#or if the baby was born years ago but dean only finds out when she's a kid - at the same time he finds out she's a supernatural creature

[lakemichigans]

we don’t talk enough about how dean had a daughter that sam killed in cold blood

#insane show....... actually insane show..... #the only reason that plot line wasn't overtly horrifying is because the baby aged up within like 3 days #imagine if it was literally just a baby #or if the baby was born years ago but dean only finds out when she's a kid - at the same time he finds out she's a supernatural creature #dean couldn't kill her as a teenager let alone as a kid or baby #IMAGINE the mental gymnastics sam would have to do in order to kill that kid #when his WHOLE THING is about showing mercy and giving everyone a chance and never killing without a reason #they've done that plot line so many times but when it came to DEAN'S ACTUAL LITERAL DAUGHTER they were like ehhhh... just kill her #IT MAKES ME FEEL FEVERISH I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY DID THAT

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Good Father

Dad!Dean Winchester X Wife!Mom!Reader

Summary: Dean has a beautiful wife and the cutest little girl. The perfect family. Maybe it's time to have a real home, too.

Part 2 of A Good Man but can be read as a standalone. This is actually how supernatural ended thank you very much

Warnings: not much, candy cane fluff, foul language. Still minors dni cause I don't want minor on my blog

WC: 2.6k

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Why not post it right? I love Dean with all my heart. That's nothing new. Enjoy the teeth rooting fluff cause I don't have the mental capacity to write smut rn :,)

Sleep still covered your eyes as you rubbed them softly. It couldn't have been later than six a.m., or at least what you saw through half-closed eyes on your phone screen when you woke up. You weren't fully sure, you were still processing that you were awake. You hadn't entirely wanted to get out of bed, but the lack of your husband's warmth all but forced you out of the comfort of your covers. Your feet took you to the study first. That's normally where you would find the brothers anyway. But you only saw Sam.

"Morning." You mumbled softly, running a hand over your face as you walked over to the younger Winchester.

Sam lifted his eyes from the ancient looking book in front of him, and he gave you a warm smile.

"Oh, hey, good morning."

You stood beside him, leaning a hand on the table as you looked around for Dean with a small frown.

"Where's your brother?"

"In the kitchen with Rosie. She woke up like an hour ago, so he's making her breakfast." He answered with a smile.

Your own lips irked up in pleasant surprise. Normally, Rosalie— yours and Dean's little girl— would come running to wake you— or both you and Dean, depending who was home at the time. You never minded that she would be up before you since Sam was always up before sunrise, and he loved spending time with his niece. But it did surprise you a bit that Dean didn't wake you at all this morning. Though, you were more so in awe at the fact that he had decided to take care of her that morning by himself.

Truth was, he had been gone a while, almost a week. That had been the longest he had spent on a hunt ever since she was born— five years ago. And your little girl was definitely missing her dad. She loved you, no doubt about it, but the little one was a daddy's girl for sure, but you blamed Dean for spoiling her so much. So she was feeling his absence greatly. She cried almost every night, asking why daddy wasn't there to tuck her in. It broke your heart a hundred times over to see her so heartbroken. When Dean came home last night, she all but clung to him, refusing to leave his side. And you guessed that had carried over to this morning.

"Thanks, Sam." You patted his shoulder and padded through the long halls of the bunker to the kitchen. You held in your breath as you peaked your head through the door and you nearly teared up at the sight.

"You think mommy and Sammy will like these?" Dean pursed his lips, nudging at the tiny human resting on his hip as three different pans with pancake batter, sizzling bacon and scrambled eggs cooked on the stove.

"Uh-huh. It looks yummy." She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her.

"Yeah, sure does." Dean shrugged, lips pulled into a proud grin at his own work. He always was a great cook.

He stood for a second, keeping an eye on one thing as he moved around another with a spatula and still somehow held a five year-old on his hip. He had his attention somewhere else, so he almost missed the tiny voice in his ear.

"I missed you, daddy." Rosie mumbled, her soft voice almost inaudible against him. Dean looked down at her, his eyes slightly big and his lips parted. He stared at her for a long second before he said anything. He was wondering just what the fuck he ever did to deserve something like this.

"I… I missed you too, baby. Always." He sighed out, his chest aching with an indescriptible feeling as he brushed some loose strands behind her ear, and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

You were silent for a long minute, lips slightly parted and eyes filled with awe as you leaned against the doorframe to watch the sight in front of you. Dean, still in his pajamas, with his little girl on his hip as he cooked. He was saying something to her, or so you figured since you heard her giggles, her tiny hands bunched around his t-shirt as she buried her face in his shoulder. He was smiling too.

"I'm deeply hurt. Making breakfast without me?" You spoke up, feigning hurt.

Dean turned around, he smiled at you at first but when Rosie started giggling at you, hiding deeper into his chest, he gritted his teeth.

"Ah, busted. Told you mommy would find out." He shook his head, holding back a smile as you approached them.

You playfully narrowed your eyes at him. He gave you a shrug with a toothy smile that showed the edges of his canines, and he gave you that innocent puppy dog look. You groaned out.

"We'll talk later." You warned, but your tone was playful. You finally slipped a smile as you stood on the tip of your toes to give Dean a kiss on the lips. He happily leaned down to meet you halfway. And then you kissed your little girl, leaving kisses all over her tiny face.

She giggled, nearly jumping out of her dad's arms into yours. Dean happily passed her over to you, his hip starting to get numb. You held her happily, pressing a kiss to the mess of her bedhead. God, the more this one grew, the more she looked like Dean. The same green eyes, the same freckled cheeks. But she had your nose, and her hair was a shade darker than Dean's, closer to Sam's brown. But you knew that she would be the spitting image of her dad when she grew older.

"Did you help daddy make breakfast?" You asked Rosie, and she nodded excitedly.

"Yeah! I helps daddy make pancakes." You gasped, lips parted to share her excitement.

"Those are gonna be the yummiest of pancakes, right sweetheart?" Dean leaned down, nudging her cheek with his finger. She nodded.

"Alright, little one, go sit with Sammy, we'll bring you out some pancakes, okay?" You told the little girl, and she nodded again, mumbling an 'okay'. You smiled at her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before you set her down her tiny feet. She had spent her whole short life in this bunker. You were sure she could find her way around the general area.

"Tell Sammy he's a nerd for me." Dean called out to Rosie as she ran off, chanting that her uncle Sammy was a nerd. Dean was smiling proudly to himself. He was raising her right.

"You're an ass." You playfully scolded him, and he gave you a look of feign innocence. He shrugged at you.

"I ever tell you how beautiful you look in the morning?" He irked his lips at you, resting his hands on your hips as he pulled you close. God he had missed you so fucking much.

"Missed you, too, hun." You leaned up on your toes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. He tried to hide it, muffle the sound, but he winced when your hand touched his cheek.

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you immediately pulled back to look at his face. You hadn't noticed the red bruise on his cheek, on the purple bruising around his eye. You gasped quietly, gently brushing the tip of your fingers over the bruised skin. He scrunched up his face at you, about to pull back, but you shot him a sharp look.

"I'm fine, baby. Just some bruises. You shoulda seen the other guy." He grinned, trying to humor you, but the concern didn't leave your face.

"I don't want to, actually." You sighed softly, your eyes falling to his chest, avoiding his eyes.

You wouldn't say it to his face, not actually. How could you? He never lied to you, from the moment he wanted something real with you he told you the truth. You knew exactly what you were getting yourself into with him. Sammy and hunting come with the package— he told you. And you accepted it. All of it. You married him anyway. You gave him a daughter anyway. But God, it terrified you beyond words that he was still hunting. That he still left you and your little girl for days at a time. And that he would come home with new scars and bruises that would last days. But at times— like this one— you feared that neither of them would come home at all.

"Sweetheart…" There was a bit of warning in his voice. He could read you so easily. He grabbed your face, forcing your head up to look at him now. "What is it?"

"You worry me, Dean. Look at your face. I don't even want to know how it looks under your shirt." Your eyes fell to the side, and your chest filled with ache as you tried to say the right words. "I'm sorry, I know I have no right to guilt trip you. But your daughter missed you, I missed you, and we need you, Dean, that's all."

Dean said nothing at this, his face stayed unreadable as he listened to you. And he heard you, he heard you loud and clear. He felt pressure on his chest and a sick feeling to his stomach. Fuck, he had grown soft.

"C'mere." He pulled you to his chest. He rested his hand on your hair, and he sighed softly when you threw your arms around his torso. "You know I love you, and Rosie, so much, right?"

You nodded against his chest. "I know babe, I love you, too."

We need you, Dean.

"Daddy! I told uncle Sammy he's a— a nerd!" Rosie announced loudly when she saw you and Dean again. And you had to hide your smile at the pointed look Sam shot his older brother.

Dean played dumb, his lips falling open, and he clicked his tongue in disapproval. "I'm telling ya, Sammy, I dunno where she learns it from."

"Yeah, great parenting dude." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean, and he could only snort in response.

"Yeah, well, here's my apology." Dean shrugged, setting down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Sam with a shit eating smile. Sam pretended to be offended, but he ate the plate in front of him without protesting.

"Alright, Rosie, you wanna eat some pancakes before school?" You set the plate with the smaller portion of pancakes and bacon in front of her and she nodded happily.

"Yes, please!" She excitedly grabbed a fork and dug in, but stopped a second later and looked at Dean. "Daddy can I has syrup?"

"Sure, baby." He practically saturated her plate with syrup and then his own. You shook your head at how alike they were already. You shared a knowing look with Sam and sighed softly, eating from your own plate.

You didn't often have the chance to have breakfast as a family, so you always treasured little moments like this when you had them. And deep in your heart, you wished you had moments like this more.

~~~~~~

"Sweetheart, you in here?" Dean peeked his head into your shared bedroom, his eyes darting around for a few seconds, and then his lips curved up at the sight of you on your shared bed, face deep in your laptop.

"Hi love," You smiled at him, setting your laptop aside to greet him. He happily joined your side, his lips pressing a kiss to yours instantly. "You left Rosie at school, right?"

Your words were stern as was the look you gave him. He pulled back and pouted. You were definitely scolding him for the time he decided to take Rosalie on a drive with Baby just because she asked instead of dropping her off at school.

"'Course I did. No rides in Baby this time, I promise." He smiled at you, and you rolled your eyes.

"Hope so." He saw you reach for your laptop again so he decided to speak again.

Dean thought about it. He thought about it all morning. He drove around town for another hour just to get his thoughts straight.

"Listen, I was thinkin' 'bout what you said this morning.."

You shook your head at him, "I'm sorry, Dean, I know I shouldn't have. Let's just forget about it, yeah?"

"Hey, no, don't do that. Let's not forget about it." You frowned at him, but you didn't respond, so he kept talking. "You're right. I know you are. Hell, I got thrown around so hard, I don't know how I got outta bed this morning. I thought about you, thought about Rosie. Thought about my old man, too."

You frowned softly, resting your hand on the back of his neck, fingers threading through the short hair gently, "Dean.."

"I don't want to be like my old man. I don't want to leave you and Rosie alone anymore, I just can't."

You straightened up, a bit unsure where he was getting at.

"Dean, baby, what are you trying to say?"

"You and Rosie deserve a normal life, a house, all of that shit." Dean breathed out the words, and he held your face in his hands, a tiny smile on his lips. "I want to try it. A normal life. Don't you?"

"I… Dean.." You sighed out softly, attempting to process his words. You stared at him long and hard, and all you saw was love, his green eyes were sincere. "I wouldn't force you to give up hunting. I mean, that's all you've known? And what about Sam? I just—"

"That's exactly it. I'm… I'm so goddamn tired of the life. Don't get me wrong, we save people, hell, we've saved the world, but is that really all worth it if I can't come home to my wife and daughter?" He tilted his head, his free hand was on your thigh, and he squeezed softly. "And Sammy, I know he's tired of it too. He's always wanted a normal life. But he stayed because of me. If I get out, I know he'll do it, too. He's done it before. Who knows, maybe he can find his own pretty girl to marry and have a couple of kids with."

For the longest time, Dean had refused to even consider doing anything else with his life, doing anything better. This was all he had ever known, all he was ever actually good at, right? But lately, God, just lately, he was seeing that light at the end of the tunnel. You and Rosalie were right there. And if you were there with him, the rest of the world could go to hell for all he cared.

"Dean, I love you, I loved you then, hunter and all, and I will love you no matter what. But if you want to settle down.." You breathed out a soft laugh, the words sounding so nice when you said them out loud. You leaned closer to him, a smile on your lips as you pressed your forehead against his. "We'll settle down. A house, normal jobs, play dates, all of it."

"Christ, what did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" He smiled wide, and he pressed a hard kiss to your lips. It was warm, loving.

"Mhmm, so, what would a former hunter do for a living?"

"I'm pretty good with cars aren't I? What do you say? Think I should open my own car shop?"

Your husband as a mechanic? That wouldn't be half bad.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural

[delulu4dean]

“Withdrawals”

Warnings: suicide, depression, anxiety

Pairings: Dean Winchester x sister!reader, Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Prompt: withdrawal from Cymbalta. Based on my own experience

Word Count: 3,624

You are all packed up to go with your older brothers. They were going all the way to the Redwood Forest, and you didn’t want to be in the bunker all alone.

You aren’t a hunter like them, not yet at least. You’ve studied the lore, and you’ve trained a bit, because after all, you are a Winchester. And the name alone is like wearing a giant “kick me” sign if it said “kill me” instead. No, you’re a student, getting your associates online in the exploratory major because you have no idea what you would want to do other than hunt with your brothers.

Sam and Dean promised John they’ll never let you into the life. Your mom died shortly after you were born. Your dad met your mom on a hunt nineteen years ago. She was a nurse in a hospital. There was one patient who was wrongfully treated, and died due to medical negligence. And boy does a vengeful spirit do a lot of damage. John saved your mom’s life, and they celebrated that night. She got pregnant, and she kept John’s number so nine months later, he picks up the phone to find out he’s got a daughter. Dean overheard the conversation and when John said he wouldn’t go, Dean said he has to. It resulted in a huge argument. John eventually gave in, and they went to the hospital to see you, and Dean knew right there and then he’d do anything to protect his little sister.

Your mom killed herself after she brought you home. Family history of mental illness was bad enough, but the postpartum depression pushed her over the edge.

It was not easy showing up at Stanford trying to explain to Sam that he had a baby sister, and that also your dad was missing. It was especially not easy looking for your dad while they had to take care of a baby. Dean often got babysitters to watch you in the motels they stayed in.

And now here you are, nineteen years old, aimlessly walking through life. You’re getting an associates in nothing specific just to get some general education done. And that history of mental illness in your family is hitting you hard. You’re on antidepressants, a specific one that treats your depression and anxiety.

Dean parks at the motel, and goes to get keys for a room. You don’t mind sleeping on the couch, out of the three of you it only makes sense, you got tall and taller with you, and it just doesn’t seem fair to make them sleep on the couch when you fit so well on it.

Sam and Dean throw on their FBI getup and go start asking questions while you connect your laptop to the motel wifi. Yay statistics, said no one ever. You’re only doing this to make your brothers happy, you don’t see a reason to get a degree. They say it’s useful to get some sort of decent job, or to one day get a further education when you decide what you want to do. But you already know what you want to do, you want to hunt with them.

You don’t know how you ended up on the couch. One moment you were doing homework and… yeah, that’s enough to make you snooze. You look at the time and it’s 8am the next day. You look into your bag and your eyes wide as you realize you left your antidepressants in the bunker.

“Shit!”

Your sudden outburst awakens your brothers as they both shoot up to see what’s wrong with you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam asks as they both run to your side.

“I forgot my meds at home,” you pout.

“Your meds?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“My antidepressants,” you clarify.

Dean makes an “O” shape with his mouth in response.

“Have you ever missed a day before?” Sam asks you.

“No, and this is going to be longer than a day. How am I going to manage without it?”

“Managing your existing problems is the least of your worries kiddo. You’re going to go through withdrawals,” Dean takes a seat next to you. “One of us can stay with you.”

“I’ll be fine, let’s get breakfast, you guys do your research and then I get back and work on more homework, I’ll keep myself occupied,” you assure your brother. They give each other a worried look, not feeling too sure, but you insist you’ll be fine.

The three of you head to a diner, and you check out the menu while Dean checks out the waitress.

“Perv,” you mumble under your breath.

“Good morning, what can I get for you?”

Dean orders the greasiest breakfast on the menu, with bacon of course. Sam orders some omelette made with just egg whites.

“And for you, hun?” the waitress looks at you with a smile.

“I’d like a plate of eggs, over easy, and sausages. And an order of chocolate chip pancakes with extra whipped cream if that’s possible. And a cup of coffee if that isn’t too much trouble,” you order.

“Coming right up!”

After a couple of minutes the coffee is ready and she serves you and your brothers your coffee. You add a couple of vanilla creamers. You take your first sip, and immediately regret not blowing on it first. The hot liquid burns your tongue. You set your cup down as your stomach growls, begging to be fed.

On a normal day, you could be patient, wait for your food. But today isn’t a normal day, and even though it’s probably a five minute wait, ten at most, you need the food now. Your leg bounces up and down, as your fingers tap on the table.

“Hey kid, are you alright?” Dean asks you.

“Mmhm. Just hungry.”

“The food will be out any minute,” Sam assures you. You nod but it doesn’t make the time pass by any quicker for you.

You watch as the waitress walks over to your table with your food and you sit up. The moment she places your place in front of you, you dig in. Your brothers watch as you focus on your meal. They’ve never seen you eat like this. Normally you try to stay neat and clean while you eat. You talk to them. But right now, your brothers know better than to comment on you eating.

It’s not Dean doesn’t go crazy about food either. It’s just out of the ordinary for you, and you’re off your meds for the next few days, so they’re worried. Eventually they start getting to their research.

After breakfast, your brothers drop you off at the motel, and get on with the case. You open your laptop, log into your student portal, and look at your assignments. This is going to be a long day.

✰✰✰✰✰

You’re sat on the chair in front of your laptop, as you have been all day. It’s been hard to concentrate, you kept checking your phone, playing games. Every time your brothers texted to check in on you, you used it as an excuse to be on your phone again. And then when you finally started concentrating, you didn’t understand it.

You’re sat on your chair, tears streaming down your face. Hugging your knees, you just stare at the screen as the numbers blur together. Math was frustrating. It’s not like you’re bad at it, you’re actually great at it. But your mind is cloudy, and even reading over everything again and again, you’re not processing anything.

You barely made it through your other assignments, and this is all you have left for the day. You’ve been going at it since breakfast, you even skipped lunch to make up for the distractions.

The motel door clicks and creaks open, and footsteps enter the room. You don’t look up from your screen, you just hope they don’t notice your damp face.

“We got dinner,” Dean says, placing the bag on the table in front of you.

“ ‘M-not hungry,” you mumble.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry, what did you have for lunch?” Dean sits at the table, and Sam joins.

You still don’t look up as your brothers take out their food from the take out bag. Dean places your food in front of you as you push it away.

“I’ve been doing homework all day, no time to eat,” you attempt to speak but it all came out in a raspy whisper.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sam scoots closed to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I’m stupid, that’s what’s wrong,” you break down into sobs. “I can’t do simple math equations.”

“You’re great at math,” Dean tries to assure you, but it doesn’t help.

“But I can’t do it today.”

“Hey, hey. You're off your meds. You’re not stupid, you're just not in the right state right now,” Sam tells you, and you nod. “Eat up, and after dinner, I’ll help you with your math, and anything else you need help with.”

Your sobs become small whimpers until you stop crying altogether. You sniffle before grabbing the dinner your brothers got for your. Sam sits next to you and reads over your math homework and explains things. Just reading it didn’t process, but hearing it out loud, from your brother, that helped process what you were actually looking at. Not long after, you finish your homework.

“Thank you, Sammy,” you hug your brother, tightly, and he hugs you back.

“Of course, (Y/N/N),” he keeps you close.

✰✰✰✰✰

You toss and turn, unable to sleep. You’re really starting to miss your antidepressants. Huffing, you get up from the couch, throw on your slip on vans, and take one of the motel key cards. Maybe a walk with some therapeutic music will help you feel better. It really sucks how just after 24 hours, the withdrawal kicks in. You throw in your earbuds and start walking around the block.

Your skin feels all tingly and a burning sensation travels up your leg but you ignore your body screaming. Maybe the walk is what you need. You've been sitting all day, no wonder you can’t sleep.

You put your hands in your pocket as you sing along to the next song under your breath.

“Running low, on serotonin. Chemical imbalance got me twisting things. Stabilize with medicine, there’s no depth to these feelings. Dig deep, can’t hide from the corners of my mind. I’m terrified of what’s inside.”

You take in a deep breath, letting the cool air fill your lungs.

“Please don’t let me go crazy. Put me if a field with daisies, might not work but I’ll take a maybe.”

As the song ends, you reach the motel door, but before you can use your key card, the door opens. You look up to see Dean frantically walking out until he sees you.

“Y/N! Where were you?” He whisper-shouts.

“I just went on a walk,” you explain. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought it would tire me out.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks you, putting his hand on your back, bringing you inside.

“Honestly my legs hurt, my skin feels all tingly, and my head is starting to hurt.”

“Come on, you’re sleeping in my bed tonight. We can tell each other ghost stories until we fall asleep.”

You smile softly, remembering that’s what Dean would do to get you to bed growing up. You lay down underneath the cover and look at the ceiling.

“Instead of a ghost story, you can catch me up on what you and Sammy have figured out about the case,” you suggest.

And so Dean goes into detail about his day, and how he things by tomorrow night things should be done. Dean is thinking it’s a siren, since these victims were last seen talking about seeing a pretty woman.

“But what were the victims doing before they got killed?” you pose a question.

“One was smoking, another littered, the third being really disruptive,” your eldest brother answers you.

“Hm. Could be a dryad,” you tell Dean.

“A what?”

“A dryad, forest nymph, not a fairy or a goddess but sort of in between. Magical, gorgeous women. There are different nymphs, like water nymphs for example.”

“How do you kill a nymph?” Dean asks you.

“She’s just protecting the forest,” you pout.

“She’s killing people.”

“Talk to her.”

“How do you kill her?” Dean presses.

“You don’t,” you finally give in. “Not without killing nature. Do you want to burn down a tree, Dean?”

“… no.”

“Thought so.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Technically if you can find the one tree she’s attached to, you can kill her. But you shouldn’t.”

“I’ll try talking to her, for you.”

“Thanks Dean.”

✰✰✰✰✰

The next morning you and Dean are both awaken by Sam, who brings you breakfast burritos.

“Good morning,” he says.

“Mmm morning,” you yawn.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Sam asks.

“No, I just couldn’t sleep. So Dean caught me up on your case.”

Sam nods. After breakfast and some research, Sam and Dean get what they need to summon her.

“Since it’s not that dangerous, maybe I can come along,” you offer.

“Homework for the week all done?” Sam asks.

You nod.

“Legs feeling better?” Dean asks.

You nod again.

“You’re lying,” he squints his eyes at you.

“How would you know?”

“The second nod was slower and less confident.”

You groan.

“If you need one of us to stay with you, we can arrange that. If what you said is true, it will be easy enough for just one of us,” Sam suggests.

“I’m fine,” you lie. You’re not fine. Your body is aching, and the anxiety and depression are starting to really sink in.

“Sam, you’re better at talking things out than I am. I’ll drop you off, then head back here. You can call me if you need backup,” Dean says.

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam nods.

The two of them leave the room and you sigh, laying down. You can’t just stay sitting in this room the whole time. You’re at a bear themed motel close to the redwood forest. You need to experience the nature. You’re feeling trapped and panicked. Your breathing accelerates and you sit up. Pacing back and forth for the next forty minutes, you wait for Dean to get back.

The door opens and he walks in with a bag in hand.

“You’re five minutes late!” you yell at him.

“I just stopped to get some pie,” he sets down the bag. “I got you powdered donuts.”

You nod.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just feeling really trapped in here. Think we can go for a walk, or a drive at least?”

“A drive sounds good,” Dean nods. “But eat the donuts before. No powder on Baby.” He points a finger at you.

“Yes sir,” you grab your donuts and eat, while dean digs into his pie.

After dessert, you two get into Baby. You look out the window as he pulls out of the motel parking lot.

“You want to play some music?” Dean asks you.

“What happened to driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole?”

“This is a one time opportunity, Y/N. You don’t wanna miss it,” he nudges you.

You use a cassette adapter to connect your phone. You continue the playlist you were playing last night.

“You wanna listen to sad music?” Dean raises an eyebrow.

“I am sad. I don’t have my happy pills,” you mumble.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Honestly? I just want to cry. For absolutely no reason. Well there is a reason, withdrawals.”

Tears well up, and you take a shaky sigh.

“I’m sorry kid. I’ll make sure we get home as soon as possible.”

You just nod. The medication doesn’t stop the bad thoughts from happening, but they stop them from hurting as much. The problem was the medication isn’t as effective anymore either. You’ve built a tolerance, so right now the only difference is instead of mild depression, you want to kill yourself. You hate how you look, I mean both of your brothers are considered attractive and you feel like you look… dorky. School is stressful especially when you’re working towards a degree you don’t want.

And then you think of your brothers, who swooped in to take care of you. John wasn’t a terrible father to you, but you know he was too tough on Sam and Dean especially when it came to you. And then when John died, Dean became basically like your dad. He already raised Sam during his youth and then he had to take care of you. You couldn’t help but think that Sam and Dean would have it so much easier without you.

You try to hide your cries, looking out the window, letting tears stream down your face.

“Y/N/N? Talk to me,” Dean coaxes you. “What are you thinking about.”

Your silent cries become wails and sobs. And the crying triggers a headache and you feel nauseous and everything is just awful.

“Dean, why do you keep me around?” You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “I’m a burden. You don’t need to be taking care of me, especially when I’m an adult. I’m just dragging you down,” you cry out. “If I were dead, or never born, you’d be so much happier!”

“Woah woah!” Dean pulls over, then looks over at you. “I would not be happier without you. We don’t keep you around to take care of you. You’re grown, independent. We love you. And we’re happy you like being around us too. You’re our family.”

You look up at him, and you can almost see his heart breaks as he looks at your face. He wipes your tears and pulls you in for a hug.

“Are you thinking of hurting yourself? Are the suicidal thoughts back?”

You nod, crying into the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh. You have nothing to be sorry about, baby, these thoughts aren’t your fault.”

You feel something going on in your throat, and you pull away quickly, opening the door, emptying the contents from your stomach. Dean quickly gets out from the drivers side and runs over to you.

“Ew,” you cry. “God that’s gross. I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders continue to shake as you resume crying. Your older brother crouches down (avoiding where you threw up) and pushes your hair back behind your ears.

“You don’t need to say sorry.”

“I might have gotten some on Baby,” you say, looking around to make sure.

“I can clean it. It’s just a car. You’re my baby sister.”

You sniffle as a smile creeps on your face.

“You do really love me. You’d never say she’s just a car unless it was that serious.”

“Of course it’s that serious. You’re having withdrawals. Now lets get something in that tummy,” he pokes your stomach. “Something light and comforting. You can wash up in the bathroom. And then we can get Sam and get you home.”

You nod and the drive resumes. You head back to the diner you had breakfast at yesterday. For lunch you get a grilled cheese and tomato soup. Dean gets a burger, obviously. As you wait for the food, you head into the bathroom and wash up.

After lunch, Sam gives Dean a call, saying it’s all over, and to also check up on you. You guys go on your way to pick up Sam. Dean hands the key over to Sam and Sam looks at Dean confused.

“Long drive from California to Kansas. Don’t want to leave her alone. After dinner we can switch off and you can sit in the back if you want,” Dean explains.

“It’s fine, it looks like you got control of the situation.” Sam looks over to you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like absolute shit. But better than before.”

“When we get home, you take your meds, get your sleep, then we can do a movie night,” Sam suggests.

“That sounds great Sammy,” you smile. You kiss his cheek before going into the back seat with Dean.

“Thanks for being here for me Dean,” you say, kissing his cheek as well.

“Of course. I’ve been here since day one,” he ruffles your hair.

✰✰✰✰✰

The next 21 hours end up being hell. Dean said the wrong thing while trying to comfort you, sending you spiraling. That’s when Sam sat in the back while Dean sat up front beating himself up over it as he drives the rest of the way home. You apologized for being a difficult kid and Dean didn’t deny you were difficult, he just said easy is boring.

Now Dean pulls into the bunker garage, and you run to your room to get your medicine and take it. Dean follows you, wanting to apologize.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You aren’t a difficult kid. You were a great kid. Fun, and a great listener.”

“It’s okay Dean, I’m over it. Really.”

He nods.

“Can you stay with me until I sleep though? You and Sam? I want to hear about the dryad!”

“Sure thing. Sammy!”

Sam runs up to you guys.

“She wants you to tell us about the dryad.”

“Was she pretty?” you ask.

“Yes, she was very pretty.”

You lay in bed as your brothers sit on each side of you. Sam talks about how your plan to talk to her actually worked, and how the conversation went down. You smile as you listen. Your eyelids get heavy and soon you’re out.

#dean winchester angst #dean x reader #dean Winchester x sister!reader #Sam Winchester X sister!reader #supernatural #spn fanfic

[father-salmon]

writing patterns!!

tagged by @honestlydarkprincess thank you, my bean!!

rules: list the first line(s) of your last 10 posted fics and see if there's a pattern!

(none of these are buddie so there's your disclaimer lmao)

1. God is a Bit of a Freak - Rated E, Meg Masters/Castiel/Dean Winchester

Honestly, if you ask Meg what she gets up to on a general Saturday evening, the answer isn’t what you’d expect. Yes, she’s single, nearly 30, and has… a semi-normal amount of friends. You’d think she’d be with them or on a date or something.

2. What Happens in Oz... - Rated E, Charlie Bradbury/Dorothy Baum

The way Oz works is that it’s every person for themselves. Charlie is learning this very quickly and sooner than she’d like. The body of someone she and Dorothy once considered an ally is now dead on the floor, courtesy of the latter. Blood seeps out on the tufted carpet of Oz’s version of the Men of Letters bunker. What once was the Bravest Cowardly Lion’s fur is now a stained and stepped-over relic of the past. Charlie suppresses the urge to gag. She glances at Dorothy, whose face is hardened with the stink of betrayal that hangs in the room. The air runs thick with it.

3. Holy Ground - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Cas - One Week Before the Wedding 

Coming back to a place you’d long ago given up on, feels a bit… bittersweet. Everything is nearly exactly as it was 15 years ago; the convenience shop on the corner, the church in the center, the Roadhouse. The only thing that has really changed is the people. It’s more or less the same crowd, only with more wrinkles and bigger bellies. The stores are more weather-worn, too – the paint faded on the signs and windows by the same sun that has chapped skin and dulled lined-dried clothes until the whole town seems washed out and pale.

4. enthusiastic consent - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Dean has a shadow. 

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Everyone has a shadow. 

Dean has two though, he’s sure of it. He’s been sure of it since last week when the debilitating feeling of being watched was too much to bear and now he believes it. Because he’s seen the goddamn stalker ! Albeit, handsome stalker but stalker nonetheless.

5. Bedroom Hymns - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

The Impulse Purchase - 2014

Dean didn’t even think twice about clicking the order button on a value pack of men’s panties. If anyone were to look through his search history, he would vehemently deny it but that’s the perk of having his own computer. 6. close encounter of the fourth kind - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Others

To say Dean was abducted is the understatement of the century. 

His ass was literally taken out of his comfy memory foam mattress, shoved into a sac, and brought to… wherever the fuck this is: this Area 51 looking room, that’s for damn sure. 7. The Red Means I Love You - Rated E, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak

An oak tree marks Claire’s first grave. She found it on a whim, adrenaline rushing through her veins trying to find an appropriate burial spot among the woods just behind campus. She dug feverishly until she couldn’t see the ground above her, paranoia growing higher by the minute. It was only when she scrambled back up and dropped the extremely disfigured body of her mother into the ground and covered it up did she feel the relief. That was the only thing she didn’t prepare for. 

8. Butcher's Cut - Rated E, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Does Dean Winchester have a clue about what he’s doing?

No.

Is that stopping him?

Also no. 

But opening a butcher/sandwich shop in town with his best friend — neither of them having any experience of running a business — may be one of the more stupid ideas he’s ever had. Not that he’s had any good ones but, here he is. 9. baby, it's cold outside - Rated T, Castiel/Dean Winchester

THUMP! 

“Ow—son of a bitch! ”

Castiel whips his head up from where it’s buried in his book to find the source of the sound. 10. nobody cares this is the day i was born - Rated G, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Two days. That’s all he gets. Two days before his birthday, Lisa shoves a birthday card at his chest and tells him she’s breaking up with him and he’s left there with a crumpled gift and a broken heart. Two days. He’s fine. He can cope. Except it’s his birthday in two days and he had planned to spend it with Lisa and now? Well, he’s blown off every other attempt his friends have made to spend his birthday with him, so it’s definitely too late to ask if he can join in on plans they probably made without him. 

--- no pressure tag list!! @underwater-ninja-13 @bigfootsmom @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck @gaylicense @spotsandsocks @devirnis @monsterrae1 @yelenasbuddie @buckaroosheart @snarkythewoecrow @dicklessthewonderclown @bleuzombie @malicmalic @cactusdragon517 @deancodedcastielenby @songliili

#the pattern is that i just throws these guys in situations #no context #just a situation #tag game #salmon writes fics #ao3 #supernatural #destiel #charlie bradbury #dorothy baum #claire novak #kaia nieves #dean winchester #castiel

[saltandburnheathens]

"When the skin is thin, the heart shows through"

One & Two

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, John Winchester. Pre-season 1 into season 1.

Summary:

Dean Winchester was a troubled kid no matter what they tried. He was hellbent on destroying himself but never quite teetering off the edge. Eventually, they find an answer they weren't expecting. But one they were far more equipped to deal with than run-of-the-mill bipolar.

But can they save Dean from The Algea before it's too late?

Warnings: BIG sads. Angst. Eventually drug use, alcohol abuse, graphic descriptions of suicide attempt(s) and mutilation of the self.

Notes: A re-write of a fic I wrote over two decades ago when I was twelve years old.

ALGEA were the personified spirits (daimones) of pain and suffering--body and mind--, grief, sorrow and distress. They were the bringers of weeping and tears

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

From the moment Sam Winchester was born, Dean had been right by his side. He held onto the vague memory of their father leading him up to the glass and looking in at the abundance of newborns, a smile forming on his face as he saw the squirming body of his brother all wrapped in blue. 

Dean had been the model big brother from day one. He’d held his hands as he was wrapped tightly to their mother’s breast, lay on the floor next to him as he grabbed for toys, and insisted on holding him for a bottle or two. He’d been ready to play and share and read to him. Ready to save him. 

And, oh God, had he saved him.

He’d saved him from the burning wreck of their family home. From the bullies in the schoolyard. From the monsters lurking beyond motel room doors. Hell, he’d saved him from their father on more than one occasion.

But while he may have saved Sammy, he couldn’t save their Mother and the guilt burned at his heart. It grew and festered and was only ever allowed out in the form of a sleepless night or a new line on his skin. According to his father, big boys didn’t cry. Not even for their dead mothers and tragic beginnings. 

Eventually, it became apparent that he couldn’t save their father either. The man had practically enlisted them on a vendetta that took no prisoners. They were destined to travel the country with no home to call their own and wearing hammy-downs from thrift shops. The only men Dean had in his life were jaded or downtrodden hunters, and the only women appeared later in the form of well-endowed bar staff or high school crushes. 

“We ain’t got time for tears, boy.” John had warned on more than one occasion when he’d caught Dean crying himself to sleep, “Your mother wouldn’t want that.” 

And Dean believed him because he’d been four when she died. He had no idea what the woman would have wanted, only that she would have comforted him and held him tight like the baby that he’d been. Sometimes he still felt like that baby. Small and afraid and begging for his mother's love.

---- * ----

When Dean turned ten he was convinced that his silent prayers had been answered. Mary started appearing to him late at night when Sammy was asleep and John was on a hunt or passed out on the latest pull-out couch. She smelled like burnt flesh and vanilla spice, and at first glance, she was herself again, with her voice like music whispering words of comfort. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and let himself sob because deep down he knew that she didn’t care. She wouldn’t berate him for weeping or call him ‘a girl’ for showing emotion. 

But it wasn’t long until her visits became marred. Her words grew into insults ground out through clenched teeth and cracked lips. Dean lay still, wide-eyed and chest heaving as he struggled not to scream. It was the skin melting off her bones and the smell of burning flesh that became his undoing. Just as she wailed, her voice guttural and piercing, he allowed himself to scream. 

Their father jumped awake and appeared at the foot of the bed with a gun pointed in Dean’s direction. Sammy, once curled in against his side, had pulled a pillow into his arms and buried his face in it. When John realised that it was just his eldest son, shaking and babbling nonsense about Mary’s ghost, he pocketed the gun in the back of his pyjama pants and sat heavily on the bed. 

“It was just a nightmare.” 

“I swear to God it wasn’t. It was Mom. She was here.”

“Your mom was -” John hesitated, looking towards Sam, “cremated, Dean. Ghosts can’t get through if nothing’s holding them here. Understand? No body means no spirit.” 

“But -” 

John shushed him, a strong hand coming to grip Dean’s small shoulder. 

“Your Mom’s ghost ain’t here, boy. It can never be here.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, his throat burning with grief and eyes brimming with tears. Beside him, Sam lowered his defences and shuffled towards his side. A tiny arm came to wrap around Dean’s middle and he melted into it just as the levee broke. 

“Come on now,” John whispered, his voice low and coated in something akin to emotion; A rarity for the older Winchester. He rubbed at Dean’s arm like a man who wasn’t quite sure how to provide comfort, even to his own sons, “You’ve seen much worse things than a silly little nightmare. Remember those vamps in Dayton last month?” 

Dean nodded, his head resting on Sam’s. 

“They were some gnarly bastards. But you took the little one out without a second thought. Like a warrior. A nightmare ain’t got nothing on you.” 

And that’s how the conversation ended. John waited another thirty minutes before going back to the musty pull-out and leaving his two sons to late-night television. Sam curled up against Dean’s chest and went right back to sleep as if nothing had happened, while he lay awake, watching every minute tick by slowly and almost painfully. 

No matter where they went, Mary followed. She hovered over Dean’s shoulder, appeared by the corner of his bed and met him in doorways. Her body was in various stages of burns; sometimes nothing, and other times black and charred to the bone, skin hanging off and eyeballs popped by the heat. The smell lingered in his nostrils and the back of his throat for hours after her spirit disappeared.But despite the horror of the imagery and the stench of death, it was the feelings of grief and torment that buried him. They coiled around his chest and squeezed tighter and tighter until, sometimes, the only way to loosen them was a firm knock to the head, or a blade wedged into his skin.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dean winchester angst #spnfandom

[nerdlifecentralsblog]

Unknown Secrets [3] - repost

Summary: Y/n joins the hunt for the mysterious nephidemon, but she finds out some shocking information that brings them closer to saving this town from the clutches of Asmodeus’ child.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, reader, Gabriel, Castiel, Mick, Ketch, Asmodeus

Pairing: everyone platonic

Genre: Angst, bit of fluff

Word Count: 3,906

Warnings: none :)

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but here it finally is! <3

I pull up next to Baby in front of the small motel. “So we meet again, beautiful.” I say lovingly, patting the roof of Dean’s beloved car. I walk up to room number 63. The six has a loose screw which makes it look more like a nine, so I hope it really is room 63.

My anxiety is quelled when I see Ketch open the door with a wide, relaxed smile. “Hello, darling. I hope you didn’t spend all of last night trying to research just to show off,” he says while giving me a hug and playfully winks, prompting Mick to shake his head from his spot at a small table across from Sam, whose laptop is open and running some sort of crazy code.

"No, not this time. Although I have always been the brains behind the operations when it comes to you two." 

Mick let out a chuckle while Ketch simply rolls his eyes and went to lounge on the couch. Sam then gets up, somewhat awkwardly and offers a quick hug.

"So,” he starts, “me and Dean tried to dig up anything extra we could have skipped over in either demon lore or any offspring they could produce.” I nod for him to continue as he takes a seat and turns his computer towards me. “The only thing that could be a possible lead is the tracking spell Rowena used and there’s been a history of weird weather patterns - especially lightning storms for almost forty years. So that means that either Asmodeus or his child has been here for at least forty years.”

I rest my chin on my hand and think about what could explain this Prince of Hell living in my town for forty years. I mean, how have I never ran into him or seen anything weird even once?

The door opens and in walks Dean with lots of beer and various snacks, along with a pie that I assume to be cherry.

“Alright, what’s the game plan guys? FBI or some basic computer research?” Dean asks, putting away his items and walking over to his bed and plopping down looking at me.

“Sam was just catching us up on the weather stuff y'all found last night.” I respond, noticing Sam’s open laptop. “Although I think it would make the most sense if Asmodeus was here for, let’s say, twenty years, scoping the place out and getting other Hunters to believe that the storms would be normal so no one bats an eye once his child is born, and they could live here for maybe twenty more years, completely undetected.”

After a short pause, Mick speaks up, “It is certainly possible and the most likely lead we have. Why else would he want to risk staying in one area for that long?" 

Sam sighs and nods in agreement and slides his computer to face himself again.

"So, y/n,” Dean starts and I pick my head up and look to him, “has anyone ever seemed off to you or someone you heard of being born thirty to forty years ago?”

I snort a laugh and respond. “You named most of the folks in this town. Most people have grown up here all their lives and don’t really have the desire to move away. Not many long term or consistent visitors either.”

Ketch stands up from the couch and walks over to Mick snatching a notebook sitting next to him. He says, “alright, who could be the most likely candidates for being this monster, y/n?”

I rubbed my eyes and leaned back, trying to narrow down who to say, but all I could see were faces morphing into each other and names swirling through my thoughts. “How should I narrow it down?” I ask with my eyes closed for a moment, opening them only because of the sound of Sam typing on his computer and Ketch speaking.

“Let’s start with anyone especially strange or out of the ordinary, people between thirty and forty who have lived here their whole lives, only children, maybe anyone who doesn’t know their parents or their mother died in birth.”

I take a deep breath and start naming people that fit any or all of the criteria Ketch described while explaining which characteristics they have as Ketch writes the addresses that I can remember and Sam types up the list.

It takes us a few hours of narrowing down and organizing everyone into sizable chunks and who our most likely hidden monster is. Luckily, everyone lived nearby and Dean brought back some good food choices. Well, as good as gas station and tiny grocery store food can get.

“I vote we get a move on with this list and split up a bit to cover more ground.” Ketch suggests.

Sam glances at Dean as he says “Works for me. We going for FBI on this one?”

The group nods as Dean butts in saying, “We’ll go through the people in these neighborhoods,” he waves his hand over the section towards the east, “and you three can take the rest.” He says while pointing at me.

“Alright, let’s get ready and get a move on.” I say, standing up and walking out to grab some gear. I can’t help but think how odd it is that I have grown up with these people and all this time one of them could be such a horrible, dangerous creature. My palms almost itch with the anticipation of making my town, and the world a safer place. But I can’t help but wonder if we’re making the right decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Last house will be just to the left of Willow Street.” Mick says from the passenger side, directing Ketch to our final stop before it got too late.

I don’t even know how we’re gonna find this nephidemon at this point. No one we’ve talked to all day has said or remembered anything that would help us remotely. Hopefully Sam and Dean have had some better luck, I think as Ketch pulls up to the curb across from the house.

We all climb out of the car and casually walk up to the front door, Ketch and Mick with their badges and me prepared for the endless complaints this case will earn me from the locals for bringing the feds to their doorsteps. But, if I can possibly help out Mick, Ketch, Cas, and the Winchesters with something like Asmodeus or his freak kids, then it’s worth it. The door opens revealing Fred and his wife, Josie with polite smiles on their faces.

“Hey, Fred and Josie! How have you guys been?” I ask, smiling warmly.

Josie responds for them both. “We’re doing just fine, dear. You should join us for game night next time!” 

I laugh and nod enthusiastically, about to explain and introduce the two "agents” beside me when Fred beats me to it. “Who are your friends? They visitors?” he interjects with slightly narrowed eyes and hands shoved in his pockets.

“Of course, my apologies. These are FBI agents McCullough and Morgan.” They both hold up their badges with calm expressions. “They’re old friends of mine and have been looking for someone they think might have been hanging around here for awhile. I figured you both have excellent memories and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind us taking a few moments of your day to help them find a potential suspect?” I slightly tilt my head and try to look as innocent and eager to help as possible. Fred and Josie have always treated me as one of their own children and I certainly hope Ketch doesn’t offend them in any way.

“It’s no problem at all. Very nice to meet you gentlemen. As y/n stated I am Josie Hutcherson and this is my husband, Fred.” Josie, being the polite and kind person that she is, shook hands with Ketch and Mick, welcoming us all inside.

One nice thing about living in a small town is how nothing really changes; not the people, the drama, and not any buildings save for the occasional fresh coat of paint or new lamp. Having something constant is always welcome, especially when it feels like the world is ending.

“What case did you say you were helping them with, y/n?” I’m drawn out of thoughts by Mrs. Hutcherson kindly sitting down across from Mick and Ketch, Fred still choosing to stand near his wife with crossed arms.

“They’re trying to track the movement of a very dangerous criminal, they have reason to believe he stayed here awhile back and then left." 

Josie smiles at me and turns back to the "agents” to speak, but Fred says, “Uh huh. And why does the FBI want to take up your time in this what I would think would be a highly classified search?”

Fred may mean well, but words were always something he left to Josie. Hopefully he’s only put off by Mick and Ketch, I would really hate for them to be hiding this demon kid.

“Y/n here knows almost every person in this town, and from what she’s told us she is extremely attentive as well.” Mick offers, “We were looking around aimlessly until we met her. My partner actually was interviewing her and she offered to help us look around town for a little bit.” He gave a reassuring smile towards Josie and a firm nod towards Fred.

“Now, have either of you noticed anyone strange at all in the past thirty to forty years? They would be extremely charismatic but slightly arrogant as well. And maybe looked something close to this picture.” Ketch asks while pulling out a picture of the current vessel of Asmodeus. Even though we aren’t sure he was in this vessel when having a kid, it’s the best bet we have in recognizing him at all.

Both Josie and Fred denied anyone acting out of the ordinary or ever seeing that picture before. I could tell Mick and Ketch wanted to keep interviewing Josie since she was more open, so I tried to get Fred a little ways away to get through to him better. “I know that you don’t really care for the FBI and sticking their noses where nothing has happened, Fred. "He uncrosses his arms with a sigh and a reluctant nod. "But this guy is a really bad guy and they asked me who would be the most attentive people to ask about. And you and your wife were the first I thought of, that’s all.”

After Fred agrees to be more open to answering their questions, I smile and thank him before walking back out toward the living room where Mick and Ketch are standing up.

“Y/n, I believe we shouldn’t take up anymore of these people’s time. Thank you both so much for all your help.” Mick says with a kind smile and handshake with Josie, then Fred.

“Thank you Josie and Fred, I’ll come over when I can,” I say with a wave out the door and down the sidewalk. Mick and Ketch also exit and walk back to their car.

“Anything you guys picked up on?” I question, lowering my voice with caution.

Ketch closes his eyes and with a short huff of air responds “Not really. The only odd thing Mrs. Hutcherson mentioned were the persistent lightning storms that drove everyone inside, except for this one time. There was a man and a small child who were outside in the middle of the road, completely unprotected. Just gazing up into the sky for a few hours….”

Thunder, so loud that it feels as though the earth beneath my feet shakes. I look up in wonder as brilliant flashes of lightning take over the dark sky. A warm hand rests on my shoulder, its presence keeping me focused and grounded.

I glance up to the man, who has a prideful smile and warm eyes, and I remember feeling safe despite the chaos and danger surrounding us.

The man speaks, sounding southern and calm. “My daughter, this will be our last night together, I was hoping for more time with you but it’s far too dangerous.” I tilt my head in question, turning to face him more. He continues, “Someday all of this will seem like a dream for you. That’s when your purpose will become clear. And we will be united once again.”

I feel tears starting to form, this is my father, he can’t abandon me now! “But father, when will that happen? And how long after I remember will I see you again?” He bends down to my level taking both my hands in his.

“I know I will miss you, my child, but I would rather feel this heartache than know you are at risk from Hunters. They are so dangerous and you must always be careful around them. Alright?” I nod my head and hug my father, one last time. I hear him speak once more. “I love you, never forget that.” And the whole world goes silent.

I faintly hear voices speaking to me but I couldn’t make out what they are saying. I know it’s Mick and Ketch. What on Earth are they doing here? The entire case comes flooding back to me, the Winchesters, Asmodeus, his kid, my strange hallucination. I struggle to open my eyes met with blinding light and someone, Sam, I think, sitting next to me.

“I’m sorry Sam, but there is no way for me to understand why she fainted. She appears to be in good health, not dehydrated, having enough food and energy. I can’t find anything wrong.” Cas says, slightly leaning his head back from his place at the end of a bed, near a small mirror on the wall.

I try to sit up and ask what’s going on, but Sam gently pushes my shoulders back onto the mattress.

“Hey, y/n don’t sit up yet, alright? You’ve been passed out for a while. Do you remember anything?” Sam speaks calmly and softly, as though speaking too loud may cause me to lose consciousness yet again.

“I remember helping you guys on a case,” I start, realizing how quiet my voice is and how hard it is to speak clearly. “You and Dean went to interview some people and Mick, Ketch, and me did the same. I remember leaving their house and walking out to the car…” I trail off, too unsure of how much I should reveal before learning whether it’s a weird vision, or… a memory? I shake my head at the thought. It’s simply impossible. I glance at Sam then Castiel while saying “I think that’s all I can remember, sorry.”

Sam gives a gentle smile just as the front door opens, revealing Dean, Ketch, and another person. He’s the shortest out of all the men but has a confidence about himself, sandy blond hair that’s longer than Dean’s but shorter than Sam’s, with beautiful whiskey colored eyes.

“Morning, Sunshine. Feeling any better?” Ketch asks, dragging my attention away from the newcomer.

“A little. My brain is still kinda foggy though. What happened?” I ask, looking between Mick and Ketch hoping they can help me discern reality from fiction.

“Well,” Mick begins, “we had finished interviewing the Hutchersons and walked out to our car. I told you what Mrs. Hutcherson had told us about seeing a man and a child during a lightning storm, and you fainted.”

He explained, taking a seat on my other side. I just stared at him for a while, trying to understand what had happened. I’m not a person who regularly faints, and this simply cannot be a coincidence.

“Okay, um thank you.” I say, surprised at how numb I sound. “Also, who are you?” I ask, looking at the strange man sitting at the table with Dean.

He smirks and responds “I’m Gabriel, like the Archangel.” He puts his hands next to his shoulders, waving them to mimic flying.

Dean rolls his eyes while Cas stares annoyed at Gabriel’s actions. I guess that sort of makes them brothers?

“Naturally. Well, I’m y/n and didn’t realize you were joining us.” I tilt my head at Mick slightly and he makes a point to stare at Sam across from me.

“Yeah well neither did we.” Dean speaks up, glancing at Cas.

The angel sighs and faces me “Gabriel was kidnapped by Asmodeus for his grace, a little over four months ago. Ketch used to work with him and was able to get Gabriel back to the bunker.” I look to Ketch who looks down, almost in shame. Then to Gabriel who simply rests his head on his hand and shrugs. Cas continues, “I called Gabriel here since he deserves to be in on taking down Asmodeus, and it certainly won’t hurt to have his help.”

“But enough about me,” Gabriel exclaims suddenly. He looks over to Sam, raising his hands up in question. Why can these idiots never just say what they need to say rather than act all secretive?

Sam takes a deep breath and turns slightly to better face me. “Y/n, I know you’re not going to remember everything. But, ” he pauses, searching my eyes while being careful to not give anything away.

“But…?” I prompt, looking around only to be met with Gabriel staring with anger towards me. Which is unbelievably rude and unfair, considering how I literally just met him.

“But, are you sure there’s nothing else you can remember? Any detail or generic thing?” Sam finishes, with an understanding smile. I don’t know what he could mean by that though, I mean, I was passed out for a long time and I don’t think people can speak while being unconscious in that sense.

I shook my head no after thinking for a moment. Gabriel let’s his head fall back in dramatic fashion while mumbling something under his breath.

“Sorry my answer isn’t the one you wanted, Gabriel.” His head snapped up and glared at me. What is this guy’s problem? “But I barely remember even walking out to the car, let alone any specific details of our last interview.”

“You’re lying,” Castiel said from the corner of the room, a perplexed look on his face. I wanted to ask what he meant but he continued, “you woke up in Ketch and Mick’s car and described something very disturbing.” I try not to shrink under the angel’s condemning gaze; because I actually don’t remember waking up at all until being in the motel. The disturbing thing I described, I don’t think I will ever be able to forget.

“I don’t remember that at all. I had no idea I woke up before five minutes ago.”

Gabriel stands up and snaps his fingers in one motion and I immediately find myself in the backseat of the Impala with Castiel next to me.

“What the hell was that for?!” I say trying to steady myself from falling to one side or the other.

Castiel barely spares me a look and explains “Gabriel snapped us both here to have some kind of privacy I assume.”

I try to open the door handle but Cas reaches over to grab my arm, and locks the door. He refuses to let go of me whether because of my continued swaying or because he thinks I could outrun him or something.

“Okay, and what exactly are you doing here? I wouldn’t think he would want privacy from you if he’s saying his piece.”

Castiel finally releases my arm but gives no answer, and instead, looks out the window.

I do the same hoping that Gabriel and the Hunters don’t take all day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Back in the motel room)

Y/n and Cas had disappeared from the room thanks to Gabriel.

“Really, Gabe? You probably could’ve just asked them to leave the room for a minute.” Sam says, exasperated with Gabriel already.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and slowly walks around the room, in deep thought.

Dean uncrosses his arms, letting them rest on either side of the motel chair while watching the archangel pace the room, waiting for an answer.

“What have you got to say that you didn’t feel y/n or Cas should hear then?” Mick stands from the bed and asks, squaring his shoulders and walking towards Gabriel with annoyance.

Gabriel pauses his movements, stopping in front of Mick while saying, “Cas already knows what I’m gonna tell you, that’s why he’s with y/n right now.” He turns back looking at Ketch. “She did just wake up after being knocked out for a few hours and I’d rather not be responsible for a casualty already."Gabriel brushes by Ketch to sit on the spot that he vacated. "And I doubt she would appreciate her being told how probable it is that she is this nephidemon we’ve been looking for.”

The room falls silent as the Hunters process his words.

“And why exactly do you think this?” Sam asks Gabriel, a shocked expression on his face. “She literally volunteered to help us with this case without any kind of convincing from any of us. If she is the nephidemon, then wouldn’t she want to get as far away from all of us as possible?”

Gabriel closes his eyes and leans his head against the bed’s worn bed frame, “Sam, I can’t put my finger on it but when I first saw her, she reminded me of Asmodeus all over again.” He slowly opens his eyes, keeping them focused on the ceiling missing the spark within them. I can only assume that kind of trauma doesn’t leave a person - or archangel I guess unaffected.

“Well, try to. We have to figure this out now, or come up with a plan on testing her or something,” Dean says, rubbing his temples still trying to understand how y/n could have played them all along. How she could have played Ketch and Mick for even longer.

Gabriel sighed saying, “I don’t know if this will make you feel better, I doubt she knows herself if she’s related to Asmodeus. She doesn’t act like him at all, and from what you’ve said she sounded confused, scared even by what happened when she passed out.”

The group relaxes but only slightly. “How could she possibly not know?” Ketch thinks aloud, “and why would a single memory or hallucination suddenly reemerge right now?”

Gabriel only shrugs, not really being able to provide any kind of a possible answer or solution. Mick shakes his head and offers “He could have wiped her memory in order to protect her. That is why we initially thought the nephidemon would be here for so long.” Dean slowly nods while Sam rubs his eyes in frustration. “And maybe Ketch describing what Mrs. Hutcherson saw triggered part of her memory to come back; why she passed out.”

The men sat in silence, mulling over everything Gabriel brought up, before anyone could move to suggest anything further, the archangel snapped his fingers and slowly let his hand drop back down to the bed.

“Figured it might be smarter to ask her about it, maybe search her memory or something.” He states, beginning to act a bit more normal, as they wait tensely for y/n and Cas to walk back through the door.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #mick davies #arthur ketch #gabriel #castiel #spn x reader #reader insert

[daringsunflowers]

➹ jeffrey dean morgan, ronen rubenstein, katherine mcnamara, sophia bush

send me a ➹ and a fc ;; i'll create a character on the spot !!! by : @blumhouses

-+ jeffrey dean morgan, ronen rubenstein, katherine mcnamara, sophia bush

jeffrey dean morgan: Taylor Ryder.

taylor rider is a 57 year old restaurant owner. starting out with nothing from a young age being born from a teenage single mother. growing up it never was about what you had but what you did with it. his mother had did the best she could with the man and raised him to always never give up in life. a very respectful young man who had fallen in love with his college sweetheart in culinary school. the two married fairly quickly and began working on their large family. their restaurant was a family business that grew to the locals in minnesota and anytime you are in town you have to stop by kind of place. his youngest daughter however taking a path down one that would get her in a lot of trouble that eventually caused her in losing custody to her two twins who taylor now has custody of. widower for 9 years and now a currently single grandparent raising two small children all over again.

ronen rubinstein: Benjamin Solomono

benny was born 30 years ago to two of the most wonderful parents a kid could ask for. his mother was a horror moving star in the 80's but was quick to give it up the moment she had found out that she had grown pregnant with a baby boy, beckett. soon came benjamin not but one little year behind. giving up the lifestyle was easy for her to stay home and raise her children while their father continued to me an agent for local hollywood talent. ben's mother homeschooling both boys through their years until college made ben grow close with his mother. beckett always teasing him for being a mommy's boy but benjamin always owned up to it. he respected and loved his mother dearly and owed who he was to her. now the thirty year old man pursued his own career in directing but only minor film. he struggles knowing that a lot of the jobs that he lands come when they find out who his mother was which often upsets him. a true romantic at heart he still searches for the special someone to grow a family with.

katherine mcnamara: lilliana 'lily' nivola

born and raised in colorado, the twenty seven year old has never met her birth parents. growing up her adoption had always been open but her parents had thought it best to step away and leave her with a family who could give her what she truly needed. that they did her parents were two wonderful and loving humans who did nothing but support lily in every opportunity she had decided to take in her life. growing up she was a model student, straight a's, played in sports and even was on the debate team so getting into stanford was not surprising to her folks when she received the letter. however as much as lily had dreamed of going to stanford she just didn't see it as her true calling. she had went anyways and did two years until she had to do what her heart was pulling her to do. she packed her bags and left her family and friends for eight years where she focused the education system in cape verde and not only helped in educating but also the english language lessons to aspiring students overseas. now she is back in her hometown trying her best to find herself and her place since returning.

sophia bush: Freya Noelle

a few words come to mind when people think of freya. frazzled, impatient and not only a workaholic but a caffeineaholic. most of the people who know the forty year old know her as someone who is often seen on the surgeon floor and way too over caffeinated for her own good. a woman who had grown up independent and slightly guarded when it came to her personal life and heart. if she had invested half the time she did in her career she would have been married and with kids as her nana had always preached her to. though freya knew there was more to her than just a boring housewife who was used to make little carbon copies of herself for the world and her family name. working her ass off in college and then even harder to make a name for herself at the pediatrics hospital in central florida. although she spends a lot of time in the hospital and taking any shift she can possible get her hands on when she gets a call she often enjoys volunteering in the maternity ward as a baby cuddler. although she doesn't regret any of her life choices through her life the older she gets the more frey had wished she would have had a child of her own.

#this was harder than i thought #meme.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 99

The Song Remains the Same

“The Song Remains the Same”

Plot Description: The angels travel back in time to kill John and Mary Winchester before they can conceive Sam

Man…where's that "myth of consensual sex" meme when you need it?

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: No one died.

Ok but if Cas is the one who originally said that the past can't be changed, all roads will lead to the same place every time, why ARE the angels trying to change it now?

Damn. I get where Anna's coming from but there is something TERRIFYING (not NOT in a hot way) of saying you're basically going to scatter every atom of someone's being across the universe.

I FUCKING LOVE WHEN CAS'S DEVOTION TO HIS CAUSES GETS TESTED, GETS TAUNTED, WHEN IT GETS THROWN IN HIS FACE HOW MUCH HE IS FAILING. and then i want to wrap him in a blanket and give him hot chocolate

Cas, baby, you didn't even know who Glen Close was ten seconds ago...

Oh, baby. One, good on you sticking up for yourself "I do not understand that reference," but two...you are not fine. You are not doing better than expected. You are coughing up blood and passing out. That's not okay

"You look a little spooked." Yeah, it's, uh, it's Sam's first time meeting his in-their-20s-parents. OMG. At this point in time, they are the Barbie meme "This Barbie is a hunter who made a deal with one of hell's most powerful demons." "He's just John."

WHY IS THIS FIGHT SCENE BETWEEN MARY AND ANNA SO SLOW???

I'm still curious about whether the angel banishing sigil NEEDS TO BE DRAWN IN BLOOD OR NAH

Oh god, John. I can't blame you for anything yet. You just found out mosters are real, your wife hunts them and has been hunting them her whole life. Chuck help you if you find out her "cousins" in the back seat of the impala are actually your sons.

Oh, so apparently it does need to be drawn in human blood. Nice of them to tell us NOW. I've only been wondering it since Cas broke Dean out of Zachariah's penthouse prison

Hey so yeah, this...um...this episode is hitting a little to close to home in mid April...

Ooooo Uriel's new vessel...wait...do...this isn't Uriel's new vessel. This is his old vessel but 30 years prior to the events of the show. I think I've just seen demons hop from vessel to vessel and Misha not age too much in the like four or so seasons I've seen him in to consider that the vessels will still age.

I can't imagine from either side what it would be like to be a party in a conversation where a child is telling their parent that the have to leave their other parent so that they're never born. Also to be in a situation where your mom tells you she can't leave your dad, not just because she loves him, but because she's pregnant with YOU?

Yo. RIP Anna. Michael's here? THE Michael? And using John as a vessel?

Dean, "Six Degrees of Heaven Bacon" is probably your best pun yet and I'm so sorry only Michael heard it.

AMAZING that Dean's telling Michael to get therapy for his beef with Lucifer. Bestie, do you hear yourself?

“Been On My Mind…”: Nope. Is it 8 now?

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

#ffcc #wincest #dean jr #my writing #this is again just sort of a collection of paragraphs #and it's--mostly what you asked for i think? #but mainly it's me musing about the unknowability of parents and children #so uh #that's what i was able to manage #hopefully i'll remember how to construct a story soon lol

[tibbinswrites]

Day 1 - Harvest

You reap what you sow. Dean had always been taught that. In John’s very specific way of course. He reaps, those he saves get to sow. 

Watching autumn press closer this year is a strange feeling, he thinks from his vantage at the corner table in a coffee shop. The shorts and tank-tops begin to shift into jeans and sweaters. The frappuccinos become pumpkin spice (Dean isn’t complaining, not that he’d ever tell Sam) and the laziness of free summer days take on the more polished air of competent people with competent routines. He wonders, too often, if Cas ever felt like this, watching humans evolve over the eons, day by day, so slowly it’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment when everything changed.

Once his mind begins to wander that way, it’s hard to pull back from. He doesn’t mind dwelling on thoughts of Cas anymore, the sharp edge of his loss has eased into a dull ache. It still cripples him sometimes, but less, and the memories are comforting. They’re about all that he has that can even make him smile anymore. He barely notices the sadness clinging to them. All his memories are sad in some way or another.

The bell above the door tinkles and a man enters in a beige coat. It causes a stab in his gut even though the man is light-haired, and the colour and cut of the coat is completely wrong anyway. It’s a thin coat, light. It’s not yet so cold for anything heavier, indeed, the man discards the coat almost immediately after entering the cosy interior of the coffee shop, folding it over his arm. Dean looks back out the window.

Perhaps it’s the chill draft from the briefly open door, perhaps it’s the turn in weather, or perhaps Dean just hasn’t had enough coffee yet, but he can’t help a sudden overwhelming feeling of bitterness as he looks out at the world, seeing the traffic, the people hurrying to and from places, ducking into shops, laughing, chatting, embracing, waiting at the crosswalk. All of them alive because of him. All of these people get to reap the rewards of his labour, of his loss, without even knowing a damn thing about it. But Dean Winchester doesn’t get a fucking harvest. All Dean Winchester gets is to watch the happiness that exists outside of himself. Sometimes it’s enough, most times it isn’t.

He knows it’s selfish, that once, not too long ago, seeing his brother happy and thriving, in love and fulfilled in his life, would have been all he needed to be content. Maybe even as little as a year ago he could have kidded himself. But they had come too close, he and Cas, far too close to becoming something, so close that began to rely on it as an option if he ever got strong enough to take it, began to look forward to that time even. And now, months after Cas’ confession and subsequent death, it’s the almost that kills him. The realisation that Cas felt the same, and the immediate knowledge that it was too late. The whole time they could have been… not more exactly, what Cas had been couldn’t take up more space in his heart if he’d tried, but something else, something that Dean had desperately wanted. Still desperately wants.

The man in the beige coat sits down opposite him, pulls out a brown paper bag and shoved it towards him with a glare. Dean responds in kind, tugging the bag towards him and peering inside. Then he nods, satisfied.

“Tell Rowena thanks.”

“She requests that you all come by when you’re done.” His face twists. “For tea.”

“We’d be delighted.” Dean says evenly. “I’ll keep her updated on how it goes.”

Draining the dregs of his coffee he stands, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair and slinging it on, carefully tucking the jar of blood-red viscous liquid into his inside pocket. Fat droplets of rain begin to hit and slide down the glass of the window, increasing their intensity even in the short walk from his seat to the door. He pushes out into it and starts as a cold droplet immediately hits his face. Heading to where he parked Baby a block over. he sends a quick text to Sam, telling him that he’s on his way and that he’d managed to pick up the sap of the dragon’s blood tree, found only on a specific island off Yemen and the last ingredient they needed for the spell.

Dean placed the jar in the box he’d packed with bubble-wrap in the footwell of the passenger seat before making his way around to the driver’s side and opening the door. He pauses before getting in though, taking a moment to lift his face to the sky, allowing the rain to fall on his skin, and sends a quick prayer to Jack that he does what he can to make sure this one thing, just this one, goes right.

There’s a sudden break in the clouds overhead and Dean finds himself in the only spot of warm sunshine for probably a few miles. Then the rain closes in again, and Dean smiles, comforted in knowing he was at least heard.

As he gets in and starts up Baby’s engine, his bitterness from before transforms into hope, and a deep gratitude that everyone around him has been willing to help in this months-long endeavour. What had started as an insane idea born of the deepest kind of grief, accidentally voiced to Sam and Eileen one drunken night, became a kind of group cultivation. Calls had gone around the rest of the family, research had been done, strings had been pulled all over the country, theories had been brainstormed and tested. Cases had been handed over to others so that they could focus, even though Claire had been chomping at the bit to go out and kill something. He couldn’t have done this without them, and he knows that they’re (at least mostly) doing this for him.

He’s getting tired of reaping after all. He just wants the chance to help something grow.

#suptober21 #post-finale #destiel #supernatural #spn fanfic #day 1 #harvest #the finale being 15x19 of course

[achillestiel]

the parent trap only works if you're identical | part one

based on this post by @destiel-is-canon-i-guess which now lives rent free in my brain | 1.1k words

If Dean was being honest, he was reluctant to send Claire away for half the summer. The house would be far too quiet without her but, in the end, Sam was right. Sending her to summer camp would be good for her.

"So...you gonna miss your old man?" Dean Winchester asked Claire as he drove her to Maine. Home of Camp Mills.

"Dad, it's four weeks. Not four months. Besides, you said summer camp would be good for me!" Twelve-year-old Claire Winchester said with a roll of her eyes. “I know the truth though.”

“And what’s that kiddo?” Dean asked, giving his daughter a knowing smirk.

“You just the house to yourself so you can live off burgers and blast your old man music.” Claire said and damn if she wasn’t right. Dean had to admit that without her there to nag, he was just going to revert back to twenty-two-year-old Dean. The Dean he was before Claire came along. Before any of it.

“When did you get to be so smart?” Dean asked his daughter who just grinned back. “Gotta get it from Sammy ‘cause that sure ain’t me.”

“You know, it could have been from my other dad.” Claire said and Dean stilled. Claire knew she’d come into the world by the magic of a turkey baster and surrogacy. Dean had never shied away from that because it was important that Claire knew how special he was to him. The rest? That was definitely a story for a different time. Once Claire was old enough to understand. All Claire knew was that her dads had been very happy until they weren’t. Cas was gone and now all Claire had was a locket with their photo in. Dean had been hesitant to give it to her but Sam had won out. Stating that Claire should at least know what her other dad looked like.

“Not talking about this again Claire-Bear. Drop the subject.”

“But-”

“Claire.”

“Fine but one day I’m hearing the whole story.” Claire said stubbornly. Yeah, she’d definitely got that from Cas.

Claire really wasn’t sure who started it but all she knew was that she was at war with Jack Novak. Ok, if she thought about it long enough it might have been her fault. She had gloated a lot after whooping his butt at poker but Jack didn’t have to retaliate by stealing her towel after a swim in the lake. Sure, Claire didn’t have to plant that whoopie cushion under his seat in the dining hall but Jack definitely didn’t have to TP her cabin. And ok, she maybe had gone too far when she, along with her cabin buddies, egged Jack’s whole cabin but sticking the two of them in isolation was going a bit far.

Maybe. 

“Ugh!” Claire groaned during their second day of isolation. “My dad is going to kill me when Jody calls home.” She flopped down on her tiny camp and looked over at Jack with a glare. The jerk was just sat there reading a book without a care in the world. “What’s even worse is that you started it!”

“I think you’ll find that you started it when you gloated.” Jack said, not even looking up from his book. “And if anyone needs to worry about their parent it’s me. My dad is so protective of me and when he hears about this he’s going to be so mad.” Jack added. Claire caught Jack’s words and sighed. “What?”

“Parent?” Claire asked. “Is it just you and your dad?” Jack finally looked away from his book and nodded. “What about your mom?” Claire then asked.

“Oh it’s always been just me and my dad. My dad...my dad’s gay and I was born from a surrogate.”

“What? That’s crazy, so was I” Claire said, sitting up straighter and staring at Jack. “How cool is that? So it’s always been just you and your dad?” Claire asked with excitement. She knew this was a weird conversation but she’d never met anyone else who’d been a surrogate baby. 

“Yeah, I think so. I mean...my dad was married but they split up when I was a baby. I don’t know where my other dad is now.” Jack said sadly. Ok, this was getting weird. 

“Huh, that kind of sounds like me. My dad split when I was little too. I don't know why either! I know my dad still loves my other dad. My Uncle Sam and Aunt Eileen talk about him all the time when my dad isn't there." Claire said and that was true. Sam and Eileen would always talk about how much Dean still loved Cas. Even they were confused about why it didn’t work out with the two. 

"Same with my dad! My Uncle Gabriel swears my dad still loves my other dad." Jack said, finally putting his book down and staring at Claire. 

"Huh...Uncle Sam said I had an Uncle Gabriel when I was a baby." Claire said. "He said he was short and always really funny. That's weird." She said with a shrug of her shoulders until she saw Jack's face. "What?"

"Your Uncle Sam...is he really tall and a lawyer?" Jack asked. Claire stopped and nodded. 

“Yeah...Jack, how did you know that?” Claire asked. Ok, this was no longer weird. This was getting freaky.

"My Uncle Gabriel told me about him. Claire...when's your birthday?"

"May 18th. I'll be-"

"Thirteen?" Jack guessed. 

"Yeah...why?"

"My birthday is May 18th. We have the same birthday. You have an Uncle Gabriel and I have an Uncle Sam. Claire, do you have a picture of your dad?" Jack asked. 

"Yeah. He gave me this necklace for my 9th birthday and put a photo of him and my other dad in it. I think he was sick of me asking questions.” Claire said, unclasping her necklace and handing it over to Jack. Jack flipped open the locket and stared down at the photo. After a moment he pulled out his phone, tapped at the screen, and handed it over to Claire. 

“I found this photo of my dad’s together, scanned it, and put it on my phone so I’d always have it with me.” Jack explained as Claire looked down at the screen. There was her dad, smiling back at her with his arm slung around the shoulder of another man. The man Claire knew was her other father. 

“That’s my dad!” Claire said. “If that’s my dad, and that’s your dad and our birthdays are both on May 18th…”

“We’re brother and sister.”

“Jack, you dumbass, we’re more than that. We’re twins!” Claire said as she stared at Jack. Five minutes ago she’d been an only child with one dad and now...well she had a twin brother and she could finally find out more about her other dad. “Oh my god, I’ve had an idea.”

“What?”

“Jack...have you ever heard of the film The Parent Trap?”

#destiel-is-canon-i-guess #I'm tagging you because this was your idea #deancas fic #destiel fic #ficlet #fic #deancas #destiel #deancas parent trap #this is awful but the idea is stuck in my brain

[vivithefolle]

I just wanna ask, and don’t get mad at me cause I’m genuinely curious, how do you stan Ron? Like, I like him, but he is definitely misogynistic (slut shaming Ginny, treating hermione like she owes him something and being mad that she kissed someone years before, always objectifying Fleur, and acting like girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much). Like, by DH I feel like he definitely has mostly grown out of it, but still 6/7 books he’s kinda unbearable IMO

how do you stan Ron? 

Like this:

OH MY GOD HAVE YOU SEEN. HAVE YOU SEEN HIM DID YOU SEE MY BABY OH MY GOD. WHEN HARRY’S ARM HAD GONE KABLOOIE BECAUSE OF LOCKHART AND HE. RON. HE WAS. HELPING HIM GET DRESSED???? OH MY GOD BABY???? HHHHNNNNGGGG. AND. AND. AND ALSO WHEN HE. OMG. WHEN HE WAS PUTTING FOOD ON HIS FRIENDS’ PLATES LIKE. MOM FRIEND ALERT MOM FRIEND ALERT MOM FRIEND ALERT. AND THE WAY HE’S ALWAYS BLUSHING AND BEING EMBARRASSED AT THE SLIGHTEST PRAISE BUT ALSO HE’S SO DESPERATELY SEEKING IT BUT HE KNOWS HE CAN’T TAKE IT AND EEK EEK EEK THAT’S SO CUTE SOMEONE HOLD ME IT’S ADORABLE RONALD WEASLEY YOU ARE SO GOING TO BE THE DEATH OF ME IT’S ILLEGAL TO BE THIS CUTE!!!!

Ok and then.

he is definitely misogynistic 

No. And here’s why.

slut shaming Ginny 

Yes, that was wrong. And guess what, that’s also something he probably - scratch that, definitely - picked up from his mother. And also his brothers, recall how Fred and George too don’t like to see Ginny go around with boys. There’s also something to recall: Ron was there when Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets and learned later that it was because she had trusted an older guy. You seriously wouldn’t be paranoid about who your sister dates after that? It was wrong. Yeah. And he more than learned his lesson when Ginny clapped back by virgin-shaming him and basically told him that he was childish because he hadn’t have a relationship yet. So would that make Ginny sexist too? Or is it just for Ron?

treating hermione like she owes him something 

..................... uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh... when? When the fuck did anything like that happen?

He made a prat of himself at the Yule Ball, that much is obvious. But he didn’t tell her anything like “you should be with me” or didn’t insinuate anything of the sort. He was a jealous bitch but kept attacking Krum, not Hermione.

If you mean in sixth year when he treated her with “icy, sneering indifference” for the course of two weeks, yeah that was bad but that’s not “treating her like she owes him something”, the fuck?

being mad that she kissed someone years before 

Yeah. I know. And that was bad, ooooh you got me to admit Ron did bad stuff, that’s what you want to see, right? And I reckon he was also mad that she hid it from him, and that he had to learn it from his sister of all people. We see Ron handles what he considers betrayals terribly. I have some meta discussing the possibility that he has a form of Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria.

always objectifying Fleur 

Um... no, he doesn’t. He makes a stupid comment about her once in GOF then stops. Let’s also fucking remember that Fleur is a Veela, she literally makes guys stare at her as part of her powers!! I’m not blaming her because she’s literally born that way, but you can’t blame someone who is under magical compulsion either.

acting like girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much 

So tell me why he was friends with Hermione then?

Because Hermione wasn’t Emma Watson the super hawt sexy model goddess. Hermione was Mrs Generic. Until this once at the Yule Ball when she got the pretty princess perfect Mary Sue makeover but then stopped because she had to remain ~relatable uwu~.

Again. Ron made stupid sexist comments. But it’s actively shown that he doesn’t follow up on them. If he did indeed live by the motto “girls who aren’t pretty aren’t worth much”, explain to me why he wasn’t simping and drooling all over Padma Patil who is explicitly stated to be one of the prettiest girls at school when she was his date? Why exactly did he ignore her and was a miserable twat the whole evening instead of basking in the joy of having snagging a girl that was “worth it”? Well surprise, it’s because HE ACTUALLY ISN’T LIKE THAT AND WHAT HE SAYS IS MAYBE SHIT HIS “COOL OLDER BROTHERS” SAY AND HE THINKS THAT BY EXTENSION IT WOULD MAKE HIM COOL TO REPEAT IT. MIMETISM, THAT'S BASIC FUCKING HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY FOR FUCKING TODDLERS MY FUCKING GOD.

Like, by DH I feel like he definitely has mostly grown out of it, 

............

...................................

...............................................................

so. so why. so why wouldn’t you. use that. as a reason. to stan him.

like.

fuck all the “hurr durr ron weasley the boy who made it out of the friendzone!!!!” bullshit, let’s start going with “Ron Weasley, the Boy who became a Man, and not one of those 'uugghh im such an alpha male’ ones but one that’s got the balls to say ‘hey love, I’ve got an idea, what if you kept doing that job you love and feel passionate about while I support you and do the majority of the childcare while also working a smaller job on the side so we’re never short on money’“

Why you people gotta be “yeah I like Ron BUTT” when you know full-well this fucking awful fandom will rake him over hot coals over the slightest mistake he does - worse, will actively go out of their way to interpret his positive moments in the most negative way possible??? Fuck off with that bullshit. Ron dared to say bad stuff omygah big deal, he was forgiven for it all and you’re just all cowards looking to feel “pure” by telling yourself “oh yeah but he was problematic once uwu”. FUCK. THAT. NOISE.

but still 6/7 books he’s kinda unbearable IMO 

And IMO he’s not, funny how that works

So.

I guess it’s impossible to stan Ron because he was problematic uwu.

Ok.

Then I hereby decree that it’s impossible to stan Hermione Granger because:

“I’ll bet you wish you hadn’t given up Divination now, don’t you, Hermione?” asked Parvati, smirking. [...] “Not  really,”  said  Hermione  indifferently,  who  was  reading  the  Daily Prophet. “I’ve never really liked horses.” She turned a page of the newspaper, scanning its columns. “He’s not a horse, he’s a centaur!” said Lavender, sounding shocked. “A gorgeous centaur . . .” sighed Parvati. “Either  way,  he’s  still  got  four  legs,”  said  Hermione  coolly.  “Any-way, I thought you two were all upset that Trelawney had gone?” - Order of the Phoenix, ch 27

wow casual use of a racial slur yay!!! A+

And it’s also forbidden to stan Harry Potter either since:

It was raining hard now, and she was nowhere to be seen. He simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine. “Women!”  he  muttered  angrily,  sloshing  down  the  rain-washed  street with his hands in his pockets. “What did she want to talk about Cedric  for  anyway?  Why  does  she  always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a human hosepipe?” - Order of the Phoenix, ch 25

and

“Harry! There you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!”  “What’s  happened  to  you?”  asked  Harry,  for  Hermione  looked  distinctly  disheveled,  rather  as  though she had just fought her way out of a thicket of Devil’s Snare.  “Oh,  I’ve  just  escaped  —  I  mean,  I’ve  just  left  Cormac,”  she  said.  “Under  the  mistletoe,”  she  added in explanation, as Harry continued to look questioningly at her.  “Serves you right for coming with him,” he told her severely.  “I thought he’d annoy Ron most,” said Hermione dispassionately. “I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”  “You considered Smith?” said Harry, revoked. - Half-Blood Prince

Victim-blaming! Nice Harry, nice. Always classy.

Ok, Ginny stanning is already cancelled because she virgin-shamed Ron, right, so who’s left, who’s left... ah yeah:

“There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.” - Half-Blood Prince

Selling date rape drugs proudly ouh là là. Bye Fred.

"Do they work?” she asked.  “Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question...”  “...and the attractiveness of the girl,” said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. “But we’re not  selling  them  to  our  sister,”  he  added,  becoming  suddenly  stern,  “not  when  she’s  already  got  about five boys on the go from what we’ve...”  “Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf.

Assuming that only girls use love potions, and only on boys. Men never rape in JKR’s world, only women do, you heard it from George Weasley here folks, I’m just passing on the message. Ah and I hope you’re also starting the Fred And George Hate Club given how he’s also slut-shaming Ginny.

“What’s this?”  “Guaranteed  ten-second  pimple  vanisher,”  said  Fred.  “Excellent  on  everything  from  boils  to  blackheads,  but  don’t  change  the  subject.  Are  you  or  are  you  not  currently  going  out  with  a  boy  called Dean Thomas?” “Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?”  She  was  pointing  at  a  number  of  round  balls  of  fluff  in  shades  of  pink  and  purple,  all  rolling  around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks.  “Pygmy  Puffs,”  said  George.  “Miniature  puffskeins,  we  can’t  breed  them  fast  enough.  So  what  about Michael Corner?”  “I  dumped  him,  he  was  a  bad  loser,”  said  Ginny,  putting  a  finger  through  the  bars  of  the  cage  and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They’re really cute!”  “They’re  fairly  cuddly,  yes,”  conceded  Fred.  “But  you’re  moving  through  boyfriends  a  bit  fast,  aren’t you?”  Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Harry was surprised Fred didn’t recoil.  “It’s none of your business. And I’ll thank you” she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George’s elbow, laden with merchandise, “not to tell tales about me to these two!”

Ah, good on you for defending yourself, Ginny, but remember, Ginny stanning is prohibited because she’s been problematic in the past and is gonna be problematic in the future and that’s baaaaaaad. Careful kids, don’t get ideas. It’s problematic to like people who’ve done problematic things.

So I guess nobody can like anything or anyone now. Sorry guys. Liking things is evil, what if the thing you liked had, OR USED TO HAVE, *gasp* flaws, can’t take that risk, ohmygah.

#vivi answers #ask #ron weasley #ron weasley defense squad #ron weasley defence squad #hp fandumb #hp fandom #harry potter #harry potter series #fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george #ginny weasley #hermione granger #problematic content

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Simple Man

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3351

Summary: It was never what he thought he would have. But now Dean doesn’t want to let go. 

Notes: I was going to wait and make this a Thanksgiving special, but I thought today would be more fitting. I can’t believe Supernatural ends tonight! This show has been a part of my life for a while now and it will forever stay in my heart.  I had a really really good time writing this one. It might be one of my favorites I’ve written for Dean, if not my top pick. I hope you guys enjoy it and look forward to seeing more. Carry on. 

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

(P.S. thank you to my beta reader @suckmysupernatural​. Love you!)

-

Oh, take your time, don’t live to fast

Troubles will come and they will pass 

He had slept through an alarm he didn’t remember setting. It wasn’t until he heard the creaking of the door that he stirred, reaching under his pillow for his knife. But it wasn’t there. Dean panicked as footsteps crept towards him. They were nothing more than a small pitter-patter on the wood floor, but he still prepared himself for the attack. The small creature leapt on top of him and he rolled over so he was pinning it beneath him. It giggled. It giggled?

“Daddy, Mom said she needs you in the kitchen.” 

Dean leaned over to the night stand and turned on the lamp. A little green eyed girl squirmed out from underneath him and skipped out of the room. 

“The hell…” Dean muttered. He opened the dresser and sure enough, his clothes sat in the drawers. He put on a T-shirt and slowly walked out of the room. The smell of bacon and coffee coaxed him to the kitchen. He couldn’t believe what he saw. 

You were standing over the stove, trying to save the bacon from burning. Dean was just frozen in the doorway. Finally spotting him, you made your way over to him, which was difficult with the little boy clinging to your leg. 

“Thank God you’re up. I need you to finish making breakfast.” You lifted the boy into your arms. “Eric’s got a fever and Ellie is going to wake up any second needing to be fed.” You gently laid a hand on Eric’s forehead. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as I get him to lay down. But you know how impossible that is.” 

“But I’m not tired.” Eric whined. 

“I know, sweetie, but you don’t want to get sicker, do you?” He pouted his lip and shook his head. “Alright, so I need you to go back to bed.” You looked back at Dean. “Can you just finish the bacon? I’ll be back to make their toast.” 

Before Dean could speak, you rushed up the stairs. As if on queue, a baby started to cry from somewhere upstairs. Dean just stood in shock. What the hell was going on?

As if by second nature, he walked around the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to let the bacon drain off the grease. It felt almost natural. He somehow knew where everything was, even though he had never been here. Or had he? His brain was fuzzy with thoughts he couldn't remember. He saw images flash in his mind. Sam graduating from Stanford. His parents celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. You… in a wedding dress. 

“Johanna Charlotte Winchester you better be ready for school or your dad’s going to come and get you!” You yelled, coming back into the kitchen, this time a wailing baby in your arms. It wasn’t until now that Dean noticed you were wearing a sheriff’s uniform. You snatched up a piece of bacon and popped it in your mouth. “Thank you.”

You bounced the baby in your arms, trying to calm her down, but she wasn’t having it. The green eyed little girl from early came bounding into the room with her backpack over one shoulder. Ellie continued to bawl. 

“Can you hold her? She always stops crying when you hold her.” You handed the squirming child to him and he tried not to panic. You noticed your husband’s awkwardness. “Rough morning?” You snickered. “Here, I’ll make you some coffee.” 

As the child in his arms slowly stopped her crying, more memories flooded Dean’s head. You telling him you were pregnant for the first time. Going to the emergency room for the birth of his son. Watching Johanna hold her new baby sister. They all felt like dreams, but then how was this all real? 

“I’m feeling a little... off this morning.” He admitted, watching you carefully as if he were waiting for horns to sprout from your forehead. Your face fell. 

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re sick too.” You put your hand on his forehead. “You’re picking everyone up from the airport today.” 

“Everyone?” Dean’s brows furrowed curiously. 

“I would go get them, but I’m at the station until five.” You sighed, moving your hand down to caress his cheek. “Besides, you’ve been dying to see your brother since the Fourth of July.” 

“Uncle Sam!” Jo exclaimed excitedly. 

“Sammy’s coming?” Dean asked. Finally, something familiar. Your face contorted with confusion. 

“Of course he’s coming. Jessica and the kids are too. They always help prepare for tomorrow and since your parents will still be out on their cruise, we’ll need all the help we can get.” 

“Tomorrow...” He spotted the calendar on the wall, but you answered first. 

“Thanksgiving.” You stated. Your confusion changed to concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to stay home?” Jo raised her hand. 

“Can I stay home too?” 

“Sweetheart, it’s just one more half-day of school before break and then you’ll get to play with your cousins for the rest of the week.” Seeing you start to get stressed, Dean put a hand on your shoulder. 

“You go to work. I’m fine.” He assured you. “I’ll hold down the fort and I’ll pick up Sam at- what time again?”

“3:00.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled. “I know you worked extra last week so you could have the garage closed for Thanksgiving, but I think the fumes might have gone to your head.” You grabbed the keys off the counter. “Oh, and I’ll be taking Baby to work since you’ll need the van to fit everyone.” His look of displeasure made you laugh. “I know, I know, but you’ll have to suck it up for today unless you think the four-year-old can babysit.” 

You kiss Ellie on the forehead before giving Dean a quick, but passionate kiss on the lips. You held out your hand for your daughter to take. 

“Alright, partner, let’s go.” 

The two of you leave and Dean looks down at the baby in his arms. Was this really happening? 

-

Boy don’t you worry, you’ll find yourself

Follow your heart and nothing else

If he was trapped by a djinn, he would have remembered fighting it. This was something else. The more time he spent in the house, the more this world felt real and his hunting life felt like dreams. Maybe… maybe this was real. 

He remembered everything now. He had met you in a bar on New Years Eve. You hit it off talking about cars and classic rock. He proposed about two years later outside that same bar during the first snow of the season. You always said the first snow was the best one. You got married and a couple months later found out you were pregnant with Jo. Johanna Charlotte Winchester was born on April 3, 2007. She was seven. Three years later, Eric Samuel was born on November 29th. He was four. Lastly, Ellen Sandra was born six months ago tomorrow on May 27, 2014. 

Sammy had a family of his own. He married Jessica right out of law school and the two had two boys; Josh, 8, and Michael, 6. Their families stayed close, even though Sam was in California and Dean in Kansas. They were happy. 

If this wasn’t real, how could he remember all that? 

3:00 rolled around and Eric’s fever had gone down. He called you to make sure it would be okay to take him along to the airport. You told him that as long as he was feeling okay, it should be fine. The doctor said it sounded like the heat in his room was too high. Dean buckled Eric into his carseat and Ellie in her carrier. While Johanna almost looked like a mini-girl version of him, Eric looked like you. His eyes were yours, along with his hair color and his nose. Ellie looked like a fair mix of both. 

Jessica was the first one to greet him since Sam was busy carrying the boys’ bags. He hugged her tight and couldn’t stop beaming. 

“It’s so good to see you guys.” He smiled and she gave him a sunny grin in return. 

“I know Sam’s been eager to see you and the family for a long time. Of course, I’m only here for the food.” She teased and he pulled her into another hug. 

“I can’t believe this.” Dean sighed happily. Sam and Jessica. Him and you. One big happy family. 

“Do I get a hug, or are just going to hog my wife?” Sam snarked, setting down the bags as Dean nearly tackled him. Sam laughed, struggling to breathe in his brother’s crushing hug. “I missed you too, Dean.” 

“Uncle Sam!” Eric cheered, clinging to Sam’s leg. 

“Hey buddy.” Sam smiled, lifting his nephew into his arms. Jessica peaked into the baby carrier Dean had set on the bench. 

“Look at how big she’s gotten.” She awed. Ellie was asleep, so she spoke quietly. Jess frowned, finally noticing the two brown haired boys fighting over one of their comics. “Josh, stop pushing your brother.” She scolded. 

“He took my comic!” The older of the two retorted. Jessica just gave him a stern look and he surrendered. 

“Michael, give it back when you’re done reading.” Sam ruffled his youngest son’s hair. Dean knelt down. 

“So are you two tough guys too cool to give your uncle a hug, or what?” He pulled his nephews into a warm embrace. “Are you both taller? You’re taller than the last time I saw you.” Dean pat Josh on the back. “You’re gonna be taller than your dad before you know it.” 

“You know, you’d see them more if you flew out to California.” Jessica noted. Dean’s eyes widened. She laughed. “I know, I know, you have a thing about flying.” 

“I want to go to California!” Eric exclaimed.

“One of these days, we can go on a roadtrip in Baby to Uncle Sam and Aunt Jessica’s, how does that sound?” Dean promised. Eric nodded, excitedly wriggling in Sam’s arms. 

Everyone loaded up into the van, Sam sliding into the passenger seat. Dean had to laugh. This was just so crazy. Here they were, driving in a van packed full of children. Their children. He thought of all of the times Sam sat beside him in the impala, the two weary from a hunt. It felt like a different lifetime. Like a different world. It felt less real. 

-

You’ll find a woman and you’ll find love

And don’t forget son, there is someone up above

Four children ran around the backyard, jumping in leaf piles and chasing each other with sticks. Jo seemed to rule the yard, keeping her older cousin at bay with her stubborn persistence. Dean smiled proudly. 

“She’s quite the pistol.” Jessica noted with a laugh, jutting her head towards Johanna. She was sitting beside you, bouncing her baby niece in her arms. 

“I wonder where she gets that from.” You gave your husband a smirk. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I love you so much.” He whispered. The tone in his voice made you glance up at him. He was watching you with intensity in his eyes. So much love and yet… there was pain there. 

“I love you too.” You laced your fingers with his, your concern evident in your voice. “Dean, are you okay? You’ve been acting a little weird all day.” You spoke quietly so you wouldn’t worry your brother-in-law. Your husband gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m fine, really. I’m just…”  Dean felt an overwhelming wave of emotion and choked back tears. “Really happy.” He lifted your chin up, bringing your lips to his. Everything was perfect, right down to the way your lips fit perfectly against his. He knew, without a doubt, that this was real. 

Soon it was time to put the kids to bed. Sam’s boys slept on the pull-out couch in the basement. Eric was exhausted from a day of excitement, as well as his baby sister. Dean was charged with the task of putting a rambunctious Johanna to bed. 

“I want to stay up and drink beer like a big kid.” She pouted, making the adults in the room chuckle. Dean crouched down and picked her up. 

“Alright, here’s the deal. I promise that when you’re a big kid like me and your mom, then you can stay up and have a drink with us. But until then, you’re gonna be my little deputy right?” He tapped the golden plastic badge that she never took off. Jo grinned from ear to ear and nodded. Humming a Bob Segar tune, he took her upstairs to her room and tucked her into bed. 

When he came back down stairs, his brother and the two women were smirking at him. 

“What?” You and Jessica exchanged a look and burst out laughing. “Come on, what?”

“That girl has you wrapped around her finger, Dean.” Jessica snickered. You took a sip of your beer. 

“Oh, he’s like that with Ellie, too. He dotes on them like you wouldn’t believe. One little pout from Johanna and he melts.” You couldn’t help but beam at your husband. You loved the way he was with the kids. 

“I got her in bed, didn’t I?” Dean huffed, taking his seat beside you and resting a hand on your knee. Sam shook his head. 

“It’s all in the looks, brother. You may think you’ve one this round, but I saw the look in Jo’s eyes.” Sam gave his brother a sure nod. “She knows where she stands.” 

“At least I’ve got Eric,” You sighed teasingly. “He’s a mama's boy, through and through.” 

You curled up beside Dean, comfortable in his warmth. He kissed the top of your head.

The hours passed with plenty of laughter and love. Soon, it was getting close to 11:00 and you wanted to get plenty of rest for the busy day tomorrow. Everyone would be helping prepare the massive Thanksgiving meal that the Winchesters made every year. Sam and Jessica said goodnight and headed to the guest room while you and Dean made your way upstairs. 

You reached your rooms and Dean’s hands found your waist, his lips trailing up your shoulder to your neck. You leaned back into his embrace, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers in his golden-brown hair. His hands started to wander and you sighed mournfully. 

“Baby, we both have to be up in the morning.” You groaned, breaking away from him. When you turned around, he was pouting, his green eyes big and sad. So that’s where Johanna got it. He was just so impossible to resist, but if you didn’t go to bed now, you’d be exhausted before dinner even started. You draped your arms around his neck. “I’ll tell you what; how about we get a good night’s sleep tonight…” you pulled him close and whispered into his ear, “and I’ll give you something to be really thankful for tomorrow.” 

Dean’s eyes widened and his smirk spread into a smile. 

“Mrs. Winchester, we have a deal.” He loved the way that sounded coming from his lips. Mrs. Winchester. 

You gave him a long and passionate goodnight kiss before changing into your pajamas and climbing into bed. 

It must have been around 12:30 when the baby started crying. The baby monitor was on your nightstand, so you were awakened by the sound first. Dean moved to get up, but you stopped him. 

“I’ll get her.” You sleepily shuffled out of the bedroom. Reaching the hall, you muttered something that your half-asleep husband only half comprehended. Something about the electricity acting up again. 

The crying continued and you didn’t return. Dean yawned, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes and got out of bed. He slowly made his way down the hallway to the nursery. The door was ajar and the lamp had been turned on. You must have gone downstairs to get her a bottle. 

Dean picked up his crying daughter, rocking her soothingly in his arms. She wailed and wailed until she heard his voice. 

“Alright, sweetheart. It’s alright. Daddy’s got you.” He hushed. After a moment of rocking and soft whispers, Ellie started to settle down. As soon as her cries reduced to the occasional sniff, Dean set her back in her cradle. “That’s it. You’re going to be just fine. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” 

Smiling down at his beautiful baby girl, Dean felt something on the back of his neck. When he touched it, his hand came away red. He froze, and as if his body went into auto pilot, he turned around. At first he couldn’t scream. He just stared. 

Your mouth gaped at him, your eyes filled with terror and pain as the blood spread out from your stomach. Ellie started to cry again. 

“No!” Dean screamed. That’s when the fire started. 

And that’s when he woke up.

-

And be a simple kind of man

Oh, be something you love and understand

Dean sat straight up, sweat soaking through his t-shirt, his scream still on his lips. The cool air of the bunker made him shiver. He couldn’t breathe. He heaved and coughed as if the smoke really filled his lungs. A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump out of the bed and flatten himself against the wall, holding out his fists to fight. 

“Dean?” You rose slowly, walking towards him cautiously. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” 

He just stared at you, taking in every feature. You watched his eyes fill with tears and his chin tremble as he tried to speak. Nothing came out, just a strangled sounding cry. Dean fell to his knees and you rushed to hold him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just a nightmare. 

Dean wrapped his arms around your middle and leaned his head against your stomach as you soothingly ran your fingers through his hair. He didn’t make any sound as he cried, but the tears fell endlessly down his face. He was shaking in your arms. 

“Dean, honey, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” You whispered. This wasn’t the first time that he’d woken suddenly from a dream, but it had never been like this. 

You told him that you were pregnant today. He seemed happy. Shocked, but happy. But now? Whatever was going through his head was breaking him. You sunk down in front of him so you could hold him fully, letting him cry into your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally choked out. “I’m sorry that this is all I can give you. I’m sorry that we don’t have a big house full of kids. That Sam has lost any chance at happiness. That we can never have a normal life.” You pushed back. 

“Baby, what are you talking about?” 

“I’m sorry that this baby is going to grow up haunted and broken… just like me.” His voice cracked. You put a hand on his cheek. 

“Dean…” You pressed your forehead against his, feeling your own tears start to fall. “This baby is going to be loved and wanted and cherished, just like you.” You kissed him gently, reminding him of your adoration of this hero of a man. 

Dean held you closer, letting your words sink into his heart. He wanted to believe it. He wanted more than anything to believe it. Even in his beautiful dream, you ended up burned and bloody. Even in his dream, he was broken. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He would try like hell to give you a life as close to perfect as he could manage. Maybe that meant hunting together until you went down guns blazing. Maybe that meant settling down, someday, somewhere. He would try. 

Baby be a simple kind of man

Oh, won’t you do this for me, son, if you can

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks​ Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone

#dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #jessica moore #jensen ackles #supernatural #happy thanksgiving #supernatural imagines #simple man #angst up the waz

[witchhazelnut]

Heart Bellied Out

(1361 words) Inspired by this post by @skepticalfrog but also all of his art. (ao3)

What does a starving man do when presented with a sudden bounty?

For the first few days following Chuck’s defeat, Dean found this question rolling around his head more often than he’d like. He had been starving, he’d realized, but that hunger ran so deep that it had become part of him, like a barnacle under a whale’s belly.

So, when the wins began to pile up in rapid succession, Dean didn’t know how to deal.

On the first day Chuck was defeated, and the world returned.

On the second Jack gave his god-juice (“Don’t call it that,” Sam grimaced) to Amara for safe keeping until he was ready to assume that power and join her in a balance of light and darkness. This transference resulted in Jack assuming a form that reflected his human age, allowing him to be the child he’d never got the chance to be. It was an opportunity Dean never had, and one he didn’t know how badly he wanted for Jack until he had an armful of toddler pressed into his hip—until the sweet smell of his son’s hair tucked itself under his nose. His son.

That would have been too much for Dean already, but then Amara, more powerful than ever, presented her grandnephew the gift of his father back, just as she had gifted Dean with Mary years ago.

On the third day Cas was human, for good this time. Amara had given him a human soul, which kept him out of the Empty’s reach. He’d stood in the middle of the bunker’s library, flustered and confused, coat and tie disheveled, and Dean had stopped breathing.

“Daddy!” Jack had squealed, reaching for Cas from Dean’s hold.

“Jack.” was all Cas had replied, bewildered as he gathered his son into his arms.

Their son, Dean thought as he stood and watched them embrace.

Sam and Eileen were safe, Jack was safe, Cas was back, and the world was free. Dean didn’t know how to trust it, even though it was all he wanted. If he allowed himself to indulge in hope, he knew he wouldn’t survive having it taken away. If he filled himself up with it all, he’d risk feeling a hunger he couldn’t turn away from.

Dean looked over at where Cas was holding Jack against his side. With one hand Jack held onto Cas’ arm and with the other he was reaching for Dean, little fingers spread wide to grab at him. Dean huddled in and wrapped his arms around the both of them, his left hand splayed over as much of Cas’ back as he could hold, his right wound tight around Jack as he pressed their bodies impossibly close.

What does a starving man do when presented with a sudden bounty?

He shares it.

Two years later Dean found himself washing dishes after dinner. Sam and Eileen had come over to celebrate Jack’s first day of kindergarten. They still lived in the bunker, while Dean, Cas, and Jack moved into a house a few hours away, on the edge of a town with good schools and a zoo (Dean had insisted on the former, Cas on the latter).

Dean took on a few hours here and there at a local garage and Cas occasionally set up a stall at the Saturday farmer’s market when his garden was doing particularly well or when the bees he kept were especially busy, but in all manners that really counted they were retired. Sam and Eileen kept things held down on the hunting front, and Dean surprised himself to find he was more than fine to walk away.

There were still days when he woke up with a phantom pang of hunger, the ghost of a feeling in his stomach like the one he’d come to know growing up after days without so much as stale wonder bread to further stretch stolen meals for Sammy. The muscles in his gut contracted around a hollowness, a pit of fear like a leaky faucet he couldn’t seem to permanently plug.

On those days he’d retreat into himself. He’d be quiet. He’d feel a magnetic tug try and pull him to the bar down the block, even though it had been a long while since he’d picked up so much as a beer.

Before he could self-destruct or leave his body long enough that it could do itself harm, he’d feel Cas at his side or Jack’s weight on his chest. He’d go to bed early and when he’d wake the next morning the pit would be gone.

Dean knew it would never truly go away, but it would always leave just as quick as it came.

Most days though, Dean was good. This particular day especially so.

His family had sat around his table in his house and ate the food that hemade for them. They’d filled up on roast chicken, rosemary potatoes, and laughter.

And pie, of course. Dean made a pie.

He washed the dishes while Sam dried. Or, while Sam was supposed to be drying. Instead he held a dish towel in his hands and leaned against the counter, giving Dean an appraising look.

Dean tried not to snap about the stack of clean, wet dishes piling up, only raised a brow at his brother as he set another plate in front of him.

Sam answered the look with soft grin.

“What?” Dean asked exasperated.

“You’ve gone soft.” Sam replied.

Dean stilled at that. He’d heard those words before from a different mouth. John would bark them out like a slap. But the tone in Sam’s voice made Dean pause.

For the first time in a long time, the word soft didn’t sound like weak.

Soft. Dean thought of his body. What had a few years ago been all hard edges and blunt muscle now gave way easily to the press of fingers. At first Dean was sensitive to the change, worried Cas would no longer find him desirable if his body was not what it had always been.

“I guess the burgers and booze finally caught up to me huh?” Dean disparaged his reflection, holding his belly with both hands in an unforgiving grip.

Cas had come up behind him, threaded his arms through Dean’s and snaked them around his middle so that the ex-angel’s broad hands covered his own. Dean’s grip had loosened as Cas rested his chin in the crook of his neck.

“You think this is a punishment for your past.” Cas had said with his usual unnerving baldness, “But in fact it is a sign of your current blessing.”

Dean had huffed in embarrassed disbelief.

“This is happy weight, Dean.” Cas had pressed on, planting a kiss to his freckled shoulder, “It means you are, perhaps for the first time, truly settled.”

Soft, Dean thought with a plate in his hand, like the sheets on the bed that he shares.

Soft like the still baby-soft skin under Jack’s feet that he presses against Dean’s stomach on those nights he has a bad dream and can only sleep if he’s sandwiched between his dad and daddy.

Soft like Cas’ slightly grown-out hair between Dean’s fingers, like the meat of his thigh that gives way to Dean’s loving hands.

Soft like the mid-morning sun that filters in through their kitchen window and stirs the dust-bunnies into a dance. Those mornings when Dean is cocooned in warmth, a cup of coffee in his hand, Jack pressed up against his back, and Cas flush with his side, holding his face in big hands, leaning down for a soft kiss—

Dean glanced up at Sam, a shy smile on his lips.

You’ve gone soft echoed in his head, “Yeah, I guess so.”

Soft meant that Dean had built a life that was pliant to him for once, something Dean never thought he would get.

Practically born with a gun in his hand, for the longest time Dean was certain he’d die that way, empty and starving and hard as stone.

He had not touched a gun in over a year.

Soft, Dean thought, and let himself feel strength in it.

#spn #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fic #destiel #skepticalfrog #soft dean #chubby dean #tw: eating mention #tw: weight

[elizabethrobertajones]

hi! is their any good lore or (more likely) what's your preferred headcanon on the metaphysics of demons? what actually *are* they, that is different from human souls they're made from, yet allows them to basically have human-like personalities in some cases (and be completely rabidly evil in others)?

Honestly the last few years have left me at “people be like that” and how hard is it anyway to convince someone who was already an asshole who got sent to hell that they’d suffer less if they inflicted pain back, and leaning into that will get you sick supernatural powers to do more evil with, and before you know it all these incel weirdoes who had an unhealthy murder-suicide pact in their head with the barista who had never even talked to them except to take their order and give them the side-eye when they stared too long, are in a weird one upmanship culture with each other about who can eat the most babies or whatever Hell’s current Evil Fad is in order to be the Most Alpha Bad Demon.

Which makes it a pretty chilling commentary before it was even fully in the epoch for pop culture commentary, on how society and herd mentality are warping people into terrible monsters, and many of those people are people who maybe would have been sympathetic and vulnerable and probably bullied and insecure a long time ago, but instead of being helped they’re put into this mill that twists them and feeds their insecurities and tells them who’s to blame for them and gives them a new sense of purpose and a club to belong to that for the first time they feel powerful and accepted and need an autocratic ruler to worship and follow and the only condition is to mete out pain? These people who’ve been filled with pain all their lives and would like nothing more than to lash out against everyone they perceive has hurt them?

I think the show has actually got into this a bit from the start with the Psychic Children stuff, and how Yellow Eyes was following them around bothering them and making their lives horrible in order to twist them or at least make them feel outside and alone and different. Like, after the Mary incident and seeing how John took up arms, he didn’t have to do SHIT with Sam until he was an adult, but some of the kids had had him whispering to them since childhood, probably because they were living too stable middle class comfortable lives and needed a push. Max for example didn’t have any known contact from Yellow Eyes though because he also grew up in an abusive home, and the people around him did all the work to turn him into a killer as soon as he had special powers to pay it back to those who hurt him. 

A lot of the season 1-4 messaging was very much how Sam and Dean were good men because they had been put through this or sent to hell and how they struggled against what they thought might be their nature either from basically birth for Sam or the abuse Dean was put through (Dream a Little Dream very clearly showing how Dean could be someone who was ripe for demonisation just from his upbringing even before the torture because he had these things which could be twisted to make him evil if someone was going to manipulate him)... Sam’s side was all based on magic bullshit and he turned out to be mostly good all the way through even when he was being very very bad, but Dean’s struggles always were framed through this. Like the season 7 episode with Jeffrey, who was very strongly paralleled with Dean and put attention back on him having been a torturer in hell long after the main narrative had moved on from Dean’s trauma. But even when Dean did get demonised through magic bullshit it still was more based in his character than the way Sam struggled through knowing he should be a good guy and wanting to be a good guy and just always finding more magic bullshit in the way when he tried. 

So I think you can say this is sort of the reasoning the show’s always given for how demons end up like that... Like, Ruby being a witch with a demon pact before she died meant she was very in control of herself and probably needed no torture whatsoever to pop back up as a demon because she was already willing to do these horrible things. Likewise idk if it was confirmed Rowena was a demon or just a dead soul in Hell who was too scary to fuck with, but either way she was allowed to just waltz onto the throne without any real process of suffering because she was so well suited to it from her life, even if her death was a heroic sacrifice and she had become a better person in life, she was still a blatantly hellbound soul and then once there blatantly a step above MOST souls Hell would ever be lucky to get their hands on. Dean on the other hand was someone who would resist at every step and have to be seriously broken by prolonged torture to ever even start him on the path. Rowena might not even NOTICE the day she slips from human soul to demon :P 

I think back in season 10/11 there was more of an effort to suggest cosmic nonsense and the balance of hell to heaven and demons to angels and amara to chuck, giving Amara similar looking powers to demons with black smoke especially, and of course Dean and Cain being demonised as just an inherent part of their souls being in contact with her. No one ever laid down any ground rules about this but I suppose the magical process has to be at least somewhat borne out since Lucifer had the Mark at one point when he started making demons, so probably the Darkness has its spooky fingers in the mechanics of all this somewhere. But the psychological aspect is far more interesting to me. :D

[superbadassnatural]

Not Friends

Summary: It’s time for a wedding! Sam and Jess are getting married and Dean needs someone to pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his family. Good thing his friend Y/N is willing to help. Pairing: Dean x Reader // Sam x Jess Word count: 8,846 Warnings: fluff, fake dating, nudity (but it’s barely there), waxing A/N: this was writen for “SPN Bi-Weekly Writing Challenge” hosted by the darling @supernatural-jackles. There are 7 prompts in this one and they’re all in bold. Hope y’all enjoy!

“I still don’t get why you asked me to do this. I’m not a professional,” you mumbled. “Since it’s the first time you’re doing this, you  really should’ve gone to a professional.”

“I know, I know,” Jess sighed, taking another gulp of the wine. “I lost track of time and forgot to set an appointment. It’s just that Sam is planning something special for this weekend. I wanted to look nice.”

“You’ve been together for nearly five years, Jess. The guy asked you to marry him. And knowing him, he doesn’t mind if you wax or trim or do nothing down there.”

“I know he doesn’t. But I’m not just doing this for him. I’m doing this for me,” she said. “Does it hurt?”

“A little,” you shrugged. “Alright, now lay down.”

Jess did as told, placing her glass on the nightstand. She was naked from the waist down, a white towel covered her lady bits. You could see it on her face that she was nervous. It would be better if she was a little drunk for you to do this.

“Move the towel so we can get going,” you asked, holding a popsicle with a large blob of yellow wax.

She gritted her teeth and her breath was caught in her throat when you spread the burning wax over the top of her mound. Jess clenched her eyes shut.

“We shouldn’t do this. I’m already regretting it.”

“You’ll be fine, Jess. Trust me.”

Jess took in a deep breath, relaxing a little.

“Before I do this, I need you to know that I have always loved you,” you said before pulling the strip off.

“Fuck!” She nearly screamed, sitting up straight.

“Here,” you offered her the bottle of wine. “See? It wasn’t that bad.”

“It wasn’t that bad?” Her blue eyes widened. “It was worse than I expected.”

“You know that we’re not finished, right?”

“I know,” she cried, taking another gulp of the whine and finishing the bottle.

Jess laid back and you repeated the process. She winced once again.

“And to think I was gonna ask you to be my maid of honor.”

“You were what?” You exclaimed.

“Well, I was gonna ask you properly next week and it was gonna be beautiful, but I guess I ruined everything.”

“I can’t believe you chose me to be your maid of honor,” you couldn’t stop the big smile to spread over your lips, happy tears welled in your eyes.

“Really?” She smiled. “I thought it was kinda obvious.”

“Of course not! I was sure you were gonna ask one of your sisters.”

“Y/N, we both know that none of them would be able to help organize a wedding.”

“I’m truly honored, Jess,” you hugged her. “God, you’re gonna have the wedding of your dreams.”

“I love you, Y/N/N.”

“I love you too.”

Three years ago, Sam proposed to Jess. You still remember the day when she came running to your place to tell you everything and show the beautiful diamond ring on her finger. She was truly happy. Her blue eyes held a glisten you had never seen before. You were happy for her.

Jess wanted a big wedding. She had enough money to throw a magnificent ceremony. Sam was a bit worried about how they would afford it so they decided to wait to get married. They worked out on a budget and started saving money. Both of them had established jobs; Sam as a lawyer and Jess as a prosecutor. They saved enough money to have their dream wedding. Twice.

You helped Jess organize everything. You hired one of the best wedding planners in the U.S. and they were perfect. Jess was on cloud nine. She still had some stress, but in the end, she reminded herself that everything would be okay. She was nervous people wouldn’t come because it was a destination wedding. Sam and Jess picked Maui, Hawaii for their ceremony. More specifically, Makena Cove Beach. So she saved extra money to pay for the guests’ staying at a resort. It was a damn expensive wedding.

Jess was born into a wealthy family. They never had to worry about money. Good thing they weren’t snobs. Her parents insisted on paying for hers and the bridesmaids’ dresses. They paid yours too. They even wanted to pay for Sam’s tuxedo, but John and Mary wouldn’t have it. Her parents wanted to help. Their oldest daughter was getting married and they wanted to give her everything. It was nice of them. Jess and Sam were glad for their willingness to help, but they also wanted to be more independent and bear the expenses.

Sam wasn’t born into a rich family, but the Winchesters weren’t poor either. John owned a law firm in Lawrence and Mary owned a bakery. They couldn’t assist as much as Jess’ parents, but they managed to help out anyway.

October 24th was getting closer and closer. You were so excited about their wedding day. Seeing them so radiant was priceless. They deserved all the happiness in the world. With less than one week left for the ceremony, you had to do the last touch-ups for the reception. That includes finishing your speech.

You had never thought you’d enjoy organizing a wedding this much. Thanks to you and the bridesmaid team, Jess had an epic bachelorette party. And poor Sam had to deal with the bachelor party Dean threw for him. It was a nice party, of course, but Sam wasn’t the kind of guy that enjoyed being around strippers. The bridal shower was fun too and she got lots of nice gifts.

Dean, the best man and your best friend, was doing everything he could to support his brother. He even went out with Sam to buy his tuxedo.

“Hey Claire,” you grinned walking into the car shop.

“Hi Y/N,” she smiled. “Dean said you were coming. He’s in the back.”

“Thanks, darling.”

Winchester’s Auto Shop. Dean was passionate about cars since he was a little kid. He became a mechanic and after years of hard work, he opened his own shop. You were proud of him. Seeing him conquer so much in his life only made you love your best friend even more.

“Hey you,” grinning, you spotted Dean underneath his car.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, struggling with whatever he was doing to the muscle car.

“Why are you working on Baby?” You nudged his feet.

“Had to replace the pipe,” he said before standing up to meet you. His grey shirt and denim jeans covered in grease. “And done.”

Your fingers trailed over the shining hood. Dean circled the car and started the engine. The impala roared to life, a purr following.

“There you go, Baby,” a wide smile spread on his lips. He turned off the ignition and took a step back, contemplating the beauty of his most precious possession. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“Yeah, Dean, she is,” you rolled your eyes playfully. “Alright, why did you call me here?”

“We can talk in my office,” he suggested. “With chairs and AC.”

You nodded and followed him to his office. He opened the door and you rushed to the comfortable chair in front of his desk. There was something about his office that was very homey. It made you feel at ease.

Dean headed to the mini-fridge and picked a couple of beers for the two of you. He sat on his desk, handing your beverage. You frowned at him, taking a gulp. He seemed tense.

“Alright, Winchester, spill.”

“I, uh, I know this kinda seems out of the blue and that I should’ve talked to you sooner, but,” he stopped his rambling and only made you more anxious.

“But?” You arched your eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“I just need you to do this one little thing for me,” his pleading green eyes held your gaze.

“And that is…”

“Fake date me?” His lips curled into a weak smile as his brows furrowed, voice full of uncertainty.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “But why?”

“My parents are gonna be at Sam’s wedding and I don’t want them to pick on me for not having someone, you know?” His eyes fell to his lap, the beer in his hand untouched. “I mean, Sam’s their youngest and he’s getting married. I don’t even have a girlfriend. ‘Sides, you know everything there is to know about me so it would be easier for them to buy it. You sure you wanna do it?”

“I’m sure, Dean,” you smiled at him, placing your hand over his. Green eyes looked up to meet you. “There’s nothing wrong about being single at your age. And if your parents think otherwise, screw them.”

“Thanks, Y/N/N.”

“You’re lucky, you know?”

“And why’s that?” He took a large gulp of his beer.

“You’re gonna get to kiss me anytime you want,” you shrugged. “Just a heads up, people say I’m a pro at that.”

“Guess I’m gonna have to find that out myself,” he winked at you.

A comfortable silence fell in the room. Both of you nursed your beers isolated in your worlds.

“Did you finish your speech?” You asked.

“Yeah. It turned out really good actually. Did you finish yours?”

“Not yet,” you sighed. “I’m still trying to figure out how not to cry when I read it.”

Dean chuckled, standing up and putting on his blue flannel.

“I’m done for the day. Do you need a ride?” You nodded in response. “You going to Rocky’s or home?”

“Rocky’s,” you sighed in frustration as you headed to the door. “Gotta make up for the time Pam is gonna cover for me.”

“I thought you were gonna close the bar while we are in Hawaii.”

“I was, but Pam thought it was better to keep it open. She has way more experience in running a bar so I decided to go by her.”

Dean opened the door to the impala for you before getting behind the steering wheel. He turned the ignition and Baby’s loud purr filled your ears.

“I don’t get why we’re traveling tomorrow already,” he whined. “The wedding is only Saturday. We could hop on the plane on Thursday.”

“C’mon, I’m the maid of honor. In case anything goes wrong, I’m there,” you explained. “And you, Winchester, are the best man. You gotta help me.”

The ride to the bar was mostly quiet, saved for the sound of one of Dean’s cassettes. The night was falling and you were glad the bar closed at 10pm tonight. Dean pulled up in the driveway. You couldn’t find it in you to get out of the car and go to work. Monday nights were always dead and that’s way worse than having a busy night. The time just didn’t seem to pass.

“Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Nah, I’m good,” you smiled. “Thanks, Dean,” you leaned and pecked his stubbled cheek.

“Take care, sweetheart.”

You hopped out of the car, making your way to the bar. Every time he dropped you off at work or at home, he’d wait for you to come in then he’d head out. Tonight was no different.

“Y/N,” you turned and found Dean leaning on his seat. “Do you want to meet me at the airport or I pick you up and we head to the airport?”

“Pick me up,” you smiled. “Eight sharp, Dean.”

“Alrighty,” his lips curled into a smile. “Night, sweetheart.”

“Night, Dean-o.”

————

“Ugh, I’m so, so tired,” you grumbled, plopping down onto the airplane seat.

“Hmm, me too.”  

Dean reclined his chair, his eyes were already closed. The plane hadn’t even taken off and he was almost asleep.

“Dean,” your voice was ever so soft.

“Hmm,” he blinked an eye open to take a peek at your pleading face.

“I’m cold.”

“Alright, c’mere,” he sneaked his arm around you, pulling you closer to his body. Your head laying on his chest. “Better?”

“Better.”

“You aren’t cold, are you?”

“Not really,” you chuckled. “Just love some snuggle before falling asleep. And I know that planes make you uncomfortable. So I hope this helps.”

“It does,” you could hear the smile in his voice. “Now go to sleep.”

You and Dean slept through almost the entire flight. You called a cab and made your way to the resort you were staying at. Sam and Jess wanted to pay for yours and Dean’s stay, but you insisted on paying yourselves. They would already cover for most of the guests either way. Money would be a little tight this month, but it was worth it. It was your best friend’s wedding for Christ’s sake.

“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” You asked Dean as you both stood awestruck in front of the resort with your bags in hands.

“Uh-huh,” he swallowed thickly.

“This is so fancy. I don’t think I know how to behave in a place like this.”

“I don’t think I do either,” he chuckled.

You went to the reception and got the keys to your room. A gasp left your lips as you stepped inside. The room seemed to shine before your eyes. It was out of this world. The sprawling leather couch in front of the fifty inches tv had your breath hitching in your throat.  

“Oh my God, look at this view,” you let go of the bags and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The palm trees and the crystal blue water were a sight to behold. Sam and Jess had picked a beautiful place to get married.

“Y/N, come here,” Dean called from where you assumed to be the bathroom.

“Wow,” your eyes widened as they landed on the enormous bathtub. “I could easily drown in there.”

Your fingers roamed over the counter. Everything was in marble and hand-crafted tiles. Everything was magnificent and fancy. As well as the bath, the power shower was huge. Oh, the jacuzzi.

“I’m never leaving this room,” said Dean. “Sam can find another best man.”

“See? That’s one of the reasons why we came earlier.”

The cream Egyptian cotton sheets covering the king-sized bed made it difficult not to jump on and take a nap. You set on the edge, your body almost melting.

“Oh god, it’s memory foam.”

Dean’s lips curled into a smile as he watched you close your eyes. You were enjoying way too much. Your palms were flat on the mattress, taking in all its softness.

“I can sleep on the couch if you want,” he suggested.

“Don’t be silly. This bed is big enough for both of us. Plus, it’s not gonna be the first time we share a bed, fake boyfriend,” you shot him a wink. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m gonna hop in the shower. I’m disgusting.”

“You go,” he nodded. “I’ll text Sam to let them know we arrived safe.”

“You do that,” you smiled, picking your clothes from the suitcase. “Also, can you call the ceremonial? Let her know that we’re here and we’d like to meet her today,” you asked before entering the bathroom. 

“Will do.”

Steam filled the room as you cut the shower on. The water poured on your body, massaging your tense muscles. You bathed quickly. You had a lot of things to do before Sam and Jess arrived.

The afternoon flew by you. Barbara, the ceremonial, had everything perfectly mapped out. Her team would arrive on Thursday. That would give them plenty of time to wrap up the last details of the rehearsal dinner and the ceremony.

You and Dean finished your speeches. It would be hard to hold back the tears. You spent the rest of the day mostly in the room. Both of you were still too tired to wander around the resort. The following morning, after having a delicious breakfast, you and Dean explored the resort.

Turned out that Dean isn’t that good at the tennis table. At least now you had something to hold against him. Then he kicked your ass at pool and darts. That wasn’t nice.

You spent most of the afternoon at the pool. Dean was a bit annoyed at first because he didn’t want to apply sunscreen. He said he didn’t need it. Boy, that pissed you off. If he wanted to look like a shrimp at his brother’s wedding, then he didn’t need it after all. Dean could be as stubborn as a mule when he wanted to. But he gave in and applied it. He was even embarrassed to ask you to apply it on his back.

Sam and Jess were on their way. You were excited about their arrival. You couldn’t wait to show her around the resort. Unfortunately, they arrived late at night. You just stopped by their room to check on them before going to bed. They were extremely tired. They had worked all morning and flew by lunchtime.

Dean was in bed, searching through the channels when you stepped into the room. His hair was a little wet, spiking in multiple directions. You plopped yourself down beside him, already in your pajamas.

“My mom and dad are on the plane right now,” he grumbled, his eyes fixated on the screen.

“That’s good.”

“They’re gonna be here tomorrow morning,” Dean added. “And they want to have lunch. You, me, Sam and Jess.”

“Guess it’s happening then, huh?”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“Do they know that you’re ’with’ me?” you glanced up at him.

“Mmhmm,” he turned his attention to you. “I didn’t say your name ‘cause I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t want to do this.”

“Guess I’m gonna meet your parents, boyfriend,” you grinned.

“You are,” Dean chuckled and you yawned.

“Good night, Dean,” you pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You turned on your stomach, right leg hiking up as the other stood straight. Your arm was tucked under the pillow. The room went completely quiet as Dean turned off the tv. You found it odd that he remained sat instead of going to sleep.

“Y/N/N?” His voice was unsure and as quiet as a whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You awake?”

“No, I’m dead,” Dean shook his head, a chuckle leaving his lips. “What’s up, Dean?” You turned on your back to face him. He laid on his side and you did the same.

“You sure you wanna do this?”

“I’m sure, Dean,” you reassured him, fingers making their way to play with his hair. “It’s bad that I’m gonna lie to your parents the first time I meet them. But I’m doing this for you. Don't overthink this, Dean.”

“I love you, you know that?”

“Oh, I don’t think I do,” you teased.

“Ah, shut up,” he chuckled.

“I love you too.”

“I know you do,” he smiled, his warm hand came up to your cheek, knuckles caressing your skin. A trail of goosebumps wandering through your body. “Sleep tight, sweetheart,” his lips met your forehead, lingering a little bit longer than usual.

He turned his back to you, shifting in his sleeping position. His hand reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off. You were facing the back of his head, breath still caught in your throat. You shook your head and turned to your side, waiting for the sleepiness that seemed to have faded.

Sunshine invaded the room. The curtains didn’t put any resistance on keeping the room dark. The orange glow made you clamp your eyes, before fluttering it open. You blinked a few times to adjust to the bright daylight. A heavyweight in your middle made you frown. Then you became more aware of your surroundings and realized what it was. Dean’s arm was draped over your waist, his knees tucked into yours. His chest was pressed flush to your back. You took in deep breaths. It was not the first time you’d shared a bed. But he has never been this close.

“Morning,” his voice sounded hoarse from sleep. Dean nuzzled into your neck, a shiver ran down your spine, his arm tightening around you.

“Good morning,” you beamed, voice a little husky.

“Don’t wanna get up,” he whined.

“Me neither,” you mumbled. “But I’ve got so much to do today.”

“No, you don’t. You have lunch with my parents and rehearsal dinner tonight. Other than that you’re free to spend the whole morning asleep.”

“Yeah, but I can’t. I’ve gotta talk to Jess about some things. Especially about our fake dating thing.”

“I’ve told Sam so she probably already knows.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “Thank god I was able to set up a massage session for us after lunch.”

“We’re getting a massage?” You couldn’t see, but you were sure his eyes had lightened up like a Christmas tree.

“Not us, silly,” you chuckled. “Me and Jess.”

“You’re the worst.”

“If I had set it up for us, you’d hit on the masseuse and turn that into porn.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” his voice raised about an octave. “I would fall asleep the second she touched me.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, you would,” you scoffed.

“Why can’t we just go back to sleep? I’m tired,” he pleaded, burying his face in the curve of your neck. “You’re so comfy.”

He pulled you closer to him. Your body tensed as you felt a hardness against your ass.

“Dean, you, uh,” he noticed you stiffen in his hold.

“Oh, crap,” he pulled away as if your skin burned him. “Shit. Sorry. I, uh, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay. That’s normal, Dean. I know it wasn’t on purpose or because you were, uh, you know.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean it,” you smiled sympathetically. “Now go get changed so we can have breakfast. I promised Jess I’d meet her in an hour.”

Sam decided to have breakfast with you while Jess was at a yoga class. Since they’d decided on a date to get married, Jess started to hit the gym and go to yoga classes. She wanted to be in her best shape on her wedding day. It wound up becoming more of a way to relieve stress than anything else.

“Have you two come up with a story for mom and dad?” Sam asked.

“What do you mean?” Dean frowned at his brother, stuffing the last bite of his croissant in his mouth.

“They’re gonna ask you how you met, how long you met each other, how long you’ve been together, where’d you go on your first date-“

“Nah, they’re not gonna ask,” Dean shook his head. “They’re gonna focus on you and Jess.”

“Dude, you only introduced them to a girl once. And that was a long time ago. Of course, they’re gonna want to know more of you and Y/N. Take it from me. When I brought Jess home, mom wouldn’t stop asking questions. You know how she gets excited.”

“Leave it for me,” you said after taking a sip of your coffee. “I’m good at improv.”

“Your stories need to match.”

“I’m just gonna tell them the truth and change some bits. Add more romance. And voila. Dean and Y/N’s love story.”

“If you blow it, I’m gonna tell them you brainwashed me,” Dean warned you.

“Chill, Dean-o,” you bumped his shoulder. “I got everything under control.”

———

“Mom and dad, this is Y/N,” Dean motioned to you.

“Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” Mary squealed, wrapping her arms around. Your eyes widened at her reaction. She squeezed you and you hugged her back.

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Winchester.”

“Oh, please, call me Mary,” she said, pulling away and offering you a smile.

“So we finally meet the great Y/N, huh,” John grinned, a heat crept on your cheeks.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” you smiled.

“Call me John, kid.”

“Right.”

Dean pulled out the chair for you to sit and sat beside you. Mary and John were at each head of the table.

“Oh, Y/N, we heard so much about you,” Mary smiled.

“You did?” Your surprise couldn’t even be hidden. You glanced at Dean and he shrugged with a head tilt.

“Of course we did. This guy wouldn’t stop talking about you so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“You got him wrapped around your finger, kiddo,” said John.

You smiled sheepishly. The table fell into a comfortable silence as you looked through te menu, deciding to have the same as Dean.

“Sam, are you nervous about tomorrow?” Mary grinned.

“Yeah,” he smiled.

“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” Jess’ eyes shone every time she mentioned her wedding.

“Jess, I can’t wait to see your dress,” Mary grinned.

“Oh, it’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“You’ve seen it?” Mary’s blue eyes widened at you.

“Not only have I seen it, but I was there when she bought it. You’re gonna love it.”

“Y/N is my maid of honor.”

“Really? That’s great!”

“We’ve known each other since kindergarten. She was the one to introduce me to Sam,” she smiled. “She’s my other half.”

Jess extended her hand across the table, linking your fingers.

“Hey!” Sam feigned offense. She chuckled and pecked his lips into a sweet kiss.

“Dean, honey, you’re awfully quiet today,” his mom said softly.

Dean looked up from his dish, his mouth full. Smiling at him, you reached for his hair. His shoulders were tense and he had barely said a word since you sat to eat.

“Oh, he’s just afraid you’re gonna like me better than him.”

Everyone laughed and you heard a small chuckle escape his lips. He was tense and even a little nervous. You could understand that. Dean was afraid his parents wouldn’t buy your story. That would be the worst.

The table was filled with laughter. Mary did most of the talking. She asked Sam and Jess a lot of questions about their wedding. You could hear how happy she was from the way she talked. You were surprised she didn’t question you about your relationship with Dean.

“So, Y/N,” Mary turned to you.

“Oh boy, here we go,” you straighten your posture, taking a deep breath. Everyone laughed at your response.

“Please, Y/N, tell me about you and Dean. I need all the details,” her pleading blue eyes only made a stain of guilt appear on your stomach. “No, not all the details. Those you can keep to yourself.”

“Mom,” Dean nearly whined, a shade of pink coloring his cheeks.

“Ugh, gross,” John chuckled.

“Where can I start…” you needed to articulate your thoughts so the story would be convincing enough for them to believe. “About six years ago, I was driving home from my parents' house and my car broke down. I called… what was the name again?” You asked Dean.

“Jamie’s auto shop.”

“Right. I called James's auto shop and waited for the guy. The guy took way too long. It was dark and there was no one on the road. I thought I was gonna be eaten by wolves-“

“Just to be clear, there are no wolves in Lebanon, Kansas,” he interrupted you.

“You don’t know that,” you spat at him and he shrugged. “As I was saying, the guy took so long I thought he was coming on foot. It turned down he wasn’t. He was just driving like my grandma,” Dean had to bite down a laugh as he shook his head. “Then he climbed out of the car. The moment I saw those piercing green eyes, I knew I was a goner. And all those things you see in movies like the heart beating out of your chest, butterflies in your stomach. I felt all that stuff. And he was a gentleman. He made sure to drive me home. He fixed my car and gave me a really nice discount.”

“Are you telling me that it took him six years to introduce you to us?” Mary’s blue eyes were wide under arched brows.

“If it makes you feel better it took him five years to ask me on a date,” you shrugged.

Mary kept on asking about yours and Dean’s relationship. Some things were easier to answer. Others not much. Your palms started to sweat when questions started to get a little more personal. She wanted to know more about you. She asked about your family and what you did for a living. Your voice started to waver. You didn’t want to tell her that you owned a bar. A part of you feared what she’d think of you once you told her about your job. Hell, not even your parents liked the idea. What would she think of you? And why did you feel like you needed her approval?

“I, uh, I-“ you couldn’t find the words to say, your mind was hazy and your thoughts seemed to have disappeared.

Dean must have noticed because you felt a warm hand reaching for your thigh. His touch was reluctant, but soothing. He squeezed your skin softly, reminding you that he was there.

“C’mon, mom. It’s been years since I presented you to a girl and now you’re trying to scare her off?” His arm sneaked around your back, bringing your body closer to his. “This one was so damn hard to find. And there’s still time for her to get sick of me and dump me. But you’re not gonna do that, right sweetheart?” You shook your head, a smile spreading over your lips. “Good,” Dean pressed a kiss to your temple and you relaxed instantly.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Mary apologized.

“It’s okay. You can ask me whatever you want.”

“But not today,” Dean stared at his mother, his voice almost sounded like a warning. “Hell, ask Jess all the questions. She can’t run away from Sam anymore. I mean, technically she still can-“

“Dude, don’t give her any ideas,” Sam played along.

“Anyways, it was lovely to meet you guys, but Y/N and I have a couples massage session in one hour back at the resort. We should get going,” Dean lied, he wanted to get you out of there as soon as possible. He was afraid his parents would make you uncomfortable again.

You hugged them and headed out of the restaurant. John and Mary would head back to their hotel while Sam and Jess were going to meet the ceremonial. They needed to go over a few things for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Do you want me to call a cab or do you want to walk back to the resort?” He asked.

“We can walk,” you shrugged.

“Okay,” he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve had it worse,” you brushed it off as if it didn’t matter.

“Of course it’s not fine. She shouldn’t have asked you so many questions. And she shouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, Dean. She was just making sure you were with someone decent.”

“Well, she’s anything but decent.”

“Dean,” you scolded. “She’s your mother. Don’t talk about her like that.”

He only shrugged. The rest of the way was quiet. You were in front of the resort in no time. Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Jess. She’d meet you in your room in fifteen minutes then you’d head down to the spa.

You decided to take a shower before meeting her. The water helped ease the tension in your shoulders. You headed out of the bathroom and found Dean laying in bed. His ankles crossed as he flipped through the channels.

“You owe me a couples massage session,” he mumbled.

“You wish, Winchester,” you rolled your eyes. “Alright, I’ll be back in an hour or so, do I meet you here or you have plans with Sam?”

“Sam and I are gonna hit the bar.”

“Okay,” you nodded. “Don’t drink too much and remember, mister, you have a girlfriend. So don’t go around hitting on chicks.”

“I’d never do that,” he winked. “Now go get your massage and see if you learn something from them so you can give me the best back massage ever.”

“Keep on dreaming, Dean.”

You met Jess at the spa. The masseuses handed you your robes and waited for you to get changed. The moment the woman started to pour her scented oils on your skin, you melted.

“So what has gotten into Mary anyway?” Jess asked. “She wasn’t too rude, but there was no reason for her to ask you all that stuff.”

“I don’t know,” you sighed. “I mean, she just wants the best for her son but I felt like I was being interrogated.”

“Yeah, I know,” she smiled sympathetically. “I had to kick Dean under the table so he’d do something,” you chuckled. “Men are so freaking dumb sometimes.”

“Yeah, they are,” you sighed. “Jess? Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can.”

“Does Dean seem different to you?”

“I haven’t spent much time with him lately, but he seems the same to me.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t been acting any different?”

“I am, Y/N. Now where is this coming from?”

“He’s just been very affectionate lately.”

“Affectionate?”

“Yeah. He’s just, uh- I mean, he always cared for me. Dean is so caring. But lately I feel like something might have changed.”

“And why is that?”

“We’re sleeping on the same bed. It’s not new. We used to have sleepovers and share a bed all the time, but we’d never cuddle or anything. Today, I woke up and he was spooning me. He was so close. His body was pressed against mine, his head buried in my neck. Then I felt his thing,” you blushed and Jess chuckled. “Not to mention that last night before we went to sleep he was a little weird. His hand was on my cheek and he was staring at me as if he could see my soul. Then he kissed my forehead and it lasted longer than it usually does. Now I don’t know if I’m overthinking this or not. I’m just a little confused.

“You like him, Y/N,” Jess’ smile reached her eyes.

“Of course I do, he’s my best friend.”

“No, Y/N, you really like him.”

“Are you not hearing me? He’s my best friend. Of course I really like him.”

“Are you dumb or what? I mean love, Y/N. And not in a friendly way. I mean passion.”

“Pfft, you’re delusional.”

“You know I’m not.”

Silence fell in the room. You did your best to focus on the pressure of the masseuse's fingers pressing and pulling at your skin. The things Jess just said wouldn’t stop crossing  your mind. You knew she was wrong. You and Dean were just friends. But what if she was right?

You walked back to your room and figured Dean was in the shower. You walked to the window and opened. The soothing breeze hitting your skin ever so gently, sending goosebumps throughout your body.

“You’re back,” Dean beamed.

You turned to him. He was in jeans and a fitted grey t-shirt. His wet hair spiked in every possible direction.

“I am,” you smiled. “How was it to hit the bar with Sam?” You asked when you felt his presence beside you. Just like that, it became really hard to have a casual conversation with him.

“It was alright,” he chuckled. “How was the massage?”

“Best thing that ever happened to me,” you groaned in pleasure as you remembered how good it felt.

“Better than meeting me?”

“Almost,” you chuckled.

Dean moved behind you. His arms wrapped around your middle, his chest pressed flush against your back. You stiffened at first, but you couldn’t help but melt into his touch.

“You smell good,” he leaned to your neck. His gravel voice was barely upon a whisper. The feeling of his hot breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You tried to focus on anything but the feeling of having him this close. Your eyes were fixated on the blue sea, on the way the waves crashed onto the shore. But it was impossible.

“Hmmm, really good,” he nearly moaned.

Then you remembered. He had a few drinks with Sam a bit earlier. This was the alcohol talking.

Dean turned you in his arms, his green eyes stared deep into your soul. The air seemed to have become thicker. Or maybe he was just too close. His eyes wandered to your lips. He leaned his head, his breath mingling with yours. You pulled away quickly, clearing your throat. Dean seemed to realize what was happening and turned his head. His eyes falling on the calm, blue waves.

“We should, uh, we should probably get ready,” you suggested.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he nodded. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna get dressed in the bathroom.”

Dean grabbed his clothes and locked himself in the bathroom. You heard the water from the sink running. What was that? Was he out of his mind? He must have been. If you hadn’t pulled away when you did, he would have… no, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do that. He was your best friend. He just got a little carried away by the alcohol and the scent of the oils that previously bathed your skin.

You put on light makeup. Just a concealer, a thin coat of foundation and mascara. You picked the dress from the hanger and put it on. The navy blue dress fitted perfectly in your body. It hit your midthighs and seemed appropriate for the occasion.

The sound of the door unlocking echoed through the silent room. Dean got out of the bathroom all dressed up. His suit hugged his body just the right way.

“Can you help me?” You asked.

“Sure.”

“I can’t zip it. Can you do it for me?”

Dean nodded, standing beside you. The soft skin of his fingers touched your skin slightly as he zipped the dress. A different kind of electricity ran through your body.

“Thanks,” you smiled as you turned to him. “Do you want me to…” you motioned to the tie in his hand.

“Yeah, sure.”

You tied his silky red tie, smoothing it’s length. His eyes were roaming around the room, looking anywhere but you. Adjusting the collar of his shirt, you felt his gaze on you. You don’t know how much time you spent staring into each other’s eyes, but after a while he cleared his throat, breaking the trance.

“You ready?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, grabbing your purse and slipping into your heels. “Shall we?”

You headed out of the room and walked down the street. The restaurant Sam and Jess picked was close to the resort. So you wouldn’t get tired of going on foot.

“Hold my hand, we gotta make this look convincing, remember?” You smiled.

His warm hand took a hold of yours before stepping into the restaurant. Most of the people were already there. Jess’ parents were so happy to see you. It had been a while since you had last seen them. Her sisters cheered when their eyes landed on you. They wouldn’t stop giving you malicious looks and wiggling their eyebrows because you got the other brother.

Mary sat beside Dean. At first you were nervous she’d try to make any questions. You knew Dean wouldn’t let her do it, but you still had that feeling. That dissipated the second they started serving dinner. It was delicious and you were glad they had picked this restaurant. The room was filled with laughter and happy conversations.

After everyone had finished eating, Sam and Jess distributed gifts to their parents. They made their toasts, thanking everyone for supporting them and being there for their special day.

“I’ve been waiting for dessert the whole night,” Dean leaned, whispering to you.

“Me too,” you chuckled.

“Though it would be a whole lot better if it were pie.”

They started serving the cake and you were almost drooling. Just as you took the first bite, Mary called you.

“I need to go to the restroom,” her voice was barely audible. “Y/N, do you mind coming with me?”

You were a little taken aback, but agreed anyway. You knew she wanted to talk to you.

“Don’t let anyone touch my cake,” you asked Dean.

You followed Mary to the restroom. You tried to look for any sign of anger on her face but it didn’t show.

“I’m sorry for what I did earlier,” she smiled weakly. “I should have treated you better. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Mary, it’s okay. Really. You were just looking out for Dean.”

“He loves you, you know?” You smiled. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you as if you were his whole world. John used to look at me that way when we were your age.”

You didn’t know what to say to her. A part of you wanted to tell her it wasn’t real. He was faking it and he needed her to buy it. But another part of you wanted to believe in what she said.

“I’m glad he has someone like you, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Mary,” you smiled.

God, she’s gonna hate you if she ever finds out the truth.

“Now let’s go. I’ve stolen much of your time already.”

You made your way back to the table feeling a lot lighter.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked once you sat beside him.

“Yeah,” you smiled. Finally, you’d be able to eat your cake. Except there was no cake. “Where’s my dessert, Dean?”

“What?”

“Where’s my cake?” You made sure to not speak too loud for others to hear.

“I don’t know,” he sounded nervous.

“I can’t believe you ate my cake.”

“No, I didn’t,” he chuckled.

“Of course you did! You’re laughing,” you argued. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you with my food.”

“Look, I’m laughing because you’re angry. I swear I didn’t do it,” he held his hands up in surrender.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”

“I don’t know. It probably was that kid,” he pointed to Jess’ nephew.

“Of course, Dean, blame it on the kid,” you hissed with a roll of your eyes.

“Look, I’m gonna get you another piece, alright?”

“You better.”

He did get another piece of dessert. It was delicious and you were as happy as a kid in a candy shop.

The rehearsal dinner came to an end and people started to leave.

“You guys are not heading back with us?” You asked the happy, soon-to-be-married couple.

“No, we still have some things to wrap up here,” Sam smiled.

“Okay,” you nodded. “You were amazing today. Everything was beautiful. I can’t wait for tomorrow,” you smiled, hugging Sam before hugging your best friend. “I love you both.”

You and Dean headed out of the restaurant and started to walk back to the resort.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“I’d love that,” you said.

You walked to the beach. You breathed in the ocean carried air. Dean took off his shoes and you did the same. The soft golden sand seemed to caress your feet with its comforting warmth. The night sky along the calm sea looked like a painting.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said as he noticed your eyes shine just as bright as the stars in the sky.

“It is,” you smiled.

“Let’s go in there.”

“What?” You turned abruptly to him.

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugged. “There’s no here. We can go in fully clothed or not.”

“Okay.”

“We’re doing this fully clothed or not?”

“Fully clothed.”

He nodded, shrugging off his suit, and loosening his tie. Dean took your heels from you and placed it along with his pieces of clothes on the sand. Distant enough so nothing would get wet.

Dean held out his hand for you to take. He grinned before running into the water with you. You squeaked when the cold water hit your legs.

“Shit, it’s cold,” goosebumps crept up on your skin.

“Stop being such a baby,” he teased, splashing water at you.

“Oh, you did not!”

You did the same to him. Dean chuckled, splashing more water at you. You didn’t know how much time you spent acting like kids. The sound of waves of laughter echoed through the quiet beach. You pushed him and he fell, getting completely drenched. His arms reached out for you, bringing you down with him.

“You’re so mean,” you squealed.

“You started it,” he stood to his feet, holding his hands out.

“No, you started it,” he pulled you up, and once again you were too close to his body.

“Admit it, you had fun,” his hand reached to your face, brushing a few damp strands off your face.

“It was too cold,” you shivered.

“But you had fun.”

“I did,” you smiled.

“Let’s head back, shall we?” 

You nodded. Dean picked up your stuff and put his jacket around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you smiled.

“Just making sure you won’t freeze to death, sweetheart,” he sneaked his arm around your waist.

You walked in silence. You quietly thanked once you saw the resort get closer and closer. Your sore feet were more than glad to be back in your room.

“We should try that jacuzzi, huh?” He suggested.

“Yeah, we should,” you sighed, heading to the bathroom.

“I meant together, like-“

“I know what you meant, Dean,” you said, turning on the jacuzzi. “Now grab that champagne in the mini-fridge.”

He nodded and did as told. You could see there was something off about him.

“You sure you’re okay with the naked thing?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course,” you checked on the temperature and turned on the jets. “Are you?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” He was nervous. You chuckled. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just that you seem a little nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Okay, good,” you shrugged. “Can you, uh…” you turned to him.

“Yeah, sure,” he slowly unzipped your dress.

The dress pooled around your feet. Dean swallowed thickly at the sight of you in your underwear. His breath was caught in his throat. You slipped off your panties and he instinctively licked his lips. He was glad you had your back to him.

“Alright, I’m not gonna be the only one naked here, right?” You turned to him.

“Wanna see what I’m wearing underneath all this?”

You frowned. He unbuttoned his white shirt and tugged down his pants. You blurt out laughing.

“I can’t believe you have a Scooby-Doo underwear!”

“Cool right?” He grinned, pulling off his boxers.

“It’s awesome, you beamed.

You hopped on the jacuzzi, the warm water making you relax instantly. Dean poured champagne for the both of you.

“So I was thinking,” you said before taking a sip at your drink. “Can I grab your butt in front of your parents?”

“No, Y/N, you can’t grab my butt in front of my parents.”

“But it’s so perky,” you pleaded.

“Y/N,” he gave a warning look.

“Okay, okay. I won’t grab your butt in front of your parents.”

“Great,” he smiled. “Can I kiss you in front of my parents?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be right in front of your parents, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I mean, friends kiss sometimes.”

“Really?”

“I’m actually surprised you’re asking me this, but yeah, Dean, they do,” you said. “How do you think Jess and I learned how to kiss?”

“Oh, I never thought about that part.”

You chuckled. Both of you fell into silly conversations. It made you forget you were actually naked in front of him.

“We should get out,” he said. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, we should.”

Dean stood up, picking your glass from your hand.

“See, it’s perky,” you said.

He chuckled.

“Here you go,” he took your hand in his, helping you out of the tub. Dean wrapped a towel around your shoulders before wrapping one around his waist.

“Dean?”

“What?”

“I dare you to kiss me,”

His green eyes widened, but also looked for any sign that indicated you were kidding. His hand came up to cup your cheek. His plump lips captured yours in a sweet kiss. They glided over each other as if you had done this before. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your towel falling in the process. He deepened the kiss as you parted your lips, allowing his tongue to delve into your mouth. His hand on your hip, squeezed your skin, drawing you closer to him. His tongue traced yours in a sensual dance. You tasted the champagne in his warm muscle. A moan was muffled by his lips.

The need for air came sooner than you hoped for. You parted. Neither of you dared to open your eyes. Dean pecked your lips softly before resting his forehead against yours. His thumb caressed your flushed cheek.

“I should, uh, I should go get changed,” he cleared his throat.

You nodded, watching him exit the room. Your fingers traced up to your kiss swollen lips. God, you were screwed.

——— “You look so beautiful. I think I’m gonna cry,” you said to Jess.

She looked perfect. Her gown looked even more beautiful than you remembered.

“Sam won’t know what hit him,” you smiled.

“I’m so glad I chose you as my maid of honor,” she grinned, hugging you. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you kissed her cheek. “I need to get going. It’s almost time.”

You headed to the lounge to meet Dean. He was standing there in his tuxedo. You could swear you had never seen him this handsome.

His eyes widened once he saw you. Dean nearly gasped. The rose gold gown fitted your body perfectly, hugging every curve.

“You look, wow,” he smiled. “You look beautiful.”

“You don’t look bad yourself,” you smiled, pecking his lips. “Shall we?”

He linked his arm with yours, guiding you towards the beach. Everything looked so beautiful. It looked as if it had come out of a movie.

You waited for your queue and walked down the aisle to the altar. You and Dean stood on opposite sides.

A trail of goosebumps ran through your body once you spotted Jess. She grinned wide as her eyes found Sam’s. It was happening. Their dream was coming true.

“Family and friends, we’re gathered here today to celebrate the love of Samuel and Jessica.”

You forced your eyes away from the couple only to meet Dean’s green orbs staring at you. His lips curled into a smile. You held each other’s gaze. Your cheeks started to heat up at the intensity of his look.

Sam and Jess read their vows. You cursed at yourself for not focusing on them. Dean’s eyes were drawing you to him. Silly smiles spread wide on your lips.

The ceremony was beautiful. It was better than you and Jess expected. They were pronounced husband and wife and everyone headed to the wedding reception. They danced to the sound of their favorite song. Everyone could see how much they loved each other and how happy they were.

You and Dean made your toasts separately. Both Jess and Sam teared up a little. After the toasts, most people headed to the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance?” Dean held his hand for you as a slow song echoed through the room.

“With you? Always.”

He guided you to where couples were dancing. His hands were placed on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, both of you swaying to the rhythm of the song.

“So where does this leave us huh?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what happened last night. That wasn’t just two friends kissing. I know it and you know it too.”

“I know, you’re right,” you looked up at him.

“Good,” he smiled. “So no more fake dating?”

“No more fake dating.”

He pecked your lips into a passionate kiss and the whole world fell away.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you,” he said as you parted. “Not even your friends kissing you.”

“Same goes for you, Winchester.”

———

“You’re not gonna join them?” Dean asked behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“Nah, let them have their fun,” you said, watching the group of women gather not so far as they waited for Jess to throw the bouquet.

They all cheered and screamed when she tossed it. You jumped when the flowers fell on your feet.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” you rolled your eyes.

“It’s way too soon, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled.

“Alright, ladies,” you announced, holding up the flowers. “$20 and the bouquet is yours,” they all laughed. “No? Ten bucks maybe?”

Dean chuckled, pressing his lips to your cheek.

“You’re one of a kind, sweetheart.”

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