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nexusnyx · 1 year

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keep close | part II

joel miller x f!reader [5.2k] summary: It's the oldest case of blinded by love ever seen. All of the doubts and pining must have entertained the gods all this time. That's the explanation you settle for when you discover that just like you, Joel has been suffering in silence. Wanting. Craving you. 📝 This is the continuation of part 1 but it can be read as a stand-alone. If you enjoy it, reblogs and comments make all the difference. 🏷️ Pining, idiots to lovers, sexual tension, smut build-up.

masterlist | part one ←

Everything was so fucking green. You hated it.

"Why d'you hate it?" Joel asked.

Unlike you, his recovery advanced fast. Bruises and cuts had the 'fading to yellow' tonalities, and he was now hunting deer and other animals with Ellie so you three did more than just survive winter. "'Cause I never see it." It's so beautiful out there. "Ever stopped to think about how the world looks healthier and prettier than it has in thousands of years, and we're all stuck inside walls?"

Joel usually takes a moment or two to reply, but when those moments stretch on, you look up from the floor to where he's sitting on the couch and—oh.

He's doing it again. Looking. Staring at you as if he's thinking a hundred things. You freeze under his gaze again, waiting for it, begging in your mind that he'll do it...

His hand reaches out in direction of your face, and everything inside you lights up.

He touches your hair.

Ever since that incident where you two were sleeping together a little closer than ever before, Joel's taken a liking to your hair.

Usually, the idea of anyone touching you, let alone your hair, is enough to make you break out in hives.

With him, you lean against the touch.

The hand on the side of your head starts doing sweet, caring movements, and you force yourself to open your eyes.

Joel breaks you out of your thoughts by wondering, "What would you do if you were outside?"

That takes your memory back. You close your eyes, getting lost in his touch for a moment. "Probably... play something."

"Play what?"

Ignoring how his voice surrounds you when your vision is gone is difficult. "Anything that requires a ball." You somehow manage it. "My brothers and I—" their mention chokes you. Grips you by the throat.

As always, Joel waits.

"My brothers and I loved playing... anything," you chuckled. "It's the only time I wasn't bored."

"What did you enjoy the most?"

"Uh. Probably volley? I liked keeping the ball up high." You open your eyes then, missing the sight of his. Joel's watching his own hand in your hair and, in exchange, you get to watch his face. Before he can dive more into your past for his own distraction, you nudge his hand with your head. "I'm proud of you."

Joel knows exactly why, and still, "Why?"

You roll your eyes. "For making El believe in Santa Claus."

It happens again—Joel smiles. One week's passed since the incident and you're still mesmerized every time. "I don't think she'd believe him for too long."

"Joel."

He laughs through his nose, then places his gaze on your eyes. "I don't know why you'd be proud of me for that. It's stupid."

"Letting her go hunt on her own is stupid?"

"Sure is." He had a damn point, and you hated the world for it. "We both know how it could go."

"We do. And still, you allowed her to feel like a person who has some control over her life and who's capable of using her own hands to live." As someone who waited years for that same opportunity, you knew what it meant. "You don't know what this means to her, but I do."

Joel lived a life before chaos was the new natural order. He takes a second, his hand pausing its ministrations before he nods and continues his petting. "I believe you."

That means the world to me. "Thanks."

This time, Joel doesn't answer.

His hand keeps doing the thing it's grown fond of, and you keep pretending your body is not growing dependent on it like plants need air, water, and the Sun.

You think his hands and eyes on you might be your Sun.

You wish you could do the same for him.

The idea of rejection is what holds you back from so much.

Before last week, before he did this for the first time, the physical distance kept between you both was your seal of confirmation that Joel knew about your feelings. That he knew how much you burned for him, for a touch of his.

Now, you aren't so sure.

Then, you cried. Months ago, before this last ordeal of fuckery made your little triad retreat to a cold cabin in the mountains, you cried over the mere thought that Joel saw you as he did Ellie.

Like a daughter.

It plagued you until it showed up in your dreams and made you weep because of it.

All your life you waited for the moment when the desire for someone became real. When wanting and feeling a connection became as tangible as the tension that cloaked the quarantined city every day.

When it came, it was him.

Joel breaks you out of your thoughts with a chuckle, "You remind me of a cat."

You were leaning against his touch again. This time, you keep your eyes closed. "Feels nice." More than nice. "So nice."

He laughs again. "I can see that."

That pulls your eyes to open. Joel's face is fixed on you. His right hand is hidden by his shirt, tucked on top of the cloth soaked with medicinal paste. It's why he took the touch after a lot of arguments, minutes before Ellie left for the hunt. "You're a cat, too," you argue.

Joel raises one eyebrow at that. "How?"

"Skittish."

"I'm skittish?" the smile is making its way back to his lips.

You nod. "I'd pet you too if I didn't think you'd hiss and run for the hills."

Fuck. Barely are the words out of your mouth before you feel the heat creeping up your neck to cover your face. Out here, there are lamps with candles.

Joel sees you with clarity.

A deer caught under the spotlights. Not a cat, then.

It's his smile, opening slowly but surely, that makes the tension leave your shoulders. "Ellie says I can be a grouchy hedgehog with anger issues. One that stinks. And you... wanna pet my hair?"

Ellie's a child, Joel. I want you. "El is a sharp-tongued kid who loves making you frown." It's also the truth. "And yes. I do," in a much lower voice, you finish with, "it looks soft."

Joel shakes his head, his smile widening. "Unbelievable."

"What?"

"My dirty hair. It looks soft," he repeats, fixing you under his gaze.

You look away. "Nevermind," you mumble.

Joel should remain still on that couch, but he moves. Laughing, his hand goes back to what it did before, and pulls you closer as his upper body leans forward. He sort of—nuzzles. It's not a kiss—Joel just touches his nose to your hair, and you feel his laughing coming out through his nose.

When he stops laughing, he leans back down on the couch.

His tender touch on your hair continues.

"You're so..." he trails off, and you wished you were still looking at him. "I wouldn't run," he adds.

That gets your attention. Your eyes find his, and your heart seems to grow two sizes with the way it beats. "No?"

"No."

Immediately, your eyes fall to the couch he's lying on—you hate it. It's small. Old. With no room for another person there. "I'll show later that it's nice," you settle for.

Even if the couch could fit a whole family of three, you know that you'd remain where you are.

"Later?"

"Yeah. No space for me up there."

"Oh." Joel sits up in a single motion, causing you to sit up straight. Your cheek was resting on the small part of the couch his body wasn't, but now, you watch as he lifts up his shirt to inspect his bruised side.

The second you see skin, usually, you avert your gaze. This time, you inspect the colors and healing with him. It looks... ok. Still painful, just as your own body is, but no shooting pain with every move you make.

Joel places the rag on the couch without care and nods. "C'mon. We were up all night re-making the supplies, and El's only gonna be back in a couple of hours. We should rest."

Following Joel is the norm by now. Wordless, you walk behind him in direction of the room.

The mattresses are still pushed together.

There are three backpacks with several items placed in front of them on the other side of the room, a handful of handles spread around the corners, and on top of that old brown blanket, Ellie's drawing book.

"She was here again," you tell him.

Joel's kneeling in front of his backpack with the cassette player in hand. "I don't know why. Her room's the only one with an actual bed."

"She's restless," you say as you move her notebook to the floor, "and ever since you taught her how to scout perimeters, she uses that opportunity to find 'cool shit' around places."

Joel hums in reply, and then you hear a click.

In a very low volume—low enough that only these walls must be capturing sound, his tape Saxophone Colossus fills the air with a gorgeous sound.

He makes his way to the bed and lies right next to with you a grunt.

Your bodies' sides are touching. He places his left forearm under his head, using it as a pillow, and then turns his head to the side where your waiting eyes are already observing him.

"She found the water heater," Joel agrees.

His voice is always lower here. Either that or you're in closer chambers and always use that as an excuse to drown in it. "She did."

"Can you turn it on to heat up some water when she comes back?"

You nod, smiling at him. This part is so good. "'course," you want to scoot closer, but—always but. "I'd rather prepare three baths measuring the water with a coffee cup rather than skin animals alive."

Joel's side smile returns. He stares for a moment, and says, "I don't know how you learned it that well. You hate doing it."

"I learned it 'cause I had to." For her. For Ellie, it goes unsaid. "Doesn't mean I'll ever want to ever again."

"Thank gods they didn't butcher my arm, then."

You close your eyes, whining a little. "No. Please—don't even joke about it."

Joel laughs. "I'll make sure to keep my arm. For both of your sakes."

"Thank you," you open your eyes again.

"No problem," his grin is kind of intoxicating. From this up close, watching Joel smile does to you the same that a full glass of bourbon does. "C'mere," he tilts his chin down at the same time as he stretches his arm to your head, "there's space now."

It hits you what Joel's doing. Inviting you in.

Call it instinct. When you raise your upper body just enough for his arm not to linger awkwardly in the air, you're still registering what is going on, and then—

his chest.

Joel guides your head there, and as it's custom, you follow.

It lands you where you dreamt of being for months now.

His body adjusts underneath you, getting comfortable.

You're so lost in the feeling of his heat that you miss the beat. When you feel his breathing becoming even and his hand moving in your hair, you notice how comfortable you are.

How perfect it feels.

Joel pets your hair for a little while before you manage to find yourself again.

A song must pass and in it, your mind lives through the most blissful few moments of peace and quiet it's ever had.

Nothing happens. No thoughts, no doubts, just this.

When you come back to what is reality, no matter how dream-painted it looks, Joel's heart sings under your ears.

You can hear it beating.

Then, you remember why you're here now. "Can I do it?" you ask.

Your body remembers it can move and does something else it's been dreaming of for a while. It cuddles. It adjusts itself in order to be comfortably aligned with his, and your chin tilts upwards to get a look at his face.

From this angle, all your see is beard until he looks down. "Do what?" The question is betrayed by the hint of a smile on him. It might be a product of your own rapid heartbeat, but Joel seems to gain a little bit of color. "Pet my 'soft' hair?"

"I can hear the air quotes and I don't appreciate them."

You love to make him laugh. This time, you get to feel it. Even if it all goes down someday, at least you'll always have this memory. "You can," he replies once he's done laughing.

Breathe in, you decide this position is just fine, and move your right hand up until it finds his hair. Breathe out.

The angle is uncomfortable—not the best, nor the worst, but it does its job.

It feels greasy when your hands run through them, but not dirty. It is as soft as you imagined it.

It takes him some time too — one song and a half — before Joel's body is fully relaxed. His heartbeat takes the longest.

You feel the times when he lifts his left arm to check the clock to see if Ellie is still in her two-hours time.

None of you sleep, but that doesn't matter.

Rest nowadays goes beyond hours shutting down the brain. Laying there with Joel is the most you feel truly rested, even if the circumstances are these.

Whatever leads to you in his arms, you'll take it.

It's worth the wait. Makes you feel alive.

Ellie eats like a starved animal, every time.

"Slow down, kid, jesus fuck," you tell her, without fail, every single time.

By now, she does slow. It's like she needs a reminder—there is food, and we'll find you more if you need it.

Once, Joel wondered what the fuck did they feed her in that military school. You're unsure if you want to know.

"Did you two rest?" she asks with her mouth full.

"Really?" he gives her the look of 'gross, El', but she only rolls her eyes at him. "And yeah, we did."

"I already warmed up the water for showers." The wood bath structure was perfect for a shower, and heating up all of the baths inside that room already made the temperature rise a little. "You can go first."

"Telling me I stink?" she asks you.

You grin. "Always do, bug." Little bug. That's who she was to you—a nature's wonder. "Not enough showers in the world to change that."

"We should be honest with her," Ellie turns to Joel, and you think oh here it comes. "She can't smell herself."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Joel replies in faux seriousness. "I'm certain all three of us smell like fields of flowers. The one that's most us, y'know? Like me, for example, I'm clearly a blue orchid."

It's been like that since those guys jump you three. Whatever lock kept Joel doing his best to push you two out, was just gone.

He presses his makeshift plate closer to lean in your direction and say, "Do I smell like orchids? Is it amazing? Any hints of some type of wood underneath?"

Joel's silly.

It's not something either one of you expected but welcomed with open arms.

He'll say the stupidest things to make Ellie laugh. He acts, and then winks in your direction to say 'gotcha'.

Ellie leaves for her shower, and leaves you two alone.

The air's back to what it was before she arrived.

It's always been different without her around, but now it's this. Joel finishes his meat and cleans the tip of his fingers with his lips. You try to look away. You fail.

He pulls you back. "Can I ask you something?"

You're almost done with your meal, but now that he's talking and his whole focus is back on you, the hunger left. Switched. "Always."

"Do you feel... lonely?"

What a stupid, and painfully sharp question. "No." I'm scared to ask the same. "Of course I don't," you say. "There's you. El. I'm... well-accompanied."

Whatever he was looking for, the answer must deliver. "Okay." He looks in the direction of the bathroom —Ellie— and then back at you. This time, he scoots closer to you and fits himself to fit in your side.

You open up to him, happy to create more space.

You'd wrap yourself around his whole body if you could. Make a home somewhere between his arms and his thighs. His smile always in line of sight.

With arms wide open, Joel pulls his chair, screeching the floor until he's content with the proximity. His head lays on top of your chest, and your hands immediately go to his hair.

There's no music to measure time, but you've grown fond of the 'peace and quiet' he always went on about.

Eventually, he speaks. "We can't fall asleep here."

You laugh against his hair. "It hasn't been even five minutes. You know she's mixing cold and 'hot scalding water' until the temperature's just perfect like she's a mad scientist until now. We have at least twenty minutes."

"Hmmm." He nuzzles his head, and you pray your hummingbird of a heart won't disturb him.

Joel asked you about what you thought of his plans for once you two were healed. That's what you both discussed with Ellie as you ate.

The conversation changes two or three times before he lands on it.

"Well—after all of it. Tommy, or Fireflies—what do you want?"

You're still lost in the last topic, and the feeling of his hair running like silk through your fingers. "Do we even know if we trust them?"

"Trust who?"

"The Fireflies, obviously."

"Ah. Hm. I suppose we don't," on your arms, Joel nudges you with his body. "Forget 'em for a sec."

You open your eyes and his head is lying so nicely on your shoulder. He locks eyes with you, and asks. "What do you want after that?"

Like that. As if it's simple. "Are you asking if I want ice cream or move to the Arctic?" What an absurd. "I don't fuckin' know. I hope I'm alive. In one piece. And so are you two. The end."

"You don't want anythin'?"

It's infuriating. He is right there, looking up at you with those stupid gorgeous brown eyes and, "It's not that simple," comes out before something else does.

Not enough of an answer, apparently. Joel shakes his head. "'s just a scenario. A 'what if' for the future, since we can't do them about the past. Indulge me."

"So, like, a hypothetical world where you, and El, and I, we're all good. And we... found Tommy. Or maybe the Fireflies."

"Yeah."

"And they've given us a little more than just 'she's the cure' to work with... And we can—I don't know, sit back and watch some scientists do science? That's the scenario?"

"You're paitin' it much better than me," he smiles. "Go on."

You roll your eyes. "In that scenario—I want ice cream."

Joel groans. "Oh, c'mon." He sighs, and whispers your name under his breath. He leans close enough for his hair to tickle your cheeks. "Tell me. Somethin' you always wanted growing up, I don't know."

"It's a difficult question!" you defend yourself, smiling despite being cornered by his new musings.

"It is. And you can think on it, if you want," Joel nuzzles his head to comfort once again on your shoulder, then closes his eyes. "I'm just curious about the stuff you wanted to do before someone threw a mission on your lap, that's all."

"Okay. I'm thinkin'."

"I can hear the engines turning," he whispers. You poke the side of his body, because you know now that you can, and then—, "I already know you're gonna ask me the same so I'll start thinkin' about my own answer to. And don't bullshit me—if you tell me you'd rather have an x-burger instead of ice cream I'll poke a finger in one of your bruises."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me," he laughs.

"I'd kill for an x-burger, now that you mentioned," your voice lowers to a whisper too.

"Same. Now shhh and think. I'm sure you've had aspirations beyond babysitting the unique child and teaming up with my ugly mug."

That's what stops you. Ugly mug.

Your eyes open, and the intensity in them must pierce through his darkness, because Joel feels the eyes on him and looks straight at you. "What?" he looks confused.

Your first mental lap is to be angry—

how can he not see it? it's right in front of him—but then.

Insecurities.

The ones you have and cloud your thoughts with every rising Sun—of course Joel had them, too. He was older, this world was far from kind, and—

He gets up, looking every bit as lost in thoughts as you are, and starts gathering the things from around the fire.

You took too long to answer, and his nervousness always shows up in one of two ways: sleep, or organizing.

"You genuinely think that?" you ask after a second.

Joel gathers the plates in his hand and uses the snow water to rinse them. "Which part? That I think you deserve more or that my mug is ugly? 'Cause yes to both."

"That's—wow." Your laughter is dry, something very unusual.

It makes him look at you. "Wow what, woman?"

He only calls you that when he's getting impatient. "That's crazy to me."

"What is? I never asked you either one of these questions 'cause the first one could be misread—I don't want you thinkin' I'm tryna get rid of you—"

"Thank god."

"—and the second one." He sighs, and puts the plates together. Everything that's not being used always goes back to the backpacks in cases of emergency. Joel looms there over the sink with them in hand, and you wait. "I'd say something stupid like 'does that kind of thing ever matter anymore' but the truth is, I can't see a scenario that it doesn't, and I'd rather live without your honest opinion about this."

"I am always honest in my opinions," you agree.

"Exactly. That's why I never asked you what you thought of my face—I can sleep without that one," he concludes.

"You were right, too. Saying 'does beauty matter anymore' would be stupid 'cause we always looked and always will look for things that we think are pleasing to the eye. It's human nature, don't you think?"

He nods, and then moves to where the backpacks are to put away the cans and plates. "It is."

"I think a lot of things are beautiful. Mostly it's nature, though. And woman. D'you think I'm weird for that?"

Joel looks over his shoulders and the answer is written all over his face.

You shrug your shoulders. "I know some people who definitely would."

"I know some people who have fungi tentacles exiting their mouths. We've learned these past few years that our species isn't the smartest."

"Touché," you laugh. "I do think you're handsome, though."

It freezes the air as if someone opened a door and let the cold air inside.

"Not that you asked—but," you look away from his frame, losing the confidence to look at him as you go on, "you're... beautiful." Most men would hate that adjective. You know that because you heard it from your brothers—only women are 'beautiful'. "I know men don't like that word used to describe them, but—"

"What men?"

"I don't know," you shrug again, wanting to have a shell to retrieve out of nowhere. "Most men? It's what my brothers told me."

"Well—they don't speak for me, then."

It's the feeling of his eyes on you that makes you gaze in his direction. "I like the white hairs, too," for some reason, your voice dropped to a whisper, "and your beard. It's even. Frames your face well."

Joel looked frozen under a spell.

He stared at you with intent and focus you'd never seen before.

Since you started, you might as well finish. "The crinkles by your eyes are smile-made. I like that."

It works—it brings them out. Joel starts smiling, even if his eyes look a little lost. "Smile-made?" he echos.

"Yeah. They're there 'cause of your smile. Some people have lines 'cause they frown a lot, or grimace, or are always judging. I don't like those lines."

"I have worry lines."

"We all have worry lines, Jo. It's the end of the world."

He laughs. "Touché."

"That's my favorite part, though." He stops laughing at those words, and you miss it instantly. "Your smile."

His gaze softens. "You like my smile?"

"You almost never smile," you say, hating that sad truth, "and it's a beautiful smile," you think if anything else comes out, it might be too much. Too close to the truth, so, "in conclusion: handsome. So—I do think you're a little crazy. It might not be often, but we still see mirrors every now and then."

His silence as an answer made the jittery nerves climb up your legs, soothing like an ointment every bruise it found in its way.

Joel staring at you was the reason why you lacked sleep, sometimes.

Too many thoughts about what he was thinking. Too many scenarios about what it would be like to have the courage to make the first move.

It's he who does it.

When it comes, you're too lost in a trance to properly register his steps coming back to you.

He sits on the chair next to you again. Grabs your chair with one hand, and pulls it close to his until they're touching.

He's so close you could count the gray hairs you like so much on his beard.

When he leans in closer, you're breathing his air, and it makes goosebumps rise all over your skin. On your arms, your neck, your back.

Joel moves one hand to your neck at the same pace one moves when hunting wild animals.

As if every movement could result in being seen, and the prey running away.

When he's only a couple of inches away from your face, you feel the heat of his palm spread across your neck; his thumb caressing your cheek. He asks, "Talk to me. Is this—Am I reading it wrong?"

If you have a voice, it's gone. You shake your head and do the only thing you needed all this long—you lean, too.

Sometimes, things are so important that every second of it counts.

Joel's lips on yours are one of those things.

You're shaking, at first.

Although inexperience is part of the reason why you're so terrified of doing something, this part you know.

It's the only one you have confidence in, so you let all the worries on your shoulders go, and you kiss him back.

Joel wants you to.

The notion that he might've been as lost in his head as you were in yours makes you want to cry. You whimper against his mouth instead, pressing so much harder when the reality of what is happening catches up to you.

Joel pulls back for just a second, "It's okay, I got you," he seals the words by pressing his lips on yours again.

All of your reservations fly out of the window with those last three words.

You throw your arms around his neck, almost throwing yourself too in the process. Joel laughs right there, with his lips still on yours, and catches your weight.

With your fingers threaded through his hair and holding on for dear life, you let him do it—let him guide you.

Kissing Joel makes your head drown in every other moment you two shared and you could feel your heart beating in your throat.

He takes it slow with you, despite feeling the shivers all over your body.

Joel nips on your bottom lip until you open up for him.

He kisses by sucking, then pecking your lips, and when he finally pushes his tongue in your mouth, you forget where you two are for a moment.

The moan is involuntary, and even with eyes closed you feel them rolling to the back of your head.

Joel's hand on your nape starts massaging your neck and he says, "Shhh, gorgeous, 's okay," he licks into your mouth again.

Rewiring your brain is so easy for him. Gorgeous.

Just like when you two discovered that touching one another was an option a week ago, learning that this is on the table is almost comical. You feel like a starved person being delivered a feast, and stopping is far from an option.

When you pull back for air because there's none left in your body, the string of saliva connecting your mouth to Joel's makes you tremble again.

He needs to know. Tell him. If he knows he's the only man — or person — who's ever awakened desire in you, maybe he'll understand why you're like a leaf in his hands.

Joel's hand comes up to your cheek. It's huge, covering almost half of your face, and when he whispers, "Open your eyes," you realize that you'd closed them again.

His eyes are the warmest part of him. "Hi," you mumble. "Please tell me you'll do this again."

Joel smiles. "If you wait a few more hours, El will be asleep," he swallows visibly and you think what on Earth could he be nervous to, "I can help you... cleaning your wounds. You could help me."

Right. Bathing together, even if 'bathing' is a strong word for it.

Inexperienced. No knowledge whatsoever other than books you read in the abandoned library. What will you do with him? What will—

"We don't have to, obviously," he interrupts your thoughts. "And yeah. I wanna do this more. Of course I do," Joel kisses you again, and you hold his head in place for a few more moments, stealing more kisses to numb your mind. "God, I wanted this since I met you."

"Joel."

"It's true."

"I'm happy to know we're both idiots," and even happier that was behind. "And—I mean. A helping hand is always good... right?"

The look he gives you does it again—a shiver, and it's not from the cold.

The mere idea of his hands on you is enough to make you sweat.

Maybe that's the perfect timing and opportunity to lay it on him that he's signing up for something he might not want.

"You want my help?" he asks. He nuzzles his face on yours, rubbing his beard on your cheek, down to your neck.

You bite your lip to stifle a moan. "Yeah."

"I'll do my best."

It'll be more than enough. That is—if you can survive the next few hours. If his kisses alone are enough to almost bring you to a fever again, his hands might kill you.

You would die happy.

PART THREE →

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simplenefelibata · 2 months

Text

i think a lot of you undermine sam and cas' friendship.

like, we know sam isn't dean. cas isn't pathetically in love with him and sam didn't change him and he isn't the reason cas cared about the whole world. but that doesn't mean he's unimportant.

at the beginning of the series cas sees sam as the abomination. nothing but lucifer's vessel. throughout the series, sam becomes an extension of dean. cas takes care of him because he's dean's little brother and doesn't really give a much of a thought how his actions could affect him.

on the other hand, i think sam didn't have a lot of friends growing up and it shows lol. he sees cas as an instrument, and then also as an extension of dean. he's important to dean so he's kinda important to him, but he doesn't really Get why dean worries sm about cas — isn't he an angel??? sam constantly says cas is gonna be okay because he "knows what he's doing", or he simply says "it's cas... " it feels like sam is painfully aware how powerful and different he is.

the thing is, slowly but surely, they start hanging out more. they collab for dean's benefit, and then the concern they feel for the other's safety starts being more genuine instead of just "Not letting anything happen because Dean wouldn't survive it". they find out they like each other, and they can work really well together investigating and hunting (i'd argue that even better than cas and dean). this comes to a point where cas teases sam with dean (ex: telling him about the amnesia in the 50's case bc he knows it's embarrassing) and sam texting cas just because.

season 15 is what seals it for me. when cas breaks up with dean (lol), sam is the one reaching out. texting. calling. cas doesn't pick up, but sam keeps doing it. again. and again. that wouldn't have happened in season 7, or season 9, and really not much reason to do it now. but still.

plus, when people talk about cas and his love for the winchesters, they include Both of them. yes, they make the distinction between dean and cas' relationship, but they do include sam. even cas said at one point "you know me, always happy to bleed for the winchesters".

so, what i'm trying to say is: cas and sam's friendship matters!!! they should've had more time screen!!! i bet they would have so many interesting conversations because they're friends!!!

if you say that in a post-canon world you don't think sam would try to get cas to talk about his feelings, or that cas wouldn't confide sam his fears and regrets and worries BEEP you're wrong.

#i just wrote a whole ass essay #but i read a fic where cas treated sam as if he had to put up with him #because he was dean's brother #and then i realized a lot of people genuinely belive sam is jus There #and you're WRONG #sam winchester #dean winchester #destiel #supernatural #castiel #spn #casdean #sam and cas

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schrodingers-deadbitch · 11 months

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Danyal's heart thundered violently in his chest. His heaving opening his stitches just a bit. But that didn't matter at the moment since he had just accomplished what he had came here to do. His brother would start trying to find him sooner rather than later, which he greatly appreciated, but he didn't want to be found quite yet. He still had stuff he needed to work out before meeting Damien again.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He was expecting it to be one of his sisters or maybe Sam or Tucker but when he saw the caller ID he froze for a bit. He still wasn't used to Dan calling his phone, or being out of his thermos in general. But with how the last couple months had been playing out, he couldn't afford to get used to anything. Not yet. Or maybe never. He sighed and answered the phone.

“Hey Dan what's up?”

“Get your ass home now. It's been over an hour and Jazz is starting to throw a hissy fit.”

Danny rolled his eyes. Sure he understood his sister's worry, he was a very injured sixteen year old boy running around the most crime ridden city in America. Hell even the entire world! But he was Danny Phantom, King of the infinite realms, Ancient of Space, the balance between life and death and so much more! He could take care of himself.

“And yet you end up on a dissection table, chest cavity open, guts literally spilling out on the floor. May I continue, your majesty?”

Wait shit did he say that out loud.

“Yup. You were also on speaker phone so I would hurry up if I were you.”

Danyal squeaked at the implications while Dan laughed at his future misery.

“DANYAL!!!”

He quickly ended the call and flew home as fast as he could. He was definitely going to hear a few words from Jazz. A few million it seemed.

#dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #demon twin au #dcxdp #dc x dp #danny phantom

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scoobydoodean · 22 days

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Actually I'm about to take this little exchange between Dean and Cas and Sam in the opening of 6.03 seriously, because why not? The conversation in the hotel has been an example used by deancrit casgirls for years to sell a story that Dean is always inconsiderate and demanding things of Cas.

Except Dean hadn't asked Cas for anything in a year as far as we know. He hadn't bothered him once. He hadn't asked him for anything. We know Dean was doing research on how to get Sam out of The Cage over the entire gap year (6.01) but we aren't told that Dean asked Cas to help him. As far as we know, he didn't "bother" Cas—much less demand his aid.

For many, that isn't necessarily the issue though. The issue is the lack of communication in of itself—the lack of "checking in". Setting aside that this isn't Dean's sole responsibility in the friendship and that Cas controls the means of communication between them, when Cas left at the end of 5.22, he spoke as if he was going off on his own solo adventure. Bolstered by a second resurrection, he planned to pursue his faith (and he and Dean clashed briefly over faith). Cas was excited by the idea of becoming "the new sheriff in town" up in heaven, and he didn't give the impression that he planned to maintain a relationship with Dean. He flew off without saying goodbye as if it didn't even occur to him that their connection was important and that parting deserved any sort of recognition, and I think that's how Dean received it—that Cas was at the very least, going away for a while and didn't care to be bothered.

At the same time, Cas didn't give the impression that he thought taking charge in heaven would be difficult. When we next see Cas a year later in 6.03, Cas echoes this sentiment, saying, "I expected more from my brothers". He thought he'd have more help from the other angels in creating (non-apocalyptic-leaning) order. To be honest, I don't think Cas or Dean expected Raphael to be a problem for Cas when they parted ways in 5.22. The Raphael that Dean and Cas had met in 5.03 was tired—barely past neutral in the apocalypse. In fact, Raphael didn't seem to actively take a role in making anything with the apocalypse happen. His only role seemed to be to guard The Prophet Chuck. He seemed like he just wanted to be left alone and outright said he didn't want to be in charge anymore.

"[God] ran off and disappeared. [He] left no instructions and a world to run. [...] We're tired. We just want it to be over. We just want...paradise."

I would guess that Raphael's attitude in 5.03 (and the fact that he never actually came after Cas between 5.03 and 5.22 as he threatened) left both Cas and Dean with the belief that Raphael was weak—beaten down by life, and unlikely to be a problem—that if someone came along and said they wanted the keys, he'd just say, "Whatever" and hand them over and ask to be left alone. Even if he'd fought, Cas hoped to organize the angels on his side first according to his reflection in 6.03, and he believed God would be on his side (even the fear of that possibility was enough to scare Zachariah). God brought Cas back to life twice after he was killed by an archangel—once in 5.01, and again in 5.22. This likely bolstered Cas's confidence as well, made him feel he could gain the favor of devout angels, and made Dean believe Cas would be safe.

What's more, the Cas that Dean is familiar with from season 4 to season 5 isn't shy about asking for help. All Cas did all of season 4 was come to Dean asking or telling or demanding Dean do things for the angels. He was never shy about it. He was nosy and lacked any sense that he might be bothering anybody or even intruding on personal space when he came wanting help with something. He was more likely to show up unannounced and threaten and guilt than he was to think he was being a burden or that he had to handle everything on his own (though he was certainly happy to handle certain things on his own when he thought it would be easiest not to consult with anyone in advance). In 5.03, Cas showed up out of the blue asking Dean to be his meatshield against Raphael. In 5.04, Dean had to explain the concept of sleep when Cas wanted to pick Dean up to help him with a search for The Colt. When Cas needed help, Dean helped—practically and sometimes also emotionally. There were no questions about putting Dean at risk—the mission always came first.

So Dean between 5.22 and 6.03 has no reason to believe Cas would not come to him if he was in need—emotionally or practically. He simply assumes Cas is busy in a healthy way—busy governing with his angel buddies—busy with other relationships and his faith.

When Cas arrives in 6.03, it's because, for the first time in a year, Dean prayed to see if Cas had any ideas on their case. It wasn't a big deal—but seemed like it might be up his alley. It wasn't a demanding request. Hell—maybe Dean sees being on a mission for the first time after a year as a good excuse to get in touch. However, he also finds out just now from Sam that Cas had ghosted Sam when Sam was resurrected and prayed over and over. Over an entire year, Cas never took the time to show. Even if they don't consider each other friends, Dean figures Sam is owed a response at some point over the course of a year after sacrificing his life for everybody.

So when Sam and Cas start squabbling about Cas suddenly appearing (it seems at first) just because Dean prayed instead of Sam, Dean picks Sam's side—and when he says, "When Sam calls, you answer", I don't think he's trying to give orders—I think he's trying to quickly end an unproductive squabble between two more-volatile-than-usual parties who are already prone to butt heads by addressing what he thinks is the root of the issue: Cas simply not grasping the basics of communication and human courtesy.

Dean's had to explain that it isn't okay to fly people places without their permission. He's had to explain that humans need time to eat and sleep and can't assist you at a moments notice at any time day or night. He's had to explain personal space. He's had to explain that watching people sleep is creepy. He's had to explain that showing up in people's rooms or bathrooms out of the blue is startling. This is just one more thing he feels he needs to explain based on his assumptions about Cas ghosting Sam—which are also built upon Cas's own claim—that he ghosted Sam for an entire year simply because he didn't have an answer to his question and for no other reason.

Cas then proceeds to make it clear that he didn't come because Dean called, but because of why Dean called. Cas is interested in the staff of Moses. Cas then proceeds to say "I need your help", and Sam and Dean help him instead of holding a grudge or demanding more explanations. As the case progresses, it becomes more and more clear that Cas isn't going to explain anything and he just keeps darting around and doing things like torturing a kid. So Dean finally demands to know exactly what's going on with Cas. Getting Cas to explain is really difficult—Cas doesn't want to. His responses are short and scattered—he doesn't want to take the time—he's still darting around while he talks.

When they finally get the picture that there's Apocalypse 2.0 brewing, Dean asks outright why Cas didn't ever tell them. The implication here is clear when you realize that up to this point, Dean knows Cas as someone who isn't shy about asking for help when he needs it.

Cas admits,

"I was ashamed. I expected more from my brothers."

He's still using Dean while he talks—literally yanking his wrist over to cut Dean's palm open and use his blood for a spell without asking.

#pk rewatches spn number ?#6.03 #season 6 #and cas is my best friend #raphael #cas and god #cas vs his family

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scootkiddo · 1 year

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Henry is a reflection of Joel more than ever. He’s a protecter, a calcified caretaker, the sole embodiment of a man who’ll put the one person he cares about over everything. Henry was willing to indirectly kill who he perceived as a “great man” for the sole benefit of ensuring the good health of his brother. Nothing could substitute the love he had for Sam, and no moral boundary could obstruct the insurmountable desire and determination to cement his well-being. Joel will end up the exact same way for Ellie. Henry’s also a cautionary tale that serves as a warning for the forces he’ll anger, and that what goes around comes around. The past came back to haunt Henry due to the decision he made. To him, the world did revolve around Sam. He did think he was worth everything, and he was willing to sacrifice anything or anyone for him. Joel will end up the exact same way for Ellie. And because of the choice Henry made, one way or another, that retroactively sealed his fate. Joel will end up the exact same way. This iteration of Henry in the show is the epitome of Joel; nearly verbatim. And the series of events that transpired because of the choice he made for the person he cared for forewarns him

#good god this show #THEY MADE HENRY A BAD OMEN I AM INCONSOLABLE #that joel’s choice at the hospital will have consequences and that those consequences are inescapable #kathleen was SO similar to abby as well #it’s like poetry it rhymes #and it makes me ill #the last of us hbo #tlou spoilers #the last of us hbo spoilers #I’ll throw in part 2 tags just in case #the last of us part 2 spoilers #tlou part 2 spoilers #joel miller #pedro pascal #ellie williams #bella ramsey #henry tlou #sam tlou

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desperate-daydream · 6 months

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can I request Seth Clearwater x male reader

where male reader is Bella younger brother Seth age but he phases and becomes a shifter and nobody knows how or why Seth and male reader imprint on each other and just being cute and wholesome with each other but Jacob is giving male reader a hard time saying thing like Bella should have been to phase and if did she imprint on me and ECT but Seth put stop to that put Jacob in his place after he make male reader cry

🍎 Twilight

❀ Seth Clearwater x male (shifter) reader ⚣︎

A/N: thanks for the request and sorry for the long wait, I had a terrible writers block until today and then I just wrote the whole thing in one go XD, and I know ugh, self promo but I have a twilight story on Ao3 with the main being Bella’s twin and Jake imprinting on him (maybe some of you will like that too even if it’s not that similar to this story) (that’s also why it felt so weird to write Jake so mean XD I basically just finished a chapter from that story before writing this one, but I hope you like it)

tags/warnings: set in eclipse (aka the movie where Jake is kinda toxic), Jake is mean and has some issues, reader is Bella’s younger brother, also I wanted Bella to be a good sister, reader is a shifter and imprints on Seth

here‘s the link to the story on my Ao3:

so that’s what imprinting feels like

“What happened?!”, Bella came jumping out of her car. Jacob had called her as soon as possible when Paul and Embry had found you in the middle of the forest. You had been scared - not just because there had been two giant wolves in front of you but also because you had just shifted into one too. They had managed to calm you down enough until Sam arrived. He had brought spare clothes from one of their “emergency supplies” that you put on after shifting back. Then they guided you to Jacob’s place. They had thought it would be the best idea since you had technically also grown up together with Bella although now you didn’t really have anything to do with each other anymore. And he was able to call Bella who had rushed over as fast as possible when she had processed what Jake told her. While waiting the other four wolves had already told you the essentialities of being a shifter and basically destroyed your whole world-perception.

As nice and caring as he had always been, Billy stayed by your side. You had gained a better relationship to Jacob’s dad than to Jacob himself. Especially since you still spent a little bit more time with your dad and therefore also Billy - even if it was just watching a game in your living room.

Bella came straight to you, only sparring Jake a sideways glance as she was too focused on you.

“Hey”, her voice was quiet and soft, “oh god, you’re shivering.” She placed her arms around you and pulled you closer. You hadn’t even noticed it until she said it.

“Just a bit much right now.”

“I know. Let’s go home so you can rest a little, mh?” You nodded.

“Wait, we still have so much to do now”, Jake said persistently, “You have to tell Charlie too. And what if he shifts again and hurts you?”

Bella now turned completely to him. “You can still do all of this tomorrow. He needs to sleep right now.”

Jake wanted to start again: “But what if-”

“Jake, let it be for now.”

That’s all she said before getting up with you and walking to her truck together.

“How did this happen?”, she asked on the drive home.

“I don’t know.” You put up your legs and put your arms around them even though you felt way too warm.

“I wasn’t feeling good and wanted to take a walk because it usually helps but then.. I don’t know.”

You big sister sighed and looked at you shortly before focusing back on the road. “Let’s worry about it tomorrow. It’s getting late and you seem tired.”

You only nodded while your eyelids already dropped.

When you arrived you walked straight to your room and the moment your head touched your pillow you were gone.

—

“We’ll do it step for step”, you stood next to Sam who would teach you today how to control your shifting so you would hopefully not hurt anybody around you or yourself - not to mention keeping the secret of the pack.

What he didn’t tell you then was that they’ve had a discussion just yesterday after Bella had picked you up whether or not they should officially include you in the pack since you were a new and special case. In the end they came to the conclusion that you would need and deserve the help and guide the others could give you. He also didn’t tell you that Jacob seemed a bit too disapproving of this new situation and that he guessed it had something to do with the thoughts he had heard from him that were once again centered on none other than your own sister.

“Okay”, you nodded; also to convince yourself that everything would be okay.

“Also, you’re not the only young member, don’t worry. Seth Clearwater, he is your age and has also shifted. You will meet him later at the fire.”

You had already agreed to come when he and Billy had invited you and Bella to come. Bella had added another dimension to this whole situation when she had told you about the Cullens and the vampire that was going after her. She had calmed you a bit when she reassured that she was as good as always protected by either the vampire family of her boyfriend or the wolves.

For the rest of the day you tried to shift on command and Sam and his fiancée Emily gave you a few tips on how to control your anger.

Then you went to the fire where you saw your sister again who immediately asked you how it worked. You still stood a bit away from the others as you told her about your training when you heard a voice. It was directed at Jake so didn’t turn around until the person came to a halt at Jacob’s side.

“Hey man, I saved you some burgers but if you don’t hurry Paul will-”

The boy stopped in the middle of his sentence when you turned around and your eyes met. Your first thought was: “Holy shit, he’s cute”. Your second one was: “So that’s what imprinting feels like”. And your third was once again: “Holy shit.”

Butterflies started fluttering in your stomach and the heat rose to your cheeks as you looked at the boy in front of you with wide eyes who still hadn’t closed his mouth.

To your luck Sam and Emily were still next to you and immediately understood what was happening. Sam suppressed a chuckle and introduced you to each other.

“(Y/N), this is Seth, the boy I told you about today. Seth, this is our newest pack-member, (Y/N).”

You saw his mouth form your name before he stuttered out a “hi”.

You willed your body to move again and said “hi” back just as stuttery.

“Uh-uhm..”, Seth started and was once again saved by Emily. “Why don’t we go to the others already.”

You nodded and then followed the other boy your age closely. What you didn’t notice was the pissed expression that had appeared on Jacob’s face. All of you was focused on Seth.

You sat next to each other and soon the gossip made it’s round so soon after Billy was finished with telling the first legend everyone knew what just happened.

Leah, who Seth had introduced as his older sister, looked at you with narrowed eyes but didn’t do anything else.

Throughout the evening your hands had brushed together a few times which had sparked the fluttering in your stomach everytime. And you had probably inched even closer together after some time too.

It was a bit awkward at first but it didn’t change the fact that you felt comfortable sitting next to him while listening and laughing with the others.

You were sad when saying goodbye but then Seth gave you his number and asked you to meet up tomorrow which you had agreed to almost too enthusiastically to not be embarrassed. It didn’t help that Bella giggled the entire ride home about her baby-brother having a crush.

“Naw, you grow up so fast.”

“Ughhhhhh, please stop.”

Bella laughed while pulling into their driveway: “Never, that’s my job as your sister.”

“You’re horrible”, you said drily while she just continued giggling.

But then she changed the mood quickly. “You decided to tell dad tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.. Billy and Sam are gonna be there too to answer questions. I’m still not the best at wolf-knowledge.”

“Mhm, it’ll be okay, don’t worry too much. If you want I can be there too.”

You nodded and earned yourself a short side-hug from Bella before you went to your rooms.

—

You were close to emotional exhaustion after the conversation with your dad but it had a good outcome. Afterwards Edward picked up Bella and you went to meet up with Seth. Sam and Billy were so nice to take you with them to the Black’s home from where you would go to Seth.

Billy went inside while you waved at him and went to go.

But shortly before you arrived someone came to stand in your way. It was Jacob. And he didn’t seem to want to talk to you in a friendly way.

You still tried to be nice; he was like Bella’s best friend so you really didn’t want to make him dislike you more than he apparently already did.

“Why?!”

You were perplexed when he almost spat it at you. You also didn’t have a chance to respond; he just continued talking.

“Why was it YOU?! Why did YOU shift?! It should’ve been Bella if anyone else were to shift at all! But no! It was YOU! If it had been Bella then she could imprint on me! But it was you! It doesn’t even make sense! Why would nature want YOU to be one of us?! You’re unable to do anything! You’re weak! And now you’re just supposed to protect others?! To protect Bella?! Hah!”

His accusations that in the end didn’t even really make sense but still hurt carried on. You didn’t actually hear anymore what he said. You were about to cry and just wanted to coil into yourself but at the same time you had to suppress the anger rising in you. Your whole body shook from the exhausting try to hold yourself together. A few tears escaped your eyes and Jacob was still not done, probably just repeating himself by now but that didn’t change the fact that he was more than angry.

“Jacob! Stop!”, before you could register anything else a person appeared between you and the other. You felt relief wash over you immediately when you saw that it was Seth.

“How dare you scream at him like that! Accusing him of being the source of your stupid self-centered problems! How dare you make him cry! Don’t you ever even come too close to him again!”

Jake seemed to want to say something more but Seth turned to you, took your hand into his and gently pulled you with him. You only noticed that you were still shaking when Seth stopped after arriving at a clearing and pulled you into his arms. You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing and Seth pulled you closer while you clutched his shirt in your hands.

After you calmed down you whispered a “thank you” against his neck where you had hid your face.

“Of course”, he whispered back, “nobody is allowed to talk to or about you like that. Nobody." His arms tightened around you again and you felt his face hide in your neck this time. You smiled when you noticed him taking a deep whiff of your scent and then place a kiss there.

#seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater #seth clearwater x male reader #x male reader #male reader #twilight #gay #mlm

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pagannatural · 27 days

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2.08 Crossroad Blues

-Absolute classic. Sam’s bossy ass saying Dean’s notoriety means they have to be more careful now, Dean flirting by calling him “you innocent, harmless young man you.” Sam feels overshadowed, or maybe he just wants them to be mentioned as a pair.

-Dean doesn’t want to help people who made demon deals, because he feels they’ve brought this on themselves. Sam notices that Dean is being weird about this when normally saving people is his jam. Sam notes this red flag in Dean’s behavior.

Something I just realized is that Sam didn’t seem to be this observant with John. Dean knows both John and Sam well but in different ways. He learned how to read John but he can sense Sam like a part of himself. Did Sam not learn how to read John? Did he not have to because understanding Dean was more central to his world and wellbeing? He looked up to Dean and trusted that they could take care of each other. This is part of what makes the dynamic between the three of them so striking. Sam didn’t seem to have that slight fear of John that Dean did, that comes from trying really hard to predict what a parent will say or do next.

-Dean kicks in the front door when Evan locks it, leads the way inside, and goes to kick in the office doors but Sam stops him by grabbing his leg

which leaves him sort of leaning into Dean and holding his leg. Sam then opens the door because it was unlocked. I love this moment because it shows how close they are that Sam feels comfortable intercepting him physically and knew right away what Dean was going to do. It also shows Sam’s role in their relationship tempering Dean’s brute-force reactions, helping him slow down.

-Dean tells Evan unsympathetically “I think you did it for yourself so you wouldn’t have to live without her.”

This episode is so complex when you watch it in context. Right now Dean is mad at John for saving his life because he feels guilty, and because he was brought back to a world heavy with the crushing weight of his father’s absence and horrifying last edict.

But John most certainly didn’t bring Dean back because he didn’t want to live without him—John died right away. This is Dean contemplating bringing John back because he really needs his dad right now. He’s exhausted and he’s confused and he doesn’t know what to do about Sam and the responsibility is killing him. He looked up to John and thought he had all the answers. The temptation to make a deal and bring him back is ripe.

And then— we know that actually Dean would sell his soul for someone just like Evan did, like John did—someone he would rather die than live without, someone he loves with a desperation similar to Evan’s love for his wife. That person is Sam. Dean doesn’t realize this yet.

-Sam can tell what’s going through Dean’s head and becomes worried and scared, asking him not to go to the crossroads demon right now because “I don’t like where your head’s at.” He’s incredulous.

Dean argues “You’re not allowed to say no, Sammy, not unless you got a better idea.” This sounds like it’s one of their rules for hunting. They’ll try the next best idea whatever that may be because doing something is better than doing nothing.

Sam says “Dean you can forget it, alright. I’m not letting you summon that demon.” He’s being SO protective. Dean will do whatever Sam says unless Sam says Don’t go do something dangerous.

Sam tries to make Dean stay.

They talk about the likelihood that John made a similar deal, and Dean swallows and says “what if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul.” He waits for Sam’s reply, and seems truly afraid of what Sam will say, like Sam would say John shouldn’t have done that.

Sam gives him this look that’s got some fire in it, some conviction. Maybe he’s mad at Dean for his self-hatred.

Sometimes I forget that at this point in the story, Sam has almost lost Dean twice. Both times Sam was willing to do anything to get Dean back. He finally has his big brother back after years apart, and he is no longer in a position to really be able to go back to his normal life. He needs Dean, and he chose Dean. I don’t want to come across like Sam doesn’t care about John because genuinely I think it’s made clear that he does, but it is very much supported by the text that Sam would rather have Dean back even with John in hell than lose Dean. He told Dean that he’s the only one who’s always been there for him, he trusts Dean, he feels loved and protected by Dean, and when Dean and John were both in peril he went to Dean.

But we don’t get to find out what Sam would say to Dean’s question, because they’re interrupted. Sam unhappily watches Dean go.

-This whole scene where the crossroads demon offers to bring John back in exchange for Dean’s soul is so, so beautifully acted by Jensen. Dean’s plan all along is to trap the demon and exorcise her, and if he’s going to follow through, he can’t make that deal. He wants to. He feels guilty enough about John’s soul burning in hell for him forever, on top of his grief. When she finally steps into the trap he looks like he might cry. It worked, he moves forward with his plan without taking the deal offered. Why doesn’t he? It’s not what his dad would’ve wanted, obviously, and it’s not what Sam wants. Sam was explicitly worried about Dean making the deal and told him not to go. But I think it’s mostly that Dean hates demons. He makes quite a few sexual jokes this episode and talks about hitting on the front desk girl at animal control, but when the demon kisses him to seal their deal, he doesn’t even make a lascivious joke, he’s just disgusted—and the demon is possessing a beautiful woman who’s his type. His hatred for demons is personal. Demons quite literally killed his parents, ruined his life, and are mysteriously targeting and trying to corrupt his baby brother. They represent that black and white pure evil that he wants to salt and burn from the earth. So his feelings make sense.

-Dean talks about the way John died while he and Sam drive away. Dean doesn’t understand yet, what could make someone sell their soul to a demon.

I don’t think he has entertained the idea of what he would do if Sam died. The king of denial just won’t let it enter his brain.

Sam understands, though. He answers Dean really softly.

This is logical to Sam. He wanted John to prove he gave a shit about Dean, and he did. John did something right, and even though it makes Dean feel guilty, Sam would rather have a guilt-stricken Dean than no Dean.

#samdean #supernatural #spn meta #wincest #spn 2x08

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loversofthegrave · 3 months

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teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

#I wrote a wincest thing #teenchesters #should i write more #i did write a whole story to this like 13k words but I didnt like it much in the end but #here is a snippet #sammy pov figuring his feelings for his brother out #wincest #wincest one shot #weecest #weecest one shot #wincest fanfic #supernatural #spn #sam/dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #pre series sam/dean

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michaelmilligan · 2 months

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Rotating Midam in my mind.

You have Michael, who is the biggest baddest bitch Heaven's got. A literal archangel, someone who killed his own sibling without flinching, someone who was ready to kill one of his once closest brothers, even though he still loved him. The guy who said that free will was an illusion, and that fate was inevitable.

And then you have Adam, who is... some guy. Sure, he's Sam and Dean's brother, and they're the main characters, but ultimately, Adam was never meant to be important. He was introduced in S4 as a gimmick, as a way to cause the brothers man pain. He's a Midwestern teenager, raised by a single mom, his lofty goal was becoming a doctor, but he was never fated to be anyone important, anything big.

And then Michael - the guy who said that there was no other way but for Dean to become his vessel - took Adam. He was under time pressure, sure. Dean just wasn't saying yes. But this archangel, who believed so much in his father's commands that he was going to kill his baby brother for him, chose to use Adam, the clammy scrap of bait, instead of his fated vessel.

And we don't really see them interact in S5. We don't know if Michael pressured Adam into this, if he scared him into compliance. We do know that Adam looked at the bright light descending onto the room, presumably Michael's true form - which had previously burned out people's eyes, in that bar Zachariah sat in - and he didn't look scared. If anything, he looked awed.

We don't know what they talked about. How much they talked. If Adam was conscious for that fight in Stull cemetery. We are led to believe that he is not, because Michael tells Dean that Adam isn't in right now, but he might as well just mean that Adam isn't in control, that he's Michael right now.

So we really don't know anything about their dynamic in S5, but we are led to assume from what we know about Michael that it isn't a good dynamic, we are made to see Adam being possessed as an unfortunate tragic. This poor bastard just won't stop being used by angels.

And then, ten years later, Michael and Adam come out of the cage, and we are once again led to assume the worst, because Lucifer said that Michael was insane, and everyone is scared of Michael, everyone still remembers the other Michael who brought so much death and terror upon the world - and when we see this world's Michael for the first time in ten years, when he's out of Hell and could have been anywhere in the world, or outside of the world really - he's sitting in a diner, smiling fondly at the just some guy, who is eating a burger.

This archangel, who would have killed indiscriminately for the sake of the plan, to fulfill his duty - he's chilling with this guy from Minnesota, who came out of the cage with more chill than when he went in, and whose first instinct on returning to the world was... greasy diner food.

This archangel - this eerie, dangerous entity, is smiling fondly at the guy he just spend over a thousand years (local) time with in Hell. And they talk openly, like friends, about their plans for the future. Michael mentions that he has nothing, and so does Adam, and they decide to stay together, and to maybe get a little job.

The biggest baddest bitch that Heaven had. And he doesn't even go back to Heaven. His closest brothers are dead, the apocalypse can't happen anymore with Lucifer already gone, and Michael just... doesn't care anymore. He seems a little melancholy, but ultimately he is content. Content to stay with Adam, content to sit with him in some random diner in a random American town, and content to stay with him, and let Adam show him what it's like to be human.

This archangel, who has never cared about humanity, or any human. This archangel looks at the gimmick character, the forgotten brother, and he is content. Adam is enough for him.

The guy who was dead before we even met him. And he's enough for the archangel who wanted to end the world.

Adam is everything he has, actually. And Michael is content.

#Midam #Crying screaming throwing up #This is probably so disjointed but just. AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH.

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housethemd · 6 months

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Did Anybody Ask For My Personal Opinion On Who Wilson’s Other Brother Is? On The Larger Wilson Family Structure? On Wilson’s Life Before He Met House?

No? Okay perfect.

The oldest is David Wilson. He’s 4-5 years older than James. He was always smart, and received a lot of praise for all his success. He is a lawyer, and is married with two children. He married young, which thrilled his parents.

Then there is Danny Wilson. I assume Danny is short for Daniel. He is 2 years younger than James. He was always kind of a loner, and while James and Danny did play together as very young kids, the older Danny got the less he had any interest in playing with others, including James. He was prone to getting distracted or overwhelmed in public places and James was always the one to make sure he stayed safe. His parents were always at a loss with what to do with him, but James always seemed to understand him.

Then of course our beloved James Wilson. Middle child, living in the shadow of his older brother and his younger brothers keeper. His successes were never celebrated the way David’s were, because even if he got straight A’s (which he did) David always did it first, and his family seemed to find things less impressive the second time around.

Forced to grow up early to care for his younger brother, he had a hard time relating to kids his own age so he spent a lot of time at home watching movies and TV. He did extracurriculars through his school when he got to high school to pad his resume (he already knew he wanted to go to med school) and while everyone liked him, he didn’t have any close friends.

He learns how to become what people want him to be. How to cater to their needs. He spends his whole life being what everyone else needs him to be.

The first time he strays from that is when Danny calls while he’s in med school studying for that big exam. He hangs up on him, and then Danny goes missing. His family doesn’t understand how he could hang up on his brother like that, why he would do that, they think it’s so out of character for him.

He meets Sam, and desperately wanting to get back in his family’s good books he marries her quickly. He wants to follow in his older brothers footsteps, do what you are supposed to do, want what you are supposed to want. So he marries Sam.

Two years later they are getting divorced. He gets the papers right before a medical conference. He carries them around, without the will to open them. He hasn’t told his family yet.

Someone keeps playing “Leave a Tender Moment Alone” on the jukebox. He asks nicely for them to stop, he really does, he tries to be the bigger person, to keep to the persona that he only dropped once because last time he dropped it he lost his brother, but he can’t. He’s pissed off by the song, but more so he’s pissed off that his persona means he can’t do anything about it, why does everyone need him to be so nice all the time? Care about their problems? What about him? He’s a person too, what about his problems?

And the anger boils over. He throws a bottle, breaks a mirror, and gets arrested. He’s sitting in a jail cell, trying to figure out how he’s going to tell his family that not only is he getting divorced but he’s gotten arrested and feeling like he has the worst luck in the world when a police officer comes in and says a friend is bailing him out. He’s confused, he doesn’t have friends.

Outside the jail, he meets Gregory House.

For the first time someone sees past the persona. No matter what he does House always sees past it, to the person he really is. The person he convinced himself no one would like.

For the first time, he has a real friend.

#whoops sorry this got out of hand #this was just supposed to be a couple bullet points until it wasnt #house md #james wilson #greg house #hate crimes md #dr house #dr wilson #hilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #house md headcanons #housethemd writes

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saphushia · 4 months

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I know very little about the DCU but everything about DP but for some reason your fic recs intrigued me and now I’m in dcxdp hell and I was wondering if you have more recommendations especially for finished fics 👀 you have opened a can of worms in my brain and I must feed them

ok but i literally got into this shit the same exact way aubdskjfg. literally fell ass deep into this from sheer curiosity barely knowing fuckin anything abt batman and now i've read more batman comics than i ever thought i would in my life.

anyways! yeah i think i've got a couple! apologize if there's a couple duplicates from my last recs i can't be bothered to go check it lmao

⭐= my absolute favorites

=ONESHOTS=

Late Night Talkin' [danny/dick] there-was-only-one-bed get-together wheremst danny n dick r hero partners

The Stiches That Bind Us Together [danny/dick] dick's not feeling well, so danny shows up at his apartment to take care of him. and danny knows well enough what hero-ing injuries look like to take a well-educated guess

Consequences danny + fear gas. bad combo

the case of the serial killer dick befriends wierd homeless teenager danny

It's a Small World Afterall [tim/danny] tim convinces danny to take him to amity on a date. he of course then gets kidnapped- by technus, of all people

Can You Fly Without Wings? circus gothica episode but danny gets taken all the way to gotham with freakshow

Cold nights and warm hands danny's sick, so dick of course invites him to stay at the manor, and they relax together

⭐Hollow the bats encounter one danny masters at a gala, and they're all immediately concerned about how blank the boy seems. danny's missing something, something important to him, and he's missing too much to even know what

Baby it's Cold Inside [tim/danny] danny unknowingly gets hit with cuddle pollen, and tim fulfills his boyfriend responsibility of providing snuggles

Surprise Halloween Haunting jason gets kidnapped to be a sacrifice in a ritual, and hijacks it to dial up a friend

4 Times Dick Grayson met Tim Drake's Partner +1 Time He Met Them All Together [tim/danny/tucker/sam] cute tim dating all the amity trio and confusing his brothers. also furry convention scene <3

⭐Bait and Switch thanks to a cult, danny ends up possessing jason, and neither are very happy about it

=FINISHED MULTI-CHAPTERS=

Last year, I starved. This year, I devour without guilt [danny/jason] danny takes one look at jason and decides he's in need of urgent ghost medical care, so he takes matters into his own hands

The Misadventures of Cosplay Man danny gets stuck in the DC universe for a little bit, so he goes around befuddling every villain and hero he comes across, with the power of bad cosplay.

⭐Satiate jason runs into danny while danny's having a little 'nice to meet you' ravenous brawl with the spirit of gotham. as ghosts do.

Vacation Crashers the fentons' camping trip goes south for all the usual ghost reasons, and that's before the batman crash lands in the middle of all of it. cue a teamup between jazz, danny, and all the bats, to take down vlad

Wanted: Dead and Alive tim rescues an injured teenager he found in a glowing green vat in an unknown experimental facility. proceeds to lose the injured teenager. loses his shit trying to find said teenager who is hiding way too effectively for a guy whose guts were on the floor a few days ago.

ok i'm only like halfway thru my bookmarks but i'm tired now kdsjbfgjkdsfg have fun~

#answers #fic rec #dcdp #nutrition-starts-with-nut

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samwinchestersbf · 11 months

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"I Will"

Sam Winchester x Reader

This was based on Mitski's song, I just love her music so much.

Authors note: Suprise!! A comfort fic!! I haven't been doing the best lately, my mental health is really getting to me. I think writing this may help :) Beware of any writing mistakes, it's 4 am right now so criticism is welcomed. (silly hours for me) Non-specific reader and this one might be a little small.

Reblogs are appreciated!! <3

He was always so caring and lovely no matter what, you knew that.

However, something inside of you just ate at you for days, weeks even. It was different and difficult, causing the past to reel you back in. The 'What if' thoughts were consuming you once again.

What if that never happened to you? What if everything you went through was for nothing? What if this was the last week for you? What if you're just making it all up? What if.

The sadness was a persistent parasite, you wanted it out of you.

You were a little avoident and dismissive about it, throwing "Yep I'm good"'s at him.

He knew something was actually up with you, he attempted to try to fish it out of you.

You started to refuse to sleep in the same bed, if you did it would only be for a little bit before rising earlier than he did. You slept in the library or even the kitchen, your excuses with research and exhaustion weren't cutting it anymore.

He didn't do anything wrong, it was you being you.

He was finally able to corner you, catching you up in your lies.

You two were sitting in the impala, Dean in the store for some food on the ride home. You, in the backseat, pretending to be asleep so you could wiggle your way out of the tense situation.

"You're getting worse, I can see it. Please just talk to me, I will take good care of you."

You took a quiet deep breath to reject the tears.

You couldn't explain it to anyone out loud, it felt like an internalized argument with yourself.

An argument of upset and angry thoughts. You wanted help but the shame and bravery of asking for help was overwhelming to ignore.

His hand patiently reached for yours. It was warm and soothing. You ached for his love yet you couldn't bring yourself to embrace it.

"I'm sorry," is all you could mutter out. How could you explain to him?

Sorry Sam! The thoughts are getting worse and I'm not sure if I'll make it this time. I hope you can understand!

As if that was okay to tell him, it'll raise him to questions and concerns.

Dean came back to the car, putting an end to the situation. He was aware of how your mental state was, you weren't too hard to read.

He offered you food and you accepted it out of a hint of guilt if you didn't. You just placed the food next to you and watched the environment move when he backed out of the parking lot.

The drive was going normal, their normal brother bickering and silence. They were having a talk about the hunt you all got done with yesterday.

You decided to tune it all out, ruminating in your own world.

You thought of ways to tell him. Maybe you didn't need to, you could just lock it all away to eventually forget.

You started to feel a sense of dread building up in you so you attempted to sleep it off.

You woke up with soft whispers of your name, Sam's voice trying to wake you up.

Due to the lack of sleep and high alert you bolted up, sitting straight and facing him.

"We're here now, come inside so we can talk."

Those words made you feel small as a little kid would when they get in deep shit. You thought about it more, that's all you've been doing as of lately.

You got out of the car with Sam trailing behind you.

Dean must've been inside already, ready to booze and snooze.

The two of you just walked in the same tense atmosphere as before, making your way to your shared room.

He closed the door behind and immediately wrapped his arms around you in such a gentle way.

Obviously you couldn't help but sob in his care, you needed it so much. Repeating the words 'I'm sorry' to him over and over.

It never felt enough.

He never said anything during it, he understood sometimes you struggle. He played with your hair, guiding you to the bed to sit down with him.

"It's okay to feel this way", he replied to your aftermath of crying.

"I'm always here for you. I will always be here for you. There's no need to run and hide from it." The way he spoke to you in that tone, you wanted to melt in his love.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shook your head still unsure of how to talk about it. He gave a simple nod and hugged you a little tighter before letting go.

"We should go clean up, we're dirty from that hunt."

Sam held your hand the entire time as he lead you to the showers.

You both stood in silence again, just appreciating each other while the water ran. You wished the peaceful intimate moments with him lasted forever.

The night ended with him holding you, the tense atmosphere now replaced with kindness and comfort.

"It's just getting really bad again, I just want it to stop."

"We can get through it together, please just stay with me for now."

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #x reader #fanfic #comfort #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural sam #supernatural dean #dean winchester #help me im so fucking sad #comfort fic #comfort is good right?!?!?!#god i yearn for this man #im gay for sam winchester

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builtbybrokenbells · 5 months

Text

Catch-22 | ii

Nothing good ever happens after 2am.

Masterlist

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x f!reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: angst, old heartbreak and some new heartbreak, mentions of hookups, crying, breakups, arguing, high school talk, mentions of insecurities, swearing, drinking, some fluff, sorry if i miss any!

hi everyone, was going to wait to post this later tonight but i am miserably tired and will probably go right to bed after work lol, so here you go. lots of backstory in this one! like I said, i plan on this story being a bit of a slowburn so please have some patience with me while we set the scene. i hope you’re liking this so far because i know i am :) as always, enjoy, be kind, and don’t mind any grammar mistakes 🫶🏻 (lightly edited my apologies)

The sun was high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the earth while green grass was tickling your feet as you tumbled through it. Your parents had given up on the battle of putting your shoes on, because you kicked them off every time they thought they had won. They were sat on a porch, looking out at you every now and again to check in, but we’re mostly caught up in chatter with the other set of parents sitting beside them. Life was simple; all you had to care about was toys and sleep, and maybe scoring well on a spelling test every now and again. In truth, as a six year old, there was no need to worry about anything more than that. Your whole life revolved around Disney movies and chocolate milk, shared most often with your best friend in the entire world.

Sam Kiszka was undoubtedly that person, from the very day you were born up until long after you moved away. Long before you were ever a thought in your parents heads, they had been good friends with Sam’s parents. Your older sister had the same relationship with Sam’s older twin brothers, and you had always been destined for the same fate. Between barbecues and beach days, school sports and sleepovers, your lives had been inevitably intertwined with the Kiszka’s since your very first day on earth. You never thought to complain, mostly because you never knew the difference. They were like an extension of your own family, and in truth, you saw them more often than you saw your actual aunts and uncles.

“Y/n!” Sam exclaimed, catching your attention. Your head turned in his direction, now uncaring for the doll clasped between your hands. A smile was on your lips, excited that he wanted your attention, but it was nothing new. You loved having his attention, and you loved when he was asking for yours. He was always your biggest priority, even back when you were that young. He was running towards you, something held tightly in his hands that you couldn’t see very well from the distance. You took off in a run, forever happy to meet him halfway. When you were within arms reach, he extended his hand out to you, showcasing what he was holding with pride.

“For me?” You asked, struggling with the pronunciation of the ‘r’ at the end of your word. The touch of the speech impediment was blatantly obvious, but he loved you too much to care about it.

“Yeah.” He nodded with a smile on his lips, too. It was nothing special, but it was incredibly important to you, just because it had come from him. He placed the cluster of dandelions he had picked for you in your hand, enthusiastic about his work.

“Thank you, Sammy.” You giggled, bringing them closer to your face to get a closer look.

“You’re welcome.” He beamed. “They’re pretty, just like you.” The childhood innocence was astounding; just two babies speaking from their heart, thrilled by each others company and hoping that your parents would never make you go home. You sat on the ground, crossing your legs and placing the flowers beside you. He wasted no time, sitting down with you, always wanting to do the same thing that you were doing. “We’re gonna be best friends forever, you know.”

“I hope so.” You agreed, amused easily by picking strands of grass from the ground.

“And when we grow up, we’ll get married, just like my parents, ‘cause that’s what best friends do.” He continued, falling back on the ground and looking up to the sky. You laid down next to him, gazing longingly at the clouds. At that age, everything seemed so much more wondrous, so much more beautiful. Colours were brighter, and the world was not yet tainted by the darkness of adulthood. Happiness was the most you knew, diminished only occasionally with sadness that stemmed from a broken toy or a scraped knee. The biggest struggle back then was when your mother made something you disliked for dinner and that bedtime was at eight. It was so much simpler, so much better. The kids in your class were not old enough to be mean, and even if they were, it never mattered because Sam was always by your side.

“M-married?” You struggled with the word, but once again, he didn’t care. He was too busy planning a life full of toy trucks and Barbie dolls, knowing that he loved you enough then to make space for your toys in his life, too, even if he didn’t necessarily like them.

“Yeah,” he said, looking over to you “we wouldn’t have to worry about our parents making us go home. We could stay up all night and play games together forever.” He theorized. Your six-year old brain thought it was the best idea in the whole world, even at that age knowing that a lifetime with Sam was a dream come true. Even if you didn’t fully know what it meant, you couldn’t think of any downsides of his plan.

“That would be awesome.” You giggled, closing your eyes.

“It would be the best.” He corrected, reaching across the grass and slipping his hand into your own.

You woke with a start, heart pounding in your chest and your forehead glistening with sweat. Your stomach was churning with unease, haunted by the innocent memories of your childhood. You sat up, head still spinning with intoxication as you looked around your room. Moonlight was pouring in the window, letting you know that it was nowhere near time for you to wake up. You found your phone tangled in the blankets, pulling it out to check the time. “Four in the morning?” You grumbled, feeling wide awake after your brain’s incessant recollection of your younger years. You did your best to stand, feeling yourself in a constant state of dizziness. You figured if you got some water into you, you could speed up your body’s process in returning to sobriety.

You creeped into the hallway, careful not to disturb any of your sleeping family members. You made it to the kitchen, feeling yourself relax as you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. You gulped as much of it down as you could, ignoring the nausea that came along with it. Before finishing the bottle, you grabbed some Advil and swallowed those down, too. Instead of returning to your bedroom, you took a seat at the kitchen table to let the water settle in your stomach. You felt a great deal better already, your eyes more focused and your heart resuming its normal rhythm, but your mind was still racing with memories similar to the one in your dream. You reached out to the fruit bowl sitting on the table, grabbing an apple in hopes that some good nutrients might aid your shaking hands and weak muscles. As you bit into it, you knew that the ailments were not because of a nasty hangover from alcohol; they were solely due to your body’s withdrawal from Sam.

He was the worst addiction you ever had, his effect on you similar to a fever that you just couldn’t kick. You were sweaty, shaky and delirious as you tried to bring your temperature down, but it only ever seemed to spike higher. You went through bouts of missing Sam, feeling the sickness creep in the longer you thought about him, but being face to face with him always seemed to debilitate you. Just when you thought you could rid yourself of the disease for good, he showed up out of nowhere, killing off any healthy cells and engulfing them with his existence. All of your progress gone in an instant, and he didn’t even care to see how badly he was hurting you. Sam was the only thing your body knew, and it craved him so desperately that it was excruciating to go without him, but it was so toxic that as soon as you felt his presence again, you thought you might die from the illness.

As much as you wished he would disappear, you knew that even after all this time, he was the beacon of light in your darkened universe. The only thing that would guide you home when you lost your way, yet also the very thing that you wished to run away from. Back then, he made home feel more like home, but now that he was gone, the lack of his presence made the loneliness scream even louder. The love never disappeared, but it seemed as though resentment grew around it, locking it up and throwing away the key. Even while knowing you held him in such contempt, you knew it was not the end of your story. It rarely ever was, and you believed that after years of manifesting that you would be intertwined forever, you cemented it so well that there was no escape from it, now.

It was the way you and Sam had always worked; you would be inseparable to the point where you started to believe that it truly was forever, and then something would cause a drift. It was either a huge blowout, or a silent goodbye. Neither were favourable because you both wanted to make it work so badly. You would stay away for a while, swear that it was the end and you would never double back on your word, then you would cross paths in a twisted way of fate, inevitably landing right back at the beginning. There was no better way to describe it than your conversation just a few hours before; one of you displeased with seeing the other, yet both of you knowing it was bound to happen despite your efforts at avoidance. Sooner or later, you and Sam always ended up back in each others arms, and eventually, you would be hurt again from the very thing you previously wished to have just once more.

The issue did not lie within a lack of love; the two of you loved each other beyond any measure of human comprehension, but you had absolutely no idea how to love each other properly. Destined to love and programmed to hurt. It was an exhausting process, and even after a lifetime of learning it so well, you hadn’t yet managed to discover the secret to breaking it.

Loving Sam would be the death of you, but the thought of anything at his hand was so comforting that you forgot about the fear of dying itself.

“I think I love you, Rapunzel.” The nickname was endearing, yet already overused in the short time since he had come up with it. He thought he was a genius when he rattled it off for the first time, the inspiration striking him while he sat below your window waiting for you to open it and allow him inside. Living just down the street from you made it so much easier to sneak out and visit, and it had become almost a nightly routine.

“I love you too, Sammy.” You laughed, keeping your voice quiet so your parents wouldn’t hear you. The last think you wanted was to get caught. You could deal with the consequences for yourself, but you’d be miserable if they stopped allowing Sam over.

He was your anchor in your house full of constant chaos; your oldest sister was constantly terrorizing you for taking too long in the bathroom (or for anything else she could think to be angry about), your youngest sister was still in elementary school and was always amidst temper tantrum, and your parents had become experts at fighting without saying a word. Peace and quiet was a foreign concept, and the nighttime routine that you and Sam found yourselves in was the best part of your day. He would sneak over just after dark when his parents believed him to be tucked into his room getting ready for bed. He’d throw a pebble at your window to let you know he was there, and you’d let him inside. You’d spend the rest of the evening together laying in bed, talking about your fears and your hopes and dreams, then he would begrudgingly make his way back home after a prolonged goodbye. It was predictable, but it was comforting, and it was the only constant in your life when everything else seemed so chaotic.

Eighth grade had taken an incredible toll on you. With puberty, your family’s new found tension, and your struggle with not fitting in with the rest of the girls was wearing you down, yet Sam still seemed to look at you the exact same as he always did; with love in his eyes and a smile on his face. Nothing in the world could change it, and he would still love you the same no matter what you looked like, because in his eyes, you were the most beautiful girl in the world. You looked over at him, focused enough to notice that his adolescence was slowly fleeing him. His jawline was sharper and every now again his voice would crack. He sounded different and looked different, but he was the same as he always was. It seemed like time could not even begin to touch his character, nor the bond you had formed, and you were incredibly grateful for it.

“No,” he shook his head, looking down to meet your face “in love, y/n.” His voice was quiet, but it was no longer because of the fear of being caught. He was fearful of rejection and of ruining what you two had worked so hard at creating. You couldn’t explain the feeling that washed over you; it was not anxiety or any type of nervousness, nor excitement. It was comfortability, like what he said to you was less of a shock and more of a rite of passage.

“Yeah, me too.” You whispered. It did not matter that neither of you really knew what being in love meant, because you loved each other in every way you knew how, and that was the only thing that held any importance. Thirteen year olds had no true sense of reality or anything pertaining to growing up, but you knew that you wanted to be with each other and love each other in every way possible. He didn’t care about your bulky glasses or your weight, or any other differences you had from the other girls in your grade. He cared about you, and he cared so much that no other thirteen year old boy could even begin to understand it.

“Really?” He couldn’t hide the relief in his voice, and you thought it was quite endearing.

“Yeah.” You repeated, nodding your head.

“Oh, cool.” He sighed, relaxing back into the mattress. His head was rested atop a pillow that constantly smelled of his shampoo, and it was the same one you always held closest to you while you slept. Sam was your entire world, and always had been. The proclamation of love changed nothing except for giving you another way to express the way you felt for each other. “So, what now?” He asked. You looked down at your hands, fingers already intertwined with each others. You already had your head resting on his arm, leaning against him to steal the warmth straight from his body. “Does it change anything?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I think this is it.”

The memory was gut wrenching, shooting daggers straight into your heart. You weren’t sure if it was your drunken stupor or your broken heart, but you felt another round of tears begging to be shed. You craved so badly to be those innocent kids again, to go back and do it right without breaking each others hearts, but it was impossible. You craved to love Sam without any pain, but you knew that the pain shared between you both was too large to ever let go of. You were afraid that love, especially when it came to Sam, was nothing but violence. Even if the good moments were fantastic, you could not hold on to hope for a lifetime full of hurt.

The creep of footsteps could be heard down the hallway, but you were too drunk to clean yourself up before you were thrown into confrontation. Whoever dared to impose could suffer the consequences of your sadness. When the body presented itself at the other end of the kitchen table, you looked up to meet the concerned eyes of your youngest sister. “Hey, bug.” You quickly wiped away your tears. “What are you doing awake?”

Correction: you were willing to impose your sadness on anyone as long as it wasn’t her.

“You were upset when you came home tonight,” she said, referring to the state you were in after the bar. “I was worried, I couldn’t sleep.”

“You don’t have to worry, Ellie.” You assured her, sniffling back another sob. Your relationship with her was strange. When she was born, you hated her so badly that you asked your parents to bring her back to the hospital. When she started to get a little older and you realized that she was there for good, you began to warm up to her. By the time she was in school, your parents were working a lot and you took care of her more often than not. Your oldest sister, Brooke, helped as much as she could until she went off to college, but she was a lot busier with her personal life than you were, so you were most often the babysitter. You watched her grow up as you did, too, and she was your whole world.

“I do, though.” She replied, dismissing your own dismissal. “You cried yourself to sleep, and now you don’t want to be in your bed. The only time you don’t like sleeping in your bed is when Sam’s done something wrong. I know it reminds you of him.” For a fifteen year old, she was incredibly observant. “I thought you guys stopped talking?”

“We did, and we aren’t going to start again. Just ran into him at the bar. I’ll be okay, though. I’m always okay.” You assured her, closing your eyes to stop any more tears from falling.

“You always take care of me, y/n. Let me take care of you for once.” She said, unwilling to give up. Without permission, she took a seat next to you at the table after grabbing you another bottle of water. “Just because it’s happened a long time ago doesn’t mean it you have to be over it.”

“He’s like the plague.” You sighed, soothing your irritated eyes with the cold skin on the back of your hands. “He just… takes over, and I don’t know how to get rid of him. I try to forget about him, and then something else makes me fall in love all over again.”

“He was your whole world.” She shrugged, wishing there was some magic answer to ease all of the hurt you were feeling. “I mean… I remember Sam being here all of the time. He was around just as much as you were. You were best friends. He was your first love and your first heartbreak. It only makes sense for it to still hurt.” You nodded, knowing that she was right but still feeling as if you should be over him. “Do you still love him?”

You laughed at the thought, an empty smile on your lips as you pondered the best way to describe the feeling.

“I… I don’t know what else to tell you, y/n. I just think that we’ve been doing this for so long… you’re all I know.” He explained, avoiding your eyes at all costs. Your heart was breaking more with each word, your sixteen year old self never having faced such a massive loss before.

“And that’s a bad thing?” You asked, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I mean, we always talked about forever, Sam. You’ve always been my forever; I don’t need to know anything else.”

“You’ll always be my forever, Rapunzel.” He finally looked up, also unable to bear the thought of not living a life alongside you. “Just… right now, I need some space.” After sixteen years of being inseparable, you were trying your best to digest the thought of not spending every day with him. It killed you, but you were not willing to sacrifice your dignity for something that was not worth it. If he wanted to leave, you would hold the door just to make sure it wouldn’t hit him on the way out.

“Okay.” You took a long gulp of air, holding your breath and holding in the sobs begging to be heard. You walked to your bedroom door, twisting the handle and pulling it open. You stood by, waiting for him to take the hint.

“Okay?” He asked, hurt by your lack of fight. “That’s it?”

“That’s it, Sam. If you want to go, then go.” You said, lip quivering at the thought of him walking out. “If you want to break up with me, do it, but you don’t get to be upset when I let you. Why would I fight for you when you don’t want to fight for me?” He watched your face, agony striking him at the thought of being the cause of your pain. After a moment of shared silence, he gave a slow nod.

“Friends?” He asked, taking a step towards you. You watched in disbelief, unsure if he really thought you could remain friends after such a conversation.

“Yeah, sure.” You lied, knowing that once he walked outside, you had no intent of ever letting him back in. He gave you a sad smile, wishing he could hug you but knowing that it was best to leave you alone. He wasn’t even fully into the hallway before you were rushing to close the door, tears pouring down your cheeks at the idea of being without him.

“Do you remember the first time we broke up?” You asked, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “I know you were young, but-“

“I remember.” She said, cutting you off. “It’s hard to forget. I don’t think I ever saw you like that before.”

“When he left, I swore that would be the end of it, but I knew I was still in love with him.” You explained. “Just like every time after that. He left, I promised I was done, and then I’d let him come back. I let him hurt me so many times until I couldn’t take it anymore, and I had to go. You’d think after all of this time I would have learned my lesson, but I saw him last night and all I wanted to do was let him come back… let him come home.” You chuckled, shaking your head at your own stupidity. “The only thing I know how to do is love him, and the only thing he knows how to do is hurt me.”

“Do you think he changed?” She asked, listening intently to your words.

“I was hoping he did. He looks different, he acts different… god, he even sounds different, but when I look at him, something in his eyes always reminds me that it’s the same old Sam. I know that he hasn’t changed, which is good in a way, but that also means he’s still the exactly same person I fell in love with all those years ago, which is horrible.”

“Again, Sam?” You were angry, that much was clear. He cowered under the weight of your emotions, barely prepared for the blowout waiting to happen. “You let me fall in love with you just so you could break up with me again?”

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He muttered, running a a hand through his hair. “I didn’t… I missed you so much as a friend. When we got back together, I was so happy to have you around again that I didn’t realize I’m still not ready for a relationship.”

“Senior prom is in two months, Sam! What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“I still want to go with you, Rapunzel. That was never a question.” He said, desperate to ease your worry. He reached a hand out to you, hoping that touch might calm your hurt, but you brushed him off without second thought.

“What if I don’t want to go with you? Did you think of that?” You snapped, not really meaning it, but even if you wanted to go with him, you knew it wasn’t good for you. Every time you let Sam come back around, he just seemed to hurt you more. The happiness of your childhood was long forgotten and replaced by all of the pain he’d caused you. Sometimes, it was hard to even imagine the simplicity the two of you once felt together. “You know what? Just go. I don’t have time for this.” You shook your head, realizing you were fighting a losing battle.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” He whispered, making a move to stand.

“I’m so sick of hearing that you’re sorry. Please go, and don’t try and come back. Im done, Sam.” You refused to look at him, completely missing the pain-stricken features of his face. He hated hurting you, yet it seemed like there was no way to resolve the issues without it. In hopes of avoiding any further trouble for you, he gave a small nod and turned to walk out of the room. Once again, you watched him walk away while deep down, you hoped that he would find his way back to you eventually. You were stuck, wishing so badly to escape the cycle, but more so than ever, it seemed like it was never ending.

You wished you could say that you stuck to your word, but when June of your senior year rolled around and nobody else peeked your interest as a prom date, you were left wondering why it would be so bad to go with Sam. You had always planned to do so, and you already had a dress that matched his tie. You wanted your last high school memory to be with your most important person, and it felt almost foolish to go with anyone else. So, with a shred of hope and a lot of courage, you asked Sam if he would still be willing to be your date to prom. He was ecstatic to accompany you and in truth, he was hoping you would change your mind after denouncing him from your life.

As friends, the two of you dressed to the nines and smiled through a night full of photographs. The awkwardness wore off almost immediately and you were back to your old selves, laughing over old memories and crying over your own stupidity. By the end of the night, you were both tipsy and reminiscing on the better times and confessing how miserable life was without each other. As if the stars had aligned perfectly to guide you into the darkest breakup of your life, a messy hookup cemented yours and Sam’s relationship as lovers once again. You graduated from high school and spent the entire summer immersed in each other. The air seemed different, more clear than it had been the last time you two had found your way back to each other. You had small fears about leaving for university, worried that your relationship was not strong enough to make it through the pressure of long distance, but it appeared that Sam was a changed man.

You spent your first year of university taking turns driving to see each other, spending every holiday glued together at the hip, and called whenever you had a spare minute. You survived your gruelling work with sweet messages from him and nights shared in your tiny dorm bed, and you were more in love with him than you ever thought to be possible. It was different than your younger years because back then, love didn’t mean all that much. You really didn’t know what it meant to love someone else so completely, and it all seemed a little silly in comparison to what you felt for him as you got older. He was your whole world, but even better than it was before. It seemed like the pain was obsolete, long forgotten and left in the past to die there. You both grew up, got out of your hometown and away from the same group of people who you saw every single day. It was a fresh start, something that you both desperately needed, and it served you well.

But, all good things must come to an end, and that time, the end was nothing short of catastrophic.

“Maybe you’re just too invested in the Sam you knew when you were kids.” She offered. “It’s been two years, y/n. If you still feel that way for him, maybe it’s worth a shot to try and get to know the new version of him.”

“I’d love to, but there’s something telling me that it’s just going to end the same way. It never seems like I can love him enough to make him want to stay.” Your voice cracked at the thought, the emotion too profound to hide. You loved Sam with every ounce of your heart and soul, but it never seemed like it was good enough for him, and it never mattered in the end, because he was bound to break you every time you let him get close.

“It’s up to you whether you want to talk to him or not. You know your heart the best, and you know him the best. If you don’t think it’s worth it, then please don’t give in to him. If you think he deserves another chance, then do it. Whatever you decide, I’ve got your back, and whatever you do, just don’t let him make you think that you’re not good enough, because it’s not true.”

“Thank you, bug.” You reached out for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You should get some sleep and stop worrying about me.”

“I always worry about you, and you always worry about me. It what we do.” She shrugged. “Are you going to bed, too?” You nodded, looking at the time displayed in green numbers on the stove.

“Yeah, probably should.” You said, but you were in no rush to get up and go. Your bed was haunting you with Sam’s memory, making it impossible to forget about him even in a slumber. His name was plastered on the walls and his face had seeped into the foundation, making it impossible to get away. He was the whole world, and you were just living in it. Everywhere you turned led you straight to another reminder of him, and it was sickening. But, even in the sickness, there was an odd comfort that came along with it. Being heartbroken over Sam had become the most consistent thing in your life, and being thrown so violently into it again, the familiarity made the stay more comfortable.

“If you can’t sleep, you can stay in my room.” She offered, a tired smile on her face. “Do you remember when we used to do that as kids?”

“Of course I do.” You chuckled. How could you forget? When your parents would fight, usually keeping everyone awake at night, she would sneak to your room to stay in bed with you. Usually, Sam was there, too. The three of you would always sleep soundly together in bed, no care about the lack of space or the uncomfortable positions because your company allowed for her to get some rest. When you and Sam would fight, you would find solace in her room because your own was too hard to be in. Back then, she didn’t know why you so often stayed the night in her room, and your tears would not fall until she was long asleep. When she started to get older, she understood better without you ever having to tell her.

“I’ll leave my door open just in case.” She promised, making a move to stand. “I love you.”

“I love you, El.” You gave a weak smile, watching as she disappeared up the stairs. It took you a while to find the courage to follow, but after a few moments, you made your way to your own bedroom. It felt like there was weights around ankles, dragging you down in hopes of delaying your return. Your bedroom was the last place you wanted to be, but you knew that after all you had overcome, you could conquer the last obstacle in your way of removing Sam from your life. Once you convinced yourself that his aura no longer lived inside your bedsheets, you would be better for it.

You closed your door softly behind you, letting out a long sigh to rid yourself of the looming torment of the night. You crawled into bed, checking the time once more to see that it was close to sunrise, now. You looked out at the sky, noticing the darkness slowly turning into purple and pinks. You let your head fall back on the pillow as you stared at the ceiling, noticing the pathetic illumination from the glow in the dark stickers you’d placed on it years ago. You let your eyes close, but your mind did not quiet even in the darkness.

Then, it came like a premonition of imminent disaster.

A weak thud sounded on the glass of your window, echoing through the entire room as if it was a noise so powerful it shook the foundation. But, it was not loud, nor was it anything that was truly attention grabbing. Perhaps the only reason you heard it so clearly was because you were listening for it, hoping it would happen. In truth, you could have ignored it and realized that it was likely due to nothing more than the wind blowing something against the glass, but your brain would not allow you to believe it was a coincidence.

It’s almost funny how the simplicity of a moment can appear so extravagant in our minds.

You slowly stood, cautiously approaching the sill with disbelief written all over you. With hope in your heart, you looked out into the night, first noticing the gentle sway of the tree line in the breeze. Your gaze drifted down towards the ground, eventually settling on an outline of a body. You blinked twice, just to be sure that the figure was still there after you refocused your eyes. You leaned closer to the glass, finding the features on his face break through the darkness with the utmost clarity. You flipped the lock, slowly sliding the window open as your heart swelled with affection. Even if you hated him, you could never seem to be mad when he showed up at your house with love in his eyes and hope in his heart.

“I didn’t know if you would answer, but I had to try.” He confessed, his voice a little raspy and his words ending with a slight slur.

“You’re drunk, Sam.” You whispered, but you couldn’t seem to turn him away.

“I know, I’m hammered.” He said, nodding his head. “Everyone told me I should go home, but I’m drunk, and I miss you, and this is the only home I know. You’re home, Rapunzel, and I’m so stupid for thinking otherwise.”

“Sam,” you sighed, almost wishing he never came. As much as you wanted to invite him inside, you knew it was a terrible idea.

“Please,” he pleaded, taking a step closer. He was so tall he could almost reach the windowsill himself without your help. “I know I don’t deserve anything from you, y/n, but I just want to talk.” You were frozen in place, unsure of how to handle the situation. You wanted to let him in, but you so badly wanted to tell him to leave and never come back. Every option was painful, and every decision was hard. You wished for once it could be easy with Sam, no matter which way it went. You just wanted it to be simple, for one decision not to be laced with regret or remorse. “Let your hair down? For old times sake?” He asked, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes.

You watched him, wondering if it was really him standing down there or if it was a figment of your drunken and delusional imagination. After a few seconds, you gave a small nod, popping the screen out of the window. You placed it on the floor and leaned down, holding your hands out for him to grab. He wasted no time responding, allowing you to pull him up just enough to grab the ledge. From there, he navigated the rest of the way himself. You took a step back, allowing him to move without worry of bumping into you. Once he was steady on his feet in front of you, you could see the emotion in his face. His eyes looked bloodshot, puffy just the same as yours were. He was exhausted, clearly going through just as much turmoil as you had that night.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, unsure why you even let him inside in the first place.

“I don’t know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I know that you don’t want to see me, and I know why, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t just let you walk away again. I had to try, and even if you tell me to leave and that you never want to see me again, at least I know for sure.”

“Sam, we’re not… We’re not the same people, anymore. You can’t just show up at my window and expect me to let you inside. You can’t just say sorry and expect things to go back to normal.”

“But you did let me in. That counts for something, right?” You couldn’t argue with his logic, because you did allow him inside. As much as you would have liked to blame him for the ridiculous situation you had found yourself in, your own stupidity played a large part in the outcome. “Jake told me this was a terrible idea, and maybe he was right, but I got further than anyone thought I would.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Sam.” You mumbled. “You know I’ll always let you in.” You look to the floor, almost ashamed at the confession.

“And I appreciate that, even if I know I don’t deserve it.”

“You don’t,” you agreed “but you made the effort, so I have to give you that, at least.”

“I’m sorry, princess. For everything.”

“We’re long past that, honey.” You chuckled, taking a seat on the edge of your bed as you pulled a blanket over your shoulders. “Why are you here?” You asked again, waiting for a real answer. So far, you had only grown more confused by his drunken rambling.

“I don’t know, to apologize?” He said, taking a seat in your computer chair. He had enough sense to know that his presence was not welcome on the bed with you. “When you told me we could go for drinks some other time, I knew you didn’t mean it. You planned to ignore every text and call until you went back to university, and then we’d never see each other again. I couldn’t risk that, because these last two years without you have been miserable.”

“You could have apologized two years ago.” You offered, feeling more awake than before. The anger rising in your heart was a great adrenaline boost, and you were ready to face him with all of the hurt you’d been feeling since the last time you saw him.

“I tried, you didn’t want to hear it.” He argued.

“I wonder why.” You rolled your eyes, astonished at his inability to own up to the truth. He was not the victim nor was he a saint; your lack of communication stemmed directly from his inability to grow up and be in a relationship, and he had no right to be upset about it.

“I don’t. I know why, y/n, but it doesn’t mean I liked it. I fucked up that night, and I have been living with that every day since. I’m trying to make it right, but it seems like you don’t want me to.”

“That night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, you put the nail in the coffin, but you fucked up plenty more times than just that night. You’ve been breaking my heart since we were old enough to understand what that meant. Maybe I don’t want to let you back in because I’m fucking terrified you’ll do it again.”

“I know.” He sighed, closing his eyes to regain his confidence. He could not express the guilt he felt for all he put you through, but he was trying his best to explain it. He did not want to argue, and he did not want to portray himself as angry, because he wasn’t. He deserved every harsh word that you were throwing his way. “I can’t take that back even if I wish I could, but I can tell you that I am so sorry I did that to you. You are the most wonderful person in the whole world; you’re my best friend, my soulmate, and I know that you’re the love of my life, even if I’m not yours anymore. I hate that I hurt you, and I hate that I don’t know how to fix it, but I still love you, y/n. My life has been empty, even if I’m travelling the world and doing what I love. At first, I wasn’t sure why, but now I know it’s because you’re not there with me. I miss you so much that it’s hard to think about anything else.” You watched him, curious about his profoundly disturbing confession. It was sweet, but it was not the Sam you knew. All those years ago, he was just a boy who had no idea how to express himself. Words were always difficult, and he never knew how to say I love you without lacing it into a joke.

Maybe, in some violent twist of fate, he really had grown up.

“How long have you been working on that one?” You asked, pulling the blanket tighter against your body.

“Two years.” He replied without hesitation.

“Two years and that’s all you’ve got?” You gave a small laugh, but this one was genuine. You looked up to meet his eye, the snide comment striking him odd until he saw the playful gleam in your face. “I expected more from you.”

“You know I’ve never been good at this stuff.” He found himself smiling, too. “So you’ve been thinking about me, too?”

“Stupid question.” You snipped. “You already know the answer.”

“Yeah, me too. Obviously.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I thought that you forgot about me. When I look at your Instagram, it just seems like you’re a whole different person. I’m happy you got out of here and you look like you’re doing okay. Your new friends seem cool, too, but I miss you and I wish I could be a part of that life, too.”

“You could have, Sam.” You reminded, not wanting to talk too much about the incident in which severed the ties between you. “But you do, too. I listened to some of your music off the new album. It’s fantastic, and I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you.” He whispered, touched that you cared enough to listen to it despite your ill feelings towards him. “You’re almost finished school, now. Where are you going next?”

“I don’t know,” You shrugged, hating the small talk you had fallen into. You knew Sam too well for such simple formalities. “Away from here, but that’s all I really know.”

“You always wanted to get out of here,” he chuckled, recalling the endless conversations about your desire to leave the town behind. “Times finally come.” He couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness at the idea, knowing that once you packed your bags, you would never come back. There would be no late night sneaking around, no conversations about the future under the stars in your backyard. He was ecstatic for you to move on and start living, but he was also sad for the kids who used to dream about doing it together.

“It’s scary, but I’m ready.”

“You’ve been ready since you learned how to walk.” He corrected. “Do you want to leave me behind, too?” Your heart broke at the sight of the pain in his eyes, knowing that once you were gone, it could be the end of a lifetimes worth of love.

“Come on, Sam. We both know you left first, and a long time ago at that.” You muttered, nervously playing with the hem of the blanket. “Besides, knowing us, we’re bound to run into each other again somewhere. Just the way it works for us.”

“We don’t have to wait to run into each other again.” He said, begging to meet your gaze again. “We ran into each other tonight, and it has to be for a reason.” Your eyes flickered to his face, also in search of the familiarity, yet scared to see the foreignness.

“I think after all this time, we should know the reason is no good.” You tried to stand your ground, even if you wanted nothing more than to invite him in. It was wrong, and it would end so badly that you would never be able to pick up the broken pieces again. Loving Sam was painful, and your brain was begging you to remember that. Even when it was good, it seemed to hurt somewhere.

“I changed, y/n, and I really want to show you that. I still love you the same, but I’ll do it better this time, if you give me the chance.”

“We can’t just pretend that the past didn’t happen.” You shook your head, appalled that he was even suggesting it. “It’s too much Sam, and after everything, we should know that it’s never going to work.”

“I want to make it work, Princess. For you, I’d do anything. I know that I haven’t been the best, but I want to be the best, now. You deserve it, and I’m not saying I deserve another chance, but I would like to prove to you that you are my whole world.”

“I can’t… you can’t just come in here and expect me to forgive you and come crawling back again. It’s too much, and I’m better than that, now. I love you, but I can’t let you hurt me, again.”

“Just come out for dinner with me. Or drinks, or whatever you want. One night, just to hear what I have to say. No strings attached, just fun, like we used to do.” You watched him, unbelieving of his determination despite the pain he had caused. You loved him, that was certain, but after so long of loving someone and only being burned in response, you could not find that hope in your heart that you once had. The whole notion was ridiculous, and the fact that he’d shown up drunk at five in the morning to profess it was even worse. Sam had no ability to speak his truth when he was sober, and you feared that his courage would wear off when the morning came. Even worse than that, you feared that his drunken confession stemmed from the melancholic familiarity of seeing you, and not because he was genuine in his desire to try again.

You loved him, but it was not worth the risk. It hardly ever was, and you should have learned that years ago.

“No,” you shook your head. “I don’t think that is a good idea.”

“Oh.” He breathed, the rejection staggering and cutting him like a knife.

“You should probably go home, Sam. It’s late and we’re drunk. We shouldn’t be doing this.” You said, trying to hide the sadness in your voice.

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, standing without another word. “C-can I hug you? Just one last time?” You looked up, attempting to ignore the tears that were forming in his tired eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” You agreed, standing, too. You let the blanket fall from your shoulders, practically falling into his arms. Just because you knew he should leave did not mean you didn’t miss his touch. It was home, and you hadn’t felt it in a long time. Perhaps once you felt it again, you could finally come to your senses and realize it was no longer your hiding place, or a safe haven from the harshness of the world. Once his arms were around you and you were enveloped in the warmth and the familiar scent, you knew that you would never love anything more, and that’s exactly why you needed to stay away. You loved Sam so much that it was dangerous, because he did not know how to love you enough. No matter how many chances you gave him, that fact would never change.

Before he pulled away, he placed a kiss on the top of your head. He was aching all over knowing he might be leaving you behind forever, anguished at the fact that it might be the last hug he would ever have from you. “If you ever change your mind, Princess, you have my number.”

“I do.” You nodded, biting back your own tears. “Who knows, maybe someday it’ll be different.”

“I hope so, y/n.” He said, staring out the window and hating the sun that was rising in the sky. The day should never continue as normal when two people were hurting so badly. It seemed like a stab to an already open wound, and there was no sign of ever being able to stitch it back up.

“Bye, Sammy.” You whispered.

“See you later, Princess.” He said, taking one last breath of courage before climbing through the window. You watched as he descended to the ground, his feet firmly planting to the grass before he began his journey home. You waited until he was completely out of view before popping the screen back in place and locking the window shut, keeping out any more visitors and locking in all of your sorrow.

You climbed back into bed, the memory of him still latched onto your mattress and buried in the pillows. You knew that not even time could rid him from the place, because after so many years, it was more his than it was your own. You wiped the tears away from your cheeks, feeling no sympathy for yourself despite the overwhelming ache that settled in your chest. Your hurt was solely because of your own inability to control yourself around Sam; after all, he could not cause any pain if you did not allow him to, and allowing him to hurt you had become your favourite pastime. Opening that window for him was nothing but an excuse to worsen your suffering. The temporary fix for your loneliness was barely enough to take away from the lasting damage his company always seemed cause. Nothing had changed except for the maturity of your faces, and even if you hated to admit it, it never would.

You tossed and turned, begging for a second of sleep, but you were haunted by the interaction that appeared to be completely innocent. Then again, innocence is a thing that neither of you had when it came to each other, and just like your mother used to tell you, nothing good ever happens after 2am. You knew it to be painfully true, but it was even more so when it came to Sam Kiszka. You had opened the door to a whole other world of trouble, and now you couldn’t seem to latch it shut. Even when you managed to drift into sleep, your mind was still plagued with memories of the boy you were begging to forget.

TAGLIST: @itsafullmoon @freefallthoughts @lightsofthe-living-gvf @heckingfrick @sagekiszka

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hawkeyetrained · 1 year

Text

Hold on Kid

Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Warnings: angst, death, slight blood mention, heartbreak, let me know if I missed anything

Summary: I suck at these and if I tried, I’d probably wreck it. Hunt gone wrong is the best description I got.

Word Count: 3,999

AN: This is my first post here so be gentle. Enjoy

Life as a hunter was complicated. Naturally, you make enemies with the monsters who knew those you killed. Some wanted revenge, others hated that their kind was killed. Then, there was being a hunter and a Winchester at the same time. Not only do you make normal enemies like all the other hunters, but you make enemies simply because of your last name.

I was the baby of the Winchester family, being nearly six years younger than Sam and almost a decade younger than Dean. After the fire at their home, John took his boys on a journey across the country to hunt down the monster that killed his wife and left him and his boys without a home. He met my mom five years later and after nine months, I joined the family, only for my mother to vanish one night. John had taken me on the road with them after she disappeared, often leaving me with Bobby while he took my older brothers to hunt the simpler cases.

Despite the age difference and the fact that we were “half” siblings, my brothers were the best people in the entire world. Sam and Dean treated me no differently than how they treated each other. I was let in on jokes and taken to diners and bars with them once I was old enough to drive, often driving a drunk Dean and a tipsy Sam back to our motel for the night.

They taught me to hunt the right way. Started me off on simple cases with plenty of back up, making sure I did all the research necessary and never went anywhere alone until they were sure I was capable of taking care of nearly every monster in the book. I was comfortable fighting off nearly any monster, all but djinns.

Those creatures scared the hell out of me. I knew that Sam and Dean had faced enough of them in the past, but I was still fairly new around them and the cases involving them. The fact that they strung up their victims and essentially trapped them in their own minds was horrifying to me, and I’ve taken heads clean off vamp’s bodies.

So, when a case came up that practically screamed djinn, the boys double checked with me every hour, asking if I was ok and still good to attack once the sun went down.

“Guys, I’ll be fine. They just creep me out.” I tried calming my worried brothers. “I can manage it.”

“We never doubted you on handling it.” Sam defended gently, cleaning his gun at the table of our motel room. “We just want to make sure you’re comfortable. We don’t want anything happening to you.”

“I mean, come on kid, we just want you to be safe. I know how much these things freak you out.” Dean added to the conversation from his laid-back spot on his bed.

I sent both brothers a soft glare. “And I appreciate that. But I’ll be fine.”

_____

Flash forward to a few hours later, I was sprawled out on the top floor of the large, abandoned barn, metal rebar sticking out of my stomach and my brothers firing shots down on the floor below me. We had been wrong on our intel, it was more than just one djinn, a whole family of six popping out of the shadows when we burst in. One of the younger women had caught me by surprise, nearing stringing me up but ended with a magazine of rounds to the head.

“Dean.” I tried calling out for my oldest brother, attempting to drag myself closer to the stairs so he’d be able to hear me over the fight. “Sammy.”

Neither of my brothers were answering, my head leaning back to rest against the floor as I took in a few deep breaths. My hands shook as I placed them around the metal, making sure to not move it but add enough pressure to the surrounding skin to help stop the flow of blood. I had been taught that keeping the object in could potentially save your life, especially if it were holding an artery closed.

With neither of my big brothers answering my desperate pleas for help, I resulted in closing my eyes and praying to the angel who kept tabs on us. “Castiel.” I spoke his full name. “Dean and Sammy can’t hear me. I need help. I think I’m dying Cas.” Tears gathered in my eyes as I spoke to the angel who had become a best friend over the years. “Please, I’m so scared Cas.” No answer came from the angel, but he was busy with heavenly issues that us hunters would never know of.

After a few more strangled calls to my brothers, heavy boots finally began climbing the stairs. “Hey kid, did you manage to take them…” Dean’s voice cut off abruptly when my eyes met his. “Kid. Sammy!” Dean practically growled down the stairs, rushing the last few steps and coming to a stop beside me. “Hey, kid, you ok? What happened?”

“She didn’t like my jokes.” I tried lightening the mood as Dean pushed my hands away to take in the damage. “Everyone likes my jokes.” Dean set his blade down on the floor beside me, yanking both his jacket and his flannel off, quickly balling the shirt material and pressing it down around the metal.

A pained scream ripped through my throat at the pressure, white hot pain exploding in my stomach. “I know, kid, but we gotta keep the pressure. You’re doing great.” He turned over his shoulder. “Sammy!” His green eyes met mine then, the fear and anger flooding the bright colors that always brought me comfort. “You keep those eyes on me kid, you hear me? Keep lookin’ at me.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him even if I wanted to. Sure, Sam and Dean were my brothers, but they practically raised me when John was out hunting. Sam was the overprotective big brother in every sense of the term. He walked me to and from classes, dropped me off for any projects that needed to be done and practically ran background checks on all of my friends at school.

Dean, he was protective but in a whole other way. While Sam took on that big brother role, Dean was basically the father I wanted. He made sure I got to do kid stuff, pulled me from school to play hooky, sat with me after bad dreams, played with me as a kid, and sat with me for my first heart break. He was the one that taught me to drive, to hunt, and to live however I wanted. I could get away with absolutely anything with Dean since all he ever wanted for me was to grow up happy and loved.

So, staring up into Dean’s eyes as blood soaked into my shirt and coated his hands, I knew I was going to be safe, no matter the outcome of this injury. Dean would take care of me until the day I stopped breathing, he had just hoped that it would be a long time after he had gone.

“Hold on kid, Sam’s coming. He’s got what we need. You just hold on.” His eyes were fogged over with tears, and he aggressively rubbed them into his shoulders to clear his vision. “Kid, talk to me. I gotta hear you talk.”

“I love you.” I managed to get out, though I wasn’t sure he heard much of it. My hands had stopped shaking and a coldness was seeping into my skin as I watched Dean’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

“No, kid you gotta say something else. OK? That can’t be all you got for me.” His left hand moved from the wound and gently brushed some hair back out of my face. “You gotta tell me this joke that the bitch on the floor didn’t laugh at. I’m sure it was your best.”

The world was becoming foggy the longer I stared into the green eyes that always brought me comfort. They mixed into the slight green tint the ceiling had from years of neglect and abuse from the weather. Dean, my big brother, who was always there for me when I needed, who would drive all day and all night just to get to me after a fight with John or Bobby about hunting. The brother who literally went through hell to save Sammy and negotiated with a witch for my life. The father I always needed and wanted in my life.

The pain in my stomach had gone numb and my hands had pretty much stopped moving all together as I watched Dean scream for Sam yet again. “Come on kid, just a little longer. You hold on a little longer kid, I got you. Dean’s got you kid.” That nickname was something he only ever used for me. It was his term of endearment to the little girl he raised. “Talk to me, please.” The last word was a heart shattering plead that helped focus my eyes for one final moment.

“I love you dad.” The line slipped from my lips half a second before my eyes got too heavy to keep open any longer and the world faded into back.

_____

Dean’s sure he never cried so hard in his life. He had lost so many people throughout his life that he was pretty used to hearing news of someones passing. But watching the color leave his baby sister’s skin, watch the light drain from her eyes, and listen to those Earth-shattering words fall from her lips as she bled out into his hands sealed it for him. He had just lost his world, his little sister that he had raised practically since she was born; he just lost his little girl.

Sam came clomping up the stairs as quick as his long legs could carry him, just not quick enough. He swore his heart stopped in his chest when he found his older brother crouched over his younger sister, blood coating the floors, and sobs racking Dean’s chest. Sam’s chest felt like someone sent a fist straight through his ribs, ripping his lungs out in the process. His knees hit the floor a few feet from where Dean was crouched over, eyes locked on his older brother’s back.

Dead’s head came to rest against his sisters, near silent pleas to wake up falling from his lips as tears dripped from his eyes. Prayers to Castiel or any angel listening following. The oldest Winchester had told himself that he would never beg for anything, never allow someone to have that kind of control over himself, but here he was, begging to the body of his little girl and to any angel listening to let her wake up, to let her live and take him instead.

The soft, unmistakable sound of fluttering wings caught both Winchester boy’s attention enough for them to turn. There stood Castiel, with his big brother Gabriel at his side, watching the young girl on the ground continue to bleed, though much slower now, through the shirt of her oldest brother.

“Cas.” Dean had locked eyes on his favorite angel. “Please, there’s gotta be something you can do.” Castiel swears he’s never heard Dean Winchester sound this broken before, never heard him plead this softly. “I can’t lose her. I can’t lose my kid.” Another wave of tears fought its way up through Dean’s chest, nearly choking him on the sobs coming from his body.

Gabriel was at a loss for words. Never had he been around the Winchester boys and not get a snappy comment or crude joke thrown his way, but here he was, looking down at two very broken Winchesters. Gabriel could sense the pain and worry coming from his brother, knowing that the younger angel couldn’t do anything for the Winchester girl. Cas had only barely begun to learn how to pull someone back when they were in the veil and looking down on themselves, not quite taken by the reapers yet. So, with the flutter of his wings, Gabriel went off to do the one thing he knew could help the two brothers.

_____

The pain in my chest was unbearable as I watched Dean cry, his hands not leaving my wound, his voice faintly pleading for me to come back to him.

“I tried to stay with you Dean. I’m so sorry I couldn’t.” My voice was barely even a whisper as I tried to hold in my tears. Sam was knelt down a few feet back from Dean, tears staining his cheeks and making his hair stick to his face. “I’m so sorry Sammy.”

Everything around me seemed to move in slow motion. Sounds muddled together and lights seemed to blur the picture before me, but that all too familiar sound of flapping wings would grab my attention any day. I turned away from my sobbing brothers to face the Archangel Gabriel himself.

“Gabe?” A crack snuck its way into my words. “Is that really you?”

“Hey there sweetness.” He winked, arms crossing over his chest. “I thought I told you to stay breathing last I left.”

I nodded, instantly running over to him. His arms opened enough for me to slot myself against his chest, tears leaking onto his shirt. His hands came to rest on me, one against my back and one in my hair, pulling me closer to his body. “What happens now?” I questioned the angel as I held tighter to his waist.

“Well, we can hang here and wait for the reaper to come take you up to heaven, or…” I cut him off before he could continue.

“Or you can take me?” I questioned; my eyes now turned to get what I thought would be the last glimpses of my brothers.

Gabriel pulled back, hands on my shoulders to get me to look at him. “Haven’t I told you to let me finish before you jump to conclusions?” I nodded against his chest and waited for him to continue. “Or I could take you back to your brothers. Let you live a little longer.”

Everything in me froze, not believing what he said to be true. “You can do that? Bring me back?” His honey-colored eyes were already looking down at me when I turned to face him. “I can go back to them?”

He simply nodded to me. “As long as you promise to keep breathing for me.” I was nodding almost instantly to his request.

“Please. Please take me back.”

_____

The whole building grew silent after Gabriel had been gone for well over an hour. Sam sat staring at the back of his brother, waiting for Dean to do something. Dean had gone still moments after the archangel vanished, hoping with all his will that a miracle would happen.

The oldest Winchester had resorted to cleaning up his little sister as best he could, pulling the metal from her body and throwing it far, far away. The bloodied shirt had been tossed out of the way as well, her shirt and jacket now covering the fatal wound on her stomach in a way to make it seem like she was just sleeping. Dean’s fingers trailed softly over her head, pushing hair from her face, and trying to memorize everything he could about the young girl before they gave her a proper hunters funeral.

Castiel had yet to move since his older brother vanished, staying still as if he were carved from stone as he watched over the two Winchester men. He listened to every sound coming near the building for a ten-mile radius, making sure nothing tried sneaking up on the two while their world crumbled around them. He had wished he heard your prayer earlier, gotten back down to Earth faster, maybe then you would still be alive and sitting with your brothers, rather than coated in blood and ghostly pale.

The flap of wings pulled Castiel and Sam from their states of grief, watching a small smile flicker across the archangel’s face. Sam had half a mind to scream at the angel before movement caught his eye.

The blood soaking the floor around the body of the youngest Winchester slowly started to vanish, seemingly seeping back into the wound on her stomach. Then color began to return to her skin, slowly transforming it from a deathly grey back to her natural pigments.

It took a moment longer for Dean to notice the changes, having been so absorbed in caring for the body of his little girl. Once his eyes noticed the changes, his hands backed up from her, almost like she caught on fire. Both Winchester brothers scrambled to their feet, backing away from the girl who was laying so still seconds before.

With one last beat of silence, the wound on her stomach closed fully and her chest heaved with a huge breath of air.

_____

The world came back dramatically. All of a sudden, I could hear the soft drops of water from the ceiling again, feel the coldness of the hard floor below me and smell the horrible damp concrete of the walls to my right. Then my eyes fluttered open, and I could see the ugly ceiling that was decaying from years of abandonment again.

My brain raced as I tried to remember what happened. The hunt, a djinn, the metal rebar, Gabriel pulled me back. I died and Gabriel brought me back. Sam and Dean, they watched me bleed out on the floor of a hunt, watched me die on a hunt they knew I was already nervous for. Dean, he had been with me, he held my hand as the pain vanished and the world fell into silence. He had been with me as I died.

My lungs pulled in one of the deepest breaths I’ve ever taken, causing me to turn and cough loudly as I took the chance to breath more air in. My brain raced as it figured out how to work again, after moments of rest and complete silence it was working to catch back up on what was going on, and the only thing it seemed to think of was…

“Dad.” The word fell from my mouth before I could even process what was going on. Then suddenly I was being hauled up to my knees and crushed into the tightest hug ever given. Everything about the person was familiar, the way the arms wrapped themselves protectively around my shoulders, hand placed to the back of my head. The soft fabric of the green jacket wrapped around shoulders, and the scent of the hunt along with something so specifically Dean. I was wrapped in the arms of my oldest brother, wrapped up and secured in his embrace, protected from anything the world could throw at us.

His chest heaved with sobs, mumbles of my name and ‘kid’ falling from his lips. “I got you; I got you kid. I’m here. You’re ok.” The words fell from his lips in a jumbled mess, falling together in a mess of letters.

“Dean.” My words came out quietly as I hugged him back with everything I had in me. I clutched onto him as my own tears fell, coating my cheeks and making stains on his shirt as I pressed my face to his chest. Feet scrambled on the floor beside us and before I knew it, Sam was crushing me and Dean in the tightest hug he could manage. “Sammy.” I adjusted one arm to be able to hold onto both my brothers, all three of us a crying mess.

It took the three of us nearly a half hour to calm down enough to stand and face the angels. Sam had stepped a few inches away, wiping his cheeks with the backs of his hands as he turned to speak to Gabriel. “I don’t even know what to say.” His words were barely strung together as he glanced back at me.

While Sam had stepped a few inches back, Dean had yet to let me go. His arm had yet to fall from my shoulders and I was pretty sure he wouldn’t let me go for the next few hours, though I wasn’t going to complain. I had turned into Dean’s side, keeping my arms around his waist and my head leaned into his shoulder, tears still damp on my cheeks.

“Thank you, Gabriel.” I looked at the angel who pulled me back. “I can’t even begin to tell you how thankful I am.” Dean’s arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me just a bit closer to his side.

“She’s right.” Dean’s voice was deeper than usual after all the crying over the last hours. “Thank you.” Sam agreed with his brother, going over to hug Gabriel tightly.

Cas stepped a bit closer, his hand coming to rest on my cheek. “I’m glad you’re alright. The area around is clear, you’ll be safe heading back to the bunker. We will keep watch over your drive.” And suddenly, the two angels were gone with a soft flap of wings.

“Sammy, can you get the car started and give us a sec?” Dean asked his little brother, holding tighter to me if possible. Sam gave a soft nod, pressed a kiss to my head and went down to wait in the car.

Once he was gone, Dean turned sharply to me. “I’m so glad you’re ok, kid. You can’t ever do that to me again.”

Dean’s hands rested gently on my cheeks, thumbs wiping away the drying tears from my skin. “I never wanted to leave you. I tried so hard to stay with you Dean. I really did.” New tears dripped from my eyes as I looked up at my oldest brother.

“I know you did, kid. I know.” I was pulled back into his chest, his hands rubbing into my back as I cried into his shirt again. “I got you now. I’ll never let that happen again, ok? I won’t ever let anyone put their hands on my little girl again.” My fingers twisted into the back of his shirt as he soothed me, helping me calm down and relax again. “So, can I ask about the dad comment?”

A soft laugh blew through my nose. “Yeah, you can.” I pulled back to look up into the green eyes that always brought me comfort. “John was never really there for me. You know?” He nodded softly at me. “I mean, you took me to my first day of school, you taught me to drive, you were the one who was always there for me.” My voice trailed off towards the end as I watched his face slowly stiffen into an emotion I couldn’t read. “Sorry, I’ve just always seen you that way, I guess it just slipped out today.”

“Kid, I’m not mad, or anything like that.” He gently brushed a few fingers through my hair. “I’ve always seen you as my little girl. I know I was there more than dad was. I know he barely had anything to do with you. There’s nothing I want more than to be your dad, even if you just call me Dean, that doesn’t matter.” He took a deep breath. “I want to be the one you call when you need help or come to when you’re scared. I know you’re not exactly a kid anymore, but just know that I’ll always be there for you. You’re my kid.”

I didn’t even answer, just lunging forward and wrapping him back in a tight hug. “I love you, dad.”

His hands held my head to his chest tightly, a kiss being pressed down into my hair as we held onto each other. “I love you too, kid. Don’t you ever forget that.”

@thetallassgirl

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