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zepskies · 3 months

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Make It Right

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Summary: He didn’t mean to claim you. Not like this. Not before he’s meant to die.

AN: This was requested by this lovely anon. I've written Dean returning from Purgatory, so here is Dean returning from Hell in season 4, but with a twist…my first venture into A/B/O! Sorry if I didn’t get the dynamics quite right, I’m still learning this one. 😘

(@luci-in-trenchcoats Thank you for the encouragement! 💜)

Word Count: 4,300

Warnings: 18+ only! For smut, A/B/O dynamics, angst, mentions of torture, PTSD, and hurt/comfort.

You could’ve wept with relief.

You nearly did. Instead, you shuddered as his tongue swept along the fresh mark near the back of your neck.

A mark that claimed you as his.

Your core still quivered with the aftershocks of how hard you came around his cock, which was still buried deep inside you, locked in place with his knot. Dean nosed at your neck and shoulder as he tried to regain his breath, calm his wildly beating heart.

His skin was dewy against yours, especially where your thighs were hooked around his hips. He held himself above you so he wouldn’t crush you with his weight. You appreciated it, and you soothed up and down his sweat-slick back with grazing fingertips.

Through the newly formed bond, you could feel the frenzied haze of it all begin to clear from his mind, soon replaced by shock, and then, remorse. It made a tremor of worry churn in your belly.

“Dean?” you whispered. Your gaze met his with concern as you grasped his arm.

“What the hell did we just… I shouldn’t have…” His voice was coarse and his eyes filled with upset. “Fuck, this shouldn’t have happened.”

Dismay struck you deep, along with a pain that tore at your heart. Your only consolation was that the two of you were locked in this position, so he couldn’t slip away from you.

“How the hell could you say that to me?” you said. Against your will, your voice trembled. Tears began to sting in your eyes.

Dean faltered. He blew out a breath and reached for your cheek.

“You know why,” he said. His face became edged with desperation. He shifted his thigh and accidentally tugged at the base of his knot. You both groaned at the pain that flared between you, where you were joined.

Dean drew in deep, slower breaths in attempt to calm himself. His eyes shut, and his forehead dropped against yours.

“I’ve barely got three months left on my deal,” he said, through clenched teeth. “This isn’t…it’s not fucking fair to you.”

To you either, you wanted to point out, but you shook your head and held him close by the back of his neck. Your fingers trailed up into his hair, your nails brushing his scalp and eliciting a shudder from him.

Your touch both aroused him and soothed him. Your scent was everywhere, now mingled with his own that now covered you like a blanket. It was intense, and a bit overwhelming to his senses.

But it felt right.

“Don’t talk like you’ve already given up,” you said tersely.

It was with more vehemence than he expected. Dean pulled back a bit, just enough to meet your eyes. Your brows had drawn together, almost in anger. Your lips pulled into a frown.

“We’re going to find a way to break it,” you said. You reached up and held his face. Despite the strength of your words, your hands were gentle. “And I meant what I said, Dean.”

Between lusty sighs and the combined magnetic force of your heat and his rut and emotional tensions at their ultimate breaking point, the whispered words against his neck had come from the very center of you.

“Alpha,” you’d said, through abject need and burgeoning tears as you’d rubbed yourself against him. It was both biology and your heart’s longing. “Dean, I love you. Please…”

The tether of his restraint hadn’t lasted long after that. Because even though he couldn’t respond to you in words, he’d shown you in each and every action of his body molding with yours, wrecking you and claiming you on a dingy motel bed.

You deserve better, Dean thought, looking down on you now. You deserved more than what he had to give.

“I didn’t want to do this to you,” he said coarsely.

And yet, he still heeded the pull of you. Your guiding hands brought him down to your lips. It wasn’t the rough, manic, bruising kiss that had fueled your earlier passions. No, this was slow and warm and tinged with bittersweet.

Dean brushed sweaty strands of your hair away from your face. You held him to you and silently prayed that he wouldn’t let go either.

“I know,” you said. Even though the situation shouldn’t have warranted it, you giggled a little. “That makes you just about the most unselfish Alpha in existence.”

He snorted at that. His eyes took in your face, and further down, to the parts of you that weren’t covered by his body over yours. He let out a breath of defeat.

“No, I’m hella selfish,” he said. His lips quirked. “For better or worse, you’re mine, Omega.”

Your smile grew. “Good. Glad you’re finally caught up.”

Dean’s hand playfully tightened in your hair as he growled. It had little heat though, and you had the audacity to laugh. He shook his head and claimed you with another kiss.

You had to be just about the wiliest Omega in existence.

Dean never gave up.

But he also couldn’t fight off Lilith, or the hellhounds that tore his chest open and spilled his blood on the hardwood floors of some poor family’s suburban house.

You screamed as if your very soul was being ripped apart, along with his skin.

The mark on your neck burned something fierce. It had you clamping a hand down over it as you sunk to your knees next to Sam and cried over Dean’s body, his unseeing eyes. It wasn’t right.

You would never be right again.

It took about a week into your self-isolation. When you finally drew enough strength to get out of bed, you finally noticed it in the mirror—in the bathroom next to Bobby’s guest bedroom.

Your neck looked as if something had burned you. Your eyes widened in horror.

When you touched it, you hissed at the pain. The delicate nerve endings of your mating gland were even more sensitive and raw. Apparently, this was what happened when an Alpha mate died before their Omega.

However, even that pain was nothing compared to what you discovered, two months later.

Your mating gland had healed, and the claim mark was gone entirely.

You sank against the wall, all the way to the floor, and you cried until you were exhausted and frayed. Not even Bobby’s offer of a hot meal and a listening ear could penetrate your grief.

You were ashamed of the way you lost track of Sam after it all went down. You’d descended into yourself, and Bobby had been the only one there to catch you. Sam had forged on by himself, down a spiral of revenge, you were sure.

He wouldn’t come back to Sioux Falls, nor would he tell you where he was when you finally got him on the phone. He claimed he was better off alone as he tried to find a way to save Dean, but there was something off in his voice. Something that told you whatever he was doing was dangerous, and wrong.

“Sam, don’t you dare make a deal,” you demanded, through frustrated and sorrowful tears. “Dean wouldn’t want—”

“Don’t fucking tell me…what Dean would want, okay?” Sam seethed. “If it were me, he wouldn’t stop. If it were you, he wouldn’t stop. So don’t tell me to stop.”

“I’m not telling you to stop!” you shouted back. “I’m telling you not to do something stupid! And I’m asking you to let me help.”

There was a long pause on the line. You tried to calm your labored breathing as you waited for him.

“If you really want to help me, do what you can from Bobby’s. I’ll check in when I can,” he said.

And the line went dead.

Two more months had passed by the time you started to feel the barest hint of yourself again. You’d tried to go on a hunt with Bobby, but you really hadn’t been ready for it. Your head wasn’t in it, and that was how hunters got killed.

So you stayed behind and answered the phones for him. You pretended to be FBI and CIA and Homeland Security for fellow hunters trying to get their hands on police files.

You also helped Bobby with research and reorganized his extensive, and ridiculously chaotic home library. He was the only one you knew who could have A History of Paganism next to a guidebook on Chinese tea ceremonies.

But one night, you decided you were sick of sitting on your ass (and all the dust).

You were finally going out for a drink.

Bobby was locked at home in research for a case. You felt bad about bailing on him, but he insisted you were entitled to go out…

Not that you wanted to meet anyone. However, you did realize that you needed to reconnect with the outside world. You’d been staring at the peeling walls of Bobby’s house for four months now.

So you showered, found a simple black dress from deep in your closet, and started to blow-dry your hair. You didn’t do this often, but if you were going out, then you were going to make an effort.

You paused for a moment when a cramp hit your lower belly. You grimaced and pressed a hand there. A shiver ran down your spine.

Shit, not now, you thought. If this was your heat coming on, you would have to take another suppressant before you went out. You knew blocking your cycle wasn’t that good for you, but you hadn’t felt like dealing with it for the past few months. You just weren’t ready to go through another heat, whether by yourself, or with a stranger.

It…it was too soon.

After the cramping subsided for the moment, you continued drying parts of your hair, sweeping the brush through. With the hairdryer so loud in your ears, you didn’t hear the front door opening, or the resulting shouting and scuffle coming from downstairs.

Eventually, there was quiet. And then, heavy boots climbing up the stairs.

You saw the bathroom door push open out of the corner of your eye. You turned and nearly jumped right out of your skin.

Your scream echoed on the walls when you saw something that looked entirely too much like Dean Winchester.

Hit scent hit you then. Warm and musky, a hint of earthiness and soil, but no less familiar. It struck a blow to your chest and forced you to grip the counter for balance. You clicked off the hairdryer.

The doppelganger raised placating hands, though his wide eyes slowly softened as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

His deep voice was the same. He looked dirty and disheveled, wearing a familiar gray buttoned down over a black shirt, his usual jeans, and boots. If your memory served, they looked like the clothes he was buried in…

Your hands shook. “Wh…what the hell are you?”

Dean’s smile began to fall.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe. But I’m me. I’m, uh… I’m back,” he replied. When he tried taking a cautious step forward, you brandished your hairdryer against him—your only feasible weapon.

“You…you back the fuck off!” you snapped. You opened your mouth to shout for Bobby, but before you could, Dean’s trademark smirk took hold of his face.

“What’re you gonna do, blow me to death?” he quipped.

After you broke through a bit of your shock, you spluttered with laughter. And then tears.

Dean’s lips quirked, but he moved towards you in slow steps. He took the hairdryer from you and set it down on the counter. With a slightly shaking hand, he touched your cheek. You closed your eyes for a moment, sucked in a breath, and inadvertently inhaled his scent once again.

Your heart pounded almost painfully in your chest. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt. You realized it then. You didn’t need silver or holy water to prove it was him. You knew.

Your eyes opened and met his.

“Dean,” you uttered, brokenly.

He couldn’t fucking take it anymore. Dean pulled you into him by your waist. He held you as you shuddered and cried into his chest. His hand clenched in your hair, while the other pressed into the small of your back. It anchored him, and trapped you in the cage of his arms.

He buried his nose into your neck and had to squeeze his eyes shut past a telltale burn in his eyes. Your name fell from his lips, both longing and reverent. Your hold on him tightened.

His lips brushed against your mating gland, igniting sensitive nerve endings and making a tremble run down your spine.

“Alpha,” you whispered.

Dean’s insides clenched in response. He ached for you, just like he had soon after he’d been able to free himself from that pine box in the middle of nowhere. But his brows furrowed.

He pulled back from you, just so he could brush the bare skin along your neck with a gentle thumb.

“What happened to the mark?” he asked. He realized that he couldn’t feel you, not like before. And even your scent was different…like you’d never been claimed by him. Like you weren’t his. That realization hit him like a sucker punch to his stomach.

You frowned and leaned back so you could meet Dean’s eyes. It took you a moment to find your voice, and even when you did, it was uncharacteristically small.

“After…after what happened, it burned like holy hell,” you confessed. Your hands travelled down his chest, clinging to the open edges of his shirt. “Then it was a scar. Then, it was just…nothing. It was gone.”

Fresh tears burgeoned in your eyes. They spilled down your cheeks as your frame shook with a sob, but Dean gathered you back into his arms. As shitty as it was, he started to think this was actually for the better…

“What happened, Dean? How are you here?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Haven’t figured that part out just yet…but something broke me out.”

He knew it wasn’t you who made a deal. Your shock was too real to be an act. He knew, however, that he needed to find Sam.

That could wait though. Dean’s gaze roamed your face. He wiped away the remnants of tears from your cheeks, brushed his thumb across your lower lip. Your eyes met his. He saw your heartbreak begin to fade—into a desire that called to his own. Despite the voice inside that warned him to hold back, he just couldn’t help himself.

When he finally leaned in to kiss you, it felt like coming home. You held his face in your hands and rose up on your toes to meet him. His arms wrapped around your waist and brought you flush against him, but it wasn’t enough.

Kisses became more frantic, with labored breaths and hands moving to remove each other’s clothing. Your sexy little black dress fell to the floor, along with your bra and panties and the rest of his clothes.

“You’re filthy,” you laughed, between the sloppy meeting of your lips with his.

Dean’s response was to peel back the shower curtain behind you and turn on the shower head, as hot as it could go. A growl sounded low in his throat before he bodily hefted you along with him into the shower and under the spray.

For a moment, he let the scalding water beat down on him. You grabbed the soap and drew it over his neck, chest, and shoulders. The suds trickled down his body, washing away the grime of the road, and whatever else he hadn't been able to wipe off after escaping his grave.

He blinked water out of his eyes as he took in the sight of your concentrated face, and your gentle hands washing him. Then the rest of your body, your curves that fit so well in his hands, your breasts that heaved along with your heavier breathing, nipples hard and aching to be touched.

Dean took the soap from your hands and put it back on the dish, shortly before he pinned you against the cold bathroom tile. He ravaged you with lips, teeth, and tongue along your neck, down your chest, and over your breasts. You moaned and held him to you.

You didn't care that your hair was getting soaked all over again. Your fingers ran through his now wet hair as he touched you and drew pleasure from your body.

Your lower belly was beginning to cramp in earnest now, and resonating deep inside you with heat. You felt a flood of slick forming between your legs as your core pulsed with need.

Your scent hit him in a powerful wave, nearly making Dean falter as his eyes rolled shut.

“Fuck. You’re in heat, Omega,” he choked out.

You nodded, though you had to fist a hand in his hair when you felt his fingers between your legs. They swiped between your drenched folds, gathering some slick and circling around your clit. You moaned loudly and arched against his hand. The back of your head pressed into the wall.

“Alpha,” you said. A whine sounded in your throat as Dean’s touch firmed in response. His thumb pressed and massaged your clit while two fingers slipped deep inside your tight channel.

A shiver ran down Dean’s spine, along with your nails grazing down his back. Already he was painfully hard for you. He had a suspicious feeling that your heat was triggering his rut, because he was becoming desperate to be inside you. His whole body felt tingling and alive, and charged with need.

His lips sucked hard on those sensitive nerves between your neck and shoulder, making you gasp. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers.

“That’s it, Omega. Want you to come just like this before I fill you up,” he muttered. He earned your vocal agreement in response.

But then it hit him.

Flashes of memory. Darkness and blood. Agony tearing at his skin and insides.

And then, inflicting it himself, on other souls just as damned as him.

Your moan of release just barely managed to pull him out of his own mind. He felt your wetness coat his hand. Goddamn.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised. And yet, while his body caged yours against the wall, he couldn’t force himself to continue. He couldn’t back off either. He was fighting every instinct in his body that demanded he take you, right here and now.

“Dean?” you asked, sensing his hesitation. You cupped his cheek, but he didn’t want to look at you.

“I can’t,” he ground out.

Your eyes widened as shock and dismay threatened to overtake you. “What?”

Dean’s eyes closed. He was trembling with the force of both his need, and his restraint.

With a frown of concern, you wrapped a thigh around his hip, but he wouldn’t heed your attempt to bring him closer.

“What’s wrong?” you asked. No, you demanded to know. Because your body was quaking with desire as well. You needed his knot, and you wanted nothing more than for him to make this right—to claim you as his.

But Dean looked like he was in pain. He winced and pressed a fist against the wall by your head. He pressed his forehead against it.

You tried to comfort him with your hands soothing over his shoulders. There you finally caught sight of a mark on his right shoulder. It looked like a burn…a handprint. Your eyes widened with a small gasp.

He followed your gaze, but he eventually looked away with a frown. It was like he didn’t even want to acknowledge it, even if he didn’t know what it was. Whatever had hauled him out of Hell, he doubted it was anything good.

“I’m, uh…” He breathed raggedly through his nose. “I’m not…the same.”

You had a feeling it was very difficult for him to admit that.

Four months.

That was how long he’d been lost to you. That was how long he’d been in Hell. You couldn’t even imagine…

You swallowed past a lump of sorrow, but you weren’t deterred. You grabbed his chin, forcing him to meet your eyes.

“You were my Alpha long before you claimed me,” you told him.

That affected Dean, probably more than you knew. He still shook his head though.

“It’s not right, Omega,” he said, even as his voice trembled. You don’t have a fuckin’ clue… You don’t know what I’ve turned into.

The water from the shower head was growing cold, but you’d never been hotter. The cramps were starting up again in earnest, making your teeth clench at the combination of pain and incredible arousal.

“I need you,” you said, through frustration, heat, and emotion all at once. “I would never leave you like this. I would never leave you.”

His eyes closed again, briefly. His breath came out harshly through his nose when you touched his cheek. Your touch was gentle, but it still ignited his skin and made every muscle in his body coil tight with strain.

It was hard to sort through the base instincts that were on the verge of taking over his mind, and then his body. Deep down though, Dean knew you were right. He knew you would never leave him. And that was kind of the problem.

“Alpha, please,” you said, through your own strain. Again, you took his face in your hands and shook him. It drew his gaze to your face. Your beautiful face that he’d seen over and over in the Pit, used as his own personal form of torture.

His whole body trembled.

You saw his distress, and it pierced your heart. You leaned up and brushed your wet cheek against his, while your fingers slipped into his hair in comfort.

“You’re here. You’re alive,” you said. “And you’re here with me.”

You nuzzled your way down his neck and pressed your lips to his mating gland, making him shiver for a whole different reason. You pressed your body against his and kissed, licked, and sucked at his skin.

“Omega,” he warned, but the growl in his throat was more pleased than warning. He felt your nails graze down his chest and sternum, and soon enough your hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.

He sucked in a breath and pressed his face into your neck. His lips ventured tantalizingly close to the place you wanted him the most, and all the while you stroked him along sensitive flesh. Your thumb circled around his knot, and the dripping head.

“I know you need me too,” you said. You could smell his rut. Your lips edged at a smirk, and you decided to bluff. “But if you won’t make me yours, maybe I’ll find another Alpha who will.”

It didn’t take long before a vice grip closed around your wrist. Dean’s irises were rimmed with black when he met your gaze, half consumed by the Alpha as he pinned you harder against the wall. He grabbed your thigh and hooked it around his hip. And with the other hand he guided his cock to push into you and stretch your inner walls, inch by inch.

You both moaned in relief when he was firmly seated inside you. Your core throbbed around him in a spasm of pleasure. You cried out and rolled your head back against the wall, your nails sinking into his shoulders.

“Alpha,” you shuddered.

“I got you, Omega,” he ground out, just barely holding onto the tethers of himself. His fingers coiled tight into your wet hair and began to pound into you, a rough clip that had you gasping, toes curling as you arched against him.

His lips found your throat and laid a nipping kiss there. All you could do was hold on desperately. You knew he was close when his thrusts grew ragged, when it became harder for him to push into you with the swell of his knot forming. But it wasn’t until his fingers slipped between your joined bodies and circled more insistently over your clit that you came along with him, hard on his throbbing cock.

His teeth sunk into your neck, creating a newly forged bond through a haze of pain and pleasure. You cried out again at the force of it all—the sensations were nearly overwhelming, even more so than it had been the first time he claimed you.

And Dean nearly slipped in the tub.

“Fuck!” He managed to catch himself on the soap dish and the adjoining wall while you grabbed his arms steady. Shit, that really could’ve been disastrous, considering you two were now locked in place.

He glanced down at you. Through wide eyes and panting breaths, you broke first with a giggle. Dean’s lips curved with a smile. Soon enough, he was chuckling too.

The black around his irises receded, and he held you more gently and secure against the wall. After licking the line of blood clean from your neck with a slow, sensuous tongue, he brushed your wet hair back from your face. Then he turned off the frigid shower.

“We really shouldn’t have done this in here. Shit,” he said with a laugh. How were you two supposed to get to your bed? Or at least get dry.

You giggled harder and dropped your forehead against his chest.

“It’s okay,” you said teasingly. “I think this is worth catching pneumonia over.”

Dean shook his head at your antics, but he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. Smiling bright, you leaned up just enough to reach his lips. Your kiss was slow and tender; a release of your grief, a grateful thank you, and a reminder all at once.

“I love you,” you whispered. “That’s all that matters. We’ll deal with the rest afterwards.”

Dean expelled a long breath. He nodded after a moment, conceding defeat.

“I love you too,” he admitted. And he meant it, down to his bones.

He knew that afterwards wouldn’t be as easy as you seemed to think, but there was no turning back now.

You were his.

AN: And there we have it! lol This was definitely a fun challenge. I might like to try my hand at A/B/O dynamics again in the future, but let me know what you think of this one. 😘💜

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theconstantsidekick · 1 year

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no because, supernatural is absolutely a train wreck. it's a colossal accident that is happening in front of you that you can't look away from. it is homophobic and non-sensical and downright laughable at times but you know what? I love it. I absolute love it.

season 1 was absolutely beautiful. you don't understand, really, you don't. they had a piss poor budget, you can see that in every frame. but does that stop it from being fucking beautiful? no. it is stylised and ambitious and a fucking visual treat.

and this is like the first fucking episode. the shots have so much character! and that's nothing to say of the characters themselves. from the first fucking scene you can clearly distinguish sam and dean's character clear as day. their motivations, their dreams, their hopes, all of it. it's established so well. their dynamic is unmatched. does it also have a lot of garbage? yes for sure. because what in the name of hell was that episode with bugs? what glue were they sniffing when they green lit that one? no seriously... I wanna try some.

but then they recovered, cause they did faith. my god, what an episode. WHAT AN EPISODE. that motherfucking reaper haunts my every waking hour

like yeah, I love me some baby dean and baby sam going on their small scale ghost hunts while learning deep lessons about who they are as people and what they want from life.

also that 'laugh I nearly died' needle drop? where sam sees jess? god tier editing, GOD TIER.

then they came back with season 2. and here is my most controversial opinion that should not be controversial at all, season 2 is the best season of supernatural to ever supernatural.

what is and what should never be, hollywood babylon, heart, nightshifter, and the whole fucking season actually. not a single miss in my humble opinion. and that finale? THAT FINALE. beautiful, magnificent. ground breaking character writing, everything comes full circle while simultaneously opening up new plot lines to explore.

and my god, yellow eyes is an epic villain. he is a very viciously written villain like, he's... my god. it ain't a walk in the park writing villains, believe you me patient readers, villains are harder to write than the protagonists, always. well, at least the compelling ones are.

now season 3 suffered because of the writer's strike, but didn't miss much either. like yeah some of the hits don't hit as hard as the season 2, but hey, mystery spot, time is on my side, ghostfacers, bedtime stories are nothing to laugh about. those episodes are fucking solid, like most of the season. and there is so much raw emotion is sam's need to save dean, it just makes my weak winchester brothers loving heart throb a little too hard. also...

need I say more?

does the show did look little more washed out and boring? yes. but it's cool, cause we're moving on to season 4.

listen, I kinda just wanna leave all my season's critique at this. i mean, yeah this. this is it. this is the long and short of it; castiel. i don't think i need to get anymore into it

so season 5 is just—

i'm kidding. obviously i'm gonna talk about season 4, at length.

listen, being able to introduce angels this late in the game and then have them be a such perfectly hidden players is a masterstroke of genius. it just is. i am a writer guys... apart from the relentless fanfic as well lol. and when i tell you, introducing a new big player which is also (not so) secretly the next big bad and playing it off as smoothly as they did in season 4, is beyond hard. but the biggest home run these fuckers hit is castiel and the best part is they weren't aiming for a one lol. and oh oh, the way they use their very VERY limited budget to show wings with just flashing the fucking light? CINEMA! that's fucking cinema right there man. i work on film sets, i am telling you, this is the smartest filmmaking choice they make on the entire show. it adds so much visual intrigue while being so awfully easy to execute. BRILLIANt.

now i cannot talk about supernatural without talking about the deancas romance of it all, which i understand not everyone can see or wants to, which is fine. to each their own. you consume art the way you want to, i don't care much as long as you can acknowledge that castiel and dean's friendship was just some of the best written television that mankind has ever seen. is that too grand a statement? yes. does that make it any less true? no.

they even brought back the moody lighting.

and then there's the episodes this season, most of which are home runs in their own regard. just like beautiful writing, the character development for cas, for dean, for sam, even the late john winchester is wild. anna is a wonderful addition, so is uriel, and alastair? they don't make villains like him anymore, they just fucking don't. AND THAT GODDAMN PLOT TWIST AT THE END? man! the finale was just... too good. Chuck's introduction is absolutely wonderful, even if they ruin him by the end but that happens a decade later so wtv, who cares? But,,,, Jimmy. Fucking. Novak. That's all. that's the tweet. yeah. i'm gonna end the season 4 fan fair with jimmy.

moving to season 5.

subjectively speaking, this is my fucking favorite. this season is a writer's dream while also being their goddamn nightmare. so many WONDERFUL characters to play with and such a grand plot but you get to see it all on a very small, consumable scale which is just... it's too smart for me to not mention. i won't start naming the plot points and neither will i name my favourite episodes because what even is the point? all of it was fucking perfect. you don't understand how hard it is to develop characters to such an extent that they become so familiar to the audience that they know their next move before you even put it on the screen. and supernatural had that. they tied everything together with so much care and consideration, just... AAAH so good.

a special shoutout goes to endverse!cas, crowley and death this season. you all know it in your bones that those three were just the absolute scene stealers. especially death's introduction... immaculate.

they did lose a few points for not being as aesthetically pleasing as the past few seasons but hey, gabriel was enough to make a smooth recovery.

but this... this is the end of the road for me people. season 5 is where it should have ended. in no way shape or form am i saying that there aren't a few good episodes here and there after this, because there are. i think season 5 was so fucking solid, tied up so many goddamn lose ends and then just put a cute little hell shaped bow on top and i just... yeah. this was and should have been the end of the road. do not get me wrong, i love me some jack kline, charlie bradbury, kevin tran, rowena macleod and eileen lahey but were they worth the bullshit ending i had to sit through? not really.

i absolutely think if there weren't more episodes of supernatural I would never have become a destiel fan, because i started shipping them when dean made cas a mixtape in season TWELVE! but my god, the good times were so scattered amongst the horseshit that even when i found those hidden gems, they were so fucking drenched in the stink that they lost their value.

the worst of it all is that, i cannot explain to you what supernatural means to me in a million words, because it is a part of me, heart and soul. i fucking AM castiel. i am a gay little angel you hear me? i love this show. i do. i'm glad it went on for however long it did but i feel like once in a while i need to write shit like this or read shit like this to remind myself of the show that it used to be. of it's beautiful cinematography, of it's clever little storytelling techniques. of it's wonderful cast. of how epic their song choices used to be.

FUcking RENEGADE? iconic. wanted, dead or alive? cannot hear the song without hearing sam's off tune goat bleating that he called singing along.

i need to remind myself of how afraid i used to be of lucifer. of how much i cried while watching dark side of the moon; when dean and sam burst the crackers, and how i learnt the lyrics to knocking on heaven's door just because of that scene.

sometimes i just have to walk through memory lane and look back at gabriel's death, the good one, the only one. it was so fucking meaningful. i have to think of "we are making it up as we go" to be able to breathe properly because those moments were so fucking beautiful.

fuck the big ones, i even remind myself of the small ones, of dean's handwriting being in all caps, just like him. of sam's fucking huge laptop with that weird blue black sticker in the middle. of castiel's tie, that just was the right shade of blue, and hung all wrong but just naturally enough to add so much more to his character than any fucking dialogue could. every small little detail of supernatural that made it so damn supernatural. i miss it all.

idk. i'm rambling. whatever.

#superntural #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #deancas #destiel #spn #spn season 1 #spn season 2 #spn season 3 #spn season 4 #spn season 5 #dean #cas #sam #dean and sam #i think it'll add onto this post later #as i think of more things #because you best believe i will

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