#his need to redeem himself to dean

[quietwingsinthesky]

I just think Sam should have missed Lucifer more post-s5. Cage torture an optional addition to the dynamic. What I needed was for Sam to be like 120% more obsessed over the fact that he was never going to be Lucifer’s vessel again and to be angry with himself that he could ever miss that and be unable to stop himself from still wanting it.

#in my mind this is simultaneously soulmates (derogatory) and soulmates (affectionate) #post-possession lucifer should have left a hole in Sam #and unlike dean. who feels empty and tries to fill it up knowing it won’t be enough. Sam should have sat with that emptiness #made it an integral part of his being. martyred himself over it. #he will never be whole again but wholeness was a sin he can’t be redeemed for #(he still wants it. he still wants to feel that again. power or completeness or just not being alone in his body anymore. #he should miss lucifer!!! #repo man my beloved Sam should Want! to talk! to any version of lucifer he can get!!! #until it finally sinks in that if it isn’t the real thing it will never fix that yawning chasm in him.) #anyway. thoughts for the day #lucifer should be the same way btw he should be just as obsessed with Sam as he was in s5 #worse actually. way worse. #he got shoved back into hell AND Sam got taken from him #lucifer should be sick with the need to get to Sam again and Keep Him. #(like physically. they should both be varyingly unwell when separated and only get better when in each other’s radius. which makes it WORSE #but also just. generally there is a horrible desire to be one again that existed in s5 #but post actually sharing a body is so much stronger. #and Sam will resist it as much as he can because he is Sam and has Guilt #but Lucifer would not!) #guess I’ll add the actually important tags now instead of rambling #let’s see #spn #supernatural #samifer #Lucifer/Sam #because I am Me. all Lucifer & Sam things I write should be viewed thru the lens of I think this is gay. #Sam winchester #Lucifer spn

[profound-poster]

#spn polls #spn rewatch #srsly how is this one episode??? #i had to cut out so many options since we are limited to 10 #didnt even touch base on if dean knew about cas' evil twin #dean trying to run after gabe while hes dying. dean just loves his angels okay #i wanted to put something about gabes sacrifice but i actually hate it. he already was redeeming himself and he didnt need to die #anyways this was a difficult one #dean and cas talking at the end too? obsessed with each other

[odesofmeddea]

i find it tragic and fascinating how sam's narrative is so rife with representations of confinement. of failed or rejected attempts to actually get away. as much as there is a need for individuation there is concurrently an utter terror at being let loose, the terror that comes at once that the individuation is permit. in season i, the scarecrow, we glimpse a pageant of both dean and sam's agony because it's the first time that dean tells him to go if he wants so, and the focus here is on how sam concaves in situations of such release. he crawls back happily. then he invariably tells dean, again, that he has to let him go once this is over... but then sam stays. when dean, through all his miseries, manages to let him be at the beginning of season v, sam is instantly awestruck, near nonmotile, ‘i was expecting a fight’, because he is so used to being forced back in, to being loved like this - through forms of compulsion, coercion and captivity. he is also used to these conditions being the only plausible safety that preserves him via its isolating modi operandi. so whenever he walks away, he is still not exempt. leaving with ruby, he aches to reconcile with dean, after. he brings up his brother on a date with the coworker-girl telling about his regrets, he calls dean at night, asking to be taken back. and it is copacetic in a way that the narrative warps sam to the point where he is defensive and greedy for love that, having forced him to renege his sovereignty, monopolized itself in his life.

first sam can't go back to stanford - his life is a locus of ecumenical violence, his body a site of appropriation, and yet, in all his impurity (since he deems himself impure and abject), dean is still there, loving, preserving, persevering. then he can't go back to the normal world because the family business (secret) takes away sam's tongue to the point where he no longer can communicate himself nor his trauma into the ambiance he now is completely alienated from. he is confined. he gives up, he lets himself to get eaten. the only thing he has is his brother who can't talk, toward whom all ends of his life invariably resile; dean representing the only support constancy to sam is simultaneously a representation of willed stasis - he no longer evolves outside of his brother, he convolutes into and about him. when you center your life around someone that much, they become the crux of your sense of self, they become the fulcrum of your good or bad self-perception… when lilith kills dean, the world ends. he is changed, ghastly, he is a man arage, a heathcliff bereft of his cathy - the personal transmutation is still a lot about brother, is still spurred by deanlessness. even the confirmation of sam's reality, later, gets centered around him - through the palm-wound dean sewed and reopened, unmade into the site of verity: if dean was here, in this wound, this is real. if dean trusts me, if i hadn't let him down again, then i'm whole, redeemable.

sam, now, is unwilling to leave. he long entered this limen of altered consciousness that is the result of the psychological duress he grew up in, along with the exacerbation of trauma that ensued once dean pulled him back into the vortex of the family loop. he gets domesticated - not that he wasn't by the fact of birth into this house - in the intergenerational mentality and trauma, many a time he goes through the identification with his father (prior: aggressor) whose obsessiveness he espouses. which is ourobóros because john could only execute and interpret love as an incarceration - dean tells lisa how he would cloister them when they were kids which is another form of perpetuated captivity resulting in complete dependency and disconnection from society. it is something you can't walk out and away from. when sam tells so to the hallucination of his child-self, while locked by dean in the cage: ‘we were never gonna get away’, he assumes his heritage and, too, cannot let go. gabriel tries to teach him the lesson on letting dean go but it is quite late for sam to either learn or want it. he just keeps pleading, like a homeless dog: please, please, bring him back, because homelessness is freedom and freedom means a world without dean. it happens to be a harrowing one.

in some episode when dean leaves with crowley but without him, sam gets drunk and cries about it to bobby. literally. when dean comes back, he locks him in the bathroom. it is also the same episode which crowley calls him dean's dog, the first time probably that he directly gets this canine title instead of dean, and it fits, it depicts. he is so insecure, so dependent. he loves dean to the point of self-annihilation. he always comes back. he, like any tamed dog, wants to prove himself, and to protect, and attack for. that might be why he is so scared when dean deliberately lets him out. if he let me out... does he no longer love me? and if he doesn't love me anymore, what else do i have in this world that i abjured for my cage completely?

#spn #sam winchester #wincest #samdean #my texts

[deanwritings]

FwB: Chapter 7 - Shower Sex is Complicated. So Are Feelings

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: FwB - Friends with Benefits.

After walking in on Y/N following a fun encounter, Dean and Y/N decide it would be beneficial and much easier to use each other for their needs. But can they keep it just about sex?

FwB - Master List

Word Count: 3,538

Warning: 18+ themes and language.

Gif:

A/N: So this chapter is what started the whole story. This was the spark that ignited the flame, and it all began when I heard City Grown Willow for the first time.

So I haven't done one of these in a while, but the chapter song is City Grown Willow by Radio Company.

I also promised angst last chapter, so here it comes.

When you returned home that evening, there was no attempt to take the night further; no innuendos, no raised eyebrows silently asking if you were up for some fun. In fact, it was all too innocent for your liking. As you left the garage, Dean walked close by your side, closer than normal. When you shot him a look, he just smiled down at you, the glow of content shining even brighter after your evening out. It made your heart swell, not just because of your feelings for the green-eyed man, but because Dean rarely had the opportunity to relax enough to find even a hint of happiness in his days. It was a good look on him, and you wished you could see it more. As you walked through the library, now void of Sam, Dean’s hand had found its way to your lower back. This time, you didn’t flinch at his touch, instead, you leaned into it. You tried to tell yourself it was the one too many old fashions you had, but how silly it is to try and lie to oneself. With Dean’s guiding touch, he led you to your room, and as you turned in his hold, his hand found home on your hip.

You looked up at the man in front of you, hair pushed up off his forehead, his green flannel hanging off his shoulders, and his matching eyes somehow glimmering in the dim light of the bunker hallway. He was beautiful. No matter how much you looked at him, it always took you by surprise when you really looked. Yeah it was obvious Dean Winchester was hot, but when you stared at him, it was like you could see every redeeming quality he thought didn’t exist in himself; the steadfast son, the devoted brother, the loyal friend. Words that barely encapsulated the man in front of you. He was so much more, even if he would never know it. Not because no one ever told him, but because he refused to believe it. 

And as Dean leaned it, it took you by surprise when his lips landed on your check, a fire erupting beneath your skin at his touch. Then he left you with nothing more than a “‘Night, sweetheart.” Before he disappeared down the hall to his room. 

You stood there like a crushing schoolgirl, your hand cupping your check long after his silhouette disappeared. There was no denying now a line had been crossed, the question was, how much further would you go?

The next morning, you were up early. Between the drinks and the tranquility in your chest, you had fallen asleep almost immediately. It was probably one of the best night’s sleep you had in a while, and you felt an unnatural energy as you pushed yourself from bed and damn near skipped to the kitchen. You just couldn’t help yourself. You were radiating from the evening before. You fell asleep with a smile on your face, and it had yet to disappear as you fixed a pot of coffee for yourself and the boys, somehow winning out as the first one up this morning. 

Your fingers drum against the counter as you watch the liquid pour into the pot, vaguely aware of the soft footsteps that have entered behind you. 

You don’t need to turn around to know it’s not Sam, bounding in with his endless energy at the crack of dawn. 

No, these were slippers dragging against concrete until they stopped behind you, a sweep of robe brushing against you as a hand came to rest upon the same place it left it the night before.

“Smells good,” the groggy voice mumbles as he leans in, his face coming into view as you glance sideways towards him. 

“Why thank you, I worked really hard.” You purse your lips, trying to stop the smirk from growing as his tired face falls and his eyes roll. 

You lick your lips as you watch him, your heart pounding at the intimate morning the two of you are sharing. It feels like a morning after. But there was no sex. You didn’t even share a bed together. Yet this is somehow just as visceral. 

“Well once you’re done being a smart ass, I wanted to talk to you about something.” He takes a step back and leans against the island across from you. You frown at the space he’s suddenly put between you. Was this a preverbal line in the sand? Was he about to call it quits? Had last night gone too far and he had recognized it and was willing to actually do something about it?

Your thoughts rapid fire as the sound of coffee splashing into the pot behind you echoes through the quiet room. 

“Okayyy,” you swallow, trying to get a hold on your breathing as you prepare for what he’s about to say. The best thing you can do is look unbothered by his words. To pretend like this is going to be mutual, that you feel the same way. 

“I’m glad you said it because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Remark to act like this wasn’t about to potentially ruin you. 

But instead of opening his mouth, Dean pulls his phone from his pocket, unlocking it before he hands it over to you. Your eyebrows scrunch as you take the device from him, wondering what the hell could possibly be on it that he wants to talk about. 

You look down at the screen, shaking your head at the onslaught of text on the white background, all in that old typewriter font, making it impossible to get a quick sense of what you were looking at.

“What is this?” You bring the phone closer to your face, the text far too tiny to read from your outstretched arm. This time, you notice a logo in the top left corner. CONFILABS. The orange and blue logo somehow unjumbling the rest.

DOB: 01/24/1979

Gender: M

Ordering Physician: McDally, Mark

Report Status: FINAL 

“A clean bill of health, sweetheart.” Dean smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

That’s when you see it. A list of every common STD, with NEGATIVE stamped next to each one. 

It’s an STD test. A clear STD test. 

You lower the phone, your mouth agape as you find the gaze of the grinning man across from you. 

“Are you really that desperate to go bareback?” You snap, surprising yourself. You don’t know why, but something about this is pissing you off. Perhaps it’s that your head is still spinning thinking he was about to break the agreement, or maybe because you were enjoying this early morning moment, and this report was just a stark reminder that all this was between you was sex. And Dean Winchester was apparently tired of condoms. 

And now you felt like an idiot. 

You toss his phone back at him, ignoring his fallen smile.

“Congratulations on the clean dick.” You push off the counter and stomp back to your room.

“She’s grumpy this morning,” Sam walks in shortly after, what seemed to Dean, as you storming out. 

The whole encounter had him scratching his neck. He thought you would have appreciated the gesture. He had barely even looked at another woman since the two of you signed your little pack. This was just solidifying his commitment to you. 

It wasn’t so much about the condoms. It’s not like he was a stranger to them. Though let’s be honest, what guy actually likes using them? It was more that he wanted you to know that he was all yours. If you still wanted to use condoms, he had no problem with that. He assumed you were on birth control, but he hadn’t asked you straight out considering the condom clause. But maybe that was the issue. Maybe you weren’t expecting him to get a STD test to prove he didn’t need them, and now you would have to compensate for it. But why not just tell him then?

“Did your date not go well then?” Sam asks as he pours himself a cup of coffee. His brother’s words bring him back to the kitchen, and he shakes his thoughts away.

“What date?” Dean pushes by his brother and mimics his actions before leaning against the counter and taking a sip.

“Your date with Y/N.” Dean scoffs and pushes off the counter, heading for the table.

“That wasn’t a date, dude.” Dean lies. “That was dinner that you didn’t want to go to.” Well, that was the truth. 

He would never say it out loud, but when Sammy opted out of dinner, Dean lit up. He had never had the chance to go out with you one-on-one before, and with all the time the two of you had been spending together, always hidden away, it was nice to be out in public. Doing a normal thing two people do when they’re not having sex. 

“Yeah, sure.” Sam scoffs with a laugh as he sits across from Dean. Dean makes a show of rolling his eyes, but he wonders if Sam can see it, the shift he’s felt in himself the last few weeks. He’s not exactly sure what’s changed, but he can feel it. In the lack of nightmares when he closes his eyes, in the unnatural calmness, that at first freaked him out, but has since settled into, and the one word he won’t even dare fucking think. The dreaded h-word. Because that was something that never accompanied a Winchester. Maybe for a short time, but it never lasted, and it wasn’t worth enjoying. Because it was just something to miss once it was gone. 

“Whatever,” Dean buries himself in his mug, hopefully ending the conversation. 

“Anyways,” Sam starts after a beat. “I think I found a case.” This perks Dean up. A case would be a perfect distraction to whatever the fuck that was with you earlier. 

“Time to pack, then.”

After a grueling eight and a half hour drive, the Impala finally pulls into Flamingo Springs Motel, a bright pink building that seemed wildly out of place for Rogers, Arkansas. You were in the north west corner of the state, so there were no beaches around, but that didn’t stop the owners from painting the rooms a bright turquoise and decorating them with anything that had a seashell on it. 

Oddly though, you enjoyed it. You had been in a mood since your talk with Dean this morning, and sulking in the backseat of the Impala during a long road trip hadn’t done much to improve it, though you had managed to talk yourself out of being mad at Dean. 

After a lot of mental therapy, you decided you were being unfair. You had told Dean if he could prove he was clean, you two wouldn’t need condoms. He was following the rules that he had allowed you to set. And you had punished him for it. Just because he couldn’t read your mind. Couldn’t figure out that you had broken your own private rule. Didn’t know that you had fully and totally fallen in love with him. 

You knew it was coming, and you let it happen. It wasn’t Dean’s fault. And you shouldn’t punish him for it. 

But after all the internal debating, and spending a third of the day in the back seat of a fifty-year-old car, you had a tension headache, starting in your shoulders and having crept up to the base of your neck. 

So as soon as you walk into the only room that was available with the boys, you immediately call dibs on the shower. You were about to put the motel’s water heater to the test. 

“That’s fine,” Sam tosses his duffle on the bed closest to the door. “I called ahead to the forensics lab so I’m gonna head over and pick up the reports on the victims so we can get a head start.”

“Sam?” The somehow larger of the two brothers looks up at you as he pulls a fresh button down from his bag. “Were you the kid in class who used to remind the teacher they assigned homework?” You narrow your eyes at him with a smirk. 

Sam’s face falls as Dean laughs into a not so subtle cough. 

“Hilarious,” he deadpans before striding into the bathroom and shutting the door with a little more force than necessary. 

Dean shoots you a look and shrugs at you with a smile. You muster a smile back, reminding yourself that you’re not mad at him before you busy yourself with your bag while Sam changes, hanging up your fed suits so they don’t wrinkle. 

After Sam waves you a silent and likely moody goodbye, you slip into the bathroom, which is a bright sunshine yellow. These owners really love their bold colors. The bathroom is small, with a pedestal sink, a white wicker mirror, and a shower stall tiled in Granny Smith Apple green. It was a hell of a color combo. But who were you to shit on someone trying to bring some brightness to this dark life? 

You turn on the water, shifting the knob to go almost towards the end of the red line painted on the faucet. You undress as the room begins to fog and once naked, you open the shower door and stick your hand in, the water the right temperature of not quite scalding but hot enough to loosen your road trip knots. You step inside and audibly sigh as the water hits your skin, and you feel your tension melting away almost instantaneously. It wasn’t the Ritz, but the water pressure was doing wonders for you, and you weren’t going to complain. 

You’re halfway through rinsing off your body when you hear the bathroom door click open. You freeze as a figure appears behind the frosted glass, and you take your best guess.

“Dean?” Your hands are resting on your opposite shoulders, soap running down your body as you wait for an answer. 

“If you don’t mind,” the familiar gruff voice rises above the steam. “Figured I’d join ya before you use all of the hot water.” You huff out a laugh at the proposition, but you don’t say “no.” And a moment later, the shower door opens, and a very naked Dean Winchester steps in. The small stall suddenly feels even smaller with his striking presence.

You swallow as you stare up at him. Though you’ve been naked in front of him countless times over the last few months, it’s never been like this. Outside of the first time you ever hooked up, this was the most vulnerable you had ever felt in front of him. But his eyes roam over you gently and he smiles softly, possibly sensing your hesitation. 

“Is there a reason the water is hotter than holy hell?” His facade breaks as he looks at the faucet. “Are you actually enjoying this?” Your laughter cuts through the steam and tension, and you reach out to lower the heat for his sake. 

“It’s relaxing.” You counter, turning back into the stream to continue rinsing off. 

“It’s torture.” He complains as he steps behind you, allowing you more room under the shower head. 

“You’re the one who joined my shower. If you don’t like it,” you turn to face him. “Leave.” You challenge, staring up at him and holding his gaze. His lips twitch and he responds by placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you back towards the water. 

“Why the hell do you like it this hot anyways?” He carries on as you rinse off the last of the soap.

“It helps me unwind.” You shrug, wringing your hair and tossing it over your shoulder. That’s when you feel a naked chest against your back, and you immediately lean into it with a breathy sigh. 

“I can think of another way to help you unwind,” his lips tickle your ear, his voice almost drowned out by the onslaught of water.

“And how’s that?” You sigh. That’s when you feel it, his large hands encompassing your waist, but just for a moment before they lower themselves down your body. One hand trailing down your thigh as the other cups you with a breathless gasp. You bite down on your lip as you grind yourself against him. He responds by teasing your folds, fingers brushing over your clit, but not lingering long enough to give you something to latch onto.

“Dean,” you moan, your hips pushing harder against him, begging him to enter you. And he complies. One finger slides within you as the hand that was on your thigh finds a new home, with his thumb pressing down against your clit. You buck against his hands as he adds a second finger, the two exploring within you until they find your wall and curl up within you. You throw your arm behind you, wrapping it around his neck as you push up on your toes to accommodate his height. 

You mew against him as he moves inside of you, starting slow, but as you respond to him, picking up pace and pressure with each of his hands. You answer his movements with your hips, feeling his erection grow against your back as the pressure within you builds and builds. Despite the fall of water, you feel sweat bead on your forehead as your calves begin to quiver and your breaths come in short spurts.

“De–Deannn,” you barely find your voice as the spring in your belly that had coiled tight against his fingers explodes against his hands, your pleasure mixing with the water as your body tingles from the heat of the shower and the static of your orgasim. 

Fuck that was amazing. Your body heaves as you try to catch your breath, but the air is too heavy in here. 

As Dean’s hands fall away from you, you turn and face him, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into you for a searing kiss, wanting him to feel the electricity pulsing through you. He immediately responds, his lips moving in sync with yours, hungry as you are, as his hands travel down your backside, cupping your ass. 

“Bed.” You mumble against him as his lips barely give you a moment to use your voice. Dean grabs your thighs, and you jump up, wrapping your legs around his waist, his throbbing erection between the two of you as he pushes you against the cool glass of the shower door, causing you to gasp before he recaptures your lips, kicking the bathroom door that he left ajar fully open before lowering you gently to the bed closest to you.

He hovers over you, the light of the later afternoon filtering through the small cracks of the blinds and casting a glow around him. Once again, you find yourself in awe at just how beautiful he is. And you’re lucky for the time he’s given you so far. You watch as his green eyes take you in, searching for your approval to continue, so you nod. 

With that he climbs on top of you, and without wasting another precious second, buries himself within you, and you can’t help the unabashed moan as you feel all of him for the first time, uncovered, and 100% Dean Winchester. It feels better than you ever imagined. And as you look up at Dean, his eyes shut tight as he licks his lips, he seems to have the same reaction. 

You rest your hand on his tricep, rubbing it gently to coax his eyes open.

“This is nice,” you breathe out a laugh as his contorted face seems to overly agree with you. After a moment, Dean takes in a deep breath and you’re once more met with his gaze. 

“Needed a moment,” he chuckles, and you feel a strange sense of pride at his response to you. Even after all these months. 

“Well let’s not waste any more,” you tease, and Dean responds with a smirk before lowering himself down onto you, hovering for just a moment before his lips find yours. 

It only lasts a second, but in that moment, something tells you this is more than just sex. 

Then he moves within you, slow, controlled, the length of him hitting against your wall as you buck under him. This was new. You hadn’t done slow yet. 

And despite the pace, your body responds hungrily with each precise thrust, your moans catching in your throat as you writhe beneath him. 

It’s a slow burn, Dean taking his time and you savoring every hit as the warmth within you grows, hotter and brighter, tightening every cell within you until you explode, throwing your body against his, fingers digging into skin as you ride against him with everything you have, tears forming in you eyes, because it’s more than just the pleasure. 

It’s more than you ever imagined you would get from him. More than you ever wanted. It wasn’t sex. It was full. Complete. Beautiful. A totality. It was love.

And this was it. This was goodbye.

Chapter 8

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[likeabitchylamb]

it's so genuinely interesting to look at my favorite characters in supernatural because it changes so much as the show goes on and each character is different in each season and with each writer. Like, Sam in the early seasons with the demon blood, his brand of daddy issues, his trying to be good but everyone including heaven is telling him he's nothing more than a demon blood-drinking vessel of Lucifer, and he'll sacrifice himself to save the world and stop the apocolapse. oh my god i think about that every five minutes. he's just a long, shaggy-haired, too-tall, and too-kind young man. he sees the best in everyone, and tries to redeem monsters when he can because if he can save them, he can save himself, right? and later on I think about the soulless sam and hallucinating lucifer and the ramifications of being in the cage for so long, and all that so often. but then... idk he has his moments from time to time, but it felt like his character finished and just needed a woman to pair off with because TV character arcs always end with characters marrying, but he didn't even properly get that? he married an off-screen woman after his actual love interest DIED!

then we get dean, who started out as the typical beer-loving cool womanizer dude who loves his family, his car, and hunting things. then he gets broken down as the show goes on into exploring his daddy issues, and it was never something i really fully loved until later on, mostly because the show was always so insistent on keeping his Cool Status at first. then he did and it was always so good. but the show always put a beer back in his hand, a gun in his pocket, and I always left the season feeling like there was more to be explored. he can yell, scream, and cry, but he was never allowed to truly grow from those experiences. he died a hunter, after explicitly showing that was the last thing he wanted.

casiel. oh my god i love castiel. he very quickly became my favorite character above sam with his lack of understanding social queues and his relationship with heaven. ohhhhhh my GOD his relationship with heaven. that scene at the bench where he's begging for clarification and a sign and for god to talk to him????? I'm sobbing. at times i felt like his character's arcs were forced, or his arc was too quick, or off-screen, but that's a by-product of the studio keeping him as a side character so misha had a max number of episodes to show up in. i really hate not seeing "starring: misha collins" because misha really is the heart of the character. just like everyone, but especially misha. he kept castiel around and brought him to life beyond what was expected and that was how it was from day fucking one of his portrayal. oh my god.

also, adam! because his bitterness and spite and hatred always felt So Real. imagine you're him, and your dad travels for his job, but comes to baseball games and he's nice and all. then he disappears and suddenly two men, kinda older than you, show up saying all sorts of crazy shit. they're your father's children from his first marriage before his wife died when they were super young -what?- and his job was hunting monsters -what the fuck?- and you're actually a dark secret in his life and they are fucking pissed cause he was such a shit dad to him -what the FUCK?- oh, and he's dead, killed by a demon -what the actual FUCK- then you get possessed by -get this- the archangel Michael and before you can even begin to properly process that angels exist and the apocolapse is happening because you're still reeling over the fact that your dad was a deadbeat to his two other children who were raised to hunt monsters and your family was like a vacation getaway for him so he can pretend to be normal instead of raising his two other children properly, but you can't think about THAT because oh my god sam took control of lucifer and dragged you and Michael, btw in the same body, down to the hell. but not normal hell, oh no, this is the cage where time is so much faster and you're there for hundreds of years and lucifer is torturing sam and it's awful and you're stuck there with Michael and wow, did he ever say goodbye to his mom (note: i forget if his mom is even alive or talked about, but i assume so) Then you get brought back, and of COURSE YOU HATE EVERYONE!!!

#likeabpost #im not adding everyone im stopping here #so just call it why i like the winchesters except the parents fuck 'em #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #castiel #team free will #tfw #adam spn #adam winchester #idk if he had a different last name sorry adam

[cascodeddeangirlie]

No because what if Destiel was canon when Cas met Cain in that graveyard…

I used the actual script so 99% of the dialogue is not original! Also sorry if the formatting is weird, it’s my first time posting and I’m on mobile.

“It's Cas.” Dean put his phone on speaker. He hadn’t heard Cas’s voice for a good while, but as much as he’d like to keep it for himself, they were looking for Cain. He couldn’t afford to be selfish right now. “Hey, where you at?”

“Illinois.” It was good to hear his voice again. Especially after he hadn’t been picking up his calls earlier.

“Hey, Cas, we got a lead. Cain abducted a Texas death row inmate named Tommy Tolliver.” Sam said, sounding like he barely believed what he was saying. It sounded a little ridiculous, but that was normal for them. This seemed normal. Almost like they were working a case again.

But Sam and Dean weren’t with Cas. They couldn’t see him crouching in the woods, holding a white sneaker that had ‘TDJC’ written on the bottom. When Cas spoke again, it’s nothing close to what they wanted to hear. “He's dead.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam asked, staring at the phone. Dean was worried now, his concern clear on his face.

“Call it an educated guess. Cain has been very busy.” Castiel stood, looking around. The woods where he had been were never really woods at all, just woods surrounding a clearing. A clearing full of freshly dug graves.

Dean’s fear was clear through his voice. “Okay, where are you? We'll come to you.”

Cas felt someone watching him through the trees. He looked around, unsure where it was coming from. “I'll call you back.”

Dean sighed, exasperated, and put his phone in his pocket. With Cas leaving as unexpectedly as usual, he must be okay.

Meanwhile, Cas turned around to find Cain staring at him.

“Hello, Castiel.” Cain seemed unfazed, despite being surrounded by death that he caused. Perhaps it’s natural for the father of murder.

“What have you done?” The angel is appalled, angry.

“These bodies? Just cleaning up a mess I made a long time ago.” He still sounded relaxed. Maybe there was a tinge of regret in his voice, but it was too faint to tell.

“Cain, I know what you were. But you'd resisted for so long.” He was desperate and it showed. He wanted Cain to say something to redeem this, to say he would stop, that he could stop.

“What can I say? I got the taste back.” Cain isn’t moved at all by Cas’s attempt at reconciling him. “With Abaddon's army gunning for me, I had to take up arms again, and I liked how it felt.” As he spoke, he walked closer to Castiel.

“Those were demons. These-” Cas looked around once again. The graves were appalling. The deaths were an abomination. It never should have happened.

Cain crouched down and lifted up a teddy bear. It was muddy and torn apart, and Castiel just knew that it was a small child’s favorite toy. A now deceased child.

“Humans.” Cain breathed out, staring at the bear. “Eh, the Mark thirsts for all kinds.” He lowers the bear and looks away from it.

“This is a massacre.” Castiel’s voice was filled with anger. So many dead. Children, fathers, mothers, siblings, entire families destroyed because they happened to be descended from a killer.

“Yes.” Cain looks up at Cas. He sounds almost dreamy. “And soon it'll be a genocide.” He stood, tossing the bear aside. “My children, my whole poisoned issue. A lot of them out there right now... killers, fighters, thieves, some more peaceful than others. But they still carry it... the disease. If the Mark wants blood, I'll give it mine.” He walked closer, stepping between graves. He seemed peaceful, as though he were simply accepting this as something that had to happen, that he needed to do.

“You'll kill them all? You are Adam and Eve's firstborn. Your descendants are legion.” Cas walks closer to Cain.

“At most, I'm culling... 1 in 10.” Cain said this in a way that attempted to justify what he was doing. To say that maybe it was acceptable.

He earned himself a glare from Cas. “Of everyone.”

“I’ve got time.” Cas’s glare hardened. Cain continued like he couldn’t see it. “How's Dean, by the way? I hear he did good, took Abaddon down.”

Cas looked away, losing his glare. Cain’s expression finally dropped a little.

“He's…not well.” Cain said, realizing. He knew. Cain knew that look. It’s the look his Colette wore. It’s the look of someone slowly losing their lover.

Castiel’s gaze flickered back up to Cain. “Even with the First Blade hidden, Dean is losing his fight against the Mark. If we don't find a cure…He’ll start and never stop.” His eyes wander around the graveyard again. Knowing that one day, he could be standing in another graveyard, but next time it will not be created by someone evil, not by an entity that they are stopping, but Dean. His Dean. His charge, his human, his love. The one he risked everything for. The one he rescued from Hell and reconstructed, saw every single part of his being and soul, and fell for. There was no one else like him and there never will be. Castiel already knew that one day he could lose Dean, maybe in a hunting accident, maybe to old age, something mortal, but not like this. Watching him lose himself was worse. Watching everything that made him fall in love fade was worse. Watching the soul that he sewed back together tear itself apart was so, so much worse. This, the mark, is the worst thing that could have ever happened. “He just needs to stop. I need him to stop.”

Cain saw it. He saw that he had created another one of himself, that he was destroying someone else in love the way he had destroyed Colette. Those eyes, full of fear, sadness, anger, are the same ones he saw when he looked at her. He had destroyed her from the inside out, and now he was making Dean do the same to his angel.

But it was too late.

“There is no cure. I'm living proof of that. But don't worry about Dean. I'll get to him. In due time.” Cain couldn’t apologize, not now. He knew this would happen. He had tried to warn Dean of the consequences. The final thing he knew, the most concrete thing to him, was that there was nothing he could say or do at this point to save this angel from his Colette’s fate, his new fate.

Castiel’s moment of vulnerability with this murderer passed. His angel blade dropped from his sleeve into his hand.

“Sorry Castiel.” Cain’s gaze softened, if only for a second. He had so much more in that apology than Castiel might have realized. “I’m sorry that you have to lose him like this. I’m sorry that I’m going to kill him. I’m sorry that the Mark is taking him apart. I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Colette.”

“You’re not on my list.” Cain said, then disappeared. Castiel was alone. And as he looked around the graveyard, he knew. He knew this could be his future, that Dean could end up leaving him the same way Cain just did, cold and uncaring and only focused on killing.

And he knew he would never be able to stop him.

Thanks for reading :3 apologies if it was ooc at all

#superntural #supernatural #destiel #castiel #dean winchester #deancas #mark of cain #cain spn #supernatural castiel #sam winchester #angst #supernatural angst #destiel angst

[sitp-recs]

Masterclass in smut 🔥

Happy Friday everyone! As promised, here’s a multishipper/multi-fandom smutty reclist with my personal wank bank favorite ships doing the nasty and being 100% unapologetic about it. I could maybe split these between 2 categories, evocative and downright problematique filth - y por que no los dos??? Naturally, everything’s (very) Explicit here. Bon Appétit my horniessss

Has the Touch by professorfangirl (Bond/Q, 007, 2k) - the sexiest, most intimate and organic smut I’ve ever read, #writing goals

Bond is good with his hands.

Slip Free of My Grasp by @lqtraintracks (Harry/Sirius, HP, 3.5k) - 1st person pov goals, sinful and redeeming at once. This Sirius holds my heart

I don't want to be bad for him. I want to do bad things and still be, somehow, inexplicably, good.

Sardines by @shiftylinguini (Scorbus + Jeddy, HP, 4k) - a masterpiece with impeccable atmosphere, no one has ever made borderline incest feel so light & playful

It’s bad enough his cock is hard from listening to the impromptu midnight pornography of his brother getting off; Albus is not going to add seeing it to the list of reasons why he lost his mind, and presumably his eyesight, on the eve of his grandmother's seventieth.

Tremolo by Lilsoshie, marose (Tony/Peter, MCU, 4.3k) - stream of consciousness smut with insatiable Tony and exhausted af Peter

“You’re gonna ride me,” Tony decides, easing his fingers free and cherishing the unhappy whine the move inspires. “Up, come on.”

The Lies We Live With by @bixgirl1 (Jeddy, HP, 5k) - peak angsty smut, just the tip has never hurt this much :(

It doesn’t really count… is almost always followed by a lie, James learns, growing up.

Honeyboy by dollylux (Wincest, Supernatural, 6k) - filthy underage semi-public incest, see y’all in hell 🤠

While John's running an errand in the backwoods in Louisiana, Sam finds a way to keep Dean occupied. (Sex kitten!Sammy and trying-so-hard-to-be-good-in-public-and-failing!Dean.)

Ravishing by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 7.6k) - give me dead dove like this or give me nothing!!!

Theseus holds a dinner party at his home and once Newt plays his part, he escapes, unaware he has an admirer following him.

Toeing the Line by @shiftylinguini (Tedrarry, HP, 8k) - nothing gets me more into Harry/Teddy than watching Harry watch Draco fuck Teddy. Filthy & sweet but really, this is here for the brilliant title plus daddy kink

Draco wasn’t sure why watching his partner fuck Teddy until he screamed was somehow less morally iffy for Harry than just doing it himself, but Draco wasn’t about to judge. Not when he was balls deep, anyway.

Only As Directed by rageprufrock (Hartwin, Kingsman, 12k) - possessive love is knowing how to share :)

“Arthur is a bad man,” Roxy had said. “Fucking tell me about it,” Eggsy had muttered, and gone to put on the tarty trousers Harry had picked out for him like a fucking high-end pimp.

Burned Silk, Buckled Leather by @ruinsplume (Sirius/Draco, HP, 12k) - stunning catharsis smut, liberating and full of kink positivity

When Sirius discovers a down-and-out Draco Malfoy lurking around the edges of a Muggle kink club, he thinks he knows just what Draco needs. He isn't expecting to run into some long-buried needs of his own.

Euphoria by birdsofshore (Scorbus + Dralbus, HP, 22k) - my go-to wank material, dilf Draco can step on my face anytime

A fire is prickling in the pit of my belly. I feel a little like I'm watching this happening to someone else. Al's sitting there, reeking of another man's sweat and come. He looks miserable and anxious... but also well-fucked. I look at his mussed hair, his bitten lips. I've never wanted him more.

From Thy Bounty by feyrelay, natureboy (Tony/Peter, MCU, 32k) - masterclass in both building and resolving sexual tension

Tony’s eyes are always dark, but now there's almost no iris left. He looks hollowed out. There’s something terribly hungry there, despite the feast they've filled themselves on.

Sötnos by Miss_Lv (Newt/Percival, Fantastic Beasts, 37k) - exquisite world building, blows my mind every time

Newt was expelled from Hogwarts but his parents managed to get him into another school, Durmstrang. There, Newt is taken under wing by the kind Professor Graves, who teaches him everything he needs to know about making new friends.

Heart Toward the Highway by Edwardina (Jo Harvelle/John Winchester, Supernatural, 43k) - the only F/M story you’ll ever need to read, I promise

Jo, fresh out of high school, has left home and wound up on the road with John, trying to learn the ropes from someone who isn't exactly sharing and caring. John, distant and impatient, isn't really a partner, friend, or role model -- which means that Jo's gotta get all stupid and hot for him. Their stoic apprenticeship starts to unravel as Jo starts to run out of clothes and John can't ignore her anymore.

Breezeblocks by hellhoundsprey (Supernatural RPF, 59k) - I have no idea how I found this, I don’t even read RPF. if you’re into cuckolding + humiliation: it doesn’t get any better than this

After months of doubts and suspicions, Jake ends up catching his husband red-handed when he comes home early one Friday afternoon. A/B/O

#smut reclist #multi-fandom pwp #aka liv’s wank bank #check the tags lovelies!!!!

[povcastiel]

The Devil in The Details

[ I truly never thought I’d find the time or brain power to get this finished, but here we are. I cannot express this enough—THANK YOU! To all the people who adored my first Castiel fic, this is dedicated to you! ]

Part Two of I’m No Angel

Synopsis | Castiel has found his purpose, or so he’s found the motivation to redeem himself. You spend some time apart, making amends of your own. The Winchester’s ultimately fling you back into chaos and it’s up to your Angel to prove his devotion.

Tags | Supernatural, Castiel, F!Reader, Human!Reader/Angel, Romance, Castiel rescues reader in the midst of her demise, Sweet ending!

Warnings | Angst, Angst, Angst, Violence, Guilt, Abandonment, Sexual Content, Dean’s kind of an ass to the reader, etc.

Word Count | 4.8k

Rating | R, Mature Audiences MDNI

“Can’t you just…” He searches for the right word, “Heal her?” Dean finally questions, as if that answer is already obvious. The halls of the hospital are bare this time of night. Leaving Castiel alone with his thoughts, full of concern for you and guilt over not having done more. His brows are knitted together in such deep concentration, that when he turns to his friend, he almost appears angry. “I am limited, what I have isn’t enough to heal the extent of her injuries.” He explains, voice grave and deep within his throat. Dean is unsatisfied, turning away in silent frustration.

The hunter eventually spins back around, ready to unload a lecture on the Angel, but instead Castiel has vanished and Sam has rounded the corner with two small cups of coffee. His brother’s face softens. Though Sam remains confused. Slowly, he hands the styrofoam cup full of hot liquid to him. Something to keep them awake and alert. Dean mumbles a quick ‘thanks,’ before crossing the short distance to the chairs along the wall.

“Where is Cas?” Sam speaks first. “I don’t know.” Dean’s response being the usual. By his tone, he clearly is not in the mood to discuss it. Sam’s eyebrows raise momentarily, feeling as if he’d missed something, but he decides not to push his sibling any further.

The blinds that are drawn and closed to your room conceal the scene of Castiel at the side of your bed. He listened to the incessant beeping of the monitor, keeping track of your heartbeat and vitals. He stood there for quite some time, taking the time to commit every detail to memory. You looked so peaceful in your state of unconsciousness and despite your harrowing appearance, he is relieved to see you without any pain. He takes another step closer and reaches for your limp hand. Fingers laying so delicately against the white blanket that covers your legs and torso. His fingertips ghost the back of your hand as your eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks. Quickly, his hand falls back to his side and just as you manage to lift your heavy lids. Your vision blurred and swimming of colors and light. Though you can make out his figure once he is within view. Your sight slowly returns. His raven hair is disheveled, features so distinctly pensive, and wearing the same coat which he had wrapped you in.

He slowly leans over you, examining you so carefully and closely. You’re wondering why your heartbeat stays so steady on the monitor when it seems it may burst in its cage. He is so close you can’t help but look at him. Your head tilts back into your pillow, lips parting, as if you could be offering yourself to him. His hand grips onto the bed railing, and to your disappointment, he corrects his posture. “You need rest.” He finally decides after his intense observation.

“Will you stay?” You manage with a hoarse voice.

His expression softens, blue eyes full of adornment. This you knew all too well, it was reserved for you. Were you blushing? He tilts his head in consideration, but the door suddenly pushes open and shatters your dreams. Castiel is startled and steps back, as if you’d both been caught smacking lips. The intruder clearly had interrupted an intimate moment. The display slides back on its wheels. It is evident he wasn’t anywhere near the rolling medical equipment. Only you could know his wings were to blame. This makes you suppress a giggle, which was easier than normal considering the pain you were in.

The Winchester’s stand beyond your bed. Dean and Cas share tense glares. “Already fighting I see…” You utter from your sore throat, eyes squeezing closed with a sudden cough.

Their bitterness is set aside for the time being. Everyone’s attention shifts to you. “How you feelin’?” Sam asks first, with the kindest intentions. Always the one to check on you - aside from Cas of course. You don’t have a moment to answer. “We are going to find that son of a bitch and gank him.” Dean promises and Sam glances at him questionably, but ultimately seems to feed into that plan. “We’ll find him. As soon as you’re strong enough-”

“No.” Castiel interjects. Dean is bemused. “What do you mean ‘no’?” You suddenly feel the suffocation of the dominance in the room. Your eyes looking between the two of them.

“She was nearly killed tonight. She can help in some other way.” This surprises you to hear. Cas had never spoken on your behalf, nor had displayed such concern, at least not to Sam and Dean. Especially when it came to the bigger picture, he always believed in making those sacrifices. He scoffs at the Angel. “Apparently you’ve been missing the whole point of this. We need her!” His finger pointing toward you. “So we can end this mess.” He gestures out with his hands before they slap down against his jeans. He comes face to face with the Angel. They are so close you swear their noses will touch at any moment. Castiel’s nostrils flare, lips pressed into a hard line.

Silence ensues and you feel as if you don’t exist, they didn’t even know… you’d already made up your mind.

Your body wakes naturally from the peaceful sleep that subdued you. The best sleep you’ve had in months. Much to your disappointment, Castiel has disappeared. A sinking feeling settles in your chest, as your eyes begin to search the room for any sign of him. Slowly you push yourself up, memories slowly flooding back of the night you spent in his arms. Your fingertips ghost over the areas his lips had been, recalling the bliss. How you wished it to never end.

Eventually, you pull yourself from your daydreaming and stand from the bed. You wrap yourself in a robe and decide to wander downstairs. You’re still hopeful to find Cas. You’re still floating on dreams and clouds, clinging onto every last bit of him. Which is why it crushes you when your house is solemnly empty. You glance over the table, at the mess from the previous night, before sinking down onto the couch. You clutch the fabric of your robe higher around your neck, hugging yourself in the process. Quietly you sit a while with your eyes closed. Of course you expected this, but you weren’t prepared for his departure to be so soon. You sulk in the aftermath of his absence, letting the reality of it sink it. Allowing yourself to believe that the problem still resided with you. That you weren’t capable of good, of nurturing. You were only good at running people away, ruining everything you touched.

Just as you continue to feel sorry for yourself, you notice a sheet of paper tucked beneath the cup of tea you made for him. Slowly you inch forward and lift the mug, pulling the note from under it. It was from Castiel.

‘By the time you find this, I will be gone. Forever I am indebted to you. You’ve changed me. You’ve allowed me to see this world differently. Because of that, I have to figure out where I belong. I have to set things right. Please set things right with Dean.

I’m always with you.

Castiel’

You wanted nothing more than to avoid the situation, much like you had the last few months. Which, all things considered, had been going swimmingly for you. That was until Castiel stumbled back into your life. You couldn’t even bother to stay angry with him, knowing well enough that making amends was your only way to heal and move on from the past. Reluctantly, you removed yourself from the couch and proceeded back to your bedroom to freshen up. You showered, pulled your hair up, and kept your attire casual.

The air nipped at your skin, the callings of fall beckoning in the wind. You noticed, more than ever, the way the leaves had begun to change their color. Their new shades, before dying off their branches, felt all that more significant in that moment.

Silently you slipped behind the wheel and started the engine. You pulled your seat belt snug across your lap, clicking it into place. With a hand on the steering and the other on the shift, you laid your head back against the headrest. A quiet breath escaped you, before ultimately making the decision to move forward. Thankfully, the scenic drive through Lebanon’s back roads was a nice bit of therapy for your hectic mind. What would you say to Dean? Would they be mad at you? You turned over endless possibilities, your anxiety ever increasing within the confines of the vehicle. Somewhere, in the midst of all your overthinking, you couldn’t help but recall simpler times. When your love for Castiel was merely a crush and the Winchester’s had been the brothers you never had.

You could visibly see the room you claimed. A ridiculous amount of books piled beside your bed. Occasionally stealing Dean’s set of music to blast through any lonely night. But you also could vividly see Cas in the darkness of your room. In all his heavenly glory, just as you prayed for him. He answered every time. Dean nor Sam knew of how it became a habit for him to lull you back to sleep from a nightmare. How he promised to destroy wretched demons in your honor and protect you with his life. It was his bravery, his tender heart that kept you sane. It was him, centered in the chaos, that grounded you and offered you your last shred of hope.

The bunker had finally come within view. Fear seized you once again, as your foot pressed slowly against the brake pedal. The car rolled to a stop before the door, the Impala aligned with you. You turned and removed the key, promptly stepping out onto the damp dirt. Your eyes looked over the building you never thought you’d see again, a sense of dread filled your lungs with your next breath. Even still, you forced yourself forward to the door.

You hadn’t expected the surprised look on Dean’s face, not even the strong hug that he suffocated you with. Like the sister he never wanted. His musk was familiar and, to your relief, comforting in your wake of abandonment. You soaked in the silent apologies, the warmth of his presence, and the easiness of acceptance from him. You’d known him to be stubborn, to lash out, but his promises always remained kept.

When you did finally pull away, you managed another hug for Sam. He smiled weakly at you, eyes wrinkling at the edges. It is only then that you notice how you all have come to age. How easily time slipped by. They failed to mention that the world passes quickly whether you’re having fun or not.

“I saw Cas…” You confess, this time you are facing Dean.

His eyes flicker to the floor, swallowing thickly in response. Slowly, he lifts his gaze to meet your own. Green eyes boring into yours, he isn’t ready to forgive and certainly isn’t willing to explain either. And it is this that you are unwilling to accept, to allow even.

“Dean, he needs help.” You sigh, “Our help.” You clarify with more firmness in your statement.

“Is that why you came here?”

“Dean…” Sam tries, but his brother is quick to shut him down. In fact, he doesn’t even acknowledge him, as he steps closer to you. His frame towers your own, but you aren’t one to back down, especially not from him.

“We’ve all made mistakes, but he is still your friend, your family!” You exclaim, as if something about your tone and blurred vision would bring him to his senses. Would make him think rationally about a suffering friend.

“You know what…” Dean breathes, head hanging briefly. “First it was you.” That part stings. “And I could accept that, I understood why you walked away. Hell, I hoped you’d find some peace out there. But Cas… He was our last shot and he left.” The words are bitter on his tongue, and even more foul from a man who had been betrayed. “Someone has to do the work.”

You stand between the two men, torn between guilt and loyalty. If last night was any constellation, your bond to Castiel had become stronger. More than ever you were desperate to heal this divide, to close the chapter and begin again. And yet, endlessly you seemed to go in circles with the Winchester’s and your beloved Angel. The silence is enough to break you. It is enough to push you toward impulsive decisions and ones that Castiel would disapprove of, but you were doing this for him. For the sake of humanity, which is where you stood - at the very center of it all.

“I know that I hurt you, Dean.” You admit, shakily at best. “But don’t punish him for something I caused.” Your voice barely above a whisper. The tension seems to evaporate with your truth, instead it was replaced by pain. He doesn’t dare to face that, not yet, which is why he doesn’t utter a word to you. “Let’s end this.”

You’re reminded of those dreadful four walls. The screams you emitted still haunted you at night, echoing endlessly in the chamber that was your mind. It terrifies you—the prospect of facing him again. You find yourself even more frightened by the possibility of failing and dooming those you loved the most, once and for all. While Dean failed to make any sort of reassurances in the moment, Sam was a gentle touch on your shoulder. Another kind smile. He too wanted things to resume as before, but even you were aware that would never be possible. Regardless, sparing them from seemingly written fate was the least you could do after walking away at such a dire time.

“You ready?” Dean asks the two of you.

He’s created his own variation of a ritual, old as time, to summon Alastair. Lit candles, scattered books, and a sigil.

Sam answers for the both of you, “Yeah.” He exhales, what you could only assume was nervousness.

The words are quiet at first, Dean’s Latin is practiced and more annunciated over the years. His gruff voice grows louder when the room begins to rumble beneath your feet. The empty warehouse may have met its match and you’re sure of it, the longer the earth shakes. You take a step back, the burning flames growing higher on each candle. Their wax burns faster and spills over the sides. When the demon does appear, it paralyzes you. Frozen in time, as his blackened eyes land upon you first. He smiles like a serpent, and death feels imminent under his gaze.

“Sam now!” Dean yells at the first opportunity.

You’d come to the revelation that this plan, however calculated, was not going to pan out. In fact, you saw it even before Sam lunged toward Alastair. Though he was a facade, a means to distract. It isn’t enough for an entity so powerful and you would know. Having felt his wrath one too many times.

Your presence alone was all they needed. The perfect bait. But it’s obvious now you should have isolated the encounter to you and the demon. The clock is ticking and your friend’s demise is too close for comfort. You’re not prepared to lose either of them. Alastair had condemned you once for such emotions. Your biggest weakness. The main reason you couldn’t fulfill your purpose in this world, whether that was good or evil.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you find yourself face to face with the enemy. He gives a toothy grin in response to your hardened eyes and planted feet.

“Sweet little thing…” He purrs and it’s vile.

“I’ve missed you.”

He moves forward, having left Dean and Sam indisposed for the moment. Your only means for protection was a small glass bottle of Holy water, only tucked away when Dean had handed it off to you for safe keeping. You twist the cap by the pad of your thumb, stuffed into the pocket of your jacket. Your feet keep steady, moving backwards. Your boot knocks a loose chain back against the floor. It scrapes loudly, while you’re ripping the bottle out.

You fling its contents, aiming for his face when he’s close enough. An inhuman growl rattles in his throat. You don’t waste time, eyes searching for the knife Dean had in his disposal.

The blade shines, calling to you. It rests beyond you, centered from the three of you. The handle lay across one line of the sigil that was drawn. You scramble for the weapon, but Alastair has caught you at the last second. Fingers hooking over the collar of your jacket. You kick the blade toward Dean just as he’s dragging you back.

“You little bitch.” He hisses in disapproval of your retaliation to him. Your head spins when he whips you around to face him. You stumble at every step, which he forces until you’re bent back toward a stack of broken and rotten pallets. His hand closes around the expanse of your throat. By his strength, you’re pinned in your place and struggling with prying fingers and scratching nails.

The demon rips the front of your shirt. Your chest is exposed, the beating of your heart doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s intent on devouring it first, as soon as he finishes carving it from you.

Through your thin line of vision you catch the sight of Dean. The blade wrapped in his fist. It’s your turn to smile, wickedly so.

“Don’t fuck with my friends.”

The blade stabbed clean into his back. A flicker falters in his vision, his hold on you loosening in the process. You’re standing still, awaiting him to collapse altogether.

You and the hunter are both left bewildered when Alastair seems to recover. An impossibility, or so you thought.

He doesn’t fool with the blade lodged in his back. Promptly throwing you to the ground, he turns his attention onto Dean.

“No!” You scream openly with tired lungs.

Without the energy to stand, to help your friend—you’re left to your only device.

A simple prayer. A calling to anyone who would listen.

Separated and left in peril, you and Sam tensely watch Dean take another beating. Tears prick your eyes, lips trembling. You’re fighting against every weak bone to stand, to get him. Even if it meant your life.

With your head hung and defeated, Castiel appears in the midst of anguish. The wind of angelic wings brushes your hair back, leaving your eyes shooting up to discover him. He crouches to reach your level, propped on one elbow. Gently he brushes his warm hand against your swollen cheek. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to. His eyes speak a million promises.

His trench coat sways effortlessly in his movements. With the power of Heaven and his restored Grace, Alastair has met his match.

You should have known better than to think his touch was solely out of affection. It must be why you couldn’t hold your eyes open, why the world was fading away, the violence ceasing.

Perhaps the large pile of blankets were partly to blame, but the bunker had been so unbearably cold the last few days. Yet another pair of pajamas were soiled. Torn from your sleep and sitting up into the cool air of your bedroom, the figure at the edge of the bed is all the more reason to send your heart pounding in your ears again. “Damn it, Cas…” You breathe a sigh of relief and he’s amused to hear you sound so much like Dean in that instance. He’s grown used to the response, which is why he doesn’t hesitate to move forward.

“Another nightmare?” Castiel assumes with worrisome certainty.

“Yeah… I suppose I don’t realize I’m calling for you.” You blush, embarrassed to say the least, but he isn’t too adept to take notice. “I’m sorry.” You mutter.

“What for?” He’s genuinely confused. “I told you I would answer.” He says gently, though in his tone it’s almost condescending. You forgive him for that.

“Can you make it stop?” You ask, hesitant to pose such a request.

The Angel’s hardened expression smoothens. He moves to sit at the edge of your bed. You’re taken back, leaning away instinctively. You know it’s silly, but you’re worried about how sweaty your forehead may be, but he doesn’t touch you there. The warmth of his fingers, delicate and calming, slid across your cheek. They glide to your neck, over your pulse.

“I won’t leave.” He promises. “I’ll watch over you.” He insists and you have no choice but to accept it. Though you wouldn’t have thought to reject him.

Not ever.

Somewhere between conscious and a state of blissful dreams is when you awaken. Between the time Castiel has finished scolding Sam and Dean, and has closed the door to a bedroom that has since collected dust in your absence. You groggily open heavy lids to see his unpleasant expression, like a father with a troubled child. “Cas?” You manage from within your exhaustion and the hazed effect he placed over you. He approaches the bed without pause and touches you with urgency. “How are you feeling?” He asks deeply in his throat, almost as if he’s forcing his voice to reach that low of an octave.

“I’ve been better.” You grumble, while trying to move yourself away from the propped pile of pillows behind you. Castiel forces you back.

“What were you thinking?” He asks, demanding an answer with raging blue orbs. His frame hovers over you, pinned against the sheets. You’re stunned at his chosen manner to handle the situation and you were far away from wanting to argue.

“You could’ve been killed!” He growls, still holding you firmly into place.

Briefly, your eyes widen and in seconds you’re scowling at him. The man you desperately, pathetically even, had loved.

“You were the one who told me to fix things!” You counter.

“Well..” He pauses, with careful consideration. He backtracks, “That’s not what I meant.” He returns bluntly.

You are glaring up at him now and twisting to break free, but this version of Castiel is one you are unable to overpower. You despise him this way. How he still manages to conjure up those same desires, the ones you felt while being tangled in your sheets with him. The feelings you harbored back in that god forsaken hospital bed, hoping he would find the courage to kiss you. It is all the same now, burning and raging between the two of you.

“I was afraid I lost you.” He relents, breathing out heavily through his nostrils.You accept this form of apology, it was all he had.

You cup his face with one hand. “I’m right here.”

You watch the tension drain from him, fall from his shoulders even and it takes all he has not to melt into you. You help him with that part, pulling him closer and wantonly. The hand that isn’t against his cheek, rests just at the top of his back. Eagerly you welcome his lips to yours.

It’s so long overdue that it’s leaving you dizzy before you’ve even begun. Castiel obliges and it’s bruising in return. You gasp and it’s swallowed by his kiss.

He’s still the one to pull away and with concern.

“What about Dean and Sam?” He questions. Only he would be worried of being caught in the act. You, on the other hand, were entirely enticed by the idea.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

You find purchase on the lapels of his trenchcoat, dragging him over you. Your patience is lacking and that’s evident in the way your fingers work at his tie. Once undone, your work on the buttons of his dress shirt. His recognizable coat is left on the floor beside you. You continue to help him, knowing you won’t have much time to spare. His belt is undone, pants unzipped. You free his cock with your hand, fisting him.

The newly restored Angel gives you a sinful groan. You snicker with pride before warning him, “Be quiet. They’ll hear you.” You whisper. His eyes widen and you’re worried he may be too timid to continue.

Your ministrations keep him right where he needs to be, just as you urge him to take your jeans off. His touch isn’t as gentle as you remember. You watch him yank the denim and your panties down your thighs first, over your knees, and then clean off. He pushes them aside on the bed and settles between your legs, that so easily fall open for him. Like a Holy invitation.

He takes it upon himself to align his head at your entrance. His blue eyes search yours for permission. Your legs hook around his clothed hips. “Go ahead, baby.” You speak airy and light. It leaves him shuddering in his place, and again when he sinks into you.

You whine uncontrollably. When he rocks forward, you do your best to stifle the noises that rise in your throat. The stretch of him is just as delicious as it had been the first time and you would assume he agrees by the look on his handsome face. You admire him, lovingly holding him to you. Both of you half clothed and ravenous for each other. You kiss him, heavily, in a bid to keep your noises down. He only moves faster, his hips meeting yours over and over.

“F-fuck…” You stammer.

“You feel even better. How is that possible?” He grunts against your ear. You know that question is expecting an answer. You don’t have one.

“Cas…” You pant. “Please don’t stop.” You beg him.

“Don’t worry.” He speaks your name and the way it leaves his tongue is what makes your walls clench around him. “I want to hear you make all the noises you made before.” He means that.

You weren’t sure if it was his Grace or the time that had passed, but his newfound confidence was driving you closer to your release. Which would have been reached sooner had it not been for the sudden rap at the door. There wasn’t any need for it, but Cas’s hand smashes against your mouth. You breathe in through your nose.

“Everything alright in there?” The older Winchester asks from the other side.

His movements pause and that is what ultimately makes you whimper. His hold tightens.

“Fine!” Cas states, laced with annoyance.

If it wasn’t for your current position, you would have giggled.

“We are… conversing…” Cas explains awkwardly and unnecessarily. You can only imagine the eye roll Dean’s given. “Yeah well, we are ordering take-out. So… snooze you lose!” With that, Dean retreats away from the door and back down the hall.

Once Castiel is certain you are in the clear, he removes his hand from your mouth. “No more stalling, please…” You complain, pushing your hips into his. He doesn’t leave you waiting and resumes, reaching his original pace. Your fingers press against his back, spreading across the fabric of his dress shirt.

“That’s it…” You encourage him. “That’s so good, my Angel.” You praise him, your eyes half way rolling back into your head. Your mouth falls open, while he perfectly moves how you need him most. Without much thought left, you’re whining and making all sorts of sounds. Just how he wanted. And as quickly as you fall, Castiel does the same.

He collapses against you and you hold him tightly against your warmed skin. Your legs fall loosely around him, one hand holding the back of his head. You’d never felt so serene. So safe.

“Cas.” Is finally what you utter after catching your breath.

He lifts his head to give you his fullest attention. He recovers faster than before. His hair is just as messy as you remember, only this time it is your fault. Nonetheless, he’s looking at you in that way that makes your knees like jelly. At least you were lying beneath him.

You're overcome with emotion. “When I prayed…” You start off weakly. “I didn’t know what had happened to you. If you were even-” You stop yourself from finishing that thought. “I suppose, a part of me knew to pray for you.”

His reserved expression makes its appearance, just for you. Once again, he doesn’t have to utter those words you would like to hear. But he does say something you knew had always been true.

“And now you know…”

You tilted your head, basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking.

“I will always answer.”

TAG LIST | @moon-kiss3d @yomamaismymama @scouser-villanelle @robins-fanfics @jenwritesstories

#fanfic #fanfiction #castiel #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel x reader #spn fanfiction #spnfandom #spn #castiel x you #castiel angel of the lord #team free will #castiel x y/n #castiel x female reader

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Will gender of ROs matter? I saw Vegaris has different manners in the butterfly effect post. Can u introduce them more?

It does matter! And that’s because 1) the society treats them differently and 2) their personality for either counterpart cultivated from how people treated them in the past. It’s a two way street situation. Simple as it may sound, it is also because of their race/species/social status

I will talk about each of the ROs more in upcoming teasers. But for now

From strikingly different to almost the same;

Vegaris

F!Vegaris and M!Vegaris are smh almost two separated beings—That is because their position as an Alter and how they perceive things growing up in the society where most Alters are viewed as another class of creatures. The way they carry themselves is different. Female Vegaris can be a bit more carefree, especially around you. But Male Vegaris will be on-guard and rarely relax himself around other people. There’s a reason why both behave the way they do. And yes, I cannot say yet bc it’s major spoiler.

Sandalphon

First of all, the reason why both Sandals are so much different in their manners, their behaviors (mostly internal turmoils) is because their different positions as one’s mother and one’s father.

F!Sandalphon will always be judged upon if she shows any emotions towards people esp her kid, being a single-mom in the parliament full of men is not easy. Her opinions often taken as less valid just because of her role as a guardian and a mother. She wants to spend a lot of time with D but couldn’t—if she does, it will allow people to criticize her as fragile. Being a mother without a partner already tainted her image as a failure so she couldn’t afford to do that.

Overall, F!Sandal is more on edge than her counterpart. Hence, whenever she’s near you (and if you do choose your sex as a female) she looks way more relaxed and true to herself.

M!Sandalphon thinks he has to be there for his kid, but because of his duty as a Dean of Regency, he tends to suppress himself from doing things that’s not aligned w his duties (like showing that he cares when it’s not that necessary) and against his public image. He may look like a cold father to D and can appear to be a bit distant to others, but he will always have soft spot for you. Since you’re forbidden to leave your own place, he always does things that he couldn’t do with D to you (just like his counterpart-self), and you may take it like he is smh trying to redeem himself through you.

M!Sandal is a bit harder to read since he is so consumed by social standards that were forced upon himself that he looks like he has lost himself along the way. But he is more calm when it comes to D’s matters while F!Sandal will be a bit more protective and upfront.

In conclusion, both of Sandalphon really needs a warm hug. But they just don’t know that they do.

Dana/Darren

Just like the other two, Dana will behave a bit more careful and collected meanwhile Darren radiates with perfectly built (but also glass-like) confidence because of social norms on their respective gender.

Dana’s list of groom candidates exhaust her but she cannot let it get her. Meanwhile she is not allowed to act like she doesn’t care either so it’s hard to place herself in a position where she would be neither considered as ‘too emotional’—nor ‘not rigid enough for a Dean’s daughter’. So once she’s granted the official permission with her Chosen husband-to-be, she behaves accordingly to her part and now projecting more confident than she ever was. She has a lifeline to grasp now. And she couldn’t afford to fail like her mother/father.

Darren is not that different in that regard, he was just forced to hide that he is afraid of what came after, internally speaking he is even more unstable than his counterpart because he never learnt to deal with not being ‘the Face’ of Stargazer community unlike Dana who suspected that she will need to face the reality of not living up to your own name ever since she was a girl due to her parent’s reputation. But both are equally acting on a role that does not fit themselves, and always working hard to protect their image.

It seems like I can more about the latter two because it was expected from their intro descriptions. But Vegaris is… I can’t really say anything before the demo is dropped. So sorry, Anon!!

#if wip #interactive fiction #RtEcharacters #QnA #I like this question!

[whinlatter]

3, 4, 14, and 37 for dean and seamus

my darling boys! 🥹 dean and seamus, off we gooooo. thank you @valfromcall!

3. Obscure headcanon

obscure headcanon 1 - dean thomas was born may 10th 1980, the day west ham won the FA cup. that west ham have never won the cup since remains a source of great regret for east london's golden boy. unfortunately may 10th also happened to be the day in 1997 when gryffindor won the house cup and harry potter scooped his ex from right from under his nose - a bad birthday for the ages. seamus tried to cheer him up by reminding him that may 10th is also the birthday of a proud son of ireland (bono from U2), which dean said was 'not helping'

obscure headcanon 2 - this is dean and seamus' son:

also this isn't obscure but their first kiss was 100% in the finnigan tent at the quidditch world cup after ireland's stonking victory over bulgaria

4. Favorite line

for seamus, it's probably when they're all in the dormitory in GoF and dobby rocks up and seamus nonchalantly goes 'someone attacking you, Harry?' aka mr finnigan giving precisely zero shits about whatever main character moment harry is having and thereby failing his audition for inclusion in the golden trio. bonus special mention to the world's worst pep talk in PS/SS:

“Harry, you need your strength,” said Seamus Finnigan. “Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.” “Thanks, Seamus,” said Harry, watching Seamus pile ketchup on his sausages.

can't a man enjoy a condiment anymore smh

for dean, it's either "send him off, ref! red card!' from PS/SS or this from OotP:

"Well, [Moody] turned out to be a maniac, didn’t he?" said Dean Thomas hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

14. Most heroic moment

seamus 'harry's a liar' finnigan getting beaten to a pulp and unrecognisably disfigured by the carrows. king shit

dean is being the biggest bravest boy in the world all on his own on the run leaving his mum and sisters behind and not being able to have a cuddle when he's lost and alone and scared and hungry all through DH :(

37. What they really think about themselves

i think, as teenagers, seamus was the one with a lot of insecurities and self-loathing: struggling with the knowledge that he was gay and a bit in love with his best mate and not really knowing what to do with it, in conflict with his mum and wrestling with who he was going to be in this big war that seemed to be looming, not the cleverest or the sportiest or the anything-est and generally a bit aggy and restless. dean was the much more relaxed one of the two. he had a strong sense of right and wrong, was sure the goodies would prevail before anything got too out of hand, was content with his kind of chill blokey vibe and got a fit girlfriend that meant he could park any of the slightly confusing feelings he was feeling for shay.

after the war, though, they swap roles. seamus has quite a settled sense of self after his school years - like, he got his fuck up out of the way (not believing voldemort was back, having his big sulk), but then redeemed himself, was on some real hero shit and really became close with the other DA lot, getting a lot out of the prestige of being an auror for a bit, no longer felt like he had much to prove, and felt loved and confident enough to come out. dean, however, really struggled with the impact of the war, feeling an intense sense of isolation and distance from the other's wartime experiences, and both envying seamus' confidence to come out but struggling to accept that he might also not be straight, like it was just another thing that would mark him out as Other. i basically think seamus and dean were hooking up a lot immediately after school and in their early twenties, but always in secret, while dean kept dating muggle girls and playing out this big tension he feels in his own identity, between the muggle and wizarding worlds, as well as over his own sexuality and internalised homophobia. i reckon seamus was the one to (eventually) recognise this was self-destructive and breaking his heart, and ended it. cue the wilderness years!

they obviously get back together eventually, though, hence west ham son (yes i'm obsessed with this child), although seamus threatened to break up with him when dean argued he should be allowed to put the imperius curse on declan rice to stop him moving to arsenal and betraying his beloved hammers in summer 2023

#these boys! break my heart everytime #i knew following UK football by osmosis would come in handy #deamus #dean thomas #seamus finnigan #headcanons #ask game

[blacknidstang]

Alright i usually don't wanna bitch about canon when we all know the train was off the tracks since s7 but i think one thing i very very personally can't forgive is how they dealt with Sam's broken wall. The conclusion to that arc rather with Cas just magically reappearing and just, taken it aaaaaalll away. It was such a cheap lazy way of dealing with actual consequence of everything Cas did and in my opinion, even a disservice to his character. Because he becomes so weak and miserable that you can't be mad at him for whatever he did instead of actually facing it. Late seasons make Dean more begrudging toward Cas but it doesn't feel earned since the drama itself just... Doesn't land. It doesn't hold the weight Sam's hallucinations in s7. But Cas breaking Sam's wall and almost killing him???? Then ruining his life and sanity??? None of that actually brought up the emotional response toward Cas from other characters in any deserved way. Hell Sam himself saw Cas in s7 and was like "omg cass??? 🥺💕" Because Cas was dead and he looked so tragic upon return and swooped in to fix Sam with zero build up for his sacrifice so it's all good and he is redeemed. Like god that was such terrible terrinle way of closing that arc and i don't think i ever fully forgive spn for this and I needed to get it off my chest.

For me it all would get fixed if Cas didn't just take away all that damage from Sam. If Cas really couldn't do a single thing and the show had to give characters something to work through.

#genuinely i dont know what went on with sera to took that path but i assume since she was also leaving the show some of these choices #werent on her #anyway i am so annoyed #like it doesn't make sense how constantly angry dean is at cas in late seasons but not earlier for things that actually were worth his ange #personal rant #spn wank #this lowkey disgusts me a bit even since it comes to sam's trauma and mental struggles #you just did the worst case of deus ex machina and called it a day

[deanwithscissors]

Come To Me

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Word Count: 2776

Warnings: Thoughts, urges and attempted self harm, fluff, unsaid feelings

Summary: [Y/N]s urges are too much to handle, but Dean’s always there for her

A/N: wrote this for myself, struggling with shit and had to get it out. all mistakes are mine

The walls of the tunnel thinned as she stumbled through the narrow halls, the floor like ice beneath her feet, her skin burning hot as hell. Clutching her chest to confine the beast inside, she struggled, desperate to keep it under control until she was alone. Staggering over the threshold of her bedroom, she slammed the door shut and slid down the cool wood, opening her mouth to unveil her suffering, but nothing came out, not even a croak.  

The pain was unlike any she’d suffered before, there wasn’t an open wound, or blood sacrifice, but the agony was torturous. Twisting and contorting her insides, squeezing her lungs, kerb-stomping her heart and blending her brain.  

Blood rushed through her veins like fizzy pop, layers of fat bubbling under her skin, her brain pushing against her skull. The prominent vein on her left temple was threatening to blow and her stomach contents to splat across the floor.  

“Nonononononono,” she muttered, a silent prayer to no one to make the ache stop. Each intrusive thought entered through an invisible injury, her body like Swiss cheese. “I can’t do this,” she admitted to her bed and the four walls encasing her. The urges were extreme, her rage and desire for a sweet release beyond convincing and charming in this moment, and it would ease her pain, if only for a short while.

“I can’t— oh fuck,” she hissed. Something else, there’s got to be something else, but nothing she could think of would make this stop; not hanging out with friends, not drinking, not going outside in the rain to scream at the top of her lungs, not even anger-fuelled rough sex could take the edge off as well as a smooth sharpened blade, and she knew it.  

It had been months since she’d stalked over to the desk, dipped down low and opened the bottom drawer. Months of fighting these urges, day-in and day-out. The knife inside beckoning her like the piper to his rats, every second of her waking life, sometimes in her dreams too, although I guess they’d be classed as nightmares.  

It had been months of stealing glances, suppressing feelings, pretending her heart didn’t stop whenever he came real close and sleeping around with god knows who to keep from slipping into bed with a blade again. But it was his words that cut her deep this time, only pushing her further into the black pit of despair and into the arms of her old saviour.  

It was nothing as well, a fleeting comment that no one else would bat an eyelash over, but it stung her hard and deep, straight to the core. Igniting the vile demon inside who loathes her more than anyone and wants nothing else but to shatter her existence.

There was no chance with him and she knew it, every day she was painfully reminded of that fact, but every day she fell over and over again for him. It was hard not to, he’s the smartest, bravest man she’d ever known, troubled for sure, but a delicate soul that was hellbent on redeeming himself and saving everyone he met, whether they needed it, or wanted it.  

His deep tan only enhanced his enchanting green eyes and multiplied his freckles like stars in the sky. The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, showing his canine’s and the soothing motion of his tongue hovering behind his teeth always made her thighs clench. His lips were plush pillows, his nose chiselled and slightly crooked, but still perfect. His ears that reminded her of Dumbo, in a sweet way and his short trimmed hair she desperately desired to put her hands through. His broad shoulders that she’d sat on plenty of times, his toned arms, big hands with thick fingers. His smooth chest, muscled, but slightly podgy tummy, his tight waist and jutting hips. His thick thighs and tight ass. His deep and raspy voice, more hoarse first thing in the morning, everything, she loved absolutely everything about this man.  

And it was killing her, to be so close yet so far away. She knew life would be easier if she just left, but she could never find the courage to do it. So, she woke up and struggled through every day to be by his side. To catch the scent of his cologne, hear his belly rumble as he laughed wholeheartedly while taking the piss out of Sam, to see the glee on his face when he’d take Baby out. To sometimes press an ear against his door in the middle of the night and listen as he choked his own dick and fucked his own hand, she’d stay til the end then shuffle back to her room, closing the door sheepishly. Two strokes and she came while standing and clutching the door handle.

“StopstopSTOP,” she wailed, her knuckles crashing to the floor as she begged for the images and memories of Dean to cease bombarding her. A single tear finally broke the barrier, sliding down her skin as she hunched in front of the alter, her resolve and strength disintegrating.  

His words from earlier chimed through her head as if a choir stood in the hallway, the boom of their voices about to burst down the door. The raised white bumps on her arm lay like dead fish floating to the surface of the sea, a stark reminder of all the times before tonight when she’d given in to the call of the blade.

“I don’t care— I don’t fuckin’ care anymore. I’m done,” she cursed. Hatred spewing from her soul as she retched open the drawer and fisted her hand into the dark abyss. Her fingers curled around the plastic and snatched it, unable to say no any longer. She was broken, ripped apart and riddled with scars anyway, one more little cut wouldn’t make a difference.

Instead of having a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other, she had two devils; one telling her to cut a little, it’s fine she needs it, the other telling her to carve into her flesh and tear herself open.  

The small silver blade sat perfectly between her fingers and thumb, as if it hadn’t been at least a few days since she’d last cradled the metal. The familiarity of the cold blade already soothing her scattered mind. This was it, the only way she knew how to get the emotional pain out, a tried and proven method. The thought of the release chipped away at her wall of solidarity, her defiance against the act imploded and wiped from the earth. The acute corner of the blade dented her flesh without breaking the skin. She applied more pressure, revelling in foreplay before the big event.

Finite about going through with this, she was oblivious to Dean filling her doorway.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, his voice low and slow.  

She peered into the mirror in front of her. Dean’s shoulders were slumped, his hand clutching the door knob, knuckles white, brows pinching and coming together, his eyes were hooded, glazed over, his lips plump and slightly parted, tongue hiding behind his teeth for comfort as he stared at her in shock. She glanced at her hands, her wrist, the blade, then back to his hazy reflection.

“[Y/N], don’t do that,” he mewled, crashing to her side on the floor, his knees surely to suffer the next day.  

One of his strong hands wrapped around her wrist that was on the chopping block, the other snatching the blade from her fingers. Without looking, Dean threw the knife across the room, the metal clanking as it smacked a few things before settling, he took note of the location to swipe it before he left and through the damn thing away.  

“Why— what’s wrong?” he asked, desperation lacing his tone, his hand cradling hers.  

“Nothing, I was—”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped, then in the voice of an angel he whispered, “please.” His words a prayer, and one she had to answer.  

“I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore Dean,” she said through gritted teeth.  

“Do what?”

“Wake up. I’m tired, I’m so fuckin’ tired and I’m angry all the time. Wakin’ up every day to feel like this, I can’t—”

“This isn’t the solution—”

“Yes, it is! It makes all the pain and thoughts and memories stop. It lets me breathe.”

“But only for a little while, it’ll all come floodin’ back and then you’ll be here again, then what?” his tone was harsh. [Y/N]s brow cocked, her despair on hold as his knowledge of the situation sunk in. “I— I don’t release my shit like you—”

“No, you drink,” she accused, more viciously than intended.  

Dean side eyed her for a second before his scowl twisted into a frown. With reddening eyes, he stared at her intently, a massive, but gentle hand curling her orange hair behind her ear then lingering. “I know how it feels— to be so pent up with rage, wakin’ up wishing you hadn’t, dealin’ with mundane life things when a black hole is swallowin’ you entirely. Wantin’ to smash every mirror or reflection you see of yourself, just sittin’ with that simmerin’, seethin’ pit deep inside, every day, like poison spreadin’ through your veins and infectin’ your brain—”

“Stop, stop,” [Y/N] muttered, her heart wrenching at his words, processing each syllable, her eyes flickered, knowing that Dean understood was tearing her apart.  

“Come with me,” he said, finally releasing her face, only to capture her other hand.

“No, please, just leave me alone.”

“If you think I’m takin’ my eyes off you for the next week then you’re an idiot—”

“Oh for gods sake,” she sighed, pulling away from him slightly, but not enough to break their physical connection. “I’m not gonna fuckin’ off myself, I don’t need babysat.”

“I know but—  I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew you were hurtin’ and I did nothin’.”

“Dean— you don’t have to save me okay, it’s not your job.” She expected him to fire a quick comeback, but instead his brows danced, bottom lip quivered and throat seized as water formed in his tear ducts.  

“But I want to,” his words were barely a whisper, but held the weight of the world. “I want to do so much more than that. I want you to explore, thrive and live, not just exist. I want to see your beautiful eyes every mornin’, hear you sing along to my favourite songs— and murder them. I want to make you laugh and annoy you everyday, I want you to smile and be happy and go to bed at night thankful you’re alive.”

After his gracious speech [Y/N] was floored, her head swirling, heart pounding and hands shaking.

“What does that mean?” she asked, fighting to keep the lump in her throat subdued.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he said candidly. “I just know that whenever you feel like this, trapped and angry, come to me, we’ll deal with it together, okay?”

“But Dean I—”

“One for all, and all for one.”

“Oh god, what’s next, we’re all in this together?” she said, unable to quench a snort. “I don’t need inspirational quotes—”

“I know, but whatever it is you need at the time, we’ll figure it out, okay?” both his hands captured her face as he guided her eyes to his. “Okay [Y/N]?”

“Fine, okay,” she huffed, eyes rolling to the back of her skull.

“Good. So, what do you need right now?”

Her eyes automatically dipped to her wrists.

Gently squeezing her cheek , Dean said, “besides that.”  

Peering through thick lashes, her green eyes washed over him. “A cuddle, in bed, maybe a nap.”

“Your bed, or mine?”

A vicious gasp stole her breath, oh how she’d longed to hear Dean say something like that to her, preferably in another context, but still.

“Mine,” she squeaked. Desperate to have him in her bed, knowing when he left his scent would remain like a ghost, and she could cry into her pillow and wallow in self pity.  

Dean moved first, effortlessly bouncing to his feet, his hand out. She barely grew as she stood, a whole foot shorter than him, her eyes level with his chest, top of her head just below his shoulder. He guided her towards the bed, soft footsteps against the hard floor.  

She climbed on, kicking up the covers. Her heart lodged in her throat when his knee dented the bed, his weight applying pressure to the mattress, one hand after the other splaying across the sheets as he crawled by her side. Like a lazy cat he went boneless, his hefty shape half lying on her, she shoved at his shoulder and whined in pathetic protest.  

“Dean, you big idiot, get off, you’re squishin’ me!”

“Shut up, you love it,” he said. Rolling onto his back, his hands flew to his belt, fingers slipping the leather from the loop.  

[Y/N] froze, unable to breathe as she watched his fingers pop the button then tug at the zipper of his jeans.

“What’re you doin’?” her voice was hoarse, rough and strained.

“What?” his head tipped to the side, “if you I think I’m not stayin’ with you tonight you’re wrong, and I’m not sleepin’ with my pants on. That okay with you?”

“Mmmhmm, sure, whatever,” she muttered, the slight nodding of her head making her nauseous, or maybe it was the sandalwood and citrus combination stuffing her nostrils, or maybe it was the fact she was about to sleep with Dean. Literally sleep of course, but sleep with him nonetheless.

She didn’t even attempt to not look as he pulled his pants down his thighs, obviously giving an extra wiggle for her pleasure she was sure, always a tease, he couldn’t help himself and she couldn’t help but fall in love with the charming man child even more, every time.

“You’re blushin’ sweetheart,” he teased.

“No, I’m not. Just pass me the remote and shut up.”

A grin from ear to ear plastered his face, his canines pinching his lip. “I get into your bed and you cheer up—”

“Ugh please,” she swiped at his arm, “I’m excited about the nap, not you.”  

“Oh wow, just gonna shoot down a dudes ego like that, huh?”

“You can take it, big baby.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, otherwise I’d be right out that door.”  

“Yeah well same for you, Winchester.”

Dean pulled her into his side with a soft chuckle, her arm stretched over his stomach, head on his chest, pubic bone side by side with his upper thigh. Naturally her knee bent and her thigh lay across his which he didn’t object to. Pulling at the bedsheet, Dean covered them both then wiggled a little.

“Your bed’s comfier than mine,” he said.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Such as?” he asked curiously.  

“Like switchin’ our mattresses when I’m out.”

“I never thought of that— I was just thinkin’ I’d sleep in your bed from now on.”

“What? No, no that’s not happenin’,” she shrieked. “Dean, you can’t— smother me okay? I need space, I’m not a kid, don’t be watchin’ me twenty four seven. I don’t need you breathin’ down my neck,” that last line barely came out and might have been a lie.  

“Well you gotta let me take naps in your bed then.”

“You’re unbelievable,” she huffed, “fine, okay, take naps.”

“Well, I am tryin’, but you keep talkin’—”

“You’re the one— fuck you Dean,” she scowled then immediately settled her head against his chest deciding to ignore him.  

His heartbeat bathed her in a calming aura, his scent like a cosy blanket, the rising and falling of his chest sending her off to sleep within minutes, and she was out, like the dead.

Dean couldn’t pass out, not yet, not until he’d said what he needed to say. After nudging her a few times, the last one quite harshly, she didn’t rouse, or stir, taking a deep breath he willed himself to speak.

“I— I—” but the words wouldn’t come. Anxiety tickled the hairs on his neck, his guts wrenching inside, heart pounding hard enough it would surely wake her. He wanted her to know, but the conversations, situations and feelings that would arise are what he wanted to avoid, the inevitable ache of losing her, because he would, he loses everyone. It’s best she’s at arm's length, then the pain wouldn’t hurt as much in the end.  

Dean eventually fell asleep with the girl he loved in his arms.

#dean winchester x reader #fanfic #dean x reader

[heavenssexiestangel]

Okay this is gonna be rambly, feel free to ignore because like. I don't even know where I am going with this?

I remember when I used to want to be Dean - buying a jacket similar to his when I was 13 (I still have it, broken and old and barely fittinh...). Only listening to the music he listened to (I grew out of that). Relating to him through the abuse we faced. And I thought I was nonbinary, really, but now I know I'm a trans man. It was a recent discovery. Or, more so, realization to be honest. And then I look at the other men I want to be like. Or that I relate to. Namely Gadreel (Tahmoh Penikett) and Arthur Ketch (David Haydn-Jones). Tahmoh is always so soft spoken, so quiet. Gadreel loves the world, despite what he went through, despite the fact he would be excused if he wanted to hate it. But he sort of... Can't. He still has hope. And I relate to that so hard, fortunately or unfortunately. Arthur, I do relate to him in the sense of what I see in him. Or how he let the abuse he faced consume him and made him become a monster. A warning of sorts. What I'm letting myself become. But he also tries to redeem himself. David is fucking hilarious, and he tries his best despite what his real life throes at him. To be honest, he's also transition goals. Both Tahmoh and David showed me that there are other ways to be a man - that I don't have to be aggressive. That I don't need to become my father, always screaming, always violent. Always Hateful and disillusioned. They sort of gave me hope that I can be something that isn't shaped by who I was raised by. That I can be different. That I too, as a man, can be soft. That I can love my family and friends and the world.

And like yes, they're hot. But that's not the point of me liking them, and people reducing it to that kind of hurts.

And so I think of this tonight. And like. I have these thoughts swirling in my brain, and sometimes it comes up in conversations (rarely)... But that one post I reblogged made me like. Focus on these thoughts again. And I wanted to let them out.

#dean talks #gadreel my dearly beloved #dean dean dean #ketch gonna ketch #very personal but like #idk im just having thoughts #and feelings #and its very rambly i know #it's hard for me to make other people understand it #oh well #idk what to say #tahmoh penikett #david haydn-jones #also teared by while writing this ops #time to be emotional on main ig

[aylacavebear]

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine.

Word Count: 1764

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff. Insinuations of Intimacy.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 36

It was night when she returned to the bunker. Her family was still in the library, although they were eating dinner. She just watched them momentarily, as none of them had seen her yet.

She also didn’t realize how long she’d been gone, as time flows differently in Heaven just as it does in Hell. Maria watched Dean pour himself a drink, but the bottle was mostly empty.

“She’s fine, Dean. I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Bobby sighed.

“She’s been gone almost all day, Bobby. What if something happened? It’s not like we can just go check on her or anything,” Dean rambled.

Sam sighed and looked in the direction Bobby was in when he saw Maria standing in the war room. His expression went from worried to relieved. Seeing her standing there, he quickly sat up. That caused everyone else’s gaze to shift to the war room. Dean didn’t say a word; he just got up and quickly closed the distance between them.

She wrapped him up in her arms just as he did her with his. He felt all his worry and fear wash away with her in his arms, “I’ve been so worried about you,” he whispered, feeling a few tears threatening to fall.

“I made you a promise,” she whispered through a sigh, “I’ll always find my way home to you.”

Dean squeezed her a little tighter, feeling his racing heart beginning to calm as he breathed in her scent. Maria took a deep breath, relaxing further in his arms, when she caught the strong odor of whiskey and scrunched up her nose.

“How much have you had to drink?” she asked, pulling away a little so she could look into his eyes.

He blushed, then chuckled, “A bit.”

Maria tilted her head a bit, giving him that “I don’t believe you look,” which only made him laugh. Then, before she could actually argue with him, he leaned down and kissed her. It was one of those kisses that time stands still for.

John deliberately cleared his throat, trying to get the two to chill on the PDA at least a little. Dean and Maria laughed before they joined the others in the library, sitting beside each other.

“Alright, sis, spill. How’d it go?” Sam asked eagerly, leaning forward to lean on the library table.

“Where’s Mari and Cas?” Bobby asked, slightly confused.

A beer appeared on the table in front of Maria, to which she took a sip before looking at her family, “Mari and Cas need to stay in Heaven for now. They’re going to help the other angels find their humanity.” She paused to take another sip of her beer.

“So, what happened with Chuck?” John asked.

“Oh, he’s living on Earth right now, learning what it means to be human,” she answered, scoffing in amusement at the situation.

“Wait? What?” Sam asked, puzzled.

Maria chuckled, “He forgot why he created man and what he found precious about them. So, I locked away his powers until he remembers. Plus, within a week, there won’t be a single demon on Earth. They’ll all be in Hell, where they belong,” she explained, sipping her beer.

“What about any Crossroads deals that have already been made?” John asked, knowing how those worked.

She sighed, “When they come due, the hellhounds will come for those souls. However, with the reform program, those souls will have a chance to be able to redeem themselves and get to Heaven.”

It wasn’t what they wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing, “They may double their efforts for those. At least until they can’t come back up here,” Mary suggested, “We could see if there are any signs of demon activity. Maybe foil their plans.”

With what Maria had done in Hell and then also in Heaven, the peace of the beginning was now appearing in random locations worldwide, not just radiating from where she was. She could also feel where there were monsters still causing trouble in the world.

Maria looked down at her beer, rubbing her thumb over the label as she thought about what to say that would make sense to any of them. It only half made sense to her at the moment. She didn’t even realize all eyes were on her.

“Maria?” Dean asked, setting his hand on her back between her shoulder blades.

She looked over at him and sighed, “This isn’t gonna make much sense, but…” she trailed off and looked back down at her beer. “It’s hard to explain. What if we just, well, moved on? Let hunting go?”

“What happened to saving people?” Dean argued.

There were all those emotions again, causing her to take a shaky breath, but she was unable to look at him, “It’s not that I don’t want to save people, Dean. Some people need to experience things in order to learn important lessons,” she tried to explain.

“I can’t sit here and do nothing,” Dean told her, getting frustrated.

After a moment, a piece of paper appeared on the table in front of him, “Fine,” she sighed, “That paper has the locations of the demons making Crossroads deals that are in the states. If you’re still insistent that you do something.” He did take note that she didn’t look up at him.

Dean looked down at the paper. There were over a dozen different locations, “Sweetheart, I just can’t sit here,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” she mumbled, then finished her beer.

John, Bobby, and Mary understood what Maria had been talking about it. It was something they could understand, mainly because they had children. Part of growing up meant understanding that your children had to experience hard things in order to learn the lessons involved. They couldn’t save them from the pain of things; they could only advise them on how to proceed.

“Dean, maybe we should listen to her,” Mary suggested, softly, pleading him with her eyes.

“Mom, seriously?” Dean questioned as he looked at her, “What the hell?!”

“Don’t snap at your mother, boy,” John told him sternly, “Just listen, hear her out.”

Dean’s frustration at the entire situation was evident to everyone. That was when Mary had an idea. She got up and went over so she was standing between Maria and her son.

“Maria, can you share my understanding with him?” she asked as she set her hand on Maria’s shoulder.

Maria looked up at her, contemplating her request, “I think so,” she replied, unsure as it was something she’d never attempted before.

She shifted in her seat to face Dean, then placed her left hand over Mary’s hand that was still on her shoulder. Maria put her right hand on Dean’s chest, took a deep breath, then closed her eyes. She focused on sharing what Mary had asked, letting her powers do what was needed.

Dean’s eyes widened as that soft yet vibrant purple glow radiated under her hand, and memories of his mother’s played out in his mind. He saw, when he was three, trying to stand on a toddle push toy that was supposed to be ridden. His mother repeatedly took him off of it, explaining he was supposed to sit on it and ride it. Then, after the dozenth time, she sighed and stepped back, letting her son figure it out on his own. The three-year-old Dean did manage to stand on the seat, then fell off of it, hurting himself and crying. Mary was there, holding him close and comforting him. However, he didn’t try that again after learning that he could get hurt.

Mary looked down at her son as the memory played out and watched a couple of tears fall from his eyes, and she smiled softly at him. Then, Maria opened her eyes and set her hands on her lap. She wasn’t sure what to say, having seen something so intimately personal like that. Mary placed one of those motherly kisses on the top of Dean’s head before she went over and sat next to John, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Dean just sat there for a few moments, having an internal battle. He wanted to go save those people, but he realized that he couldn’t save them from themselves. Maria tilted her head a bit as she watched him with curiosity, almost able to see the understanding coming into his expression.

He lowered his head, sighing, “I won’t go,” he said quietly.

Dean understood what they’d both tried to not only explain to him but also show him. He wondered how he would be able to sit back and do nothing, knowing he could do something. He also wondered if that was what it was like to be a parent, having to let your kids make mistakes so they could learn on their own. Dean had been saving people from monsters for so long that he wasn’t sure how he was going to just sit back and do nothing. When he felt Maria’s hand on his cheek, he looked into her eyes, conflicted, even when he saw her soft smile and love in them.

“Thank you. I know how hard this is for you,” Maria told him, just as soft as her eyes. The paper that was on the table disappeared.

He sighed, “Just, help me focus on something else till this is over,” he asked her, a pleading look in his eyes.

Maria gently rubbed her thumb against his cheek, then leaned up and kissed him softly, “I’ll do whatever I can to help,” she smiled, then got an idea, “Tell you what, you can pick all the activities for the whole week.”

Whether she meant to or not, that had definitely gotten his attention and his mind on an entirely different topic. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. It was that devilishly charming, flirtatious smirk of his that made his eyes light up.

“All the activities?” he asked suggestively.

She playfully smacked his shoulder, blushing deeply. 

“You know, there are other people in the room,” Bobby teased them, chuckling, which only made her blush deeper.

Dean brushed a few strands of her hair behind her ear, “Now that is a color I love seeing on you.”

“Not helping,” she told him, a bit flustered.

Laughter erupted in the room, and the mood finally lightened. It was going to be a long week, but somehow, Maria knew she was going to enjoy helping keep Dean’s mind off the things he needed to leave alone.

----------------------------------------- Epilogue

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.

#supernatural #nephilim #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x femaleoc #sam winchester fanfiction #spn fic #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spnfandom #spn #spn au #supernatural series #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural fandom #supernatural oc #supernatural fanfic series #supernatural au #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #nephilim fanfiction

[diminuel]

You know if Sam was Michael’s vessel and Dean was Lucifer’s I wonder what would happen on who would say yes first

For example if Sam said yes to Michael, he might try to act like Sam in that “uncanny valley” feeling way where it might look completely human but the mannerisms don’t really fit like a human. Michael might try and persuade Dean to say yes to Lucifer before Dean notices something’s off with Sam and realizes that’s not Sam at all before Michael flees

Not sure what would happen if Dean said yes to Lucifer but I’m pretty sure it would go about the rest of season 5 like Sam trying to get Lucifer out of Dean and trying to get his brother back. I don’t know what are your thoughts about it

I'm not a Sam-expert but I think Sam would be more willing to say yes to Michael than to Lucifer. We have to take into account where Sam on his trajectory in the beginning of season 5. It has just been revealed to him that he made a horrible mistake - that not listening to Dean and trusting Ruby led to the release of Lucifer. He's in a position where he is crushed by the weight of guilt and need to redeem himself - not only to himself but also Dean.

So if he learned that despite the demon blood, despite releasing Lucifer, the archangel Michael (the "good guy") has chosen him to be his perfect vessel? I think Sam might be tempted, because this was both a sign that he could still "be forgiven" by Heaven (and if Heaven can forgive, surely Dean can too?) and also as a way to right his wrong. He released Lucifer from his prison, so it's his duty to make sure he kills him. And if he has to give his body over to Michael to do so, so be it.

I think the only thing that would stop him - possibly - was that he would need to tell Dean and Dean might riot.

And if Michael hasn't gotten a yes out of Sam before Lucifer appears to Dean to tell him that he is his perfect vessel (and Dean knows at this point that he started it by breaking the first seal) then I don't know if he would get one. Because would killing Dean be worth the redemption? Surely not. And then I guess it might get nasty and he would realize that Michael and Heaven isn't the salvation he's been looking for.

As to Dean? Good luck to Lucifer getting a yes out of Dean. It’s not going to happen. (Though now I’m imagining a The End where Zachariah shows Dean just what will happen if he doesn’t get Sam to say yes to Michael so that Dean can be dealt with because Dean WILL say yes? Not that he will. It’s more likely to me that Sam will say yes and Michael will accept to go “off script” and kill Lucifer in the vessel of someone else, be it Adam or Nick.)

I think Dean would feel bad about being Lucifer’s vessel, but not as bad as Sam feels? I think the fact that Cas would still hang around and help them (instead of giving up on Dean) would help. Also Lucifer is probably not able to appeal to Dean the same way he gets under Sam’s skin.

So... I think neither of them would say yes? Sam might be driven to saying yes but that leaves Lucifer without his true vessel.

#Anonymous #Diminuel replies

[shallowrambles]

I actually think the Benny in Dean's Werther Project hallucination was truer than Dean's idealized recollection/memory of him.

And deep down, even though he rejected it for self-preservation, Dean knew it. That's why his anxiety manifested the way it did in the first place. TLDR: It's alllll about Andrea.

A lot of this is redundant, but here ya go.

Benny was acquiescing of the execution of corrupt loved ones. Blood Brothers is a crucial Benny episode. It's illuminating...and unflattering.

Reality check? Benny was mostly okay with "a sacred executioner (Dean)" doing the painful dirty work so he didn't have to. Benny might also be particularly sympathetic to monster-suicide, as that's what he chose for himself.

Benny directly showed us in-canon that he was resolved to kill even his most beloved "corrupt family members"--like Andrea Kormos. She was quickly deemed too far-gone and corrupt, nevermind that their conversation was too short, too condescending, and too aggressive on Benny's part to explore meaningful change and solutions.

So yeah.

I think the real Benny might be totally game for Dean killing himself so his loved ones didn't have to. Especially if Dean himself posed a risk of doing harm/attacking said loved ones, as Andrea Kormos did when she attacked Benny.

That was the "real" Benny all along. And that hurts.

///

Benny didn't try to convince Andrea. He instantly judged her, offering no validation of the emotional struggle with addiction or alternative way forward.

Benny believes in sparing loved ones the task of killing their corrupted loved ones. He was part of practicing it with regards to Andrea. See below:

ANDREA takes his hand, but stays where she is. ANDREA: Where, Benny? BENNY: What are you talking about? Anywhere. [ANDREA looks down.] You're not leaving here, are you? And you never were.

So, yeah. Okay. He's clocking her intentions here, but he's also doing a lot of heavy lifting assuming her thoughts, ascribing the most uncharitable mode to her motivations. (Using an always-and-never statement to boot.)

It comes off so condescending. It's an accusatory mode of communication.

He jumps straight to the vibe of, "you never wanted to leave here, you're corrupted!" whereas her "Where, Benny?" speaks more of desperation and fear. (It reads to me more like: "How, Benny? Why should I fight what I am, Benny? I can't do this, Benny. Can't fight this. It's too hard.")

But he...doesn't seem interested in helping her rediscover herself. He doesn't validate her feelings or illuminate a path to redemption using his own past sins to help pave the way.

He doesn't even talk about another way forward. (Nevermind that he himself did some pretty awful crimes on the high seas for decades before "redeeming" himself. (Rules for thee, but grace for me?)

ANDREA: We have everything we need right here. The operation is still perfect. We can ride the high seas, plunder together. We can have the life we always wanted. BENNY: What I wanted was to leave a burning crater behind. I wanted to put your memory to rest. ANDREA: But I'm not a memory. Benny, I'm right here. BENNY: What I loved – it ain't here anymore. It was snuffed out a long time ago by monsters like me... like what you've become.

I just want to emphasize how this conversation is barely a conversation. It's an attack on Andrea before a real conversation can even begin to take place.

The mere act of being afraid of leaving, of having Stockholm Syndrome and losing her "father," of feeling connected to the Easy Mode of vampiric hunting is met with an over-the-top attack on her character.

(You're not you. You're corrupt. You've become like me, because of me, and I don't want you anymore. You're dead to me if you're like me. You can't be redeemed...even though *I* was.)

It's a flagrant dehumanization.

///

What could he have said? Is this a tonal argument?

I guess it could be if you squint, but he directly insulted her, denying her existence to her face. That's why she reacts with a desperate, "Benny, I'm right here."

She's not a memory. She's monstered.

He could start with acknowledging how hard it is to be a 'human-ethics-centered’ vampire. He could share his own struggles. Show some empathy, or at least some sympathy! At bare minimum, he could discuss a new way forward. ("Anywhere," isn't a discussion.) Instead, we get...zilch.

He's much too busy being horrified by the apparent corruption of The Perfect Woman.

He goes straight to the vibe of: "you're an irredeemable monster."

///

Is it worse to go too far...or not to try at all?

And here's where the Sam-Bobby-Dean triad of demon detox takes on a more positive light. Their methods may have been cruel and harsh. (Detox is an ugly, horrific, twisting, screaming-and-lying thing. Detox tells you that drug dependence is who you are. It tells you you like the disease. That you perhaps ARE the drug/disease).

But anyway, Bobby-Dean-Cas did not give up on "corrupted/addicted/overly righteous" Sam.

Likewise in season 10, the methods of Sam-Cas-Charlie were evil, but they did not give up on "corrupted/disinhibited/unfeeling" Dean. Although Sam and Cas started out being resolved to kill Dean, they realized they couldn't. Wouldn't. (In season 10, perhaps Sam is in his mind resolving not to trigger the abandonment Dean got so unhinged about in season 8.)

So I guess the question is, what's more evil? In SPN, is it worse to go too far...or to barely try at all? They're both bad, perhaps, but one is driven by hope, and the other by nihilism: "we're all damned."

Benny’s arc is rooted in nihilism from start (Andrea, revenge) to finish (torn apart in Purgatory, as he probably intended to go out).

///

I think Andrea's feelings were obviously hurt; she was insulted...and with very good reason.

I mean, it's no wonder she attacks him. She cries, "You think you're better than me now?" He says he thinks they're all damned, and that certainly enrages her.

She senses, perhaps correctly, that it's really just lip service.

His actions imply that he really does think he's better than her. He did crimes and got redeemed. She's not even gonna get that chance. Not really.

(She has the "chance," I suppose. Technically. Sorta. But he purposely agitates her with his nihilistic lamentation of man-woe, spending much of his time judging her, not trying to convince her.)

You see, even when he messes up, Benny still "gets to be" himself. Even if that's a corrupted vampiric self. He's still "Benny." Not Andrea. When Andrea is a struggling addict, a vampire, Andrea "just is a memory."

Andrea is immediately disallowed her own identity simply for voicing that it might be easier to stick to the vampiric ways of hunting to live. It's black-and-white, abruptly cruel judgement, even before Dean gives the killing blow.

///

Later in the season, via deleted scene, Benny completely falls off the wagon, insisting "Dean doesn't wanna know (about his feeding off innocents)."

Benny is a symbolic perfectionist here. (As Dean himself can be when it comes to hero-worship and people.) Benny wants to remain idealized, just like he wanted Andrea to remain idealized. They're eaten alive by the symbolic, cooing Empty: "Wouldn't you rather remain a fond memory than a constant, festering disappointment?"

Benny's okay with that. And in the end, Dean's okay with that, too. That's why both Amelia and Benny feel like mirages. If Benny is "away," Dean can fantasize that maybe Benny got to be “King of purgatory,” and most importantly, Benny gets to live in the idealized space Sam could never live up to: "brother who never let me down."

(Dean is struggling to cope with life in this season. I think his hero worship of people is something he tends to do to help combat the abandonment he feels is inevitable. And yes, as I've said before, I think this is because John was a hot-and-cold caretaker!)

The deleted scene implies that Dean could perhaps be content not knowing all the ways Benny fails to live up to the cartoon of Benny he's drawn in his head (as a means to cope with the disappointments of living). Benny was good because he was at arm's length, not close enough to wound, hurt, or disappoint. And as Benny's organ donor/blood donor/drug dealer, there's a comfortable dependance Dean can fall back on, giving him control and feeding into his specific brand of abandonment-neuroses.

Benny never clawed his way back the way other characters did, because the writers decided to strip away his complexity and cut out the meat of him. Give me the guy who fell off the wagon. Give me the guy in The Werther Project. That's the real Benny, and he's great. He's, to quote Amara, better than the false ideal. He's real and complicated.

//

As for Andrea's redemption, perhaps in Benny's mind, if Benny's not *immediately* enough on his own to change her behavior by *checks notes* coming at her with the least charitable assumption and denying her personhood, then she's a Lost Cause (TM). If Benny's not enough for her to change, as she was enough for Benny to change, then "no one/nothing is."

So, he goads her with harsh, black-and-white words. "It was snuffed out a long time ago by monsters like me... like what you've become." I.e. I'm a monster reformed, but you're a monster that deserves to die before we even validate your pain or talk about the chance of recovery/healing. (You were ruined/corrupted by my father in our game of war. Ouch.)

She is hurt and ofc attacks, and the sacred executioner (Dean) strikes her down (so Benny doesn't have to).

It's also potentially a kind of family annihilation/self-nihilism. That in Benny's mind both he and Andrea deserve to die for being "damned." (Indeed, Benny will submit to his own murder with nary a complaint.) I think this latter one is perhaps more charitable, that Benny was always in a bad place--suicidal.

Again, Benny’s dependence on Dean as drug dealer was comfortable for Dean, allowing him to both keep Benny at arms’ length/not let him close enough to be de-idealized and hurt him the way his family and loved ones have, while at the same time being forever on the hook of blood donor/organ dependency (the symbol of the in 8x03 cooler). Benny’s life on the show was like Benny’s death: a figurative open door that you never intended to open. And Season 8 is all about surreal, idealized figments.

ANDREA: You think you're better than me now? BENNY: No. I think we're all damned. ANDREA snarls and her fangs descend. DEAN stabs her from behind and then cuts off her head. BENNY and DEAN look at each other before BENNY looks down at ANDREA’s body.

Anyway, that's why I wanted Andreas Kormos for Purgatory II. I still do.

I was also so partial Andrea's rage, disappointment, and confusion. I wanted to see Andrea versus Benny. At minimum, I wanted Andrea back as The Stockholm bookend to the Nihilism, even if Benny was ripped to pieces (as his nihilism would predict). Andrea still had a will to live, even if it was evil/vampiric, and that's far more interesting to me.

///

All in all, it would be completely in-character for the nihilistic Benny we got to know to be comfortable seeing Dean go the way of a corrupted Andrea. We didn't see Benny’s nihilistic worldview develop or shift in a meaningful way during the course of the show. Indeed, his nihilism actually became more severe the longer he drifted.

If "one friend" (Dean) abandoning him and some hunters tailing him is enough to get him to fall off the wagon, he had a very tenuous grasp on resilience indeed. We should all support one another and not seek to violently undermine (Hi, Sam), but at the same time we are not responsible for another person’s addictions.

Benny can be an off-key parallel like how Sam sometimes shifts the burden of his "wellness responsibility" to others? (The Benny-as-idealized-surreal-brother and Sam-as-real-imperfect brother hits hard. Benny’s addiction is excused and enabled as necessary; Sam’s is framed wholly as a choice, which...addiction is complicated. We're much less kind to family about it.)

All in all, I think it's foolish for Dean (and the audience) to think that Benny would treat Mark of Cain!Dean in any way meaningfully different than he treated Andrea Kormos.

Dean's hallucination in Purgatory was more in-keeping with what we saw out of the real Benny. The box knew that Benny was in fact the most likely of Dean's friends to argue for suicide, and it was probably uncomfortably right about that because Benny did not arc towards growth on any occasion. Dean's self-soothing narrative was the false one. Hopeful, maybe. But false.

Makes you wonder if the killing of Andrea was something that was subconsciously actually haunting Dean in a very real, gloriously complicated way. (The way I think Cas's taking of a human vessel subconsciously haunts in him 14x10 Nihilism).

I think Andrea haunts him especially in light of his own newly devolved disinhibition/loss of free will/corruption.

(The real Benny wouldn’t encourage a friend to die? We saw him do just that: tell someone they were too gone…and then watched Dean kill her so he didn’t have to.) Deep down, I think this is an example of Dean’s anxiety over the reality of what happened with Benny and Andrea. Charitably, he’s not seeing through an illusion so much as choosing to live for himself in this moment! Which is fine. We all need our fictions.

Disclaimer: I like Benny. I think all of this makes him crunchy and interesting. And it makes him make SO MUCH SENSE. He, like so many many characters in SPN...fell to nihilism. :(

#complex benny #idealization of memories #dean rewrote the narrative to self-soothe ofc because that's what dean does #like how john rewrote his memories of his loved ones in glorified two-dimensional perfection - fond memories can't let you down #but then...that's how grief works i suppose #so many of the characters devolve to honor killing + worrying that their loved ones should *at least die human* so it's not unique to benny #but this episode of benny's is so underanalyzed and it paints benny in a pretty unflattering light if you ask me #from just his conversational style with andrea *alone* #and yes he's a minor character who barely appears and is thus underwritten by design but this andrea storyline always gave me a big think #i believe in redemption but *saving sam* wasn't enough to redeem benny in my eyes - he had other issues #*shrugs* if you happen to chafe at seeing benny as anything other than perfect then you're perhaps buying INTO dean's lie/ idealization? #and i saw his returning to purgatory an opportunity to give into his own nihilism rather than being about The Cause (or dean or sam) #benny's sort-of a surface-level nice guy. i don't think that's in doubt. #BUT his achilles' heel is his own naval-gazing nihilism/misery...and that he perhaps idealizes ppl worse than dean does? #to me andrea just seemed far far more interesting. and sexier to boot. ANYWAY-- #why is dean so shocked that benny was torn apart? that was benny's GOAL. dean missed the nihilism and self-annihilation all along? #not a great look for dean tbh #Unlike Sam Benny worked to save Dean’s happiness (Cas) #and that seemed to have a huge impact on dean #whose happiness never mattered #all the same they killed andrea…benny’s happiness wo even trying #so in a sense dean becomes like sam #neither seeing benny as real person struggling w nihilism #not a person who gets to be de-idealized #he gives up on andrea too quick bc benny’s happiness is not as important #benny gets the narrative dean treatment #BY dean #benny’s mental health catches dean off guard the way dean’s poor mental health surprises sam #the dean who raised me would never give up etc #the depth of person of character of emotions