#and then he turns around and not only eats his burger but cas's burger too and opens up to cas and even asks him to kill him which whoa.

[deanwasalwaysbi]

Matt Baume about Dynasty being the only show on the air at the time with a gay main character: "On a show where the straight characters are constantly getting naked in bed together, the closest the gay characters are allowed to get is this one moment in what looks like a pizza hut"

Me: Wait.

"Dynasty was free to show Steven getting gay bashed, he just couldn't show a gay kiss."

#destiel #spn film studies #matt baume #dynasty #destiel parallels #okay this one is really a reach but my brain did the pattern thing #spn queercoding #okay we look at this scene over and over again but we dont talk about the fact that dean wasn't eating and would not be honest with sam #and then he turns around and not only eats his burger but cas's burger too and opens up to cas and even asks him to kill him which whoa. #and yes - those ships were added to the restaurant just for this scene. which is fully insane. #i still need an explanation from wanek or dabb and i need it to be a gay one #original content #destiel nonsense #i went off in the tags #stephen slept with both men and women until the network tried to make him a straight sex symbol soooooo

[t00muchheart]

I just hit My Bloody Valentine on the ol’ rewatch and Famine’s exchange with Dean is never not one of the most gut-wrenching character moments for me. I’ve always seen it as saying “Dean doesn’t have a craving, he’s empty,” but I have some other thoughts this time around.

Famine feeds on people’s desires; he takes hunger and makes it into starvation, turns things from wants to needs in a way. Things that fill people up become poison to them through excess; appreciation and enjoyment becomes raw consumption.

And then there’s Dean, who Famine can’t seem to affect—because, according to Famine, there’s nothing inside him: he’s dead inside, and nothing can fill that void. Now, earlier in the episode, Dean claims to Cas that this doesn’t affect him because he feeds himself as needed—he satiates his own desires. That seems fully out of line with what Famine is saying, which implies that it’s bravado or arrogance, but I think there’s some truth in this, too: none of the excess that Famine is using with the rest of the town will work on him because Dean has tried it, and he knows for a fact that all it can be is a distraction from his bigger issues.

Which brings me to my thought about what Dean’s craving is. Throughout this episode, we see Dean turn down his normal desires. He doesn’t go out for Valentine’s day for alcohol or to pick up women, he doesn’t eat his burger. In other words, he’s rejecting those distractions from the dead-ness or nothingness he feels inside him—and I think it’s because that feeling itself is Dean’s craving. Over and over again, Dean has expressed exhaustion at the path they’re on, he has just spoken to Michael and been told that free will is a farce, and as instinctively as he rejects that, I think a part of him wants to give in, to let go. To stop fighting and let himself drown in the hopelessness. And this episode, he’s headed there as surely as Cas is headed toward filling himself with beef or Sam with demon blood, only he’s doing it by letting go of the things he uses as defenses against it, flimsy as they are.

To me, that’s what makes him such a good victim for Famine. Because Dean is ready to give in, I think, when Famine is talking to him. He’s helpless, Cas has been taken in, Sam isn’t there. It’s hopeless, and Dean can’t do anything to push it down. He doesn’t have buffers left.

And at the end of the epusode, after Sam takes Famine down, Dean is drinking again. But as surely as Sam’s exposure to the demon blood impacted him, Dean’s moment of giving into the hopelessness got to him, and we see it in that haunting final scene, where he prays, begs for help from above, because that hopelessness was brought further forward than he usually lets it be, and he can’t quite push it back down.

#spn #supernatural #dean winchester #spn meta #dean studies #dean meta #dean winchester character study #dean winchester meta #my bloody valentine #spn 5x14 #supernatural meta

[lazarus-rose]

For @dreampencil

It was two days after Jack dropped Cas back on Earth that Dean told him.

Sam had left to spend the weekend with Eileen (later, Cas found out that he had done this at Dean’s request) so it was just the two of them, the man and the angel, left in the bunker. Dean made dinner for them (his homemade burgers, because he knew how much Cas loved them) and insisted they eat in the Deancave while watching a film. Cas had been unable to really take in much of the movie because, a few minutes in, Dean put an arm around his shoulders.

Cas can still remember the way his grace had sung at the contact while his body stiffened. He had turned to look at Dean only to find the man staring resolutely at the TV, his face looking unusually pink. Cas spent the whole movie watching Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Dean didn’t look at Cas until the credits began to roll. He glanced at him, blushing even more when he saw Cas was watching him. He cleared his throat before turning the TV off and turning to face him. He twisted his hands anxiously in his lap before reaching out and taking one of Cas’ hands in his.

Electricity danced under Cas’ skin, both figuratively and literally. He was out of practice with his full power and it was taking most of his remaining concentration to keep it from bursting out of him.

He could feel Dean’s soul, pulsing through his skin, Cas’ grace wrapping around it automatically and rejoicing at the feel of it. He could feel the callouses on Dean’s hands, rough against his palms. Both his physical body and his angelic one longed for Dean.

“Cas, I…” Dean looked away, his tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. He met Cas’ eyes again before continuing, “About what you said-”

“Dean, you don’t have-”

“Just, listen for a sec, okay?” Dean said, his hands tightening around Cas’. “I need to say this.” He took a deep breath. “Me too, Cas,” he said. “I love you too.”

Time seemed to slow. Cas felt like he was stuck between one breath and the next, suspended in this impossible moment.

His grace was the first thing to respond. Cas didn’t even notice the lights in the room growing brighter or the humming sound that accompanied the increased radiance. He only had eyes for Dean, just like back in the dungeon, when he had poured his heart out for the man he had fallen for.

Dean flinched suddenly, and then the room was plunged into darkness. It took Cas a second to realise that his grace had caused the lights to explode. He felt himself blushing in embarrassment as he pulled his grace back inside him, ashamed to have lost control.

He could feel Dean staring at him, could see the gleam of his eyes in the dark. And then the man chuckled.

“That was you, right?”

“Y-you love me?” Cas couldn’t focus on anything else.

Dean grew solemn again. “Yeah, I do.” When Cas didn’t respond, Dean tried to pull his hand back, but Cas latched onto his fingers, unwilling to let him go. Dean laughed again. “Dude, just…” He pulled his hands back gently and then reached out, blind in the darkness, until his searching fingers found Cas’ cheek.

Their first kiss was just as electric as the confession it followed. Cas was sure that, if the lightbulbs in the room weren’t already gone, they would have exploded again.

As time went on and their relationship progressed, Cas’ control of his powers got somewhat better around Dean, but it still wasn’t great. Dean loved seeing Cas unintentionally unleash his powers and sometimes deliberately went out of his way to make Cas lose control.

“Dean,” the angel warned him when he felt Dean’s fingers curling through his hair. The two of them were on their bed and Cas had his head resting in Dean’s lap.

“What?” Dean said innocently.

Cas opened his eyes and looked up at Dean, trying to appear stern. “You know what.”

Dean just smiled down at him before he began running his fingers through Cas’ hair. Cas could feel his grace responding, flowing out of his body and seeking out his beloved, radiating happiness and power. He didn’t protest again, even when he felt the power grow, spreading throughout the room and seeking out other sources of energy.

Cas sighed with both pleasure and resignation as the lights around them exploded. He looked up at Dean.

“Your eyes are glowing again,” the man told him, his hand moving to frame his face.

The grace shining through Cas’ eyes was enough to illuminate Dean’s cheeky grin.

“We’re going to have to replace the lightbulbs again,” Cas reminded him.

“Worth it,” Dean said. He leaned down and brushed their lips together briefly. “You know you’re awesome, right?”

Cas smiled. “So you’ve told me.”

#lazarus writes #destiel #fanfic #ficlet #fluff #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #destiel drabble

[youchangedmedestiel]

I wrote this little ficlet (available on AO3 too) for Valentine's Day, it's called "Just a small green ball":

Dean is in the kitchen of the bunker. He is in a good mood, humming led zeppelin’s songs while cooking. Sam and Eileen took Jack out of the bunker for few days but based on the quantity of food Dean already made in less than two hours, no one would think there are only two here, and even less that one is a human and the other an angel that doesn’t really eat.

He is flipping the pancakes he prepared when he feels a strong and warm body pressing against his back, arms wrapping around his waist.

“Hello, Dean.” The gravely and familiar voice whispers into his ear, triggering goosebumps on his neck and arms and a smile. Then soft and tender lips kiss him on his pulse point. “Are you really that hungry?”

“No, I’m not.” Dean answers like he is hiding something, that’s when he feels that warm touch leaving. He turns around and faces Cas, looking at him with squinted eyes and his head tilted.

“Dean, why did you cook all these?” Cas asks, his eyes wandering on the kitchen counter. There is an apple pie, already cooked pancakes on the left and raw pancakes dough on the right with PB&J sandwiches. But this is not all, ingredients to cook burgers are also visible and probably even more are in the fridge.

“I have a gift for you.” Dean explains, smiling widely, as he fidgets the pocket of his jeans. “Ta da.” He exclaims, holding a little red wooden box between them. “Open it.” He tells Cas, who is looking at the box, puzzled. The angel takes it and does as told.

“Dean, what’s that?” Cas asks, his head is not tilted anymore but he looks at Dean questioningly.

“I’ve been looking for it for a looong time. And I finally found it. I was thinking that today might be a good day to give you this gift. Since, you know –“ Dean says, acting goofily, but Cas rolls his eyes. He still doesn’t know what this one small green ball is for.

“I know it’s Valentine’s Day, Dean. Isn’t that why Sam and Eileen left the bunker with Jack for few days? Because you know –“ Cas stops and lifts his arms, then adds “we were ‘celebrating it too loudly’ last year”, using the air quotes. Dean’s cheeks turn slightly pinkish remembering the reason for the loud noises last year. He swallows hard.

“Eat it.” Dean orders, he can’t wait any longer, for the next part of the surprise.

“You want me to eat the ball?” Cas asks, and Dean looks at him like he expects him to realize the innuendo, but he never does and in a way he thinks that makes it even funnier. At least it makes him feel fonder of Cas. Dean nods, looking at Cas lovingly. With that gaze, he could make Cas do anything, even if the angel doesn’t really need that to do everything for Dean. Cas swallows the ball. “What now?”

“Come, sit here.” Dean leads Cas to the kitchen’s table by grabbing his arm and Cas lets himself be dragged where Dean wants. Cas settles while Dean grabs the PB&J sandwiches on the counter and brings them to the table. He looks excited and Cas still doesn’t understand why but he smiles, because he loves seeing him happy. Though he knows PB&J’s could do that to someone, because he used to feel like this when he was a human and could taste them. He still misses them.

Dean pushes the plate towards Cas. “Eat.” He offers, smiling proudly. They sure look good, and Cas would love to do that, but they are just going to taste like molecules. He can’t refuse though, not when Dean looks at him like that with big wide eyes, he looks like the child he was never allowed to be. Cas grins at him and picks one up. Dean watches him expectantly as Cas leads it slowly to his mouth and takes a bite. Suddenly, Dean sees Cas’s eyes open widely in shock.

“Dean,” he exults, his mouth full.

“I know,” Dean nods, smiling. He did good on this one and feels proud when he sees how Cas takes one bite after another with really breathing. “Easy tiger, slow down.” Dean chuckles.

“But Dean, I can taste it, like human taste it.” Cas observes, then adds “How is that even possible?” Cas asks, picking up another sandwich.

“That green ball is responsible for it.” Dean explains, as he takes one sandwich for himself.

“I guessed that. Where did you find it?” Cas asks, his mouth filled again with peanut butter and jelly.

“I’m not going to reveal all my little secrets.”

“I guess I’ll have to make you spit it out then.” Cas says, smirking.

“Right.” Dean answers, and swallows hard. “But first we've got a big and tasty day ahead of us. You should try my burgers.” Dean says as he gets up and walks toward the kitchen.

Later, now that they are settle in the Dean cave in front of a movie to digest every meal Dean prepared, he needs to know, “so what’s your favorite meal then? Pie? I’m sure it’s pie? Or burgers? I did them real good today.” Dean shifts in Cas’s arms, because he wants to look at him when he answers.

“You, Dean.” Cas throws.

“I – huh –“ Dean’s cheeks turn really pink this time, it’s even perceivable with only the TV screen’s light on. Dean doesn’t have time to say more that Cas’s lips take possession of his in a hungry - despite all this food - and heated kiss.

#destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #happy valentine's day #happy wedding anniversary #here's a little ficlet to celebrate #and think about them #in love #together #happy #as they deserve #writing fanfiction #that gift could come from a witch hunt #or from rowena's collection #and dean would have asked sam to be sure he could make others #before giving this gift to cas #like that they could have more days like this #it's just a thought #I add this idea before falling asleep last night #i hope you'll like it #my destiel fanfic

[shallowseeker]

Dean's farewell tour + avoiding Cas, Part 3

SPN 14x11, 14x12, 14x14:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

So, despite Dean saying that Sam is the only one who can talk him out of the coffin plan at the end of 14x11, his actions speak differently: A whole-ass episode later, and he's still actively avoiding Cas and Jack.

For starters, Dean has probably convinced himself that he cannot tell Jack, both because of the parental dynamic between them and the immense guilt this would trigger in Jack for not defeating Michael in Apocalypse-World. (Michael has been Jack's primary nemesis, remember.)

Cas

Meanwhile, Sam would rather Cas work on research than approach Dean, who he has judged as hopeless. Sam might even be right in his assumption, but he's also not emotionally keying into why Dean may be avoiding Cas and Jack in the first place. He's not recognizing that Dean's avoidant actions speak louder than words.

Sam misses the meaning when Dean says seeing Cas might make him "too shaky," although Sam muses that that might be a "good thing."

Instead, Sam falls back on books and spells as solution, and Sam encourages Cas to be their analytical lore-hound instead (14x12):

///

Yet, when the inevitable Dean-Cas confrontation comes to a head, Sam braces for impact, like he knows this could become...something. Maybe even something explosive or...awkward. Sam is at least a little aware at this point that their fights can be...weird:

Aw, Cas is exhausted, but he's mustering up some care and support. On screen, Dean seems puzzled, maybe even a little flustered.

Dean, looks over at Sam, who fidgets. This is completely different to how Sam felt around tattling to Mary. Here, Sam is nervous. Then, Dean totally, "We'll talk about this later's" Cas. It's even played a bit for laughs.

Anway, Dean is SUPER annoyed with Sam. This reads as an outsized reaction, given his recent affection for Donna, warmth for his mom, despondant fatalism with Sam, and of course, the Mr. Miyagi-style, life-has-passed-me-by-and-I've-made-peace-with-that emotive speeches for everyone else.

Tattling to Cas is different.

Dean: (annoyed) Sure. Had to.

Why the unnecessary tension here?

///

The recovery of Donatello

14x12 is also an interesting story, because it deals with Donatello, the prophet that Sam and Cas determined could not be salvaged due to combined tablet corruption and soul damage.

This was very specifically a Dean-Cas schism back in 13x14 Good Intentions, and it was an important human-angel schism in terms of battle strategy.

///

When they go visit "Uncle Donny," there are very painful, coded conversations around letting go which allow Sam and Dean to snipe passive-aggressively at one another. Then, hilariously, Cas inserts himself into the fray. He's, as Chuck might say, just too stubborn.

Dean immediately gets catty, but we note the solemn implication that Cas has checked in on Donatello "a few times." Perhaps, he's even been quietly checking on Donatello since he brain-melted him. Aw.

It's turning into a weird fight right outta the gate. Again, Dean totally, "We'll talk about this later's" Cas, like he doesn't want to get vulnerable in public, like theirs are the type of fights that should be had in private.

And here we have the crux of the issue: Dean's getting emotional. “This is exactly what he'd been hoping to avoid.”

But as the audience knows, Dean has been "getting emotional" and spillin' his guts in regretful, eloquent speeches for two damn episodes now.

The implication is that this is different.

(Or else he and Cas would be binging a dumb cowboy movie, eating pizza, and you're the best friend we ever had-ing right about now. At the very least, they'd do a Donna-style burger outing.)

So how is it different?

///

Dean: This isn't easy for me either.

Cas: So then...this is goodbye?

The two share an awkward beat.

Why did the prospect of goodbye trigger an AWKWARD beat here?

Arguably, it shouldn't be. Cas had reasonably little issue issuing a low-level knights' dying speech with, "I love you, I love all of you," when he was dying from Michael's spear. Much earlier than that, Dean said I love you I need you in the crypt.

At minimum, if Dean is following the pattern for the rest of the fam, Dean should have a readymade one-armed hug and a canned brother-in-arms speech ready to go.

But he can't, because in this scenario, there is enough time to act on feelings, even for a night or two, and Dean might even want that.

They're at least subconsciously aware of what a goodbye could trigger in themselves--something desperate. Something they might give into. That's why it's awkward.

///

#spn 14x11 #spn 14x12 #my takes #spn scripts

[goosedoesathink]

I forced an ai to read a bunch of supernatural fanfiction and write one of its own. This is what it wrote.

Sam and Dean Winchester, along with Castiel and Crowley, are stuck on a plane together. The boys have been trying to figure out how to get off the plane for hours now. It's almost time for the flight attendant to start serving drinks and snacks again. Sam has had enough of this crap. He decides to take action.

"Hey Cas," he says, "why don't you try your angelic powers? Maybe we can make it disappear."

Cas looks at him like he's an idiot. "I'm not going to use my powers to change reality."

Dean nods his head in agreement. "Right. That would be bad."

Crowley, who is sitting across from them, takes this opportunity to pipe up. "I think that's a great idea! I'll bet I could do it!"

The other three look at him. "You want to try?" Sam asks incredulously.

"Sure! Why not? What could possibly go wrong?"

Sam turns back to Cas. "What did you say about changing reality?"

Cas sighs. "Look, I'm sorry, but there are certain rules that apply to angels when they're around humans."

"Like what?" Dean asks impatiently.

"Well, one of those rules is that if an angel uses his or her powers, it creates an echo effect. So basically, whatever power they used will cause a similar reaction somewhere else."

Dean furrows his brow. "So you mean...like a ripple effect?"

Cas nods.

"And the same goes for us demons," Crowley adds.

Sam looks at him curiously. "Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"Because you wouldn't have believed me," he replies.

"What about the plane?" Sam presses. "Can we just make it disappear?"

Cas shakes his head. "Not without breaking a few more rules."

"Well then what do we do?" Dean demands.

"We wait," Cas answers.

"For what?" Sam asks.

"Until the flight attendant comes by with our food."

"But she hasn't come back yet," Sam points out.

"She will," Cas assures him. "It's only a matter of time."

Dean glares at Cas. "Why can't you just make it disappear now?"

"Because if I did, the passengers would notice," Cas explains. "Then they'd start asking questions and eventually someone would call the Air Marshal.”

"Fine," Dean snaps. "Just keep us occupied until she gets here."

"No problem," Cas says, flashing Dean a smile. "How about a game of cards?"

"Deal me in," Dean grumbles.

The flight attendant finally makes her way down the aisle toward their row. She smiles as she approaches them. "Hi guys. How are you doing today?"

"Pretty good," Dean answers. "Thanks for asking."

"Yeah, sure thing," Cas chimes in.

"And you?" she asks Sam.

"I'm fine too," he answers.

"Great," she says. "Would you like anything to drink or eat?"

"I'll have a Diet Coke," Dean tells her.

"Me too," Cas agrees.

"And you?" she asks Sam.

"A Sprite please," he responds.

"Very good," she says, handing each of them their beverages. "Anything else I can get you?"

"Yes," Dean replies. "I'd also like a cheeseburger and fries."

"We don’t serve that," she says, flabbergasted. "That's not even on the menu."

"You know what?" Dean growls. "You can keep my soda and my burger. I'm gonna go find something to eat myself."

He unbuckles his seatbelt and gets ready to stand up.

The flight attendants eyes turn black, revealing that she is a demon.

"Don't move," she warns.

"You know what?" Dean snaps. "I'm not moving."

"That's right," the demon laughs. "Sit down. Stay where you are."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean says, still standing. "You're gonna try and stop me?"

"Not really," she admits, her eyes are now blue. "But I am going to ask you nicely to sit back down."

"What's your name?" Dean asks.

"I'm Tessa," she answers.

"Well, Tessa, I'm not in the mood to play games."

"Then why don't you just sit down?"

“Because you need to die.” Dean shouts.

Tessa lets out a bloodcurdling scream as she leaps over Sam to get to Dean. Dean dodges her attack, grabbing hold of her wrist and yanking her arm behind her back. He slams her into the seat next to him, causing it to buckle under the impact.

"Ow!" Tessa cries, rubbing her arm.

"Let me go!"

"Sorry, but no," Dean replies. "You're gonna tell us how to get off this plane if you don’t want to die!”

"What are you talking about?" Tessa asks, struggling against Dean's grip.

"Come on," he taunts, tightening his grip. "You know what I'm talking about. You're a demon.”

Suddenly the plane runs into bad turbulence. Dean glances out the window and sees that the clouds have grown dark and ominous.

"You're right," Tessa says, sounding defeated. "I am a demon. But you're not getting off this plane.

The engines on the left wing of the plane explode.

Dean shoots up in bed, and furiously looks around.

Sam, Castiel, and Crowley look over at Dean.

Dean, being witty, says “What are you guys doing up so early?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. "We were having a nightmare."

"Mine was worse than yours," Dean tells him.

“Omega Mart is closed today.” Crowley informs him.

Dean, now out of bed shuffles up to Sam and plays with a lock of his hair.

“That just

“That just means me and Sam some finally have some alone time!” Dean says, playfully seductive.

Castiel not knowing what that means (Since he is an Angel), says “What do you mean?”

Dean smirks. "We're going to have sex."

Castiel looks at him with confusion.

“I mean, you know. We're going to have sex.” Dean clarifies.

Castiel's face turns red. "Oh, I see. Well, I guess that's all right then."

"Good," Dean says, taking Sam's hand and pulling him out of bed.

Crowley nods at Castiel “That means it’s time for us to go.”

"I thought you said you wanted to have a threesome today?" Dean asks, confused.

Crowley shrugs. "I lied."

"You lied?" Dean asks.

"I’m king of the hell of course I lied.”

Dean smiles. "I love you."

"I love you too," Crowley says, walking away.

"Wait, Crowley," Dean calls after him. "Where are you going?"

“Castiel and I have a Date.”

"Date?" Dean asks, perplexed.

"Yes. A date. You know, like you and Sam."

"A date?" Dean repeats. "A date? With Castiel?"

"Yes. I asked him out."

"Wow. That's great," Dean says, looking back at Sam. "We're gonna have sex now."

"Is that okay with you?" Sam asks, his voice trembling.

"Of course it is," Dean replies. "Now hurry up and get undressed. I'm horny."

"Okay," Sam says, as he stands up and starts to unbutton his shirt.

"Hey," Dean says, grabbing Sam's arm. "Why don't you just leave it on? It's sexy."

"Oh, thanks," Sam says, smiling shyly. "I'll remember that."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says. "Just hurry up and get naked."

"Hurry up and get naked?" Sam asks, confused. "Why are you always so impatient?"

"Because I'm horny!"

Sam rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed.

"Come on," Dean urges him. "Let's have sex."

"Okay," Sam says, lying down on the bed.

Dean lies down next to him and grabs Sam's dick.

"Ugh," Sam groans. "You're so rough."

"It's called being dominant," Dean scoffs. "Get used to it."

"It's not my fault you're such a brat," Sam says, reaching down to grab Dean's cock.

Dean looks at him and smiles. "I'm not a brat."

"Whatever," Sam says, stroking Dean's cock.

"I'm not a brat," Dean insists. "I'm just assertive."

"Assertive," Sam repeats. "You're so weird."

"Well, I'm not a brat!" Dean shouts.

"Fine," Sam says, releasing Dean's cock. "Just be assertive then."

"Fine," Dean says, sitting up. "I'll be assertive. Now shut up and let me get this done."

"Fine," Sam says, rolling onto his back.

"Are you sure?" Dean asks. "Because I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm sure," Sam assures him.

Dean kisses him.

Sam moans into his mouth. "Mmmmmm."

Dean pulls away. "So are you sure?"

"Yes," Sam says, running his hands through Dean's hair.

"You sure?" Dean asks again.

"Yes," Sam says, moaning softly.

"I don't want to hurt you," Dean whispers.

"I'm sure," Sam gasps. "Please don't stop."

"I won't," Dean promises. "I promise."

"Okay," Sam breathes. "Now please fuck me."

Dean slides down the bed, grabbing Sam's legs and spreading them apart. He rubs his cock along Sam's hole, teasing him.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Dean asks, his voice low and husky.

Sam nods.

Dean leans forward and kisses Sam.

Sam moans into his mouth.

Dean licks his lips. "You taste good."

"Yes," Sam sighs. "I do."

"Good," Dean purrs. "That makes me happy."

He reaches down between Sam's legs and guides himself inside him.

Sam groans as Dean pushes deep inside him.

"Oh, God," Sam moans. "That feels so good."

"I know," Dean replies, sliding in and out of him.

"Oh, God," Sam groans. "I'm gonna cum."

Dean moans as he thrusts harder and faster.

"I'm gonna cum too," Dean pants.

Sam cries out as he cums hard, filling Dean's ass with his seed.

Dean collapses on top of Sam. They lay there for a few moments, catching their breath.

"Wow," Sam says, grinning. "That was amazing."

"I know," Dean replies, kissing him.

"How did you learn to do that?" Sam asks, panting.

"Practice," Dean says. "Lots of practice."

"Can we do that again?" Sam asks.

"As many times as you want," Dean replies, rolling off of him.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #crowley #novelai #fanfic #the winchesters #wincest

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 301

Funeralla/Rosa

“Funeralla”

Plot Description: eager to find Gabriel, Sam, Dean, and Castiel consider some risky options. Rowena’s tampering with fate puts all of humanity in danger

Did I talk at all about how Gabe really and literally burned Azmodeus up? I feel like I didn’t and I feel like I should have

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I would NEVER make an enemy of Rowena, so she’d have no reason to kill me. I’d be more like the boy toy she had tagging along with her

Also Cas saying “Rowena’s right. You never go to parties” like….sir, do you remember what show we’re on?

Sorry, more Cas thoughts…babes, why do you think Dean wouldn’t know what a Hail Mary play is? Like…you only recently learned all human idioms. They had to create Jack to take your wide eyed, confused about humans place

Yes, Sammy, justify Rowena’s setting that rich woman ablaze. Join my side

Dean’s giving into too many bad ideas, I think

I like this angel that’s supposed to be guarding the gates of heaven. Oh no…he was being snarky to cover up how depressed he is and how little he believes anything matters anymore 😭

Nooooooooo. I’m glad Castiel is getting help from the angels but are they gonna try to put him in a leadership position again??

I sure hope nothing bad happens to this reaper. She’s apparently been keeping tabs on the boys since Dean almost died when Billie was revealed to be the new Death. She knows entirely too much about them (please don’t eat that three day old burger in your room, Dean. Please throw it out when you get back. NO! IT IS NOT FOR EMERGENCY CASES ONLY! IT IS FOR THE TRASH CAN, DEAN!!)

All-powerful Rowena is very hot

I can’t believe they’re summoning Jessica the reaper like she’s Siri or Janet from The Good Place

I have to know what Dean thinks is Ashton Kutcher’s best movie…

This is me officially turning my back on Sam forever no matter I say in his favor ever again. He’s destined to kill Rowena, and I can’t forgive that

THE WAY MY STOMACH TURNED HEARING NAOMI’S VOICE

Lmaoooo the angels lost their wings so long ago, Dean got unused to people just popping up in the backseat of his car

Hmmmmm…is Rowena trying to negotiate immortality for herself??

I did not realize the angel shortage was THAT DIRE. There’s about eleven left….anywhere, and that’s why heaven’s having power surges

God I love Rowena. Is she killing bad people in the pharmaceutical industry who lied about their product and hurt thousands of sick people? Yes…but she’s not doing it for the “right” reasons

Ohhhhhhhh, oh. She wants Crowley back 🥺 that’s why she’s trying to get Death’s attention

Bernard (Roro’s boy toy) is the most relatable character to me “she’s powerful, she’s gorgeous, and she’s paying me a small fortune. That woman didn’t have to cast a spell on me” I need him protected, but Dean’ll probably kill him :/

I love that she can stop witch killing bullets now 💖

Billie’s hands off policy for reapers is getting to be a liability for the boys. Rowena’s got Sam, and Dean could have gotten there sooner if Jessica could have helped him kill Bernard

Billie’s fair but….it still feels cruel.

It’s really off putting to hear that, in this universe where heaven and hell are very real places, “everything ends” includes heaven

Normally when you fight Death and lose, you die. But Rowena is special like that i guess

“Rosa”

Plot Description: the Doctor and her friends encounter a seamstress named Rosa Parks

Fuck that bus driver. Stole her money and drove off

1955 Alabama is…an interesting place to forget is very dangerous for Ryan to be running around with his modern sensibilities

It’s not often that the local police force of an American town is a potential hindrance for the Doctor and companions

Who is this dude following them around?! I know that’s not what the new Master looks like

Pfffffft, the Doctor insinuating she could be banksy

Omg Graham telling the officer he’s Steve Jobs

The optimism expressed in this show is nice and I have to remember that this is a family show because…otherwise I’d be a little too jaded for it

Why does this guy want to stop Rosa from being on that bus so badly??

To be fair, if we’re in a room with Rosa Parks and MLK, I’d have a hard time not constantly using their full names, too, Ryan

Oh. The guy who was trying to stop Rosa was just racist……not the most interesting motivation, especially since Ryan got rid of him pretty quickly and easily with the dude’s own vortex manipulator

Obviously living in the Jim Crow south is harder, but strictly speaking from a character perspective, it must be hard for Graham to be one of the white people on that bus. His recently deceased wife ADORED Rosa Parks to the point that on their first date, when she found out he was a bus driver, she made sure he wasn’t like the one who told Rosa to move. This must feel like he’s betraying her

But they kept history from being nudged so I guess that’s that

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

[shorkbrian]

I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately. 

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment. 

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way. 

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.” 

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie. 

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone. 

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed. 

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island.  It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words. 

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest. 

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face. 

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly. 

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it. 

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

#shouto #shouto todoroki #todoroki shouto #bnha shouto #yandere shouto #shouto x you #yandere #Yandere bnha #Yandere mha #sugar daddy lol #sugar daddy shouto #Shouto smut #Yandere shoto #shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #Shoto smut #tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #tw.coercion #tw.manipulation #tw.abuse of power #tw.abuse of trust

[chocolatecakecas]

Quality Family Time: Baby Jack ficlet

for the bah discord besties<3

In Dean's humble opinion, the week was off to a pretty good start. Sunday, he and Cas took Jack to the library and let him go wild in the children's section, then let him run off his "excitement about literature" in the park, ending with lunch at their favorite diner, which is Dean's humble opinion qualifies as a pretty great Sunday afternoon. And then Sammy and Eileen finished up their hunt earlier than expected, and they even brought back Claire and Kaia as a surprise. Meaning they got to all have a much-needed family dinner, movie night, and catch up with the girls. And they decided to stay for a few days, which meant extra babysitters, which really meant, he and Cas could have their date night this week. And of course it also meant Dean had a few days to just hang out with his family, watch some movies, watch his kids bond, run some stupid errands, cook some big meals. 

Now it was Wednesday, and Dean was spending the day with Eileen and Jack, while the others opted to help Sam with the supply run. Eileen was getting a movie queued up for Jack's nap, while Dean got a start on some laundry.  

(read the rest under the cut)

He was currently running out to the garage to grab the blanket he keeps folded in Baby's trunk, smiling fondly at the memory of Monday's date night.  

So yeah as far as Wednesdays go, Dean was having a pretty good one.

At least, he was.

Dean's stomach dropped as he flicked the lights on, barely registering the clang of his keys hitting the floor, standing frozen in the doorway.  

He's hallucinating, he must be. There's absolutely no way that-

He squeezed his eyes shut, counting to ten while he tried to will away the hallucination with his mind. But unfortunately for Dean, he didn't have that kind of mind power, because that thing was still sitting there when he opened his eyes.

Fuck.

Forcing his feet to move, Dean stepped further into the garage, reaching out a shaking hand as he inched forward. 

He'll just touch it and his hand will go through it, and he can blame this hallucination on that questionable burger he ate at some local joint they all went to last night. It'll be fi-

Dean's blood turned to ice as his hand connected with cool metal. He quickly jumped back in shock, jaw hitting the floor.

Because last time he checked, Dean didn't leave an 18 foot long Lightning McQueen sitting in his beloved Baby's parking spot. 

He tried to speak but all that came out was an incoherent squeak, as he raced around the car inspecting every inch of it.

He couldn't get any of the doors open or the hood for that matter, but as far as he could tell it seemed to be a real car, despite being a cartoon look-a-like. 

Well, at least it wasn't talking. 

"Ka-chow"

Dean slumped over onto the roof of the car, banging his head, fists following in defeat.

Because there was a Lightning McQueen look-a-like with a toy voice box, parked in the garage of their super top-secret underground Bunker, in place of one of his most prized possessions. 

Maybe he spoke too soon about having a pretty good Wednesday. 

Why is this happening? How did this thing get in here? Where is his Baby? Is she alright? Can he even get her back? How the hell did this ev-

Son of a bitch. 

"Jack!" Dean called, voice coming out more strangled than he'd care to admit. 

Of course. Cars had become Jack's new obsession over the past week, they first watched it on Friday night and he's insisted on watching it at least once a day ever since. 

Dean groaned scrubbing his hands down his face. There's truly never a dull moment with a half-Nephilim toddler. 

Jack probably didn't even realize what happened. Sometimes his powers react before his mind can catch up with them, like when he subconsciously made all of his toys come to life after Toy Story became his favorite movie. The kid probably didn't even know about the Cars wannabe parked in the garage, besides his kid would never tamper with Bab-

"Dee! You found Lightning!" 

Dean's jaw once again found its way back down to the floor. His own kid.

He turned to see his four-year-old come bounding into the garage, practically bursting with joy.

"What the hell"

Dean tore his gaze away from Jack to see Eileen frozen in the doorway, who's jaw also joined Dean's on the floor. 

"Look see it's just like Lightning, Dee!" Jack cheered as he ran over to check out the car, regaining Dean's attention.

"Uh...ye-yeah buddy. I-I can see that bu-" Dean began sounding pained, only to be cut off by Jack.

"It's a real car, Dee. You can drive it! And look I gots all the stickers on it too"

"Yeah kiddo, bu-"

"And it can talk too! It says all of Lightning's things! Do you like it Dee? Where you surprised?" Jack asked as he wrapped himself around Dean's legs, smiling up at him without a care in the world.

Dean still mostly in shock, glanced up at Eileen who looked to be in the same boat, except she was holding back barely contained laughter. 

Great no help from his best friend, traitor. So Dean shakily knelt down placing his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"Listen, Squirt. I was definitely surprised. But yo-"

"Oh my god"

Dean's head jerked up to see Sam, Cas, Claire, and Kaia now standing with Eileen in the doorway, dropped grocery bags spilling out onto the floor. All of them too stunned to move, except for Cas who luckily must have noticed the distress in Dean's eyes.

"Jack, Baby. What is this?" Cas asked, quickly making his way over to them, quickly kneeling down beside Dean.

"I made Baby into Lightning! Ta da!"

"Wait, that thing is my Baby?" Dean asked voice cracking. 

And of course, that's what did it.

Sam doubled over in laughter, Eileen, Claire, and Kaia quickly following, and Cas was beside him, clearly trying to conceal his laughter.

"God this is the best thing I've ever seen" Sam wheezed in the background, and if Dean weren't still reeling he'd walk right over and punch him. 

Cas placed a grounding hand on Dean's shoulder, all while trying to bite back his smile. Well, Dean appreciated the gesture, at least he was trying to be considerate, unlike some people he knew.

"Bug, do you remember what Daddy and I told you about using your powers?" Cas begins, trying and failing to sound stern.

"That I can't make my toys be alive! And I didn't Baby isn't alive, and she's not even a toy!" Jack explains with a smile. 

"Yea-yeah Squirt, but the second part of that little talk was that you shouldn't use your powers unless you ask Daddy, or me, or Uncle Sammy or Aunt Eileen, remember?" Dean supplied after he finally got his gears spinning again.

"Ooooohhh. Oops, sorry!"Jack shrugs and he even had half a mind to at least look a little bit sorry, but it's drowned out by another fresh wave of laughter.

"I'm so glad we decided to stay longer, does stuff like this happen all the time?" Kaia laughed behind him, as Claire wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Oh I'm so glad my distress is amusing to all of you!" Dean shot back, voice still a little unsteady, which only caused them to laugh harder. Cas met his eyes, as he squeezed his shoulder, scooting closer.

"Squirt it's okay, just uh don't do it again....now where exactly is the real Baby?" Dean asked cutting right to the chase, not missing the look Cas gave him for glossing over the whole "don't use your powers without asking" lesson.

But there was time for that later, because right now his Baby was currently a firetruck red cartoon racecar with eyes.

"That is Baby. I just made her look like that, it's her. See!" Jack explained jumping up and dragging Dean over. Everyone else followed suit, Sam giving him a shit eating grin as he handed Dean the discarded keys.

To Dean's surprise, the key unlocked the car just like baby, and the interior looked exactly the same.

"Wow kid, this is honestly pretty cool" Claire complimented with a low whistle, which earned her a death glare from Dean, only making her laugh harder.

Unbelievable. All of his kids have it out for his car today.

Dean heaved a sigh as he watched his family examine every inch of the car, not bothering to hold back their laughter at this point.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing we didn't watch How to Train Your Dragon" Cas quipped wrapping Dean in his arms as he pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Dean flopped over and laid his forehead on Cas's shoulder, letting a soft laugh escape.

"Yeah well, at least my car wouldn't have been caught in the crossfire" Dean groaned back, feeling Cas' laugh rumble in his chest.

"Yes I know this is a tragedy, clearly the real live dragons would have caused less damage-well less emotional damage anyway"

"Woah, look at that, he's got jokes. Alright everyone step away from the racecar" Dean smirked, yelling that last bit as he pushed away from Cas' chest. He made his way over to Jack who was currently in the driver's seat (keys nowhere near the ignition of course), showing everyone how the horn says McQueen catchphrases now.

"Alright Houdini, while the Lightning McQueen trick was very cool, and we've reminded you that we don't use powers unless we ask. It's time to turn him back into Baby, capiche?" Dean said in the most no-nonsense tone he could manage as he kneelt down to Jack's level.

And of course Dean's very logical, very simple, very warranted request resulted in an uproar from his family.

"Wait you aren't even gonna take it for a spin?"

"You've literally got thee Lightning McQueen sitting in your garage"

"Dean c'mon one dri-"

"Nope. Not happening. Now way am I driving that thing" Dean cut in, flinging his arms out for emphasis and effectively silencing the traitor-his family.

Then he felt a little tug on his shirt.

"Please Dee? One time, then I change Baby back?" Jack asked with his best puppy dog eyes, and Dean quickly made a mental note to kick Sam's ass for teaching him that.

And as he slowly tilted his head back up, he was met with four pleading faces, all hovering around the car He desperately turned his gaze towards Cas knowing he'd be the voice of reason, he'd neve-

"Well, it would be a waste not to take the car for at least one ride" Cas shrugged almost sheepishly, barely hiding his grin. Dean stared back into his eyes trying to will him to change his mind, but he knew it was pointless.

Dean sighed his defeat, running a hand down his face. Damnit

"Fine, one drive-and I mean one. Twenty minutes tops" He shouted, throwing his hands in air in exasperation as everyone cheered.

And when Dean found himself driving back to the bunker four hours later, he and failed tried to hid his smile. He glanced in the mirror at Claire and Jack passed out, while Kaia and Sam held a whispered conversation in the magically (which Jack may or may not have had a hand in) stretched out backseat. Eileen turned in the front seat joining the conversation, as Cas sat in the middle, pressed up against Dean.

Cas gave his hand a squeezing, shooting him a knowing smile, which only earned a nudge from Dean.

So yeah, maybe Dean did almost have a heart attack earlier in the day. And maybe he did have to let a bunch of annoying people in the next town over pose for pictures with the car when they stopped for dinner. And maybe the horn said "Ka-chow" and "I am speed". And maybe the drive was more than twenty minutes. But in Dean's humble opinion, it was still a pretty good Wednesday after all.

Lightning McQueen be damned.

Tag list pt 1:

@wormstacheangel @smiledean @chaoticdean @midnightwings-deancas @jellydeans @sunshine-jack @archervale @wikiangela @subbydean @organicpurplepants @you-cant-spell-subtext-without

@tkdwolf2012 @doemons-blog @rolling-stoned-girl @skylerkernaghan @icefire149 @dakiaty @seffersonjtarship @angeltiddies @feraldean @teamfreebees @keshetcas @jewishdeanwinchester @martymar1963 @midnight-sparks-studio @aestheticflyer26

@athenixrose @slipper007 @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @winchester-novak @lyonessrampant @thiscowboyisbisexual @carverera @milfcodeddean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie

#a very normal fic. nothing weird here at all #very normal<3 #i actually think im really funny #im fine<33333 #nothing strange. just baby jack and a fambly #bec writes #baby jack truthing #destiel fic #destiel #plantdadcas #dean winchester #seraphcastiel #rambleoncas #userzaddy #uservilma

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

outsider pov deancas, 2.4k, based after the good finale. for @bloodsigilsandpie <3

"it's happening."

natasha returns to the kitchen, her otherwise suppressed glee betrayed by the glint in her eyes as she declares to the entire room. "they're on a date."

chloe's the first to react, or rather, the spoons in her hand that promptly drop back into the foam are. "no way."

"way." farah rushes close to natasha, gushing. "did they tell you?"

natasha sniffs, depositing the plates in the sink with her back turned to her eager audience.

"do you think they told me?"

she doesn't wait for an answer, turning around and leaning back against the counter.

"of course they didn't tell me. but i," she smirks. "i could tell."

"oh, you could tell." hutch repeats mockingly, and a few others snicker. "nat, we're talking about the trenchcoat dude who never smiles, and big-car-black-coffee-loyal-to-the-pie guy. no one has ever been able to tell anything with those two. and they don't look anything more than unlikely work friends to me either."

"unlikely work friends don't look at each other like that!" farah chastises immediately.

"fine. unlikely work friends with repressed homosexual urges from the 80's."

"hutch, if you're going to insult my date-dar, do it to my face!" natasha scowls, earning herself another eyeroll and a defensive palms-up gesture from the skeptic sous-chef.

"he literally just did." chloe mutters, ever the devil's advocate, before farah interrupts. she'd always been their resident 'trenchcoat dude who never smiles and big-car-black-coffee-loyal-to-the-pie guy' shipper. there tend to be one of those for all such couples the waitstaff discusses on the regular, really.

"so, how can you tell? what's different?"

"well for one," natasha grins. "trenchcoat dude's not wearing his trenchcoat."

a commotion of gasps come up from arguably most stations of the kitchen — even those who weren't a part of the discussion before.

"is it on the back of his chair? did car-guy help him take it off?" farah instantly pipes up, her eyes wide and hopeful. (hutch and her are the newest waiters, natasha remembers with a midge of distaste. sometimes it's too obvious.)

"no. it's nowhere in sight." she admits, eyebrows raised.

"maybe it ripped." that's hutch.

"maybe he finally realized that thing was doing nothing for him." dallas. everybody knows he's got a thing for trench coat dude though, so nobody bats an eye.

"maybe car-guy told him." chloe shrugs.

"hey, maybe somebody else did." hutch again.

"that's not the point." natasha butts in. "car-guy's better dressed too. i don't know much about old people fashion — chloe, if you don't stop looking at me like that — but i think ascots are supposed to be fancy."

"he wore a what —" several voices echo, and just then, freya enters the kitchen, beaming. (second year at the diner, loads of tattoos, and has a lovely girlfriend at the domino's across the street. natasha likes her.)

"you guys'll never guess what happened."

hutch and dallas sigh in unison, and farah giggles a little. "you won't guess what happened here either!"

"me first. trenchcoat dude and car-guy are on a date."

chloe snorts, picking up two prepared plates of food from one of the side chef's stations, and setting off out the door freya just entered from. important to find a job-gossip balance and all that.

natasha turns to the new informant. "what did you see?"

"car-guy asked trenchcoat what he wanted for dessert." freya beams.

"this just in, men can learn manners." hutch inputs before exiting with his own tray.

"car-guy might always order the pie but it looks mutual!" farah points out indignantly but he's gone already.

nevermind, he'll be back in five.

"and what did trenchcoat say?" natasha asks, ignoring the other two.

"milkshake," freya replies, writing it on a post-it as she says it.

"one shake, two straws." farah gasps. "come on, frey. tell me it was one shake, two straws."

"two shakes, two straws." she scribbles away.

"maybe they're gonna share both." farah quickly supplies.

"nobody does that, farah." dallas retorts, and natasha makes a face at him, not willing to kill the former's hopes just yet. farah tends to get this forlorn look on her face when things go wrong — and it always reminds natasha of her dead cousin.

she clears her throat.

"look, it can be a date without the shared milkshake, people." a few thoughtful sounds come up, the gates swing, and chloe walks back in. "plus, we've still got all the staring, the lingering looks over the menu, the soulful eyefu —"

"but that's everyday, nat." freya sighs.

"it's different today —"

"— you know it isn't —"

"— and i can prove it." natasha finishes, earning herself looks of surprise from almost everyone around. she can, though. the diner's got a valentines discount on milkshakes all month, she can approach them about it. trenchcoat and car-guy don't have to know it's not just for couples. and on the (really, really) offchance that they aren't one, natasha could always just minus the discount from the total anyway and no one would be the wiser.

the idea had just come to her but she was fairly sure she could swing it.

farah had already picked up a tray with two soup bowls and a dish of croutons, but she puts it down, and replaces the to-be-forlornness with excitement. "how?"

"i'll," natasha smirks again. "talk to them."

another round of gasps. in this kitchen, the people were nothing if not dramatic.

this time, freya's the one who asks, "how?"

"well, i haven't waitressed for twelve years just to go about rattling off trade secrets, kids." natasha winks, and a few of them make indignant noises because only about one third of the staff was what could broadly be called new. most of them had been there for years, and were practically a part of her family now. but she picks up her own tray smoothly, conveniently having been slid to her counter just then, and sets off — to an audience of hopeful believers (and dallas)'s matching stares.

(natasha isn't exactly free of the flair for drama she'd just accused everyone in this kitchen of.)

once outside, she makes a beeline for the table her tray is actually for, leaves them it, and quickly heads for the infamous trenchcoat and car-guy table.

this is so going to work.

"so then i cut his —" car-guy stops mid-sentence, spotting her. a part of natasha seethes to know what he 'cut off', but being fodder for the kitchenstaff's are-they-dating games didn't take away their rights to privacy, and she respected those. the car-guy smiles shortly at her. "what's the matter," his eyes flick down to her nametag, flick right back. (definitely a good sign; most men linger.) "natasha?"

she puts on her best smile. "it's about the milkshakes."

"is there a problem?" car-guy eases into a wider smile. "do you not have them, not a single one, and do we have to order pie instead?"

car-guy's partner shakes his head exasperatedly. "dean, i hardly think that's what she'd be here about."

"well, a guy's gotta dream." car-guy — dean — instantly says, and goes back to his burger while trenchcoat speaks up instead.

"what's the matter?"

natasha doesn't let her smile budge. it's a hell of a customer service smile, she's been told. "i actually came here to ask if you would like me to add the date dessert discount on the milkshake. it's an all-february thing. not on all items." she clarifies, a reflexive response for why it hasn't come up before.

genius.

dean looks a little cornered — trenchcoat just looks confused.

"i don't understand." he says, after a moment's pause. "the milkshakes cost less just if dean and i are here on a date...?"

"it's not —" she balks a little at his seriousness. "it's actually not that big of a difference."

"that's...alright." trenchcoat tilts his head, and natasha suddenly realizes she's physically fighting the urge to stare. shit, dallas isn't half-wrong. "but why just milkshakes?"

dean lets out an uncomfortable laugh. "capitalism trying to crap all over the free man's heart and the supremacy of pie not enough reason for ya, cas?"

natasha stifles a smile.

that's actually a good line. maybe car-guy deserves more credit than just loyal-to-the-pie.

trenchcoat — okay, cas, at least while she's out here — still looks a little doubtful (and she has no idea why) but he nods at dean, and then looks up at her and nods again. "add the discount."

natasha has to resist the urge to let her jaw drop.

this entire conversation, she'd practically been sure they were heading towards a rejection of the 'date' clause. and her gut told her they weren't lying either.

well, well. always thrilling to be right.

"and thank you for telling us about it." cas continues, and her practised smile returns immediately. probably a little less obligatory.

"of course."

and dean still looks like he'd rather cut more whatever-he-was-talking-about's off rather than be here right now, so natasha goes to leave. but cas stops her right before she's out of reach.

"excuse me." he's the one smiling this time. "if you're not busy right away, could you tell us what other items are eligible for the february date discount?"

dean facepalms. "come on, dude."

cas gives him a look — and natasha was right, of course she was right, that's not a exasperated 'friend' look. "i'd like to know, dean."

to natasha's knowledge, they've never had trouble paying for anything before (hernandez, she thinks one of their surnames is, she's seen it on a card) but she can't object to 'cas' asking, of course. curiosity is also a well-off man's right.

"why?" dean asks vehemently, before she can start to rattle off the list.

"because," cas answers levelly. actually, he kind of sounds like he's using his dad voice. maybe he is a dad. "i think it's strange that we've never gotten the discount before, while we've been eating lunch here almost this entire month."

it's again hard for natasha to not just stare gapmouthed at them.

"those have been dates." she realizes belatedly and out loud, and receives a weird, distasteful look from dean, and an immediate nod from cas that makes her blurt out, "so this isn't your...first date."

they're dating.

oh, farah was going to lose her mind.

"is that a requisite clause?" cas asks politely, while dean just scrubs his face with a hand.

"no." she tells cas truthfully. "i'm sorry, i just assumed it was. your first, i mean."

"lady, we certainly don't look first date aged to me." dean butts in, not hostile, but like it's something that irks him. "and we've been married four years, so one would desperately hope it's not our first date, y'know."

married.

they're friggin' married.

natasha is an idiot, and her date-dar is probably due for an early retirement.

they've been married for four years.

"i'm...very sorry." she apologizes, mortified. "i had no idea. i —"

"it's fine." this time, dean's smiling, and cas's confused frown is back. it's like they take turns. natasha is almost grateful for it, to be fair, because both those smiles directed at her would've been a helluva lot more distracting. "really doesn't matter. and yeah, sure, add the milkshake discount but don't worry about the list of items." he turns to cas. "just have sam look it up for you when we get home. please."

cas seems to be prepared to acquiesce to that but natasha can't help her own curiosity this time. "is that your son?"

and she's halfway to regretting it the moment she registers having said it, even though thankfully neither of them look too offended. in fact, cas is back to smiling.

"he's dean's brother." cas tells her. "he's the one with jack right now." he pauses. "it's easier because he and eileen live with us."

"yeah, an in-house sitter who doesn't even like going out is really a department we won in." dean grins, solely at cas. as if he's momentarily forgotten all about natasha's presence (that had clearly been making him uncomfortable talking in front of, earlier) in just looking at his husband. natasha sends out a quick pre-prayer for farah. "sucks for eileen though."

"eileen is very happy with your brother, dean." cas chastises, his eyes nothing but affectionate even then, and natasha's head reels with how much she has to tell the waitstaff today.

they're going to friggin' adore her.

"so jack is your son," she confirms, less wary of their reaction to her question now that they looked to have settled into their own silent conversation.

"he's our son, yes." cas replies, simply.

"like, you and him." she flashes a smile at dean.

"us and sam." cas corrects, and dean facepalms again. for her part, natasha can do little more than blink.

"but —"

"it's complicated." dean cuts her off suddenly, and she flinches. he didn't even deny it, just...sidestepped it.

"i — i see." natasha clears her throat, still looking at cas in bewilderment.

cas probably doesn't notice because he's talking to dean again. "it's significantly less complicated than claire's parentage, dean. she has over six parental —"

jesus christ.

"aaand that's enough trivia for date night." dean interrupts loudly again, definitely for the best, because natasha was standing there like a thoughtless statue at this point. his raised voice shakes her out of her reverie, and she vaguely calculates the chances of crashing into a table if she tried to walk away right away.

"i'll," she mumbles instead, drawing in a breath forcefully. "i'll be back with your milkshakes."

"thank you!" cas calls after her as she half wobbles on her heels back to the kitchen.

inside, she puts her empty tray on the metal counter and her hands on both sides of it, bowing her head, and almost immediately ending up surrounded by a plethora of people — most of whom, in normal circumstances, would just have been eavesdropping from their respective stations.

farah's the first to ask, followed by hutch.

"so?"

"what did you find out?"

natasha closes her eyes. "they're married."

this time, the commotion is the largest yet. but she isn't done.

"and every single one of their meals here have been dates." freya pumps her fist, chloe squeezes farah's hand, and dallas tsks under his breath. the 'gallery' watchers appear ready to join in the cheering as well today. but the entire kitchen senses she isn't done yet, and waits fidgetingly for the rest of it.

"and," natasha swallows. "they're almost definitely in a cult."

#destiel #third person pov #casdean #baby jack kline #mentions of saileen #spn crack #bluefirecas #userpris #casthyelle #evermorecastiel #rambleoncas #tearsofgrace #userstarry #holmesemrys #smiledean #oh writing my writing #userdori

[curlynerd]

You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese’ or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #supernatural #spn #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #katie writes things #this is either the best thing I've written or the worst thing I've ever written. possibly both #I'm very sorry for making you read the bit about the fried egg

[writtenmemxries]

“If I could read your mind, love, what a tale your thoughts could tell.”

I was inspired by this post by @gum-believable to write this fic. I tagged all the people that asked to be tagged under that post, I hope you don’t mind and I hope you like this! :)

[1.9k words]

Sam had learned early on that many hunts rarely go as one would hope, unfortunately. He used to wait anxiously for his father and brother to come home, sitting on an uncomfortable bed in a random motel, nearly thirty years before, scared that things could go bad.

As time went by, he understood firsthand that not everything always goes as planned. Murphy’s law teaches us that anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Even on a trivial hunt like that.

A case to solve, a witch to stop before it was too late, people to save. Nothing they hadn’t faced before, nothing they weren’t able to overcome with their skills and experience. It was such a mundane hunt that even a pair of young hunters like Claire and Kaia could have handled it well, or so Sam and Dean believed.

Alas, hunting is unpredictable. Who would have thought that the witch had a twin sister? Who would have imagined that the aforementioned sister was so poorly endowed with magical powers that the spell cast against Dean would have side effects even after her death?

Still, that was exactly what happened.

When a purple cloud enveloped Dean’s head, dulling his senses and making him lose his balance, Sam shot the young woman in the head and she fell to the ground with a thud.

Dean, still a bit pale, got up trembling. Despite everything, he seemed to be fine. No trace of purple smoke, no strange dust, no visible wounds. They were both fine.

Sam let out a relieved sigh. That was a close one, he thought.

“Amen to that, little brother,” Dean said with a smirk.

Sam looked at him confused. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dean frowned. “What do you mean, you just talked!”

“Dean, I didn’t speak.”

Dean thought about it for a moment, then shrugged carelessly. “I must have imagined it. I still feel a little dizzy from the spell.”

Sam nodded. “Can you drive?”

“Of course I can, who do you think I am? You won't put your filthy hands on Baby,” Dean exclaimed offended, and quickly went down the stairs of the apartment.

Sam looked around cautiously one last time before following his brother to the car.

As they traveled through the city towards the highway, Sam stared out of the window thoughtfully, while Dean cheerfully drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

That Starbucks is new, Sam thought casually, noticing a new sign of the popular coffee shop.

“Wow Samantha, you know these towns really well, don’t you?" Dean commented wryly.

Sam turned to him frowning. “What?”

“I said you know-”

“I heard what you said,” Sam interrupted him. “But why did you say that?”

Dean gave him a confused look before focusing back on the road. “Uh, no offense Sam, but honestly, who cares about Starbucks.”

Sam was starting to fret. “How do you know I was thinking about Starbucks?”

“You okay Sam?” Dean asked concerned. “Did those sons of bitches do anything to you?”

“I didn't say anything, Dean,” Sam said for the second time that day. “I just thought about it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I didn't speak. And I didn't do it before, either! I didn't say anything about Starbucks, Dean. Not out loud at least.”

“So what, I can read minds now?”

Sam sighed. “I don't know, maybe.”

Dean smiled in amusement. “Awesome.”

“Dean, there must be something else. Something bad. It must be that spell's fault. I'm gonna call Cas.”

But Dean had stopped listening to him. He was smiling to himself, proud of his new supernatural power. After all, how dangerous could it be?

When they got to the bunker, Castiel was already there. Sam hadn't explained anything to him on the phone, except that Dean had been hit by an unknown spell and they needed the angel's help.

As soon as they entered the room, Castiel ran to meet them, worried.

“Sam, Dean. What happened?”

“Dean thinks he has superpowers,” Sam said without many pleasantries, as Dean greeted Castiel with a pat on the shoulder.

“I told you Sam, I'm like Professor X,” Dean said with a grin.

Castiel sighed, rolling his eyes.

Why did I have to fall in love with this idiot?

Dean nearly tripped over his own feet. Castiel grabbed his arm, steadying him, but Dean immediately drew back, as if his touch had burned him.

“What?!” he nearly shouted, looking at him with wide eyes.

Castiel looked at him confused and preoccupied. “Dean, I didn't say anything,” he said calmly, as if he were explaining a complex concept to a child.

“Cas, the thing is-” Sam tried to explain, but Dean shut him up.

“It's- it's not important. Do you know what matters now? Dinner. I still have to cook, so, Cas, you're coming with me to the kitchen,” he said quickly. His ears were burning and he knew he was blushing.

“Dean-”

“No tofu-eating man allowed in my kitchen, capiche?” he interrupted his brother again, pointing his finger at him.

Then, without saying anything else, he grabbed Castiel by the wrist and they disappeared together down the corridor, leaving Sam astonished in front of the bunker entrance.

In the kitchen, Dean let go of Castiel's wrist, clearing his throat embarrassed. Castiel continued to look at him curiously.

I miss the feeling of his fingers on my skin. I love it when he touches me like that.

Dean choked on his saliva and started coughing under Castiel's concerned gaze.

“Dean, what happened, do I have to heal you?” he asked apprehensive.

Dean shook his head no, catching his breath. “No man, I'm fine. It's just... dinner, alright? We have to hurry up,” he said hastily, turning his back to the angel to avoid him noticing his obvious blush.

“Dean, Sam said a witch cast a spell on you...”

“Sam hit his head and has no idea what he's saying,” Dean lied.

Castiel frowned. “Is he okay? Maybe I should check if he needs my assistance,” he said, already heading down the hall.

“Cas, no!” Dean exclaimed.

Castiel winced, looking at him in shock.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek. “He's fine, I've already checked on him. He just needs to rest,” he said looking around, unable to fix his gaze on Castiel. “For now, I need you to stay here with me, okay?” he continued, grabbing a pan to cook some burgers.

Castiel tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “Why?”

“Because-” Dean sighed, “I want you here.”

Castiel's gaze softened.

I love being with you Dean. Spending time with you. Talking to you, or even being silent. I always want to be around you.

Dean felt himself blush again. “Good,” he murmured.

Castiel sat down at the table, knowing he couldn't be of much help, and he simply watched Dean cook. There was silence between them, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The only sounds were those that Dean made moving around the kitchen, slicing tomatoes, washing salad, preparing dinner.

How can I be so lucky?

Dean turned to Castiel, winking in his direction.

You're amazing. And it's incredible that I get to sit here, with you, watching you. Admiring you as one would admire a work of art or a natural phenomenon. Seeing you here, in such a normal and domestic environment, fills my heart with joy. I want to see you like this forever.

“So, Cas,” Dean said perhaps a little too loud, trying to distract himself from those words that were ringing in his head, hitting him right in the chest, unleashing lightning and storms inside his brain. “What's on your mind?”

Castiel eyed him enigmatically. “It's nice to see you cooking happily,” he said simply, looking around the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah, that's good, I guess,” Dean replied, scratching his head in embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about, instead, Dean?”

Dean looked into his eyes, which stared back at him with an expression so fond that he felt his heart ache.

I love you, he thought, and for the first time it didn't scare him. He didn't feel horrified, he hadn't been ashamed of his feelings for a long time. But he wasn't afraid either, not anymore.

I love you, he thought again. Cas, I love you. Cas cas cas cas-

“Dean.”

Castiel's cheeks were tinged with red, his lips were slightly parted, his pupils dilated. Dean's first thought was that he wanted to see him like that every day.

“Dean, why are you praying to me?” Castiel asked in a whisper.

“I'm not,” Dean said quietly, dumbfounded, letting his eyes wander over Castiel's features, his flustered face.

“Yes, you- you have-”

“I love you,” he blurted out.

Castiel closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

Dean clung to the kitchen counter, already regretting having said it out loud. What if he wasn't actually hearing Cas' thoughts? What if he was just hallucinating?

“Say something Cas.”

Castiel shook his head slowly.

I don't deserve your love. You deserve better. You deserve someone who can give you a family, someone who can get old with you, someone who has never betrayed or hurt you, I don't-

“Cas. I- I can hear your thoughts. The witch's spell, I think... I don't even know man, I don't know what happened, but I can hear what you think as if you were talking,” Dean whispered guiltily.

Castiel jerked his head up. His eyes were full of tears.

“Dean, why haven't you told me-”

“I didn't want to. I'm sorry, okay, but you were saying all those nice things about me, things I don't deserve, and I didn't expect it. I just wanted... I don't know, man," Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “But I love you,” he continued, moving closer to Castiel. “You’re family, Cas. You, Sam, Jack... I want to grow old with you, until I die of liver cirrhosis or some other bullshit. I don't want anyone else. It's you, Cas. You're the one for me.”

He had crouched down in front of Castiel, who was still sitting at the table. Tears ran down the angel's cheeks, which Dean promptly collected with his thumbs, gently caressing his face. Castiel huffed out a laugh, clinging to Dean's arms, clutching the fabric of his shirt.

He stood up, Dean right after him. And in an instant, their lips met and started moving together, in tune, as their hands explored the other's neck, jaw, hair, eagerly and sweetly at the same time.

They parted, out of breath, and Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's, losing himself in his green eyes.

“Should we thank her?” he asked with a smile, breathing in Dean’s scent.

“Who?” Dean said, stroking his hair absentmindedly.

“The witch.”

“Oh,” Dean chuckled. “Sam killed her.”

“Of course he did,” Castiel laughed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, and pulled him close to kiss him again.

Castiel smiled against his lips, and in that moment Dean was certain. He wanted this with him more than anything.

Smiling back, he wished Castiel would never stop grinning like that.

And if Castiel thought the same, Dean was too engrossed in the kiss to hear it.

· tags under the cut, ask to be added or removed ·

@rambleoncas @chaoticdean @winchester-novak @randomblabbling @seffersonjtarship @professorerudite @queen-rowenas @sana-drinks-isklar @tasersloth @beforejuko @superduckbatrebel 

@nguyenxtrang @destiel-bitches @multi-fandom-dark-lord @kindahotommo @cartoons-tothemoon @piratefairy-moonlight @legless-fish-on-rollerskates @hemdall

#coming back with a new piece of writing after more than a month of total eclipse on my part #i've been busy and i couldn't find the time nor the strength to write anything because haha the finale wrecked me completely haha #but i think i'm back now?? so yeah i hope you like this #it was fun to write and a lovely prompt so thank you #i hope nobody minds that i tried to give my contribute and tagged a bunch of people who might be interested #also it's past midnight here so if there are mistakes please forgive me #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel oneshot #destiel ficlet #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #deancas oneshot #deancas ficlet #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #case fic #spn fic #supernatural #sometimes I write #this isn't my best work but uhmmm someone might like it so i'm gonna post it anyways

[dcforts]

[like today]

ao3

Dean wakes up without a weight on his chest.

He stretches on his bed, rolls on his stomach and smiles into his pillow that smells of fresh laundry. He feels comforted by his room, and the simplest event of finding his slippers right next to his bed.

On an off day like today, he usually puts on his robe and makes his way down the chilly hallways with only the sound of his steps and the faint buzzing of the generator for company.

Some days, like today, Cas is already in the kitchen. Dean makes eggs while he sits at the table munching on cereals. It’s just a habit he picked up from Jack; he can’t really tell what they taste like. Dean used to snap at the kid for the constant crunching in his ears so early in the morning - now he’s used to it. He sits across from Cas and eats his breakfast.

Every other day, Sam walks in and wants to talk about a weird dream he had and what it could mean. Rowena tells him he’s got a gift he needs to learn to control, but Dean is not sure there’s much to interpret about a cart full of expired food. Sometimes Sam talks about a case he heard about or an article he read.

Some days he says there’s case not too far from there, and he’s thinking of going ahead, check it out, see if it’s something up their alley. Some days Dean even agrees to let him go alone without putting up a fuss.

*

Today, Sam leaves and Dean asks Cas, “You sticking around for this one?” – back turned, eyes down, hands busy. Sometimes he doesn’t feel brave enough to do that either, so he just goes back to his room and hopes to find him there when he returns.

He makes his bed, carefully smooths out all the creases. He takes a long hot shower, humming a song he got stuck in his head, styles his hair, puts on some clean clothes.

Then he goes to the map room where Cas is usually squinting at Dean’s laptop screen. Not too long ago, he used to knock on his door and ask, “May I borrow your laptop?”; now Dean just leaves it around, and Cas doesn’t ask anymore. Dean doesn’t mind.

It’s curious – he uses only three fingers as he types, one index of his left hand and the index and middle finger of his right hand. Dean had been about to bring it up to Sam one time, but then he thought of all the things Cas knew about him and never mentioned and decided to keep this one about Cas for himself.

While they research, they’re quiet for the most part. Some days, the table between them is covered in books, in pizza boxes, in weapons, in blood. Some days, they argue and storm off and some days, Cas makes Dean laugh and Dean makes Cas do that face that Dean likes.

If he's had a long night, sometimes Dean dozes off with his head on his hand and his gaze in Cas’ general direction. Bitter thoughts drift him away, like, how Cas probably shouldn’t be there, and how this was never a place for an angel.

A titan of the sky, confined in a human body, squeezed on a chair in an underground box. How his skin must prickle, and his wings long to be stretched. How long it will be before he won’t take it anymore.

Dean doesn't like those days. He gets snappy and irritable and Cas leaves and it makes everything worse.

Most days though, like today, he looks like he's exactly where he's supposed to be and when he meets his eyes across the table, maybe even exactly where he wants to be.

Sometimes Dean relaxes a little too much and he’s woken up by the sound of the coffee mug Cas puts down next to the book he fell asleep on. His brain register a looming presence and his insticts tell him to jerk away, but before that can happen, there’s Cas’ hand on his shoulder, heavy and familiar.

Dean heart slows down, he sits up and drinks his coffee.

*

Today is peaceful, but Dean feels a little more alive, like on those blue early mornings on the road that make you regret stepping out of your car without a jacket and the smell of gasoline filling your nostrils seems stronger than it’s ever been.

Dean opens up the police scanner on Sam’s laptop and checks his texts. Most days there’s one from Jody who just wants to check in, like she’s patroling outside of their bunker. Today there’s one from Claire, replying to a text he sent her the night before.

you on a job?, he asked

no, just finished one, is what she wrote back.

He writes, come by for the w/e. Then adds, he wants to see you and sends attached a picture of Cas that he snaps on the spot without him noticing.

A few seconds later Claire writes back, just admit you miss me. And right after, ok. And then again, kaia wants burgers.

Dean grins and shots back, just admit you love my cooking

She sends a rolling-my-eyes emoji. Dean snorts and Cas looks up.

“Claire and Kaia are spending the weekend,” he explains.

"Good," Cas smiles and then says, “You should make burgers. She loves them.”

*

Some days Sam calls and says there’s nothing for them, and some days he calls and says there’s something for them.

Today Cas is typing away and Dean has just sat down with a fresh cup of coffee when Sam calls and it’s something.

Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.

He will roll down his window a little even if it rains and Dean will turn the radio on, and a familiar track will start in just the perfect spot, right before the chorus, and Dean will sing along quietly, tapping his fingers on the wheel, under the grey and the wet and Cas’ gaze, curious and slightly amused.

*

Cas asks again if they have everything, like he’s packing for a kid going to summer camp (Dean tells him), and takes one of the duffel bags from Dean’s hand without asking, and walks past him, like he’s used to carry Dean’s clothes and weapons. “Do you have your snack for the road?,” he asks, climbing the iron stairs and Dean stops in his track, glosses over the snarky suggestion that he’s the kid going to summer camp in the scenario, and instead actually wonders if he’s got time to run to the kitchen real quick, but then he shrugs, shoulders his bag and says “We’ll stop along the way.”

They can stop along the way, like they sometimes do. He will get a hot bagel and Cas will down half his coffee, and they will stand right outside the store, where they can’t get wet but they can breathe and hear the rain. And Cas will say – well, Dean can never anticipate what Cas is going to say, but that’s the good part.

*

Dean tells him to wait for him outside as he brings the car around but when he does, Cas is not there. Dean turns off the engine just as the first raindrops hit, hit, hit the windshield. Today there’s something different, he feels, in the familiar, comforting smell of the Impala, something fresh, new, something that whispers to him that he’s got the whole day ahead and all the time in the world after that.

By the time Cas gets out of the metal door, rain is falling heavily all over the roof and Dean feels nowhere on Earth, surrounded by water. Dean doesn’t hear the door shutting, but spots the blurry silhouette of a trench-coated figure approaching. He turns the key in the ignition and as the lights go up, he’s on Earth again.

Cas is unbothered by the rain, as he is unbothered by most natural events. He takes his time opening up the backseat door to toss the duffel bag in, before slipping in the passenger seat, trenchcoat soaked, hair dripping and raindrops running down his cheeks. Dean’s lips quirk up. Cas says, “I had forgotten a book.”

Dean doesn’t care. He says, “You should dry your hair,” but Cas shrugs, “There’s no need.”

Dean reaches towards the backseat to take a t-shirt out of his bag. He throws it on Cas’ head and starts rubbing his hair and he's so startled that for a moment just lets him.

“Dean,” he complains then and pushes his arms away, “I’m not a child,” he says. His face is red and his hair wild. Dean counters his annoyed look with a grin, “What?” he says.

Cas shakes his head, “Can we go now?”

But Dean is not ready yet. Sometimes, when he's alone with Cas like this, he feels something grip his insides and tug at him to say something.

He usually wants to say, I’m glad you’re here, but today he also wants to say, we could let Sam handle this one and just go for a ride, we could stop only when we get out from under the clouds and we could watch the rain from a distance and we'll be standing in the light, and if we’re lucky it won’t be too cold but if it is, who cares? You won’t be bothered by that and I won’t be bothered by that either cause you’ll be there, he wants to say aren’t we lucky? aren’t we lucky that you’re with me and I’m with you right now? and I have this feeling swelling in my chest, I don’t know what it is.

And I wish everyday was like this, exactly like this, but I’m not sure what this is.

But when Cas’s expression blends into confusion and he blinks, “Dean?”, he shakes his head.

They’re fine. With the whole day ahead and their whole lives after that. He feels like tomorrow he can have anything, but today – he likes today just the way it is.

“Just thinking,” he says, starting the car and taking the road, “Having a good day, is all.”

With the corner of his eye he can see Cas dubiously looking out at the pouring rain and back at him.

Dean meets his eyes and gives him a smile to see if he can prompt one in return without saying anything.

Cas’ lips twitch for a moment and then he smiles back.

_

*about Sam's dream: to my knowledge expired food in dreams mean unfinished business and stuff of the past we carry with us (sorry sammy i thought it was fitting - i had the same dream if that's any consolation)

#deancas #deancas ficlet #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel #domesticity #1.7k #dean feels good #and nothing out of the ordinary happens really #idk what this is abt #it's just that some days are not that special but you still feel good for no reason - i just tried to talk about that #truth is that it may be raining but dean's got his sunshine w him :))) bleah #you have no idea how long this has been in my drafts unfinished #i just NEED to get it out - maybe it'll magically solve my block #since it seems that i cant read or write anymore #i did it - i used the word 'squinting' #my writing #spncreatorsdaily

[adhdeancas]

My work for @transnaturalweek day one: TFW!

TFW have a bad dysphoria day, and they do some self-care.

Sam throws down a paper bag in front of Dean. “What’s this?” 

Cas sniffs and looks at him. “It smells like hamburgers.”

Sam rolls her eyes and taps her nose. “Bingo.”

“I’m good.” Dean shifts his jaw around and pulls the blanket up higher over his chest. Sam sighs at him. 

“When was the last time you ate?” He looks at her bitchily. “No, don’t answer that. It was lunch yesterday, and it was a lunchable. Like you’re seven years old.”

“Fuck you, lunchables are good.”

“Lunchables are mediocre and disappointing.”

“Fuck you! Dessert pizza lunchables have never let me down!” Dean turns the volume up pointedly. Sam stays standing for another long moment. All of them are silent, Dean still trying to watch the TV but only out of spite and Cas paying closer attention to the sibling drama.

“Look, I get it. We all feel like shit, alright? But laying here feeling like shit isn’t gonna make us feel better, so we can eat bad food and paint our nails and feel like shit.”

“Can we get drunk?” 

Cas furrows his brows. “Drinking is not a productive way to deal with emotional pain.” 

“Disagree.” Dean sits up and reaches for the burgers, and Sam figures that’s a good sign. She goes for the Walmart bag next and pulls out the fancy little self-manicure kits she got them. She would’ve gone for the frilly little robes too, because she knows they all love them, but on a bad dysphoria day, Dean won’t even look at the color pink, let alone wear a robe. “If you can’t think about your body long enough to feel bad about it, you don’t feel so bad.”

Cas unwraps his own burger and takes off the top bun, still perched on the edge of the couch cushion. He peels the pickles off and hands them to Dean, who piles them on his own burger without even asking. They’re a well oiled machine at this point. “Touché.”

Sam sighs. Now things are going back downhill. She kicks at Dean until he makes room for her on the couch and plops down. “Not you too, Cas. I thought we were on the same side here?”

Cas shrugs and pulls off his shirt before he keeps eating his food. That’s one of the differences between Cas and Sam and Dean; when Cas is dysphoric, he takes clothes off, versus the oversized three layers of clothing and blankets Dean and Sam have covered themselves in. “I like margaritas.”

Sam rolls their eyes. “How about milkshakes and Queer Eye?”

Cas snatches a milkshake from Sam, eying the color before looking back at them. “Strawberry? I like strawberry.”

“I know you do.”

Dean looks between them grumpily. “Do I get one too?”

Sam lets a small smile cross their face. “Chocolate for you. Butterscotch for me.” She sips hers smugly. 

“Can we watch something other than Queer Eye?” Dean asks, dipping a fry into his. 

“Are you sure? There’s that one with a trans guy, we could-”

“Sam.” Dean balls in on himself and sniffs. “I don’t wanna think about how we’re different right now okay? Even if it’s about how our differences are kumbaya or some shit, I just don’t wanna-”

“Ok, yeah, I get it.” She leans against her brother. “That’s not how kumbaya works though-”

“Shut up, bitch,”

“Jerk,”

“Cas, what do you wanna watch?”

Cas shrugs. “Madagascar.”

“Madagascar? Like, the animated movie about zoo animals?” Cas nods. Dean looks at Sam. They shrug back. “Okay, let’s move it movie it,” he laughs at the others’ groans and steals the remote from Sam so he can pull up Netflix.

Sam passes out the nail polish while they start the movie. Cas gets a dark blue and pink (He likes to alternate colors on every finger), Dean gets a classic black, and Sam goes with purple. Yes, they’re classic colors for each of them. And sometimes you need the classic comforts. 

“Cas, baby, isn’t that really fucking uncomfortable sitting like that?” Dean asks, his worry sneaking towards grumpiness. Cas looks back from his perch unhappily. He shrugs rather than answers, and Dean sighs. Cas doesn’t just get human dysphoria from him being trans or Jimmy being trans. He also gets Angel-brand dysphoria; he hates sitting against a couch because it reminds him of the state of his wings. “C’mere.”

Cas only hesitates for a moment before he climbs on Dean’s lap. It’s something they do sometimes, being up on Dean gives Cas beside and below him, like a buffer so he can think about it less. Dean hugs him from behind and puts his head on his shoulder so he can still watch the movie, and Cas holds his milkshake so he can still drink it. Sam scoffs at them. “You guys are ridiculous.”

“Sh, don’t get bitter just because your girlfriend is off being a big badass during pride.” Dean grabs Sam’s hand and her nail polish and starts in on it. He is the best nail polisher of them, considering he’s had the most practice. That, and the fact that he’s obsessively neat and has surprisingly steady hands. 

Sam glares but lets him do it. “Yeah, well, I still think it’s pretty homophobic of her. Transphobic, too, if you think about it.”

“And your other girlfriend?”

She rolls her eyes. “She’s a busy fucking woman, thank you very much.”

“Right, right, dating a girl boss.”

“Technically, a queen.” Cas corrects. 

“Mhm,” Sam allows herself to get a little smug.

“Look at us, just a bunch of queens watching an animated zoo movie and not getting drunk in our rapidly approaching middle age.”

“Hear hear!” Sam bumps the styrofoam of her cup against the two cups Cas is holding. And they watch their movie. “Happy pride, assholes,”

#tfw #transnatural #transnatural week #transnautral week day one #trans dean #trans sam #trans castiel #transnaturalweek

[katehuntington]

Title: If The Bunker Had Windows Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x female reader Words: ±5250 words Description: When a Djinn case doesn’t go as planned, not everyone makes it. Dean, who is burdened by guilt, holes himself up alone in his room for days, until Y/N comes in to check on him. Will the girl who was his perfect world be able to pull him back from the darkness? Warnings: Angst/comfort. Mutual pining, some fluff. Description of canon typical violence and supernatural creatures. Mentions of injury, death and alcohol abuse. Depression, refusal to eat, grieving, crying. Satisfying ending. Author’s note: A one shot that will punch you in the feels, according to my betas @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Always grateful for you girls helping me out! And to my readers, I hope you enjoy my reading, thank you for your support.

     Serenity floats through the halls of the Men of Letters headquarters, like the morning mist on an autumn day. If the bunker had windows, the sun would have shone diagonal beams through the glass, warm and welcome, but instead it’s the light from the vintage table lamps that give this home its glow.

     Y/N moves down the hall towards the galley, her sock covered feet softly padding against the marble floors. Despite her stealth approach, Sam is waiting for her to appear in the doorway, his eyes already lifted from the tablet that lays flat on the mahogany table.      “Morning,” he greets, continuing to swipe through news articles, in his search for a case. “Coffee’s brewing.”

     She descends down the two steps and sets foot into the kitchen, the aroma of roasted beans flooding her senses. The night hasn’t been without worries and all the more without sleep, so she can use a good dose of caffeine.      “Thanks,” she returns.

     After pouring herself a generous amount of the dark beverage, her thoughts wander off to the other inhabitant of this oddly cosy concrete structure. Dean’s absence is obnoxiously evident, the air not filled with grumpy mutters before he had his coffee, neither with a lame joke that he found on the back of the cereal box, that only he finds funny.      With a deep sigh, she turns around with her favorite mug in her hand, resting against the counter. “Has he come out of his room yet?”

     Sam’s jaw flexes, the tall giant with a gentle heart glancing over. He doesn’t even have to shake his head for Y/N to know the answer. Shutting her eyes for a few seconds, she takes a sip from her hot drink, burning her tongue, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as the pain she knows Dean is in.

     It’s been three days since the brothers returned from a particularly tough hunt. She remembers Sam’s voice hollering through the bunker, and she instantly realized that something terrible had happened. When she found the Winchesters in the garage, Dean leaning on his sibling and barely able to stay on his feet, the air was stolen from her lungs. His skin was paler than those of the spirits she has faced and he seemed barely conscious. His eyes beheld an emptiness that faded the forest green of his irises, leaving nothing but a shallowness that reminded her of death, even though his heart was still faintly beating.

     A Djinn had gotten to him, and by the time Sam found his brother, strung up to the ceiling of the monster’s den, he was barely alive. It was too late for the young college student who the hunters were hoping to save, her corpse dangling in shackles next to Dean, drained of blood and life. She was all but a grim memoir of their failure, a reminder of the fate that would have befallen the hunter, had the younger Winchester sibling not found him. 

     Back home, Sam and Y/N carried Dean to the infirmary and thankfully got a hold of Castiel, who came to the rescue as fast as he could. The angel might not be at full power, but he was able to pull his friend away from the reaper, who was without a doubt waiting to claim his soul like the vultures that they are. 

     Even though Cas glued the shattered shards back together until Dean was physically whole again, something inside him remains damaged beyond repair. The mighty hunter, who faces his enemies head on and with guns blazing, who laughs Death in the face, is defeated, and there is not much the cosmic being can do to change that. A broken body is much easier to heal than a broken mind.

     Y/N puts her empty coffee mug aside and exhales, coming back to the present. “Did he eat, at least?” she wonders, a desperate hopefulness in her pitch.      Again, Sam shakes his head. “He left dinner by the door without touching it. I’m sorry.”      The younger Winchester doesn’t have to apologize, after all, it’s not his fault that the food was left untouched. Yet, he knows their female companion had put a lot of effort in making Dean his favorite burgers, hoping it would persuade him.     “It’s okay, Sam,” she assures, forcing a smile.

     While the younger Winchester brother returns his attention to his tablet, Y/N takes a moment to collect herself. She then turns to the kitchen counter and crouches down, taking a large frying pan from the lower cabinets. After lighting up the stove and carefully placing a second ceramic pot on the fire, the bunker’s second best cook opens the refrigerator and collects a carton of eggs, milk, bacon and cheese.

     Sam watches her move around the galley, his brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”      “I’m making Dean breakfast,” she states, matter of factly.      The hunter sighs, pity evident in the soft exhale. “Y/N--”      “I have to try, Sam.” She cuts him off, the tremble in her voice noticeable. 

     Their eyes meet when the woman glances over her shoulder, still stirring the milk and eggs in a bowl. The younger Winchester is well aware that this meal will most likely end in the trash like the others, but he understands why she feels the need to take care of his brother. It’s her way of letting Dean know that she’s not giving up on him, no matter how thick the fog grows in the mind of the tormented hunter. It’s her way of keeping busy and doing something, anything, because watching from the sidelines while someone suffers, is not in her nature. Especially not when that person is Dean, the man who she cares so much for, more than she would like to admit.

     Sam’s lips press into a thin line, the corners reaching up slightly. The crow’s feet by his eyes wrinkle and become a little deeper, despite the brown hair that frames his gentle expression. She and Sam have been friends for a long time and often don’t need words anymore. With just a look, he explained that he sympathizes with her, and that he’s thankful for her efforts. 

     She returns his small smile and focuses on her cooking again, laying out the bacon into the hot frying pan, watching the meat as it starts to sizzle.

     Twenty minutes later, Y/N walks down the hallway towards the dorms, a tray in her hands decked out with scrambled eggs, french toast and a fresh cup of coffee. Before the first room on the right, she halts, staring at the golden ‘11’ on the wooden barrier in front of her. Contemplating if she should leave the warm meal on the threshold or not, she looks down at her feet.      “Dean?” she calls out, hesitant. “Is it alright if I come in?”

     Her question remains unanswered, only fueling her doubt. Is he sleeping? Would she be crossing a line if she enters? Of course she wants to grant him his privacy, but he has been cooped up in there for three days now, without food, without social interaction. There have been many times when she was worried sick about the hunter who has already endured so much, and these past days only add to that count. What is the right approach here? Give him more time? 

     Closing himself off and pushing down the agony is his go-to coping mechanism, and although it isn’t a healthy one, she always respected the space he needed to move past the pain. She’s used to him being quiet, taking the Impala for late night drives, drinking more than usual and sleeping less. But at least he came out of his room, at least he ate. Now, everything is different.

     Before she can reconsider, she balances the tray in one hand, freeing the other to reach for the brass knob. Carefully, she pushes the door ajar, allowing the light from the hallway to bleed into Dean’s room. The state in which she finds the resilient soldier, who courageously charges into battle and has won wars on strength and will alone, almost brings her to tears. He’s in his bed, curled up on the far left of the mattress, leaving the empty space next to him vacant. His back is turned towards her as he lays in a fetal position, the comforter pulled up over his shoulder. The darkness that surrounds him only seems fitting for his frail state of mind.

     Y/N isn’t sure if the older Winchester brother is even awake, since he fails to respond to her presence, but she steps into the shadows nonetheless.      “Dean? I brought breakfast,” she announces, softly enough that if he is sleeping, her words will not wake him.

     The broken form in the bed shifts slightly. She might not realize it, but Dean has heard her, and has done every single time she has brought him something to eat. Her light footfalls passing his room, the hesitation on his doorstep, the soft knocks on the wood, the sigh when she turned away again. A part of him was glad she never came in before, yet at the same time, he was fighting the urge to call out, craving her company, her touch. Anything even remotely close to the way she was with him in his dreams, when held captive.

     “I’m not hungry,” he croaks, his voice failing after not having used it for so long.      “You’ve got to eat something,” she tries again. “It’s been a couple of days.”

     The beaten hunter turns into his pillow, leaving the woman who intends to make him feel better by the door. A shuddering breath falls from her lips, one laced with disappointment and frustration. He should be used to letting people down by now, but it still stings. Struggling to not give in to his own longing, he opens his weary eyes and stares at the empty bottle on his nightstand, the whiskey it once beheld long gone.

     Dean expects her to leave. It would do him justice, because he doesn’t deserve such kindness. But instead, he can hear her shuffle closer. She makes room on the side table, putting the remnants of his self medication down on the floor, the glass thudding softly on the stone surface, and sets down a tray. The smell of bacon fills his nose, and even though his stomach growls in response, he is sure the food would turn to ash in his mouth. Nothing can still the hunger that this perfect dream stirred up. Nothing can fill the hole in his gut that has only grown larger since Sam pulled him away from the world created by the Djinn he was supposed to kill. 

     He gave in to a fairy tale, even though he is well aware they are make-believe. He couldn’t leave that utopia, because for once, he just wanted to be happy. Instead of stepping up and slaying the monster at the end of the book, he was selfish, weak, and a girl died because of it.

     His self-destructive chain of thought is interrupted when the bed dips down, Y/N taking up the small space on the edge of the mattress. Her delicate hand reaches for him, moving his tousled hair from his forehead, running her fingers through his light brown locks. Closing his eyes, he swallows with difficulty, biting down to keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t want her to see him in this state, to see the fucked up train wreck that he is. 

     “Talk to me,” she says softly, her whisper breaking the silence, but Dean shakes his head.      “I can’t,” he returns, hoarse. “You should go.”      She stands her ground. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

     The tired hunter doesn’t have the energy to argue, and for a while, they just are. Dean on his side, huddled under the comforter, Y/N right next to him, one leg pulled under her, the other dangling from the edge of the bed. The motions of her gentle caressing almost lulls him to sleep, but he doesn’t allow unconsciousness to take him. The second he drifts off, he will be faced with either the same old horrific nightmares he has gotten used to, or return to the dream that will never be. Waking up from either will be too devastating for him to handle.

     Wishing she could offer him any kind of solace, Y/N allows her thumb to rub his temple, cupping his handsome face gingerly. The action draws his weary eyes to meet hers for the first time this morning. The slight improvement should be a relief, yet it is anything but. The sorrow that swims in his gaze breaks her heart.

     “It isn’t your fault,” she offers, her words so soft, that if the room hadn’t been draped in silence, the hunter would have missed it.      Dean looks away, however, shaking his head slightly, unable to accept her comfort. “It is. I could’ve snapped out of it.”

     The woman by his bedside furrows her brow, her expression soft and sympathetic. Why does he expect the impossible from himself? Why does he have to rescue everyone on this earth? No one can live up to that, not even the hero that he is. It’s a burden too heavy to bear for any being, a responsibility that sets him up to fail, because he can’t save them all. He would always beat himself up, whenever they would lose an innocent during a hunt, but this time there’s more to it. This time he can’t get up.

     “A Djinn put you under. How could you have known it was a dream?” she says, trying to help him see that this blame is not his to take.      “That’s the thing,” he sighs, the air that flows from his lungs substantial with regret and remorse. “I was aware it wasn’t real. I just… I didn’t wanna wake.”

     Without pausing, her gentle touch traces the scruff on his cheek as she analyses his words that raise so many questions. If he knew what he was experiencing was indeed a fantasy, then why didn’t his hunter instincts kick in? Coming back from a coma as such is anything but easy. Yet just like with a vivid nightmare, once one realizes the terrors are nothing but a manifestation of their deepest fears, they can fight their way back to the surface. What could Dean have possibly seen that would keep him from coming home?      “What did you dream about?” she wonders.

     His focus turns in a thousand yard stare, as if he can see it all again. Every reason that made him decide to lay down his weapons when the creature captured him. Every experience that was so tentative, that he was ready to swap that reverie for reality. Every vision, every touch, every smile, every laugh. Every wish come true. It is right there, just out of reach, displayed behind the glass that encases his memories, reminding him of what will never be.

     “Mom, Dad... they were alive,” Dean begins, the recollections causing his eyes to shimmer. “Your parents too. Sammy was married to Jess. She was pregnant.”

     Y/N listens to the fallen hunter breathlessly, trying not to blink, because she knows it would force the tears to fall from her lashes. Slowly, it begins to dawn on her why he couldn’t find his way back. 

     “There were no monsters, we didn’t hunt. Sam was a lawyer, I owned an auto shop. We had family barbecues, dinner during thanksgiving. It was…” he lets out a shuddering breath, drops brewed by bittersweet reminiscence rolling down from the corner of his eye. “It was simple, peaceful, without the constant worry. No sorrow, no regret. And you, the way you were smiling… I’ve never seen you glow like that.” 

     He breaks away from the perfect vision, glancing at the woman who he got to call his in that dream. The woman who he lived with, in a house by a lake, with a back porch looking out over the water. The woman who he married and gave him two beautiful children. The woman who he loves, and in that perfect world he allowed to love him back.

     Dean tries to swallow down the painful lump that obstructs his throat as a hint of a smile tucks at the corner of his mouth. He could tell her all that, but it wouldn’t do her any good. In fact, that illusion might break her, just like it broke him. Instead, he allows a final sentence to fall from his lips, but the emotion that has closed around his airway only allows a whisper.      “We were so happy.”

     Tears find their way down Y/N’s face, leaving shimmering pathways in their wake. Not a word has left her, not even the smallest sound. She doesn’t trust her voice to ease his dreadful affliction. 

      It makes sense now, why he couldn’t bring himself to pop that bubble. What Dean experienced, it sounds perfect. It is the definition of heaven, not just for him, but for all the people he cares about. It shouldn’t be a surprise to her that the selfless man only wants what’s best for his family, eliminating his personal desires, but it moves her nonetheless. Their happiness, her happiness, is Dean’s.      It’s only then that his choice of words begins to settle in her conscience.      “We?”

     Confusion adds to all the emotions that pass by in her misty eyes like frames of a silent film. The hunter’s gaze meets hers again, and he’s not sure if he should be terrified or relieved when he sees that puzzlement transition into comprehension. The puckered lines between her brows even out as her mouth opens slightly, her eyes growing larger, boring into his soul.      “We were together,” she realizes.

     Dean doesn’t have to confirm, it wasn’t a question after all. She has figured it out already, and that conclusion now hovers between them, neither of the two knowing what to do with the revelation.      “Doesn’t matter,” he eventually whispers. “It was just a dream.”

     The downhearted conclusion has Y/N tilt her head to the side, watching the man who she has loved ever since she met him. The memory is one she holds dear, the wide grin he flashed after witnessing her taking down two vampires with a machete, before he and his brothers even got the chance to make the kill. She didn’t think she needed saving, but when his emerald greens took her in, she felt a warmth flair in her heart. He did in fact rescue her that day, and now it was her turn to rescue him. Y/N breathes in, because in order to do so, she needs to be brave. 

     Her left hand reaches for his, which is holding onto the pillow under his head. She takes it, unfolding his clenched fist, and laces their fingers together.      “It doesn’t have to be,” she speaks softly.

     For a few seconds Dean beholds their entwinement, astounded by the gesture. Is she doing this because she feels sorry for him? Because she’s worried that her resentment would send him further into the dark? But when he glances up at her, the look she gives him stuns the hunter. There’s no pity, nor desperation. All he sees is a softness in her beautiful eyes, a calmness that tells him that it’s alright, that she knows, and that she feels the same way. 

     “Y/N...” he utters, unable to let go of her hand, but not ready to close her palm in his a little tighter. “We can’t. It’s only gonna end sad and bloody.”      She shrugs at that, running her thumb over his rough skin, the motion soothing them both. “Maybe,” she agrees, “but denying this, not giving in to what we feel, isn’t that worse?”

     His chest rises and falls slowly, his focus now locked on their hands again, while the woman still seated on the side of his bed holds her breath. It’s almost as if he’s too scared to look at her, aware how fragile this moment is. They are at a crossroads, and depending on the direction he decides to take, this instant might remain just that, a jiff, or it might be the start of something new, yet terrifying.

     “I don’t want you to get hurt,” Dean sighs, fresh tears glistening though his long lashes.

     Swallowing with difficulty, Y/N looks down, sniveling. She can feel him slipping through her fingers like sand in an hourglass, every passing second taking the battered hunter further away. But before she loses him all together, she strengthens her hold.      “I know you don’t,” she acknowledges, “but having to look back at some point, realizing we missed our shot and watched that ship sail by, that would cause me so much pain, that I--”

     The whimper that falls from her lips, draws his gaze up to study her expression. She’s crying silently, her mouth firmly closed in a thin line. The woman who goes out her way to make him feel better, is breaking in front of him because of his doing, and it hurts him more than anything he has felt in the past three days. Instinctively, he frees himself from her hold, only to take her small hand in his palm, protectively wrapping his fingers around hers. The reassurance gives her just enough strength to continue her plea.

     “After everything we’ve been through, the losses, the sacrifices. Hell, multiple apocalypses…” she begins, barely able to grasp how many battles they have survived. “We deserve this.”

     There is not a doubt in the hunter’s mind that Y/N has earned all the happiness the universe can offer, but him? No, he hasn’t. People have died because of him, lives ruined, families torn apart. He has made too many mistakes, and no amount of good deeds could set the record straight.      “Why would you wanna be with me?” he huffs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m such a fuckin’ mess...”

     Y/N takes him in, the man who has never believed he was good enough for anything. There is not a monster on this planet that could hate Dean more than he hates himself. If only he could see how Sam looks up to his big brother, how proud he would have made his parents, if they had still been alive. If only he could see her, and know how much she loves him.

     Taking a bold step, she begins to lower herself, leaning towards him. The action is rushed, afraid that the coward inside of her might alter the course, but once her lips meet Dean’s, she stills. She can sense him freezing against her and panic jolts through her body, the fear of rejection almost having Y/N pull back herself. But then he eases, his mouth moving with hers. The kiss is short and light. Neither of them intends to deepen the touch, the gesture adding enough depth to the situation as it is.

     When she opens her eyes, his are still closed. Almost as if he was still in the Djinn’s hold, and can’t let go of the bliss that surrounds him. A small smile adorns her soft features as she waits for him to look at her, which he only does when she lovingly brushes her nose against his.

     While his focus bounces over her features, taking in every perfect imperfection that makes the woman before him so unmistakably her, he mirrors her smile. No one wants to disturb this precious moment, but Dean has to let out the breath he was holding for some time. He shifts his head against the pillow, watching how Y/N pulls his hand closer, pressing her lips to the knuckles, lovingly. 

     “I’m a mess too,” she admits. “I’m just as scared, Dean. But, together it might just get a little more bearable. I know I’m just a fraction of that dream--”      “- Y/N.” The hunter stops her then and there, pushing himself off the mattress on his elbow. He might not think of himself as worthy, but he will not stand for her effacing her own purpose. The interruption silences her instantly, her wondering eyes still glossed over with emotion, awaiting. Now it’s his time to be brave. 

     He doesn’t let go of her hand, nor of her gaze. He doesn’t let go of the woman he wants to spend his remaining days with, no matter how many or how few.      “You are so much more than a fraction,” he expresses, heartfelt.

     Having made up his mind, Dean sits up and reaches for her, the warm shade of green only hooded by closing lids when his mouth finds hers. He allows himself to graze over her soft lips, drinking in the one person who he has longed for, but never expected to be with. The sensation that erupts in his stomach once the kiss intensifies is the equivalent to a firework show, the bright colors and sparks lighting up the black skies. Euphoria overwhelms him, the same sense that flooded his conscience when the Djinn lured the hunter into that heavenly hallucination. This is a dream too, and yet it isn’t, because this, this is real.

     The kiss leaves Y/N breathless, yet she is able to sense his warm hand coming up her side and sliding around her back to settle between her shoulder blades, hugging her tight without ever removing his lips from hers. Finally, they are here. After months, years of denial, they are ready to give themselves to each other. Sometimes you need to lose all that isn’t, to appreciate what is. 

     She has to pull every string not to cry in elation, but can’t stop the drops of emotion from rolling down. When Dean feels the wetness against his own cheeks, he reluctantly breaks the connection, cupping her face worriedly.      “Hey…” he hushes.      She shakes her head, dismissing his concern, and laughs through the tears. “I’m okay. I’m just - I’m so happy right now, I don’t know what to do with myself.”

     A twinkle reaches her eyes, making it impossible for Dean to look away. He never thought he would be able to witness her so content, let alone have her admit it out loud. Not in this world, anyway. An image of the custom made dream forged by the Djinn pushes itself to the forefront, Y/N on the porch of their house, comfortable in his arms, absolutely beaming. When he awoke from that coma, he thought that the illusion couldn’t be further from reality, but he was wrong.      “I’ve seen that smile before,” he says warmly.

     Y/N grin grows even wider at that, but before she can ask what the man who she just revealed her affections to means, a rumble rises from Dean’s stomach, causing them both to drop their gaze to where the sound is coming from. Once she realizes what caused it, she giggles, and it’s the greatest harmony Dean has ever heard. 

    “You must be starving,” she comments while wiping her tears, hoping he will finally take in some food after having gone three days without it.     “I could eat,” he admits with a chuckle.      “Well, it’s a good thing I made you scrambled eggs with cheese and extra bacon then.” She straightens her back and shifts to the edge of the bed, taking the tray with both hands. “Scoot.”

     Dean pushes himself up further and sits back against the headboard, his mouth watering when Y/N sets the platter over his lap. Only now does he realize how hungry he truly is. He picks up the cutlery and cuts off some toast, overloading it with egg before he has a mouthful, the delicious meal still warm on his tongue.      “Take it easy, okay? Wouldn’t want you to get sick,” she says kindly, reaching for him and rubbing her thumb over his stubble.      He looks up at here before taking a bite of the strip of meat, his eyes having gained some of that boyish sparkle again. Relieved by the sight, Y/N watches him, glad that she finally managed to get his spirits up. 

     “You want some?” Dean checks with his mouth full, pushing the plate of bacon in her direction.      She frowns at that. “Since when do you share food?”      “Since now, and only with you,” he admits. “Don’t tell Sam.”

     They share a laugh and continue to eat in silence until the dishes are so clean, they barely need washing. The pair leave the darkness of room ‘11’, Dean heading for the showers, Y/N turning the corner towards the kitchen. With a spring in her step, the giddy woman makes her way through the hallways of the enormous building. The tray in her hands feels much lighter, and not just because of the cleared plates she’s carrying. 

     With a smirk on her lips, she hops down the steps into the galley, finding Sam by the fridge, who is restocking it with the groceries he just picked up. It’s not until he notices the empty dishes which she sets down on the counter, that his gaze shoots up to their female companion’s joyful eyes.     “He ate?” he asks, hopeful.     “He did,” Y/N smiles, dropping the plates in the sink. “He’s feeling much better, he’s freshening up now.”      The younger Winchester continues to stare at her in awe, stammering something intellectual, before he pauses and blinks a couple of times.      “What happened?” he can’t help but wonder, surprised by his brother’s improvement.

     She remains silent for a few seconds while she runs the tap and adds dish soap to the hot water. What took place in his room is hard to explain. It required a long list of events, building up to this disclosure. It involved Dean opening up about what he went through, comfortable enough to share his grief and let it out. It included them both being fearless after being scared for so long. It comprehended two individuals, growing together, taking a leap to cross a gap that seemed impossible to overcome. 

     “He let the light in,” she states simply, meeting Sam with a meaningful smile.

     Grateful, the tall hunter huffs in astonishment, before he closes her in a hug and presses a kiss on her hair, not needing words to tell just how appreciative he is of her presence. He  assists her and takes up the task of drying the dishes, the two friends working side by side to finish the chore. They are storing away the plates, the noise of the china being stacked in the cupboards allowing Dean to wait in the doorway without being spotted just yet. He’s freshly showered, wearing his dark grey robe over comfortable clothes, leaning against the post and taking in the woman who has turned his life around. 

     If the bunker had windows, the sun would have shone brightly. The late morning rays would come in through the portals to the outside world, illuminating their home. The beams would have been warm and healing, burning away sadness and discomfort, like it would melt the snow on the last days of winter. 

     But the bunker doesn’t need windows.      The bunker has her.

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