Smiling makes more sense to Dean than any of the long meaningful therapizing looks that Sam keeps giving him or, god help him, Bobby's schtick about how being a Hunter means not being a person. Dean still feels like a person, just a fucked-to-hell one who can't stop seeing the long line of his inadequacies straight out the door and on till sunrise. Frank might not know him but Frank knows ... something, about what it's like, about your biggest life loss coming at age twenty-six and the one-foot-in-front-of-the-otherness of everything that comes after.
Frank's also something new and a little odd but Dean doesn't mind odd when it comes with a never-ending parade of pet names that are rolled in that sour candy coating so they're just this side of cloying, a little sarcasm to take the sugar off. He's not into psychedelics much but with Frank he's curious about the old guy's bag of tricks, so he says fuck it one time and drops acid with the geezer. It's, predictably, odd; Frank spools on and on about his routine and all the steps he's employed to keep on truckin' and by the time he's giving Dean that shiatsu massage he'd mentioned, Dean's still curious so he leans into it.
Twelve minutes later he's not altogether sure if his tianshu meridian is any better for the way Frank's rolling his knuckles against Dean's stomach, but sixteen minutes after that, Frank's fucking him nicer than a lot of people do and Dean mumbles, "i'm the one paying you, y'know," and Frank stares at him with one hand cupped at the base of Dean's skull and says, "listen, poodle, at our level of transaction nothing's a one-way street so lie back and let me get my kicks," and that sounds reasonable enough so Dean sinks his hips back further in the cot and lets it all be easy, for once, easy as it gets for somebody like him. His head jostles a little in the cup of Frank's palm with each rolling thrust and Dean opens and closes his mouth and looks up at the ceiling and doesn't see Amy's face and her cat eyes, or Bobby's face and his sadness, or anything at all. Maybe fire, rolling in. Maybe not. "Mom," he says, experimentally, and Frank slows for a minute, then gently moves his hand from behind Dean's head and covers his eyes with it.
"Thank you," Dean rasps. Frank doesn't say anything. His thumb sweeps along Dean's forehead once, twice. Sweet one way and sour the other.
---
going to lebanon : flash creations
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frank devereaux is such an underrated dean boyfriend. "sweet cheeks" "sweetie pop" "fudge pop" like jfc make out already
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me: *casually rewatching supernatural* look at the sillies!! they are just goofy lil guys :]
this fucking quote:
‘Decide to be fine until the end of the week. Make yourself smile, because you’re alive and that’s your job. Then do it again the next week.’
me:
i probably relate to this an unhealthy amount but it really just ghggnhdfgsd *bangs head against the wall and screams* yk?
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"Decide to be fine till the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job. Then do it again the next week. I call it being professional. Do it right, with a smile, or don't do it."
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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤
oooooh ty china!! I'm gonna stick to SPN so here we go:
aiming slaunchways - the first full on fic i wrote and surprise surprise it's john winchester pov
this little castiel snippet
ram jam bam ba-lam - fuck or die! writing sam pov was so fun omg.
this little dean/frank snippet
him who subjected it - idk if i'll ever write chuck again for real but i wanted to write this really badly and i'm glad i did lol
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