#they crowd around this one manhole on campus

[insecticitis]

Pretty roaches! Look at that caramel color!

#honestly cant wait until this group comes back in the summer #they crowd around this one manhole on campus #me #blattidae #roaches #cockroach

[waywardnerd67]

Mistaken Identity

Summary: A case takes the Winchesters and (Y/N) undercover at a Halloween party. Things go astray when there is a case of mistaken identity. Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Fluff/Angst Word Count: 1650 Prompt: That’s Not a Costume – You’re talking to a friend when you realize, it’s not actually them. A/N: For @just-another-winchester Spooky Supernatural Halloween Challenge As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy!

“Seriously Dean? Do we really have to go undercover at a freaking Halloween party?” (Y/N) asked him with her hands on her hips.

Sam was chuckling from the small table in their motel room. Dean turned towards him glaring at him as he quickly shut his mouth. Dean turned back to (Y/N) putting on his best puppy dog look for her.

“Babe, the only way we are going to be able to see who is targeting these college girls is by blending in and going to the biggest Halloween party on the campus.” He walked over to her slipping his arms around her waist.

She rolled her beautiful (Y/C/E) eyes at him, “Winchester we’re not exactly college age anymore. We’re not going to blend in with the crowd. More likely to look like creepy middle age adults hanging out with co-eds.”

He pulled her closer to him and gripped her hips as he nipped at her neck. “I think you will blend in fine as long as you wear a sexy costume.” She chuckled as he continued, “Now Sam on the other hand will need to wear a Chewie costume in order to not be the creepy hall monitor.”

“Hey!” Sam yelled as (Y/N) and Dean began laughing.

“Alright, alright if we’re really going to do this then we need to go out and get some costumes. I think there is a Halloween store in town near campus.” Dean smiled widely at her as she snickered at his excitement.

A few hours and one handsy store clerk later, the three of them each had costumes for the party. Dean took the opportunity to dress up as Batman living out a childhood dream of his. Sam had opted to keep watch outside in Baby and not have to find a costume for his gigantic body.

Dean was waiting for (Y/N) to come out of the bathroom in her costume that she had not let him see at the store. However, the store clerk had been more than willing to touch her in any way he could while helping her.

“Come on (Y/N)! How long does it take to put on your costume?” He called out as he messed with his cape. Dean looked up when he heard the bathroom door open and his jaw dropped.

(Y/N) walked out in a short skirt, fishnet stockings, thigh high boots, one of his white button-down shirts and a Superman shirt peeking through the button-down. Her (Y/C/H) hair was in a bun on top of her head and she had on her black rimmed glasses.

She twirled around for him, “So what do you think?” she asked.

“I think once we gank this monster you and I need our own room for a few days.” Her laughter filled his whole body with joy.

She walked up to him pressing her curvy body against his pushing up to kiss his cheek, “I’m sure we could have that arranged, but for now we have a monster to get.”

Dean swallowed hard pushing down the urge to throw her down on the bed and have his way with her. He followed her out to Baby where Sam was already in the driver’s seat ready to go. They drove the ten minutes to the Frat House hosting the party and Sam let them out a few blocks away.

“Be careful.” He said as they both nodded to him.

Dean pulled on his Batman mask to make sure no one recognized him for the day before when he was questioning people with Sam. He split off from (Y/N) so they could cover more ground. He did not like the idea of leaving her side especially with all the cat calls she was getting from the frat douches.

Dean had made a few laps around the party not seeing anyone who gave him a monster vibe. He was in the kitchen when he spotted (Y/N) coming in the back door.

“Hey, have you found anything?” he asked her as she looked up at him slightly startled.

She shook her head, “Uh… no, I haven’t. You?”

“No, whoever this freak is they sure know how to be patient.” Dean looked down at her noticing something different about (Y/N), “How are you able to see without your glasses on?”

She slowly looked up at him fear shining in her eyes and he knew what they were hunting now. “You’re not (Y/N)… you’re a Shapeshifter.” He said as she took off through the back door.

Dean quickly pulled out his phone dialing Sam’s number, “Sammy, it’s a Shapeshifter and it has (Y/N). Go down the next street to cut it off.”

He barely heard Sam acknowledge him before ripping off his mask and cape while chasing after her. Worry and fear fueling his body to keep going until he found Sam parked at the end of the next street.

“I didn’t see anyone come down this way.” He called out.

Dean kicked a nearby trash can in anger, “Damn it! Come on we need to find her and quick.”

Sam slid over to the passenger side as Dean ripped of his cape and mask tossing them in the backseat. He took off like a bat out of hell looking for any clues as to where the Shapeshifter could have taken her.

“Dean stop!” Sam yelled pointing down an alley.

He turned down the street seeing a dark shadowy figure dropping down into the sewer hatch. They both quickly got out of the car weapons and flashlights drawn. As they approached the manhole cover Dean noticed the trail of blood.

He pointed down as Sam nodded at him. They went down into the sewer following the trail of blood that was getting larger with each step they took. It was taking everything within Dean to keep his panic from bubbling over. When they turned a corner that is when they saw them.

Both the Shapeshifter and (Y/N) both looking like bloody messes slumped against the wall. Neither of them had glasses on and by looking there was no way to tell them apart.

“Dean, please help me. She’s the Shapeshifter.” One of them said pointing the other one.

Dean looked to the other one who was shaking her head, “No Dean, she’s the Shapeshifter. Please believe me.” She begged tears streaming down her face.

Sam touched his shoulder, “What should we do?” he asked.

He placed his gun in the inside pocket of his jacket and stepped closer to the two women. He knelt in front of them looking closely at them.

“Tell me something only (Y/N) would know about me.” He asked fully knowing the Shapeshifter could have already taken over her memories.

(Y/N) to his left spoke first, “Our first kiss, when we were kids staying at Bobby’s, was a dare from Sam. You didn’t want to kiss me, but I pulled on your shirt collar forcing you too. That was when you fell for me but refused to get me mixed up in your life for my safety.”

The memory of him being twelve years old and a ten-year-old (Y/N) was so vivid inside his mind. Followed by the two of them sitting outside on Baby after Sam had gone to Hell and him confessing his feelings for her. Telling her that kiss was the moment when he knew he loved her.

He turned to the (Y/N) on his right and tears steadily coming down her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, “Robert Samuel or Samantha Mary.”

Dean stood up turning to Sam, “Left.” He said as Sam did not hesitate to shoot the (Y/N) to their left.

The Shapeshifter cried out in agony as the silver bullet burned through their chest. Dean rushed over to (Y/N) scooping her up in his arms and carrying her out of the sewer. He got in the backseat with her as Sam drove to the nearest hospital as fast as he could.

“D-Dean…” she winced as he pulled her onto his lap cradling her.

“Shhh. We are going to get you checked out and the little one too. Everything will be okay.” He whispered pressing his lips against her temple.

One Year Later

Dean and Sam walked into the Bunker Library exhausted from case. He set his things down on one of the tables and looked up to see the one thing that made everything better.

“There she is.” He said smiling widely walking up to (Y/N) and taking the infant from her arms.

(Y/N) chuckled, “Hi there, I’m here too. You know, the mother of your child and woman you supposedly love.”

Dean smiled leaning down kissing (Y/N)’s lips, “Hi.” He whispered as her cheek turned a shade of pink.

“You know, if you two wanted a night out I could always watch Sammi. I mean how hard could it be? She eats and sleeps mostly.” Sam said as Dean and (Y/N) looked up at him scoffing.

Dean handed his daughter to Sam, “If you think you can handle her then by all means you’re on baby duty tonight.”

Sam went to protest but Dean had already turned around quickly picking (Y/N) up over his shoulder and walking down to their room.

“I didn’t mean tonight, Dean!” Sam called out as Dean’s laughter filled the hallway.

As Dean gently placed (Y/N) on the bed in their room the distant cried of their daughter came ringing through the Bunker.

“Dean, you know we should go out there. Sam has no idea what he is doing.” She said as he shook his head at her.

He carefully hovered over her his body pressing against hers, “He’ll figure it out. If she’s still crying in ten minutes, then we’ll go out there. Until then… “he paused to kiss her, “I’m going to take advantage of the alone time I have with the woman I love.”

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#k's sshc #kayla's supernatural spook challenge #one shot #mistaken identity #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural #fluff #angst

[hanmki]

the cats

[ heavily inspired by @starshardfragments post ‘How to deal with street cats’ - my own little blurb based off of two of her cats ]

you got a new job over the summer. your mom said it was best to start saving up now, so you’d have money to pay off student loans. you don’t really disagree with her, but your job at the local pastry shop is a bore, especially because they put you on dishwasher duty.

you like your breaks, though. there’s a little courtyard behind the store, a space shared by all the other back doors on the block. you don’t see people there often, but you don’t know if it’s because of the scheduling of your break or the strange shade that is perpetually cast over the square despite there being several alleys between buildings that should allow sunlight through.

you don’t mind. it’s okay, and you get to smoke in solitude and pick wild-growing daisies to put in your damp apron, something to get you through the rest of your shift.

you notice the cat about a month into your job. your hands are stinging and red from the hot water, but at least the gloves had protected you from the bleach. you look down the line of your cigarette while you light it, flame sparking from your cheap dollar tree lighter. when you look back up, there is an black cat, skinny and long. he’s lounging at the foot of the steps. almost close enough to touch with the top of your sneaker.

“hello, babe,” you say, clicking your fingers at him, and the cat slants you an affronted look before getting up and slinking off. you blink, and he’s gone.

huh.

the next day you look for him on your break, but he’s not there, and you waste half a cigarette.

the next day, he’s not there. you get through you’re whole cigarette this time. your coworker peeps out the back door and tells you that Smoking Is Bad For Your Lungs, and you laugh and say I Know and she gives you a curious once-over before ducking back into the shop.

she’s a pastry maker. you try not to envy her and her flour stained apron and her store-front smile and her delicate tarts.

the cat comes back on the third day. you have a small napkin of scrambled eggs with you and a pork sandwich, making up for breakfast you missed in your rush to get to work before you were late. the cat looks at you as you’re finishing the sandwich, and you pinch some pork between your fingers and put it on the step below you, a few feet away. when he just looks at you, you tap the concrete and take another bite of the sandwich.

“it’s for you,” you say, and he climbes gracefully up the stairs and laps it up.

he doesn’t let you pet him, and you’re okay with that. he’s a stray, after all, and would probably spook if you tried.

“goodbye, mister,” you say, and he scampers away just as your coworker opens the door again and tells you your break is up. she scowls at the retreating cat, muttering about how he’s a Good For Nothing Beggar, and that she Should Just Take A Broom To Him, and that Black Cats Are Bad For Business.

you frown at the back of her head and go back to your dish washing in water that’s too hot for your gloves hands.

the cat comes back the next day. you have a can of tuna this time, just for him, and he seems pleased at the offering, green eyes near slits. you smile and eat your lemon tart and surf your phone until another one of your coworkers comes back to say he needs you. he doesn’t look at the cat for more than a second, but he gives the tuna can a glance and nods in appreciation, closing the door again.

“bye bye,” you say, and the cat lazes down the steps like molasses, all silky and loose.

he lets you pet him on the third day, smoothing up against your leg and looking up at you. he does not care for the tuna you brought today.

you crouch down and gently stroke your fingers over his sides, feeling his ribs through his slick fur and lean muscles. he purrs and rubs his head against your knee and, eyes closed.

“precious baby,” you say, and the cat pulls away to start down the steps. you watch him go.

he stops and looks back at you, tail swishing, and when you don’t follow, he hops back up and rubs against your calf again.

“what?”

he trots off down the steps, and this time, you follow, curious.

he leads you between the coffee bar and the floral shop, through the narrow alleyway, into the sidewalk. there’s not many people out today, with the only shops open today being the pastry store and the florists. sunday is a drag for workdays.

the cat leads you right onto the road, and then he’s gone.

you stand in the middle of the lane for a while, bewildered, until the cat meows from inside the gutter drain and you realize he has ducked into the small space between the road and the sidewalk.

you make a very rash decision.

you lower yourself onto the hot asphalt and shimmy yourself into the gutter, wiggling your legs and slipping past the tight fit into the piping system.

the cat’s green eyes are the only thing you can see in the darkness, and you follow him closely, afraid to lose him. you do, a couple of times, coming to a halt in the pitch black pipes and panicking for all of two seconds before he meows again and you pick up the pace. 

the lighter sits in your pocket. you feel it is not appropriate for the situation, so you keep it there.

the cobwebs are awful against your skin, but you have yet to feel a crawling spider. you keep your mouth shut.

you come across an intersection. it’s lit with the pale beam of light coming from the manhole at the center, and the cat waits for you to gather your bearings before taking a left and skittering down the tunnel. you soak in the light for but a second, and then you’re off again, following the sounds of his pittering paws.

you feel like he’s leading you in circles.

you’re right.

he jumps to catch onto the lip of the gutter opening, crawling out after a little bit of kicking, and you grab on with both hands and haul yourself out after him, squeezing your shoulders and hips onto the street. it’s the same street you just left, but there’s no one here this time, and you wonder if you’ve been gone for a while.

the cat brushes up against your legs and you look down it, laughing at the cobwebs tangled in it’s black fur until you realize you must look the same way.

you stop laughing and busy yourself with trying to brush them all out of your hair. no spiders fall.

“where to?” you ask, and the cat starts walking.

you walk for a while. it takes you a long time to realize he’s taken you somewhere different. you think it’s a parallel universe, but you decide you don’t really care.

eventually, you find yourself at the park, small and a little dingy. you’ve only been here once, and it was for your first day of work, when your boss had sent you across town for a supply run and you had foolishly believed that your job would always be this exciting.

you suppose it’s pretty exciting now.

you can hear a crowd very faintly in the distance, but the cat had bristled at the sound when it first broke the silence, so you don’t bother going in that direction. the cat knows best - this is not your realm. you sit on the children’s play set swing and push yourself with your heels, watching the cat hop around in the grass and stalk squirrels.

a little ring is half buried in the sand under your feet, and you bend down to pick it up just as your cat pounces on a bird, the surprised squawk echoing in the empty space.

you fit the ring on your pinkie finger, looking down at it’s rosy, tarnished surface and the little glass diamond centered in the folds of the flower. it’s a bit small, but you don’t mind.

the cat comes back with a wet muzzle. you don’t ask him what he did with the bird.

he wants to go, his exploring satisfied, and you walk away from the noise of the crowd until his fur lays flat and the air is quiet. he walks in the middle of the road because there are no cars to run him over, so you do too, arms spread wide, daring.

it’s too soon that you come back to the gutter. he waits for you, this time, stalking at the lip of it as you look at the front of your bakery, just a few lots down the street, taking in it’s powder blue face and broad display windows showing off your coworker’s sweet tarts and your boss’s few elaborate wedding cakes. it looks dreadfully empty.

“come on,” you say, and he takes you back to your life.

he leaves you at the top of the stairs, cobwebs stuck on your clothes and little ring still on your pinkie. the back door opens just as he slip between the walls of the salon and the tattooist.

Oh My, your coworker from the first day says. she looks you over with disdain. Have You Been Rolling In The Gutters Or Something?

Yeah, you say, and she rolls her eyes and tells you to clean up quick.

you’re fired a week later, but you don’t mind, the cat hadn’t showed up again after your adventure together, and the dishwasher was blistering your hands, anyways. they said the cobwebs were too much. they said they can’t have a dishwasher who’s covered in cobwebs.

you don’t ever see the cat after that. you kind of miss him.

you’re booted from your home a week after that.

-

you start having to take the train to campus. your room mate hadn’t felt comfortable with you in the apartment. he had said something about the way you’ve started looking through him instead of at him, and something about your aura, but you don’t know what he’s talking about. you know he started avoiding you after you came home with the cobwebs in your hair and your eyes too wide and that little pinkie ring on your hand.

you know he’s indirectly asking you to move out, and so you do.

it’s fine.

you find another place to live. it’s closer to your new work - a mechanic, now - but farther from your college. that’s fine, too. the train is nice.

there’s an orange cat at the train station, always curled in the shadow of the ticket booth. she’s rather full, for a stray, but you suspect the ticket master feeds her scraps often.

you think of your journey with the black cat, and one day you pull the tuna can from your lunch box and crack it open, the cat’s yellow eyes watching you intently.

“she’s friendly,” the ticket master says out of her little window. he looks at you as if he’s trying to hint to something bigger, and you get it.

“thanks,” you say, and set the can on the ground for the cat to lap up. she lets you pet her after 20 minutes of offering things from your lunch, small pinches of bread and turkey. her fur is soft and well-kept, surprising for a stray, but you smile down at her and scratch under her chin and listen to her purr.

the whistle sounds for the next train arrival, and the cat gets to her paws and begins to walk towards the platform. you know to follow her. she doesn’t look back as she weaves expertly between legs and feet, towards a train that no one seems to see.

you look back to the ticket master, expecting a wave, but his eyes pass over you as if he doesn’t even see you. you don’t mind.

the train doors open.

it smells like home.

you step aboard and take the seat nearest to the door, glancing around, your backpack on your lap. there are others on the train, and they briefly glance at you with warm eyes, but within a moment they’re all back to chattering in a language you can’t understand. you don’t think it’s any language on earth.

the cat bats at your hands from her place on the seat next to you, and you smile again and stroke your hand down her back. she curls up, eyes watchful, and you pet her and pet her and pet her and don’t realize that the gentle talking around you has quieted to a hum and your head is drooping.

the sunlight coming through the train windows warms your bones.

the cat moves beneath your hand, and you’re asleep.

you wake up to a dark car and no cat.

there are less people on the train than before, still speaking in that same language, hushed now. the cat is nowhere to be found, and you feel momentary panic before telling yourself that she had just wondered down the train car and was mingling with other passengers. the black cat hadn’t left you alone, so why should the orange?

you get up and your knees creak. the passengers don’t look at you this time.

“here, kitty,” you murmur, clicking your fingers softly, and the cat does not appear.

the panic blossoms again.

it’s night when you look out the windows. or, for a better word, it is Dark. you cannot see anything. it’s as if the sky was not even there. this is “night time”, not night time. it scares you.

you sit back down and clutch your backpack and wait and wait and wait and slowly but surely, the train slides to a halt, and the doors beside you open. you get out as quickly as possible.

the platform is not crowded, but there are people there. the ticket master from before has switched out with a blonde lady, and you quickly make your way to her, slipping past people who don’t look at you.

Excuse Me, you say, and she looks right through you.

you feel like something terrible has happened. the cat is not in the shadow of the ticket master’s booth. the cat is not anywhere, because you had fallen asleep on the train and she had left you.

you sit down on one of the train benches, look at the schedule, and think, terribly, Is This It?

trains come and go. you nibble on your leftover sandwich, bits of crust and turkey missing, though you don’t feel hungry. no one is saying anything you understand, so you don’t listen.

you end up waiting a long time.

the ticket masters change out every so often, but none are the man you saw before you boarded the train with the orange cat. you don’t move from your bench.

you don’t change, and neither does anyone else. you kind of wonder if all the people here, speaking this strange language, were left behind by their own cats.

you don’t forget about the cat, even though she has probably forgotten about you. you miss your old job, despite it’s blandness. the little square out back was peaceful, and the black cat had waited for you. you keep your eyes peeled for her, just in case she shows up again.

lots of orange cats get off at this station. they lead their humans off the platform and deeper into the station, away from your searching eyes. you’ve concluded that train stations are for orange cats only, because you’ve never seen another cat show up.

none of them are ever your cat.

the whistle blows for another train, and you sit forward, chin cradled in your hands, letting your eyes slide off the passengers. it’s “daytime” now, and there are a lot more passengers than there were a few hours ago.

you wait for a cat, and it doesn’t come, just like always. you sit back, and only rise for the next train.

fifteen trains after that, you see a girl get off with her cat, different from the one that lead you here. you pass your eyes over her and pretend she doesn’t exist and that the bad taste in your mouth is because of your long-gone sandwich.

they are gone in the next second, and you chew on the inside of your cheek and watch the train pull off. you fiddle with the little ring on your pinkie, a reminder. the rosy tiny has long since been rubbed off, but you don’t mind.

you had tried to get on another train, once, right after you had lost your cat. it had taken you on a journey that lasted three “night times”, and when you had gotten off, you were at the same exact station at the same exact time you left with the same exact ticket master standing in his ticket booth.

you sat down and didn’t try again, and here you are now, waiting, waiting, waiting.

eighty-four trains later, the whistle blows, and the doors open to allow a cat through. you can see the top of it’s human’s head through the window, slumped forward.

asleep.

you don’t wait.

you click your fingers and reach into your pocket to pull out a little piece of chicken, saved from your salad from ages ago, still cold despite how long it’s been since you threw away your emptied lunch box. the cat looks to you immediately, white splashed all down it’s belly.

you click your fingers again, and watch the train doors slide shut.

you feel no remorse when you feed the cat the last of your chicken and stroke a hand down it’s back, feeling the knobs of it’s spine.

“come on, kitty,” you say, and the cat leads you around the train station that you’ve seen for many “days” and “nights” and takes you to the little shops at the end where you pick up glass bracelets and bronze trinkets and pay in sunny smiles and nods.

the whistle blows, you get on the train with your cat, and the doors close behind you.

the people chatter in a language you don’t understand. it is sunny and warm and you feel it in your bones. you pinch yourself hard enough to draw blood and stroke the cat until the train slows again and the doors open and you step onto the platform.

your ticket master waves at you, his eyes crinkled, and you wave back and don’t think about the boy you just trapped.

you leave the cat to roam the station, ignore the orange fur in the shadow of the ticket master’s booth, and catch the next train to your campus. you apologize for being late - An Hour, Conrad! - and tell your professor that you missed the train here and that you’re incredibly sorry.

you don’t think about following stray cats ever again, even after they eat your scraps and let you pet them and trot off, looking over their shoulder to see if you’re following or bolting with confidence that you’re at their heels.

you never are.

you don’t think about the boy you stole from ever again. he had fallen asleep on the train, and now it was his turn to wait.

#my writing #i had a lot of fun w this i love salomé's writing sm its amazing #pls reblog?? or like? idk just #2nd pov lmao #personal #cats #surreal #liminal space #short story #writing #long post