the show was COMMITTED TO IT. literally iconic television i love her so much. eric kripke needs a therapist but i’m glad he wrote this show instead of going to see one.

gamble: sera THEE gamble.... overarching storylines kinda weak, but SO FUN! i had fucking fun! soulless sam is a comedian, godstiel was the last time cas was remotely interesting, like!!!! she gave us everything!!!!! gets slandered way too much by this hell fandom like yes the leviathans were stupid but the were FUN and the character moments in s6-s7!!! so good!!!! lots of excellent MOTW eps as well, which... as we know...i love. when the show lost gamble, it lost something great, i’ll die on this hill. i love u #girlboss.

carver: there’s a lot of good here and a lot i despise. dean steadily grows darker throughout the show but there’s like a real VEER into being awful in s9 that the show never recovers from. it makes dean very unlikeable for the rest of its run, mostly by virtue of the show not realizing how unlikeable it’s made dean because it needs him to always be right so the fact that he’s basically turned into john is never like....addressed in any meaningful way. some storylines (MOC!!) dragged on for too long, while others were way too short (TRIALS!!!) but ultimately i think there were some good ideas here and moments i’m fond of. season 11 is Beautiful. i love her so much. there’s some really excellent eps in s11 and the character moments are good.

dabb: i literally hate it here (jack sweetie you are not included in this assessment you’re doing great). it was just stupid. the characterizations of EVERYBODY sucked and fell flat. way too obsessed with pandering to the loudest faction on twitter. took the wreckage of dean that carver left and full destroyed him. like straight up could’ve done something meaningful if they’d bothered to address it at all but they literally didn’t ever make dean be accountable for his actions??? can’t tell u what cas was doing it was so forgettable he obviously had no purpose literally the only scenes i remember were a couple where he’s being cute with jack and that one ep where he and sam go to that old-timey town and sam gets brainwashed. sam like... exists, and his character is intact but it’s only intact because the writers that were left didn’t want to bother giving him anything meaty to do to so the were like *spins wheel* leadership arc that goes nowhere, and he just exists being kind and compassionate and putting up with too much shit. BUT HE HAD REALLY FUCKING EXCELLENT MOMENTS WITH JACK and that alone is why i think it’s worth the slog. sam/jack is my favourite dynamic on the show following sam/dean so...unfortunately based on that.... i can’t just burn the whole dabb era but seriously... way to make every character a hollow, one-dimensional shell.

send me supernatural asks

#ALLISON THANK U I LOVE U #asks #spn #long post #so-excuse-my-tantrum

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writingfromkitchenator · 4 years

Text

Sam ~ I Dreamed a Dream

800 Followers Challenge!

Requested by Anon

Based on I Dreamed a Dream (I know this is the modern version, but it is the main iteration of the song that I know)

Words: 1,144

Warnings: Angst, so much angst. Mention of Soulless!Sam and Lucifer afflicted Sam. Reader death.

“Sam!”

He awoke with a violent start, sweat beading on his brow as he clutched at the sheets around him, struggling for a moment to focus on where he was and who he was, taking in the darkened room with wide, terrified eyes.

Slowly, he let’s out a breath and forces himself to relax back into the bed, his chest rising falling rapidly then slowly as he forces air to move into his lungs and tries to fight back the inevitable tears.

He can feel them burning away at the corner of his eyes, ready to fall, as they always did after the nightmare, the nightmare where he heard your voice again in it’s final moments.

The sob broke free from him before he even registered it and then he was curling up in the bed in pain, his chest physically aching from the memories now flooding his mind. He tried to bury his face in his pillow to drown himself out, but it was no use, it was always too much.

His door opened, a little hesitantly, before Dean stepped in, sitting on the edge of the bed and resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. He sat there in silence, simply being there for him, words that had been said seeming a distant memory. There was no longer anything else to say.

Slowly, Sam settled and he was left breathing deeply, struggling to keep a lid on it all.

You hadn’t deserved this. It hadn’t meant to be this way.

The two of you had shared an instant connection, during the apocalypse of all things, and it seemed like no time in all that you joined the brothers on the road, sticking close to Sam, the two of you a much needed relief together. Dean didn’t mind, he liked seeing Sam happy after everything that they’d been through.

The two of you deserved your happy ending.

Then Sam sacrificed himself to save the world and Dean was left to pick up the pieces of himself and of you. For all that he tried, you always seemed to manage better.

That was until, Sam came back.

Dean knew instantly it broke something inside you to see him like that, soulless and cold, and that you didn’t really know what to do about it, this seeming well and truly out of the bounds of hunting, it was too complicated.

What wasn’t complicated, was the way Sam now looked at you. Dean knew that it made you uncomfortable, but he always knew that you were still hoping to break through to some part of him. It was like you were an object to him now, something to be used as he saw fit, but only for his use. You were his and that was all that mattered to him.

Dean only just managed to stop him one day from hurting you after you’d had to flirt a little to get some information. Dean never forgot the half terrified look on your face as Sam had approached you.

It wasn’t long after that the accusations started flying about you and Dean being together.

You both denied it. You loved Sam and Dean was your best friend, but it was never enough to stop the suspicion.

Then a case went wrong.

Badly wounded, you’d called to the brothers, mostly Sam, for what felt like hours, your voice hoarse and tired from shouting and blood loss.

Sam had found you and with cold eyes, Sam left you there.

Dean still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get you to a hospital in time, or how the hospital staff even managed to save your life, but it had been the final straw, he did whatever was necessary to bring his brother back to who he used to be, no matter the cost.

In doing so, it left you unguarded.

It had been a stupid thing to do, given the condition that you’d been in, and Dean still carried a lot of that weight on his shoulders, it hadn’t been pretty seeing you as a demon.

For a little while, even with Castiel on the loose, it seemed that you and Sam were slowly mending things, that you could all almost go on pretending it had been just a nightmare.

But you now bore the scars from being a demon, just as Sam bore the scars from Lucifer’s cage.

It hadn’t been pretty for anyone.

In those last few days, you and Dean had watched Sam start to spiral out of control, and with the last of the strength you had, you took on the challenge and trying to break Sam free.

Whatever it was, whether it was something still in him or something still in you, maybe a mix of both, Sam saw you with demon eyes again.

“Sam!”

The call had come too late, the fear in your voice catching up to him as the blade was already driving home, his heart racing, unable to see you like that again, but with a blink, it was gone, it was just the two of you.

Your hands clutched at his hand, pain filling your eyes, tears spilling free as you gasped, the angel blade buried deep in your stomach, and Sam stood there, terrified, realising what he’d done.

“Sam…” Your voice was quieter this time and Sam caught you as you fell, Dean coming running as his shout of anguish.

There was nothing that either of them could do this time.

Sam stared blankly at the wall of his room, Dean still seated on the edge of the bed, his arms resting on his knees, his head low. It had been a long time now, but it still haunted them.

“It’s not fair.” Sam broke the silence, hoping that maybe something would change this time, that maybe some other words or memories would be different, even though, deep down, he knew it would always be this way.

Dean sighed heavily, hands running through his hair, glancing at Sam with a heart broken look. “Life isn't fair, it's just fairer than death, that's all.”

The two brothers stared at each other, the silent words passing between them about the life they lead. Dean finally stands, clasping his shoulder gently before leaving the room, wiping his eyes as he closes the door, leaving Sam back in the silence and loneliness of his room.

He continued to stare at the wall, not fighting the silent tears as they continued to fall, prepared not to get any more sleep that night; it wouldn’t be the first and it wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m sorry.” He said out loud, hoping that maybe, just maybe, you could hear him, that maybe you would understand, wherever you were, and forgive him, maybe even come back to him, strangers things had happened after all.

“I’m so sorry.”

#supernatural #sam #sam winchester #sam x reader #reader death #angst #800 followers challenge

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ourloveisforthelovely · 6 years

Text

Unplanned Attraction

A/n: This is a request for AO3.

Request: Original Request: Can you write a AU Apocalypse world Castiel from Season 13x22 where he traps Dean and Sam’s sister from they're world and she's his soulmate which makes him shocked.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923106

Words: 3, 248

Pairings: Alternate Cas x Reader, Cas x Reader

___________

Darkness....it was all that you could see! The last thing that you remembered was sneaking through the woods trying to find some intel on Michael's band of merry men. You were being as quiet as possible until something hit you hard on the head. Now here you sat handcuffed to a chair with blood pouring down the side of your face. “Wake up!” A voice you didn't know snapped. The thick German accent was enough to send a wave of fear through you. Now you knew that you wasn't safe with your brothers! You didn't move for a few moments until you felt the handcuffs being undone. “I told you to wake up! Where did you find her? Why did you bring her? She isn't who I asked for?”

The voice snapped and was followed by another voice clearly groveling for forgiveness. Finally, you were able to flutter your eyes open. As everything around you came into a focus a face you knew so well. “Cas?” He looked at you coldly before you made a dive at him and wrapped you arms around his shoulders. “Cas I have been so worried about you. Why are you dressed like a.....something out of World War 2? Aw hell, did Sam and Dean make you play Call of Duty again? You need to stop gambling with them!” “What are you talking about? Don't touch me!” The accent that came out of Cas made you stumble backwards. It was Cas that had had hurt you! Not your Cas....but whoever the man in front of you was! “Who are you?” You asked trying to get away. On the outside this was Cas….dressed as a Nazi. Inside, you didn’t know what was going on. All that you knew was something weird was going on in bizarreo world!

It was hard looking at the angel that you loved in another dimension! Angel that you loved...such a funny sentiment. You loved him. He didn’t love you. From the time that Cas came to join your family, he all but made it clear that he wasn’t interested in you in more than a friendly manner. Now here was this alternate version screaming at you in German.

“For me to know and you not to worry about?”

Cas looked at you scowling.

“You’re with them aren’t you?”

You frowned.

“Them? Ah you mean those rebels. Yeah, I guess.”

He began to circle you. His blue eyes examining every inch of you. Part of you enjoyed the way that his eyes felt on you. Another part, was afraid!

“You're not from around here are you?”

He asked calmly. You shook your head.

“Nah, I'm from down the road and through a rift a bit.”

Cas chuckled at your comment before turning his back. From his exterior, he remained a calm and composed typical angel. Inside, he was going to pieces! Never in his many years had he met someone like you. It wasn't necessarily because you were a human. That was a negativity in itself! It was the fact that ever fiber of his being was going haywire looking at you! Everything around him felt....heavy. The air was heavy and stifling and suddenly his uniform was very warm.

Reaching up, Cas pinched the collar of his uniform hoping for some relief. When none came, he turned looking at the other angels in the room. They were looking at him curiously. Clearly they had never seen him act in such a manor before. The angels were used to cold as nails Cas that would torture and kill a human now here he was talking to this human.

He couldn't help but be confused! The feelings that he was feeling was not normal! How was he this over the moon for a woman that he didn't know anything about? How did he think that you were the most beautiful creature in creation! He had seen so many amazing things in his time on earth yet none of that added up to the beauty in front of him!

Turning he glared at the other angels.

“Leave us!”

He snapped. The angels didn't wait to be told a second time. They quickly walked out without a word leaving the two of you alone. He reached out healing the wound on your head as well as making your blood vanish.

“So are they off to pick on some poor defensiveness human?”

You asked. Deep inside you could hear Gabriel's warning from the day before.

“If you get caught, keep your trap shut!”

Your best friend knew you well. He knew that you would try to antagonize anyone who attempted to keep you against your will. What he didn't know was inside you were fawning over the angel in front of you. You, yourself, hated admitting that! What the hell were you thinking? This angel was your Cas. He didn't know you. He didn't care about how you felt or how your brothers would be devastated if something happened to you.

In your mind, you accused yourself of having some kind of Stockholm Syndrome.

“Stop acting like Belle. This isn't Beauty and the Best. Stop trying to add some “Disney-facation” to everything!”

Cas turned looking at you.

“What is Beauty and the Beast?”

Your eyes snapped up.

“Uh, you have movies here?”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Of course darling, we all have lots of spare time to enjoy a film from time to time. What do you think?”

You didn't move as he approached you. As much as you wanted to stand firm and fight him, you wasn't. You were letting your Stockholm Syndrome go into full gear! If it was anyone but Cas you would have fought. You fought against Sam when he was soulless and against Dean when he was a demon. When they started their antics you put a stop to it! You didn't let them bully or intimidate you. Now here you stood, looking at the counterpart of the angel you loved and was totally useless.

“Its just a story. A fairy tell....about a girl kidnapped by a beast. Long story, short she falls in love with him and saves his life.”

Cas raised an eyebrow as his hands closed on your hips. He was breathing in your scent.

“You want me to be your beast?”

He growled. You swallowed, feeling your body beginning to moisten at his words.

“Well...I....”

Cas chuckled again.

“I have news for you, darling...I don't need saving!”

You gasped as his nose lowered to your neck gently nuzzling.

“It is you that needs saving but I don't think you want it. Most humans when I am near them their hearts are racing. Yours is strangely calm. You are so curious to me. I have never seen a human...like you. Something is so different and I can't place my finger on it.”

You fought the urge to smack him away instead going with the enjoyment of having something Cas like close. In your mind you were encouraging yourself to pretend that this was your Cas and he just developed some kind of role play fetish.

“Well I am pretty dandy.”

You said with a forced smile. The angel looked down at you with a less than pleased expression.

“You're very arrogant.”

You shrugged innocently.

“Sorry, its a family curse.”

Cas rolled his eyes again.

“I should wipe that smug smile off of that pretty face of yours.”

“You wouldn't though.”

You replied as he backed you against the wall. Cas wasted no time in cramming his body against yours. You gasped at the feeling that you had been dying for. Although it wasn't your Cas this still met your hungry wants.

Cas groaned at how perfect your body molded against his. Were the stories true? It sure looked like it. Never in the millennia that Cas had been upon the earth did he think that he would find a soul mate but here you were. You were breathing heavily against his chest and without thinking, your fingers caressed his bare wrists.

“Maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I want other things from you. Now there is only the question...are you good enough?”

He sneered. You swallowed. The expression on his face and the look in his eyes told you everything that he was thinking. You were his soulmate.

Now I have seen everything....

You muttered in your mind. The universe must have really hated you! Instead of giving you a Castiel that you knew, that your brother's knew, it gave you a Cas that would probably snap your neck.

“Now I wouldn't go and do that if you please me.”

His voice pulled you from your thoughts. He was reading your mind and heard everything!

“What do you want from me?”

“I think that is a rather stupid question. You know what I want now. If you really need me to elaborate I will. I never thought that soulmate business was true but here you are. Now I want to bond with you. I want to feel what that is like. You please me, you'll live. You don't...well we can get to that later.”

You knew the last part was a bluff. If you were his soulmate, he would never be able to kill you. Cas would be as good as dead.

It was stupid to even think of sleeping with this version of Cas. This was as dumb as sleeping with some random fucker that you had met in a bar. That hadn't stopped you in the past however. From the time that your Cas had turned you down, you were pulling a Dean and had been hooking up with random guys. Now you could at least fulfill your fantasies of sleeping with the angel.

Cas didn't give you much time to deny him. Snapping his fingers, he left you in only your bra and underwear. Ice cold blue eyes looked over your body. He seemed to be pleased enough with what he saw as he reached out and stroked his fingers in between your breasts.

“I have never wanted to sleep with a filthy human before but you are different. You are beautiful. Now lets get rid of these remaining clothes.”

He snapped his fingers again. This time he left you completely naked under his cold gaze. Instinctively you reached up to cover your breasts and placed one thigh over your most delicate of areas. Cas shook his head.

“No! Stop that!”

You froze under his gaze as he pulled your hand down.

“You cover yourself from me again I will punish you.”

Cas' eyes focused on the swells of your breasts as your hand went to your side. He looked pleased as his hands came up to cup your breasts. You swallowed as he pinched at tugged at your nipples. Can didn't let your body become used to the feeling too long. He removed his hand and stroked down your body.

You gasped as one of his rough hands stroked your folds. He raised an eyebrow before looking down at you.

“You are very wet. Shall I continue?”

It didn't matter if you said yes or no. You knew that he was going to have his way with you. The last thing that you wanted was for him to stop! You didn't want him to pull away. If his caresses stopped and he said he didn't want to have sex, you would probably beg him like a whore in heat.

“Pl...please.”

You whimpered. Cas grinned.

“I figured that you would say that. You humans and your lustful ways. Always looking for a cock to pierce that pretty pussy of yours. No other will touch you, do you understand?”

You whimpered a yes as he yanked your back against his chest. He spread your legs enough to put a leg between your legs. One arm remained locked around your middle as he bit down on your shoulder.

“Pleasure yourself.”

He hissed. You knew what he wanted. He wanted to be teased and you didn't care one bit to oblige.

You slowly began to rock your body against his thigh. Any form of friction would have been to die for! While you rubbed against him, you let your free hand caress your clit. Throwing your head back against his shoulder, you tried to bring yourself to orgasm.

You let your mind focus on the erotic situation in itself and the last thing on your mind was your Cas. Your mind was on the Cas behind you. This cold, vicious, brutal monster version of the man that you loved was demanding your attention.

“Don't come.”

He growled before slapping your hands away. Cas' fingers took the place of your own. Rough fingers massaged over your clit. He rubbed gentle circles before delivering a rough slap to your aching pussy.

“Cas, please.”

“Castiel.”

He growled. You swallowed as his hands began to resume massaging for a few moments longer. After making sure that you were relaxed enough, Cas increased his assault. Two fingers crammed their was into your entrance. He didn't give you a moment to adjust to the intrusion before curling his fingers and scissoring you to the edge of control.

“Castiel, please.”

You cried out. His laughter was cold. He liked watching you suffer! You were dying to come apart on him but he wasn't letting you. Controlling your orgasm, he didn't let you come. He would let you have all of the feelings of an coming orgasm but would never let it happen. When you got used to two fingers he added a third and slammed his fingers into your delicate body as hard as he could.

You, meanwhile, were a sobbing sweaty mess in his arms. The frustration of orgasm denial was driving you mad! You had never wanted to come so badly in your life and his angel was enjoying every moment of his torture.

“You're making a devil out of me.”

He growled. You moaned a moment longer before daring to look into his cold eyes.

“Then be an angel and let me come.”

He tilted his head a in a very Cas like fashion and for a moment you could have just came from the expression on his face.

“What fun would that be?”

Taking his fingers out of your body, he gave your pussy another slap.

“I want inside of you. I want to feel what bonding is all about.”

You wondered what position the angel would want? He didn't strike you as a missionary position kind of guy. So far he hadn't even let you touch him. Why would he put you in a position where you could run your hands over him. No matter how much your wanted to run your hands over his body; it wasn't going to happen.

As if answering your question, Cas slammed you face down onto a near by table.

“Stay down.”

He hissed before spreading your legs. You didn't dare move as you heard him undoing his belt and pants.

“You look so lovely like this. If I could just keep you like this I would. I could take you whenever I wanted. I'm selfish, you'll come to see how possessive I can be.”

His whispered in your ear as leaned his body over yours. He remained on top of you a moment before he pushed himself inside of you. You cried out as he began to thrust violently.

“Yes, I can see why you human find this so pleasurable. You dirty girl.”

Cas grunted.

The sound of something crashing outside made the two of you freeze mid fuck. Cas muttered a slew of curse words in what you guessed to be German. He snapped his fingers leaving the two of you fully dressed and back where you had been standing moments ago.

He pushed you behind him protectively. You knew not to mention this to him. He didn't seem like the kind of being who would enjoy you going gaga over a protective soulmate like gesture.

“Stay quiet.”

He instructed as the door crashed open. You peaked out from under his arm to see none other then your Cas and brothers on the other side. They didn't look the least bit happy at the alternate version of Cas and yourself.

“Get away from her!”

Dean growled before starting to march over and defend his little sister from some soulless prick that kidnapped her! Your Cas reached out stopping him dead in his track.

“No Dean. Take Sam and wait outside. I've got this.”

You knew that Dean didn't like it. Dean hated “waiting” out a good fight. He reluctantly did as he was told and followed Sam outside.

“So you think you can come here and play hero? You aren't taking her from me.”

AU Cas hissed. He reached out yanking your roughly into his arms. His fingers dug into the flesh of your arms hard enough to leave bruises. You, meanwhile, looked between the two versions of Cas carefully.

Your Cas looked livid. Never in your relationship had you seen that look in his eyes. When AU Cas kissed you possessively you could see your Cas' eyes begin to glow.

“Stop! Please. Both of you stop.”

You gasped. AU Cas pushed you away from him; almost sending you tumbling to the floor.

“Wait outside, darling.”

He extended the last part of darling so your Cas could catch every syllable. You didn't wait to be told twice before following your brother's lead.

When you were gone, your Cas narrowed his gaze venomously on the alternate version of himself.

“You better not have touched her.”

The alternate version of himself smiled and began to laugh.

“You mean not touch our soulmate? Your a fool. I almost claimed her. A few more thrusts and she would have been mine. Its funny, you have had her for all of this time and you never touched her. I've known her for such a short amount of time and I couldn't resist her.”

Cas tried to ignore the taunts of the alternate version of himself. He wanted nothing more than to kill him and end it all. Taking a few deep breaths the jealous rage in him hit a new level. Racing forward, Cas slammed his counterpart against the wall and placed the angel blade to his chest.

“Of course I have wanted to touch her. But she deserves better and that is why I respect her unlike you. Now that I know that you have attempted to claim her....I have to do this.”

Cas didn't give his alternate versions a chance to speak before ramming the angle blade into his chest. Looking away as the bright light of a dying angel entered the room, he plotted what was to say to you. Would you understand? What if you really wanted that horrible version of himself that was now no more? All Cas knew was he was wrong to deny you when you told him that you loved him. If he would have accepted his fate and taken you as his soulmate this wouldn't be happening.

The angels only thought now was....is it too late?

_______

@greenappleeyes

@li0nh34rt

@sherala007

@tas898

@everyjourneylove

@authoressskr

#Alternate Cas x reader #Cas x reader #Supernatural Fan Fiction #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #reader insert #gabriel #Cas fan fiction #Supernatural reader insert

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belabee · 5 years

Text

I’m Not An Angel: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: To Fly With Me Won’t Be Easy

Rating: Not rated (this will be changing in the next chapter)

Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Past Sam/OMC, Past Dean/OMC

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Past prostitution, (definitely more to come)

Summary: Sam and Dean run into a blast from the past, and old secrets come to light.

Chapter Summary: Sam and Dean have a little heart to heart.

Author notes: I'd like to thank @daydreaming-scribe for betaing the first 2 chapters for me <3 :* I've uploaded the edited versions and I think they flow better now. I'd also like to thank @teamfreewillbettertogether when I got stuck in chapter 2. I've had a really hard time with writing this past year, despite my best efforts. I've been putting more effort into it lately and hopefully, I'll be able to start posting more regularly. This chapter hasn't been betaed with anything other than my own eyes and Grammarly, so please forgive any mistakes.

Anyhoo… Enjoy?

Read on AO3

The boys trudged into the motel and Sam made his way to where his duffel was on his side of the room as Dean quietly shut the door behind them.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam paused in his task of unzipping his bag. “I...uh. I figured you wanted me outta your hair as soon as possible. I mean, pick a hemisphere, right?” he replied, not meeting Dean's eyes.

God, he hated letting his brother down like this. Just another sin to add to his already long list of unatonable choices.

Not looking harder for Dean when he was in Purgatory. Allowing Dean to think that he hadn't tried at all. Ruby and the demon blood. Lilith. Saying yes to Lucifer. Everything he'd done while soulless. Sticking around when he was obviously a burden with his hallucinations. Getting Charlie involved with the Book of the Damned. Setting Amara free. Getting involved with the British Men of Letters. Trying to drown out his love for Dean by getting involved with other people.

All of them. All of them his choices that got people killed. He had no business loving Dean. He had no right to taint Dean with his affections. Dean deserved better. Dean deserved to be as far away from his impure, despicable-

Sam's internal rant of self-hatred was interrupted by two strong arms wrapping around him. Dean's hands rested on Sam's wrists, halting their task of furiously shoving his belongings into his bag.

“Sam. Stop,” Dean said, gently turning him around to face him. When Sam still wouldn't look at him (Fuck, when had he started crying?), Dean cradled his face in his hands and lifted it to force Sam to look him in his eyes.

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean said, wiped the tears away. “Shhh, it's okay. ” Dean pulled him close, and Sam couldn't help but hide his face in Dean's neck, clutching tightly at his shirt.

Sam choked back a sob, before shoving Dean away. Dean stumbled back a couple steps with a look of hurt shock on his face.

“No, Dean. It's not okay,” he said, angrily wiping the rest of his tears away. “It's not ‘okay’. I'm sick. I'm wrong. Hell, we've known it since day one that something's not right with me.” He stalked away from his brother, furiously pacing the room, grabbing his belongings and throwing them onto his bed. “I've tried to fight this, Dean. I've been fighting this for longer than I can remember. And every time. Every time I break, I let myself be selfish. And weak,” he said with disgust. “And every. Time. Someone gets hurt. Or worse. Dead. ” He spun around to face Dean.

“You deserve better. Even you've said so. Hell if I could, I'd bring Benny back for you. Because you were right Dean. He'd been a better brother to you, then I'd ever been,” Sam's angry tirade petered out as tears welled up in his eyes again at that last sentence.

“Oh, fuck you, Sammy” Dean said angrily. “Don't throw that old shit back in my face.”

“I'm not! I'm just reminding you what's true! We both know Benny had been more loyal, more trustworthy than I've ever been. And then there was the siren.” Sam threw his arms out to his sides, frustratedly trying to get Dean to see reason. “Even the monsters could see that you deserve a better brother.” Sam pushed past Dean to continue packing his bag.

“Sure, we're stronger together. Sure, there's nothing we can't do if we put our minds to it. But that doesn't mean we're better together. You're better off without me. And Cas is back, and Jack is doing fine now that he's got someone to guide him. And who better than the Righteous Man and an angel of the lord to guide his way. Jack would be better off not having the Boy with the Demon Blood to corrupt him. And I can just keep hunting, and you'd be safer, happier-”

Sam was cut off by Dean shoving him against the wall. “Jesus, Sammy. For once in your life just shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Dean said lowly. He rested his forehead on Sam's. “Goddammit, we’ve been through this. None of that shit matters. Come on, Sammy. You're supposed to be the smart one,” he whispered.

“Dean, we both know you're just as smart, if not more than-mmf!” Dean placed a hand over Sam's mouth.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Dean said, cocking an eyebrow. He smirked when that got him a silent bitch face. “There's my pain in the ass little brother that I know and love.” Sam's eyes widened. “Yeah, Sammy. I love ya. I know I never say it directly. You know I suck at this touchy-feely shit. But hell, Sammy. I thought you’da figured it out when we stopped the trials. I told you, there is nothing, past or present, that I would put in front of you.”

Sam’s vision started to blur again. He shut his eyes tight to try to stop the tears that were threatening to fall. “No, Sammy. Look at me. Look at me, dammit.” He opened his eyes reluctantly. “Now you listen to me, Sammy, ‘cause you know I ain’t gonna wanna say this shit again.” Dean took a deep breath before continuing. “I know these past few years have been a roller coaster of shit - hell, our entire life has been a roller coaster of shit - and I say stupid hurtful crap all the time. But you know how I get when I get scared, when I’m hurting. You know because you know me. And all that shit about deserving better, that’s bullshit. Because there ain’t nothing better for me than you, Sammy. You think I’m mad about you loving me as much as I love you?” Sam gasped under Dean’s hand, eyes wide. “I ain’t mad about that, Sammy. I’m hurt. You deserved better than Seth. And I shoulda done more to protect you from that.” Dean slid his hand away from Sam’s mouth to cup his jaw, touching their foreheads together. “Why the hell didn’t you just tell me?” He whispered brokenly.

“What the hell was I supposed to say, Dean?” Sam whispered. “To be honest, I’ve been trying like hell to just block it out. Just lump it in with all the other nightmares, all the other shit we’ve been through. We both know that compared to everything, compared to Hell, it’s nothing. A drop in the bucket of shit that the universe has thrown at us.”

Dean snorted. “Vivid.”

“Dean,” Sam smiled exasperatedly, and Dean chuckled.

They stood there in silence for a few moments, so close that they were breathing each other's air.

“So… um… did, did you really…um..” Dean stammered out quietly, blushing.

Sam smirked. It wasn’t often that he got to see Dean flustered like this. The little brother in him who wasn't dreading the rest of that question couldn't help but want to relish in it. “Did I what?” he prodded in spite of himself.

“Did you really call out my name when you were with him ?” Dean continued, not meeting Sam's eyes for once. Sam blushed. Damn, guess it had been too much to hope that Dean would have forgotten about that part. “Uhh, uhm, y-yeah,” he replied, looking down.

“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean rasped out and as close as they were, Sam could feel the full body shiver that ran through his body.

“I…I'm sorry, Dean. I really am,” Sam whispered. He closed his eyes, renewed shame fulling him.

“Shh, Sammy. I told you. It's okay,” Dean said pulling Sam closer, wrapping his arms around him. Sam returned the embrace fiercely. “I told you, I'm not mad at you.” Sam closed his eyes and breathed in that nearly forgotten but still familiar scent of home. Of gun oil, and leather, and Dean. “Still, I wish I'd saved it. I'd wanted to,” he whispered.

“I don't think I would've been able to do anything even if you had, sweetheart. It's bad enough I got you mixed up with Seth-”

“Dean, what happened with Seth is on me, not you. I'm the one who decided to taint myself like that. Not that there was much left to taint.” Dean pulled back a little to look Sam in the eyes. “Why do you always do that?” Dean asked, exasperated.

Sam tilted his head, confused. “Do what?”

“That whole impure, tainted thing? You did it during the trials too. Why do you keep painting yourself as less than me?” Sam jerked his head back a little. Surely Dean wasn't that blind.

“Because you are better than me. Always have been. You're noble and selfless. You're stronger than anyone else I've ever known, and the smartest, most beautiful person. Why do you think Heaven chose you as the Righteous Man?” Sam looked down, “I've never been anything more than the Boy with the Demon Blood, trying fruitlessly to atone for everything I've done.”

“God Sammy, for someone so smart, you sure are an idiot sometimes.” Dean cupped Sam's jaw and tilted his face up. “All that shit? Being good, and strong? All of that has always been for you. And I ain't pure, especially not after all the shit we've been through. I don't give a rat's ass what Heaven has to say about that, we both know that their sense of judgment is more than a little fucked up.”

Dean leaned forward, bringing their faces closer, their lips so close that Sam could almost taste it.

“All I've ever wanted was to be the best that I could be, for you. Because to me, you've always deserved the best.”

End Notes: The next one is gonna take a little bit since it's like twice as long as the rest of the chapters and I'm still trying to find a good point to end it XD Plus it'll actually get to the smut and I'm super nervous about that XD I'm also on twitter though I'm not very active: @belabee33

#bela's writing #my writing #writing is hard #wincest #sam winchester #dean winchester #samdean #angst #I'm Not An Angel

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