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writethelifeyouwant · 2 years

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Made For You | Prologue

Summary: Dean and Sam like what they have together, and if screwing your brother screws with the universe’s “grand plan” while they’re at it, then even better. Neither of them has ever cared much for tradition or fate, but it turns out there are some destinies you can’t escape. Sometimes, someone is just made for you.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Unpresented!Sam Rating: 18+ Warnings: Incest Tags: Omegaverse, growing up, Sam’s curious, Dean answers his questions, because he’s a good big brother Word Count: 947 Created For: @spnabobingo - Free Space | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Free Space

Series Masterlist

For as long as Dean could remember, his little brother had always been full of questions.

Of course, when he was two, Sam had gone through the typical toddler phase of asking “why?” after every single thing his big brother said. It had taken a lot out of six-year-old Dean not to just shove the kid out of his way and hide somewhere no one could ever ask him “why?” again. Then when he was a little older, and started to notice more and more about the world he lived in, the questions morphed into: Where does Dad go all the time? Why isn’t he back yet? What is the shotgun doing under your pillow?

Dean had tried his hardest to avoid answering those kinds of questions as long as he could. Dad didn’t want Sam to know about the monsters under the bed, not just yet.

When Sam was seven or eight, he’d gone through a fairy tales phase, to Dean’s utter disgust. But those had been the only books that Mrs. Nowicki, the elderly motel desk clerk that John had asked to keep an eye on them, had left over from her daughter’s childhood. Sam had been delighted when she’d brought them in one morning, and told him he could keep them as long as he wanted. That hadn’t been necessary, the dorky little kid had devoured every single one of them by the end of the day.

After that, the questions had morphed into: Do you believe in love at first sight? Were Mom and Dad true mates? Do you believe in true mates? Do true mates always have to be an alpha and omega? What do you think you’ll present as? What about me?

Dean had wanted to pull the shotgun out from its not-so-secret hiding place beneath his lumpy cotton pillow and shoot Sam, then himself, just to make the kid shut it about all that true mates bullshit. Instead, he’d gone to the library down the road and stolen a copy of Grimm’s Fairy Tales – the ones that had the real endings, with death and blood and guts – and shoved that under Sam’s nose and told him to read that and then shut up.

When he had finished the book, Sam’s next question had been: Why do you always ruin everything?! Dean had smirked triumphantly to himself in his vindictive-older-brother way, not at all sorry.

Right before Dean’s eighteenth birthday, Sam had asked him: “What do you think you’ll present as?”

“Alpha,” Dean had shrugged, unconcerned. He was pretty confident about what he’d turn out to be. Sam looked at him nervously, hands wringing in his lap.

“What do you think I’ll present as?” he had asked in a small voice, looking much younger than his thirteen years.

“Bitch like you? Definitely omega,” Dean had mocked with a cold sneer, sick of all these goddamn questions. But then he saw how Sam’s eyes began to cloud with tears, the multifaceted colours blurring to a muddy hazel. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it,” he reassured his little brother, patting him awkwardly on the arm. “You’re already tall as me, bet you’ll be even bigger one day. That’s definitely an alpha trait.”

“You mean it?” Sam sniffed, cheeks twitching with the ghost of hope.

“Yeah, totally,” Dean nodded, bravado back in full swing. “I mean, we fight monsters for a living for god’s sake. You, me, and Dad? Alpha as they come.”

He had been right, and a couple weeks after his eighteenth birthday, Dean had presented as an Alpha. His hormones had gone into full swing, whacking him out with a rut that had lasted nearly two weeks, and he’d been a horny bastard even outside of his ruts ever since – something Sam never failed to rib him about in the years following.

“Just you wait until you’ve presented,” Dean grumbled. “You won’t want to keep your dick in your pants either.” Sam’s eighteenth birthday had been last weekend, he’d probably be popping his knot any day now.

“What’s–” Sam hesitated, chewing on his question a little before starting again. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Dean grunted, not following.

“W-what’s it like, y’know,” Sam’s hands flailed around awkwardly in front of him, his face breaking out in a splotchy, embarrassed blush. “What’s it like knotting someone?”

Dean’s mouth ran dry as he looked at the hopeful, nervous expression on his little brother’s face. When Sam licked his lips, Dean felt a lurch somewhere behind his navel, and he felt a flush begin to creep up his neck to match Sam’s.

“Um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “it uh, it feels really intense, I guess. Like at that moment, while you’re tied, there’s no one but you two. It kinda feels like they’re everywhere, even though it’s only your dick inside ‘em. And it’s all… tight, and warm… and uh, wet.”

Sam had a look on his face like Dean had punched him in the gut; knocked the wind right out of him. He didn’t know what made him do it but Dean looked down, and saw Sam was hard. Sam saw him looking, his chest heaving shakily as their eyes locked. The younger boy cleared his throat.

“Have you, uh, have you ever done it with a guy?”

Dean hadn’t suspected that question in a million years, and he blinked in stunned silence for a moment, eyes still fixed on Sam’s.

“No…” Dean answered slowly. His heart was beating so loudly he bet Sam could hear it too.

“Have you ever wanted to try?”

Sam and all his goddamn questions. They would be the death of him, Dean was positive.

Chapter 1 posting on June 7th or subscribe to my website to read up through Chapter 4!

We’re All Mads Here: @vulgar-library @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore @petitgateau911 @schaefchenherde @kickingitwithkirk @little-diable @laxe-chester67 @kassyscarlett @austin-winchester67 @flamencodiva @katbratsupernaturalwhore @letsbys-library @fictional-affairs @leigh70

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#spnabobingo #dean x sam #dean x reader #alpha!dean #omega!reader #unpresented!sam #angst fic #supernatural fic #smut fic #supernatural smut #wincest #omegaverse #made for you #series

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solaceinfandoms · 3 years

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Letters to Dean

Happy Birthday Dean!!! You’re 42 today! I know you’ve never loved celebrating birthdays, especially yours but I also know that you secretly loved it. You always said your infamous “No chic flick moments” line but you’ve always been the one to sit and watch every single chick flick with me..... and dont forget jamming out to Taylor Swift whenever I feel low, (dont worry I wont tell anyone😂).......... Every 23rd January we’d be prepping for the clock to strike 12! Sam, Eileen and Cas and then Jack as well, everyone would be busy in either distracting you or decorating the place and getting the food ready, (YES REAL BACON). And everytime the clock struck 12 and it was officially the 24th, a.k.a my favourite person’s birthday, we’d sneak into your room, risking our lives because hey, you know you’re an angry AND scary sleeper. But what you didn’t know is that we knew that you knew we’d be upto something for your bday so you’d purposely act like sleeping........

It was perfect, everything from you and Cas ,and Sam and Eileen. And it was supposed to be the same this year too...... I’m in your room right now you know, not the first time im here after..... but usually I’d be here eating your ear off talking about our plans for the day, for YOUR day...... I used to come here with only happiness, or if I was upset, you’d comfort me... The Deancave as you called it (I still think it’s the perfect name unlike what Sam and Cas say) this, was my comfort spot..... Always had Dean Winchester, my best friend to rely on. It’s not the same now, it never will be.... I come in here trying to find comfort but I’d find myself crying myself to sleep. After Cas, I know you were broken, I dont think I’ll ever understand exactly what you went through..... But no matter what, you were here for me, I lost my other bestfriend but I had you.

And then I didn’t. That day my heart broke into pieces and I know that I could take all the time in the world to heal, hell, an angel or Jack himself could try, but there would always be that one part that would forever be lost, gone, a void that nothing could fill.

Now I know you wanted me to move on, live life, enjoy it, and all that, and im trying and it is getting better, but I miss you, I miss you so much Dean.... I miss your stupid smirk and you going absolutely crazy with Zeppelin in Baby. And you remember that one time we totally pranked that guy outside the motel and ran for our lives..... That day was hilarious and probably the best days ever! Oh and that one time we made pie and it was so good, so good that we finished it even before we could serve it for the rest...... And that time you told me about Cas, and how he was an absolute “angel” (yes im clearly winking at you) oh and that time, YOU tried testing your pick up lines to use on a particular angel, and his confused expression, those moments oh my lord (or Jack) I still have those polaroids that I took btw... Oh love, I wish you were here so that I could tease you more and help you out with your date, and hug you, hug you so much more.... I’d never let you go...... But now you’re in heaven, both you boys, I hope you’re having fun (but not too much, okay kids?!) Saileen is doing amazing, you can see them from there right😂..... Aw man, Dean also! We went to the beach yesterday, and I stayed there and did all those dares we decided to do when we went to the beach and I’m going to be honest, it felt like you were there with me, but I may have also cried myself to sleep, but more of a content cry... you get it right? You always got me anyway <3

There it is, It is 12 here, MIDNIGHT! Happy birthday old man (yes, no explanations given) I miss you, way more than I could ever, and I love you so much. And don’t, please don’t try the hot coffee thing on Cas, please. I love you and I know you know. Happy birthday love.

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tootiredmotel · 3 years

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spoiler alert: she keeps it

A coda fic of my beloved 10x20 "Angel Heart" bc Cas and Claire are my everything, for @emeraldcas 's celebration!

Prompt: meaningful moments

1.2k words – read on ao3 or below

First, it's a matter of where.

Dean says that the mall is a safe bet, and he’s probably right. It has options, a wide array of stores with near endless possibilities, so Cas asks him for a ride to the nearest one.

As Dean pulls into the parking lot, he asks "You really think you'll finally win her over like this?"

"I'm not trying to "win her over", Dean." Cas air quotes. "It's her birthday. A present is customary, isn't it?"

It's not a rhetorical question, and Dean seems to understand that after studying Cas's gaze on him.

"Yeah. Yeah it is, buddy."

Once inside, the number of options becomes overwhelming rather than comforting. Hundreds of people bustle about, bumping into them with reckless abandon. Cas pauses a few steps from the entrance, breathing heavily and looking every which way, trying to figure out where to begin and coming up blank.

He’s never been to a mall before.

Dean, staring daggers at the back of someone who almost trampled them, puts a hand on Cas’s back. “C’mon. Let’s try this way,” he says, leading him down the hall to their right.

They walk for a while. Cas quietly studies every store they pass, while Dean speaks up every two minutes with a new idea. Tech store? A new phone. Clothing store? A jacket, hers is looking a bit worn. Shoe store? Do you know her size? We can get her some boots or something.

“Dean,” Cas finally says, stopping in his tracks and grabbing Dean’s arm. He's grateful for the ride, and he's grateful for Dean’s suggestions. Really, he is. “Thank you, but… This is my gift to her. I need to choose on my own.”

Dean starts doing that adorable thing where he can’t decide if he wants to shake his head or nod. “Uh, yeah, no. No problem, angel. You got this. I’ll shut up.”

Right now, Cas is less focused on the gift itself and more on finding a store that feels fitting, one that Claire might pick out on her own. He puts his hands in his pockets and scans the stores in sight. Further down the hall, one storefront stands out. The walls are black, the windows dimly lit, and the sign is made of backlit block letters. It feels… edgy. She’d like it.

“There.” Cas nods toward it. “The Hot Topical.”

The other thing is the matter of what.

Luckily, the Hot Topical seems to have a bit of everything. Dean sets off on his own soon after walking in, saying something about some Star Wars character or other. There's an overwhelming amount of pop culture merchandise, most of which Cas now recognizes. But he's not sure what kind of shows or movies Claire likes, so he opts against those.

Walking deeper into the store, he comes across the jewelry displays. Claire might like some, maybe stud earrings or a necklace, nothing too frilly. But if she's going to keep hunting, and she is, it's not very practical to wear things that can get caught and slow her down. He keeps walking.

The music section is mostly t-shirts. This is where he finds Dean, eyeing the wall curiously, but not looking like he's going to buy.

“Find anything?” Dean asks when he feels Cas next to him.

“Not yet.”

“You will. You got this," he says again, and Cas greatly appreciates the vote of confidence.

Dean turns his attention back to the shirts, and Cas, who isn't all that sure about Claire’s music taste either, goes over to the furthermost wall.

The back of the store is where they keep the miscellaneous things, apparently. One half of the wall is full of small, bobblehead-ish figurines whose heads don’t bobble (as Cas discovers when he picks one of the boxes up and shakes it). The other half of the wall has quite a few things: bags and backpacks on display, a few accessories such as mesh gloves that wouldn’t keep one warm in the slightest, and unnecessarily intricate belts. At the bottom of the wall, however, he spots some shelves with plushies.

That’s where something catches Cas’s eye.

Dean is already at the back of the line when Cas gets there. He's buying an enamel Scooby-Doo keychain and says it's because Baby's is old and he needs a new one; the unbridled delight in his eyes gives him away, though.

"A stuffed animal?" He asks when he notices what Cas is holding. There's no judgment in it. A bit of amusement and maybe, just maybe, a hint of fondness, Cas thinks.

Cas holds up the cat for Dean to take and examine. "It's an... inside thing."

"Right," Dean says, and hands it back.

Dean asks if he even has any money, to which Cas doesn't answer, realizing he doesn't. Dean happily pays for both items.

---

"She kept it, y'know," Dean says behind him, the next day. He pats Cas's shoulder, then heads back to the car, keys jingling against the new keychain.

Castiel stands there for a second, watching the cab roll completely out of the parking lot and out of sight, and he's wishing he could have hugged her longer. Despite having him and the Winchesters and soon Jody Mills, despite knowing she'll always have them… Claire is more alone now than she's ever been. Cas knows she's tough, tougher than she should've had to be, but she's still a kid (as much as she insists she's not).

He… doesn't pray. Not anymore. But he hopes. He hopes for her every day, hopes for her wellness and safety, hopes he'll be able to see her face again and not just read her words or hear her voice through a phone. And right this second, he's also hoping that his present to her, (which she kept, Cas thinks fondly), will be able to serve its purpose. That it'll be a small source of comfort if she were to ever need it.

---

That night, as Claire settles into a motel bed, she gets a text from Cas. It's a Grumpy Cat meme, one of many cat memes she's received from him since they agreed to stay in touch more. In this one, the image is the cat lying in bed with that face of his, and it says "How many people got trampled on Black Friday this year? Not enough".

After having cried herself out in the backseat of the cab, she actually smiles for the first time all afternoon; it's not a wide or toothy smile but it's a smile, and she lets out an amused exhale through her nose, so that's something.

She texts him haha and the eye roll emoji.

Are you safe? Cas shoots back.

She double-checked all the locks on all the doors and windows. She's got a knife under the pillow and a gun under the bed. She's all set to get to Jody's by tomorrow. She breathes deep, squeezing the plushie tighter against her chest, and texts back.

I am. Night Cas

She doesn't have time to put the phone down before it dings again.

Good night, Claire. Sweet dreams.

They probably won't be all that sweet. They haven't been sweet in years. But at least now, when the bitter dreams inevitably wake her up, she's got something to hold. Or maybe strangle. Depends on the dream.

Plus, she's got an angel-dad watching over her, too. In a sense.

Claire lets the dryness in her eyes and the heaviness in her body take over, and she falls asleep. Grumpy Cat in hand.

---

Fic taglist: ask to be added or removed! <3

@casismymrdarcy @youcaneven @zorelle @spooky-floral-cas @lilcasx @oh-in-italics @theehunterhusbands @knifelesbianjo @spoookycastiel @shakespeareintellectualbadass @stressedtaco @aniridescentdreamer @mishacase2003 @spookymixtape @dykekingofhell @evermorecastiel @autumncastiel @nightandwine @doyouhearthedestielsing @all-or-nothing-baby @hauntedrederadean @ciderdean @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @heres-to-evil-skanks @wormstacheangel @the-boy-kings-crown @10x02 @the-moon-loves-the-sea @ghostlynatural @one-more-offbeat-anthem @spookynightdeancas

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hintsofhoney · 2 years

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Life of the Party

Pairing(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: Dean's trying (and failing) to enjoy his night out with friends, until he's made an offer that he can't refuse.

Tags: 18+, implied smut, Dean singing karaoke, flirting, implied hook-up, drinking, crack, this is very light and PG

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This was written for @ejlovespie’s 500 Followers Challenge and @deangirl93′s 500 Followers Challenge (which, Lord only knows how late I am on that one; I’m sorry I suck). My prompt for EJ’s was the GIF below -- my prompt for Rosh’s challenge was the song ‘Out on the Tiles’ by Zeppelin (which after a Google search I found out that ‘out on the tiles’ means going out on the town, to bars, etc., which inspired this fic. Love you both so much and congratulations to you both! Also thank you to my sweet angel @winchest09 for beta-ing! Love you to the moon! Also the GIF is mine.

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Dean brought his cold beer bottle to his lips, taking a sip as he tried to drown out all the noise that was going on around him. This type of bar wasn’t his usual scene; the loud music, large crowds, karaoke stage… it was the exact opposite of his preferred environment to enjoy a drink in. But it was Garth’s birthday; he couldn’t have declined the invite. Besides, it had been a while since he last had a night out with friends, and even he had to admit that he could use some social interaction every once in a while. He just wished it was in a different location where people could talk to each other without going hoarse from screaming over the mediocre-at-best karaoke.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asked, slapping his large hand down on Dean’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. He turned around on his stool, leaning his back against the bar to face one of his best friends.

“That obvious, huh?”

Benny chuckled. “You’ve been over here ‘bout 20 minutes; the party’s over there,” he said, nodding towards the far corner of the bar where Garth, Cas, Sam, and Gabe were all playing a game of pool. “Care to join?”

Dean shook his head, taking another swig from his bottle. “I’m good, Benny. Really. I’ll be over in a few. Just – you know how it is. This isn’t my scene. Need to get a few in me before I can enjoy it.”

“Oh, I get it. Well, we’ll be waitin’ for ya,” he informed, before making his way back to the party.

Dean sighed, spinning back around in his seat, finishing off his drink before placing it down on the bar top. He wished he could let loose without any drinks in him, but it was going to take more than one beer to release his inhibitions. How many do you think it’d take for you to get up on stage? his conscience asked, and he huffed a laugh to himself knowing that he’d have to be near the level of alcohol poisoning to sing karaoke – no matter how happy it would make Garth.

“You want another?” a sweet voice asked, and he looked up from counting the knots of wood in the bartop into the eyes of the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. The bartenders must’ve changed shifts as she hadn’t been the one to serve him his first bottle.

“Oh –” he cleared his throat, “yeah, thanks,” he smiled, letting her take the empty one from his hand.

“Of course,” she replied, the corners of her mouth curling upwards as she turned away to get him another beer.

He took the opportunity to glance over her figure; her black tank top was hugging her body, showing off her curves; her jean shorts just long enough to keep you guessing as to what was underneath them. When she turned around to make her way back towards him, his eyes darted to her cleavage, his bottom lip instinctively making its way between his teeth before the sound of a glass bottle hitting the bartop brought him back to reality just before any dirty thoughts could fill his mind.

“Are you staring at my boobs?” she asked sharply, placing her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow at him.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally managed to form a reply – not that it was any better than not saying anything at all. “W-what? No,” he stammered with a soft laugh, dropping his head in embarrassment and shaking it before looking back up at her. “Yes,” he admitted. You know what they say: honesty is the best policy.

She smirked, grabbing a rag from underneath the counter before she began wiping down the surface in front of him. “You plan on joining your party at any point?” she questioned, nodding towards his friends who were finishing up their pool game. “Saw the cute one talking to you.”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, he’s the cute one, is he? Well, don’t tell him that. His head’s already big enough,” he joked, winking at her before taking a sip of his newly served drink.

“Well, you’re not so bad yourself, if I’m being honest. But you seem like you want to be alone,” she admitted.

“What can I say? I’m the buzzkill of the group. Someone’s gotta be, right?”

She shrugged, nodding as if to say, ‘I guess’. “As a bartender, I see what happens when there’s not a group buzzkill,” she chuckled.

“The party rages?”

“A little too much, in my opinion. Just sucks that the buzzkill is you in this case,” she smirked.

“And why’s that?”

“‘Cause I tend to go for the life of the party.”

“Ah,” Dean replied, looking over his shoulder at his group. “That would be Gabe, over there,” he said, pointing to the man who was currently leaning over the pool table, his tongue between his teeth as he made the winning shot.

Her eyes followed his finger, watching as Gabe cheered obnoxiously loud, chest-bumping a skinnier man in victory. She shook her head before looking back down at Dean. “On second thought, you’re too good lookin’ to pass up.”

She winked and Dean chuckled softly, dropping his head as he tried to hide the blush creeping up on his cheeks. “Right back at ya, sweetheart. When do you get off?”

“Three hours. But I can make it earlier…”

“Oh?”

“If I can hear you sing a little.”

He huffed a laugh, taking another swig from his bottle. “I got three hours to kill.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’ve got a great voice!” she egged on, throwing the rag over her shoulder.

“How would you know? You’ve never heard me sing.”

“Don’t have to,” she replied. “I can tell by your voice.”

He rolled his eyes, glancing over at the karaoke stage. Currently, it was empty, and no one seemed too eager to get in line. He could only be thankful for that; the screeching he had heard throughout the night so far had done nothing but make him wish he had brought a pair of noise-cancelling headphones with him.

“We’ve got a pretty good song selection,” the woman continued. “What’s your taste? Taylor Swift? Bieber?” she teased. Dean’s unamusement showed through the glare he was giving her. “Kidding! Let me guess for real… you seem like a… Zeppelin fan.”

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise, impressed at her guesswork. “What gave it away?”

“I’m just good at guessing,” she winked. “So what do you say? We have a lot of Zeppelin.”

“How about… I name the Zeppelin song and if you don’t have it… I don’t have to sing and you get off early anyway.”

“And if we do have it?”

“Then I’ll throw back a few more of these and get up on stage, if it means I get to leave this party with a pretty girl a few hours early.”

She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Alright. Name the song.”

Dean took a few sips of his beer as he went through the Led Zeppelin discography that he had in his head, before settling on one that he thought would have the lowest chance of being in some karaoke catalog at a bar like this.

“Alright. Out on the Tiles,” he suggested with a pleased smile, as if he already knew that the song wasn’t available.

She looked at him quizzically. “Seriously? Out on the Tiles?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, one of Page’s best riffs ever and you don’t think we’d have that in our karaoke catalog?”

Dean’s face dropped, although he had to admit – he was impressed by her Zeppelin knowledge – but that wasn’t what was on his mind right now. “Wait, seriously? You have that song?”

She giggled as she pulled out a karaoke catalog from under the bar top and flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. Turning it around and sliding it towards him, she pointed out the track at the bottom of the page with her finger. Turning around, she grabbed two more beers for Dean and placed them in front of him.

“Better drink up. You’ve got an audience to wow.”

Four beers in and Dean finally felt like he could enjoy himself a little bit. Not that he was any more keen to sing one of Zeppelin’s best in front of all these people – his friends included – but the alcohol was definitely helping him release those inhibitions. Karaoke didn’t seem nearly as unappealing as it did to him three drinks ago, and now he was more concerned about doing Plant’s voice justice than anything else. The bar only seemed to get more crowded as the night went on, and by the time it was his turn to sing, his friends in the front row were backed by about forty other strangers, cheering him on.

“This is the best day ever,” Garth announced, as he watched one of his closest friends take the stage. “Sam, do you wanna do a duet with me next?”

Sam huffed a laugh and shook his head, pulling out his phone so he would have some blackmail material to use in case his brother ever pissed him off too bad. “Gabe’s got a much better voice than I do, buddy,” he replied, pointing his phone camera at the stage and pressing record as Dean grabbed the mic.

“Alright, alright,” Dean began, trying to calm the drunk crowd with a wave of his hand. “Now, I have to admit, I’m not doing this by choice; I lost a bet. And I am a little bit drunk right now, so I apologize in advance. Okay. Let’s get it over with,” he sighed, a few moments before the beginning chords of ‘Out on the Tiles’ began to play.

As I walk down the highway all I do is sing this song

And a train that's passin' my way helps the rhythm move along

There is no doubt about the words are clear

The voice is strong, is oh so strong

Dean kept his eyes on the lyrics on screen even though he knew this song by heart. He was already making a fool out of himself by singing, and he knew that Sam wouldn’t pass up on the opportunity to record this, so he was determined to make it as close to a perfect performance as he could.

I'm just a simple guy, I live from day to day

A ray of sunshine melts my frown and blows my blues away

There's nothing more that I can say but on a day like today

I pass the time away and walk a quiet mile with you

She watched him from behind the bar, her elbow resting on the wooden surface, holding up her chin with her palm. His deep gravelly voice was much different than the one that the song was originally sung in, but somehow he made it work. She smiled to herself, proud of the fact that she could pick out a good singing voice so well. As he sang the next words, he finally tore his gaze away from the lyrics on screen, his green eyes meeting with hers from across the bar.

All I need from you is all your love

All you got to give to me is all your love

All I need from you is all your love

All you got to give to me is all your love

She rolled her eyes at him, shooting him a quick wink before turning around to check on her other customers.

Dean finished the song with the drunk crowd cheering and a smile on Garth’s face so wide there was no way that it wasn’t making his cheeks sore. He hopped off the stage as the next singer took his spot, the familiar notes to ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ by Bon Jovi being the next ones to play from the speakers. After a few pats on the back from his drunk friends, and a confirmation from Sam that he did indeed record the whole thing, he made his way back over to the bar.

“Told you you had a good singing voice,” she sing-songed as he walked up to her. She finished wiping down the beer glass in her hand before setting it on the counter behind her to finish drying.

“Yeah, well, thanks to you, my brother’s got blackmail on me now,” Dean chuckled.

“If he thinks that’s blackmail, he’s deaf. Probably the least embarrassing karaoke performance I’ve ever seen. I mean it! You’re really good,” she smiled.

Dean dropped his head in effort to hide the blush creeping up in his cheeks. “Well, thank you,” he replied, running his hand through his hair before stopping it at the nape of his neck to scratch the spot awkwardly.

“Of course. Alright, a deal’s a deal. Someone should be coming in in about five minutes to take my shift over. Meet you outside?”

He smiled, nodding in response before quickly making his way over to his friends and saying goodbye, Garth giving him an extra-tight hug as he usually did.

He leaned against Baby, his hands in his jacket pockets as he watched his breath fog up in front of him, the cold air biting at his face. He turned his head when he heard footsteps on the concrete of the parking lot, smiling when he saw her walking towards him.

“Nice car,” she commented, taking a good long look at his Impala. “How big’s the backseat?”

Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise before letting a smirk come to his lips. “Big enough.”

“Perfect,” she replied, opening the back door and crawling inside. Dean leaned down, looking into his car at her as she made herself comfortable in his backseat. “Well?” she asked, waiting for him to follow her in – it was too damn cold outside for him to be taking more than three seconds to look her over. “C’mon! I bet that mouth of yours can do more than sing,” she teased, cocking her eyebrow at him.

He smirked before crawling into the backseat, closing the door behind him. “Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

#deangirl93s500followerscelebration #ejs500followerschallenge #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction

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vukovich · 3 years

Note

Listen. Draco goes on a run past Harry’s house everyday. It’s August. He needs hosing down.

The Ass is Greener Where You Water It

Harry gets the keys to the dingy little cottage on his birthday, so that he can have a housewarming party instead of a 30th birthday party. It's the best birthday he's ever had. By miles. Instead of Gryffindor kitsch and Quidditch tickets, his friends give him things he actually wants.

Hermione brings an owl perch that clips right into his bedroom window. Ron distracts Harry with a cast iron skillet from the Burrow while Dean and Seamus set off atmospheric charms over the house. Bit of a risk in a Muggle area, but the houses are so far apart, and the traffic so sparing that no one notices.

Luna arrives late, and he greets her on the dilapidated porch. His glasses fog in the humidity, and she casts a spell on the weed-choked front lawn that sounds like it should give the thistles the power of prophecy, but merely keeps his glasses clear.

Hermione takes one look at the kitchen and heads back out for pizza. Ron and Seamus do a double-take at the chartreuse living room carpet and roll up their sleeves. Luna performs an exorcism in the basement, just to be safe. Dean stocks the fridge with beer. Only beer.

Dinner is eaten out of hand, seated on the living room floor between rows of carpet staples. Ron sets a small team of allen wrenches into motion, and Harry watches furniture assemble itself.

Ron thumps a fist against his chest, holds his breath, and belches so loudly he has to swallow at the end. Hermione shakes her head and confiscates the rest of his beer.

Slowly, as the bottles accumulate in the recycling bin, and the leftover pizza makes its way to the fridge, they all filter out.

"Gotta pick the kids up from Mum's. Love you, Harry. And happy birthday!"

Luna yawns. "The dabberblimps will be waiting for their bedtime story."

Dean and Seamus each snag a cold piece of pizza on their way out. "We're headed to the bars. Coming, birthday boy?"

"Nah," Harry says, shaking his head.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Got a big day of fuck-all tomorrow?"

Harry snorts a laugh and shoves him out onto the patio. "Like you've got a big night of fuck-nobody tonight?"

Seamus licks his finger and marks an imaginary tally board. "G'night, Harry. And happy birthday."

Seamus pulls Dean along, out to the sidewalk, and exclaims, "Shit! Longbottom, what the fuck?!"

Harry squints out into the dark front lawn, and Neville stands up from the other side of the snaggletoothed picket fence.

"Oh, hi. Hey, Harry!" Neville waves. "I'm planting Moonroses along the fence!"

Harry leans against a pillar, but the bottom of it slides away. He startles, catches it, tugs it back into place, and eyes the porch roof warily.

"Uhm, thanks, Nev. You want some pizza?"

Dean shoots Harry fingerguns, then throws an arm around Neville's shoulders. "He wants to get shitfaced, not put that shit in his face!"

Dean looks to Seamus, who licks a finger, raises it, tilts his head in thought, then revokes the potential point with a solemn head shake. Dean flips him the bird.

Neville brushes his hands off on his jeans. "An appletini does sound good. Harry, be sure to water this rose bush every sunset for the next month. Only at sunset."

Harry shrugs and agrees. He really does have fuck-all to do.

The bush is dead. Or he's pretty sure it is. He watered it dutifully at sunset every day for the first week, but then a chipmunk bit a hole in his garden hose and he missed a night.

Flooding the ground around the scraggly bush might revive it. He tugs the hose out over the picket fence and stands on the sidewalk, intent on spraying the dirt as fast as it can absorb the water.

Spray. Watch the standing water trickle into the ground. Spray again. It lulls him into a rhythm.

A hard knock to his shoulder spins him around, and he grabs at the fence. He hits the ground next to the bush, arse in the mud, a busted-off picket in one hand and the hose sprayer in the other.

A man looms over him in the fading daylight. He pants for a moment and takes a long breath before speaking. "For fuck's sake, I hollered three times-" Platinum hair glows pink with the sunset where it isn't sweat-matted against his head. "Potter?"

Dry rose thorns scrape Harry's arm. "Uhm, yeah."

Draco holds a hand out to help Harry up, but Harry hands him the picket. Draco tosses it into the yard.

"I wondered who wasted their money on this hovel."

"Excuse me?"

Sweat drips down Draco's temple, and his t-shirt clings to his chest. It's a rather nice chest, Harry decides.

"This house is hideous. I've run past it every day this summer, and I honestly thought it would end up torn down."

Harry scowls up at him. "It's got good bones."

Draco rolls his eyes and rests a hand on a hip. It's a rather nice hip, Harry decides.

"Carcasses have good bones."

Harry points the sprayer at Draco's face and waits for him to notice, but Draco's busy cataloguing Harry's house's faults.

"That porch roof is going to fall off, and the porch itself is-"

A jet of water hits Draco right in his open mouth, and he coughs, swallows, and glares down at Harry.

"Your front door doesn't even-"

Water shoots up Draco's nose, and he sneezes it out.

"Goddammit, Potter, I-"

Harry looses the hose all over Draco's face for a good, long while. Draco freezes and lets the water drip from his nose and chin.

He blinks down at Harry, who bites his lips to keep from laughing. "You looked thirsty."

Draco clears his throat. "I was..."

"And hot."

Draco smirks. "I can't argue with-"

Harry points the hose at Draco's chest and soaks his shirt while Draco winces and turns his face away from the spray.

Draco peels his shirt off over his head and wrings it out onto the sidewalk. "Your house is still a piece of-"

Harry aims for Draco's crotch and hits him in the balls with a short shot. Draco yelps and wads his t-shirt and hands over his groin.

"Done?" Harry asks, hose steady on Draco's face.

Draco clears his throat again. "Quite."

"Good."

"This splendid manse of yours wouldn't have a towel, would it?"

Harry tosses the hose back over the fence and climbs to his feet.

"I have no idea, but you can help me look."

#peculiar prompts #drarry fluff

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destieltropecollection · 3 years

Photo

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 19: Enemies to Lovers

Pile Of Quarters | @vampamber

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,752 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, alpha Cas, omega Dean, high school AU Summary: Somebody keeps beating Dean's high score on his favorite video game at the arcade, and he will have none of that. So when the chance to have a showdown with this CAS person comes along, of course he's gonna jump at it. He just wasn't expecting the alpha to be so nice. Or so hot.

A Bag of Richards | @ms-josephine

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4,241 Main Tags/Warnings: Human AU, Enemies to lovers, Misunderstandings, Prank wars Summary: A misunderstanding leads to an all-out prank war between Castiel and his new neighbor, Dean.

Build It Up! | @verobatto

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,062 Main Tags/Warnings: Architect AU, Architect!Dean, Architect!Castiel, rivalry, rivals to lovers, light angst, happy ending. Summary: Architect Dean Winchester has just one goal in his life: win contracts and defeat his biggest rival, Castiel Novak. Bad thing is, Novak is the one always winning the heated competitions. Dean hates Novak with all his heart. If only that bastard wasn't so handsome ...

Dance Real Close | @maleyah-givemetomorrow

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,920 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Christmas, Yule, First Kiss, First Time, Enemies to Lovers, Flirting Dean, Sassy Castiel, Fluff and Smut, Soft Boys Summary: For the umpteenth time tonight, Castiel swallows and clenches his teeth, hard enough that he might just need a dentist appointment once this horrendous evening comes to its inevitable end and he has what he came for. Good thing the company has excellent health care. He forces his gaze into a faux-thousand yard stare, a wilful attempt to get lost among the many twinkling lights and ornaments. Just off of the shoulder of the man who is his current, last and most annoying obstacle. Dean Winchester. Dressed to the nines in a suit of snowflake white, he fits in at this high-end Yule Ball as if he hasn’t done anything else in his life. Top of his class and generation, ten years Castiel’s junior, much too skilled for his own good at nigh anything from close combat to subterfuge to extraction, his competition, who is, for some unfathomable reason, flirting with Castiel on the mission.

When Duty Calls | @verobatto

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,654 Main Tags/Warnings: Sci Fi AU, Commander Dean Winchester, Angel/Alien Castiel, strangers to friends to lovers, space ship, working on a mission together, top!Dean/Bottom!Castiel Summary: Angels devastated Earth 30 years ago and Dean lost his mother in that battle. Now, when his father the Ambassador John Winchester dies, Dean is assigned to a very important mission to restore the Earth. Bad thing is, Angels want to redeem themselves by providing the technology to revive the planet and by doing that, they pretend to be part of the Federation. Dean accepts, despite of his hate for them, and he meets the Angel Castiel, a Commander Scientific that will work with him in one of the labs stations placed on Earth.

Vampire Hunter! Starring Castiel Krushnic | @friendofcarlotta

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 13,612 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - TV show, Actor Castiel, Production Assistant Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Enemies to Lovers, Vampires, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, Inspired by Fright Night, Garth Ships It Summary: Straight out of college, Dean gets hired to work on his favorite TV show, "Fright Night." It's a dream come true until the network orders an overhaul to boost ratings, giving the show a new name (“Vampire Hunter!”) and a new star: a grumpy bastard named Castiel, who seems determined to make Dean’s life miserable. Dean just wants to hate Castiel's guts in peace, but then an offsite shoot gets them both trapped in a creepy mansion with a very real, very angry vampire. Can they overcome their differences long enough to kill the monster?

Cheers | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 23,685 Main Tags/Warnings: inspired by the movie: the proposal, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Misunderstandings, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, First Time,First Kiss, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Soft!Dean, Cas blackmails Dean into the relationship at first, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Minor Anna Milton/Dean Winchester Summary: Dean hates his boss, after they attempted to date but failed miserably. But when Castiel suddenly has to go back to Russia because his visa expired, Dean finds himself in a very awkward situation, because Castiel blackmails him to marry him. To make it worse someone from the immigration department is already hot on their trail and they have to show off their fake relationship at the ninetieth birthday of Dean’s grandma.

Elevator Music | Aketch-22 (AO3)

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 25,017 Main Tags/Warnings: Top!Cas/Bottom!Dean, Dom/Sub Overtones, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Lawyer Castiel Summary: Sam is about to become name partner at the law firm he's worked at for years. He invites Dean to the celebration, but Dean gets trapped in the elevator with Sam's pompous, dickbag, too-good looking coworker Castiel. Stuck for hours with someone he hates and a boatload of alcohol, what could possibly go wrong?

Let Your Heart Hold Fast (WIP) | @destiel-pirate-in-middleearth

Rating: Mature Word Count: 35,857 Main Tags/Warnings: Roomates/housemates, enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, college au, mutual pining, happy ending. Summary: Castiel is a simple guy with a simple plan who enters college after a lot of hard work. He's looking forward to the new beginning and endless opportunities. After surviving the worst through high school, Castiel has a good feeling about college and thinks he is gonna do fine, but, then, his life takes an uneasy turn, which leads him into meeting Dean, who doesn't remember him and has evolved into a very flirty, obnoxious man. Castiel hates Dean. For almost a month, Castiel does a great job at avoiding Dean on the college campus. Everything is going fine until the day they have their first encounter, which is close to a nightmare because, apparently, Dean decides to shove an apple frigging pie on Castiel's face, which isn’t even the single worst thing he did to him that day. Or The one where Dean and Castiel hate each other and are forced to live together.

Angels of the Sea | @envydean

Rating: Mature Word Count: 53,616 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Minor Character Deaths, a little violence, non graphic scenes of corporal punishment, sexual scene of mature nature, Hurt/Comfort, Stowaways, Angst, Happy Ending, BAMF!Cas, Pirate!Cas, Stowaway!Dean, Tattoos, Magical Elements, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers Summary: The Archangel – a pirate ship run by young Captain Castiel Novak – is unknowingly boarded by two stowaways. Sam and Dean just needed to get away from their father’s killers and are found stashed away in the storage room of the ship. Raphael is adamant they are killed but Castiel’s heart is too big to dispose of them both. Lives spared, they join the crew, Dean taking up navigation and Sam to the galley and an adventure using Dean’s amulet to find a mysteriously hidden island begins.

Unmasked | @ellis-park

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 69,348 Main Tags/Warnings: Superhero AU, enemies to lovers, secret identities, graphic depictions of violence Summary: Years ago, the infamous vigilante Halo disappeared from the public eye. The new Halo, Castiel Novak, is struggling to pick up the pieces of his own life and his mentor’s tarnished legacy as a new rival, Hellfire, arrives on the scene. It would help if Cas weren’t so distracted by pushy reporter Dean Smith, who reminds him of everything he’s lost — and the life he could have if he’d let go of the mask.

angel in black | @dothwrites

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 95,325 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Divergent, Enemies to Lovers, Bounty Hunter!Cas, Hunter!Dean, Canon-Typical Violence, Demonic Possession, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: Bounty hunter Castiel Novak has simple rules for how he conducts his business. Get in, get out, deliver the fugitive, and do it all with the least amount of effort possible. Never become emotionally involved. When he takes on the job of hunting down Sam and Dean Winchester in order to bring them to justice, his rules start shifting. Threatened by supernatural forces as well as his attraction to Dean, Castiel soon has to decide what he’s willing to stand for…and what he’s willing to die for.

Wicked Game | @expectingtofly

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 104,077 Main Tags/Warnings: Western AU, Canon-Typical Violence, DubCon, Top Cas/Bottom Dean, Angst, Pining, Hurt/Comfort Summary: The year is 1889 and for the past year and a half, Dean has traveled alone from town to town, drinking to ignore his guilt and gambling to make a living. Today, he’s especially down on his luck. He’s broke, was just thrown out of a saloon for cheating at poker, and has now been woken by a blue-eyed man trying to rob him. When he learns that the thief, Castiel, is just as broke as he is, they strike a tenuous deal to help each other rob a stagecoach, share the spoils, and split up. Turns out splitting up is the most difficult task. While Castiel is cold and cruel, Dean refuses to back down from a fight. The two are at odds more often than not, but their relationship only grows more complicated the longer they travel together. They may have more in common than they thought.

#destiel trope collection 2021 #day 19 #enemies to lovers #Destiel #supernatural #fanfic

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flamencodiva · 3 years

Text

Bottom of the Bottle 2 - Sneaking Back on Stage

Description: Dean was at the peak of stardom until his world came crashing down. Can he find his way back to the top?

Word Count: 5340

Warnings for entire series: Smut (oral female and male receiving, P in V, Threesomes, Fingering, Orgies) Fluff, Angst, Violence, Language, Mentions of Drug use, Drinking, Mentions of Death.

Songs in this chapter: Partial Lyrics of Brother's Osbourn Ain't My Fault and Full lyrics of Down don't Bother Me by The Derek Truck Band

Beta'd by: @wonder-cole

Aesthetic by: @firefly-graphics

Dividers by: @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

<< Chapter 1

Dean pulled the bike up on the driveway and parked her next to his father’s truck. Then, killing the engine, he hopped off with a smile. Finally, Dean found a place where he could start over, a place he could play and live again. He found a small spring in his step and ran his fingers through his short hair. He was glad it was quick. His years with Purgatory had the band growing out his hair long. He hated it, but it was for the image. At the time, he would do anything just to be able to be involved in music and if growing his hair long was the worst of it, it was worth it to him.

But the minute that he was put in jail and kicked out of the band for something he didn’t do, he was glad to be rid of it. He was happy to cut off the long hair and return to his short locks. Turning the key to unlock the door, he let himself in to find his father sitting at the dining room table, hands folded on top of it.

“You could have gone to bed, you know,” Dean muttered as he placed the helmet on the table in the foyer and shrugged off his jacket to put it on the hook, “I told you I was going to be back.”

“Where did you go?” John asked as he looked up at Dean.

“Out,” Dean huffed, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. So I went out, the bike had a wire come loose, I was close to a place, got help, came back.”

“You can’t do that again, Dean,” John said as he got up from the table.

“Do what? Go out and have fun? Go out and try to find some friends?” Dean asked, “I’m confused as to what you want from me here. I’m already working at the garage. I’m living under your thumb. I have a damn motorcycle instead of Baby.”

“I just wanted you to think before you went out,” John said as he walked to Dean, “I know you love to sing, and you love music, but it isn’t everything.”

“It’s all I have!” Dean practically yelled. “You know you started spewing all this bullshit about how I abandoned this family and ran away and couldn’t wait to leave,” Dean ran a hand across his face. “I wanted to go out and explore and find myself. You want to know the fucked up thing?” he walked up to his father, “I came back when Sam called me about mom. Not you,” he poked at John’s chest, “Sam, he called me to tell me mom was sick. You were the coward who couldn’t even face me to tell me my mother was dying!”

“Would you have answered the phone if it was me?” John muttered. “You have to admit, the minute you signed that contract, you wanted to high tail it out of here faster than a damn wolf chasing its prey.”

Dean looked down at the floor and licked his lips, “I wanted to get away from you. Not mom, not Sam, you. Because I was so mad and disappointed that my own father didn’t want me to follow something I was good at, something that gave me life.” Dean walked over to a picture of his mother and let his fingers graze over it, “I came every chance I could. I was in that hospital by her side when you didn't know it. I always waited for you and Sam to leave because I didn’t want to fight you while she was fighting Cancer.”

Dean wiped the stray tear that was falling down his cheek and shook his head.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not that money I gave for the treatments or the fact that I tried to get Mom one of the best specialists I could find.” he turned to face his dad. “Music is in me, and I can feel it. What hurt me wasn’t mom dying. It was the fact that my own father thought of me as a disappointment when I made it big.”

John let his son’s words sink in before heading to the stairs, “A lot of good that fame and fortune did. You became part of a group that, in the end, it brought you back down to zero.” John was halfway up the stairs before he stopped, “you called me a coward for not calling you, but you’re a coward for not manning up to face me at that hospital.”

John’s footsteps began to fade as he ascended the staircase and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Dean to stew in his anger. Dean let out a frustrated growl with his jaw clenched and stomped up the stairs towards his old room. Why was his dad so adamant about keeping him locked up in a cage? He was already in a cell for six months, and he hated every minute of it. Apart from the fact that he could write a few lyrics, he hated being in that damn jail. He didn’t do anything wrong, and everyone tried to fight him for being a damn rock star.

Entering his room, he could see the boxes from his old home scattered around. Some boxes labeled clothing, some marked notebooks, and a few just miscellaneous. Walking to the box labeled notebooks, Dean tore the tape out and pulled out one of his more recently used ones. His fingers grazed over the pages before he turned to his bag full of his things from jail. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small booklet he had filled with some lyrics he had.

Dean didn’t go to bed right away that night. Instead, he took that time to filter through the small notebook and transferred his lyrics to his larger notebook. The memory of Y/N on stage seemed to haunt him. She looked at peace being up on that stage, almost ethereal, an angel ready to spread her wings and fly. Putting down his pen, his eyes roamed his room before settling on the silhouette of his guitar case. Sure, Dean had plenty of guitars, but this one, this one was special, and he was surprised to see it propped up in the familiar corner of his room.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over towards it, pulled the hard case out, and placed it on his bed. Opening up the latches, he lifted the lid and smiled. There nestled nice and snug was a Fender FA-100 Dreadnought Acoustic Guitar. He loved this guitar and hadn't been able to play it for years. He felt almost sad that he had it with him but could never really pull it out to play often. It was a birthday gift for his 17th birthday from his mother. Sure, she said it was from both her and his father, but Dean had a feeling it was more his mother than his old man.

Gently pulling it out of the case, Dean sat on his bed and placed the guitar on his right thigh, the fingers on his left hand holding down a chord on the fret before he strummed it. He winced at the awful sound that came out. It needed tuning. He looked around his room using the tiny light from his desk lamp and smiled when his eyes landed on the corkboard above his headboard. There, pinned to it, was his favorite pick. It was one of the few things his father did give him that he loved, a pick that he had seen in the music store that he had to have.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began to pluck at the strings and turn on the knobs to find the right notes. There was something about the way he felt holding his guitar that sent a shiver down his spine. Dean missed this feeling, and he kicked himself for letting the image geniuses at the label dictate that he should only be the voice of the band. Focusing on his tuning, he continued to play with the knobs until he was sure the guitar had the right notes to play.

With one last strum, he hummed in satisfaction at the sweet sound. He moved his fingers along the fret, strumming at the strings when a melody came to mind. He wasn't sure of the tempo, but he knew the notes he wanted to play. Adjusting himself and the guitar, he cleared his throat and let the music flow through him.

“Blame the whiskey on the beer, blame the beer on the whiskey,” he let out and smiled, “I like the sound of that,” he chuckled before grabbing his notebook and scribbling it down.

He continued to find the melody, and he figured a slow rhythm was a good fit for the song. At least that’s what he felt.

“Blame the bar for the band, blame the band for the--” he paused as he tried to find the right word, “song? Yeah, that works,” he wrote it down and shook his head gently.

His mind began to fill with doubt as he looked down at the lyrics. Was he really going to try to get back into music? Could he really deal with being a label stooge? He wanted to make music, sure, but it needed to be his music.

“You got this, Winchester,” he calmed himself, “You’ve been playing music for a long time. This is a good song.” he licked his lips and looked down at his fingers, “you had these lyrics in your head for a while, you just gotta get them out.

He continued to strum on his guitar and progressed as much as he could. He had gotten to the first round of the bridge before yawning. But, looking over at the clock, it was well past two in the morning, and he had to try to get as much sleep as he could.

The following day, Dean woke up to his father banging on his door.

“Wake up,” John called through the door, “I’m headed to the garage. You should head out soon. Coffee is already brewed.”

Dean let out a groan and ran a hand across his face to try and wake up fully. He stretched his body before forcing himself to get up. Dean looked at the open notebook on the floor and sighed. He had to finish the lyrics and try to memorize the song by tonight if he wanted to show Benny up. He didn’t like that Benny thought he would use Y/N for his own personal gain. That wasn’t in Dean’s nature at all. Besides, if the song was a hit, he could perform the other songs he had lying around, but he had to find a way to hide it from his dad.

Walking to his window, he looked outside and sighed. The sun was just rising, and he could hear the birds chirping on the nearby tree. Opening the window, he leaned on the windowsill when something caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly to see the trellis that ran up the side of the house by his window. Reaching over, he pulled on it and gave a pouted shrug.

“Still feels sturdy,” he muttered to himself before looking down and feeling his pulse race. “You can do this,” he said, looking at the height, “you did it back in high school to go sneak over to ‘easy’ Gracie's house.” he reminded himself. “That and all of Mullet’s parties to play a gig.”

With a nod, he began formulating his plan. He spared no time in grabbing his clothes and getting dressed. His notebook was tight under the crook of his arm as he made his way downstairs to grab a coffee. His father had already left, leaving him alone. With a coffee mug in his hand, he used his free hand to write out the rest of his lyrics before looking at the time and dashing towards the front door. He made sure he kept the notebook close to him as he got ready for his bike ride to the garage.

He kept to himself as he placed certain things in his locker before grabbing his coveralls and put them on over his clothes. Then, his notebook in hand, he walked over to the work orders board and picked a clipboard to work on for the day. In between changing the oil on a few cars, replacing brake pads, and rotating tires, Dean had finished writing and found himself memorizing the lyrics he wrote out.

“I got my hand’s up. I need an alibi,” Dean muttered, “find me a witness who can testify.”

The melody was slow and funeral-like, and for the most part, it worked. What mattered to him right now was memorizing the damn words so he could get them out. He was sure the melody would change later, as he kept bouncing from uptempo to slow funeral march. It was hard trying to find a good beat, but he wasn’t sure what direction he was going. Was he going to stick to the complex rock rhythm he got used to with purgatory? Or was he going to go to his country roots?

He didn’t notice his father looking at him closely, the sad look on John's face as he recognized that Dean was writing lyrics. The old man could always tell when Dean was working on a song. Dean could never sit still when he was inspired, and the fact that Dean kept tapping different rhythms during the day wasn’t helping him hide it. But John was out of ideas, and the last thing he needed was to find his son on the news where they were announcing his death. It was bad enough seeing his son being arrested on the news, but to have his death broadcasted would absolutely shatter him. John had tried so hard to shelter Dean from getting the performance bug, but it seemed like the tighter John held on, the more Dean slipped through his fingers.

The rest of the day, Dean had played with a few different melodies in his head, but nothing seemed to stick. By the time he had memorized the song, it was time to close the garage. Dean had put his coverall back in his locker and walked over to his bike.

“Dean?” John called.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, turning to face his father.

“What do you think about heading over to the diner we always used to go to for dinner?”

Dean looked at his watch and then back up to his Dad. He still had some time to head home and grab his guitar and sneak out, “yeah, sounds good. Need to have that famous burger of theirs. I missed it when I was up in KC,” Dean said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” John nodded his head as he let Dean go before him, “I gotta lock up, so you go ahead and see if they can get us in a booth.”

“Sure,” Dean called out before putting his helmet on and zipping up his jacket.

The ride to the dinner wasn’t too bad. It was short. To begin with and Dean made it with perfect time to grab the last available booth. Dean ordered a burger for himself along with a beer and a slice of pie for after. The waitress was about to leave when John appeared and slid in.

“I’ll have the meatloaf and a water, Jenny, thanks,” he said to the young waitress.

“You got it, John, coming right up,” she smiled at the elder Winchester before turning to Dean and winking, “I get off at 8.”

Dean offered her a smile before turning to his father, “you come here a lot then?”

“Haven’t really cooked since your mother died,” John muttered as he looked at Dean. “You did good work today,” he changed the subject, “I was thinking about showing you how to run the books and showing you all the accounts, you know, get you ready to take over.”

“Dad--” Dean sighed, “I love working at the garage, I do, but it won’t make me happy.”

“Because music makes you happy,” John scoffed, “look what music did to you!” he pointed out.

“You know as well as I do that it was the industry, not the music. Those are two different things!” Dean argued.

John shook his head before running a hand across his face, “look, you need a backup, and I need someone I can trust to take over.”

“You planning on retiring soon?” Dean let out as he leaned back in his seat.

“Maybe,” John sighed, “I can’t run the garage forever, and I don’t want to sell it.”

Dean looked at his father’s face and could see the hurt in his eyes, “you really love that garage.”

“It’s my second love to my family,” John said as he folded his hands together over the table. “Just think about it?”

“I guess I can do that,” Dean muttered as their waitress, Jenny, came by with their food.

“You know she’s single,” John commented as he grabbed his fork to dig into his meatloaf.

“I don’t need dating help,” Dean let out as he grabbed his burger in his hands, “besides, I’m not looking for attachments.”

“Sometimes they’re a good thing, though,” his father commented after swallowing his food.

Dean rolled his eyes, “after the fiasco with Lisa, no thanks.”

“You’ll find someone,” John chuckled, “I don’t think I ever met Lisa.”

“Thank your lucky stars for that,” Dean huffed. “All she cared about was the fame and notoriety. Then I caught her with some publicist screwing in my bed,” he shook his head, “then again, I was nailing two, maybe three girls at a time so… no skin off my back when I cut her loose.”

John stayed silent for a minute, digesting what his son was saying, “so you went for the sex god approach then.”

“Better than being the drug addict,” Dean shook his head and took a bite of one of his fries, “the alcohol helped to just dull the senses anyways. I was a pretty face and a voice for the band, that’s it.”

John could hear the unhappiness in his voice and see the pain radiating in his son’s eyes over not making the music he wanted. It hurt John for a bit, but it also had him thinking about how it might help keep Dean home and safe.

“The business can chew you up and spit you out pretty easily.”

Dean watched as his father continued to eat his meatloaf, letting the conversation die. Yet, he knew where it would lead if he kept the conversation going.

Finishing his meal, Dean cleaned up his face and reached for his wallet before John stopped him.

“I got this son, you go on home, or are you going back out for a ride?” John asked.

“I need to rest, so I’ll be up in my room,” Dean lied as he slid out of the booth. “So I’ll be in bed by the time you get home, maybe.”

“Okay, I’ll be up watching some tv, so I’ll try not to make too much noise,” John pulled out his wallet and a few bills to place on the table.

Dean walked out and towards his bike just as John got into his truck.

On the ride home, Dean was thinking of what his escape plan would be. He already knew he would climb down the trellis, but his guitar had to come with him. Reaching the house, both men stayed in silence as they went their separate ways. Dean closed his door and put the lock on for good measure. He felt like a teenager hiding from his parents, but he knew his father would never understand. And honestly, Dean really had no place to go, and if he had to keep his musical exploits a secret, then so be it. One could say he wanted to try to impress a particular bartender he met last night, also wondering if he would hear her sweet voice again. Grabbing his case, he looked around for something he could use to strap it to his back, finding a rope he could use on the fly.

Once he was sure that the case was secured to his back, Dean carefully climbed out of the window to sit on the windowsill. He moved as carefully as he could, making sure to avoid making too much noise with his guitar case and getting it out of the window. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he reached the trellis and slowly began to climb down.

“You got this, Dean,” he said to himself as he made sure to place his foot on the holes as he climbed down. “Just like that time you snuck out to head over to the bonfire,” he took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat, “granted you also missed a small hole and fell when you reached the last foot off the ground, but you did it.”

Finally reaching the bottom of the trellis, Dean gave a small jump and smiled in satisfaction. Heading to his bike and rolling it away from the house to not make any noise when he started the engine. Once he was a block away, at least, his night began. The ride to Rusty’s was smooth, and Dean could see it already start to fill with patrons. Parking his bike, he adjusted his guitar and made his way inside. His smile grew when he saw Y/N at the bar already taking orders.

“You know we really do have to stop meeting like this,” he called out with a smile when she turned to him.

“Does that line work? I mean, right now, it just seems like you’re trying too hard,” she let out as she walked over to him, “going to drink, perform, or both?”

“Both,” he answered, “know where I can find Jo?”

“She’s over by the stage taking names for tonight,” she pointed over to the blond who was talking to a few groups.

“Wait,” Dean squinted a bit, “That’s Jo Harvelle? I know Jo,” Dean smiled and turned to face Y/N, “Will you be performing tonight?”

“Nope,” she sighed, popping the ‘p.’ “Yesterday was a fluke. I was filling in for someone.”

“I’m going to go talk to Jo,” Dean said before leaning over and taking Y/N’s arm gently before she could leave. “Whoever told you that you weren’t amazing last night was lying to you, sweetheart.” He let her go before she could give him a counterargument and made his way to the stage with his guitar strapped to his back.

As he approached the stage, he could feel a hand pull him back, and a person walked past him.

“Hey,” he called out, “do you mind?”

“Why yez, ah do mind,” the familiar Cajun voice said, “didn’ tink youz goin’ tah show up.”

Dean gave Benny a cocky smile before huffing, “I did tell you I would see you. Let me guess you have a song to sing tonight too?”

“Betta’ than what chu have to play i’m zure,” Benny chuckled, “I didn’ tink dat dey let chu play an inztrumentz.”

“I was playing the guitar before I ever joined that group,” Dean said with a low growl, “how the hell did you recognize me anyway.”

“The long lockz don’ matta to me brotha,” Benny sighed, “but da eyez are da windows to da soul.”

“You and everyone else seem to recognize me,” Dean muttered, “well, you can go ahead and sing your song before me,” Dean offered him a sly smile, “I’m sure I can bring the house down.”

Benny let out a scoff before turning away to walk towards Jo, “good luck wit dat brotha.”

Dean watched as Benny talked to Jo, who gave him a quick nod while jotting down a note. Once she was done, the Cajun turned around and checked Dean on the shoulder.

“Good luck up, der,” he chuckled at Dean, “you lookz like you need it.”

Dean clenched his jaw as Benny walked away. The guy really didn’t like him. Dean didn’t do anything. Hell, most people’s assumptions of him now have to do with the damn drug charge. Shaking his head, he walked up to Jo and adjusted the guitar strapped to his back. As he walked up to the young blond, he couldn’t help but smile as a memory of a young girl in pigtails flashed before him.

“Never thought you’d grow out of the pigtail stage,” he said as he stood in front of her.

“Well, well, well,” she said, chuckling before pulling him into a tight hug, “never thought the infamous Dean Winchester would grace us with his presence. I thought this place would be too. country for you?”

“I want to sign up to perform,’ he let out with a deep breath.

“Fees $20 to perform,’ she sighed.

“Performance fee?” Dean scoffed, “Really, Jo? Who the hell came up with that?”

“Look,” Jo sighed, “The $20 goes for every and all performers. It’s a small fee for renting out the stage. Besides, you get more in tips if people really like you.”

Dean grumbled as he fished in his pockets for a twenty-dollar bill. He handed it to Jo and shook his head, “I’m only going to be singing the one song.”

“Okay,” Jo wrote down his name and smiled, “You can wait by the bar and order some food. I’ll have someone pull you to the back about three performers before you.” She reached over and pulled him into a hug, “Welcome home, Dean. I have a feeling this is going to be a fresh start for you. You never looked right with that band.”

Dean smiled as he hugged her back, “Thanks, Jo.”

With that, Jo pulled away to let him walk towards the bar with his guitar still on his back. Approaching the bar, Dean smiled, seeing Y/N smile as she served customers. Her laugh reached his ears, and it pulled at him. There was a sense of comfort he felt from listening to Y/N’s laugh. Her laugh was very familiar to him. Walking to the bar, he pulled up a stool and sat down to wait for his turn. He wanted to try out his new song, but he wasn’t sure about the tempo yet. He continued playing around with different beats, but all he could come up with was a depressing march, but it didn’t seem to fit the song at all. With a groan, Dean decided to get something in his stomach while he waited.

“You look like you got something bothering you, Gringo.”

Dean snapped his head up from the menu to see Y/N leaning over the bar top towards him.

“Just trying to figure out what to eat before I have to head up on stage,” He chuckled, trying to shrug off the nervous feeling he had on him. “Besides, Benny’s gonna get mad if he sees you talking to me.”

“I can handle Benny,” Y/N offered him a smile, “besides, I’m the only bartender here, so I’m doing my job.”

“What do you recommend from the kitchen?” Dean asked as he licked his lips. There was something alluring about Y/N, but at the same time, he felt as though he had known her from before their encounter in the coffee shop.

“Honestly? The ultimate bacon burger,” Y/N answered. “It’s got premium Angus beef, with nice crispy bacon, a chipotle aioli, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. Not to mention you can have it with steak fries or onion rings.”

“That actually sounds good. I’ll have that and a bottle of Margiekugels,” Dean closed up the menu and sighed, “So is there ever a chance I’m going to see you on stage again?”

Y/N looked over at him as she put in his order on the digital register, “I don’t know,” she sighed, “it was just a one-time thing being up there.”

“Well, if you ever want to go up there again,” Dean said before taking a sip of his beer, “I could always be your backup.”

“Look,” Y/N shook her head with a slight huff. “I know all about you. Just because you cut your hair doesn’t mean that people aren’t going to recognize those big green eyes of yours,” she gave him a soft glare. “I’m not into rock stars, so do me a favor and just find someone else to play with, okay?”

Dean let out a small huff with a smirk, “well, screw you then, sweetheart.”

He took another sip of his beer and shook his head.

“You think you know me because of what the media says about things I didn’t even do? Then fine, you know me. But in reality, you’re just a scared little bitch who wants to stay behind the bar counter.” he grabbed his guitar as he got off the stool. “You can have them send my burger to the table in the corner over there,” he pointed towards the back of the saloon and slapped some money on the counter, “keep the change.”

He stalked off with his beer and guitar, chest full of anger as he looked up to see Benny had already gone on stage and was singing a song. The people were cheering and hollering for him.

Goin' 'round in circles

Pickin' out a cue

Travelin' with no memory

Ow, in my shoe

Down don't bother me.

If the music say

You can take a picture baby

Time won't care

And you're my second nature

A-coming over me

And though I might be shakin'

Down don't bother me no more.

Down don't bother me no more

As Benny finished his song, Dean rolled his eyes as everyone in the crowd cheered and whistled. Seemed like Benny has a crew of regulars that come to see him. He took a swig of his beer, smacking his lips and smiling at the waitress who brought his burger to him. Dean could feel Y/N staring, but he didn’t care. She had made up her mind, and he was done trying to prove to people that he wasn’t an asshole.

Finishing up his burger, he watched as Benny made his way over and rolled his eyes. He should have known that the seat he picked was closest to the kitchen.

“I’ze hope chu enjoyed dat performaze brotha,” Benny chuckled, “chu look like you could yuz da luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Dean grumbled, “I know my skills, so why don’t you go back to yours and leave me and mine alone.”

Benny lifted his hands in surrender and let out a laugh, “didn’t mean ta hit a sore spot witch you. Enjoy da burga.”

Dean shook his head as Benny walked into the kitchen. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as he could feel his hands shake. Looking at his guitar propped up in the chair, his mind began to spin with thoughts.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ his mind shouted. ‘People are going to hate this song. I don’t even have a tempo yet!’

He could feel his heart race. Nothing could get him to snap out of it. At least, not until Jo came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jerk.

“Hey,” she gave him a warm smile. “You got two performers before you. You should head backstage. I’ll show you the way.”

Dean nodded numbly as he followed her, not noticing an old friend watching him as he disappeared behind a black curtain.

Chapter 3

Tags in the Reblog

#Bottom of the Bottle #Rockstar!Dean Winchester #Rockstar AU #Dean Winchester Fic #Dean Winchester Fan Fiction #Supernatural AU #Supernatural Fiction #Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Reader #Angst #Fluff #Smut #mentions of orgies #Mentions of drug abuse #Alcoholism #violence #fake dating #language

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srbachchan · 3 years

Text

DAY 4730

Jalsa, Mumbai Feb 10, 2021 Wed 10:25 PM

Birthday - EF - Gaurav Kumar Kulshreshtha .. Mario Andrew Rodrigues .. Rishi Vij .. Thursday, February 11 .. and the love and affection of the entire Ef family for this special day ..

... this is the direct intended connect with the day of the day .. a look into the eyes of the Ef , seeking their attention for all the patience they have shown all these past few days when I have not been regular in the rel sense of the BlogWord ..

.. work has been arduous .. the tenacity required for the deemed performance has to be done with the makers in order that the job is secured and that the reason for their hiring me is not irresponsive or inadequate .. else you loose the next ..

.. belief and the advantage of fortune does go hand in hand in the profession that we are involved in .. and a pretty face would help .. but ..

.. it isn’t always the case ..

.. there are tremendously good looking faces in the Industry and all have had a fantastic response and following .. mix that with the talent they all possess and that is a phenomenal combination ..

.. the strategy for the put has however been the recurrence of success at the box office mixed with the following .. the presence and looks add value .. the talent and performance gives it added boost ..

.. and then the most important element - the admirers .. they make and break the artist .. not for them then would artists be in the place of recognition .. so they be the best talent in the career graph of the artist .. divine dedicated and in deep attachment ..

.. strange is it not .. that the very first admiration remains everlasting .. not to say that the admiration for others wanes or is discontinued .. no .. it remains and is appreciative and loved .. but that first one remains despite, or inspite should one say ..

.. so there will be Dilip Kumar and Waheeda Rehman and Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift and James Dean .. in the realm of the deepest admiration and personal following .. and remain they be for the rest of life ..

.. yes there is great admiration for the talent that suddenly erupts on the horizon and defeats all else .. but the first remain .. that first love that first car that first geombox , the first pen, the ink pen , and it goes on and on and on ..

.. and from that writing ‘on and on and on’

.. suddenly the writing stops to ruminate that incident ..

.. Mehboob Saheb, the majestic, iconic and incredible Mehboob Saheb, made a film with Dilip Kumar ..’AAN’ .. historic here , so much, that the makers went off to Hollywood to show it to the counterparts there ..

.. at the screening held in the presence of one of the great Producers of the time and Mehboob saheb and Dilip Saheb, the Hollywood Producer Director owner turned to Mehboob Saheb, after being asked what he thought of the film said :

‘Whats the name of the film ..?”

He was told , its called AAN .. and when asked what he thought of it he said :

“ Well .. it just goes on and on and on .. ‘

.. a deliberation from the Hindi word AAN .. to ON .. phonetically similar .. when spoken in that deliberate American accent ..

.. Mehboob Saheb , who was English challenged, turned to Dilip Saheb and asked :

‘kya bola ye ..?’

Dilip Saheb in his gentlest replied .. ‘ usne kaha , picture thodi lambi hai ..’!!

Mehboob Saheb , a man of great personal wealth of talent and pride in his creativity - he has been one of our greats - did not waste a minute after hearing this , wrapped up the film reels from the projection room and walked out and back to Bombay , India ..

..’isko kya samajh hai ..?’ was his eventual refrain apparently .. which I must admit has been the obvious refrain from most western film makers, who still chide or remark obtusely, on the non realistic fantasised film making from this part of the World .. which I must also admit has undergone a sea change in the past several years .. but yes the chide and the ‘not to be taken seriously’ comment remains .. until .. until .. until ..

THE ECONOMY OPENED UP ..

.. and India with its 1.3 billion ‘buyers’ capability struck like lightning the foreign western capitalist powers that be .. and suddenly INDIA became ‘not such a bad place after all’ ..

it was no more the land of the ‘fakir’ and the ‘snake charmers’ .. it was the ‘consumer potential’ land of the New Frontier ..

.. suddenly India gets projected as the new economic power within the next 5 years .. among the top 3 of the World ..

.. and Hollywood starts to release its films at times on the same day as in the rest of the World - an unheard of phenomena earlier - in most of the prominent dubbed languages of the Country ..

At a YPO event in Mumbai some years back, where I was invited as the Chief Guest - a designation I hate - when the programme was thrown open to the guests in the hall of about 500, to ask questions or any queries they had for me .. one stood up quite bravely and asked :

“ when is Bollywood going to make a film like Hollywood ?”

I replied .. ‘when is Hollywood going to make a film like the Indian Film Industry ..’

RAPTUROUS APPLAUSE AND CHEERING .. 🤣🤣🤣

.. that kind of summed up the evening ..

.. and it kind of sums up this evening too .. early morning call for work , to work on film that makes India proud .. and hopefully the rest of the World

good night .. shubh ratri .. 🙏🙏

Amitabh Bachchan

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

Text

for @bend-me-shape-me's spn advent calendar 2020. prompt: carols.

dedicated to @one-more-offbeat-anthem!! happy birthday <3

After Chuck's defeated, and Billie's gone, and the Empty has been bargained with (semantics, any of the Winchesters would say if you asked one of the four to elaborate) into returning Cas in exchange for eternal sleep, there's peace.

After they're done, and really done, there's time.

A moment to breathe, a minute to look at the clouds, and hours stretching endless, days on end, resonating with something resembling quiet.

And then, there's a guitar.

"Nope." Dean declares. "Never seen that thing in here before. And I once did Christmas inventory by myself, so I should know."

Sam snickers at Dean's cavalier tone. He'd been content to examine the instrument from a distance, unlike his brother, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention. "You had to do it yourself, Dean. Those were the exact words of the bet."

"I was drunk, and you hustled me!"

"You've known I play poker my entire life!"

"Well, yeah." Dean flashes his best shit-eating grin. "But you've sucked, your entire life, so —"

"— sure I have —"

"— your entire life has really just been a very long, very lame hustle!" Dean spreads his arms in a display of triumph. "And ergo, you hustled me into Christmas inventory-ing. The case is rested, your honor."

"That's not how you say —"

"Sam. Dean." Cas interjects, loud and exasperated. Sam shuts up immediately, eyes falling to his lap, while Dean exchanges a sheepish look with Cas (and Jack, who to his credit, seemed to be unaffected by the mini-feud. But that's less the part about him being God-Lite and more about him being himself. A kid who grew up watching his dads bicker endlessly and mostly, uneventfully, and has come to terms with it as a primary aspect of (at least, his) family.)

Cas, as usual, puts up with less of their crap. "Is this really necessary right now?"

Dean loves him for it, except when it's targeted at Dean and since that's kind of a lot, he isn't sure he loves it, or just loves Cas and generalises the things he does under the wider bracket of Cas.

"And if it's not," Cas goes on, using what is probably his I-led-garrisons-in-heaven voice, which automatically sends a shiver up Dean's spine. "Can we agree the guitar is, somehow, a recent addition and leave it at that?"

Sam nods slightly, apologetic. Dean just rolls his eyes, but it's a yes. (Everyone there knows it's a yes.)

"It's not cursed." Jack cuts in brightly. "Or out of the ordinary at all."

"So," Dean blinks. "We just happen to have an awesome new guitar show up, completely randomly, in this top secret Bunker no one know about, minus any ulterior motives or death curses?"

Jack grins. "Yes."

"Cool." Dean says immediately, and Sam huffs an amused laugh. He thinks he sees Cas smile as well, and a smirk grows on his face.

"Dibs."

Unsurprisingly, nobody counters his dibs, and Dean ends up taking the guitar to his room.

It's after a few days of insecurity, leading right into embarrassment, leading further to ignoring its existence, and further still to a mostly depressive array of memories — before it circles back to insecurity, and is about to repeat all over again, when he stops himself in his proverbial spiral, and decides to just friggin' do it.

That night, he picks up the pick.

Fiddles with it in his hands for a minute, and proceeds to abandon the idea again, because it does not feel right. Different shape, different weight.

And Dean Winchester's already enough of a misfit for this project, for his guitar pick to be a poor goddamn fit in his hand too.

But there's something about being so close that stirs up motivation in his heart, similar to the first day they found the damn thing, and next morning, he's out looking for a music shop in town.

That night, he finally plays.

It's uncertain — experimental — and he soon realizes why nobody ever says a damn thing about guitars when they say you never forget how to ride a bike.

But then, slowly, and really slowly at that, music seems to return to his fingers.

It isn't smooth by any chance, or even really accurate, but there's a faint tug in his brain that leads him to the next chord, and a twitch in his wrist that tells him when to strum, and he's awful, he's really friggin' awful, but even repeatedly saying so in his head refuses to dampen the overwhelming feeling that lights him up from the inside to start to feel like maybe he can play again. There's hope, and there's terrible, off-timed, broken music, and there's Dean in the middle of it, and maybe he can actually do this.

Recollection of how to play had come to his hands as they trembled, and tried, but the exhilaration of it, and the joy, only come back to his heart once he'd stopped, heart racing, adrenaline high, and unexplainable tears pricking his eyes.

Dean Winchester goes to bed that night, giddy in a way he hasn't been in years.

And outside his bedroom, his family of three exchange confused glances when the playing stopped abruptly, and then smiles when a sound that can only be said to bear semblance to a squeal, follows the silence.

(The first song Dean had played in over twenty five years had been Joy to the World.

It had also been the first song he'd ever learned — Cassie's choice, not his. Sam, Cas and Jack didn't know any of that. To them, it had just been a christmas carol. But there was also something so moving about that, soft in a way each of them knew Dean would fight against being, that they didn't realize they hadn't budged from Dean's door, long until faint snores replaced the quiet, and they left for their own beds, wordlessly already having decided on a plan for the next day.)

Cas knocks first on Dean's bedroom door, and all music immediately ceases. There's a yell from inside after ten seconds of a shuffling kind of silence.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Cas asks.

Another pause.

Cas wonders worriedly if Sam and Jack were mistaken when they said that Cas had to be first, that he was their best shot at getting Dean to open up — the easiest past Dean's line of defense.

Then Dean says, a little quieter. "Yeah, sure."

Cas enters, gently closing the door behind himself before his eyes land on Dean — and he fights the urge to smile, because Dean hasn't kept away the guitar or anything. It's still on his lap, not in playing stance, with his arms folded over it — but he's not trying to hide it from Cas.

"Is everything okay?" Dean interrupts his reverie. Cas nods.

Neither of them say anything for a minute.

"Can I listen?"

Cas surprises himself with his own courage to ask — no twisted words or excuses to stay, just a simple question. Things were so rarely simple for them, but this wasn't a common occurrence either so it evened out.

"Y-yeah." Dean mutters.

Cas lights up.

"I suck, by the way." Dean adds, almost immediately. "But I'll suck less with time, I'm hoping. I mean, I'm supposed to, you know, but I — uh, I mean — maybe I —"

Cas realizes that he hadn't stopped smiling at Dean and that's what had made Dean falter, and he looks away, embarrassed.

"I'll just play, I guess." Dean manages smally, sounding as embarrassed as him.

"Please."

Dean clears his throat instead of playing.

"Yeah."

Cas can tell he's nervous. Even if he weren't good at, and very used to reading Dean, he could've gauged as much. And he wishes he had the right words, he really does, but he's aware a sincere speech of how much it means that Dean let him stay, and listen, would have the opposite effect of calming.

Then there's another knock on the door, and Cas relaxes.

"Dean?"

Sure enough, it's Jack.

Sam had explained how Dean was most likely, unfortunately, to deflect if he was there — "his denial fires up, Cas. I associate it with a parenting complex of some kind, and he just won't let go of it." — so the order had been decided as Cas, Jack and Sam. No overwhelming by arriving all three at once, or one after the other as if it were planned. No, they'd enter after some time, giving the previous person time to make Dean comfortable to them before the next enters.

Cas thinks it's a rather brilliant plan, and wonders if he should ask Sam to formulate a similar one to get Dean to open up about other things too. He doesn't, ultimately.

"Yeah?" Dean yells back.

"Have you seen Cas?"

That had been the plan.

"Yeah," Dean raises his voice to answer. "He, uh. He's right here. Come on in."

And Jack does, and eyes Cas with probably too much meaning (he means triumph) for Dean to not have noticed, before turning to the latter. "Oh. Were you about to play for Cas?"

Dean colors at that, his ears reddening almost instantly, and Cas files it away for pondering later.

"Can I be here too?"

And Dean's eyes widen a little — sign of anxiety, maybe understanding — and he licks his lips and then he nods. "I guess. I mean, okay, fine. But didn't you need Cas for something?" He adds, confused.

"I," Jack hesitates. Oh no, Cas thinks. Sam's prepared him for this, but Jack looks like he's about to, as Dean would say, wing it. And all-powerful or not, he knows his son is a terrible liar. "No, I just wanted to know if you'd seen him."

Dean narrows his eyes.

"Now I do know. That, uh, you've seen him." Jack braves on, determined to reach the bottom of the proverbial hole he'd dug for himself apparently. "So now, I don't need to know anything. Now I can stay."

Dean sighs.

"I can, right?"

There's a lightness in Dean's voice instead of tension when he says, "Yeah."

"Thank you." Jack says brightly, and all Cas can do is shake his head when Jack turns to him for feedback, and the both of them proceed to wear (nearly matching, but not on purpose) excited stares as they focus on Dean.

The final straw is when there's a third knock on the door, and Sam pokes his head in. One unconvincing "Where's everyone at?" later, he's joined Cas and Jack in staring with a unnecessary (and hopefully unintended) comfort-the-vic's-family smile at Dean.

God, he loves these dumbasses and would give his life for everyone present in the room, but none of them can act for shit.

It's glaringly obvious they've all respectively shown up to listen to him play.

Which is bullshit in itself, because Dean wasn't being modest when he told Cas he sucks — he does suck. But then, he doesn't think any of them would mind. Sam would probably unlock new levels of the puppy eyes if he knew how happy even playing awfully, made Dean. Jack would be blunt, of course, but undeterringly sweet. And Cas? He'd probably smile at him all the way through, just — that smile of his, that always seems to make time freeze and Dean's heart stutter.

So Dean decides magnanimously to not call them out.

Right away, anyway.

Instead, he turns to them with a question. "Any requests?"

(He can't play one of the only songs he remembers having learned without errors yet, so obviously asking for requests is the right way to go. But you see, once you've given up on impressing, it's only fair to see yourself to the end of the chaos.)

"Christmas carols." Jack answers before anyone else.

"It's May."

"Sam's," Jack swallows. Dean should really get on teaching the kid how to lie. "Sam's making me listen to carols."

"In May?" He asks his brother this time.

Sam shrugs, struggling to keep a diplomatic face.

"You're going to grow up to be the young adult who doesn't take off the Christmas lights in January." Dean informs Jack, who absorbs his words with all the seriousness Dean should have expected. "And, fine. We can do carols."

Cas speaks up. "Any carol you'd like, Dean."

"Nah," Dean shakes his head. "Jack requested it. We'll do what he says." And he insists to his conscience that he said so because he wants to make Jack happy, and not because he's well aware the kid isn't being subjected to carols by Sam in friggin' May, and probably doesn't know any.

"Oh." Jack's face falls. He looks at Sam in the most conspicuous way anyone's ever looked at anyone. "I —"

"Uhhuh?"

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!" Cas blurts, on behalf of Jack, and there's a two second gap where Sam facepalms and Jack exchanges a conspirational glance with Cas, and then Dean's throwing his head back and laughing.

And soon, Sam's joining in with an exasperated kind of chuckling as if he's gotten stuck in the wrong team but he doesn't regret a thing, and then Cas starts too, mostly from looking at Dean losing his shit (Dean strictly ignores thinking about that part and focuses on imprinting Cas's laugh to memory) and probably also because the ridiculosity of the entire situation probably struck him, and of course Jack's smiling at all of them, and it's, altogether, everything Dean could ever have wished for.

The evening ends with Dean playing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer (of course) for at least an hour while consistently getting better at the repeating music, and although it's him humming under his breath (like he always has while playing) that starts it off, soon all of them are offering their own awful renditions to the chaos. Cas is off-key, Sam somehow manages to screw up the lyrics, and Jack is as flat as a friggin' plateau.

And it all comes together in a wholly unmelodious kind of awesome — to Dean the same way they say a mother's love comes through for an ugly child.

After Rudolph, it's Silent Night (another song Dean's learned, it hits him, once he's trying to find the right chord) and even Cas manages to look disappointed at the lyrics Sam and he come up with to make up for not knowing the real ones, and since Jack's never heard this one, he simply listens in rapt attention leaving Dean wondering if he probably ended up learning the wrong version on account of all his concentration.

And last of all, it's We Wish You A Merry Christmas, and Dean plays the chorus enough times that he's perfect at it, because for once, no one messes up the beat or the lyrics, and everyone has the most fun.

All in all, it's an evening to remember.

What Dean learns through it all is primarily the lesson that letting your family think they tricked you into having an audience is sometimes an excellent choice to make, and that things can be crap, but still be enjoyed. That doesn't mean he's not going to practice his ass off learning to play at least the choruses of the Led Zepp tracks he gifted Cas (the idea came to him in bed last night, and Cas has always sounded like he enjoyed them, okay?) so he can play them 'for Cas' as the kid so casually put — but then, some things are different from other things, just the way some love's different too.

And while some things are about efforts, and saying the words that scare you, others are about letting go, and singing carols in bright and sunny May.

The only thing Dean's sure about is that just about all of it comes down to being free.

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herstarburststories · 3 years

Text

He didn’t make it to 42

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: it’s Dean’s birthday, you go to visit him with some news and things that need to be said.

A/N: Happy bday, De.

Warnings: so much angst, mentions of sex, hopeful/happy ending (?)

Dean’s dead. It’s Dean’s birthday and he’s dead. You can’t argue much.

Sam denied the demon blood inside him, and that didn’t stop its evil nature from growing and gasping for his fresh air to the point he was almost shocked alive. Dean denied his dad’s destructive methods’ results for the longest time, and that didn’t stop the cicatrixes in every emotion he had ever shown. You denied the absence of Dean and that didn’t stop the bricks cracking in your soul. There’s only so far you can go with your eyes closed.

So here you are. Standing in front of an empty grave. You are bigger than the dull tombstone, yet you can’t help but not to feel tall, at all. How can you even start to talk? Talking to Dean used to be easy even when it got hard and now you’re feeling like a lost kid in a supermarket. Your snide thinking spells out his name with venom, saying it isn’t easy for you to open your barmy mouth and spill out contrarian shit because this isn’t Dean, just another meaningless symbolism that Sam promises that will help. The real Dean died almost a year ago, he was burned in a hunter’s funeral, the flames dancing over his body as the smell of burnt meat invaded your nostrils. Whenever you try to remember his fragrance, that manly aroma which you loved to scent each morning, all your brain can come up with is the odor of his skin and guts burning. The smell lingers like bad perfume, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash yourself with his soap-- that only broke your heart worse.

But today is Dean’s birthday. He deserves a visit, even if it’s not him. Then you go and attempt to deal with the desolation, push it away just a little, and pick up something from the enormous pile of things you wish to tell Dean. You glance at the cold tombstone: Dean Winchester. 1979 - 2020. Beloved son, big brother, and husband. Hunter. A hero. Simple definitions that can never make it up for who he was and what he meant. You purse your lips and cough a little, a gentle wind touches your cheek so tenderly. If you were still a believer, you’d think this is some sort of sign, Dean’s presence or some other pious hoax. All you do now is to remain in quietude, a deep breath. Ultimately, your voice comes:

‘’You didn’t make it to forty two, huh?’’ You scoff humorless, reminiscing to the multiple days that Dean said he wouldn’t go past 35. He did live each year like it was the last--- you aren’t sure if it's such a good thing. If you carry on like your days are outnumbered, you are silently entertaining yourself until death's knock on your door. ‘’I always hated when you were right. Let’s be honest, you had the words of a pessimist and the wants of an optimist. Still, if you were to be right about something, it would be about a bad situation. A nest with too many vampires, how crappy the motel’s bedroom would be, or how that third glass of wine would make me tipsy. So yeah, I always hated when you were right. And look at you now! You aren’t right, you aren’t wrong. You are dead! And I’m the crazy girl screaming at an empty tombstone.’’

You let out a laugh empty of joy. That’s how a hunter’s life is: you die and people stop talking about you because it’s too sad or too long gone to hold any pity, meanwhile the ones who recall about you go loud with all the spirits in their heads. You put your hand in the pockets of the heavy leather jacket that once belonged to a green eyed man who would be turning 42 today, some strange force causing you to speak again.

‘’Wow.’’ You shake your head to the blue way you paint the scene until you notice that you never greeted him. ‘’Hey.’’ The simple word adds a comical insult to injury. ‘’Guess the dead don’t care about manners, huh?’’ You arch your eyebrows with a grin that demonstrates anything but happiness. ‘’Miracle died. Sam digged a hole next to the bunker and buried him there. He isn’t the same since you died, you know? Not the deceased dog-- Well, he wasn’t the same either. Always whining and scratching your door like a fucking cat, and sniffing your old boots. He made me company in your bed and I whined as much as he did when you didn’t come back home that day. He stood by the door most days, waiting for you to appear. I can’t judge him, I did the same.’’ You shrug, not caring about how risible that confession may look. It's true. You became as irrational as a loyal dog at some point in this sorrow. ‘’And Sam, your baby brother… I think he died with you right there, Dean. He didn’t try to bring you back as he promised, but I shouted and screamed so much. I said I would burn the bunker and throw Baby over a cliff if he didn’t-- if he didn’t let me try. I lived up to the mad woman title.’’

You are crestfallen, pacing on top of where the eldest Winchester - Sam’s brand new nomination - supposedly was buried. You know your boots barely touch an infected land, there's no deceased man under your steps. The dead thing is in you.

‘’I spent days dragging your body everywhere and nowhere, anywhere I could catch a crumb of relief in hope to bring you back. But I couldn’t. Jack could, but that ungrateful idiot doesn’t wanna follow his grandpa steps and get too attached to mere humans, the creation or whatever. As if we are just some skin and bone to him, as if you are just another human.’’

You sit down on the tombstone, some tender solace in being close to a thing that's supposed to represent him, like sleeping hugged to a pillow or waking up to a photograph of his. Your nails sink against the gelid concrete at the thought of screaming into the sky for the new God that seemed as deaf as the last one. His calm answer to your burning pain. How he dared to tell you he knew what he was doing— as if he was the original lord and not a three years old. You can't make him do it, so you hold on the fury of some overthrown nation.

‘’Anyway, I couldn’t bring you back. Your body, well, you know how human anatomy works. Your body started to smell like death. We tried to stop with human and magic ways, and it wouldn’t work because you were dead. You should’ve seen the doctor’s face when we got you in that fancy hospital tha night. I think we traumatized the doctor with so much violence and trauma. She didn’t even give us a false hope or anything, you know? She just asked about organ donation of what was left. She just wanted to take every little thing out of you, as if you were just another accident on a Tuesday night.’’ Your shake your head as the memories and your points start to mix, it's hard to discern things and keep a straight line when you have an open wound in your insides. ‘’Well, they couldn’t bring you back to life, and neither could Rowena or whatever I looked for. Don’t be mad because I tried, Winchester. You know I’m too stubborn for my own good. I had to try.’’ you refuse to apologize, yet adds the playful words in his eulogy. ‘’But then your body started to stink and God, how could I continue to be so violent to your corpse? That was when I decided to listen to you for the first time and to Sam, so I let you go. I hate you for asking that.’’ What an ambiguous, contradictory truth to bare. You are glimpses of a person for months because of Dean Winchester, still have the energy to argue his selfless logic, just to love him even more. He's got your devotion, but man you can hate him sometimes. ‘’I hate you for going on that stupid hunt. I hate you for being dead, you giant idiot that I love so much.’’ You can't bring your mouth to say loved. "I was always telling you to let the past go and now I’m in love with a dead thing. What a comic way to end our history. I told you that Miracle died, right? I don’t know if dogs go to heaven, but I hope he’s in there with you. I wonder what your heaven is like. I bet it has Whiskey.''

Your dry chuckle makes your notice the tears in your eyes, glistening your orbs as they go like a waterfall to be absorbed by the thirsty land after leaving your cheeks.

"Sam and I-- We tried to make some sense out of this cruelty, but we can’t. You are dead and I can’t seem to put it past me. I still sleep in your bed, and I can still taste your body burning on the roof of my mouth in the quiet nights. I cried this morning because someone asked for a burger, can you believe that? It was so stupid since I used to shake my head and argue with you about cholesterol. Suddenly I was crying at lunch in a restaurant because some stupid kid asked for a burger with extra bacon. They sang Happy birthday to this dumbass child, and I interrupted with my awful crying, and wished that you were celebrating your birthday and not that kid. I guess you could say I wish death upon an innocent child with a problematic eating routine.’’ That was a whole new level of low, as if you are the one wrapped with the sentiment of laying six feet under.

‘’Everyone tells you about how grief is singular and particular with similar emotions that bring people who went through this together. They even have that crap stages thing and all that. You know what they don’t tell you?’’ Your mouth shuts for a moment, like you are waiting some response. You nod as if whatever you were expecting is handed to you. ‘’Grief can be fucking ridiculous. Who cries because of a burger full of oil and cardiac diseases? Who cries because they found a grocery store recipe under her dead boyfriend’s bed? Who falls on the ground screaming in the middle of the mall because they saw a flannel? Who? Those things are so stupid.’’ You smile like there's no tomorrow and the laugh leaving your lips is a treacherous tone. Perhaps you just aren't build up to express joy anymore. ‘’You see it in the movies and in the books and you think, you know, you think to yourself that grieving is being sad on special dates and randomly remembering the loved ones because of some screaming memory, like a flannel or their perfume. Thing is, it’s not just that. All your body seems so small, so tight for all the ache and agony inside it. Your senses go wild, you are not just one person in one place. You’re just the pain everywhere, like being pulled apart and you beg to jump in the fucking grave with them. At least you would be together, at least you would feel like one person and not suffering edges of a broken earthy thing. And--And you start remembering things you didn’t even know you had mesmerized. I look at the ceiling and remember you saying you’d paint it someday. I look at the kitchen and remember me screaming at you for giving Miracle the rest of the food. I smell Sam’s clothes and started crying because hey, they don’t smell like alcohol. You don’t iron them while drinking anymore, so of course they don’t smell like cheap beer.’’ You are chuckling through the tears and it only makes it more monstrous. ‘’Everything is you now that you are gone. Every man has something similar to you, every garden is green as your eyes, and each step sounds like you are coming home. They didn’t prepare me, not for this.’’ You said breathless. A soft single follows. The knife cuts both ways; the empty breeze and the words hurt. Where's the middle term? Where's the limbo? Where's the only safe place for you to rest your weary head?

Out of nowhere, you blurt out, ‘’I can’t masturbate,’’ I know it’s something stupid and even selfish to say, but I think you’d like to know. I can’t masturbate. That’s a part of the whole losing someone process that people are too ashamed to discuss, or maybe they don’t have the urge to be touched anymore because after someone you love dies, after someone-- the hands who touched are dead and cold, you become a haunted object. That’s how I feel most days, like I’m a haunted house because you touched me and now you’re dead and some days I believe I am too.’’ You look around the places. It's beautiful. It's lonely. It has trees and flowers and green. Not as green as Dean's eyes, but it doesn't matter anymore. He doesn't even have eyes at this point. ‘’Well, I can’t masturbate. I can’t touch myself. And I can’t ask someone else either. I tried and ended up punching the guy, Dean. I swear. I panicked when he was between my legs and just punched his nose. You’d have liked it, you were always the jealous kind. I won’t admit that, but I thought it was kinda hot. Especially when you got possessive in sex.’’ A dirty grin appeared on your lips, the echoes of luxury lasting in your eyes for a brief moment. ‘’I don’t think I can be cared for anymore, honestly. Sam tried to hug me when Miracle died and I… It was like I wasn't there. I got frozen in time, and I live in my sleep. In my nightmares you are alive. I dream about the day you died every week and I used to wake up screaming, but now those nightmares are the only proof you were alive now that you’re as dead as the police report says this time. It was the most painful, calamitous moment for you and I swear it was a nightmare for me, but then I realized that at least I had you there, egoistical or not, I made my nightmare into a dream.’’ You aren't sure which opinion Dean would have on that. Would he understand? Would he shake his head? You wish you can ask him just this one more thing, just beg him to write it down for you on how to be without him here.

You raise on your feet, glaring at the name craved in the concrete. The tears go by still, although they're as usual as the blood in glir veins at this point. ‘’Death is so silly. What it takes, anyway?" Each word conquers more inches of pure wrath. ''People die because they stumbled on their own feet and hit their head somewhere, or they drove their car too close and too fast to the cliff, or because they were giving birth, or because they dated the wrong person, or because they were hunting a fucking vampire and got impaled. What are the chances? How stupid, and idiotic is death? Always creeping and waiting to bite and chew a piece of you-- Taking every scrap of you from me like that’s its right.’’ You are screaming, starting to kick and punch the tombstone with any piece of straight you have. Your limbs hurt and the blood is visible, but you keep going. ‘’YOUR STUPID DOG DIED, DEAN! AND YOU DIED! AND I DIED! SAMMY DIED! YEAH, IS SAID SAMMY! GO AHEAD, TELL ME ONLY YOU CAN CALL HIM THAT.’’ Another punch, your knuckles are ripped. Another kick, your boot as a hole. ‘’DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.’’ Kick. ‘’SAMMY, SAMMY, SAMMY!’’ A punch to each name. Anything to get a reaction, to get comfort. Anything. ‘’YOU CAN’T BECAUSE YOU ARE DEAD.’’ Gasping for something you don't need anymore, sweet oxygen, your eyes are on the tombstone again. And the definitions. And the trees. Your body is sore and aching. It is the kind and coercion no person wants which you needed; the freedom of feeling outside the exact pain that was inside. ‘’You can’t because you are dead. I’ve been playing some sick games in my mind, you know? Sam stopped hunting and had his closure. He was always better at letting go than you and I, but he’s still hurting. I never saw him hurting so much. I think he knows you won’t come back this time, how could you make us promise something like that? Well, my twisted game is a bunch of misleading what ifs. What if you hadn’t gone after John? What if you hadn’t gone on that last hunt? What if you had stayed with Lisa? At first I didn’t like her much. Jealous, I admit that. But she grew on me. She gave you something I couldn’t back then and I’ll always be thankful for that. And even though it would rip me apart, I’d rather you to die at sixth after living your suburban dream with her. Have another kid besides Ben, maybe a girl this time, and just have that apple pie life. You and Sam would live close and your kids would always play. They’d be as close as brothers. Maybe I’d get a guy and bring my own kids and we could’ve a barbecue and everyone would be happy. But we don’t get soft epilogues here. It ends how it starts, right? Bloody and desperate. I thought maybe, maybe Lisa could understand what��s going through my head now. I drove to her new address and parked close to her house. I must have spent hours there, thinking if I should come in or not, If she somehow remembered after Castiel died or if I could make her brain work again if I told her the truth. But then I just drove back home and fell asleep wrapped in that stupid lumberjack flannel of yours. The one I always mocked, yeah? She may understand me, but I know you wouldn’t want that. You want her, you want me and Sam to be happy. I don’t know if I can do that, Dean. It’s like myt brittle soul shrewd and my body is just waiting to collapse.’’ You signed, overwhelmed by the battle without an anthem. The victory with no triumph. Is it still a win when you don't have someone to come home too? ‘’Your dog died, it’s the first birthday you didn’t live to see, and I bought all the things you told Mrs Butters you wanted for your birthday because it’s your birthday. I just don’t know how to celebrate it with you dead. People stop counting after they die, right? They just say he’d have been 42 or he died at 41. They give melancholy smiles when they wake up and check the day on their phones and a woe atmosphere swallows them for the rest of the day. Then they get better the next day. I think everyday is your birthday.’’ You attempt to wipe away your tears, which only causes your pulsating hand to stain your face red. ‘’Dean, for the first time, what died stayed dead! Congrats.’’ Once again, a hysterical laugh. ‘’I wish but no. What died didn’t stay dead, you are alive, so alive in my head. I swear you are there some days. I wake and watch the door, so sure you’ll come back. Sam says I’m living in delusion and I have to wake up and keep going since that's what you would want. That's enough to make him keep going, but it only makes me angry. Everyone we know and some strangers looks at me like I'm a house on fire and no longer a warm home, like I'm a car accident. They think I don't notice but I do.’’ You look at your boots, the whole is rolling out blood like your hands. You feel closer to Dean. How sick.

‘’Help, I’m still right where you left me." You plea, his love lingering like a bruise. ''I think gravity is overwhelming and it keeps me here. Sometimes it’s like I’m one of those dusted books Sam used to read. Or those Bukowski ones that you hid, so we wouldn’t see how smart you’re. You tried so hard to hide your intelligence because you didn’t think you were entitled to it. You saw yourself as the protector and never the valuable one for protection. You, the man who made an EMF out of an old radio, who rebuilt the Impala from the ground multiple times, and who knew patterns better than any detective. The man who showed me I could rely on someone other than myself. The dude with a lopsided grin, tough hands and a heart of gold. I miss you so much. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were singing all those classic rock songs and Taylor Swift pop hits, while I drove here. I would think you were home, smelling like guts because you wanted to eat before taking a shower after a hunt. I would think that you are in the Deancave, waiting for me to curl up on your lap to watch Scooby Doo or Doctor Sexy MD until we aren’t watching anymore. If I didn’t know better I would think no death could take you from me. There would be no tear us apart in our vows.’’ The only thing that keeps your organism working is that Dean died knowing how much you loved him. You never let this talk for later or never. No tomorrow is promised. That's a nice comfort, maybe that's what will help you to let go in the future. ‘’But yesterday your stupid, skink dog died and I lost the last living thing that I had from you. You know what’s more angerting? I cried and Sam cried and I noticed we were the living things you left behind and all we have is each other. All your closets of backlogged dreams were left for us-- so yeah. Sam is done hunting and he’s met a lovely girl, and they are moving in like in your domestic dreams. I’m taking care of the family business like your other contradictory dream and making sure Sam is safe enough to be normal. Because I have to, we have too. Stupidly enough, I still wait for the day you’ll burst out the door and tell us to hit the road again. I still watch every episode of your dumb tv shows to make sure I’ll know everything that happened when you ask. I still drive around in your car and close my eyes when the street is calm, only picturing you driving as Baby’s engineers go wild but those are my hands on the steering wheel. If I didn't know better, I’d think you are still around. But I know better. I still feel you all around. I love you.’’

Your monologuing ends as astutely as it stated. You get up, press a kiss to your ruined for the next weeks hands and place it on the rock with writings. You turn around and walk back to the car that you parked near, only in case of Dean wanting to see Baby. How knows? You and your clandestine faith. You lick your lip and get in the car.

You swear you the AC/DC cassette wasn't there before, but when you turn on the car and the radio it starts playing. It's the first true smile that comes to your mouth, it's bloodstained and you look like a shameless woman. With that you can deal.

It hurts a bearable hurt for now. You didn't think it was possible. Maybe someday.

The end.

(she takes a little longer to arive in heaven than sammy. his baby brother says that women are most likely to live around six years more than men. it doesn't ease him up, though. dean waited sam for too long, his platonic soulmate. and now he has to wait his romantic one too? the eldest Winchester considers it the best earthly present when the he sense you around, that smell of orange and apples. it's you, he knows before even turning around. he can't wait to love you again. your name rolls off your tongue so naturally, as if you had seen each other just yesterday: ‘’hey, y/n.’’)

But then again, nothing ever really ends, does it?

REBLOG AND COMMENT. Feedback is magic and helps me!

Starburst's footnote: It just didn't feel right to make an author's note on the top. I wanted it all only to be an arrow to the story. So, this is my side note: it's six am and I'm up writing this after inspiration kissed me with a bruise in the middle of the night. Or more like grabbed my throat. Anyway, I had to write and finish this one to post today, even pushing sleep aside. Hey, we are writers, that's what we do! I've been watching the show since I was eleven and I cried like a baby with the finale. This series was just so important and crucial to molde aspects of relationships for me. The song marjorie by Taylor Swift was used here, and so was the line "you got my devotion/ but man, I can hate you sometimes" by Harry Styles. I told you guys I would use it somewhere! A special thanks to @msmarvelouswinchester who helped me with her encouraging and opinon. You are the best! And with all of this I wanna say: Happy bday, Dean Winchester!

REBLOG AND COMMENT! Feedback is magic! Especially about this fic, I’d like to know your opinion. Tags in the reblog! Send an ask or dm to get in the taglist.

#dean winchester #dean's birthday #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester's birthday #dean winchester x you #supernatural #spn #dean winchester imagine #supernatural imagines #spn reader insert #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagines

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good-things-do-happen-dean · 4 years

Text

to fix instead of break | destiel | post-s15 softness

Dean learns to embroider.

He’s always been good with a needle and thread. In the stitching up a wound with dental floss kind of way, and the regular way. He had to be, really, with money as tight as it was, and Sammy growing like a weed. He hemmed, then let them out again the next year, mended elbows and knees. It always felt good. To use his hands to fix instead of break.

It feels even better, he discovers, to create them. He likes to build things, to watch a planter box, a table, a rocking chair appear from wood. The quiet rasp of sandpaper soothes him with its easy back and forth, smoothing out sharp edges. And he learns to embroider, tiny intricate shapes patching over rips and tears, creating something new.

He thinks it’s the same for Cas, with his garden. First greens and herbs, then fruit bushes, then flowers, coaxing life from the earth. Their yard is full of it, life, color, all manner of plants bursting forth.

They’re retired now, all of them, Sam in a house just down the road, Jack with a room in each place. Close enough they could see each other all the time, far enough away to have some space to breathe. It just made sense to divide up that way. No need to spring for three places, and then there was that whole “it’s finally time to acknowledge this decade-long thing between Dean and Cas” thing, so it worked out anyway.

Now, they have Cas’s garden and the furniture Dean built and Cas’s trench coat ends up in a box in the back of a closet. They come across it one day in spring a few years later, in a box with John’s journal and a couple of fake badges, a little worse for wear. Moths, maybe, and Dean’s just grateful their biggest problem is a couple of insects.

There’s no more God, no more Heaven, no more Hell. No more angels or demons or Darkness. Just. Humans, living their lives. Humans like Sam, who’s back in school, but as an associate professor now, shaping the young minds of tomorrow. Like Dean, who picks up a shift at the garage in town every so often, just because he can. Like Cas, who’s a librarian now, of all things, and wears chunky sweaters and bare feet around the house. Like Jack - well, almost. Not quite human, not any part angel. Not anymore. There’s just humans. And some moths that ate a hole on the left side of that old coat, right over where Cas’s heart would be.

Dean’s been embroidering patches for a while now. A pie on his apron after he caught it on a knife when Cas was being particularly distracting behind him. “C & D W” in the corner of their comforter. A bird in flight on the knee of a pair of Jack’s jeans.

So he takes one look at that hole and knows what to do. But he only works on it when Cas is out of the house to keep it a surprise, and then things get busy at the garage, and then Sam and Eileen get married, so spring blooms into summer, fades into early fall before he’s done. That’s okay, though, because then it’s just in time for Cas’s birthday. Or, well, his “human-niversary,” as Dean likes to call it.

They all get together. Jack, Sam, Eileen with a gentle swell in her belly. Claire and Kaia, Jody and Donna and Patience. Even Alex manages to take off work. Garth and Bess and all their kids (little Castiel isn’t so little anymore, but he still cocks his head at Dean just like big Castiel used to). Cas’s friends from the library and Dean’s from the garage. There’s burgers and salad (with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers from their garden) and ice cream with fresh strawberries for dessert. There’s a bonfire when dusk falls and the air gets crisp. There’s talking and laughing and family and love until the stars appear. And later, there’s a neatly wrapped box with an old coat inside, a delicate bee on a hexagonal patch right over the heart.

tagging: @joharvele | @contemplativepancakes | @fluffiestlou | @never-forever-more | @emblue-sparks

let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list 💖

#spncreatorsdaily #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #this was only supposed to be dean embroidering cas's coat oops #little cas and big cas are best friends #just let these boys rest and live and love the family that's bigger than they realize until they all get together #i'm obsessed with cas having a garden if you didn't know #also librarian cas #mine.fic #destiel

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pastorpresent · 3 years

Text

Sam write his first poem at 11.

It's about Dean. Everything he seems to do is about Dean, but he's 11 and still young enough for it to just be written off as a little brother idolising the older one.

Still, Sam finds himself using all those romantic sonnet tropes he was being taught about in school currently, and he puts it down as the words and format just fitting Dean far better.

He keeps the poem tucked in the bottom of his duffel, and has forgotten about it by the time he digs it out with his shirt four years later.

He reads over it, cringing at the childish innocence on the pages, reflecting on how even back then he had these... thoughts. His eleven year old self didn't get it. He was naive, and he was fairly certain that the poem didn't sound so damn romantic to him back then.

But it did now. It was a romantic poem written by a fucked up kid who didn't even realise how fucked up he was yet. Back when he could genuinely trick himself into believing that the feelings he had were brotherly and platonic and normal.

His fifteen year old self didn't get that luxury.

He was too self aware. He knew too much. He knew that he wasn't supposed to have that fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever Dean touched him. He wasn't supposed to feel his face burn when they had to share a bed, and he definitely wasn't supposed to feel that sort of suffocating pain in his chest when he watched Dean kiss a girl.

The poem makes him feel nauseous but he doesn't throw it away like he should. Instead, he folds the crumpled piece of paper neatly and puts it in his small keepsake box in his duffel.

And then he makes his way to the small table in the motel room, pulls out a empty side of A4 from his notebook and a pen.

He spends far too much time trying to rhyme it, build a line structure or some sort of format. There's a growing pile of adjectives at the bottom of the page, some obscured by crosses and scribbles.

But then he forces himself to just write. To write the first poem he had written since sixth grade.

It's not perfect, and it's a lot more solemn and dark in its tone in comparison to the one he wrote at 9. Dean's hands are no longer shields protecting him from evil and delivering him from danger effortlessly. They're a symbol for a sinful temptation, the safety they once offered obscured by Sam's sick thoughts and dreams where in they're used to hold him down, to clamp over his mouth to muffle moans.

He feels even more nauseous after finishing it than he did before, but it gets tucked away with the other in the little box.

Sam continues to write poetry after that. Always about Dean, but the tone shifts and soon he isn't relying on dreams and wishes to describe Dean's lips on his body or his hands in his hair, pulling and twisting.

When he leaves for Stanford, he stops writing poetry all together until he sees a beautiful blonde girl sat at a bar, with unfamiliar green eyes and a birthday that Sam couldn't forget if he tried.

The difference is, he shows Jess the poems about her. She loves them and he gives them to her to keep. Which she does, in her bedside table.

They burn up in the fire like everything else, and Sam only escapes with his duffel, the box of mounting poems regarding Dean feeling ten times heavier on his shoulders.

His poetry after that is less frequent, but he still does it. Dean's the subject more often than not.

He never does tell Dean about them, and years later when he's packing up his duffel to leave the bunker permanently, alone in the world other than Miracle, he finds the box where he tucked it in the back of his drawers.

He reads every one and it's difficult with the tears and vodka clouding his vision.

He burns the box with Dean's body and hopes that somehow, wherever Dean is, he takes them with him.

#sam winchester #spn #dean winchester #supernatural #sam and dean #sam/dean #samxdean #samdean #wincest drabble #wincest #weecest drabble #weecest #sam/jess #samxjess #jessica moore

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writercole · 3 years

Text

Le Feu Follet

Summary: It’s been 10 years since you and Dean split up. Bobby calls you in to assist on a hunt with the Winchester brothers. When you and Dean meet again, will the two of you change course, or just continue on the flow you’ve been on for the last decade?

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3712

Warnings: Few - some canon-level violence, hunter’s funeral, probably language because I’m married to a Marine and it’s ingrained.

A/N: I combined two challenges for this: @deangirl93 and her 500 follower celebration and @tvdspngirl314 and her birthday challenge. Prompts are Ten Years Gone by Led Zeppelin and “She’s the love of my life...I’d go back with her in a heartbeat.” Le feu follet is explained a little further in but! It’s a Cajun folktale, similar to the will o’ the wisps in Scottish folklore. It’s a little ball of light that draws its prey into the swamp and drowns them. Ominous, right? I added some to the lore because as most oral folktales go, there isn’t a full story.

Credit: header and beta by @padalelli, divider by @firefly-graphics, lyrics in italics, dialogue prompt in bold.

Then as it was, then again it may be. And though the course may change sometimes Rivers always reach the sea.

It was just a hunt, you told yourself. It was just a hunt. You could do this. It had been a decade since you and Dean split. You were different people then; both barely adults, no idea what you wanted to do with your lives. You were both too headstrong to compromise on your goals and your dreams. Love just wasn’t enough.

Now, in your late 30s, Bobby called you up to assist on a hunt. You owed Bobby Singer your life - literally. You didn’t want to follow your dad’s footsteps and be a hunter. You wanted to be normal. You’d gone to college and gotten an accounting degree, the most normal thing you could think of. You had been so far gone from this life that you didn’t notice the signs that your boss wasn’t human.

Bobby busted in just as your boss, the literal, actual demon, had you pinned to the ground choking you out. He killed the demon and sat you down to explain everything before you interrupted him and told him who you were. He made sure you were okay and you exchanged cell numbers. A few days later, you left your apple pie life behind and picked up hunting again, joining Bobby at his house for the first few months before hooking up with Jody and Donna for some training hunts.

You’d been back hunting on your own for several years now, only getting the occasional assist. Now it was your turn to be called up as a backup. And for the bloody Winchesters, no less.

Okay, you didn’t hate the both of them. Just Dean. And it wasn’t really hate...no, it was more like...dread. You didn’t want to see him again. That part of your life was over. Done. He didn’t love you anymore and your feelings towards him were not the same kind of love either.

Or so you tried to convince yourself.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted when the older man answered the phone. “We’ve got ourselves a bit of a tough case. Anyone around the…,” Dean paused to check his brother’s notes, confirming the location, “Whiskey Bay, Louisiana area?”

“I’ll check in with a few people. Might have someone,” Bobby responded.

“Alright, thanks.” Dean hung up the phone and told his brother the news.

Sam’s phone rang a few hours later. “It’s Bobby,” he told his brother, answering the phone. “Hey, Bobby. What’s up?”

“Sam, the only hunter within driving distance of your case is Y/N,” the older man told Sam.

“Wait, you mean?” Sam questioned, hoping that he didn’t have to go into further detail where his brother could hear him.

“One in the same, Sam, one in the same. I take it you’re regretting calling now,” Bobby joked in a way that only he could.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Sam responded, glancing at his brother cleaning his weapons.

“I don’t envy you, boy. But those two are idjits. Stubborn and bullheaded idjits,” Bobby chided, his gruff voice echoing in Sam’s ears.

“Yeah, thanks. I’ll let you know what we find.” Sam hung up the phone and faced his brother. “Help is on the way,” Sam informed Dean. “Bobby called in another hunter. Said we’d know ‘em when we saw ‘em. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Should be here in the morning”

“Yeah, Bobby’s kind of cryptic that way,” Dean agreed.

“Okay, well I’m going to hit the hay,” Sam told his brother, silently urging his older counterpart to follow suit and not go out tonight. Not with knowing what was coming tomorrow.

You pulled up at the motel in Henderson. It was the closest to Whiskey Bay. You guessed that’s where the brothers Winchester would be. You weren’t wrong; the classic Impala was sitting at the end of the row. You pulled your ‘67 C10 next to it and took a deep breath. You figured you’d be here a few days so you grabbed your bag and headed to the office, determined to get a room of your own.

You were in luck. There was a room a couple doors down from the end where you parked. Close enough that you could hear if the car started but far enough that you didn’t share a wall with Mr. One Night Stand himself.

You got to your room without incident. Now it was just a matter of time before you met your ex face to face.

Sam got his wish; Dean didn’t go out last night. He woke up before his older brother and ran out for good coffee. As he walked out, he saw her truck parked outside. Sam sighed; well, it was going to be an interesting case.

Dean was in the shower when Sam returned. He chose to set up his laptop at the table and continue to research what they were looking for. Dean met him at the table, taking his coffee and sitting across from his brother.

“That hunter got here yet?” Dean asked, sipping his coffee.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam replied, nervous about the next questions. His eyes never left his laptop, refusing to meet his brother’s gaze.

“Okay, so who is it?” Dean questioned suspiciously, knowing Sam’s aversion was hiding something important.

“It’s...It’s Y/N,” Sam sighed. “I saw her when I was getting coffee.” He looked up at his brother with his patented puppy dog eyes. Dean’s face revealed nothing; his eyes were focused on his coffee.

Changes fill my time, baby, that’s alright with me. In the midst I think of you and how it used to be.

Ten years ago

Dean walked into the motel room, you trailing behind him, slamming the door behind you.

“Dean, why are you acting like I’m asking you to take a bullet for me? I just want to have a normal life, something where I’m not chasing a monster that no one believes exists every day! I want that with you, just to TRY,” your yelled, your voice raising with each sentence.

“Because this is OUR LIFE, Y/N!” Dean responded, his voice as loud as yours, hands flying with passion as he spoke. “I can’t just leave this life. Someone has to do it; someone has to stop the world from ending every other week!”

“WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE YOU?!” The tears were falling down your face now; you knew what was coming. You and Dean wanted different things; you were both stubborn and neither wanted to compromise.

“Because there’s no one else,” Dean said, resigned. “Dad’s gone, Bobby isn’t in the field anymore. Hunters are dropping left and right.” He sank down on the bed, head in his hands, and muttered “It’s only us now.”

You sat next to him and looked at your hands. “Dean, I was accepted into the fall class at Northwestern State. I’m going to go get a degree and live a normal life. I would love for you to join me,” you paused, looking over at him, his posture unchanged, and continued, “But I understand. You don’t want to come with me. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

You got up and went to take a shower, not looking behind you at Dean, not seeing the hurt etched onto his face or the tears falling down. Before you started the shower, you heard the door slam. You haven’t seen Dean since.

Now

You woke up early, not remembering where you were for a moment. Then everything came back to you with a vengeance. Bobby called you to help the Winchesters. You groaned and got out of bed in search of coffee; you were going to need it.

The kitchenette didn’t have a coffee pot and the continental breakfast at the hotel had awful coffee. Lucky for you, there was a CC’s across the street. You walked in and the smell of dark roast coffee woke you up slightly. You hopped in line and browsed the menu, considering straying from your normal tall black coffee with two sugars.

The door to your right opened and out of the corner of your eye, you saw a very tall man with long hair walking in. As soon as you saw his face, you stiffened. Great, you thought. It’s Sam and I haven’t had coffee yet. Maybe he won’t recognize me.

Fate was on your side; Sam didn’t seem to realize who you were. You got your coffee and headed back to your hotel room. It was going to be a fun hunt.

Sam had seen you going into your room as he walked out of the coffee house. He chose to let you keep your distance as long as you could. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for either of you, despite Dean insisting that you were the one who walked out.

Bobby had kept Sam updated on your progress in school. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because Bobby knew he’d want you to be safe or if it was Bobby’s way of showing him that he could go back to school, too.

What Bobby didn’t tell him was that you were hunting again. So when he said that you’d be coming in for the assist, Sam almost didn’t believe him. What could have happened to make you get back in the life after your blowout with Dean over getting out?

Dean had been uncharacteristically silent since Sam told him which hunter was helping out. Sam was a bit worried that this hunt was going to hurt one, both, or all of you. He considered calling Bobby for more backup but he had said that there were no other hunters in driving distance.

As much as he didn’t want to, Sam knew it was time to fill you in on what was going on. He took a deep breath and walked out of the room to go to yours. He knocked on the door and waited.

You were sitting hunched over your coffee cup when there was a knock on the door. You pulled your gun from its holster at your side and checked out the peephole. You saw it was Sam, but you refused to holster your weapon. You did lower it though.

You opened the door and looked at the younger Winchester. He’d filled out quite a bit since you’d last seen him; overall, he looked good. “Sam,” you greeted.

“Hey, Y/N. Thanks for coming,” he quietly replied.

“You want to come in?” you offered.

“Actually....would you mind coming to ours?” he asked with the famous Sam Winchester puppy eyes. “It’s just easier since I have all my notes and stuff there.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. You had to do this at some point. At least Sam will be there. “Does he know?” you questioned, holstering your gun.

“Yes.” Sam responded, almost whispering.

“I guess there’s really no avoiding it is there?” you asked rhetorically, grabbing your keys and your bag. At the last second you turned around and grabbed your coffee cup for the short walk to their room.

Your nerves were getting the best of you as you walked closer to the room your ex was staying in. Every step towards him was another unanswered question. Had he moved on? Was he still angry with you? Was your departure discussed between the brothers? Was he still as handsome as he was? Did he still love you?

You shook your head to clear your mind of the last question. Of course he didn’t love you still. He’d only told you twice; once, on your first anniversary, and again, a month before you left. He showed affection in other ways, and you didn’t need verbal reassurance, but you sometimes wondered.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Sam opened the door. You hesitated a moment too long and heard Dean’s voice.

“Close the door, Sam,” he called out in his gruff voice. Your heart fluttered at the sound and your stomach cut a flip.

You walked in the room and stepped to the side, allowing Sam to close the door. Dean looked up from his place on the couch and saw you, his jaw dropping slightly. You managed a small smile and let Sam guide you to the table where his research was spread out.

“So get this,” he started, turning his laptop towards you. “There have been five drownings in the swamp in the last month. The problem is that all of them walked into the water on their own accord.”

“This sounds really familiar,” you told him, straining to think of where you’d heard a tale like this before.

“It happens fairly cyclically, all random victims but it’s always the same time of year in the fifth year of a decade,” Sam informed you.

“And the last time it was the fifth year of a decade, we were dealing with a much bigger problem,” Dean chimed in, his eyes barely flitting over you, his voice strained.

Then

The pyre burned bright; John Winchester’s body reducing to ash before their eyes. The three hunters stood silently side by side, watching until only embers remained. Sam walked back to the car, leaving you and Dean alone.

“I can’t believe he traded his life for mine,” Dean whispered.

“Let’s go find this demon and put him under. Then we can have a break,” you coaxed him back to the car.

You had a monster to hunt.

Now

“Oh my god,” you cried as you shot up in bed. You threw a robe on over your pajamas and rushed down the sidewalk to Sam and Dean’s room. You banged on the door for a few minutes before Dean answered with a Colt in your face.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he said, “you couldn’t have just called?” He lowered the gun and

“Would you have even answered?” you snapped, pushing your way into the room where Sam was sitting up in his bed, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

You turned around and faced Dean, waiting for him to shut the door. He closed it harder than necessary and put his Colt on the dresser. He turned to glare at you, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance.

“Well, I know what we’re dealing with. And I know what we have to do,” you told the brothers.

That’s how you ended up in the middle of the swamp, in hip waders, chasing after Le Feu Follet, a Cajun will o’ the wisps that lures people to their drowning death in the marsh. That’s how you ended up walking with Sam several paces behind Dean, covering the rear and sides.

You weren’t prepared for the feelings you had for Dean to resurface like they did; you kept staring, hoping neither brother would notice the longing glances you sent to the oldest Winchester. Sam, however, was incredibly observant and decided that things wouldn’t be any worse for the wear if he addressed it.

“He misses you,” Sam told you quietly.

You sighed. You somehow knew this was coming. Sam had been your best friend at one point. “He doesn’t even know me anymore. I doubt he really misses me.”

“You didn’t see him the second your name was mentioned, Y/N/N. It’s like he was that scared guy at the pyre again,” Sam explained, “Dean is really good at hiding things from other people. But I can see through his bullshit. He hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Neither have I, Sam.” You stopped and turned to face your former best friend. “I got out of this life. I wanted Dean to come with me. He refused. I got back in a couple years ago after Bobby saved my ass from a demon that was in my boss’s body,” you informed him, nearly yelling at the tall man. “I nearly died and the last thing that crossed my mind was ‘I want Dean’ before I passed out.” You shook your head and kept walking, only getting a few steps before stopping again. “I couldn’t believe that I still loved him after all of that.”

You walked in silence with Sam for about ten minutes before coming to a crossroads. “You take the right path, I’ll take the left,” he told you, gesturing for you to take the path closest to the water’s edge.

You nodded and continued on your way, walking a few feet before seeing the lights of a cabin across the water on a tiny island. You knew the feu follet would often lure people by making them think there was a house or lantern, but you could see a boat tied to a tree and smoke rising from a chimney you could barely make out.

You started to cross the water, hoping the occupant could give you some information. Your foot slipped, making you twist into the water; the last thing you saw was an orb dancing in front of you at the water’s edge.

Sam was only a few paces down the path when he heard the splash come from the direction you had gone. “DEAN!” he yelled, just realizing his brother had disappeared while you were talking.

He started making his way to the path you followed, hearing his brother’s footsteps crashing through the marsh behind him. He skidded to a stop when he saw your body floating face-down. “Y/N?” he whispered, hoping it was an illusion of the crafty spirits.

Dean crashed through the trees, seeing you face down in the water and charged forward. “Y/N!” he shouted, hoping you could hear him as he splashed through the muck to get to you.

Dean’s cries snapped Sam out of his trance and he helped his brother pull your limp body out of the swamp. Sam kept watch while his brother started CPR, both begging you to hold on, just come back to them.

An hour later, after the spirits had been handled with a little iron and salt, Dean and Sam sat beside the bed in their motel room, watching your unconscious body and waiting for you to wake up.

Dean broke the silence. “I, uh...I wasn’t fully honest about why she left.” He looked at his brother who lifted his head to show he was listening. “She wanted out. After Dad; after Azazel. She begged me to go with her. I was so scared of having everything and losing it like Dad did. I pushed her out.” Dean hung his head, wiping the tears from his face. “I should have gone with her.”

Sam stayed quiet for a long time, picking his words carefully. “She may still want that with you, Dean. She’s avoided you for so long but,” he paused, looking over at your chest rising and falling, debating how much he should say. Ultimately, he chose to spill it all. Dean deserved to know. “She still loves you. It’s what we were talking about earlier. She’s back because Bobby saved her from a demon. Her last thoughts, well what she thought were her last thoughts, were of you.”

Dean’s head snapped to his brother’s face. “Are you serious? She...she still loves me?”

Sam nodded at his brother’s question. “Would you consider trying again with her? Even if it meant leaving the life?”

“She’s the first girl I ever loved,” he paused looking over to you laying on the cheap bedspread. “I’d do anything she asked. She’s the love of my life....I’d go back to her in a heartbeat. If she’ll have me.”

Some Time Later…

Vixen in my dreams, with great surprise to me Never thought I'd see your face The way it used to be Oh darlin', oh darlin'

You woke up to sunlight streaming in through the curtains. You stretched across the bed, feeling the cold sheets on the other side. You sat up, hearing some noises coming from outside the room.

You padded down the hallway on bare feet seeing Dean standing in the kitchen making breakfast for Joanna and Bobby. You stood and watched from the doorway as your husband interacted with your kids; laughing and smiling in a way you hadn’t seen in close to twenty years.

Dean noticed you in the doorway and his smile grew wider. He made his way over to you for a good morning kiss.

“Morning, babe. No work today?” you asked him.

“Well, Sammy has been on my case to take a break. He said I can trust the guys I have working for me and since I know the kids are off of school for Mardi Gras break, I thought we could have a family day,” he suggested, looking at you with those green eyes you’d never be able to say no to.

“Sounds great,” you agreed.

The last ten years of your life had been a dream. After that last hunt where you almost drowned, Dean confessed that he still loved you and that he was wrong for letting you go. You agreed to try again and quickly became as comfortable as you used to be. He suggested getting out of hunting, all of you, all the way out, and you and Sam quickly agreed.

Sam went to night school while working himself through it and got a degree in business management; Dean apprenticed under a shop owner and bought his business out about two years ago. Your accounting degree helped you get a job at a firm quickly.

Dean proposed one night under the stars on the hood of the Impala. The next day, the two of you went down to the courthouse and got married by the Justice of the Peace. You had Joanna Mary and Robert Samuel five years ago after being married for a year. The pregnancy had surprised you but you were both excited. When you found out it was twins, it was even better.

Your life had been a perfect dream since you woke up after the feu follet hunt.

I'm never gonna leave you I never gonna leave Holdin' on, ten years gone Ten years gone, holdin' on, ten years gone Ten years gone, holdin' on

Tags: @padalelli @cajunquandary @waywardbaby @thinkinghardhardlythinking @thefallenbibliophilequote @that-one-gay-girl @flamencodiva @saiyanprincessswanie @deanwinchesterswitch @deanwanddamons @ladywinchester1967 @thatmotleygirl @hot-mess-magee @supernatural-bellawinchester @anaelsbrunette @deangirl93 @deans-baby-momma @downanddirtydean @winchest09 @jensengirl83 @asgoodasdancingqueen @glazedhoneycakes

Dean/Jensen:

@akshi8278 @adoptdontshoppets @deandreamernp @lyarr24

#cole writes #deangirl93s500followercelebration #happy birthday ally #dean x reader #injured on a hunt #zeppelin lyrics #prompt challenge #appearances by bff sam and poppa bobby

89 notes · View notes

sharkfish · 3 years

Text

love ‘em, can’t live without ‘em: early-career writers!

[masterpost of rec lists]

new content creators are the lifeblood of fandom, so here i present stories by folks who have five or less destiel fics published (...so far) as of december 2020!!!

please give them some love!!!

under the cut since it got long~

the burden of belonging by Newtondale @soft-klaus (8k)

Dean doesn't know where he's going, he just drives.

He meanders. Takes whatever road he wants without worrying about efficiency or speed. He watches the landscape change around him as he heads east, towards the sea. Sometimes he listens to music, and sometimes he doesn’t. Most of the time he just thinks, the way he has always thought best; with an open road ahead and horror close behind.

Cas always comes back to him. Cas has always come back. Whether it takes minutes, or weeks, or months - Cas comes back to him.

But Cas hasn’t come back. How much longer is supposed to wait? Minutes? Months? How long is he supposed to live like this, like there’s nothing else that matters except the space beside him where Cas should be?

So he just drives.

Dean Winchester’s 12-Step Guide to Inebriated Online Retail Therapy for Fallen Angels and Judgemental Brothers With Bad Hair (Suck It, Sammy) by justholdingstill @justholdingstill (3k)

Alternatively titled Dean Wayne: The Life & Legend

Dean gets drunk. Dean orders things online. Hilarity ensues.

Hang-Ups by anupalya @anupalya (2k)

A slip of the tongue while hanging up a zoom meeting with Castiel leaves Dean in a panic.

****

Jsksdjdjskal

I'm starting to think you're letting Blueberry walk over your keyboard again.

i'm moving to Thailand

?????

I have to

Dean

I have no choice

... so I take it the meeting went well?

dream root & fumbling through the darkness by visionsofyerface @omnishamblegreg (1.3k)

Dean takes dream root for some fun angsty wanderings into Cas’s head, and then actually goes to the Empty, but Cas doesn't believe it's really him.

How Long? by MinxyOne93 @substitutesalt93 (WIP - 37k)

Dean has been going on reckless hunts by himself. Cas confronts him and all those years of unresolved pining come to a boiling point.

"Dean. How long?" The angel said, still quiet but so raw with emotion, eyes still wide with shock.

Dean looked down at the floor and sighed. "Since... always. I knew it for sure in Purgatory. But always." He then added in a near whisper, tears threatening to spill from behind his now closed eyelids, "I'm sorry, Cas."

"Sorry? You're sorry?" Castiel felt dumbfounded. The constant loneliness and longing he had sensed from Dean that seemed to grow worse and worse with the passing of years made so much more sense now.

"Dean," was all Cas could say before releasing his grip on his collar and gently, slowly, deliberately, kissing the corner of his mouth. A shocked gasp left Dean’s mouth of its own accord and he melted into Castiel's tight embrace.

It's The Thought That Counts by oceaxe @oceaxe-ifdawn (3k)

It’s Dean’s birthday and while angels have no birthdays, Castiel has a) been around human cultures for long enough to be aware of the nearly universal customs of celebrating the anniversary of a loved one’s birth and b) has been living with humans for long enough that he’s been included in some of those celebrations. But the art of gift-giving continues to elude his comprehension.

Lucky Winner by natmoose @natmoose (32k)

Dean wins a trip to Paris. In and of itself, that’s an amazing thing, but the problem is: he isn’t in a relationship with Lisa anymore, and the trip requires a romantic partner. The obvious choice is Cas, his roommate and best friend of 3 years, but coming with that are some very very complicated feelings and things Dean absolutely doesn’t want to deal with.

But Dean isn’t selfish and also really wants to give his overworked best friend a well deserved holiday, so the only and best solution is to take Cas to Paris, romantic theme be damned. What Dean doesn’t know is that their whole trip will be documented by a photographer from the company - so to avoid their vacation being cut short, Dean and Cas will have to convincingly play a couple.

Once Upon a Falling Star by GrandestBlood @grumpy-mccat (WIP - 3k)

Alternate outcome for season 5's Endverse where Castiel never lost his grace but he was tricked to retreat back to heaven with the other angels, leaving Dean behind in the refugee camp.

Prompt for this was: The world has ended 500 years ago. You finally went back to Earth and discovered a voice message. You learn a shocking secret about 500 years ago.

Sending A Message by ivebeenpossessedbysatan @ivebeenpossessedbysatan (WIP - 15k)

Castiel Novak didn't expect to be kidnapped. Sure, he'd seen it happen before, but that was all in movies. Just because his mother had married into money didn't mean that someone was actually going to kidnap him and try to ransom him for money.

Only apparently it did, because here he was, tied to a chair in the corner of the most cliché warehouse he'd ever seen.

Why was this is life?

so leave me // at the roadside by LinkInThePark @saminzat (3k)

”This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out on his own at all, but he was tired of sitting around in the bunker, where the walls seemed to close in on him and the halls were too empty at the same time. Where everything reminded him of what had happened, of the battles they had fought and the people they had lost.

Of the words left unsaid.”

Dean is taking the Impala on a ride, trying to escape everything that's happened... And, in the process, is finally forced to confront his grief. 15x19 coda.

Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Might Get Me Laid by Mrs King of Hell (Slytherkins) @slytherkins (3k)

When Dean's name calling goes too far, Castiel decides to teach him a lesson in manners.

"Take a Sad Song and Make it Better" by Shishquah_CustardTree @shishquahcustardtree (WIP - 27k)

After being bought and abused by Alistair for many years, Dean Winchester finally gets another chance at life and love by the means of a car crash and a bullet.

The One (1) Time Dean Winchester Tried Something New by archangelgabe @3dg310rdsupreme (2k)

What fun is a relationship that doesn't start with the gross misunderstanding that your crush is hitting on your kid brother?

The one where they get heaven-married by mercurialkitty @mercurialkitty (1.3k)

First a quick chat with Sam in the Impala, then it's off to find Cas.

A finale fix-it where Dean and Cas get heaven-married

There'll Be Peace When You Are Done by diaryofageekgirl @diaryofageekgirl (5k)

Somehow, in the middle of severing vamp necks in the dead of night in a run-down barn in Ohio, Dean had a revelation.

Or: nothing stays dead on Supernatural.

This is heaven by madbrilliant84 @madbrilliant84 (800)

“Come on dude! Don’t tell me you don’t know what your legs look like! I bet you could crush melons with those.”

Cas seemed incredibly amused by this. “And that’s something that turns you on?”

Dean smiled while biting is bottom lip. He slowly nodded. His playful tone dropped to something more heated.

“Uh huh. First thing I noticed when I saw you sitting on that bar stool.”

You're Not Alone by Wordsintothevoid @deancas-stan (15k)

Dean has an imaginary friend. Sure, that's weird as hell but he doesn't care. Cas has been there to support him during every horrible thing in Dean's short miserable life and he is not giving up Cas. Sure, Dean may also sorta kinda be in love with him. Oops. And it hurts but Dean will keep it platonic. But then Cas leaves. And then Dean breaks.

We’ll All Arrive in Heaven Alive by invisibledrugs @reasonsweweresinging (1k)

The Winchesters are finally dying, and for good.

But that's okay, because Dean knows what - and who - is waiting for him.

last but definitely not least, @uncastiel doesn’t have any fics yet but is taking prompts!

#sharklist #destiel #rec list

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