#spn fics | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

supernaturalfreewill · 7 months

Text

Words: 5,373 Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warnings: injury, assault (no description of any sexual violence though it is implied this may be the motive for the assault), attempted abduction, angsssst, Protective!Dean Summary: Dean is happy to see he's getting a call from you, but he can tell from the tone of your voice when he answers that something is seriously wrong. Requested by: Anonymous! Thanks for the request! I hope you love it! Hurt/comfort can be just the right thing sometimes, and Winchesters on the war path for someone they love is the icing on the cake.

Dean smiled at the name that lit up his phone screen. “Y/N, hey,” he said. But the smile on his face died when he heard your voice.

“Dean?”

There was a pause as his stomach seemed to drop through the floor. “Yeah, hey… what’s going on? Are you alright?”

Another pause, on your end this time. “I don’t—I don’t know how to—are—are you busy?”

He glanced at the pile of file folders and stacks of books on the table in front of him but only stood up and turned away from it. “No. No, I’m not busy. What do you need? What’s going on?”

Your voice shook when you answered. “Can you get here? Please?”

Something was terrifyingly wrong. Dean’s teeth clenched. “I’m on my way now. Y/N—are you safe?”

He heard only your shaky breath for a moment. “I am now. I’m safe now. I’m safe now…” You were almost chanting it to yourself.

“Where are you? Are you at home?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” he said into the phone. “Do you want to stay on the line with me?”

There was a long pause as you thought about how to answer that question but you eventually decided. “No. No… just—just drive safely and get here when you can.”

“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can. I promise. I’m on my way. Just—stay safe, alright? I’ll be there soon.” His stomach was churning with nerves, rolling with worry and fear. As he hung up the phone, his apprehension and concern only seemed to grow. What the hell was going on?

_ _ _ _ _ _

The tires of the Impala squealed as he yanked the wheel to turn the car into your driveway. It hadn’t even come to a complete stop when he threw it into park, turned the key to off, and bolted out the door. Your house was dark ahead and the curtains were drawn. The whole place looked and felt eerie and unsettling. He took the steps two at a time and stopped on the front mat, rapping his knuckles loudly on the door.

He shifted anxiously and strained his hearing, glancing back over his shoulder and surveying the surroundings as any good hunter does. His jaw clenched as he looked back at the closed front door. He knocked again, more loudly and more sustained. “Y/N?”

The fear in his chest seemed to expand in a bubble that was pushing up on his lungs, thrusting the air out of them more and more with every passing second that you didn’t appear. “Y/N? It’s Dean!” He knocked again one more time and made up his mind that if you didn’t answer this time, he was breaking down the fucking door and—

Inside, you startled in your seat on the edge of your couch. You were surprised to look about yourself and realize that night had fallen. There was an insistent knocking on your front door and then you heard a familiar voice. You gasped and forced yourself onto your feet, clicking on a lamp as you rushed to the entryway. “Dean?” you called out, your hands so shaky that you fumbled with the chain and locks.

“Oh, thank God,” you heard him murmur on the other side of the door. “I was about to bust your door in!”

You pulled it open slightly and peered out at him through the small space, flicking on the porch light as you made sure it was really him. Assured that it was and that he was alone and nothing strange was going on, you stepped back and swung the door open wide. The light from the porch flooded in through the open door and illuminated your figure. You were backlit by only a small lamp inside. Dean’s eyes whirred over you, taking note of the slightly asymmetrical way you were standing and glaring swelling and bruising on your face, along with several small cuts. Even in the dim light, it was apparent that you were a bit battered. He watched as you raised a shaky hand to brush some hair away from your forehead.

“C—come in,” you managed, stepping aside to let him pass.

His eyes stayed fixed on you as long as they could while he slipped in. He rounded immediately on the rug and watched as you hastily shut and relocked the front door. Your hand was shaking so badly you were struggling to put the security chain back on. He stepped forward and his hand gently landed over the back of yours, closing lightly over your fingers. “I’ll get it,” he said, his green eyes wandering over your face, colored more deeply with concern. A deep cavern grew between his eyebrows as he again noted the injuries that seemed stark on your face even in the dim light. “Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll put some water on for tea and then you can tell me what’s—what’s going on.” The slightly gruff edge to his deep voice was more pronounced in his concern, but you found it comforting.

You drew in a shallow breath and nodded. You felt almost in a daze and were struggling not to go to pieces immediately at the sight of him. Dean was there. You were truly safe. Nothing would happen to you while he was around. You were okay… You were okay…

You drifted over to the couch and sat again in the same spot you must have been frozen in for at least an hour and a half after you’d called him. You glanced up to watch him in the new glow of the kitchen, filling your kettle and setting it on the stove. He began opening cabinets, searching for your tea, and finally found it in the pantry. He set out two mugs and a box of tea bags before looking over and catching your eyes.

You were mostly cloaked in shadow now and Dean strode over and clicked on a couple more lights so he could see you properly. You sat rigidly still on the couch and he finally came to sit down on the coffee table across from you. He gulped as he studied you in the full light now and took stock of the extent of your injuries. Your face was bruised in deep reds and purples and swollen over one of your eyes and along your jawline. He could tell that the little nicks and cuts you had scattered over your skin hadn’t been tended to. They were still messy and thickly clotted and your skin was stained with the rusty smears of dried blood. His brow furrowed more deeply over his eyes. “Y/N. Can you tell me what happened?”

A shudder ran through your body involuntarily. You couldn’t seem to find your voice, your words.

“Hey—it’s alright,” Dean said softly. “Just take your time.”

You pressed your hands over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, and trying to steady yourself. Dean had never seen you like this. Never. Not after all the hunts that had gone slightly more than sideways, not after a car accident that put you in the hospital, not after you lost people close to you—he’d never seen you this scared, this shaken. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and you finally seemed to dislodge what felt like a hot stone stuck high in your throat. You lowered your hands and nodded, looking up at Dean who was watching you closely with worry you could almost feel radiating from him.

“I—I tracked down this hunt. I was just searching the papers, you know? I found something strange, a pattern, and I decided to go take a look, poke around a little. I was pretty sure it was a vengeful spirit. Should have been an easy case. It was in a small town. I pulled into the—”

At that moment, the tea kettle screamed in the kitchen and you jumped so much you nearly fell off the couch.

“Shit!” Dean exclaimed, jumping up. “Sorry! I’ve got it. Just the kettle. I got it…” He rushed into the kitchen and hastily pushed the kettle off the burner. Your heart was pounding in your throat and you pressed a hand over your chest and tried to slow down your breathing. Dean was glancing between you on the couch and the cups in front of him he was pouring boiling water into them. His stomach had formed a tight knot and he found himself keyed up and ready for a fight despite not even knowing what had happened to you yet. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeply wrong and deeply unusual had happened. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand it, but he knew it in his gut.

He carefully came back to sit with you, setting the two mugs of steaming tea down on the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the couch this time. “It’s, uhh—chamomile,” he said. “It’s supposed to be calming, I guess. I don’t know,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “Tea is more Sammy’s thing. They pretty much all seem the same to me.”

You nodded and managed to give him a weak smile, though it was tight and didn’t ease the drawn look around your eyes. “Thanks,” you murmured, reaching for the mug. The fabric of your sweatshirt pulled upwards as you grabbed the handle and Dean’s heart jolted. There were deep bruises on your wrist.

His hand shot out and gently grabbed hold of your arm, just above the marks that clearly looked as if someone had grabbed you. “Y/N—this isn’t from a vengeful spirit,” he said.

You relinquished your hold on the handle of the mug and Dean felt you start trembling beneath his hands again. Your bottom lip was quivering as he searched your face for answers.

Gulping, he pushed up the other sleeve of your sweatshirt to see more bruising on your other wrist. His eyes flew to meet yours and flickered between them. “Who did this to you?”

That was it. You couldn’t hold it in any longer and you absolutely crumbled to pieces, falling into him.

Dean’s chest ached and he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him securely, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “Hey—it’s okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, his heart still aching even while rage boiled in his stomach. He held you until your shuddering breaths slowed and the shaking of your shoulders was almost gone. Still, you clung onto him. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” You could feel the reverberation of his words in his chest and it was grounding. Finally, he gripped your shoulders gently and pulled back to look at you more closely. That’s when he saw the marks on your neck too, hidden previously by the collar and hood of your sweatshirt. His teeth clenched and the muscle in his jaw tensed. “If you can, tell me who did this to you.” His prodding was calm and cautious as you regained your composure.

You nodded and mopped at your face with your sleeve. “I was at the bar to try to talk to some of the locals, get some info on the case. There was this guy there, another patron, and he kept glancing at me. I finally realized he looked familiar and he’d obviously recognized me from somewhere but I couldn’t place him. He eventually came over. He was a hunter. We’d met at that thing after Brett’s wake, you know, in Wyoming?”

Dean nodded. He remembered hearing about it, but he and Sam hadn’t gone.

“Anyway, he was there for the same case. He asked if we could work it together. It seemed easy enough—salt and burn,” you said. You reached for your mug of tea again and this time wrapped your hands around it to soak up the warmth. They felt so cold. In fact, you hadn’t been able to feel warm since the whole thing had happened… You went on, staring down into the amber color of your tea. “The case was simple. We took care of it no problem once we figured out the real identity of the spirit and then he asked if I wanted to go grab a bite to eat and a beer and it sounded good after finishing things up so I agreed... He was just friendly. It seemed fine and…” You trailed off and Dean watched you squeeze your eyes shut again. “So stupid…” you muttered to yourself. “I didn’t even really know him. I shouldn’t have—"

“Whoa, whoa. Hey—none of this is your fault. Okay? Don’t do that. You should be able to be safe just getting a beer out somewhere. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t even know what happened yet but I know that none of it is your fault. Okay?”

And he said it with such forcefulness that you believed him. You met his green eyes again, so concerned and intent on you, and yours filled with tears as you managed to nod. You blinked them away. “We—we had burgers and a couple beers and then we went out to the parking lot and I was getting in my car and he just—suddenly he just attacked me. He was—he—” Your voice broke and Dean pulled you in against him again tightly. You were trembling under his hands.

You tucked yourself against his chest and Dean’s chin came to rest on the top of your head, his arms around you, smoothing over your back comfortingly. Inside, he was burning up with rage. “It’s okay… you’re okay.”

“I fought him,” you managed finally, still not separating from Dean, speaking almost into his chest. “He was trying to get me to his car and I just fought him as much as I could but he was so strong and he was so much bigger than me. He had me down on the ground. I was trying to hit him, push him off, and then he had my wrists, and then next thing I knew his hands were on my neck and I—” You pulled back abruptly and looked up into Dean’s handsome face. “I had my pocket knife. Somehow, I don’t know how, but I got it out and I stabbed him in the fucking groin. That’s how I got him off me.”

Dean’s brow furrowed more deeply, one of his hands was still gently gripping your upper arm. He clasped your face with the other, his eyes whirring over your injuries. His thumb moved tenderly over your cheek, thanking God or whatever fucking entity was listening that you’d escaped when you did. He didn’t have to guess at the guy’s intentions… and it swelled a toxic mire of fury inside him. “You did the right thing. You did exactly what you should have. Hell, you could have killed him and it would have been completely justified. It’s okay.” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze and brushed some of your hair away from your face. “Listen, we’re gonna get you patched up, alright? And then I’m gonna figure out how take care of this. You won’t have to worry about him. What’s this asshole’s name?”

You gulped and your tongue felt suddenly dry, sticking to the roof of your mouth. “Evan Lewis.” Just speaking his name made you feel like you were going to be sick.

Dean nodded. “I’ve heard the name before… can’t say I remember him though.” He sighed heavily. The fact that this pervert, this goddamn douchebag, was a member of the hunting community made things a thousand times worse. He was supposed to be fucking helping people. Instead, he’d used being a hunter to gain your trust and take advantage of it… “Where’s your first aid kit?” Dean asked, pushing down his anger for the moment.

You mopped at a tear that had escaped and run down your cheek. “In the linen closet in the bathroom.”

“Alright. I’ll be right back, okay? We’ll get you fixed up as best we can.”

You didn’t want to break from him completely, but with the reassurance he wouldn’t be gone for more than a minute, you nodded.

Dean got up and disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. He immediately pulled out his phone and hit Sam’s name. Sam answered on the second ring.

“Dean, hey. Where are you? I’m back at the bunker and the Impala is gone. What’s going on?”

“Sam, Y/N called me. I’m with her now. She—she’s in rough shape. She was attacked,” Dean growled into the phone. Sam could hear his fury in the tension in his voice.

“What? What do you mean attacked? Is she okay? Like, a hunt gone wrong or—”

“You could say that.” Dean’s free hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. “But no, it wasn’t what she was hunting. It was a person.” There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Someone attacked her? What—why? Dean, what the hell is going on?”

“Just listen, Sam, it’s worse, alright? The guy who did this is in our community. He’s a hunter.”

Another long pause as Sam tried to process exactly what his brother was saying. “Is she okay?”

Dean sighed heavily into the phone. “She’s—she’s alright. Or she will be. She’s beat up and obviously traumatized but she saved her own ass. She said she stabbed the guy in the groin.”

Another moment of silence and a heavy sigh from Sam on the other end. Dean could picture him pacing in the bunker. “Good.”

“Listen, have you ever heard of a hunter named Evan Lewis?” Dean asked.

“Uhh,” Sam wracked his brain. “It sounds vaguely familiar… Maybe I’ve met him at some hunter thing? I’m not sure.”

“Well, he’s the lowlife who attacked her. I need you to call Jody, Donna, Garth, whoever and just get the word out that we’re looking for this guy and that he’s bad news. And I need you on this. I don’t care about anything else until this guy is taken care of.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.

“Yeah, agreed,” Sam said hurriedly. “I’m on it. Just make sure she’s okay and—tell her I wish I was there too.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, finally turning to open the closet door in the bathroom and grab the first aid kit out. “I will.” He sighed again. “Damn,” he breathed. “We could really use Cas right now to get this guy and—I don’t know, drop him off in North Korea or something.”

Sam let out a wry laugh. “That’d be good. I guess we’ll have to content ourselves with beating the crap out of him and getting him ostracized by the community.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I hate this… These guys don’t just quit. He’s going to pull this shit again.”

“Yeah, but what are our options here? We can’t kill him. The cops aren’t really a solution… Even if Y/N goes through the trauma of reporting the assault and attempted… uhh—reporting it, say he is charged, he isn’t going to stay locked up for long.”

Dean sighed weightily again. “I know. There’s no good solution here…”

“Hmm,” Sam hummed thoughtfully.

“What?”

“Well… what if we just blast him online?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, send out warnings all over social media, dating sites… Maybe that way we could at least prevent someone from ending up in the same situation. Hell, I could throw together a website in no time.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Do it. With creeps like this, once we start putting it out there, other people might come forward too. Look—I gotta go. I need to help get Y/N patched up. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Alright. Give her a hug for me,” Sam said, his voice woven with sadness and anger in the same way Dean’s was.

“Dean?” Your voice echoed down the hall to him.

“Yeah. I will. I gotta go, Sammy.” He hung up and rushed back with the first aid kit in hand, sinking down across from you again on the coffee table, his knees cocked out to fit around yours. Your eyes were searching his face.

“Did I hear you talking to someone?” you asked.

Dean set the kit down and opened it, laying out items he would need to get you taken care of. He nodded. “Yeah. I gave Sam a call…” he said, hazarding a glance at your face to gauge your reaction. “I told him vaguely what was going on.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding, cupping your hands more tightly around your warm mug.

Dean’s green eyes, dark under his heavy brow, flickered between yours. “I hope that’s okay. I—I wanted to get some people on this guy right away.”

You nodded again and nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah…”

“He says he’s sorry. And that he wishes he was here too. But we’re gonna take care of this, okay?” Dean’s deep voice had an extra layer of gravel to it and it seemed to reassure you. He was here, solid in front of you, and you were safe. Nothing bad was going to happen to you with Dean around.

“Thanks,” you managed softly.

Dean pulled in a deep breath and then tore open an alcohol wipe. “I’m just gonna clean up those cuts a bit. You might want to close your eyes so the alcohol doesn’t irritate them.” He scooted forward on the coffee table and your eyes shut, revealing the thick, dark fray of your lashes to him. He dabbed at a cut near your hairline first, as tenderly as he could while still lifting away the smeared, dry blood. “This hurt?” he asked you, pausing for your answer.

“No,” you breathed, your voice a little weak as it caught in your throat.

Dean returned to his ministrations, his fingers so light and gentle you hardly felt it until the alcohol stung. He chased a dried smear of blood down your cheek and over your jaw onto your neck. The coolness of the evaporating alcohol raised goosebumps on your skin and a shiver ran up your back. You huddled more deeply in your sweatshirt.

Dean gulped. “You alright?”

Your eyes opened again and you nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

He nodded and his finger landed lightly under your chin, tipping your face ever so gently this way and that as he looked you over again. He sighed when he realized he’d done all he could, but his hand slid along your jawline and he lightly stroked your cheek, a pained look overtaking his face. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you.” You could hear the ache in his voice.

“I know. Thank you, for being here,” you said.

“Is there anything else I can do? Anything. Do you need some ice for anything? I mean—how—how’s the rest of you?” he asked, seized by a sudden worry that you were concealing some injury that was much worse. “Y/N, do you need to go to the hospital for anything?”

You shook your head. “No. No… I’m just bruised up is all. I’m—I’m just tired,” you said, tears filling your eyes suddenly. “Sorry—” you croaked, your throat tightening. You blinked them away, wanting to hide your face behind your hands again. “I’m just so drained…”

“Hey—” Dean took your hand in his and pulled it away from your face. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You want to try and get some rest? What can I do? Anything. Just ask.”

You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him. God, you looked so vulnerable. It was making Dean’s heart break. He was used to seeing you as a vibrant, bright light—a stong, badass hunter. This had him completely unbalanced in the worst way.

“Can—would you come lay with me? I just don’t want to be alone,” you asked, feeling your cheeks flush even at the request.

“Of course. Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the hall which led back to your bedroom.

You stood gingerly, and he helped you to your feet. Dean ghosted behind you as you flipped a small lamp on in your room and climbed under the covers. He settled himself down against the headboard on the other side of your bed.

Tucking a hand in against your neck, you looked up at him. “Can I ask you for one more thing?” you said, your voice coming out in a whisper.

He nodded, meeting your eyes. “Anything.”

“Would you mind—holding me for a while?” Your voice broke in the middle of the sentence and Dean felt the ache in his chest expand. “I just—I can’t shake the feeling that he’s suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid.” He toed off his boots and threw the covers back, settling himself in the middle of the bed. “Come here.” He nudged his head to tell you to move into him and you did so eagerly. Dean’s arms closed around you as you tucked yourself in against him, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. “You’re okay. I’ve got you…” He stroked your hair and relished the feeling of you safe beneath his hands. He kissed the top of your head and you settled in against him more heavily, breathing in a deep breath and letting it out in the first relaxed sigh he’d heard since he’d pounded on your door. “I’ve got you,” he hummed one more time.

“Thank you for being here,” you said.

“You don’t have to thank me for that. This is right where I want to be.”

To the surprise of both of you, you managed to each drift off shortly after and you didn’t wake until morning.

_ _ _ _ _ _

It was an insistent buzzing that roused both of you. You stirred against Dean and he was sorry to have to scoot away from you to grab his phone off the side table.

“Sorry,” he murmured, sleep still coloring the tone of his voice. “I should have turned it off.”

You pushed yourself up on your palm and shook your head. “No. It’s okay. It might be something important.”

Dean sat up and glanced at the name lighting up the screen. “It’s Sam,” he told you. “Hello?”

“Hey. How’s Y/N doing?”

Dean glanced sideways at you. He could still see the bruising but at least the swelling had gone down some. “As good as expected. Managed to get some sleep though, so that’s good. What’s up?”

“Right… Sorry to call so early but I’ve got an update. I had Garth do some calling around. I guess this guy talked to another hunter and told them he got injured in a hunt, had to go to the ER, and is now heading home since he’s benched for a while. He’s in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I’m gonna to head there now and track him down and—”

“—beat the ever-loving shit out of him?” Dean finished.

“Something like that,” Sam said. “I got the word out to everyone too, and I put a page up online. If anybody searches this guy’s name, it’ll be the first thing they find.”

“Good,” Dean said, climbing off the bed and pacing the length of the room. Your eyes followed his broad shoulders. “I’ll meet you there.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dean asked a little abruptly.

“Well… shouldn’t you stay with Y/N? And—I’m a little worried you’ll kill the guy,” Sam admitted.

Dean scoffed. “That’d be letting him get off easy. No. Don’t worry about it. And—” he glanced back over at you where you were sitting up in the bed, hair tousled from sleep. “—I’ll have Y/N head to the bunker. She’ll be safe there.”

“Alright. As long as she’s okay with it that’s probably a good idea. And I would be glad for the back-up.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “And I’ll be glad to punch his face in. I’ll call you on the way.” Dean hung up and met your eyes. His heart jumped and then he felt a deep ache between his lungs. He sunk back down on the bed beside you. You looked a little worried but also eager for the update. “Do you think you’d be okay heading to the bunker on your own and waiting for me and Sam there?”

You thought about it for a moment and then nodded. There was no safer place for you to be, unless it was with Sam and Dean beside you. “Yeah. I think so.”

“If you’re not sure, I can come with you. I’m sure Sam can handle this guy on his own if he needs to,” Dean said, his brow furrowing heavily over his green eyes. “Just say the word and I’ll stay with you.”

“Thank you, Dean. But I’ll be okay. Especially knowing the two of you are going after him,” you said. “And—thank you for coming and staying here with me last night. I don’t know—what I would have done without you. Not sleep, that’s for sure,” you said with a wry laugh. “Thanks.”

Dean nodded. “Like I said, no need to thank me.” He gently touched your arm. “This whole thing is gonna be taken care of real soon. I promise.” He gulped, a little nervous suddenly. “And—you should know that nobody deserves this, but especially not you. You’re—you deserve only the best things.” In that moment, he wanted more than anything to kiss the soft pout of your mouth and the bruise on your jawline and the curve of your cheekbone, but the timing was all wrong. Instead, he went about doing his best to make sure you were okay and would stay that way. “I mean, how many times have you been there for me and Sam? Let us take care of this and don’t think about this asshole for another second.”

You managed a smile for him. “If he’s heard that the Winchester brothers are coming after him, he’s probably scared shitless. That’s almost punishment enough.”

Dean stood again, and his grim and furious expression returned. “No. It isn’t.” His fists clenched. “Alright. I’ll let you pack a bag and then we’ll get out of here. You’re sure you’re okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you said with another smile. “I am now. Thanks to you.”

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s over and I’ll be racing the Impala to get back to the bunker. Just stay safe, alright?”

You sighed, a fluttering starting suddenly in your stomach. “I’ll be there.”

Dean gave you a soft, charming half-smile. “That’s all the motivation I need to get home. And—you can stay as long as you want. I'd—uhh... we'd love to have you.”

In the worst moments, the most terrifying, the most awful, the most trying, you could always count on Dean, and he could always count on you. That’s how it had been since you’d met him, and that’s how it would always be. But you also knew, you could count on him in the best times, and you were hoping for many more of those once this was behind you.

#dean winchester x reader #protective!dean #dean winchester one shot #spn fics #supernatural

549 notes · View notes

zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

739 notes · View notes

shallowseeker · 4 months

Text

Truth & despair

"The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable."

Synopsis: In an attempt to tackle his grief, Sam rifles through the bunker footage to discover the truth of Castiel's death. The footage leaves him with more questions than answers. (The one where Dean's recollection of events...does not match the footage.)

---

Focus: Supernatural post-15x19 fic, TFW grieving badly, Bad therapy attempts with Mia Vallens, False memories, The Shadow is in love with Cas, Jack and Amara are AWOL

Characters: Dean/Castiel, Dean & Sam, Sam & Dean & Cas & Jack, Eileen Leahy, Mia Vallens, Chuck Shurley, Becky & the Rosen-Baron fam, Donatello Redfield, The Empty, Amara, Jack as God, Rowena MacLeod, Sam POV and Sam is blessedly annoying

Content warning: Major character death (Castiel), poor coping mechanisms (Dean), and encroachment of personal boundaries (Sam). Eventual happy ending.

Updates every weekend!

Proofread by @minalblood & finished for @tenderthunder

❤️

///

Ch 01: (~4200 words, ~17 minutes) - In an attempt to tackle his grief, Sam rifles through the bunker footage to track down Cas’s last moments. The footage leaves him with more questions than answers.

Ch 02: (~5700 words, ~23 minutes) Mia admonishes Sam for his breach of boundaries, and Dean suffers his first meltdown.

Ch 03: (~5200 words, ~20 minutes) Sam leans into unhealthy coping mechanisms that nearly get them killed.

Ch 04: (~4700 words, ~18 minutes) Snapped out of Chuck’s grand finale, Sam and Dean wonder what’s next.

Ch 05: (~5250 words, ~21 minutes) In need of Becky Rosen’s laptop, Chuck and the Winchesters track her to a safe house in the recesses of the Wallowa Mountains, Oregon. En route, the roadways are riddled with mysterious sinkholes. Dean admits he’s drawn to them.

Ch 06: (~7500 words, ~30 minutes) - Chuck shows his true colors, but Dean’s the real problem.

Ch 07: (~7200 words, ~28 minutes) - Dean takes a leap of faith. Sam follows.

Ch 08: (~7100 words, ~28 minutes) - Sam and Dean tunnel their way into The Empty. It's not empty.

Ch 09 (~ 6200 words, ~25 minutes) - Unable to rid Castiel of the cooling Empty gunk, Sam and Dean transport him back to the Barons’ house and attempt to free him.

Ch 10 (~ 6200 words, ~25 minutes) - Hoping to track Jack and Amara, Team Free Well returns to Washaway Beach to perform a potent locator spell.

///

Ch 11 (~8000 words, ~32 minutes) - Sam and Chuck crash-land in a lush landscape and run afoul of Amara. She taunts Sam, promising that Jack will never return, at least not of his own free will.

Ch 12 (~10800 words, ~43 minutes) - Jack's got everything he needs right here. Why would he ever leave?

Ch 13 (~8000 words, ~32 minutes) - Sam awakens in the shallow waters of Washaway Beach...alongside the prone body of Jack Kline.

Ch 14 coming soon (~10200 words, ~40 minutes) - Maybe Sam can't fix everything. Maybe that's okay.

Epilogue coming soon (~?words, ~? minutes)

#yaaay #i'm doing the thing #and learning along the way #come hell or high water #truth & despair #truth & despair by shal #spn fics #destiel #sam pov #i can't believe i'm writing things now who says fandom doesn't enrich the mind #weird lil fix in my weird lil sandbox corner

133 notes · View notes

bloodfreakpropaganda · 9 months

Text

me, in ff.net, specifically the sam winchester community, reading 2007 whump sam fics in the middle of 2023:

#2007 ff.net you will always be famous to me #sam winchester #spn fics

238 notes · View notes

queerstudiesnatural · 8 months

Text

I found my way living in you

Words: 3,088

He lifts Dean's head up with tender fingers until they are looking in each other's eyes, and his thumb wipes the tears on his cheek. “Hi,” Dean says. “Hello," Cas smiles. "Cas?" Dean asks, and a sob is threatening to break out of his throat again, this time brought on by the overwhelming rush of his senses and reality coming back to him, not brighter and louder, but more tangible. "Don't ever leave." Cas' face changes surreptitiously, eyebrows lifting ever slightly. “Dean—" "Don't. Don't argue with me, Cas. Just stay. Please. Please." The expression on Cas' face is one of awe, and somewhere in Dean's mind he thinks the painting must have shifted to show a halo around him, too. "Alright," Cas says. "If this is what you really want." "Cas," Dean whispers, and he can't imagine why it was so difficult to say it before. It's the most natural thing in the world. "I want you." He brings Castiel's hand to his lips. "Wherever we are, whatever we're doing, I want you. I need you."

read the whole fic on ao3

190 notes · View notes

inthemytdl · 8 months

Text

Somewhere Only We Know

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

The whirl of wind trumped the gentle voice of the boy beside you. He wore a letterman jacket. A yellow hue reflected off its stripes from the street light next to the bus stop.

“What?”

“Oh, sorry.” He raised a jazz hand. “I’m Jack. I’ve noticed people here like to claim benches. Is it okay if we share?”

You shrugged then scooched over. Your phone lit up with the time as you moved. The bus would arrive soon. After that was one long trip to nowhere. You’d figure it out on the way there. That was part of the adventure.

“Where are you going?” Jack’s cheerful voice startled you.

You rubbed cold arms. “Nowhere.”

“Right. You don’t know me.” He faced you, lowered his head. “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”

“Didn’t think so.” You studied him for a lingering moment. He looked too young to be some psycho killer but was lanky enough you could beat him in a fight if he was. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know.” He tilted his head toward the sky. “Wherever the bus takes me?”

“Nebraska.”

“There. I’m going there.” Jack smiled, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him Nebraska was just… Nebraska. “Are you cold? Here. Have my jacket.”

“What? No.” You swatted his hand away.

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “I don’t get cold.” He placed his jacket on your shoulders then returned to his dreamy state, practically drooling.

You were staring at him now, but he didn’t seem to mind. The gap between his teeth broke through his smile; his bright eyes lit up in the street light, the yellow hue reflecting off his irises now. He had this innocent look, like all the pain and despair of the world couldn’t hurt him. Not now, at least. Right now, all that mattered was Nebraska.

“I’m running away,” you blurted. “Sort’ve.”

Jack’s smile broke. “Why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s not running, really. I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m just going on an… adventure.”

“I like adventures.” His smile was back. That gap in between his teeth.

The bus parked in front of you. It was empty, aside from a few scattered passengers. The doors opened. The driver made eye contact.

“Do you want to go on an adventure with me, Jack?” you asked.

He pressed a thumb on the dip of his chin. His hair blew into his face. “I’m not sure,” he said.

A pin dropped in your stomach. You spent five minutes talking and jumped straight to fifth base: asking him to travel with you. You didn’t even know him, really. He could’ve been a serial killer, a really nice one. And if he wasn’t, he must’ve thought you were weird now.

Jack inhaled a swift breath and released it with a sigh. “Are you a serial killer?” he asked.

“What?” you laughed. “No, of course not. I’m Y/n.”

“Then yes. I would like to go on an adventure with you, Y/n.” He pushed up from the bench and that lulling smile on his face met yours.

A warm heat encompassed you as you stepped onto the bus. Jack took the cushioned seat next to the window and looked out at the night sky. You took the aisle seat.

The bus shook as the engine rumbled to life. You were going to Nebraska. The land of farms, corn, prairies, and the occasional city. You could picture it now—the petrichor smell of wet grain, the bright lights illuminating cities—and while you weren’t sure if you’d stay, you were ready for your next adventure. And happy it wouldn’t be alone.

Jack traced a smiley onto the condensated window glass before relaxing into his seat. "I've never been on a bus before," he said.

“Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Trees flew by as the bus began to move and you became more comfortable with Jack. You had only just met him but traveling together felt right. And you weren’t sure what he was leaving behind, but were glad to have him by your side.

You took Jack’s hand in yours, startling him a bit, and said, “Next stop, Nebraska.”

#jack kline #jack kline blurbs #jack kline x reader #jack kline fics #jack kline x yn #supernatural fics #jack kline oneshot #spn fics #jack winchester #jack kline imagine #supernatural fanfiction

241 notes · View notes

deanspunchingbag · 5 days

Text

i'm going to write a fic that is just about tfw working regular cases but they happen in states/cities that weren't in the show. bc the fact that there was NEVER. a case in my state still makes me mad

#the way i'm so serious #and if i could use actual local lore #bc the state i'm in has so much!#supernatural #dean winchester #spn #sam winchester #castiel #spn fics #spn shitposts #shitpostnatural

34 notes · View notes

vendettasfanfictioning · 6 months

Text

Sometimes... Sometimes it's not enough.

Sometimes you gotta take precautions, else you'll stumble into a whole ass portal into the worst Purgatory born from this damn show.

#w*ncest dni #please #for your sake and mine (but mostly mine)#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #ao3 #fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fics #spn fic #QUEUErstuvwxyz

100 notes · View notes

stillwinchester · 1 year

Note

Sorry if you've answered something like this before, but could you link some destiel fics you recommend? :)

I'm constantly forgetting to bookmark fics, but I think I'll find a few! And never be sorry about sending me ask! :)

Dream a Little Dream of Me by blackimpala - I love all djinn fics, but this one have a twist in it!

Someone Who's Feeling For Me by ellispark - Dean meets Lisa after 6 years, lots of jealousy from Cas and Dean' sides. Fic with a case in the background.

Sleeping Beauty by Leocante - Title says everything. Cas is cursed and Dean needs to fix him!

Mickey Blue Eyes by WaywardAF67 - Jealous Dean. Mick Davies ships it!

The Frenching Mistake by fellshish - I love all fics written by fells! This one is 15x18 alternative ending.

Twenty Dollars by NorthernSparrow - Human!Cas, angst, explicit. Read warnings before!

Wings to Dance by SundayZenith - Cas as a dance teacher, and Dean who needs to prepare for Sam wedding. Very sweet fic (with a little moving moments). And I made art for this!

#fic rec #fic reccomendations #destiel fics #deancas fic #spn fics #spn rec #supernatural fics #destiel rec #ask #nonny #supernatural #spn #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #deancas

160 notes · View notes

cashorrors · 2 months

Text

genfics!!!! Check it out and if anyone has fics you think I should read, send them to me

#spn #supernatural #spn fics #supernatural fics #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural fic recs #spn fic recs

32 notes · View notes

caplanbuckybarnes · 21 days

Text

Saving You

Summary:

Going to the supermarket should have just been precisely that: a shopping spree. But everything changed when you were kidnapped and thrown into prison for days on end. The torture stops one fateful day when an officer comes to your rescue.