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#no. this week he simply forgets cas exists
remythologise · 3 years
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stanning spn during 15.18-15.19 is like. you’re the unpopular girl at high school and you’ve had a crush on the captain of the football team for ten years, and then one day he asks you out to your senior prom. and he says he loves you, he’s always loved you, you’ve always been important to him but he was too scared to tell you. and then you go to prom together and you get slimed because it was all a big prank and of course you’re just a joke. or like, you know. you’ve been best friends with your same-gender buddy for years. and you think you might be in love with them, but you’re so afraid to tell them. and you tell them, and they say kind words to you, and you think it might be okay, maybe even they might love you back, and then overnight your entire friendship group won’t look at you or speak to you because you’re a queer. or like, as a child you planted a seed in your heart. and all these years you’ve seen it grow and flourish into a beautiful tree, without you even noticing most of the time. maybe it could be the most beautiful tree in the entire world. and then someone just comes in and burns it all to the ground. anyway fuck supernatural
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whenwordsmakesense · 2 years
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For Suptober21, Day 5: Nostalgia
Doing this thing (@winchester-reload​)
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Moodboard by me (@fanfics-fix (Main Blog)).
All pics taken from Pinterest.
Quotes ("Death is eternal, is it not?" & "And yet I live. Because you found me, anchored me, even in Hell.") by me.
Accompanied ficlet also by me. Will also be posted later on AO3. Read on AO3. 
Title: Pain Bleeds Into Hope
Tags: Post Canon, AU - Canon Divergence, Guilty Dean Winchester, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending
Word Count: 957 words
Summary:  Dean wonders about something from his past.
--- READ BELOW ---
It's a little morbid, how they met. Heat and fire and pain, is what comes to mind when Dean thinks about it—that first utterance of his name while he was lost in the screams of his own torture, unable to move in the endless space provided for him. He doesn't even really remember someone saying his name, but Cas says he had called out Dean's name, and Cas can say the sun is blue and he'll believe it.
He'll always believe him. It's been an uphill battle, since the whole crazy Cas thing a few years ago, to be able to come to this moment, but Dean's always been a fighter or so everyone says.
"Dean?" He turns around at the voice; the familiar way Cas says his name, with a gentle care to it like he's still unsure of his grasp on English, with a love that comes crashing, bolting at Dean, always makes him smile, and he does so now. Smiles at Cas as his angel smiles back, tilts his head at the newspaper in Dean's hands. "Sam said there's nothing of note in it,"
"There isn't," he agrees. There's nothing of note on this particular piece of paper, but Dean has latched onto the part where it talks about a birthday bash gone awry—just another shitty day in the world—and it's been a revelation to realize that he hasn't once asked Castiel if he wants one. A birthday. It's not that he can actually have one, but the celebration of a new life entering the world—even if in this case it's about Cas entering the human world, his world—is something Dean wants Cas to have.
He isn't really sure what day that would be, though. And hence the trip down memory lane; it's not easy, to think about then. It brings back memories he'd rather forget, a slew of wrongdoings that itch at him, make his heart pound and limbs sweat with the intensity of his guilt. Pain is a constant in his life, he's accepted it. There would be guilt, too, and there is; he isn't a hero, not when he has cost too many lives over easily dismissed 'mistakes' or 'you did your best', but the guilt of that time is different—it is more in the way that Dean meant to harm them, the others.
It's too much for him, but he's braved worse things just to see another day.
He blinks, focuses on the warmth seeping on the small of his back from Cas' hands, even through the t-shirt he's wearing.
"Cas, do you-do you remember?"
Cas' voice is curious, "I might,"
"When you saved me. Gripped me tight and raised me from perdition and all that jazz,"
There's a silence. Curiosity has turned into confusion, and Dean chuckles at Cas' predictable patterns of human emotions.
He turns, lets the newspaper drop on the table, and looks in those blue eyes that have been his oasis in the chaos of his life for way too long, yet not long enough. Lets his hands rest on Cas' hips, pulls him close, their faces so close that each breath they pull in can be felt on the other's face.
"I was wondering, I don't even know why but. Just humor me." He says when Cas simply raises an eyebrow at him. Dean doesn't wonder about things a lot, and if he does it is rare that he shares them—without prompting at least.
"Always," Cas says solemnly, like it's a promise, and Dean knows that it is.
It makes his heart flutter in ways no middle-aged man's should. But Cas has always made him do things that shouldn't be possible; the fact that he is alive right now is just one of the many examples.
He tells Cas about his thought process—how Cas should have a birthday, how Dean wants to give him one, and how it made him go down the memory lane.
"So, I just, you know. Started thinking how the way we met is kinda morbid, but also really cool. You literally saved me from Hell,"
Cas gives him a quick smile. "Dean, we just went to see Rowena last weekend. In Hell,"
Dean throws his hands up, laughing, and Cas grins. "Who would have thought? Our life is crazy, man,"
They sober up then, and Cas pulls Dean close again, because he'd wound up a bit away in his hysterical excitement over the life he leads.
"The way we met," Cas starts, and Dean moves one of his hands from Cas' hips to his hands, intertwines their fingers together. "That could be seen as morbid, a bad memory, but that's not how I see it."
"Then how do you?" Dean can guess. And he is right.
"Like it's the best day of my existence. Dean, that day, I met you. Granted, the circumstances were not ideal, but it happened and we can't change it. But I like it anyways."
Dean kisses Cas, and when he pulls away, Cas trying to chase his lips, says, "You're such a sap,"
"Is it such a bad thing?"
"Nope, definitely not," Dean says, and he means it.
The whole thing might have been traumatic as- well, hell, but in the end he is here, with Cas in his arms. What more he could he hope for?
Maybe to be together even after death. But when they met because he was dead, that particular wish actually sounds less like a wish and more like any other in the week.
Not to mention the fact that his son is the literal God now.
Yeah. He isn't going to be anywhere but at Cas' side for all of eternity.
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all1e23 · 4 years
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Bad Habit [Pt.1]
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Pairings: Biker!Steve x Reader
Series warnings:  Drug use. Violence. Smut so 18+ please and thank  – No smut this chapter. Sorry to disappoint
A/N:   Part 1! 800 years later. I’m doing my best to get my wips finished by the end of the year so fingers crossed I actually do so. Un-beta’d. So, uh, yeah. Be prepared for that. 
***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam, though! Thanks!****
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Two weeks it’s been since his mystery girl came into his life, and Steve hadn’t seen or heard from her since she bolted out of the clubhouse’s front door before the sun had cleared the trees. At the time, Steve was disappointed. He had plans. There was a burning need for waffles and bacon and syrup covered kisses, the exchange of numbers, or the very least names and a plan for next time. All those wants quickly evaporated along with the dust those tires kicked up during the hasty getaway. In hindsight, it was probably for the best that morning played out as it did. If Bucky had been there to witness a girl running from his room at first light, he would never hear the end of it. Before the day was out, Bucky would have the whole clubhouse believing he ran another girl off. Thankfully, the only person to catch the escape was Sam, and he was doing everything he could to convince Steve to forget about it. Sam told him nothing good came from chasing a girl that didn’t want to be chased, but Steve has this feeling in his gut, this time wasn’t like before. 
Whoever you were, you were different. 
Maybe you had him under some sorta spell, and that was why he couldn't forget you. It would explain a lot. You captivated him from the moment you stepped into the bar, and he still saw stars long after you ran out the front door and out of his life. He never really stood a chance if he was honest with himself; Steve knew he was in trouble from the first glance. Two things were apparent right off the bat, you were going to be a handful, and it would be hard, if not impossible, to earn your love. Still, Steve chased after you like a novice sailor following a siren’s melody. He had no problem admitting he was willing to follow you out to the middle of the ocean only to find himself unable to swim in the dark waters you lived in.
In the past, Steve had a bad habit of falling too fast, loving quick and fierce. You would be his last. He just had a feeling things would go his way this time--if he could find you. 
As much as he wanted to see you again, he didn’t have any idea how to make that happen. He didn’t even know your name and had no idea where to start looking for you. Hell, he didn’t even know if you lived in Brooklyn. For all, he knew this could have been a stop on your way home where you already had someone waiting on you. All he had was the necklace you gave him, and that was a dead-end. It was just a one-night stand. He should toss the chain in a drawer and put that night behind him. Most men like him would. They would move on to the next girl and forget you existed. Steve, though, he’s stubborn (so says Bucky), and it’s a good thing he is because it’s always worked in his favor. 
Steve ran his thumb over the gold pendant resting against his chest and grinned as he watched you move around behind the bar. 
The one place he would have never thought to look. 
"Well, I'll be damned,” Steve whispered to himself, still watching as you talked and laughed with customers. 
Natasha mentioned she hired a new girl he hadn’t met yet a few nights ago, but without knowing his siren’s name, there was no way he could have connected the two. He had no idea that this Y/n was his Y/n. Now that he found you, he only had to get past the high walls you built up around your heart.
Steve parted the worn red leather stools to make room for him to lean against the polished wood, drumming his fingers impatiently along the bar top waiting for you to finish up with the man you were serving at the far end and finally notice him. You gave the stranger in dark brown leather a high squeaky laugh in return for the lousy pick-up line he threw at you. It wasn’t the same laugh, Steve knew. The laughter he memorized was light and airy, your whole body shook when it took hold of you, and it made your eyes sparkle in a way that could steal his breath like nothing else. Steve found that out early in the night when his beard tickled your inner thigh. The memory made him grin. He wanted to hate how fake you sounded right then, but it also meant you let him see a part of you you kept hidden from the rest of the world, and that was enough for hope. 
You turned around and stopped short when you spotted Steve standing there, grinning at you, looking just as pretty as he did the last time you saw him. He trimmed his beard, but it was still thick only cleaned up a bit, and those pretty blond locks tucked behind his ears made him look like a young boy. The tattoos on his forearm peeking out from the rolled-up sleeves and the black leather kutte resting over the snug burgundy Henley reminded you he was no boy. He was trouble, and he was looking to drag you into his mischief. That wasn’t going to happen, no matter how pretty he looked. It took a second for your brain to remind your feet they needed to move. Steve slid around the bar as you made your way towards him. 
"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly, refusing to look up from the IPA bottle you were cracking open. 
"Came to see a friend of mine. His wife owns the place. I have to admit I thought it would be a lot harder to find you." 
Shit. You stopped mid pour and set the glass down, half full of foam. That would need a re-pour. 
No. This wasn't happening. Surely, he didn’t mean… No, no. No. 
"Wait..." You needed to know before you said things you couldn’t take back. "Are you talking about Bucky?" 
Steve tilted his head to the side. Now, that had his curiosity piqued. You could see him processing your question, and you knew exactly what he was thinking: Why did you know that Bucky was Bucky? It was rare that Bucky interfered in Natasha’s business at all. Everyone knew who her husband was and what he was, but it never went beyond James Barnes, Vice President of The Howlers. This sounded like you were… friends? 
You should have kept your mouth shut and walked away the second you saw him. 
"You know, Buck?" 
Buck... Oh, god. 
It suddenly all made so much sense, and you were such an idiot. 
“Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m a decent person, aren't I?” You asked, looking up at the ceiling as if someone from the heavens would answer you. “This is so bad. Why do you have to be you?” 
You groaned and dropped your head to the bar top. Your one night stand was Bucky's best friend. Club president. Your Steve was Steve Rogers. The Howler’s MC President. The man who went on the road for three years and no one knew why, the one who went nomad and only returned home a few weeks ago. This was why you never let tequila make your decisions. You always end up doing something foolish, like charming bikers that will break your heart.
“I think this necklace of yours might be my good luck charm. Led me right to you, firecracker.” 
“Good luck or a curse?” You grumbled against the slick wood top. Steve hummed, clearly amused by the light chuckle that followed. You slowly lifted your head to glare at him, and he simply grinned back.
“Definitely good luck, sweetheart,” Steve assured you with a wink.
You refused to smile, and you certainly weren’t going to be the one that looked away first. You won’t give in to whatever he’s playing at. Steve settled against the wood and stared right back; his bright blue eyes glittered with amusement and something else that made your skin tingle and your inside burn with want. You recognized a young blond man from a night or two spent at Bucky and Natasha’s place strolled by the bar, only slowing down long enough to pat Steve on the back, but Steve didn’t even blink at the distraction. 
Nothing could pull him away from you. 
“Hey, Nomad. You comin’?” 
Nomad? 
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute Clint. I’ve got some business out here first.” 
You could hear Clint cackling as he walked down the long hallway that led to Natasha’s office. You wondered what the club wanted here and how often the club— and Steve— would be hanging around. Natasha said there wasn’t any overlap between the two. There was a moment of uncertainty and fear when she first offered you the job. You didn’t know if you could work for her if her business was mixed up in club business. That was until she assured you the club didn’t interfere in her affairs. That put some of your worries at ease, not all but enough to give you the courage to accept the job. Your last run-in with an MC was why you ended up south Brooklyn begging Natasha for a place to stay and a position. That was how you ended up working at Red Star and sharing a pathetically tiny apartment with your new friend Wanda. 
There was no one else, no other friends to run to if things go south again. This was the only second chance you were getting, and you couldn’t blow it on someone like Steve Rogers. 
“Thought your name was Steve?” 
Steve grinned.
“That’s my given name. These idiots call me Nomad when they aren’t calling me Prez or Cap. Stevie on occasion. Everyone’s got a nickname ‘round here.”
You’ve heard plenty about their nicknames and all the things they’ve done to get them. 
“I think I prefer Charming,” you mumbled, walking down a few stools to finally hand over a fresh, less foamy IPA to the grump at the far end of the bar.
Every time you moved, Steve followed you, dodging the bodies sitting and standing, and there were several times you had to tell your heart to shut up and keep the flutters to herself. It was becoming increasingly evident that Steve wasn’t going to give up easily. Seeing as how he would probably be around often, you needed to put an end to whatever storybook ending he was building up in his head. 
"You can call me whatever you want." 
You rolled your eyes and slipped the neck of two bottles between your fingers on each hand. 
“Can I have your name now?” 
“No.” 
Steve laughed. He just laughed as if there was something funny about what you had said. He didn’t seem annoyed or upset by your callus tone. If anything, he enjoyed it. Once your hands were free, he reached for you and circled his long fingers around your wrist, loose enough you could easily slip free if you wanted to, but you made no move to lose his touch. You didn’t want to draw any more attention towards the two of you than you had already. That was absolutely the only reason you were letting him touch you. It had nothing to do with how much you liked the feel of his warm, calloused hands on your skin.
“I could keep calling you my firecracker.” 
“I’m not your anything,” you were quick to correct him. 
“No, you're not,” Steve said with a grin. “We haven't even gone on a date yet.”
Yet! As if there is a chance it would be happening. He was sadly mistaken if he thought there was going to be another page to your story. You raised a brow, and Steve hung his head in defeat, but the smile on his face hadn’t changed when he finally looked back up. Something about this man made you want to hide in the safety of his arms and stop running long enough to see if fairy-tales were real.
That was why things between you would never work. 
“Why won’t you give me a chance, hm?” 
Because you're just like all the rest, pretty and dangerous, the harsh voice in your head screamed. It was probably better he didn’t know you thought he was pretty. He seemed like the type to focus on the compliment and ignore the rest.
“Mmm, I’ve played with bikers before. The ride is dangerous, dirty, and short-lived. The risk is never worth the reward.” 
That made Steve frown for the first time since he walked into the bar and your heart-clenched at the look of concern on his face. For a second, you thought about taking it back. Telling him he could be different and maybe he was a good guy with a half-decent heart—even if you didn’t believe it. 
“Sounds Like you're playing with the wrong bikers. My rewards are always well worth the ride, babydoll." 
On second thought, with lines like that, maybe you were right from the start. You weren’t about to fall for the same overplayed words he’s used on every other girl to catch his eye. It would take a lot more than a cheap shot to get you back in his bed. You leaned forward, ghosting your lips over his and slowly pulled back, grinning when he chased after you. You were starting to like this game, and that was begging for more trouble than your heart could handle. 
“All you bikers are the same,” you whispered, leaning across the bar practically nose to nose. “Sweet talk to get into a girl's panties, and then you’re over it. You all claim it’s love at first sight, but it never is. It’s about the chase, the high. It’s never about the girl.” 
Steve sighed. It didn’t sound annoyed, genuinely unsettled by your words, but he wasn’t irritated. More importantly, he wasn’t aggravated with you, but you were sure he felt sorry for you, which bothered you more.  When you dropped your gaze, he gently nudged your chin up with his knuckle until you willingly looked up to meet his eyes.“One problem with your theory, firecracker. I’ve already been in those pretty panties of yours, and I’m still chasing you. Did you ever think that maybe I’m not playing with you? That I actually like you?”  
The knot wedged in your throat made it impossible to answer. So you shrugged instead and let your silence speak for itself; no, you didn’t think that, and you didn’t trust him. None of what he said proved anything. It didn’t mean he was different. It just meant his rules were. The high would end once he won your heart, and you would be tossed to the side while he moved onto a newer, prettier skirt. 
Steve would get bored once he finally earned your heart and your trust, and that made him worse than the others. You would know. You pulled your chin away from his hand but stayed close enough to feel the heat from his hand.
"Go to dinner with me." 
"Steve--" 
"Y/n," Steve sighed playfully, grinning at the shock on your face. He knew your name, but he still asked for it? He shrugged, reading the question that was burning in your eyes. Natasha. She must have mentioned the new girl she hired, and Steve was smart enough to put two and two together. You weren’t sure you liked him knowing your name. He was that much closer to knowing all your secrets, and you couldn’t let that happen. 
"Go. To. Dinner. With me. Please." 
You hated how adorable he looked begging and pleading for only a few hours of your time. He was so cute, and you nearly gave in. Your head overruled your heart and reminded you exactly why you weren’t dating men like him. It only led to heartbreak, and you would very much like to avoid spending your nights crying over another beautiful biker who rode off with your heart. 
"I told you, I don't want anything serious. I’m not looking for more than what we had." 
"It doesn't have to be more than dinner, and I swear if you really don’t want to go on a date with this will be the last time I ask you. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, but I am dying to get you back on my bike. Next Saturday night, if you’re up for it. You can even pick the place if you want to. I promise it will be dinner only. No strings." 
"No strings?" you questioned, eyeing him for any signs of deceit as you did. There was none. Just an excitable puppy staring back at you, ready to give you whatever you wanted if you’d let him.
"Yeah, why not? We can be friends with benefits or whatever the kids call it nowadays." 
"Are we friends?" 
"We are if you say yes, darling." 
You could feel yourself giving in, and you already hated yourself for it because Steve was grinning victoriously, eyes bright, and pleading with you to say yes. You held up one finger ready with your conditions, and Steve quickly grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to the back, lost in the excitement of what he already knew was about to leave your lips. 
“One dinner, and I’m not promising any benefits.”
Steve lowered your hand and tilted his chin an inch, so his lips were brushing yours when he whispered, “Good. I prefer to earn every one of those sweet whimpers.” 
Someone behind you cleared their throat, and you quickly yanked your arm back, bumping into the wall of bottles behind you, causing the glass to rattle against each other. Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth between you, and it didn’t take long for him to put it together. A slow grin stretched on Bucky’s face, quickly turning smug. He knew about your one-night stand, not in any detail but that you liked your mystery man far more than you should, and you assumed Steve shared his thoughts on that evening.  You narrowed your eyes at the brunet when he opened his mouth, and it quickly snapped shut—grabbing the empty crates at your feet needing something, anything to use as an excuse to get as far away from both of them as you could. The fridge in the basement was the furthest you could get at the moment, and that was precisely where you were headed. 
“Don’t even say it,” you hissed as you pushed past Bucky. 
Bucky watched as Steve’s eyes followed you until you were out of sight, disappearing down the stairs behind the bar. He looked drunk, maybe a little high, and definitely a little lovesick. 
“Gettin’ into trouble again, Stevie?”
“You could say that, Buck,” Steve sighed helplessly. “I’m getting into something. Not sure what just yet.” 
Prologue // next  
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cockleshq · 3 years
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Cockles HQ Weekly #3: FanFic recommendations pt 3
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For privacy reasons, the names of our members are left out. The answers are based on personal opinions. We do not ask our members or the people who read this to agree or disagree. Take from it what you find useful or enjoy. Please be respectful of opinions given.
For this second edition of ‘The Weekly’ we asked our members the following:
Could you share links to your favourite Destiel/ Cockles fan fics? (max 3) And shortly explain why these are worth reading?
Okay so, since it was hard to stick with just three, the lists became longer and longer, hence the need to divide it into multiple posts.
Here is part 1 (cockles fanfics)
Here is part 2 (destiel fanfics)
Read the recs below the break.
(Fics are in no particular order. Please always read the author’s tags before reading)
DESTIEL
For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention - by thursdaysfallenangel
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 143,591
Summary: Dean Winchester knows two things about hockey, two things his dad made sure he knew. One, hockey is a guy’s sport, and two, hockey is family. Hockey meant Sam and Bobby and Benny and Victor and Gabriel and hell, his entire team. So when Victor gets traded, Russian-star-turned-new-teammate Castiel Krushnic becomes a threat. As much as Dean hates him for that, the longer he sticks around, the more he begins to threaten that first rule too. Dean’s been taught his whole life that those who play hockey should not be captivated by deep accented voices and the way a guy handles his stick, so how the hell is he supposed to justify what he’s starting to think about Cas? All Dean wanted at the beginning of the season was to win, and now all he wants to do is figure out how he feels about Cas and how to deal with it without ruining his career and tearing his family apart.
Series
· Part 1 of Pay Attention Universe
The State of You - by TrenchcoatBaby
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 101,618
Summary: Castiel Novak is a New York based, no-nonsense book editor avoiding his southern roots. Dean Winchester is a born-and-raised farmer and budding novelist with a terrible case of writer’s block. When Dean finally admits that he needs help, Castiel is given a plane ticket and a mission: help Dean meet his deadline—by any means necessary.
But what happens when Dean and Castiel are immediately enemies...and immediately attracted to each other? Will they come together and learn from one another? Or will adversity and circumstance keep them apart?
The Curious Case of Cuthbert Sinclair - by EllenOfOz, MalMuses
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 73,120
Summary: The murder, the mystery, the case… Dean Winchester, agent of the Men of Letters, lives for it. But when his colleague Cuthbert Sinclair goes missing while investigating a string of deaths, Bobby assigns the case to Dean, as well as assigning him a new partner. Much to Dean's irritation, he'll have to carry the dead weight of an inexperienced, probably over-pampered and arrogant lordling.
But Castiel defies his every expectation.
Recently returned from war, Lord Castiel Milton is haunted by demons of his own. Together, he and Dean could be everything that each has longed for...and that society won't let them have.
But people are dying all over London, and what Cuthbert Sinclair saw is just the beginning.
Angel's Wild - by LimonadeGaby (orphan_account),riseofthefallenone
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 389,271
Summary: But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.
Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?
That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.
When Cas Was There - michaelfalls
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major character death
Words: 45,393
Summary: [9:01 AM] Dean Winchester: cas will you marry me
[9:02 AM] Castiel Novak: No.
Anonymous: it starts light and funny. it ends.. in sorrow
Smoke and Burn - by allmystars
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Words: 184,490
Summary: “They say you’re lucky if you find a love that lasts a lifetime. I’ll be lucky if I find it at all. True love doesn’t exist. Not in my experience.” - Dean Winchester
“They say bad times never last. There’s always a calm after the storm, but I’ve yet to reach the calm. I’m starting to think it got lost on the way.” - Castiel Novak
Then...
Everything you thought you knew for certain...changes.
Cas is back in Lawrence after years of absence, stirring up memories in Dean that had been long ago stolen by a disastrous accident. Dean doesn’t remember anything about Cas, but Cas will never forget what happened; what Dean did to him, and he hates him for it.
But when Dean starts to remember, he starts falling apart, and Cas can’t help but see the man through his perception of him. The man he forced himself to forget. The man he loved.
Can their love break through the boundaries of time and tragedy? Or will their demons swallow them alive?
Will the friction light a spark? Or will it smoke out?
Maybe it’ll all go up in flames.
Series
· Part 1 of Smoke and Burn
Anonymous: Heavy angst, be warned!
Lovers in the Dark - by jhoom
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 42,364
Summary: Prince Dean is the most beautiful omega anyone’s laid eyes on. Flowers bloom for the chance to see him, animals climb into his room simply to be in his presence, and not a person in the kingdom can say enough for his beauty. He is universally praised for his lovely green eyes, his freckles, his plush lips and the subtly strong lines of his cheekbones. His family hopes to use that to find a good match and secure an alliance for their kingdom.
The gods have other plans.
Naomi, goddess of beauty, hears more and more tales of the young omega’s beauty and she hates him for it. The fact that mortals and nature alike would hold anyone’s beauty above her own is intolerable. So she sends her son Castiel, god of love, to infect Dean with an undying love for a monstrous person as punishment for his hubris.
Fate has plans of its own…
[A retelling of the Classical myth “Cupid and Psyche.” Castiel is cast as Cupid, Dean as Psyche, and Naomi as Venus.]
The Upsidedown Sky - Amazonia_8
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings:
Words: 30,081
Summary: Despite having every resource the government could throw at them, within the vast wealth of lore protected and researched by the Federal Bureau of Letters and Arcanae, there were only five obscurely written entries on angels. And the number of actual angels ever encountered by humans? One, and that guy was a dick. So when intel indicates a genuine, living angel has been captured, with dire consequences to the universal balance, the FBLA send their best agents undercover to a clandestine freak show, where black market monsters are brought in for the enjoyment of those with the means to afford it. The mission is one they've done a thousand times: extract the entity and bring it in.
And Agent Dean Winchester's seen it all, but he's never seen anything like Castiel.
Anonymous: All of Amazonia_8 fics are worth reading!
Under the Nothing Sky - by MalMuses
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: graphic depictions of violence
Words: 78,544
Summary: Welcome to the Glass City.
Its citizens live perfect, orderly lives. Controlled by the barcodes upon their arms, they are quietly assigned jobs, spouses, accommodations… whole lives. Some families rank above others, but that is just the way it is. The way the Council demands it to be.
Lieutenant Colonel Castiel Novak is the shining star of the Glass City’s Academy, mere weeks away from graduating and being titled Commander of his own ship, his own crew.
Castiel is very good at obeying.
Until he meets a man with green eyes, a cocky smile, and no barcode.
Don't - by tricia_16
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words: 97950
Summary: After nine days of radio silence from both Jack and Cas, Cas returns to the bunker without Jack—with black fur, four paws, a tail, and an obvious preference for Dean's company. With no idea how to turn Cas back or how he got turned into a cat in the first place, Dean has to learn to live with Cas quite literally underfoot all the damn time. Nobody could have guessed that having his best friend in cat form would end up being the catalyst for a huge shift in their relationship, but looking back, he's pretty sure it all started with an annoyingly stubborn ball of fur...
Stay With Me, Sweetheart - by MandalaRose
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words:142,926
Summary: “Alright Cas, here comes the hard part. We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass. I’ll be right here though. I’m not going anywhere.”
As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.”
A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle. Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV.
When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident. Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship.
Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there?
Series
Part 1 of Stay With Me
Stay With Me, Sweetheart - by MandalaRose
Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: -
Words:142,926
Summary: “Alright Cas, here comes the hard part. We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass. I’ll be right here though. I’m not going anywhere.”
As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.”
A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle. Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV.
When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident. Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship.
Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there?
Series
Part 1 of Stay With Me
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tearsofgrace · 4 years
Text
Thrown Back In Time
Dean started as if from a dream, and the walls of the barn came into focus all around him. Sigils painted everywhere, and the metallic smell of paint still clinging to the air. He ran a hand slowly through his hair, trying to process what had happened. One minute, he’d been in the bunker, researching ways to take down Chuck, and the next he was here. He knew exactly where he was, he wouldn’t soon forget this place. But why? And how? And most importantly--
“You alright, boy?” He turned his head and saw Bobby standing in the corner, touching up one of the symbols on the wall.
“Yeah, just, uh--”
“Dean, we’re going to figure this out. Whatever evil son of a bitch did this to you, he’s gonna die.”
Dean nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The only way this could have happened was Chuck. Chuck messing with his little toys again, playing his stupid game. And the one thing they knew for sure about Chuck was that he wanted his happy ending. He wanted the boys to play their part, to play along. So, if he was getting out of this, then he had to play along. 
Bobby did the ritual and they waited. Dean remembered saying something, mouthing off to Bobby last time, the first time. But there was no need. He knew he did the ritual right. He knew the angel of Thursday was coming. 
The barn overhead started shaking and he glanced at Bobby to make sure he was alright. This place, this moment, he thought about it more than he cared to admit. The first time he was here, he was so lost. Scared, confused, alone. But not willing to admit any of it. He didn’t want to be like that Dean. The Dean that locked up his emotions and pushed away his family. Was that what Chuck was trying to show him? How weak he’d become?
Sparks flew as the lights exploded and the barn doors were flung open to reveal Castiel. But not his Castiel. He struggled to focus on that thought. This Castiel was a soldier. An angel who followed orders and would slaughter him without a second thought. This Castiel did not care about Dean. 
As the angel walked toward them, he saw Bobby raise his shotgun, and he hurried to do the same, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything. Appearances had to be maintained. 
Bobby cast a nervous look at Dean when Castiel kept walking, unbothered by the storm of lead. Dean set his shotgun aside and picked up the demon knife.
“Who are you?” he asked, even though he knew. He knew better than anyone else.
“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Dean had to fight to keep the smile off his face. Cas had been such a tightass. 
“Yeah, well, thanks for that.” He lunged forward and plunged the knife into Castiel’s chest. And it hurt. Even though he knew it would do nothing, he still stabbed his best friend.
And maybe it was the shock that broke the dam repressing his feeling, but the next words out of his mouth were not him playing a part. 
“Damn, that’s still hot.” The angel peered at him and tilted his head, and Dean knew he had screwed up whatever plan Chuck had. But there was something too familiar in the tilt of his head, something soft in his eyes that Dean was just seeing. None of that had been there before they met, before they developed their “profound bond” or whatever you want to call it.
“Dean?”
“Cas?”
“Why-- how are you--” Cas trailed off, and then looked at Dean with an accusing glare.
“You stabbed me!” 
“Uh, yeah, sorry about that.”
“Why did you stab me if you’re you you?”
“What was I supposed to do? I thought we were supposed to play our parts or whatever. Why did you do the whole thunder and lightning show?” Cas rolled his eyes but let his lips fall into a smile. 
“Dean, what the hell is going on? Do you know him?” Bobby was standing there, shotgun still fixed on Castiel’s chest, staring at Dean in bewilderment. 
“That’s a long story, um, he’s, uh, an ex?” 
He ignored Cas’ pointed stare, along with the muttered, “I’m gonna send your ass back to hell,” that went with it. 
Before Bobby could respond, Cas reached his arm out and put two fingers on his forehead, sending him straight to sleep.
“An ex?”
“Whatever, Cas, I was scrambling.”
They looked at each other and shrugged, and Dean couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting to Cas’ hair. It was as messy and beautiful as it had been the first time they met. 
“So, we’re back,” Cas said, trying to meet Dean’s eyes unsuccessfully. 
“Yeah, what do you want to change?”
“Change?”
“Chuck must have some reason for sending us back here, right? Maybe we’re supposed to change something.”
“Oh, right.”
“So, let’s go find him. Kick his ass.” Cas rolled his eyes fondly. 
“Yes, because I’m sure he didn’t predict we would do that. He sent us back Dean, he’s off limits. Why don’t we go take care of Ruby?”
“Ruby? Oh, shit, Ruby. Yeah, okay.”
They walked together out of the barn, leaving Bobby lying there (Dean had protested but Cas insisted he would be sleeping for over a week, and besides, he had placed protection over the barn and it was covered with enough sigils to protect New York City) and made their way to the Impala. 
“Hi, Baby, you miss me?” Dean said, happily running his hand over her hood. 
“Dean, you drove her yesterday.”
“Right.”
They drove together in silence, neither one quite sure what to say in such a situation. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. They always found solace in one another’s company. 
They reached the motel Sam had been staying at (thank Chuck Cas had a vice-like memory, Dean would never have remembered) and stood outside his room. 
“What are we even gonna say?” Cas tilted his head, considering for a moment. 
“It’s Ruby we’re after. We don’t need to say anything to Sam.” Dean nodded before knocking twice on the door. But instead of his oversized, incredibly dumb baby brother, he was greated by a short man with a scruffy beard. An impossibly infuriating man, who wasn’t actually a man at all. 
“Hey guys! Cas, looking great. Dean, good to see you. Come on in!”
“Chuck,” Dean growled, going for his gun. 
“Nope, none of that, Dean,” Chuck said, and with a wave of his hand sent the gun flying away. With another wave of a hand, Dean and Cas were sitting in chairs opposite each other, both unable to move. 
“What the hell is this?” Dean said. Cas just sat there, silently glaring daggers at the father he had once placed so much faith in. 
“The best part of my story.” 
“What?” Dean’s confusion was mounting by the second. Chuck had never made sense, but even for him, this was a little out there.
“It was never supposed to happen, actually. My design was always about the brothers. Sam and Dean, saving the world. I mean Cas was going to be part of it. But not like this.”
“Cut the bullshit.” Dean looked at Cas appraisingly. Never thought he’d hear those words out of his guardian angel’s mouth. 
“Aw, Cas, you shock me. You and Dean. It was never supposed to happen. But I don’t control my characters feelings, not entirely anyway. But now that it has happened, it could be the perfect addition. The epic love story that keeps you on the edge of your seat. But you two are the most stubborn characters I’ve ever worked with and if I didn’t intervene you would keep swallowing your feelings until even I ceased to exist.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean tried to keep his voice steady but his ears were tinged pink. Of course Chuck knew he had fallen for Cas. He was God. But Cas didn’t know, and now their friendship was going to come crumbling down. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, desperate to not look at the angel he had fallen for. Desperate to avoid the disgust he knew would be on his face. 
“So, I brought you back here,” Chuck went on, ignoring the interruption. “Where it all started. Hoping that would spark a conversation. And you decide to go after the demon chick? She barely mattered to the story anyway! But, I have you here now, so, who wants to go first?”
Cas didn’t speak, and Dean was determined to keep his mouth shut too. His gaze was still fixed on the floor, and he was sure his entire face was bright red by now. 
“Castiel, why don’t you go first?” Chuck snapped his fingers. “Don’t worry, just a little truth spell to help you along. Castiel, are you in love with Dean?”
It was a whisper, spoken in shame. So low Dean could barely hear it, but he did. And it set his heart pounding. “Yes.”
Chuck laughed. A cruel, condescending, laugh. “And Dean, are you in love with Cas?”
He could feel the words being torn from his throat. He struggled to keep his voice low, but it came out as a shout. “Yes.”
“Good. Now that we have that taken care of, you can go back to trying to defeat me. You can’t win, Dean Winchester. You see, I always get my way. The perfect story. Even when you think you can win, can develop something like this that I never saw coming. I control it all in the end.”
They were whisked back to the bunker, Dean’s head still spinning. It finally hit him that Cas had said yes. He had said he was in love with Dean. But it must have been Chuck, forcing a lie out of him. 
They both awoke, sitting at the table. Sam was gone, and Jack was too. Dean made eye contact with Cas for the first time since they’d run into Chuck. He felt like he was in a lightning storm, peering into that blue, but he also felt safe. It was so clear, so bright. He couldn’t stop the blood rushing to his cheeks. 
“Dean. Did you mean it?” The angel’s voice was hurt and timid, and Dean finally let his mind open to the possibility that this wasn’t one of Chuck’s schemes. 
“Yes,” he said simply, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest.
And then Cas was standing, pulling him up into an embrace. Their arms stayed wrapped firmly around each other as their lips pressed together. The world spun and happiness filled Dean’s whole soul. His hands lifted to Cas’ cheeks and he gently cupped the angel’s face.
“I love you Castiel,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. 
“I love you too.”
Inspired by this post (x)
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supertransural · 3 years
Text
thinking about dean cas and baby jack going on a road trip. dean’s used to being in the impala for long lapses of time, but it’s usually stressful, it’s tiring, it’s always in the expectancy of another job, another monster to be defeated. it’s always going from point A where a killer was killed to point B where another one awaits. it’s always about the job.
so this time, concentrating on the road as dusk was slowly creeping up on them, with cas dozing off beside him or maybe thinking hard about... something (this was cas after all, how was dean supposed to know what went on in his (his!! he still couldn’t believe that) angel’s head), squinting as always, his eyes almost shut; with 4yo jack in the backseat, drooling all over the fine black leather (if this wasn’t his kid, dean would’ve stopped the car already and thrown the child out just for this punishable-by-death-atrocity) and dreaming about a future dean gets to be a part of (goddammit how did he get so lucky), he was surprised when he didn’t feel the much-too-common tension in his shoulders. he felt... relaxed, yes that’s the word. it’s a word he was beginning to understand, a word that cas was teaching him how to feel.
a small smile cracked its way through dean’s face as he turned his attention back to the road. they were on their way to Louisiana, not set on a town yet. he may have been retired, but dean hadn’t lost his taste for adventure, so he had convinced his little family to just, wing it. he wondered if he should switch routes and see where the new one lead him, but that might upset cas who was really excited about eating the good food he’d heard his husband talk so much about. louisiana it is, then, he thought.
in the corner of his eye, he could see cas breathing deeply, no doubt already mapping out every possible resting spot for tonight, every corner store that sold kids food, maybe emergency stuff (cas could get a bit overwhelming when he listed off every single potential thing that may go terribly wrong with jack when they leave the safety of their house) or diners that cas deemed appropriate enough for their special kid. because he really was special, every smile, every laugh, every new drawing or string of words he puts together seemingly just so he can see his dads smile, every single thing this baby does is special. unique. and dean gets to see all those things, he gets to be there for everyone of them. jesus he’s getting emotional, should stop that now or cas will be teasing him about it for the rest of the trip. ok, deep breaths now, he thought. the road, the wheel in his hands, baby’s engine humming quietly. right. got it.
they packed frantically two days prior, because cas. jack was giggling the whole way through, observing them from his stool, since apparently dean looked really funny with peach fuzz he hadn’t had the time to shave yet (cas woke him up in a panic at 6am dammit) pink pajama shorts, his boots and a unicorn tshirt he only wore in cas’ presence (sam is a lovey kid, but hell if dean is ever going to let him see the collection of tshirts this one comes from). 4 suitcases, a couple inflatable duck-floaties, way too many towels, every single one of jack’s stuffed animals (except the little purple dinosaur one that jack was firmly holding onto during his inspection of his parents’ packing ordeal) and a thousand other useless things cas seemed to find essential to their survival.
“jesus, it’s only a couple weeks, honey!” dean had told him, trying to fit the last suitcase into the trunk of the impala (and miserably failing, to his own bitter disappointment).
“yes, a “couple weeks” within which we will apparently be doing things and going places we cannot foresee, as was your wish. i simply want to be prepared for any alternative your resourceful mind might come up with. and jack requires all his stuffies, he cannot sleep without counting each one of them before bed. you do not wish to see your child cry for two weeks, do you? you would not purposely cause him any pain, would you? right then the matter is settled. these items must find their way into this car you love so much, and i must attend to our son. his breakfast awaits!” cas had responded, mischievous smile growing larger with each sentence. “good luck!” he then added, giving dean a long and deep kiss, as if this was to be their last.
after a kiss like that, how was dean supposed to keep on complaining? he wasn’t, and that was exactly what cas intended, dean knew that. doesn’t mean he protested, or argued against his miraculous-bitch of a husband. so he had finished packing, muttering to himself, but unable to push down the grin that cas’ kiss had brought upon his face. or the flush of his cheeks for that matter.
here he was, happy as he’d ever been, relaxed for the first time ever while being on a long drive (first of many times, he hoped), with the love of his life on his right side, and the other light of his existence in the backseat, little hands still clutching the purple dinosaur.
“hey.” he heard a raspy and sleepy voice say. cas had indeed been asleep for the past 30 minutes.
“good morning, sleepyhead!” answered dean, chuckling.
he looked at cas’ beautifully hazy face, his icy blue eyes shining in the pink-orange light of the fading sun. god, how could this man be his, and how could dean ever refuse him anything. he reached out his right hand to place it on cas’ left thigh, stroking it lovingly in round patterns with his thumb. smiling at him, he wondered if giving him a quick kiss would cause his husband to start lecturing him again (for the thousandth time probably) about driving safely when jack was in the car.
fuck it, he thought. he glanced at the empty road, and lunged quickly towards cas before the former angel could refuse, and placed his lips on his for a few seconds. grinning to himself as he sat back, directing his gaze back to the highway, he waited for cas’ annoyed voice, no doubt already preparing a stern talking-to and threatening him to rat him out to the police to get his license taken away (not that it would matter, dean still had all his fake ID’s in a secret box back home, carefully tucked between baby clothes and pacifiers at the bottom of a drawer).
“dean.” cas started, a frown already carved into his forehead.
“oh no you don’t” dean cut him off. “if you lecture me, jack’s gonna feel it and he’ll wake up from what seems to be a very pleasant dream. save it for the hotel room, i know a few ways you can make me feel the weight of my wrongdoing.” he added with a wink.
cas turned to look at his son, still happily asleep in the back. frown disappearing, a sweet smile starting to lighten his expression (wow, he really could just look that magnificent whenever he felt like it) he turned back to face his partner.
“fine. just because he’s asleep. where are we?” cas said, squinting disapprovingly, then yawning silently.
“just passed the northern border of arkensas.” answered dean with a sigh. “gonna be a pretty boring drive from here on out”.
“i see. there’s a motel not far from here, with a town nearby where we could find sustenance, appropriate for jack too.” cas said, not even looking at his phone: he’d memorized each town’s location, every name of every motel, roadhouse, diner that they might encounter, because he was like that. and god did dean love him for it. “it’s getting a bit late, and i would rather see jack in a bed tonight than sleeping in the car” he remarked. “no offense to her” he added hurriedly when he felt dean’s glare after what could be interpreted as an insult to his baby.
“alright. when’s the exit for this town of yours?” dean asked absentmindedly.
“15 more miles, i believe.” cas answered, propping up an elbow on the windowsill.
“cool. tell me when you see it, i might forget, with you looking so handsome right next to me and all. tired father really is a good look on you.” dean whispered with a side smile.
“oh stop it. jack is right there.” cas answered, chuckling and fiddling with his wedding ring.
they stared at each other, peace settling comfortably between them.
“you know i love you, right?” said dean, without a hint of humor in his voice.
“yes, you’ve taken the habit of telling me, roughly 28 times a day, give or take.” joked cas as he saw dean scowl. “i love you too, now and forever, when the seas rise and swallow the land, when the heavens fall and the stars burn out, i will still love you, the only light that ever mattered, the first soul i ever really saw, the one i followed to hell and back. but you already knew that, right?” cas uttered with warmth, with the same voice he’d used at their wedding.
“jesus, cas. if you’re not careful, i might just end up falling for you. oh wait, i already did.” answered dean, face reddened and heart full. this is where he belonged.
dean’s hand was still on cas’ thigh, and their gazes were still locked together when jack woke from his sleep in an adorable mumble. he immediately started babbling to his fathers about the dream he had had (probably making up new details, but you could never know with that kid). as the family laughed together, dean looked to his window, and time stilled for a split second.
he saw a ghost of who he was, staring back at him in his reflection, eyes glossy with tears (joy? terror? sadness? love? hate? too hard to tell). the face in the makeshift mirror seemed to ask “is this really what is coming? will i truly get to where you are one day?”. dean smiled, nodding a silent “yes, yes you will. in time.” and the face faded away slowly, a little less scared than it had seemed at first.
when he looked back towards his husband and his son, his own eyes were glossy too.
“what’s wrong?” cas asked, worried.
“nothing, i’m just happy.” dean answered, wiping away a tear that was slipping down his cheek with a sure smile. “i’m just... happy.”
they drove until cas pointed at the exit, ate, and fell asleep contentedly.
18 years ago, dean dozed off without the need for strong booze in the very same motel, and the same tear (joy, maybe?) danced down his face into the pillow. a low hum of a voice saying “in time” ringing brightly in his mind, he fell asleep into the deepest slumber he’d ever gotten. “all will be well”, a voice kept repeating.
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shimmershae · 4 years
Text
Honestly.  They could do a whole episode next season and have it centered on what a typical rainy day at the Dixon/Grimes house looks like, never even really having the characters go outside, and I would slurp it up like melting ice cream.
Like, the episode opens with Dog whining and doing the little potty dance beside Lydia’s bed and he keeps snuffling the hand she’s got hanging off the mattress, her pillow covering her head (because Daryl and Carol kept her up all hours of the night--Carol’s room right above hers--trying to be quiet and failing because the damn springs of Carol’s bed kept groaning or maybe it was Ca...lalalalalalalalala), but she’s not having it.  She’s in an understandably grumpy mood herself so she whines and flops over in the bed, mumbling an apology that Dog doesn’t properly appreciate.  For reasons.  So of course he whines again and Lydia didn’t get that Dirt Daughter distinction simply by existing.  She earned it by being a fellow beautifully broken mess, the sweet one in her natural born family, and she whines right back at Dog but she throws the pillow off of her head and the covers back and pads after him in her sock feet as he scurries out the door.  
Only after she’s downstairs, after she’s let Dog out to do his business, does Lydia realize it’s raining.  
It’s soft and gentle and lazy, just like the gray day that’s barely gotten started outside.  It looks like not a soul is stirring.  It’s peaceful and for once, nobody has watch or lessons or anything of the sort.  Somebody’s on watch at the gate(s) sure, but it’s been quiet since the last of the Whisperers were defeated.  Vigilance is still practiced but it’s a relaxed sort of vigilance so curling up with a book doesn’t seem quite so frivolous.  So she lets Dog back in and does just that, picking up the book RJ had begged for Daryl to read to him just last night.  And the night before that and the night before that.  She doesn’t think anybody will mind her skipping ahead a few pages.  Besides.  Nobody else should be up for hours, considering the activities enjoyed in the middle of the night. 
Well, a few pages turns into at least a chapter or two, and she still has her nose buried in the book when she hears the stairs creak.  Dog’s ears perk up but he doesn’t even move from where he’s blanketing her feet.  He just stretches and settles back down with a canine version of a sigh, and that’s when Daryl stops trying to sneak back downstairs to the room he hasn’t slept in for a good few months and grunts an acknowledgment of sorts.  
Awkwardly combing his fingers through the scruff on his chin, he nods at the book in Lydia’s hands--Tom Sawyer.  “S’pretty good book.”  
Lydia shrugs.  “I like it alright.”  Daryl can’t seem to meet her eyes, which she’d notice if she could actually manage to meet his, but she doesn’t.  She does, however, dog ear the page she’s on and sits up to make room for him on the sofa.  Dog protests at the action but lazily rolls over to present his belly for affection when Daryl joins them.  
“Up awful early.”  
“Couldn’t sleep.”  
“About that...”  Daryl can’t muster any more words.  He’s too busy chewing his thumbnail, his cheeks aflame.  
Lydia’s not much better and RJ stumbling down the stairs, fists rubbing sleepily at his eyes, is a welcome distraction for them both.  
“Uncle Daryl.  I’m hungry.”  
Daryl huffs in mock surprise and an honest to goodness grin softens his stoic features.  “Your little ass is always hungry.  How ‘bout you?” he finally looks Lydia in the eye.  “You hungry?”  
Lydia’s stomach growls in answer for her and a shy smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.  “I could eat.”  
Before long, Daryl’s cooking up the last of the fresh eggs and Lydia’s slicing up a tomato.  RJ’s pouting at the drooping sprig of flowers he’d gifted Carol with earlier in the week before the sun packed up and went on a bit of a vacation.  Judith’s joined them and she’s setting the table, humming a few nonsense notes beneath her breath.  They all stop what they’re doing when they hear a familiar voice.  
“What’s this?”  
“We’re making you breakfast, Aunt Carol,” Judith pipes up.  
RJ trudges across the room, still a little sleepy, and glues himself to Carol’s side.  “Your old flower’s sad and I wanted to get you a new happy one.  But Uncle Daryl says I can’t because it’s raining.”  
“I see that.”   
The rain is no longer a slow pitter-patter.  It’s steady, falling in silver sheets outside the windows, and unprompted, Lydia finds and lights a few candles while Daryl dishes up the food for Judith to carry to the table.  RJ breaks away from Carol’s side to help his sister and Carol briefly catches Daryl’s eyes across the room and smiles.  
“Ain’t much of a cook,” he eventually says.  “Best dig in while it’s hot.”  
After, they feed Dog what little bit is left over, leave the dishes to soak, and retreat to the living room with their bellies full.  
RJ is quick to fall back asleep, draped across Dog like the best kind of blanket,  and Carol finds herself wishing for a camera to capture the sweet moment for Michonne.  Judith’s busy scribbling something in the journal that never seems to be far from her reach these days, no doubt doing a little chronicling of her own, and Lydia?  Well, the girl is engaged in a little hushed conversation with Daryl and smiles shyly at Carol whenever their eyes happen to meet.
They while the rainy day away in that room, gathered together.  They play board games and Judith reads to them from her book of stories and from those stories grow other stories about people long gone, people long missed.  
Carol weaves tales about Lori for Judith’s eager ears while she combs her fingers through the little girl’s long brown hair and plaits the silky strands into a French braid.  She and Daryl both tell RJ about the brother he never got to meet and how he had a knack for disappearing.  They caution RJ against doing the same, but they know Dog won’t let the boy go too far without his protection.  
Through it all, Lydia remains quiet.  She soaks every word in.  
Later on, when the rain’s let up some and the sun’s trying its best to peek through the clouds, when the kids are all out supervising Dog and doing a little sneaking of their own into the mud puddles that Daryl strongly suggested they make sure Dog avoid, Carol corners Daryl with a towel and a pair of scissors.  His protest is token at best and he practically purrs like a big cat at the first touch of her fingers against his scalp.  His rough hands find her hips and he smirks at the shiver she can’t suppress.  When she’s finished, Daryl captures her hand in his own and presses his lips to her palm in a kiss that lingers and makes her blush.  “There,” she teases.  “Maybe now you’ll actually be able to see.”  
“Stahp.”  
“Make me.”  
“Can be arranged.”  
“Now here, Mr. Crossbow.  Not now.”  
“Later, Sweetheart.” Daryl promises.  “Later.”  
Judith and Lydia only require a little cleaning up, but RJ?  RJ requires a good scrubbing and Daryl sees to that while the girls help Carol put dinner on the table.  
Candles and lanterns are a necessity this time, the drizzling finally stopped but the sun well on its way to setting.  They eat and they laugh and they wish each other well for the next day because this lazy day was wonderful but rare.  Tomorrow will be its own day with responsibilities, old and new alike.  
RJ clambers into Carol’s lap, Judith tucks herself beneath Daryl’s arm, and Lydia hugs Dog in front of the fire when it’s time for Daryl to return to the story of Tom Sawyer.  RJ is snuffling against Carol’s neck and Judith is all yawns before long and Daryl’s met with very little protest when he snaps the book closed, announcing it’s time for bed.  
Lydia and Carol are left alone when he scoops RJ up and nudges Ass Kicker to lead the way.  
“You gonna...”  
“In a little bit,” Lydia murmurs.  
Standing up, copy of Tom Sawyer clasped to her chest, Carol lingers uncertainly for a few seconds before she seemingly makes a decision and sighs.  
Looking up from stroking Dog’s damp fur when Carol’s fuzzy socks come into view, Lydia furrows her brow.  She bites her lip when the book is offered to her and allows her fingers to close carefully around it.  In itself, the gesture is enough to have fingers squeezing around her heart, but its the gentle hand that cups her head and the kiss she receives to the crown of her head that makes her eyes grow warm and glisten in the firelight.  
“Not too late okay?”  
“Not too late,” Lydia promises with a tight throat.  
“See you in the morning.”  
See you, Lydia thinks.  And she will, she knows.  But she doesn’t see Carol any more that night.  Daryl either because he decides once and for all that pretenses are silly, climbing those stairs to Carol’s room and sharing her bed without shame.  No, she doesn’t stay up too late, but she stays long enough for them to love each other (at least in the bed spring groaning way, the other way she’s coming to realize is a forever kind of thing) and when she’s sure they’ve fallen asleep, she gives it a little longer still.  In the meantime, she opens that book back up and a little scrap of paper torn from Judith’s journal slips free.  She picks it up and recognizes Carol’s handwriting scrawled across it.  
“You’re a part of our story now.  Family.  A Dixon.  Don’t you forget.”
Scratching between Dog’s ears, Lydia smiles through the tears that have returned full force.  “Come on, Boy.  It’s time the rest of us Dixons get to bed.”   
107 notes · View notes
all-whumped-out · 3 years
Text
Mystics, Chapter 11
When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….
Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six] [chapter seven] [chapter eight] [chapter nine] [chapter ten]
Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump (let me know if you want to be removed)
CW: claustrophobia, getting lost, deadname use, bullying, noncon touching (nonsexual), knife whump, torture, flaying.
-----
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE PAST IS SPENT AND DONE WITH
        “What a fucking freak,” Marcus sneered. The jeering of all three kids bounced off the brick walls as they left Mystics alone for the rest of the evening.
        “How much was there?” Jess tugged at his arm, breaking away from Kyle to do so. “I have my eye on one of those Kate Spade purses”-
        “Definitely not enough for a Kate Spade here,” Marcus sniffed. He twitched flicked his head to the side, sweeping strawberry blond curls off to one side. He’d repeat the process in another minute.
        Jess pouted her lips at Kyle who peered back with a scowl.
        “I’m not spending my third on that,” he refused. “I’d rather lift one”-
        “Oh, but they’re all mag-tagged,” she explained. “Can’t lift one without setting off the alarms”-
        Marcus stopped at the corner looking at a silhouette standing there, not moving. The rest of the streets were empty.
        “Maybe we should cross,” he said.
        “Nah, he’s just some old homeless guy.” Kyle muttered. “Why would he care”-
        “I care! If ----- decides to snitch, then all they need is another witness. My rep will be ruined,” Marcus said emphatically. He flipped his head again. “Then that’s that, No college hockey for me. It only takes a little more than an accusation these days and I’m out.”
        “There are cameras across the street,” Jess pointed out. “Let’s take the alleys.”
        Kyle rolled his eyes. In the short time the three had bickered about which way to go, the man at the corner had disappeared again. The other two had already decided to head down the alleys, almost leaving Kyle behind in the decision.
        They turned at the end of the alley where they were met with a T and a brick wall. They turned right.
        There was another T intersection, and again, the three were met with a brick wall. Marcus shrugged, and turned left. Eventually they would reach the edge of seventeenth street.
        Brick wall.
        “What the…” Marcus mouthed to himself. Jess laughed breathily at him as he tried to understand where he needed to go.
        “Just forget it, we’ll take the road, you dummy,” she exclaimed, thoroughly entertained by him.
She turned right.
        At the end of that alley, there was yet again another brick wall.
        “Wait,” she huffed. Looking down either end of the alleys, they only saw darknesses lying there.
        Kyle chuckled, “Oh yeah, you guys remember that screen saver on those old Microsoft computers?”
        Marcus hardly heard him. Like, Jess, he was now extremely confused.
        Kyle continued, “like those old brick wall mazes that it would send you through and… wait… did they ever end? I can’t remember if they ended”-
        “Nobody cares, Ky,” Marcus said abruptly. “Let’s turn around.”
“You don’t like it here?”
        “Holy fuck,” Kyle exclaimed, while all three of them jumped out of their skin. A man in a simple button up shirt stood to address them. He was standing about ten feet away.
Marcus started first.
“Uh, hey, man. We’re just trying to find our way back to the road. Could you tell us where to go?”
The man looked as though he was pondering the answer for a moment.
“The road?” Lyrem tapped his chin. “No, I don’t know of any roads here.”
Marcus feigned a grin, “you’re funny. That’s… that’s very funny.”
Pulling Jess by the hand, he led her past the man. Jess pulled Kyle, and Lyrem simply looked on as they went by.
“Just ignore him,” Marcus advised, whispering.
They turned left, back the way they came, and then right, only to see the same man standing in front of them again.
“Okay, seriously, what the fuck is happening?” Jess questioned in a mild panic.
“I know!” Lyrem exclaimed excitedly. He approached them, regarding the walls proudly with his hands behind his back. “It’s almost as bad as the Musei Vaticani, isn’t it?”
“What is he saying?” Kyle whispered to the others.
“I dunno! I don’t speak Spanish,” Marcus hissed back.
“Guys, he’s coming closer.” Jess interrupted.
“Now, now,” Lyrem tutted to them, smiling. “I was hoping you three would split up by now. It’s much easier to transport you separately-
            -Oh dear… Odd question, do I sound like a human trafficker to you?”
They didn’t answer him. Jess backed away to hide behind the two boys.
“Arch always tells me I sound rather… disturbing. I’m beginning to wonder if they might be right…”
“Arch?” Marcus spit.
Lyrem nodded. His face lit up with a sudden realization. Remembering why he was there, he held out his hand.
“I would like to take back what was stolen from Mystics, if you don’t mind.”
Marcus swallowed his fear. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the wad of paper bills.
“Yeah, here, take it. Look, I- I am sorry for what we… what we did.” Marcus stammered forcefully. There was already too much trouble to deal with for a few measly hundred dollars. Lyrem snatched it away with a quick hand.
Lyrem paid him no attention as he counted the cas, regularly licking his thumb as he did so. At the end of the apology, and the count, he sighed. Looking back at the boys with his brow raised. It seems as though Jess had already left them behind.
“I appreciate it. Honesty is quite a rare thing to find in children these days,” he answered them, placing the cash in his back pocket.
Kyle turned around, noticing the absence of the thin fingers with long black nails that usually brushed up against his own. He looked over his shoulder.
“Where’s Jess?”
Marcus turned. Seeing nothing but bricks and Kyle, he shook his head and shrugged.
“I’m sure you’ll see her again soon.” Lyrem assured. “Well, this is all I came back for, so I think I will be on my way now.”
 Lyrem turned his back on the boys, and strolled off further into the alley.
“Hey,” Marcus hollered. He chased after Lyrem like he was a life line. “We’ll follow you out”-
The man was gone. He entered the darkness through a doorway the others couldn’t see.
“Ky, I think he’s gone now, we need to find Jess and- Ky?”
There was no answer. Marcus spun in several circles before resorting to accept that Kyle had left him behind.
He ran to the other end of the alley, finding nothing but a brick wall again. In frustrated panic, he slammed his fists against it, as though he imagined it to be a door. It was just red brick; solid and rough against his skin. There was no left or right turn here; the corners were engulfed in shadows. He turned around-
Brick wall.
He was boxed in. Alone.
What little light existed above him before slowly dimmed to nothing. Feeling the weight of the walls grow in closer to him, Marcus curled in on himself. Lyrem didn’t lie about him finding Jess again soon. She would awake beside him after he was finished carrying their boxes into the back room- an hour or so before the three of them had entered Mystics.
------
Week One.  
“Keep your eyes closed.”
        Arch stood in the back alley of Mystics. Lyrem had asked them to close early so that he could show them a surprise in the back- a new, very valuable item that he was extremely excited to show off. He was insistent that Arch be the first to see it. Reluctantly, but albeit curiously, Arch did as they were told and closed their eyes. They heard the backroom door open with a hydraulic groan. Lyrem reached out to their hands to lead them through carefully.
        “Alright, now this will be an odd request, but I also need you to hold your breath until I say it’s alright.”
        Arch exhaled in a chuckle. “What?”
        “Promise me, Arch.” Lyrem didn’t sound quite as amused.
        “Alright, alright, I promise. I won’t breathe, and I won’t open my eyes until you say so.”
        “Okay, here we go,” Lyrem pulled them forward until they were over the threshold. They led them through a few further steps… The labyrinth was inactive. That was good. It meant that neither of them had broken the rules. He heard the door shut. “You can breathe and open your eyes now.”
        There was a clapping sound from Lyrem’s hands. Arch was almost expecting a surprise party for themselves as they opened their eyes. Disappointed, they saw the plain grey walls of a large backroom warehouse instead. Poorly lit as it was, there were a couple spare tables, several chairs and multiple rows of shelving filled with variously sized boxes and random objects.
        “What was the point of that?” Arch looked back at the door.
        “It’s keeps you from being pulled into the wrong… room.” Lyrem said. “This door leads to more than just here and the alley way. There’s a third place it can lead, and it’s impossible to find the way out from it.”
        Arch looked at them with raised brows. Then they looked concerned, furrowing them, they produced a couple wrinkles above the bridge of their nose.
        “Do you need me to get you a glass of water, or something?” There must have been some kind of medication that Lyrem needed to prevent certain… strangenesses from evolving. Arch thought perhaps that duty had lived and left with his wife Maria. They wouldn’t mind picking up the responsibility if it meant that Lyrem could maintain his sanity- but he had to tell them what he needed first.
        “No, no.” he refused. “Actually, I need your hand, if you please.”
        Arch’s eyes widened. “My hand?”
        Lyrem nodded. Arch lifted their right hand. Lyrem asked for the opposite.
Arch lifted their left instead; a fresh red scar about an inch in length on display.
Lyrem held one hand on a knife unsheathed from his pocket, hidden behind his back. He met Arch’s confused gaze with an apologetic smile.
“Memorias reditus,” he said. Gripping Arch’s hand tightly, he sliced the blade into their scar, fresh blood dripped to the floor as they cried out angrily and in shock. Arch pulled their hand back, cradling it with the other.
“Fucking hell, Lyrem!”
“Apologies, Arch. It is a necessary deed, I’m afraid.” Lyrem shrugged, and wiped down the knife on a stray piece of fabric.
Arch grimaced and checked their hand over. The cut was deep and very sore- throbbing with their pulse. Lyrem had reopened a wound on them that was still healing over. Arch looked at him, still convinced that Lyrem was well and truly off his rocker in a dangerous way. He was leaning his hip against a metal table, waiting for a reaction from them.
“I... I think I need stitches, Lyrem. Look, I know that things have been difficult for you since Maria left so I’ll tell people this was a work accident. But… y-you can’t just cut people like”-
Arch stopped, then moved their gaze from watching Lyrem’s smirking grin to a darker corner. There was movement over there.
“Wait...” Arch’s face twisted into mess of confusion. “Wait, what’s… what’s happening to me? What did you do?”
They were lost in a recollection of events; events from a week ago. Lyrem kindly allowed them the time…
 “Do you need help with any of that?”
“Oh! No- no, I’ll be alright. These are just… going into the back room for now… You should keep an eye on the store, don’t want anyone walking in to take our merchandise,”
         The back door to Mystics clicked shut.
“It’s alright, you’re gone now.” Lyrem ushered Arch from around the corner. They were still nursing the side of their face where Marcus had hit them… Well, he hadn’t yet. Not really.
Arch would help Lyrem carry each of the large boxes into the back room. The beings inside were unconscious, lost in their own created darkness.
“Close your eyes and hold your breath, Arch.”
With a little further convincing, Lyrem and Arch stepped through with each of the boxes without triggering the Labyrinth to appear.
When they were inside, Lyrem had Arch help with piling the boxes into the darkest corner of the room near a plain wall.
Panting from the work, Lyrem smiled at Arch delightfully as he leaned against the boxes with his elbow.
“What… What do we do with them now?” They asked.
Lyrem sniffed and looked the boxes up and down, and then wiped some stray beads of sweat from his forehead.
“I’ll set up the wall, drill some holes for their chains and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
Lyrem nodded.
“How long will it take to set up the wall?”
“Bit eager, aren’t you?”
Arch shifted awkwardly at the comment, but Lyrem laughed it off.
“Give me a day,” he answered. “Can you give me a day?”
Arch rolled their eyes. “Yeah, I can give you a day.”
Lyrem smiled. “Wonderful.”
Arch returned to the present with a shudder.
“You returned my memories,” they commented. “And it’s been longer than a day, it’s been a week at least! What took you so long?”
“I had a delivery,” Lyrem said simply, lifting himself off the table; pleased with their reaction to the memories they regained. If there was any more of a defense he wished to provide, he omitted it. He gathered a roll of thin white gauze from a cabinet against the wall and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, setting it in front of Arch at the table
“Oh,” Arch realized apologetically. “Did it work out?”
Lyrem poured the alcohol onto their hand. Arch winced in silent agony and then they began to wrap their own hand carefully as Lyrem answered their question.
“Unfortunately, not. I quite despised having to use an infernal spell on fakes. It wasted so much time- and energy.” Lyrem began, “The deliverer was none the wiser either. I venture to guess that their client was unaware of the fact they were given a fake as well. But in my line of work, I am the one who takes the blame if an object is not vetted perfectly. A single flaw could incur a wrath I would not want to live to see.”
Arch nodded, assuming to understand. They tied off their hand and followed their boss across the backroom.
Arch gulped as they approached the wall, and stopped, before getting too close. The alarm bells rang loud and clear in their mind even as they saw the boys’ legs against the ground and their torsos set against the concrete; their arms supported by the chains that held them there. Their heads were covered in black cloth bags. They weren’t moving. They could be asleep. Or dead. Arch wouldn’t know the difference from where they stood. Lyrem continued on for several steps before realizing that they had stopped in place. He noted the look on Arch’s face. One of fear. One of hesitation. Lyrem stepped beside them and planted a strong hand on their shoulder.
With a crooked finger, he lifted Arch’s chin. Successfully, he broke their gaze from the bodies on the floor to stare into his hazel eyes instead. He could feel them trembling and a pitiful expression threatened to ruin the gentle moment between them. He replaced it with a stern calmness.
“They cannot hurt you any longer,” he said. “You are in control now.”
Arch wondered for a fleeting moment if they truly were in control. Perhaps Lyrem was intent on getting off on their transition to the dark side, or perhaps he was trying simply to be supportive. Either way, Arch forgot that internal debate the moment Lyrem handed them the jeweled blade. They grasped it tightly, just to say hello.
 Week Two.
        “Bring it up carefully, now.”
        “He’s crying, Lyrem.”
        “It’s just water on his face. That’s all.”
        “Like this?”
        “Yes. Now, bring it back... and angle the blade more flatly against his arm... Lovely.”
        Arch gulped, and did as they were told, trying to ignore the whimpering screams that were emitting from Kyle through their cloth gag as they cut into his forearm. Lyrem had strapped it down to a table and chained the rest of the boy to a chair bolted into the floor. His blood was pooling. Arch had rolled up their sleeves to keep the blood off of their clothes. They would have to remember to bring an apron for the next time and other sessions.
        Arch paused and lifted the blade away; scratching the side of their face, as a bit of acne there had been bugging them for the last couple days. Adults said it would start to go away at some point as they grew older. Arch stopped believing that over a year ago; convinced it would never really go away.
        “Arch? More flat, please.”
        “Right. Sorry.”
        “Good,” Lyrem praised. “Now, you’ll need two hands. One to hold the skin, and the other to push the blade through.”
        Arch broke their eye contact from Kyle’s arm to look at how he, their victim, had been reacting to the practice flaying. That was a mistake. They couldn’t tear their eyes from the sight. The pleading blue eyes, the fear in them... Arch gulped again. All that guilt threatened to rise up, wanting to revolt against the torturous act that their own body was performing.
        “Breathe.” Lyrem reminded them.
        “I can’t… I can’t…” Arch placed the blade back down on the table. They blinked, and took the opportunity to pull their eyes away from their victim.
        “Would it be easier if I covered his face for you? I’m sure I have a sheet or something around here somewhere”-
        Lyrem stood from his seat and toured his own expansive back room, searching the shelves for anything that could be quickly draped over Kyle’s head. Arch stood as well, backing themselves away from the table, they shook their head.
        “I don’t think I want to continue this tonight,” They admitted.
        “Oh, please don’t quit now, Arch. You went twice as far with him last week,” Lyrem reminded them as he still searched. “I don’t want you to leave here without doing a little more than you did before.”
        “It was easier then. I was still mad that they hit me. That they stole from you.” Arch explained. They looked to the wall, and noticed the absence of one of their dreaded classmates. “By the way, where did Jess go? She was there that night too.”
        Lyrem approached them with something dark and folded neatly in his hand.
        “Ah, yes. The fabled Jess unfortunately had to be sacrificed for the greater good. My unique hospitality was a short-lived experience for her,” he smiled slightly as the realization of a pun crossed his mind. “You asked that question last time you were here as well, you know.”
        “Everything’s still sort of jumbled in my head,” Arch clarified. “I think, when you lifted the spell, it revealed feelings more than specific memories…”
        Lyrem lifted a brow, and settled himself against the end of the table. “That is an interesting review of the experience. Eventually, my memory spells will lose their effect on you. You’ll begin to remember this place, everything you’ve done without the spell needing to be lifted each time.”
        “How long until then?”
        “It will happen when you are ready. I can’t be sure, honestly.” Lyrem admitted. “Until then, you can maintain your daytime innocence. I am sure it’s better that way.”
        Arch looked down at their own hand where a deep red mark was scored into them. Lyrem would scar it over for them before they left again- a minor healing that would also remove the memories of what was happening in the backroom- but only temporarily.
        “I would have liked to say goodbye to her,” Arch said absently as they toyed with the edge of the blade against their thumb. They lifted their gaze, catching their employer’s eye. Lyrem looked interested enough for them to explain their offhanded comment. He prompted them to continue with a caring nod.
        “We were close growing up. Used to be neighbours, actually. Then she moved. She changed in Junior High and started picking on me when everyone else would. While I was still a tomboy, she became “Barbie girl” and then in High School she met this asshole. But… the rest is just history, right?”
        “’The past is spent and done with, and the future is uncertain’,” Lyrem quoted. “’Every man’s life lies within the present.’”
        Arch approached the table once more and sat in their chair to resume their work.
        “Sometimes,” Arch began slowly flaying the skin away, as Kyle’s screams threatened to drown out their words. “you say things as though they are wise things… But, really, you’re just basic.”
        Lyrem placed the folded cloth neatly on the table without another word. Arch clearly didn’t need it quite as much as he assumed they did. He sat across from them, watching intently as another one of Kyle’s layers of skin peeled neatly away from the prison of his body, and wondered how much longer Arch would continue to do as they were asked.
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i-miss-balthazar · 4 years
Text
Guardian Angel
Warnings: John Winchester is a bad parent I don’t even know how specifically to classify this? Child endangerment? Followed by neglect? Paralyzed!Dean Winchester, angst softened by fluff
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Destiel
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This wasn’t right. No, Dad said he’d be here by now. Something must have gone wrong with him. Dean knew he was supposed to stay in the car unless Dad called him, but… what if something was really wrong? He’d helped Dad with hunts before - he killed a werewolf by himself last time. Demons were different, yes, but it had been a long time… he had to do something. He got out of the car, grabbing a flask of holy water from the trunk before slipping inside. Yes. Dean was scared. But that wasn’t going to stop him from helping his dad. Dean could hear the demon’s mocking laughter, and his stomach churned with fear. He heard his father groan in pain, and like it was a call to action, Dean surged forward. He emptied the contents of the flask on the demon, making her shriek in pain, before rushing to his dad. 
“Dean, what the hell are you doing here?” John demanded as the boy helped him up. 
“Saving your ass.” Dean responded. 
“Watch your tone.” John growled. 
“Oh, is this your son, Johnny?” The demon sneered, and suddenly Dean was being thrown through the air. First he smashed through a desk, drawing out a scream of pain. John began rattling an exorcism, but the demon didn’t care. She flung him again, and this time he collided with a pole hard. His back bent around it in  an unnatural fashion, and a bone chilling snap rang through the air. The demon laughed maniacally as John finished exorcising it, not even fighting back. Like she didn’t care, her work was already done. 
As the empty meat suit collapsed, the quiet was only broken by Dean’s sobbing. The pain of being thrown around made his head fuzzy, and his back hurt so bad… 
“Dean. Hey, Dean, can you move?” John asked, but Dean’s sobs didn’t leave room for an answer. John slapped him across the face. “Get it together! Can you move?” He repeated. Dean managed a nod. “Good.” John scooped Dean up, and he cried out as he was jostled, and as he was moved, something changed. 
“Dad!” He cried out. “I can’t feel my legs! I can’t-” Dean wailed, sobbing like there’s no tomorrow. 
~|~
“Dean?” Bobby called softly, entering the hospital room. Dean was staring absently out the window, but he turned when the hunter entered. He offered a weak smile, tear stains still glistening down his cheek. “I came as soon as I heard, son…” Bobby sat down next to Dean’s hospital bed, taking his hand. 
“They… they say I’m never gonna be able to walk again.” He told Bobby, his voice quiet, as the tears were renewed. Bobby hurriedly hugged him, letting Dean cry into his chest as he murmured reassurance. 
Later Dean could hear Bobby and John arguing outside his room. Their silhouettes were visible through the blinds. 
“How could you let this happen, John, he’s just a boy!” Bobby has the decency to try and keep quiet. 
“He knew the risks, it’s part of the job!” John defended. 
“He should never have been there!” Bobby snapped. 
“He-”
“Dean is fifteen, John! Fifteen years old, and he’ll never walk again!” Bobby spat. Dean found that he was crying again. He covered his face with his hands and let the tears fall in the lonely hospital room.
~|~
Having a wheelchair… Dean hated it. He hated everything about it. He felt helpless - he couldn’t get into the car by himself. His dad had to help him. His arms got tired too. There was only so much wheeling around his arms could take. Not to mention how difficult it was to keep up. He didn’t even want to think about what school would be like. 
Sam did his best to help. He tried to cheer Dean up, and had even made him cards for his hospital room, because John wouldn’t let him stay the night. The kid even helped push Dean’s wheelchair. It made Dean want to cry. Sam didn’t deserve this. To have to care for his dumb ass brother. Dean was supposed to take care of him, but vice versa. 
There wasn’t a moment Dean didn’t regret going into that damn building.
~|~
It was a week before John went back on a hunt. One short week, and Sam had gone on a school camping trip for the weekend. So Dean was left all alone, a shot gun in his lap (because in John’s words, he couldn’t be completely useless). He turned the tv on, watching Scooby Doo while he pretended not to sulk. Though it wasn’t entirely clear who he was pretending for. 
The second night alone was even harder. There was nothing to do, and Dean felt like he should be out there. Fighting next to his dad. In this condition, that would never happen again though. He’d slept in his chair last night. He couldn’t get himself onto the bed, so he just gave up and crashed sitting up. He’d woken with a horrible crick in his neck, and it made him bitter the whole day though. He’d swore at the sink for sputtering too much, and thrown the remote onto the bed when he couldn’t get the tv to work. The frustration brought him to tears, and the tears just kept coming. Frustration mingled with the despair, and Dean wept until his head hurt.
“Hey now… don’t cry…” A gentle voice soothed. Dean looked up, pulling the shotgun up to the stranger immediately. He was a boy around Dean’s age, perhaps a bit older. His raven hair was a mess atop his head, though in an incredibly cute fashion, and his blue eyes shone in an otherworldly fashion. 
“Who the hell are you?” Dean demanded.
“I am Castiel.” The boy responded, as if that cleared up anything.
“Okay then, what are you? And how did you get in here?” Dean corrected, the barrel of his gun still aimed for Castiel’s chest. 
“I am an angel of the lord, I flew in here.” Castiel responded simply. 
“As if!” Dean scoffed. 
“I can prove it to you!” Castiel assured, and Dean swore he must have been dreaming, because light began to radiate from this Castiel, and the shadow of two angel wings painted the wall behind him. Dean’s jaw dropped in awe, and he lowered the gun. 
“You… you’re really a…” He stammered. Castiel nodded, giving Dean a moment to recollect his thoughts. “Does this mean I’m dead?” Dean asked finally. Castiel chuckled softly. 
“No, Dean. You are very much alive.” He assured. 
“...Then why are you here?” Dean narrowed his eyes. Angels weren’t bad, were they? Traditionally speaking, they weren’t supposed to be, but Dean knew he could never be too cautious. 
“I’m a guardian angel, Dean. I’ve been watching over you, and I-”
“Fat load of good that’s done.” Dean muttered, and Castiel sighed sadly.
“Us guardians are forbidden from getting in Fate’s way… I’m sorry Dean. I wanted to.” He told Dean softly. “I… am actually not supposed to be here right now, but I couldn’t just watch.” Castiel sighed. 
“So you’re here to heal my legs?” Dean asked, hope glimmering in his eyes. Castiel’s heart broke just a little. 
“No, I’m sorry… I am forbidden from that…” He explained apologetically. Dean’s shoulders slumped and his gaze fell to the floor.
“What are you here for then?” Dean sighed. Castiel stepped forth, pressing two fingers to Dean’s forehead and healing the painful crick in his neck. Dean blinked. 
“Okay… thanks, I guess…?” It wasn’t much, but frankly, Dean appreciated the absence of the annoying ache. Castiel offered a smile. 
“No problem… it’s late though. You should head to bed.” The angel suggested. “I’ll help you.” He added.
“How am I gonna get out of bed in the morning?” Dean cocked a brow.
“I’ll be back.” Castiel responded. Dean mulled it over in his head for a moment, before nodding. Cas gently picked him out of his wheelchair as if it were effortless, laying him in the motel bed and pulling the covers over him. “Sleep well, Dean.” He urged softly, shutting off the lights with a thought. 
“Thanks Cas.” Dean mumbled just before the angel returned home. 
~|~
Dean awoke to the smell of eggs and bacon, and he was half certain he was actually still dreaming. Until he spotted a tray of food on the bedside table next to him.
“What the…” He mumbled, still groggy.
“Good morning Dean.” Castiel’s gravelly voice rumbled, reaffirming that the angel hadn’t been a wild dream. Dean blinked the sleep from his emerald eyes, and the angel helped him sit up, placing the tray in his lap. “You made me breakfast?” Dean asked. Castiel shook his head. 
“I have no cooking abilities. I brought this from a diner down the street…” He admitted, and Dean laughed. The melodic sound reverberated in Castiel’s head, drawing a smile to his lips.
“Angels can’t cook. Got it.” Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he began stuffing his face. 
Having Castiel there was nice. He enjoyed having the extra help, especially since it meant he could actually get in and out of bed. He liked talking to the angel. Sure, Castiel didn’t understand anything that had to do with pop culture, but he did this adorable thing where his eyes squinted and he tilted his head to the side that Dean secretly adored. Plus, taking the time to explain the plot lines of movies so he could understand the jokes and references helped spend the time. They played cards together and Castiel even brought board games for them to play. Being with Castiel made Dean forget about the grief he felt. When Dean was with Cas, he didn’t care that he wasn’t out hunting with his dad. When Dean was with Cas, he didn’t care that he was paralyzed. 
~|~
“Your father will be home in ten minutes. I can not be here when he returns.” Castiel warned as they finished a round of poker. Dean frowned. 
“But Cas… I don’t want you to leave…” He mumbled sadly. Castiel gently cupped Dean’s cheek, lifting the boy’s fallen gaze back to him. 
“I will return. But your father can not know I exist, alright Dean? Promise me that.” Castiel requested. Dean hesitated, before nodding. 
“I promise.” He confirmed, and Castiel smiled softly, helping him put the cards away. They had been playing for crackers, so they didn’t have to worry about tidying up chips. 
“I must go now.” Castiel sighed sadly.
“Thank you, Cas… for everything…” Dean offered him a small smile. Castiel returned the smile, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead, before he disappeared from the motel with a soft fluttering of wings.
Dean sighed sadly as Cas disappeared. He said he’d be back. Dean reminded himself. A sudden fear overwhelmed him. Castiel never said when he’d be back. It could be years! What if their time together faded in Dean’s memory? What if he dismissed it as a dream? How would he- 
Dean’s thoughts fell short as he noticed a small object on the table. Rolling closer, he gingerly picked it up. It was a feather; black, with an undertone of blue if it caught the light right. Dean didn’t need an explanation, he knew within his very bones what it was. A smile befell his lips, and he very neatly tucked the feather into the breast pocket of his jacket, so the feather would always be next to his heart. More specifically, so he would always have a piece of Castiel next to his heart, right where he belonged.
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Representation Week Tag List:
@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @specialagentrin @peanutbutterandgrapejelly @all-or-nothing-baby @petrichoravellichor @i-know-like-four-things @is-jus-me @fantastikitty7 @hexlorde
Author’s Note: Full disclosure, I have zero medical knowledge, so I’m guessing based off of various doctor shows I’ve watched. This is my second last fic for the week, I’ll be posting the next one after dinner. That’s a bit lighter, and more fluffy! So happy last day of Representation Week, everybody! If you want more fics like this, feel free to shoot me prompts!
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angelsandacceptance · 3 years
Text
The Day of the Black Sun
Usually, when the girls woke up, they didn’t see a man standing at the edge of their beds, staring at them.
Chase wakes up, and upon sitting up, is greeted by the sight of Castiel, the look on his face the constant confusion he seems to wear. Chase lets out a shriek, causing Harley to bolt up, ready to fight whatever might be there.
Harley looks very surprised to see only Castiel there. 
“What the actual Hell are you doing?” Chase demands. 
“Heaven has a job for the two of you,” Castiel says simply.
“And heaven can’t wait for us to already be awake?” Chase sighs. “How long have you been watching us, anyway?”
Castiel blinks. “I’ve only been watching for an hour.”
Harley looks at Castiel in disbelief. “Right. An hour. That makes it totally okay then.”
“A seal is dangerously close to being broken. You need to stop it from happening.”
“I thought you had your fellow angel soldiers protecting the seals,” Chase says, climbing out of the motel bed. Castiel watches her carefully, and she can’t tell if he looks more annoyed or tired.
“You really think this is easy. More of my brothers have died in this past week battling for seals than in the past two thousand years.”
“Didn’t you say you haven’t been on earth in two thousand years?” Harley asks. “That makes your statistics skewed.”
Castiel gives her a harsh look.
“Okay, so heaven has a job for us. Can we at least get dressed and eat or something?” Chase asks.
“Of course.” Castiel stays staring at them.
“Um, Cas?” Chase asks.
“Yes?”
“Can you, you  know, come back after we’ve changed?” Chase asks, making a shoo-ing gesture. He narrows his eyes at her. 
“Bye bye, my angelic acquaintance.”
“I will be back,” he says. Castiel then disappears, leaving the girls staring at the wall, blinking in confusion. 
“Doesn’t poof, my ass,” Chase snorts. She shakes her head and starts to change. By change, she simply shrugs on a flannel over her tank top, slipping her loose jeans on. Harley on the other hand has to wiggle into her skinny jeans and throw on a band tee. There wasn’t really a reason for Castiel to leave, other than Chase wanted to talk to Harley alone. “So, what do you think he wants us to do?” 
“Save the world. Risk our lives. Y’know the usual.”
“How very typical.” Chase pours herself coffee. “Do you think he’ll let us get pie first? Even a muffin would suffice.”
“He better. I don’t get my pie, I start ripping throats out.”
“See, even though I know that’s a legitimate thing for you, I gotta say. I totally agree with that mentality.”
“What’s the point of being a vampire if you can’t make light of it?” Harley shrugs.
“No point that matters.”
“I am back,” a deep voice says. 
The girls turn to see Castiel in the same place as before, as though he’d never left.
“Man, you gotta loosen up,” Chase says. “Ever tried looking more, y’know, human?”
“No.”
“Cas, that really wasn’t that long. You’re lucky I mastered getting dressed in under a minute because I was always late to school. Poof like that and you’ll be labeled a perv.”
“I do not understand. I do not have any intention of seeing you in a less than modest state.”
“Again with the need to loosen up,” Chase says with an eye roll. “It’s a joke, Cas.”
“Kinda. Seriously though, lengthen your poofing periods.”
“You’ve been given time. Now, you have a job to do.”
“What is this job?” Chase asks.
“A seal is being broken. A ritual you have to stop, that causes a solar eclipse. You must find the demon performing this ritual, and stop it.”
“Any other information you can give us?”
“No.” Cas turns away slightly, concentrating on seemingly nothing. “Time is almost up. I will send you there now.”
“Pie. We need pie. I don’t get pie, I start ripping throats out.”
Cas looks vaguely startled, looking at Harley strangely. “You get physically violent when you do not have pie?”
“She does,” Chase says, shrugging. “Can you blame her? Pie is life.”
Cas’ eyes narrow, and he just takes an unnecessary breath, blinking slowly. “I do not understand.”
“I’m a vampire, kinda, sorta. It’s complicated. But basically cherry pie is the only thing that can assuage my thirst for blood.”
“I see,” Castiel responds, nodding slowly. “But, as for your job. I will send you there now.”
Before either girl can protest, Castiel has closed the distance between himself and them, placing three fingers on each of their foreheads.
***
Chase and Harley suddenly find themselves standing on the sidewalk of an old looking town, each holding a piece of pie by the crust which promptly breaks and falls on the sidewalk.
“Well,” Chase starts, looking down at her now empty hands. “At least he got us the pie.”
“Too literal for his own good,” Harley sighs.
“Okay, so first things first. We find a lead on wherever this demon might be. I say we start at the local diner that this town has got to have. What state are we even in? They better have apple pie, because I am not in the mood to mourn what is currently at my feet.”
The girls begin walking around town, getting their bearings and looking for a diner. Finally, they spot one. 
“Brimstone Diner. What are we? In medieval times?” Chase jokes. 
“I think it sounds cool, but then again I am a sucker for a renaissance festival.”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds like a must for us sometime. Dean would totally be down for it too. He’d probably get way too into it, but like, on the down low.”
Harley nodded and the two friends went into the diner and ordered some pie. Apple for Chase and cherry for Harley.
“So, what’re you girls in town for?” the older waitress asks them. “Oh, don’t be surprised, dear. We don’t get a lot of new folk, so it’s easy to spot ‘em.”
“Oh, uh,” Chase starts. “A friend sent us here. Told us about some fantastic spots to work. We’re journalist photographers.”
“Stupid question, but where are we?” Harley asks the waitress, who according to the nametag is called Agnus.
Chase shoots Harley a look. So does the waitress, though it isn’t the same look. 
“Did your friend not tell you?” She asks, slightly concerned. “Why, you’re in Ocean Springs, Mississippi.”
Chase laughs it off. “He did tell us, but Nova here probably wasn’t paying attention.”
“I’m just really forgetful.”
“Well, that’s quite understandable, dear. My memory ain’t what it used to be either.” The waitress laughs slightly, waving her hand. “Anyway, let me go grab you your pie and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Thank you,” Chase says, trying to be polite.
“Thanks, Agnus, lovely meeting you.” Harley says, waving goodbye.
Agnus brings them their pies and goes off to talk to another customer.
“So I guess we should head to the library after this? Find out what ritual can cause a solar eclipse.”
“Good idea,” Chase says, taking a bite of pie. She looks down in surprise, suppressing a moan of delight. “Holy God, this is good pie.”
Harley takes a bite of her pie, “Oh yeah, the best.”
The girls eat their pies, suppressing many a moan.
***
Our awesome, badass heroines spend hours at the library combing through book after book. They had tried so many different sections, trying to find the information in lore, religious texts, and mythology. Hell, Chase had even tried looking in historical cases just in case - even though this seal has obviously never been attempted before. She was simply desperate.
               “Hey, I think I found something,” Harley says, looking up, “By the souls of these seven victims I bind the sun and moon to my will. The moon shall block the sun and the seal shall break.”
               “That’s foreboding,” Chase says. 
               “It doesn’t specify what the seal is, but I think this is our gig. It calls for, get this, three virgins, two orphans, one fetus conceived out of wedlock, and the soul of a witness to the supernatural.”
               “Okay. Wow. That’s a lot of human sacrifice,” Chase says, absorbing the new information. “Also, an unborn kid? That’s just gross.”
Chase walks over to Harley’s side of their table to read the specifications of the seal. “Harley, look at this part. Because it’s an entire eclipse, it has to be on a full moon, right? When’s the next full moon?”
“Tonight,” Harley groans.
Chase lets out a long sigh. “Of course it is. Thank you, Castiel. Your timing is, like always, impeccable.”
“At least if we prevent it tonight it’s another month till they can try again?”
“True, but does this mean it can be attempted monthly? Because I did not sign up for this. Castiel can kiss my foot if he thinks I have the time, energy, or patience to deal with this every single month just to stop the apocalypse.” 
“Maybe they’ll just give up on it if we stop them?” Harley says, hopefully and unsure.
Chase shrugs. “I guess we’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.”
“Damn demons. I swear Lillith is the bane of my existence.”
“I mean she is, quite literally, the bane of everyone’s existence. Honestly, she should get a hobby. I’m going to suggest knitting the next time I see her.”
“Knitting may be too hard though. She might go on a murder spree to vent out her knitting frustrations. What about crocheting.”
“Yeah, but isn’t she currently going on a murder spree to vent out her like, daddy issues? Crocheting is easier, true.”
“True, but a hobby is supposed to distract from that, not make it worse.”
“True. Wait, how did we start talking about this again? Moving on, where do we start in stopping this demon from breaking this seal?”
“First things first, I think we should look for potential victims.”
“Okay cool. I would say we do what we normally do, but considering Cas sent us here with no supplies, I guess we’ll have to do it the hard way. By gossiping.” Chase fakes a shudder, but is smiling nonetheless. 
“God, I hate gossiping with strangers. Shall we start with the town’s gossip column?”
“Sure.” Chase stands, overdramatically stretching. “Let’s get this bitch over with.”
***
Chase and Harley make a quick exit from the library and begin walking around town, on the lookout for anywhere they might find a newspaper, or signs for missing people. 
Finally, after wandering around for a while, Harley spots a newspaper stand. Quickly scanning through articles, there’s a prayer request filed under the town gossip section. It’s an anonymous request for a woman named Jessie Salinas, who has found out she is pregnant, and is also not married. 
Chase looks at the little article in disgust. “What a shitty thing to do to her. She’s obviously found out not too long ago, so you submit an anonymous ‘prayer’ request basically outing her situation to everyone? And it’s not even to ask for help! Just “keep her in mind”. People are so gross.”
“The worst part is they were probably ‘friends’ if Jessie told them.”
“Ouch, you’re right. I swear, if you were to do this to me, I’d probably hurt you.”
“I would never!” Harley says in mock offence knowing her friend didn’t actually think she would do it.
***
“Oh, look,” Chase says. They walk over to a tac board, where a missing person sign was hanging. “Thank God. I mean, not thank God, or. You know what. Whatever.”
The sign shows a picture of a boy around thirteen with blond hair. The name reads Jacob Stevens, and he was reported missing four days ago. 
“Well, I guess we have a couple leads?” Chase says questioningly.
“Now we just need to find five more. Should we head to Jessie’s place? Make sure her baby’s still kicking.”
“That’s probably our best bet. It’d be harder to figure out everything else first,” Chase agrees. “Where do you think we’ll find her?” 
“If we can get our hands on a computer finding her address shouldn’t be hard.”
“True. Back to the library?”
“Libraries, a hunter’s best friend.”
Chase laughs and they turn around, heading back the way they’d come.
***
Chase groans, hitting her head against the desk. “No address with that name pops up when I search it and- Oh my God, I’m an idiot.” Chase frantically backspaces, then types it in again, but this time searches for Jessica Salinas, and then grins proudly at her friend. “Found her. She lives not too far from here. West side of town, near the church.”
“Good, I’m not a fan of walking.”
“Tell me about it. He could have at least sent us with Jack.”
“When does our angel friend think things through?”
“Fair point. So he’s a friend now? Versus an ‘angelic acquaintance’?”
“He at least tried to give us pie.”
Chase shrugs. “Fair enough. Now, onto finding Jessie.”
“Off to find the Jessie, the wonderful Jessie of Oz.”
***
Chase and Harley stand on the porch of an older looking house, the paint peeling on the outside, but the garden of poppies looking very cared for. Chase reaches out a hand and knocks on the door. 
“I have my badge on me still. If you want to play cop.”
Chase reaches out and knocks once more, this time a little louder.
“Sounds good. You can introduce us then. Remember, I gave you the fake name Nova earlier. Best be consistent.”
“Coming!” A frantic female voice calls. Chase gives Harley a sideways glance, shrugging and taking a step back. A woman suddenly opens the door, her brown hair messily framing her face where it falls out of a haphazard bun. 
Her eyes are wide, but her smile wide and friendly. “Hi! Sorry, do I know you?” She asks, looking back and forth between the two girls.
“Hi,” Harley says, flashing her badge, “I’m agent Nova, this is agent Barry. We’re just asking around about the disappearances. Are you Jessie Salinas?”
Jessie, at most in her early twenties, looks confused for a moment. “Yeah, I am. Of course. Has there been another disappearance from the orphanage?”
Chase glances at Harley. “We are looking into the ones that have taken place. As far as you are aware, how many have there been?”
“Just the two I know of, oh, silly me. Would you like to come in?” Jessie opens the screen door, gesturing for Harley and Chase to enter the house.
“We’d love to,” Chase says. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
Jessie leads them into a small, but cozy, living room and gestures for them to sit on the couch. “So, you are searching for the two orphans right? Jacob and Nathan?”
Chase shoots Harley a glance, a silent plea to say something, because she herself is unsure of how to proceed.
“Those are the ones. Have you been smelling any odd smells? Maybe rotten eggs?”
“Um, excuse me?” Jessie asks. “You mean around my house or around town in general? Because the old bar always smells like something went bad, but I don’t see how that’s got anything to do with those poor children.”
“Sulfur was found at the scene of the abductions. It could be an environmental clue. It could lead up to the kidnapper.”
Jessie nods. “Oh, okay. You’re only looking into the orphans, right?”
Chase nods. “Yes, though if you have knowledge about any others, we can pass it along to our partners. Have there been any other signs of sulfur that you know of?”
Jessie shakes her head, frowning. “I’m not one to ask about that. Though you could always ask the Crawfords. Their daughter went missing a couple weeks ago, but we aren’t sure if there is any connection between the two.”
“Of course. I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
“If I may ask, where did you learn that I may have any knowledge on the disappearances?”
Chase casts a long sideways glance at Harley. “Well,” she starts slowly. “We have reason to believe that another abduction might occur, and we wanted to investigate any of the younger adults in town. There seems to be an age progression with each kidnapping.”
Jessie shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sure I have no reason to worry. If you’re asking around town, I’m sure you’ve heard about my, uh, situation.”
“We believe your situation may put you at higher risk.” Harley says regretfully, “Our Unsub might see it as a two for one.”
Jessie lets out a nervous laugh. 
Chase leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, trying to seem more open and comforting. “Is there anyone you know in this town that has given you any reason to fear for yourself or your child. An ex-boyfriend. A friend. A random person that hurled an insult at you. Anything of that sort?”
Jessie shakes her head. “No. I mean, there are plenty of underhanded comments, but only what you would expect from a small town this conservative. But I don’t think I can name anyone that has threatened me.”
“Has anyone shown more interest than you would deem normal? Like, I don’t know, an old teacher or mentor. Anyone you trust based on circumstance, but wouldn’t have thought would normally reach out to help you.”
Jessie pauses. “Not really, no. The only person that I really talk to about the baby is one of the supervisors of our church. She has been great help, because she herself has had three children. Just some advice on how to take care of myself. But I don’t really talk to anyone else about it and no one else has reached out.”
“What’s her name?” Harley asks.
“Vanessa Wali.”
Chase nods, sitting back. “Well, thank you. And if you do hear anything from anyone that seems out of the ordinary, let us know.”
A phone rings from the other room. “I’m so sorry. I have to get that, it might be my doctor.” Jessie gets up and leaves the room.
“Do you want to stay with Jessie or go question Vanessa?”
“I can go do the questioning if you want to stay here. One thing I do have to wonder though. I thought the person we’re looking for is a demon, right? Jessie says she only meets up with Vanessa at the church. How is that possible?”
“Maybe the demon isn’t working alone? I don’t know. It’s our best lead so far.”
“True. That and the bar. Jessie mentioned there’s been sulfur smells there. I can check out both. I’ll call you after I meet with Vanessa, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan partner.”
***
Chase finds herself in an old Methodist church fit with everything stereotypical, from wooden pews, to a bell in the bell tower on top of the steeple. She hesitantly opens the doors, praying to the God she now knows is out there somewhere (though she isn’t sure if she should take Castiel’s certainty to heart yet) that Vanessa is there today. 
Scanning the room, she spots a pastor near the altar, shuffling papers, likely sermon notes. She approaches him cautiously, a hand in her pocket, ready to grab the knife at a moment’s notice. 
“Hi, can I ask you a question really quickly? Sorry, I don’t mean to disturb you,” Chase says, keeping her voice quiet in the mostly empty room.
“No, no, always happy to help a child of God.”
Chase flashes a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as forced as it feels. “I was told I could see a Vanessa Wali. Is she here today?”
“She actually isn’t. What did you need her for?”
“Oh, I was told to see her to pick up some medication for Jessie. You know, Jessie Salinas? Do you know where I can find Vanessa?”
“She should be at her house, across the lane where the cherry trees are.”
“Thank you! Have a nice day.”
“Of course!” He exclaims in a bright tone. Chase waves, taking a quick exit. She rushes over to the large house across the way, the aroma of cherries strongly taking over Chase’s senses. 
Chase immediately recognizes the sickly sweet smell of Valerian Root hidden in the cherry scent. Chase shakes her head, pinching her wrist to stay alert, hoping the Valerian Root is coincidence. Of course, when has anything in her life been purely coincidence?
A symbol scrawled hastily over the door looks like it could pass as religious, but Chase immediately recognizes it as an occult sigil. Well, shit.
Turning on her heel, Chase redirects herself from the front porch. Pulling out her phone, she hurriedly calls Harley, already booking it back to Jessie’s house. Harley’s answering machine picks up.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, Harley. You better be fine, or I’m going to actually kill you.”
The door is ajar when Chase rushes up the porch steps, blanching. The room smells of Valerian Root, a thickly sweet scent that makes Chase’s eyelids droop, and she curses under her breath.
“Harley, I swear to God.”
***
Harley noticed a sickly sweet smell creeping into the house and turned to Jessie. Jessie’s eyes began to droop. Harley managed to fight off sleep a little longer before collapsing. When Harley came to, Jessie was still out and they were both tied to a pole in what looked like a basement. 
“The bar,” Harley mutters under her breath, realizing the demon knocked them out with... Valerian Root? 
That doesn’t make sense. Valerian Root is more of a witchy thing. There were seven other people in the room, but only two were free. Two women were standing by a table. They were conversing over a large pewter bowl. Harley couldn’t hear them. She started undoing  the rough rope behind her.
“Hey assholes, why don’t you untie me and we’ll see how this plays out,” Harley says, pulling the witch and demon’s attention away from the ritual and onto her.
“How are you awake already?” A woman in her late thirties with short light brown hair asked, “The Valerian Root should still be affecting you?”
“I’m not exactly normal.” Harley spit out.
“My, my, you’re a fun one,” The other woman says. She was in her twenties with long black hair. Her eyes flashed black for a second. “I’ll almost miss you when you’re gone.” 
The demon crouches down to Harley’s level, “I’m Hazel. These are your new friends. Rueben, Stephanie, Evangeline, Jacob, Ray, and you’ve already met dear sweet Jessie,” Hazel listed off the names pointing to each corresponding person. “But who are you dear? Hmm?”
“What’s your pay grade? Must be pretty low if you don’t know who I am.”
“I want to hear it out of your pretty little mouth.”
“You aren’t too bad yourself. Are you the one that tied me up? I’m not opposed to bondage.”
“You wish. You’re vermin that’s wandered into my trap. The dirt on my heel. You’re a disgusting worthless halfbreed.”
“And I’m damn good at it.” Harley sneers. She gets free of her bonds, grabs Hazel’s head, and slams it down onto her knee dazing the demon. Harley pulls her gun out and shoots at the witch hitting her in the shoulder. 
***
Chase rushes into the bar and sees Harley shoot a woman with short hair in the shoulder. Another woman straightens and goes to attack Harley from behind. Eyes widening, Chase rushes up in time to stab her short pocket knife into the back of the woman’s neck.
“Harley, the demon blade!”
Harley spins around and quickly assesses the situation, taking her demon blade and stabbing the woman in her stomach. The woman’s body collapses, the demon now gone. With a quick shot to the head, the witch is also dead. 
Chase breathes heavily, putting her gun back into its correct place in her waistband. Harley starts untying the kidnappees. Chase shortly follows suit.
“I’m hungry. Wanna head back to the diner?”
“That sounds like a great idea. Let me drop an anonymous tip to the local police and I’ll be ready to go.”
After doing just that, Harley and Chase find their way back to Brimstone Diner. 
“How is it that you manage to get kidnapped by a demon and a witch?” Chase teases, Agnes, the same woman who served them earlier, walking away with their orders. “Losing your touch?”
“That witch made a Valerian Root knockout bomb.”
“I figured. Cherries can only hide the smell so much. Honestly she should’ve known better. The Valerian mixed with the cherries just made the entire place smell like it’d been drenched with cough syrup.”
“I’m just lucky I came to when I did. Guess it’s one of the benefits of being a halfbreed.”
Chase wrinkles her nose at the word. “I suppose.”
Agnes comes back with two orders of pie, gives a smile, then walks off to serve other customers. 
Harley and Chase immediately begin to eat, the day’s efforts having made them extremely hungry. 
“You saved the seal,” A male voice says. Chase and Harley snap to attention, startled by the sudden appearance of Castiel. Castiel sits next to Chase in the booth, and stares between the two girls inquisitively. 
“Can you stop poofing everywhere. You’re gonna give me a heart attack,” Harley complains.
“I do not poof,” Castiel replies sternly.
“‘Cept you do.” Harley fires back.
Castiel just sighs knowing that it is a waste of breath to argue with her.
“Why do you sound surprised, anyway? About us saving the seal?” Chase asks.
Castiel looks at them both carefully. “I did not predict the outcome of this attempt to be successful.”
Chase looks at him, vaguely annoyed. “You sent us on a hunt you thought we’d fail? Then why even send us?”
“My brothers and sisters were busy.”
“Well next time let us grab weapons and stuff. We barely scraped by on what we had.” Harley says, annoyed.
“It was best you go immediately.”
Chase rolls her eyes. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind taking us back once we’re finished with our food, that’d be great.”
Castiel nods slowly. “Alright.”
***
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to poofing,” Chase says, disoriented after being transported back to the motel. “Also, quick question, you did tell Sam and Dean where we were, right?”
Castiel suddenly looks more uncomfortable than normal. “They were both otherwise engaged. Dean should be able to fill you two in on what happened to him.”
“And Sam?”
“Sam is an unreliable source,” Castiel says evasively. 
“How is Sam an unreliable source? We’ve known him longer than you,” Harley questions.
“Dean is about to leave to find Sam. You can catch up to him easily, since he only now left.”
“Okay, thanks. Wanna tell us where we’re going?” Chase asks.
“425 Waterman,” Castiel responds quietly. “But, I’m warning you. You won’t like what you find.”
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alexsmitposts · 3 years
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Conservative Americans Now Labeled “Domestic Terrorists” The long-awaited transition of power finally occurred in the United States on January 20, 2021 when Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were sworn in as president and vice president. Two weeks before on January 6, a large number of Donald Trump’s supporters rallied in Washington DC to protest what they believed to be a stolen election by the Democrats. A small fraction of the demonstrators were let into (or broke into) the Capitol Building and staged a riot which was eventually ended by security forces with a small number of casualties. It is clear that the media and political reactions and the possible long-term effects on freedom of speech are more interesting than the riot itself. Speaking with Geoff Young, a US antiwar activist who ran for the Kentucky House of Representatives in 2012, and several times for the US House of Representatives, and Governor of Kentucky in 2015 and 2019, some additional insight can be added. He hasn’t won any elections yet, but he has discovered in campaigning how corrupt the Democratic and Republican Parties are when it comes to vote rigging. He currently has active lawsuits against both the Kentucky “Democratic” Party (KDP) and the Republican Party of Kentucky (RPK). Mr. Young, what is going on here? One just has to carefully evaluate the media, not only MSM. It’s easy to notice that the framing of the “domestic terrorism” issue is being promoted by public television and radio stations as well as the usual mainstream media corporations, most of which are openly biased in favor of the Democrat Party. As Glenn Greenwald wrote in a January 19, 2021 article called, “The New Domestic War on Terror Is Coming,” “The more honest proponents of this new domestic War on Terror are explicitly admitting that they want to model it on the first one. A New York Times reporter noted on Monday that a “former intelligence official on PBS NewsHour” said “that the US should think about a ‘9/11 Commission’ for domestic extremism and consider applying some of the lessons from the fight against al-Qaeda here at home.” Are they suggesting that the CIA should fire missiles from drones at members of the Proud Boys and Antifa without any kind of legal due process? Greenwald went on to note that “former Facebook security official Alex Stamos” emphasized “the need for social media companies to use the same tactics against US citizens that they used to remove ISIS (banned in Russia) from the internet — in collaboration with law enforcement — and that those tactics should be directly aimed at what he calls extremist ‘conservative influencers’.” Glenn Greenwald: “Meanwhile, Congressman Adam Schiff (D-CA) — not just one of the most dishonest members of Congress but also one of the most militaristic and authoritarian — has had a bill proposed since 2019 to simply amend the existing foreign anti-terrorism bill to allow the US Government to invoke exactly the same powers at home against ‘domestic terrorists’.” In a recent airing of Frontline: American Reckoning – A PBS NewsHour Special Report, the narrator said within the first 30 seconds of the show: “Provoking a mob of his supporters, President Trump upended a long tradition of peacefully transferring power.” That anti-Trump framing continued throughout the entire 57-minute broadcast. Do you buy this narrative? There’s no real evidence that Trump ever incited his supporters to break into the Capitol, however, and quite a bit of evidence that he urged them to remain peaceful, nonviolent and loud. If that is the case, then the Democrats’ second impeachment of Donald Trump was as constitutionally and legally unsound as the first one. Both impeachments were exercises in pure partisan politics designed to benefit the fortunes of the Democrat Establishment and damage Trump and the GOP as much as possible. With social media and government agencies working in tandem to restrict foreign and domestic news, and to label journalists who are not toeing the US line as foreign agents, the First Amendment is under attack. President Biden has not expressed any interest in dropping all charges against Julian Assange. Was this a false flag? It is not at all clear who turned the loud, outdoor demonstration on January 6, 2021 into a riot in the Capitol Building. It could have been the Trump supporters, but it could also have been the Capitol Police, other anti-Trump security forces, international experts in color revolutions such as George Soros, the Trump-hating FBI, the Trump-hating CIA, or the DNC. If anti-Trump organizations were the ones who got the large rally to turn violent, the riot would have been a coup against Donald Trump as an individual, not against the American republic. One is reminded of what happened in 1933 – the burning of the German Reichstag. When the German parliamentary building went up in flames, Hitler harnessed the incident to seize power – and that means gaining control of the media and cracking down with laws “to protect society,” and the Constitutional Order (“Ordnung” in German). For this reason, it is not only appropriate but necessary to revisit history, because whenever citizens and politicians feel threatened by executive overreach, the Reichstag Fire is referred to as a cautionary tale. Young concludes, “It seems likely that the Democrats are using the January 6 riot as an excuse to impose something like martial law on the American people and to stifle all criticism of the incoming Democrat administration (or regime).” Analysis and Commentary It is doubtful that any expected FBI investigation into the causes of the riot will ever incriminate the FBI or crisis actors but the very talk may be used to invoke some kind of crackdown on those who “take exception” with the new government and its policies and methods. It should be noted that the PBS broadcast also examined the impact of President Donald Trump’s rhetoric throughout his presidency and the government’s missed opportunities to manage the spread of misinformation and the rise of domestic terrorism. These are valid issues to be discussed; however, all who supported Trump cannot be labeled as fringe groups, totally disgruntled or domestic terrorists. As Time Magazine so accurately describes, “Rolling back those freedoms has served in other countries as a prelude to authoritarianism, and it is easy enough to imagine a future US President deciding to label his opponents terrorists before stripping them of their fundamental rights.” It is an overreaction to be calling for a domestic war on terrorism. Nonetheless, it is easy to collectively take words and actions of Trump’s supporters, even when they renounce the results of a [supposedly] free and fair election and label such discontents as being against the Constitution or legal order. However, let us not forget the double standard, and how former President Trump attempted “to designate Antifa, a loose band of left-wing radicals, as a terrorist organization, a move that civil liberties groups successfully resisted. The larger purpose, however, appears to paint all those groups in the wake of the storming of the Whitehouse on any group which supported Trump, and label all those who will not recant their support as potential domestic terrorists or conspiracy theorists. Even PBS admits there have been double standards in how such breaches of government building are addressed. It would be nice to believe that freedom of speech will continue to mean that people are free to engage in certain forms of protected speech, including criticizing the government and politicians, without control or reprisal by the government, provided they don’t call for direct violence or overthrow. However, that may be short lived, and now Senator Dick Durbin, an Illinois Democrat, plans to reintroduce the Domestic Terrorism Prevention Act, which passed the House last fall but went nowhere in the Senate. Its purpose is to authorize dedicated domestic terrorism offices within the Department of Homeland Security, the Department of Justice, and the Federal Bureau of Investigation to analyze and monitor domestic terrorist activity and require the Federal Government to take steps to prevent domestic terrorism. Biden is keeping to the script, by stating soon thereafter, “don’t dare call them protesters. They were a riotous mob, insurrectionists, {they were] domestic terrorists: It’s that basic. It’s that simple.” However, it is not that simple, in light of the emotions running high in the US. These words may come back to haunt him and his administration, as a self-fulfilling prophesy. And now Biden is just as guilty as Trump for dividing an already divided people, with his own fiery rhetoric: “No one can tell me that if it had been a group of Black Lives Matter protesting, they wouldn’t have been treated very, very differently from the mob of thugs that stormed the Capitol,” the president-elect said The timing and choice of wording is most inopportune and inappropriate, as much of what the US has accused other nations of doing, controlling media, and its people, is fast becoming a US production. In fact it is as if Biden is borrowing pages from Trump own play book. This does not come at at good time, with social media and government agencies working in tandem in restricting foreign news and domestic news, and labeling journalists who are not toeing-the-US line as foreign agents. There have even been instances of where native born US citizens have been sanctioned by the US Treasury Department simply for writing articles and publishing them on Russian media sites. All the while, the plurality of the US media is at its lowest point ever, controlled, manipulated, bought and paid for. There is no longer a fine line between news and blatant propaganda. Being labeled as part of a group that really believes that the US election result was tainted now may put you on a list for a visit from Homeland Security or some anti-terrorist organization. There was no Trump Era! He was merely a papier-mâché cut out puppet, and who out of his bottomless narcissism reined over the corporate media news and talk shows with his Mad Hatter Tweets, using the same Twitter that mobilized the Arab Spring masses to screw up their countries too, a pre-test before fanning it out on a declining ready for figuratively beheading much of the US domestic population over their political preferences. The post Trump period is being compared on PBS to post Civil War, “incitement of insurrection,” and “how US President Grant realized how the KKK was an essential threat to everything that had been achieved by that bloody war, and various commentators claim that that is what the Federal Government is now facing. Those who stormed the White House are described (43:00) as “white nationalists, and there is a need to aggressively pursue and root out this cancerous menace of white nationalism and the “kind of” white extremist militias that are really a functionally revanchist movement in American Society.” All things considered, and the swing of the pendulum, things will not get better with Biden anytime soon, maybe even worse, because the ruling elite in their “close knit societies,” have it all mapped out in detail. It appears as some of the Capitol guards let the fed agent provocateurs, and if some of the crisis actors just waltz right in … and keep in mind that the Reichtag Fire was not engineered by the guards circling and within the Reichtag. There are too many unanswered questions, just look at the US Congress, most of the powerful have been in office for over 50 years, and never leave office, and the newbies, especially in the Democrat party, are former military or CIA trained or Intel Democrats, young and frisky. It is a threatening time (even more than during Trump), and that era is fading; however, it seems America may be in for some rough times with the crackdown on civil liberties because of COVID and the NEW domestic terrorist label. Protecting the American people from themselves is the NEW doublespeak.
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For the make-this-pairing-dysfunctional meme, I would request Sam/Cas.
(vague future!AU)
Dean dies. The end, when it comes, isn’t violent, or spectacular, or in the service of ending an apocalypse or in the quest for another apocalypse to fight. He simply goes to bed one night and never wakes up again.
Sam tells Castiel later that it was a heart attack, but he looks and sounds numb as he says the words, like he doesn’t believe it himself. He doesn’t cry as he clears an area behind the bunker for the pyre, when he gathers firewood, or even he reverently places Dean’s body on the pyre, his favourite gun and keys to the Impala tucked beneath his stiff hands. Castiel follows him silently, desperate to grieve himself but afraid that the moment he turns away there would be yet another Winchester-shaped hole in the universe. 
“Sam,” he says, exactly once.
Sam smiles at him from where he’s stacking wood. He’s dripping with sweat. “Gotten kinda used to doing half of all this work,” he says. “I guess I just need to--” His voice breaks, and both of them look away from each other for the moment it takes Sam to pull himself together. “I need to figure out a new system for the future, is all,” he says finally.
Castiel doesn’t know whether to be worried that Sam expects to cremate more friends, or encouraged that he expects to have friends at all after this.
The days after the funeral... stretch. Castiel visits the Bunker as often as he can. Sam always seems absorbed in some research or the other, though as far as Castiel can tell, he hasn’t been on a hunt since Dean died. Sam never brings up Dean when Castiel is there--and Castiel doesn’t dare do it on his own--but Dean still... exists, somehow. Dean’s boots are still by the main doors. Dean’s room is untouched, except for when Sam goes to dust it everyday and change the sheets every week. There’s always a third place setting when Sam and Castiel sit to eat. When they cuddle in front of the TV in Sam’s room, Sam still insists that they be quiet; their kisses are still quick and tentative, like Dean is going to walk in on them any second. 
Castiel has seen countless people die; he has spent most of his existence in a living, breathing monument to billions of human souls. He has never known death to be anything but loud and dynamic and chaotic. But here Dean exists as lack, a black hole that he and Sam orbit, always on the edge of being dragged across its event horizon and crushed at its centre. It strikes Castiel as wrong, but--
--what would the absence of lack even look like? It’s absurd. Unimaginable. The Winchesters shape the universe; Castiel merely exists in it.
One night, he visits the Bunker and finds that Sam is missing. An hour’s search leads him to the nearest crossroads, where Sam kneels, empty-handed, eyes blank, shivering in the cold. Castiel doesn’t say a word; he kneels before him, cups Sam’s face in his hands. Sam’s skin is cold and wet; his thumbs press into his cheeks like they’re putty.
“I--I wasn’t going to,” Sam says. “Never again. But--but Cas, at least this way I’ll never forget. He’ll know that I never forgot.”
Given enough time, even black holes can die. The universe will continue to exist, but you would have to reinvent the very building blocks of meaning to say that it does. Until then--
Castiel kisses Sam’s forehead. “Next time,” he says, “call me.”
-
(  Give me a pairing and I’ll write you a way it could be spectacularly dysfunctional! )
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5typesoftrash · 4 years
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Marble
This is the most random fic I came up with the idea for at literally 1am when I was definitely not sleeping and I wanted to dedicate it to @specialagentrin and @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover BECAUSE IM LOV THEM!!
You are my favorite, sweetest beans. Thank you for existificating.
***
There are few true comforts in this world.
The warmth of the arms of the one you love; the knowledge that you are safe; chocolate.
Sam’s always thought he had a thick skin. He can take physical torture, he can even take emotional torture (exhibit A: the Cage). He can handle this.
He can be a marble statue for these two people he loves most in the world. He can be strong, and immovable, and not feel pain.
Right?
--
Sam’s the one who pushed them.
The ‘Deastiel’ jokes, comments about them being ‘an old married couple’… all of it. It was Sam’s fault in the first place. He’s the one who outright confronted Dean and told him to fess up, at least to him if not to Cas.
And Dean did.
And then Dean repeated it all to the angel.
Sam is an idiot.
--
He walks in on them in the kitchen one morning. They’re slow dancing to an Aerosmith song. Sam has no idea how that works, but somehow, they manage it.
Dean looks at Cas like a blind man seeing for the first time. Cas looks at Dean like the Second Coming. One of Dean’s hands is clasped in Cas’s and the other rests on his lower back. Cas’s hand is on Dean’s shoulder.
He leaves them alone and locks himself in his bedroom.
He’s chipping away, little by little. He can feel it.
--
Sam’s resolve crumbles slowly, so slowly he doesn’t even notice it until it’s near completely gone. He hides from them, always. He can’t even look at them anymore for fear of spontaneous combustion.
He finds temporary, fleeting warmth in strangers, tiny candles in the dark, but by the morning each flame is extinguished, the light goes out, and the warmth slips away. Sam is cold again.
Because there are so few true comforts in this world, there is only one person who will ever really make Sam feel safe again.
--
They notice, because of course they do. It’s hard not to, when someone holes up in their bedroom and never speaks to their roommates and only eats at one in the morning when he’s practically starving so he never has to see anyone else.
They notice, and they try to drag him out of his shell. His shell, which he swears used to be made of marble, but it has been weathered by this great storm, Hurricane Destiel, which tore through his life and decimated his armor.
He wonders if they would listen if he told them. He wonders if they would hate him.
He doesn’t know. He used to think… there was no way they could ever hate him. But now, the way they wrap themselves in each other, the way that nothing else even exists around them for those moments together, he thinks.
He can’t take this from them. He can’t deprive them of this happiness that they have so rightly earned. He loves them both too much.
He cannot be a marble statue for them anymore. He is only a man, and men bend and break under the will of God. He will never be any more than he is.
He will never be what he wants to be.
--
So life goes on.
Sam puts on a brave face eventually, ventures out into the Bunker again, and even starts to eat meals with his family again. Because they are his family, and he hates himself for almost forgetting that. They are the only two people in the world who’ve never left his side, who never gave up on him.
He wishes there was some small way he could make it easier.
He wishes he could take everything he feels away, like Christ on trial. He prays to God, not that Chuck is listening. He’s lost so much faith in the things he used to believe in. He used to believe so much, so earnestly, desperate for a reason to hold on to the good things he barely deserves. Christianity was ripped away from him, but it brought with it someone new he could pour his time, energy, love, and faith into, so he thought he could live without it.  But now that has been ripped away from him as well, and his brother, his rock with it.
He can’t keep believing in people who never believe in him.
He can’t keep falling for angels.
He becomes cold and distant instead, as a way to separate himself from them emotionally, rather than physically. Maybe he can make them hate him. Maybe if he tries hard enough, they’ll wish him gone, and maybe if they hate him he’ll stop loving them so painfully much.
(He thinks this, in his darkest moments, his guiltiest secret, but he knows that he won’t. Nothing in all of Creation could prevent him from loving the people that he loves.)
Dean snaps at him finally, after almost two weeks, and tells him to figure his shit out. Sam is horrified to discover that he’s actually glad for it. If Dean hates him for that, maybe he’ll hate him less for the other things.
Cas tries to comfort him after Dean storms off. He whispers something to Sam but Sam shrugs him off with a dismissive comment. I don’t care, maybe, or leave me alone. That’s a good one too.
But no matter how hard he may try, he will never stop missing them. Even when they sit across the table from him.
He misses them.
--
Cas never speaks to it when Dean isn’t there. Sam can never decide if that’s good or bad.
Dean rants to Cas about Sam – Sam hears him from down the hall – but Cas’s attitude remains firmly ‘that’s nice dear’ the entire time. He never adds anything, he never comments. And he never comes to Sam to ask if he’s alright.
Sam wonders if Cas simply doesn’t care. It would make sense.
For after all, he’s the screwup to fell in love with Castiel.
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thrill-cfthechase · 4 years
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tl;dr: elliot is sad about her mom, elliot’s birth and how she got her name
august 17th, 2018
sunset mobile home park, santa rosa, ca
elliot has never had a clean room in her life. there might have been a week when she was six where there had seemed to be order, but besides that it was in a state of unending chaos. there were clothes and sports equipment and trophies and candy wrappers. there were papers that seemed to exist for no reason but that elliot still couldn’t manage to get rid of. and there was a box of her mother’s things that had gone untouched for nineteen years. she had some of her mother’s belongings, like the moth-eaten sweaters she found in the closet and a journal that had been under the couch for god knows how long. but this box seemed to have hidden itself behind raincoats and a bruce lee poster, and now sat in front of her covered in a thick layer of dust. she had been content to leave it that way forever, but tomorrow she would leave her father’s home in a jeep cherokee older than she was and drive into the unknown. or, more specifically, to virginia and to gallagher. she just couldn’t leave a piece of her mother behind.
she opened the box, fanning away the cloud of dust that formed. on the top there were homemade vhs tapes with masking tape labels on the side: tucker’s first birthday, forrest’s first words, tucker’s first soccer game, halloween 1997. elliot set them to the side, she would have them converted into dvds later. but it was the kind of home movie she’d already seen. all the kids in the neighborhood running through a hose and laughing, her mother’s smiling face as she carried a candle-lit cake for her brother’s birthday, her brothers doing silly things while her parents watched through a lens and made commentary about how much they loved them. the last home movie they had was labeled november 1st, 1998. her mother was sitting on the couch with tucker and forrest on either side of her. each boy had a balloon tucked underneath their shirts so they could look just like mom and the three of them held their large bellies and laughed. elliot must have watched that one a hundred times as some sort of punishment for the fact that three days later she would be alive and her mother wouldn’t be.
underneath the tapes was a baby book. at least, it looked like it was supposed to be one. her name was on the cover, but it was empty except for the sonogram on the first page and a few labels that showed only blank pages. there were photo albums chronicling her brother’s childhoods, dozens if not hundreds of pictures of toothless smiles and skinned knees. there had never been many pictures of elliot when she was little. some days her father couldn’t bear to look at her, let alone take a picture. but every once in a while her brothers would get a hold of a disposable camera and capture gems like elliot with a face covered in chocolate cake on her first birthday or a beaming five-year-old elliot accepting a yellow belt in karate. it wasn’t uncommon for the youngest sibling’s childhood to be less documented than their older siblings. sometimes it hurt, and sometimes elliot was glad she could forget. beneath those she found more sweaters and she instantly stuffed them into her suitcases, not caring if they fit or if they were clean or if she even liked them.
at the very bottom of the box lay an envelope, tucked underneath a fold of cardboard. elliot pulled it out, her fingers coated in decades old dirt. there was no writing on the envelope - no name, no date, no address. maybe it wasn’t hers to open, but it wasn’t anyone else’s, either. she peeled it open as carefully as she could and reached inside, pulling out a letter. she instantly recognized the handwriting as her mother’s, and before she had time to think it through, she unfolded the piece of paper and began to read.
Dearest Baby,
I didn’t always know that I was going to need you, but as soon as I knew you were coming I understood that this family wouldn’t be complete without you. I have been waiting for you for a long time now and I think you will be here soon. We weren’t expecting you so quickly but you seem to want to come into this world and I am just so happy that I’ll get to meet you. Getting to know you in the past seven months isn’t quite the same, but it has been wonderful nonetheless. We have a bond, you and me, and it is more than just an umbilical cord. Sometimes I think I should learn morse code because I'm sure your kicks are trying to tell me something. I really did look into it, which you might think is silly, but the library didn’t have any books about it so it was a moot point. Maybe your kicks are symbolic. You want me to know you are strong and that even though this pregnancy has been hard, you’re going to keep fighting. If you are reading this, you are grown and you will know that there are things I have not been able to give you. I’m sorry for that. But I hope by now you can see that I love you and your brothers with all my heart and there is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I wish there was more I could say to you, but I'm very tired and sometimes I feel like words fail me. I just hope that I’ve shown you how much I love you every single day, and this will just be a funny little reminder. 
All My Love,
Mama
p.s. I’m sorry I addressed this to ‘baby’ and not to you. I know what your name will be, but I’m afraid to jinx it. You know how superstitious I can get.
elliot has always taken pride in the fact that she rarely cries. crying was for babies, her brothers taught her that at a very early age. no one needed to know what she was feeling. sometimes even elliot didn’t know. but now she was crying, hard, tears gushing down her face, nose running, breath caught in her throat. she let the letter out of her grasp and it floated gently to the floor. the paper seemed too light and airy to contain words that affected her so strongly. her tears were silent - she didn’t want to wake her father on the other side of the wall, sitting on the couch in front of the tv with a mostly-empty twelve pack littered around his feet. there was a weight on her chest and a knot in her stomach, guilt and grief and loneliness. she had been loved once, truly loved, by a parent. she had never been sure if her father was incapable of loving her or he simply didn’t want to. her brothers loved her more than she thought she deserved, but it was never quite the same. she had heard people say there was nothing like a mother’s love, and elliot had ruined her chance to have that with her very first breath. she picked the letter back up and blew away some of the dirt. she tucked it into a pocket of a suitcase where it would be safe. elliot wasn’t sure what she would do with it, if she would ever even open it again, but she knew she needed to have it.
 november 4th, 1998
santa rosa memorial hospital
it didn’t feel like the first two. she’s been on bedrest, and this one has come earlier than the others - almost too early and she’s worried - but there is something else. something feels different. the doctor reassures her and she trusts them, but the worry doesn’t fully go away. it hurts, it always hurts, and maybe this time is no different. she takes the anaesthetic. this is her third baby, she has nothing to prove. her husband holds her hand and she cries and she keeps reminding herself that it will all be worth it. and suddenly a baby is there, gross and beautiful in an incomprehensible way. the baby cries but she laughs because she did it. it’s the hardest thing she’ll ever do.
they hand him the baby and he looks at it like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “it’s a girl,” he hears, voices muffled by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. he looks up at his wife beaming. “it’s a girl,” he repeats, and he thinks he sees a flicker of a smile on her face before the color is drained from her cheeks and doctors rush to her sides. suddenly there are shouts and beeping and everything is happening so fast that he can’t comprehend what’s going on in front of him. he just stays in the corner, eyes glassy as the world seems to move in slow motion and the baby in his arms begins to cry. a nurse takes the baby and three more take his wife to the operating room. forty minutes later she is dead and he is empty and there is a baby somewhere that will need him. but he needs talia, and as he walks like a zombie from the maternity ward to the postnatal ward he feels like he can’t do this without her. he knows it. when he arrives, the baby is wearing a pink hat and a breathing tube. but she will be just fine, they say. it’s procedure for most preemies.
he has to fill out a birth record. in two weeks it will be processed and he’ll go to city hall to pick up a birth certificate and a social security card because this baby is here- an impossibly tiny person, asleep two feet away in the hospital nursery. a nurse hands him a pen and it quivers in his hand. he looks at the forms through bloodshot eyes, cheeks stinging as a painful reminder of  his tears. they have  already written down her height and weight: 16 inches, 5 pounds 10 ounces. a little small, but she’ll be just fine, they say. he has to fill in the rest: baby’s name, date of birth, parent’s names, and address. most of it is simple: november 4th, 1998, henry chase, talia lilly chase, 2963 santa rosa avenue, santa rosa, ca. it’s the first, and most important question that has him stumped. what could he possibly name his baby girl? all the names they had considered were for a son. he thinks of his home, where tucker and forrest are waiting with their neighbor mrs. mahoney - what was he going to tell tucker and forrest? - and of the book talia had left on the kitchen table. it was going to be a baby book, already equipped with a page for her son’s first smile, first crawl, first words. and he thinks of the cover, where stickers spelled out the name talia had chosen. elliot. it’s not a bad name, he thinks. and suddenly the answer seems so clear and he writes it down quickly: elliot talia chase. he looks at his baby girl and he’s crying again, but this time the tears fall not only out of sadness, but also out of joy.  
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createdbyinvisibles · 4 years
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The Chronicles of a bookworm ninja
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Word count:  2829
An episodic series of chapters telling the odd tale of Rin Kikumoto, the last political book carrier and her misadventures in becoming a ninja.
If you’re curious about what the Kikumoto clan is exactly then this bio here should explain everything.
    Rin Kikumoto lived an utterly peculiar existence, she was the type of person to spontaneously do things for the sake of quick and short excitement. As well as the kind of person to just always be around asking questions, a kid, nine years old to be exact, should never be wondering. Living on the only standing house in the crumbled compound of the now-disbanded Kikumoto clan, you could say it was an odd house for an odd girl. But now this odd girl would be attending her first day at the ninja academy, something her older brother was solemnly against. He simply hated the mere thought of having his sister be a part of what he thought to be "another pawn of the military complex." 
But it would get her out of the house, and she argued it would do her more good than the negatives that came with it. She'd have to start late, however, since she was already nine and the rest of the classmates have been at the academy since age six, but she was a fast learner, well... She had to be. The reason being was the very same reason she was well odd, she was what the village called a political book carrier. The position was one of knowledgeable importance, as it was an old position, and it even went back to the first Hokage, this position was one of four now-disbanded positions the Kikumoto clan occupied. 
A position that detailed the tasks of carrying knowledge, secret knowledge, the kind of knowledge that was best left to be forgotten. And Rin had to carry all of it, libraries worth of secrets and information of all types to be stored away within the depths of a large sketchbook. To be sealed by the strength of her soul, to be remembered but never talked about again. For even if she wished to forget the village needed someone to remember, for what if the Hokage required information? If she never remembered then, the Hokage surely wouldn't, and the village would suffer. So cursed with the seal mark of the black chrysanthemum, she for the rest of her life would bear the knowledge of the village by sealing it in the book that was her soul. 
But it didn't matter now, for, with jello-like legs, she stared at the oddly shaped building looming in front of her. As she felt her muscles tense up, it made her realize that she was about to enter an environment in which she could socialize with others. Other people who weren't her brother and other people who all had differing opinions, opinions as well as feelings different from her own, something her brother said was the bane of their existence. But if she was to learn how to understand others and become friends with any of them well, she'd have to try. So with reluctant steps, she walked forward into the building that would become the start of a life she couldn't even begin to think, she'd have. 
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"Alright class, today we have a new student who will be joining us..." Iruka Sensei now told the class, to the response of nods and a couple murmurs for who this newcomer could possibly be.
"Excuse me, but you're going to have to enter the classroom first," Iruka Sensei said gently motioning for her to step through the door, so lost in her thought that she forgot to enter the classroom entirely. But with cold feet, she stepped into the classroom, there were a lot of people, too many people. All of which stared down to her on high wooden benches that made everything seem so much more intimidating. "Alright, why don't you tell the class your name?" Iruka Sensei suggested with a smile, and with a nod, Rin complied.
I could walk into that classroom with an identity entirely different to my own, and no one could tell, I'll just say I'm so-so, and everyone will just believe me, and I'll have to live a lie for the rest of my life. Rin gripped her book, a book she should have kept in her back pocket, for the book not only carried libraries of information but her soul as well. But at times like these, it always seemed to calm her down when she held her book close.
"Is there anything you would like to say about yourself? A favourite colour perhaps?" Iruka Sensei suggested yet again breaking her train of thought, for little did she know as all this thinking was going on, she merely stood statue-like.
"Greetings or salutations, my name is Rin Kikumoto…" Rin said with her voice surprisingly steady. Look at the faces, study each one, remember what brother said, everyone feels something and all of it can be displayed on their faces. Perhaps someone is just as nervous as me? I know practically every dark secret in this village, something like this shouldn't scare me at all! It shouldn't scare me at all… Even if everything about this is new and new is a change and change is well, uncomfortable. Rin's obsidian coloured eyes darted back and forth, it made her eyes look like two little kaleidoscopes that seemed to draw you in by pure curiosity. She didn't find anyone, in particular, that was nervous, all except one girl, and she looked plain antsy with her blank pupilless purple eyes, eyes that were the mark of the Hyuga clan. 
Ironically she would have preferred world stumping mind bogglers, she was used to those, her brother would always give her one every week, and at the end of the week, they'd have a debate over it. Those questions were easier in a way since they were always open-ended and allowed room for an answer longer than a sentence. How was she supposed to form a meaningful opinion with a sentence? 
Favourite colour? Well, white reflects the sun and looks really lovely but it also stains easily, black is beautiful but plain dreadful in the summer, purple is majestic, but it's too expensive. Blue is so basic and red is far too strong, green is different enough to make me seem unusual, but the colour itself reminds me of puke. Grey is dull and brown feels like cheating because it's all the colours just mixed together, orange never looks good on me, and yellow makes my eyes hurt. Pink is sweet, but everyone is probably expecting me to say it and big brother always talks about how we have to break the "stereotypes' ', so it's out of the question. And what if someone in the class is colourblind, then I'll just sound like a jerk regardless! Rin was yet again looking towards the floor, typical softball questions that anyone could try and answer seemed like world stumping mind bogglers for her. 
It was only now that she realized she never answered Iruka Sensei, nor did she say anything at all, the realization of which made her sink slightly into herself. "Can I sit at my desk please," Rin asked awkwardly, re-evaluating my life is more like it.
It was then that she noticed the Uchiha insignia on his back, so he's Sasuke Uchiha the lone survivor of the Uchiha clan, well the personality checks out at least… Peas and carrots. Rin felt bad, Even if his personality made her think less of him. Being a book carrier meant she had to know a lot about this village, even tragedies he'd never know, but it weirdly comforted her. It's easy to understand someone she had records on, easier than having to get the information herself anyway. 
"Of course, there is an empty seat near the back where you can sit," Iruka said motioning towards the only free desk available. I guess I'm already the problem child or at least a timid emo kid, please believe me when I say I'm an entertaining and chill person! Wait, they can't hear me. Rin made her way to the back, it wasn't as bad as she thought it was, just well, really far away from the front. Sitting by the window in the seat next to her, was a cantankerous looking boy with short jet black hair in the shape of a duck's butt. "Guess we'll be desk buddies then," Rin joked offering her hand to shake, and telling by the irritated glare he shot her the joke didn't land.
With the proper information, she could empathize and formulate the best way to converse with the person for the best outcome. Even if in the process of knowing their records and files, it had the potential of making Rin feel guilty. But at the end of the day, she didn't know Sasuke, not enough to really care about him anyway. And by the looks of it, Sasuke would rather the world burn then talk to her, so as long as it stayed that way, Rin would never even worry about the potential guilt she might feel.
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The rest of the school day wasn't much of note, she tried to talk to people during the break period, but with everyone in their own cliques, it was a pointless endeavour. She couldn't even sulk on the swingset because some other kid was using it, and she couldn't talk to Sasuke because he was being... Well, a total dill weed. She tried to find the antsy girl she noticed previously, but she looked busy as well, for that same girl was staring at the kid on the swingset. Rin believed it was because she wanted a turn on the swingset as well, but she didn't ask. So she spent her break sitting in the shade sketching the other kids in a smaller plain white sketchbook different to her large floral decorated sketchbook. Her goal was to have drawn and made a personal file for every student in her class since baby steps were required if no one wanted to talk to you.
"Um, excuse me," A shy voice called, and as Rin looked over to see who it is, she was surprised to find the same antsy girl who was watching the swingset from before.
"Yes?" Rin called a little louder than expected, happy that someone approached her at all.
"Well um, I don't mean to be rude or forward or anything, but I couldn't help but ask… You just seem really invested in that drawing and well..." The girl fumbled around with her words, in fact, she fumbled so much you might as well call it a literary train wreck. Wait she's really not making any sense, so that means she's nervous… I was nervous earlier today, and it caused me to be embarrassed… Wait is this empathy? Well, sweet dango on a stick, I'm empathizing! God, empathy feels fantastic! Rin was correct, she really was empathizing, but in the process it caused her to stare at the girl. Which caused the girl to become so nervous she simply excused herself and left, leaving Rin alone yet again. 
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Before she knew it, it was the end of the day, so with her book in hand, she left to go home skipping as she went, only stopping when she reached a small ridge to the side of the sidewalk, green grass and little white clovers painting a scene of contentment. Taking a slight detour, Rin began to pick the white clovers, tying them into a crown as she went scrutinizing the ridge for more of the prettiest and most delicate of clovers. "Well don't you have great eyes for flower picking?" A rather confident sounding voice called, Rin looked up from her flowers to find a girl with platinum blonde hair tied into a short ponytail. "I'm Ino by the way, and you must be Rin, right?" Ino said, offering her hand to shake.
"Oh, hello Ino… Wait doesn't your family run the flower shop?" Rin asked excitedly, shaking her hand back, she loved to go there and get flowers every Sunday. 
"That's right, my family runs the Yamanaka flower shop, but enough about me, you were recently given a seat next to Sasuke, right?" Ino asked to which Rin nodded.
"Well you don't really seem to like Sasuke, so I was wondering if you'd want to change seats with me?" Ino asked Rin's confusion.
"Wait, do you like Sasuke?!" Rin exclaimed, surprised to which Ino laughed.
"Yeah, and who doesn't?" Ino asked, and when Rin pointed to herself, Ino laughed "And I'm taller than most of the girls in our class."
"Still it doesn't make sense though, I tried talking to him, and he's well very distant, to say the least," Rin responded, confused to Ino squealing.
"But that's what makes him so cool," Ino gushed.
"Cold is more like it," Rin responded, still confused and even more confused to find Ino irritated.
"Well you're still new, so maybe you just don't understand Sasuke at all," Ino huffed, turning around to leave, forgetting about what she was going to ask Rin in the first place. Rin was still confused, what was there to understand about Sasuke, even without records Rin could feel the hatred steaming off the boy. He was rather one-note in that regard, to curse at the rest of the world is to ignore everything else about it, including the complications that make life a greyish mix of exoticness. But she wasn't one to judge, she didn't have the best first impression either, and telling by everyone's reaction to her, she probably wasn't liked either. So for all, she knew he too had socialization problems and wasn't that why she was here in the first place, to understand others? And how could she understand others by writing them off?
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Maybe I don't really know Sasuke all that well either, I mean Ino has been in that class since she was little and I've only just joined... Wait, that's it! To properly understand someone I have to befriend them, I mean to call someone a friend is to understand them. That's what I'll do! And with that, Rin got up determined and marched on with a flower crown in hand.
"I'm home!" Rin called as she took off her shoes to find her brother on a chair near the door. "I made this on my way back home," Rin said, giving him the flower crown she made previously.
"Well, doesn't this look nice on me," Her brother said, gently placing the crown on his head as if it was his own personal coronation and with a thumbs up from Rin he ruffled her hair.
“It was…” Rin trailed off, how was her day? She couldn't really put a finger on how she felt about it. It was different to say the least, but it wasn’t a bad difference going there made her feel like a scientist sent to study a different land from her own. “I’m not sure, but I think I want to go tomorrow,” she did want to go back, even if it was odd but where there was oddity, there was a way to understand it. And that’s what she was here to do.
"Maybe one day, you could come with me to pick the flowers?" Rin suggested, trying her best to ignore the slight grimace in his eyes, her brother hated leaving the house. Something he hadn't done since she was six, after that he just came home one day and never left. 
“When the flowers grow in the backyard, we can pick them together,” He suggested a small smile on his face, that was enough for Rin, it was her first day of school and she was simply too tired to get into yet another argument. “How was your day at school?” He asked carefully, Rin found him studying her face, a habit her brother always had when he felt Rin wouldn't tell him the whole story.
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luci-in-trenchcoats · 5 years
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Double Life
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Summary: Dean Winchester has been lying for the past four years. He likes to think he’s gotten pretty good at it too. Four years ago, Dean Winchester woke up in the wrong universe. Four years ago, his life became a lie as he started to try and find a way back home. Four years ago, he became Jensen Ackles. But today, for some reason, when he woke up and saw his Y/N sitting up in bed next to him, he knew this was the breakthrough he was looking for after all these years…
Pairing: Dean x reader
Square: Austin, Texas
Word Count: 8,400ish
Warnings: language, angst
A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo
The alarm blared in the dark apartment at six thirty in the morning. Dean groaned and slapped his hand against it. With a sigh he moved the warm covers away and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still exhausted from the shoots the day before. It was fun. Don’t get him wrong, he loved doing the physical action scenes when they let him. It reminded him of hunting sometimes.
Doing it over and over and over again for twelve hours though wasn’t always the greatest. He yawned as he stood up quietly and stretched, glancing over his shoulder, giving a smile to Y/N who was passed out in bed, wearing one of Jensen’s shirts. He had to hand it to the chick. She took that whole conversation pretty well and the fact he wasn’t currently locked away in a mental institution told him he’d probably made a safe bet in letting her in on the secret a few years back.
Of course she was the only one that knew. He couldn’t have faked it this long without her. She wanted Jensen back as much as Dean wanted to go home to his Y/N.
It was too early in the morning to think about that.
Dean trudged into the bathroom off the bedroom, pulling the door shut gently. He used the bathroom and took a quick shower, not bothering with drying his hair. He brushed his teeth quick, rolling his eyes as he flossed and stuck on one of those whitening strips.
Freaking actors. Dean walked into the open door at the other end of the bathroom and walked around the corner to the small walk in closet. He grabbed the same pair of jeans he’d worn all week, the belt still in them and a black t shirt from the top of the laundry basket. He hadn’t glanced at his phone but winter in Canada sucked no matter what the day so he pulled on a gray fleece hoodie Jensen had. Dean felt warm already, padding out to the kitchen with a pair of socks in hand.
He put on a pot of coffee for Y/N and sat up on one of the stools, pulling the wool items on and glancing at the clock. Almost seven. He walked over to the other side of the apartment, a small office area there where Y/N worked sometimes. He flipped through her notebook where she’d tabbed it, smiling as he read through the few scribbles. It wasn’t anything helpful but Dean was fairly certain she had managed to figure out who had robbed the Milton bank branch a few weeks back. She was getting good at that part too.
But Dean didn’t have the heart to tell her he didn’t believe he was ever going home again. Magic didn’t exist in that universe. A few small medical miracles here and there that were unexplained sure, but nothing supernatural as far as he could tell.
They were supposed to go “home” to Texas that weekend. Someone had a birthday party. He thought it was for one of Jensen’s parents but he couldn’t remember. He’d ask Y/N about it later. He put her notebook back in place and wandered over to the large floor to ceiling windows. A city never slept and certainly not one as large as this but it was starting to wake up, cars going by on the streets below, ships passing by in the bay far out.
Dean scratched the back of his neck and went back to the bathroom, ripping off the white strips and rinsing out his mouth. He looked tired but they’d fix him up in makeup. He sighed and left the room, jotting down a note for Y/N that he’d meet her at the airport. He turned up the heat in the bathroom for her, ruffling her hair a little as she groaned in bed.
“Wake up, kiddo. You got work,” he said softly.
“Five more minutes,” she grumbled.
“It’s almost seven already. Come on. Up and at ‘em,” he said. “I left a note I’ll meet you at the airport, alright? Plus I made coffee.”
“Best fake husband ever,” she mumbled.
“I know, right?” teased Dean, patting her shoulder. “Jensen’s got a lot to live up to when he gets back.”
“I’m getting up. Go play pretend, Dean,” she mumbled.
“Alright, alright. I’ll see you later, Y/N,” said Dean, bending down and kissing her forehead.
Dean headed to the front of the apartment and slipped on a pair of sneakers, grabbing his backpack, double checking his ID and wallet were in there. He grabbed the baseball cap off the front table and plopped it on, locking up after himself as he headed out. He yawned again in the elevator, riding it down, saying good morning to the doorman before putting on his fake smile for the world.
Dean Winchester was nothing more than a character on a TV show for the rest of the day, not until he was home alone with Y/N again.
“Morning, Jensen,” said Cliff when Dean climbed in the passenger seat of his truck.
“Morning,” said Dean, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window. “We got time to run to starbucks? I don’t think I can wait to get to set.”
“Home sweet home,” said Dean when they walked into their house around midnight, Dean already heading for bed when Y/N wandered off for the kitchen. “Y/N. Come on. Let’s get some shut eye.”
“He’s never coming back is he,” she said quietly. “Don’t treat me like I’m some no nothing civilian either, Winchester.”
“Truthfully,” said Dean, setting the bags down by the front door, following her over to the kitchen counter. “I lost hope about three years ago. But I keep trying, keep looking. I want you to have him back.”
“I know. I want you to have her back too,” she said. “I’m just having a bad day again is all.”
Dean didn’t say anything but grabbed her hand and led her to the bedroom. He knew some days it was too much for her. After all, she was living a lie too. Only she didn’t have a lifetime of hunting experience to help her through it. All she had was him and Dean tried his best to help her when she got down.
“Let’s change into pajamas and then we’ll watch a movie, alright? Something with Jensen in it,” he said softly.
“Thanks, Dean.”
You woke up with a stiff neck. You could feel strong arms wrapped around yours and snuggled into them, even though it made it even harder. Last night had been bad. It’d been a rough hunt. Jensen got hurt and it’d been your mistake that caused it. The dumbass had to go in and take the hit for you. He shredded his leg pretty good but thankfully Cas had been there to heal him up.
You yelled at him when you got back to the bunker, Jensen standing there quietly and just taking it once again. You told him over and over again that he was not a hunter and when he was out there he listened to your orders, to Sam’s orders. Hell, even Jack had more authority in that department than him.
So once again, Jensen stood there and let you shout at him, kept his gaze on the ground and his body small, like a schoolboy in trouble.
And it broke you. The shouting turned into crying and then he was right there, pulling you into his arms and apologizing to you for not listening again. He helped you calm down and get to bed, even sitting in there with you as you let out the frustration of the last four years again. It happened occasionally and occasionally it was him who was the one that needed you to be there. It was so completely unfair and you wanted nothing more than for Jensen to be the same person he was when you met him all those years ago.
Sweet, strong and protective, but sweet. He was something like maybe Dean would have been if he’d had a normal life. But Jensen, for all the patience he had, sometimes he couldn’t help himself. He learned to make himself useful. He mostly researched, god the guy was a speed reader. But the rare chance he was let out on an actual hunt normally resulted in him crossing a line and someone getting hurt, namely him.
You were pretty sure he was simply tired of being afraid all the time. You were pretty tired too if you were being honest.
You forced yourself away and sat up in bed, rubbing your hands over your face. Maybe you all just needed to take a break. Go to the freaking beach for a week, take some time and get your heads on straight. Forget about finding new spells or magic or ways to get Jensen home and Dean back.
“Hey,” you said quietly, rubbing Jensen’s shoulder. He mumbled and you wiped the sleep from your eyes, finally opening them. They went wide in the next second, head whipping around the large bedroom.
“Y/N, what,” mumbled Jensen. You turned and looked down at him, Jensen rolling over and blinking up at you. “Nightmare?”
“I…” you said, Jensen tilting his head. He sat up and stared at you, narrowing his eyes.
“What state are we in?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Jens. Kansas? Something weird-”
He shot his arms around you, giving you the biggest hug you’d ever gotten. He was mumbling something into your shoulder, pulling away for a brief second to crash his lips to yours.
You nearly hit him for that. Aside from the one time when you thought it was Dean four years ago, you’d never kissed Jensen. You got some forehead kisses every now and then but this was way past the scope of…
“Sweetheart,” he said. “Sweetheart, it’s me. Dean.”
You stared at him, the green eyes staring back a little heavier than the one’s you’d grown used to.
“Dean?” you asked. He nodded, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Dean?”
“Yeah. Dean,” he said, running his hands over your face. “You’re my girl, right? My Y/N?”
“I sure as fuck am,” you said. You grabbed his face and brought his lips to yours, giving him a too harsh kiss but you didn’t care. He was here and safe and alive. You were pretty sure you were leaving bruises on his cheeks you were holding him so hard but he didn’t seem to care, smiling as he kissed you back, his hands tugging you into his lap, keeping you as close as possible.
“Hi,” he breathed out when you needed air. His forehead rested against yours, a goofy smile all over his face. “I missed you so fucking much.”
“I know the feeling,” you said, releasing a laugh. You snuggled into him, not saying much of anything for a good long while. He nuzzled your cheek and you sat like that for a long time, well until you saw the cracks of light slipping through the curtain.
“Did you find a way?” asked Dean eventually. You sighed and shook your head. You still had no idea what was going on but at least you were together now. “Was...is Jensen there? Is he alive?”
“Yeah. He’s nice. You’d like him. He keeps Baby all spick and span for you,” you said.
“Good man,” said Dean with a smirk. “I assume he told you all about Y/N, his version.”
“Yeah. I’m guessing they’re together now. I mean, everyone’s still in the wrong universe but at least we’re all together,” you said.
“Y/N,” said Dean with a sad smile. “We have to figure out how to get back. I don’t know how long we can keep this up if we’re pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“Hey mom,” said Dean as you sat in the family room, watching him move around the kitchen. You were still trying to get your head around the fact he’d been lying about everything the past four years, about how Y/N went along with him. He smiled as he listened to the woman on the phone speak, humming a few times. “Yeah, Y/N’s not feeling awesome. I know we got the party tonight...yeah, maybe next weekend we can drive up. I don’t think her stomach can handle it today though...mom, she’s not pregnant...yes, someday you will get grandbabies...alright, alright, love you too. Hey, Happy Birthday...I’ll talk to you soon.”
“You’re good at that,” you said quietly, Dean shrugging as he made up a few sandwiches for lunch.
“I had to be. Don’t want to get locked up for being crazy. Y/N filled in a lot of the gaps. Thankfully she wrapped up the birthday present and card for Jensen’s mom. I could have sworn it was his dad’s this weekend. Almost got myself in trouble on that one,” said Dean. “Could have always looked in the book.”
“Book?” you asked. Dean got up and went over to a drawer, pulling out a thick notebook stuffed full of sticky notes and tabs.
“This, according to Y/N, is all of the important information from Jensen’s life I might need to know. It’s gotten larger over the years. Most I have memorized at this point,” he said.
“Geez. I’m starting to think Jensen got off easy,” you said, flipping through the thing. “You memorized this whole book?”
“Pretty much. I didn’t focus on childhood stuff too much since I can easily say I forgot. This world Y/N’s helps me out quite a bit,” he said.
“I’m sure Sam’s having a field day,” you said tossing your head back. “I bet he freaking tests her. It’s what we did Jensen when he got there.”
“It’s cool. Y/N knows quite a bit about the supernatural too. Some from the show, some I told her,” he said.
“Show?” you asked. Dean chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wait, you still film Jensen’s TV show?”
“Hey, turns out I can act,” said Dean. “...With help from-”
“Y/N? I think I owe this chick a fruit basket or something,” you said.
“I’m sure you kept Jensen okay,” he said with a smile.
“Relatively,” you said quietly. “He hunts occasionally. He wants to help. He’s really smart but sometimes he just has to get out in the field and we let him and every time he gets hurt I’m like, I can’t believe I let him out there.”
“He die yet?” asked Dean with a smirk.
“No...came close once. Cas fixed him up. He stayed pretty close to home after that. I try to keep him like his old self,” you said. You looked around the house, Dean moving the book to the coffee table. “Shit, this house is nice.”
“You don’t even want to know the taxes on it,” Dean chuckled. “I got so domestic it’s not even funny.”
“You got more color in your cheeks, you look healthy,” you said, nuzzling his cheek with your finger, Dean turning into it. “I wish we could have this in our world.”
“I would give up all of this in an instant to get you again,” said Dean. You shifted closer to him on the couch and Dean pulled you straight into his lap. “Don’t leave me, sweetheart.”
“Never, Dean,” you said, wrapping your arms around him, giving him a kiss. “Never.”
You fluttered open your eyes, Dean awake in bed beside you, his fingers dancing over your bare back. A day of just the two of you being close and together had been amazing. Spending time with him was something you were sure you’d never take for granted ever again.
“Love you,” you said.
“Love you,” he said. You leaned over to kiss him when you heard a door open outside the room. “Oh fuck. I forgot. Just stay here and put on some clothes.”
He shot up out of bed and grabbed some boxers, quickly out the door and pulling it shut. You found a robe close by and pulled it on, a laugh echoing outside. You poked your head out the door, a man looking like Sam’s twin bent over in laughter next to the front door.
“Jens, dude. You seriously ditched your mom’s birthday to have sex? I mean…” said the other man, giggling to himself. “What are you? A teenager getting laid for the first time?”
“Jared,” sighed Dean. “Y/N isn’t feeling well and-”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry,” said Jared, giving you a soft smile when he saw you. “You guys want me out of here I’m guessing.”
“Yeah. She’s got a migraine,” said Dean.
“Sorry,” said Jared quietly. “I’m guessing you don’t need me to housesit then?”
“No, no. We got it. Sorry I forgot to tell you. Just be quiet, please for her,” said Dean.
“Feel better, munchers,” said Jared, quickly stepping outside.
“Not Sam?” you asked.
“Uh yeah. That was Jared, not Sam, obviously,” he said.
“Jensen’s told me about him,” you said. “Sounds like a good guy.”
“He is. You guys are close. We’re all close. I forgot he was supposed to stop by and bring in the mail this weekend while we were out of town,” he said.
“He doesn’t know, obviously,” you said.
“Only one that did was Y/N. You have to be careful not to call me Dean in front of other people,” he said.
“So you live a lie,” you said.
“It was either that or end up in the nuthouse,” said Dean with a shrug. “I just got lucky Y/N understood. Otherwise I would have lost it a long time ago.”
“...We still don’t know what made me and Y/N switch places,” you said.
“Not a clue and magic doesn’t exist here. We’re stuck until something happens again,” said Dean, grabbing your hand as you headed back for bed.
“Dean,” you said, getting a smile from him. “Y/N didn’t happen to make one of those books for herself, did she? I have a feeling I’m going to need it.”
“My brain hurts,” you said two days later, Dean dragging the two of you through the airport. “I can’t believe you fly on planes.”
“I’m indifferent to it. I don’t like it but I don’t freak like I used to,” he said. “We got pre-check so let’s head through.”
“World traveller you are,” you mumbled.
“Actually, I am,” he said with a smirk, showing you his passport. “Let’s just get to the apartment so we can try to relax a little before work tomorrow.”
“Dean, I don’t-”
“Public. Jensen,” he said quietly.
“Even when no one’s around?” you whispered.
“Even then,” he said with a sad smile. “Someone might hear. Only at home.”
“This sucks,” you said. “I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.”
“Neither do I but appearances have to be kept up,” said Dean. “Case in point, you’re about to have your first test.”
He nodded and you saw Jared sitting over by the gate, giving you both a nod.
“He’s sort of our best friend so the faster you warm up to him, the better,” said Dean.
“This guy hasn’t picked up after 4 years that you aren’t Jensen?” you asked.
“There are times I think he suspects but just say you’re having an off day and he lets it go,” said Dean quietly as you both walked over. “Sup dude.”
“Hey guys. How’s the migraine?” asked Jared. It took a moment to realize he was talking to you. He smiled and you sat down, shaking your head.
“Much better,” you said.
“You guys want to grab a bite at my place? I think it’s my turn,” said Jared.
“No, I’m sure we…” you trailed off, Jared raising an eyebrow at you. “I uh...I am on my period. Horrible cramps. Like this all up in here, awful.”
“Wasn’t she on her period like a week ago?” said Jared.
“Ew, why do you know-”
“You borrowed some pads Gen keeps in my trailer when you two got lunch and you are acting weird, like not normal Y/N weird. Weird weird,” said Jared.
“Sorry, just...off day,” you said, Jared nodding.
“Alright, just don’t lie to me, munchers,” he said with a scowl.
“We thought we were pregnant. False positive. Someone hasn’t been in the best mood over it,” said Dean. You blinked at him but Jared turned all smiles after that.
“Hey, you don’t got to lie about something like that to me,” he said softly. “Shit, I know you guys have been trying for a while.”
“Yeah,” you said, looking at Dean. “It was a bit of a shock.”
“It’ll happen someday,” he said. You hummed, nudging Dean in the ribs.
“Can we grab a quick bite before the flight?” you asked.
“Probably more like a snack but sure,” he said. “Jare, mind watching our stuff for a minute?”
“Sure thing, let me get back to my script again,” he said as you both headed off.
“So they got snacks in the-”
“I don’t want a snack,” you mumbled. “I want...did you…”
“I did not sleep with other you,” said Dean quietly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Nothing beyond what a good friend would do.”
“Sorry. I know. He just...you have to pretend about trying to have a family and how have you not gone insane yet?” you asked. “I mean, I had Sam and Cas and Jack and...Jens, doesn’t have to deal with that. He’s just himself in our world and…”
“I have had more than one bad night,” said Dean, giving you a hug. “It gets easier with time. This is different, you being here though. I still don’t know what’s happening but you got to stick this thing out with me, okay?”
“I just want more time with you,” you said.
“I know,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Just try to keep to small talk for now. It’ll get easier, I promise.”
“I ordered Y/N’s favorite,” said Jared with a big smile when you both went over to his apartment that night.
“Thanks, Jared,” you said, sliding into the apartment, Dean right along after you. You let him take the lead, patting a spot at the kitchen island you assumed was your normal one.
“So what are you working on now?” asked Jared.
“Uh,” you said, shrugging as Dean mouthed at you. “New show?”
Dean nodded that that was correct and you breathed a sigh of relief before Jared spun back around.
“I know that. Anything you can tell us about?” he asked.
“Oh uh, not really, still in the early stages,” you said, Dean squeezing your hand under the counter. “You know how it is.”
“I’m sure it’ll turn out to be a hit like the other shows,” he said. “You showrunner on this one?”
“No. Just creator and producer,” you said, Dean humming. Fuck this was stressful. You couldn’t even imagine what going to Y/N’s job was going to be like.
“Got your pitch all set?” he asked.
“Pitch?” you asked.
“Yeah. Aren’t you pitching a new show tomorrow?” he asked.
“Oh, totally. Just don’t really want to think about it right now,” you said. “Nerves.”
“I’ll shut up about it then,” he said, sliding a plate of sushi in front of you. “Dig in.”
“I ate raw fish,” you said. “And wasabi. Who am I?”
“Very patient,” teased Dean when you back home. “You seemed to like it though.”
“It wasn’t bad. Not my favorite. Where is Y/N’s pitch I’m supposed to be giving tomorrow?” you asked. Dean winced. “Dean.”
“So...sometimes she tells me, sometimes she doesn’t...this time she didn’t. Just make something up. It’s no big deal if you don’t get it. You’re a producer on like two other shows,” he said.
“I don’t even know what a producer does,” you said, popping your head up. “You must know! You’re an actor!”
“I’m a hunter, not an actor,” scoffed Dean.
“Really. What’s the last time you went hunting?” you asked, crossing your arms.
“...Shut up,” he said. “And they just sort of...do everything. Y/N likes the story, writing, editing part of it.”
“I could quit. You got to be like, loaded with money,” you said.
“I could have quit too and then ruined Jensen’s life when he gets back home. No career, alienate him from his friends and family...trust me, there was an easy way to all this but I wasn’t doing that to him. You wouldn’t have wanted me to and it wasn’t right,” he said. You sighed and nodded, looking around. “You can do it. You literally kept an actor alive on hunts and stuff. You got this.”
“This world is strange,” you said after a moment. “These people don’t know how lucky they are.”
“Maybe not but I know I got you back. I’ll take the little bit of luck I can get,” he said.
“Me too,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Let’s go sleep in that comfy ass king sized bed. Get you rested up for the morning.”
“Mmm,” Dean hummed as you stirred awake. He was pressed up close to you, kissing the back of your shoulder.
You instantly sat up with the sheets to your chest. You turned and looked down, a shirtless Dean in bed beside you. Your bed in the bunker.
“De?” you asked. He groaned and shut his eyes, throwing his hands over his face before he stole your pillow and shouted into it. “Jensen?”
“Yeah,” he breathed out, moving the pillow away. “She’s gone again, isn’t she.”
“Sorry bud,” you said, very aware that you were naked save for the sheets around you. “Jensen…”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ll throw on some clothes and get out of here,” he mumbled. You sighed and shut your eyes, waiting until the door shut before you got out of bed. You found some clothes on the floor, smiling a little, before you went to the closet and started to dress.
You were halfway down the hall when you heard something smash in the kitchen. You rushed inside, Jensen picking up a mug from the ground.
“Hey, it’ll be alright,” you said.
“I almost wish she never came here,” he said with a laugh. “I’m losing my damn mind. You’re a TV show. You’re not real. Maybe I just went nuts and I’m finally realizing it.”
“Jensen,” you said, Jensen ignoring you and tossing the pieces in the trash, grabbing another mug. You winced and slapped him in the face, Jensen shaking his head out.
“Ow,” he said, glaring at you for a few seconds. “Sorry. I needed that.”
“Yeah, I figured,” you said. “What’d I tell you the first time?”
“Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy,” he said.
“Exactly. I’m having a shitty morning too,” you said.
“I know,” he said quietly, handing you the mug. “How was he? Y/N told me everything that’s been going on over there. She really likes him.”
“He was nice,” you said quietly. “Your house is beautiful.”
“Y/N said they did the renos we were planning on. I just wanted a big bed,” he said with a smile. “It’s funny how much you two look alike but so different. Like it’s so easy to spot the differences now.”
“You callin’ me the ugly twin, Ackles?” you said.
“Shut up, loser,” he said ruffling his hand over your head, getting your hair everywhere.
“Did you tell her you’re a little hunter now?” you asked.
“She wasn’t too thrilled about that. Told me I don’t do that anymore. I am to stay here and read books and that’s it,” he said.
“That’s what I tell you,” you said, heading for the coffee machine. “You really should listen to us.”
“There was that one time I totally did that salt and burn with you and nothing bad happened,” he said.
“It’s not just about bad stuff happening, Jensen. I don’t want you to do those things because I want you to be normal,” you said, sighing as you grabbed the pot. “How many times are we going to have this fight? I’m sick of it.”
“I promised I’d do what you guys tell me to from now on,” he said. “No more going on hunts unless you let me.”
“She sounds like a smart woman,” you said, filling up the pot. “Besides, you got a whole lot of research to keep up with now.”
“I don’t follow,” he said.
“Something happened and then it happened again. We are going through every single thing we can think of until we figure this out.”
“Jensen. Dude,” you said. “I do not need to know the intimate details of...that.”
“You told me to be specific,” he said crossing his arms.
“To think you were once shy around me,” you said, rolling your eyes. You scanned through your list and his, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
Once again you had nothing.
“Sam can take a look when he gets back,” sighed Jensen. “It’s got to be there and we just don’t see it.”
“Can’t see it…” you said. “It happened to all of us when we were asleep and Y/N and I swapped back when we were asleep.”
“We have looked at dream root and djin lore and sleeping spells a thousand times,” said Jensen.
“I know. But I’m curious...what’s different from us girls than you guys? We switched but came back after what, a few days? What happened?” you asked.
“I don’t know. I fell asleep in my bed and woke up here and I don’t have a clue why. Stop asking,” said Jensen. He stood up and stormed towards the hall. “I’m going out. Give me some space today.”
You frowned as he took off, the sound of Baby’s engine echoing from the garage a few minutes later. He didn’t snap like that, not really, at least not anymore.
You sighed as you headed for the archives again, hoping you could figure something out.
“Y/N!” said Jensen, shaking you awake from where you were sleeping at the table late that night. “Wake up! I think I know what happened!”
You groaned as you sat up, nearly gagging when you got a whiff of him.
“You smell like a bar. Please tell me you didn’t drive,” you said.
“Got a cab but listen! Listen!” he said excitedly.
“Okay,” you said with a smile, standing up and grabbing his arm. “I thought I told you not to get shit faced like that without someone around to watch your back.”
“I might kind of be tilty right now but I know why I’m here and he’s there,” he said, bopping you on the nose.
“Alright hot shot. Hit me with it,” you said.
“Maybe I’m really Dean and you’re really Y/N and we just don’t know it,” he said, so matter of fact it you smiled.
“I bet that’s it Jensen,” you said, steadying him as you guided him back down the hall. “I bet you should go to sleep to test it out.”
“That’s an amazing idea!” he said. You laughed as you walked him back towards your room and plopped him down on the bed.
You got his jacket and boots off okay, Jensen only needing to be told twice to take off his jeans. He grumbled and rolled into a tight little ball on his side, snoring lightly in under a minute.
“Alright, Jensen. Sleep this one off buddy.”
You woke up sweltering, jammed up against someone. Someone small…
“Uh…” said the other person, her eyes wide as you sat up, looking around the nice apartment.
“Other Y/N?” you said.
“I think you’re other Y/N,” she said.
You almost rolled your eyes when you felt something behind you suddenly, other Y/N turning around quickly too. You saw a very confused looking Dean or Jensen sitting up, his eyes wide when you spun around and saw him again.
“I think drunk me was onto something,” said Jensen behind you. You tossed back the covers and swapped places with yourself, Dean already pulling you into a big hug.
“Long time no see,” teased Dean, kissing you gently.
“You taste like the bottom of a bar,” said other Y/N, laughing when she pulled away from him, Dean frowning when you moved back.
“What happened?” you said, Y/N’s head whipping around the same time as yours.
“This is just a little bit creepy,” said Dean.
“Ya think?” said Jensen. You stared at her, Y/N doing the same, her head tilting at you.
“Do you have a scar that looks like an x on your butt?” she asked out of the blue.
“How do you know that? I got that like a month ago...nobody would know that but me,” you said.
“I had a dream a few weeks ago,” she said.
“Did you wear a blue dress last week?” you asked.
“Yeah!” she said. “With the-“
“White lace on the-“
“End,” she said. “How do you know that?”
“I had a dream about it too,” you said.
“Okay,” said Dean, getting out bed. “Now I think we’re finally getting somewhere.”
“You did what!” said Jensen, holding up a picture of Dean in front of a microphone. “I don’t sing in front of other people!”
“It was one of those con things. It was fun. Y/N got a kick out of it. You’re too shy, dude. Lighten up. Be a show off,” said Dean.
“He killed a werewolf last week,” you said. “And you’re afraid of string beans.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Dean. “I do not like them.”
“Sure you do,” you teased.
“Dean, you were way nervous to do that,” said other Y/N before staring at Jensen. “Werewolf?”
“I read werewolf lore?” winced Jensen.
“He snuck along. How you kept him alive up to this point, I have no idea,” you said.
“Have you met yours? Tried to make a homemade flamethrower once,” she said.
“Why?” you asked Dean.
“Thought it’d be fun,” he said with a shrug.
“You totally did it though, right,” said Jensen, smiling at Dean.
“Of course,” he said.
“Boys,” you mumbled.
“So...I did some thinking,” said Dean. You took a seat on the couch beside the other Y/N, Jensen sitting on the end. “It never made much sense but it’s actually something Y/N’s dad said to me once.”
“I don’t have…” you said, Dean smiling and looking at the other you. “Her dad.”
“He said something, I think last Christmas, about family or along those lines. But he said something about kids. Multiple kids. But you’re an only child,” said Dean.
“Yeah…” said the other Y/N.
“I’m not so sure now,” said Dean. “I mean...think about it.”
“Well let’s dig into the hospital records,” said Jensen, grabbing the laptop from the coffee table and flipping it open.
“Jensen, you can’t just get…” trailed off the other Y/N, watching Jensen type away. “That’s...impressive.”
“I can get us free Netflix too,” he said with a smile, typing a few more things. “Alright, birth records...County Clark...Y/L/N, Y/L/N...where is…”
“Did you find it?” asked Dean walking around behind the couch, Jensen glancing over at the two of you girls. “Well…”
“One of you is Y/N,” said Jensen with a hard swallow. “One of you…”
“One of you is an unnamed missing person,” said Dean.
“Wait,” said other Y/N, holding up her hands. “What-”
“We’re twins,” you said. “I’m from this universe.”
“Yeah, looks like you are,” said Dean quietly.
“My parents never told me,” said other Y/N, closing her eyes. “How is any of this even possible?”
“A rift?” you asked Dean. “Maybe someone on our side opened one, came here, took me back with them?”
“Yeah but you were found…” said Dean, running his hands over his face. “Bobby thought that witch killed your parents and took you.”
“I think she just took me,” you said, lifting your head. “Wait, I have parents?”
“I’m still stuck on the fact I have a sister,” said the other you. “But how did we...the dreams and swapping...none of it makes sense.”
“No it doesn’t but we’ll figure it out,” said Jensen. “I promise.”
“You know, I have to compliment you on your taste in men,” said your sister. You laughed, the guys lifting their heads up from the living room where they worked but you waved them off. “That’s freaky...how we ended up with our own universes version of that guy.”
“You got this your universe guy. I don’t even know where the hell I belong,” you said.
“Take it from someone who’s spent the last four years with Dean. He loves you more than you’ll ever know,” she said.
“Ditto,” you said, giving her a smile.
“No really,” she said, sliding on top of the counter. “He’s...there’s a lot of hurt in that boy. He gets nightmares a lot. We slept in separate rooms at first but he just…”
“I get it. Jensen and I did the same thing. I get nightmares, he does...it was always platonic,” you said. “It was just this unspoken thing.”
“Go to bed and hope one you wake up and it’s all better? Yeah, we did that too,” she said.
“Can I ask you a question?” you said. She nodded, swinging her legs off the edge. “I can understand why Jensen believed us. We’re used to weird stuff and after he freaked out, he understood. But how did you ever believe that when Dean said he was Dean…”
“Are you asking how on earth I could possibly believe that the man that looked exactly like my husband wasn’t?” she said. “He just felt...off. I almost called someone on him, I did. But he sat down with me on that couch over there and he was confused and scared and I knew it wasn’t Jensen. I don’t know how but I did. I don’t know, it’s like our weird dream thing.”
“What are our parents like? Jensen told me all about you but never said much about them,” you said softly.
“They’re nice. Dad was an accountant. He retired last year. Mom was a realtor, still does it occasionally for fun. She helped Jay and I find a house in Texas,” she said. “Jensen lived in that house two weeks before he was gone.”
“So he’s never seen that gorgeous home?” you asked.
“It looks so different now,” she said. “I should have waited.”
“I think he’ll like it. I can tell Dean had a little input,” you said.
“I can’t believe they never told me,” she said.
“Maybe we ask,” you said. “This thing isn’t over yet.”
“You grew up horribly from the way Dean tells it and I-“
“Don’t,” you said, taking a seat beside her. “Yeah, I didn’t get stuff I wanted. But I got a guy I love. I got a family, even if it’s weird. I help people. I get to ride around in a cool old car and I occasionally get to set stuff on fire. My life ain’t all that bad.”
“So you’re like an optimist,” she said.
“Oh not at all. But in comparison to Dean I might seem like it,” you said. “I’m just saying, not everything was bad.”
“Plus you save the world,” she said.
“Sometimes,” you said. You sighed and she gave you a smile.
“I bet I’m the older one,” she said.
“I am so not the little sister,” you said.
“Eh, I bet you are,” she said.
“I bet I’m Y/N and you’re the unnamed one,” you said.
“No way. I’m Y/N. You were the missing one after all,” she said.
“I’m-“
“Two hours and they’re already bickering like sisters,” teased Jensen as he stood up from the couch. “Y/N, why don’t we call your parents and get a little bit more info from them. Dean and I agree it’s weird that they never told you. They aren’t those kinds of people.”
“I think this is an in person conversation,” she said. “Which means we have to wait until Friday to go home.”
“How about these guys head back to our house, we stay up here and head back down when we can?” said Jensen.
“What if we switch again?” you said.
“Then we deal with it. Let’s get through the next couple of days, alright?”
“Hi,” you said, opening the front door with a smile when Jensen and Y/N got in from their flight a few days later. “So we had a slight issue today.”
“Slight issue how…” said Jensen.
“Jared kind of freaked out on us. He’s hanging out in the bathroom,” said Dean, nodding towards down the hall.
“Dean may have locked Jared inside when he came over unannounced and caught part of a conversation he shouldn’t have,” you said.
“For the love of…” said Jensen, ditching his bags and going to the bathroom door. “Buddy? You okay in there?”
“Jensen let me out right now. You guys are sick or somebody slipped you something or…” he trailed off, Jensen ripping open the door, waving to the room. “There’s two...and two…”
“Hey buddy,” said Jensen, giving his friend a big hug. “Long time no see. I missed you on set.”
“I saw you Monday and...and what is going on?” said Jared.
“Jensen,” said Jensen, pointing at himself. “Y/N, that’s my Y/N, the one you know, other Y/N, originally from this universe, twin to Y/N but likely stolen as a baby by a witch and taken to another universe where she hunts with Dean, from that other universe and not my twin. Oh and Dean’s been pretending to be me for the last four years while he’s been stuck in this universe,” said Jensen.
“...Gas leak. That’s what this is. There’s a gas leak somewhere and this is all in my-“
The doorbell rang and Jensen grabbed Jared, pushing him back in the bathroom.
“Just hang out in there,” said Jensen, quickly pulling the door shut on him. “Great.”
The doorbell rang again and Jensen waved you and Dean away, the both of you ducking down the hall. The door opened a few seconds later, a deep voice entering the room.
“Sorry, sweetie. Mom got hung up at an open house. What was so urgent?” you heard someone say. You poked your head around the corner, catching sight of a man around Jensen’s height, his hair a dark gray that suited him.
“I found my sister you declined to tell me about for starters,” said the other Y/N. The man stared at you, stepping closer as you came around the corner, Dean following you making him pause for only a second.
“You’re here,” he said quietly.
“I guess I am,” you said.
“You look just like your big sister,” he said. “You both do your hair the same too.”
“Told you I was big sister,” mumbled the other Y/N with a smirk.
“You need to tell the four of us exactly what’s going on. Now.”
“Hey,” you said, sipping on a beer with Jared on the back porch. “Sorry about...everything.”
“Yeah, I’m a little pissed but my first reaction was he’s gone insane and so have you so probably a good idea they kept me on the dark,” he said. “So...munchers got a sister.”
“Apparently a whole family,” you said. “I can’t believe my dad isn’t from here.”
“I sort of can. Hell of an ex girlfriend he had there. Who travels to another universe to steal a baby and proceed to curse that baby anyways?” he said.
“Well she’s dead,” you said. “Ripping me away from my family wasn’t enough. She had to hurt me too.”
“Love curse right? That’s why the guys got swapped and when you gave up, it went back and then it was back and forth until the spell wore itself out,” he said.
“Yeah which is great that it won’t happen anymore but Dean and I are stuck here now,” you said.
“The witch got back. I’m sure you guys can too,” he said.
“Maybe,” you said, looking over your shoulder, Dean coming outside. You turned away, shrugging him off when he tried to put an arm around you.
“Hey. This isn’t your fault,” he said.
“You lost four years of your life because you had the bad luck of having me fall in love with you,” you said. He grabbed your waist and spun you around, keeping you close when you went to move away.
“So?” he said with a big goofy smile. “I’d lose all of them for you. What’s four? We still got all the time in the world.”
“You should probably listen to Dean,” said Jared. “Makes a good point.”
“I’m not the asshole liar anymore?” asked Dean.
“...you were there for me on bad nights. That wasn’t pretending. You’re my friend, even if you are an asshole,” he said.
“I’ll take that,” said Dean, resting his forehead on yours. “Let’s take the rest of the night to enjoy the fact you’re with your family. We’ll figure out going home tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” you said quietly, finding his hand and lacing your fingers together. “I’m okay with that.”
Two Months Later
“Mmm, that smells good,” you said as you and your sister got home from the store. You’d been staying in their guest room for a while now, Dean and you diligently working everyday on a way home...but not so diligently that you weren’t getting in some family time when you could.
“I think the boys made us dinner,” she said. You set down your bags and walked around the corner, the both of them in the kitchen, a pie sitting on top of the counter. “Mmm, pie.”
“Well we thought we’d celebrate,” said Dean, glancing at Jensen.
“We figured it out after giving your dad another call today,” he said. “It’s actually incredibly simple.”
“How-”
“We both popped over and said hey to Sam before coming back to test it out. You won’t have to choose, sweetheart. We can visit anytime we want,” said Dean with a smile.
“What is it?” you asked.
“It’s how the witch came to this world with your dad and left it with you. Two people have to go at the same time. It’s the only rule,” said Dean.
“So we could always-”
“Not always. That spell had to fizzle out first but now, yeah, we can come and go as we want,” said Dean.
“That’s awesome! I didn’t know how to say it without sounding completely selfish but I didn’t want you guys to go away,” said your sister.
“You weren’t the only one,” you said, getting a hug from her.
“They really are adorable,” said Jensen.
“Yes they are,” said Dean. “Alright, now who’s hungry for dinner?”
“It’s that simple?” you asked, standing in your room in the bunker, Dean smiling as you gave him a hug. “We’re home again.”
“Even if you aren’t from here?” he asked.
“I grew up here, this is my home,” you said, resting your head against him. “I know you’re back now and everything but can we take a break from hunting for a while? Just to hang out again? No lore or research, just us?”
“Sounds like a pretty good idea,” he said. He gave you a chaste kiss, bumping his nose against yours. “Sounds like a perfect idea, sweetheart.”
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