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profoundbondfanfic · 6 months

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Beware the Wanderers by SillyBlue [Teen and Up, 3k words]

Whenever one of the elusive Wanderers came through the village, Castiel's mother would try to hide him away. All his life Castiel has been told the scary stories: Wanderers stole hearts and left people to die. Castiel knew to be cautious around them. When one particular Wanderer visited to purchase goods from Castiel, he intended to guard his heart well. But it proved to be easier said than done, because Dean was incredibly charming.

Cursed Or Not by Ltleflrt [Explicit, 115k words]

While experimenting with magic when he was a kid, Sam accidentally cursed Dean. Now, Dean is forced to wear a spelled amulet constantly, or he'll turn into a random animal. For a little over a decade, he's learned to live with the curse, and has even found it useful in some cases, but he sure would be happier without it. When he meets a witch named Castiel, he's offered a deal. Instead of assuming all witches are bad, Dean can spend a season getting to know him. If at the end of the season, Dean still thinks he's evil Castiel will send him away with his memory wiped of the whole experience. But if he learns that Castiel is not the monster Dean assumes he is, he'll lift Dean's curse. It's an offer Dean can't bring himself to pass up.

Enchanted Tea Emporium by mazenoodle, violue [Teen and Up, 10k words]

As an experienced witch, Castiel has seen many captivating sights in his life. However, nothing he's seen has ever had him quite as entranced as the sight of the man in the flower shop across the road, unloading items from the back of a truck.

Evidence of Dark Magic by hollyblue2 [Teen and Up, 3k words]

When researching a remedy for a client, Castiel finds that it's not what it first seems... which means a trip to the council and Dean and Castiel end up with more than they bargained for.

Forbidden Fruit by Kitmistry, PieDarling [Teen and Up, 92k words]

There’s one thing ingrained into every vampire’s brain since they were born: Never trust a witch. But with rogue vampires threatening to expose all of them to the humans, and Men of Letters rallying against them, Alpha vampire John Winchester has to do the unthinkable: ask the witches for help. Dean follows his father on the trip to meet with the High Priest despite the bloody history between their people. What he doesn’t expect is the undeniable attraction between him and the High Priest’s brother. Castiel is surprised when the Alpha’s son appears at his window in the middle of the night, but Dean is funny and charming, and quickly gets on his good side. When Dean is arrested for an attempt on Michael’s life barely an hour after he’s left Castiel’s room, Castiel has to decide who he trusts more: his brother or his gut? After generations of bloodshed and war, will a common enemy be enough to unite their families?

Just Your Heart, In Exchange For Mine by noxsoulmate [Mature, 46k words]

Dean owns a bakery and Castiel loves his pie. This could be such a cute little bakery love story – if it weren’t for the fact that one was a retired hunter and the other one a powerful witch. There’s also the matter of the black little cat Dean finds in front of his bakery one cold and rainy night. Not to forget the crazy witch on the loose, ripping out other witches’ hearts.

Moonflower by K_K_TiBal [Teen and Up, 18k words]

Castiel is not a very good witch. He's just not. He struggles with potions, illusions, divination - everything that makes a witch respectable, and his familiar - Dean - definitely deserves better than him. When Dean falls under a curse that seems to affect his shape-shifting abilities, Castiel and Dean begin to run out of money, and Castiel decides the best thing they can do is go after a rare Moonflower to help get themselves back on their feet. The journey could be dangerous, especially considering Castiel's less-than-ideal abilities and Dean's curse, but with a little luck, it will all be worth it in the end.

Seven Minutes in Hell by stardustpaths [Mature, 12k words]

A poster next to the door seemed to mock Dean, with its bright pink letters SPEED DATING and LOVE AT FIRST SIT laughing in his face. Right. Like you could actually find love after talking to someone for seven minutes. One night stand? Sure. But love was a whole different thing. Speed dates usually last from three to eight minutes. This one took Dean and Cas almost twenty four hours.

Strawberry Moon by casblackfeathers [Explicit, 97k words]

As a child, Castiel used to fall asleep with his mother telling him bedtime stories of the prophecy she had foreseen for him — how the Strawberry Moon would one day reveal the familiar he was destined to be with. However, it’s been twelve years since the heart-wrenching day Castiel last saw the one he hoped was meant for him, and at twenty-eight, with his magic quickly dwindling, he knows better than to keep believing in such foolish dreams. Castiel's resolve falters with the return of his long-ago teenage crush, Dean. The familiar’s evergreen eyes and rainbow aura are still as captivating, but his past is shrouded in mystery, one that could hold the answer to what drove them apart all those years ago. Maybe the peculiar tabby cat who seems to have taken a liking to Castiel is what it takes to make Castiel believe in the moon with shades of pink again.

Such Familiar Magic by saltnhalo [Explicit, 26k words]

When solitary witch Castiel finds an injured dog unconscious in his garden, he takes it in. He's expecting to heal it, look after it for a few days, then perhaps return it to its owners. He's not expecting it to be one of the strongest familiars he's ever met.

The Return Policy by castielrisingabove [Mature, 32k words]

What's the worst spell an asexual witch like Castiel could cast? Turns out it's the kind that gets him accidentally bonded to an incubus named Dean. Now, Castiel's stuck on a road trip with a sex demon companion as the unlikely pair search for another way to break the bond.

Unbound by through_shadows_falling [Explicit, 85k words]

In a world where Witches and Familiars depend on each other to survive, Dean Winchester remains Unbound, and his magic—and life—is dwindling. Dean has accepted his fate, even if his family hasn't. After all, what can he do about it? But then a man stumbles into his life who just might be Dean's Witch, but for some mysterious reason, refuses to Bond. On top of that, there's trouble brewing on the horizon, and it seems that Dean's caught right in the thick of it. Can Dean convince the stranger that they need each other, before it's too late for the both of them—and their world?

Unfamiliar by riseofthefallenone [Explicit, 29k words]

“We all know that Familiars will be the closest to you. Your bond with a Familiar will transcend family, friends, and even your future husband or wife. A Familiar becomes a part of you, and you a part of them.” Mr. Adler’s dull tone rolls across the auditorium and it’s clear to everyone that he doesn’t care about the topic. It makes Castiel feel bad for his Familiar. “Now, can anyone tell me why Witches need Familiars and why they need us?”

#destiel #group rec #halloween #witch!dean #witch!castiel #familiar!castiel #familiar!dean

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strwbryshortie · 8 months

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my version of Cas’ true form in @ltleflrt amazing fic “Addicted to You”

this was just some fun to break out of a rut- love me some Cas and wings- and of course poor bewildered Dean 😂

like my work and wanna support me? (also get access to the uncensored version 👀😂)

hit me up on kofi!

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2sw · 3 months

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brother!

Supernatural S12E11 Regarding Dean

#no no no✋😨🤚 brother👉🥺👈 witch!👈😠#sam winchester #dean winchester #spn 12x11 #s12 #gifs

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underground-secret · 20 days

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x F! reader

Description: When Dean gets a call from an "old friend" asking for help, old feelings resurface leaving for messy feelings and a complicated hunt.

Warnings: canon violence, feelings of unrequited love, angst, loving someone being difficult, corpses, crime scenes, cursing, mentions of racism, racist ghost truck?

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 , @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool

Word Count: 9,251

Route 666

(Master list, Prev Ch, Next Chapter)

I lean against the expanse of the Impala, letting the bright sun shine over me. It was one of those cold but not cold days, where as long as the sun was hitting you it was perfectly right. Sam is next to me looking over the large map he has laid out on the hood of the car, trying to look for a way around a closed-off road.

I’m glad he knew what he was doing ‘cause my map and geography skills only went so far before I was lost.

Meanwhile, Dean was off to the side, his phone pressed to his ear his brows furrowed whoever he was talking to was clearly telling him something important and maybe shocking.

“Ok. I think I found a way we can bypass that construction just East of here,” Sam informs gaining my attention, “We might even make Pennsylvania faster than we thought.” I nod, taking advantage of his hunched-over figure to ruffle his hair, “Nice work, map man.” He snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes my arm away playfully.

“Yeah. ‘Problem is, we’re not going to Pennsylvania” Dean points out, closing his phone and looking at it thoughtfully. I look at him confused, “We aren’t…?” He nods, wetting his lips, “I just got a call from an, uh, old friend. Her father was killed last night, think it might be our kind of thing.”

“What?” Sam vocalizes. “Yeah. Believe me, she never woulda called, never, if she didn’t need us” Dean clarifies. Without giving us any more information or even a chance to contemplate or counter his statement he gets in the car, “Come on, are you coming or not?”

The Impala cruises down the expanse of the road, a long beautifully green field on one side and a lake on the other. “By old friend you mean…?” Sam asks the question we were both undeniably thinking. “A friend that’s not new” Dean grumbles.

“Oh! Thanks, genius” I remark, he was being weird and that alone was not helping his case. “‘Said her name’s Cassie huh?” Sam said, trying a different angle, “You never mentioned her…”

“Didn’t I?” Dean remarks. He wasn't very good at hiding this one, the car falling silent in the wake of his stupid answer. He finally huffs, “Yeah, we went out.”

“You mean you dated somebody?” Sam asks with a snort, “For more than one night?”

“Oh come on Sammy we're all adults here, we’ve all dated before” I chime in with a smirk. He turns around in his seat, facing me with an expectant look, “Are we talking about the same person here? Dean doesn't date.” Sam exclaims and I push down the ache of that implication, “And aren’t you the least bit curious.”

“Oh no, I am,” I nod enthusiastically, laughing lightly, “I want all the details. I was just tryna be nice.”

He snickers, turning back to his brother, “You heard her, we want all the details.”

I swear Dean’s eye practically twitches, “Am I speaking a language you’re not getting here? Dad and I were working a job in Ohio, she was finishing up college. We went out for a coupla weeks.”

I want to ask how long ago this was, was it months before his dad disappeared or a year or more ago, but I hold back on my questioning. “And…?” Sam pushes. Dean shrugs slightly.

“Look, it’s terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident. I’m not seeing how it fits with what we do,” Sam reasons, “Which by the way, how does she know what we do?”

Dean doesn't answer again, silently shifting in his seat uncomfortably. The realization hits me like a brick, “Oh. My. God,” I lean forward in my seat almost getting choked out by my seatbelt, “You told her! You broke the number one hunting rule! You know, not telling anyone, ever!”

“More than that!” Sam adds, “It’s our big family rule. Number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half, I did nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a coupla times and you tell her everything?!” I try not to think about my own relationships both romantic and not that rarely ever made it past a couple of months before it ended, not only having to lie about being a hunter but a witch too. Dean stays silent, staring straight ahead, “Dean!” Sam yells.

“Yeah. Looks like,” he finally acknowledges. He continues to stare ahead, pressing his foot down harder on the gas pedal. Sam shakes his head, giving his brother his classic bitchface.

“Oh. He had it bad” I laugh leaning back in my seat, ignoring the sinking and stabbing feeling in my heart. I figured I’d have to keep doing so on this hunt.

The office was dark, the bright sunlight not able to stretch upon the large room not even with the help of glass doors. The place could really open a couple of blinds, let the light shine in.

An old white man with an interesting-looking tie, one of those Western ones with the jewel and black tether, talks to two people a man and a woman their backs towards us. And the way Dean pauses, staring at the woman it isn't hard to deduce she's Cassie. She and the older black gentlemen next to her seem to be having some sort of dispute with the old white guy.

Then suddenly both of the men walk away, clearly frustrated, leaving Cassie to stand there herself. She turns around swiftly, and almost like a perfectly curated romance movie she nearly hits Dean only inches separating the two. I didn't even realize he had moved forward in the time we've been standing here.

Just looking at her I could tell why Dean fell for her, she's beautiful more than that. She could be a model with her beautiful long dark curls framing her face, full lips colored red, and big brown eyes. She must have stepped out of a magazine, everything about her screamed perfect down to her perfectly shaped eyebrows and perfect nose. “Dean,” she says, her voice smooth despite the look of slight apprehension.

He nods and grins, “Hey Cassie.” And they just stare at each other. He's looking at her in a way I’ve never seen him look at anyone before even despite the tension that hung in the air, unspoken words from however long ago.

His eyes seem to glimmer, you’d have to be a fool not to see he still has feelings for her, that they never went away in the first place. And that it’s more than just any feelings, he loves her and that is a hard pill to swallow.

He clears his throat, breaking the trance they were both in, “This is my brother Sam. And my friend Y/N.” She smiles at each of us before her gaze reverts to Dean, not that I could blame her in the slightest.

“Sorry ‘bout your dad,” he says.

“Yeah. Me too,” she answers.

Her family home was beautiful and extraordinarily large, it was a bit disturbing. Though maybe that was because it reminded me of my home before moving to Kansas, or at least what I remember of it. We sat in the sitting room on vintage settees, another reminder of that home–my mother would quite like the look of this cozy room.

Cassie finally comes back adorning a tray of tea cups and a teapot along with the little bowl of sugar and a small pouring cup of milk, could she get any more perfect and wonderful? “My mothers in pretty bad shape. I’ve been staying with her. I wish she wouldn’t go off by herself. She’s been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about Dad,” she explains.

“Why?” Dean asks as she takes a seat across from us. He was watching her every move as if dedicating it to memory, I wonder if he’s thinking ‘She moves in the same manner she used to’ or maybe that it changed. Suddenly I was not so okay with sitting between the boys even though that's almost how we always sat when talking to someone on a hunt, as it made it harder for them to fight and made them slightly more comfortable with squishing into sofas with their large frames. But now, being in the middle I could easily watch how he looked at her, studied her.

She skillfully pours tea into each cup, “He was scared. He was seeing things.”

“Like what?” He asked.

“He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him,” she responds carefully.

“A truck, did he see a driver?” I ask, diligently accepting the beautiful teacup she handed me. I take a careful sip of the black tea, of course she would know and pick the perfect tea for guests. Does she have any flaws?

“He didn’t talk about a driver,” she answers, “Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear. And, in the accident, Dad’s car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big.”

Sam accepts his cup of tea, “Thanks. Now you’re sure this dent wasn’t there before?” And as predictable as Dean was he looked at his cup weirdly before depositing it back on the tray, that man was not a tea person he’d take a coffee or a beer any day. I think the only reason he drank the tea I gave him when he was sick was because he knew how desperate Sammy and I were.

“He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn’t a scratch on that thing,” she explains, “It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from Dad’s car…leading right to the edge, where he went over.” She swallows harshly, bowing her head, “One set of tracks. His.”

Dean’s face softens, eyes filling with sympathy, “The first was a friend of your father's?” She nods, “Best friend. Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about Dad. He ‘lost control of his car.’”

I force my brain to rid itself of any thoughts of Dean and Cassie's relationship. This was like any other hunt, something weird is going on and we are here to help, nothing more.

It was weird, cars don't just drive off the road like that and then have newly made dents that match another vehicle. “Is there any reason you can think of as to why your father and his partner might've been targets? Competition?” I ask. She shakes her head, radiating certainty, “No.”

“And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” Sam points out.

“When you say it aloud like that…,” she sighs, “listen, I’m a little skeptical about this…ghost stuff…or whatever it is you guys are into.”

Dean huffs, “Skeptical. If I remember, I think you said I was nuts.”

“That was then,” she bites back. Then they fall back into that thing where they just stare at each other, “I just know that I can’t explain what happened up there. So I called you,” she adds, directing her words only to him. I clear my throat, weary of the bubble they seem to have put around themselves, “You were right in calling” I reasoned softly, “It is very strange and on the off chance it isn’t anything supernatural then it was certainly a cover-up.”

Her perfect eyebrows furrow but before she can respond the sound of the front door opening catches all of our attention, a middle-aged white woman enters through and I assume it's her mother. She shared her mother's eye shape and her nose, but the rest of her she must have gotten from her father.

As if we had gotten caught we all rise from the sofa. Cassie goes over to her mother, taking her arm, “Mom. Where have you been I was so…” her mother cuts her off looking at us, “I had no idea you'd invited friends over.”

“Mom, this Dean, a…friend of mine from…college. ‘His brother Sam and friend Y/N.”

“Well, I won’t interrupt you” her mother smiles nervously.

“Mrs Robinson,” Dean says suddenly, “We’re sorry for your loss. We’d like to talk to you for a minute if you don’t mind.” And as if offended she recoils, “I’m really not up for that right now.”

The morning sun is dimmer today, perfect for the scene we were walking upon. The man Cassie was standing with yesterday, Jimmy, was the newest victim. He died in the same way as the others sometime late last night. Cassie was again arguing with the old white man from yesterday. As we approached I could hear his condescending voice, “Close the man road. The only road in and out of town? Accidents do happen Cassie, and that’s what they are. Accidents.”

We stand beside her, Dean speaking up immediately, “Did the cops check for additional denting on Jimmy’s car, see if it was pushed?”

Without missing a beat and without looking away from Cassie the man asks, “Who’s this?”

“Dean and Sam Winchester, Y/N L/N. Family friends. This is Mayor Harold Todd” She replies smoothly. This man went from just any old white guy to a powerful old white guy, even worse. And he had two first names, you never trust someone with two first names. Reluctantly Mayor Old Guy answers Dean’s initial question, “There’s one set of tire tracks. One. ‘Doesn’t point to foul play.”

Cassie scuffs, “Mayor, the police, and town officials take their cues from you. If you’re indifferent about…”

He cuts her off, “Indifferent!”

“Would you close the road if the victims were white?” she counters.

Oh. Could she get any more iconic?!

“You suggesting I’m racist Cassie?” He spits, “I’m the last person you should talk to like that.”

“And why is that?” She counters, stepping closer to him.

“Why don’t you ask your mother” he answers before walking away. My jaw drops, what the hell is going on in this town?

I huff, blowing a piece of hair out of my face. I really didn’t want to get dressed, for as much as I’ve been trying to ignore the whole Dean and Cassie situation I was feeling horrible.

I sit on the soft motel bed in nothing but my underwear and a nice white button-down, haven given up on dressing. I feel stupid. Incredibly stupid.

Maybe Sam’s words had gotten to me, maybe I had gotten my hopes up without even realizing it.

He loves someone else, and he’s had for a while. I always thought when you love someone those feelings don’t ever truly go away, there's always a part of you with them. They wind up crossing your mind and you wonder where things went wrong. But I guess I never considered this would also apply to Dean, which is cruel to believe within itself. Which is funny too, all these years I’ve spent loving him…But Sam was right he didn’t date so I guess I assumed he never fell for anyone during his countless one-night stands.

I know death is cruel but maybe love is tied with it. Because I feel like someone took my heart and ran with it, leaving me with this void in my chest and an ache so intense that it throbs in its place. It was stupid to think I had a chance to begin with. I knew not to believe I had one in the first place, but somewhere along the line I had completely forgotten about any of that. So much for listening to my past self, if I had maybe I wouldn't be feeling so damn bad.

But I couldn't be mad. Cassie was wonderful in every possible way and you don't need to know her for long to realize that. They seemed perfect for each other really. She was feisty and had no issue putting someone in their place, which I quite admired, and I know Dean could use that every now and then. If she was a jerk I’m sure I’d have no issue disliking her, but she wasn’t! She was impossible to dislike, and it would be horrible of me to hate her just because she harbors feelings for someone that I love or the fact that he loves her back. That wasn't her fault, it was neither of their faults.

Loving someone has to be the hardest thing one could do.

I get up from the bed and put on my skirt. I couldn't sit here forever, the boys would come knocking and I wouldn't have a good excuse as to why I’m in a mood. Quickly I check myself in the mirror, at least I didn’t cry which means I don't gotta redo my makeup, even if it was minimal to begin with.

How do you stop loving someone? I could use that answer.

I knew I loved him for a long time, too long. But I suppose I didn’t realize just how bad it had gotten, how much it had flourished and I had never expected that to be possible. I love him.

I love him and it hurts so much.

How many times did I have the opportunity to tell him? It had to be in the hundreds. Maybe it was better that I didn’t, he loves someone else and I should be happy for them. I am happy for him. He deserves to be loved and be able to love. Yes, I am happy.

I approach the two older men having lunch, focusing on the wet ground and the wholesomeness that is them eating on a pier. “Hi, sorry. Are you Ron Stubbins?” I ask, taking the lead. I needed to throw myself into the work, I needed the distraction. The older man nods looking at us confused, his black cap bobbing with his head. “You were friends with Jimmy Anderson?” Dean follows up.

“Who are you?” Ron responds with, sitting up straighter. He was sizing us up, skeptical of us, which he had every right to be. “We’re Mr. Anderson’s insurance company. We’re just here to dot ‘I’s’ and cross ‘T’s’,” Dean explains, flashing his badge.

“And they needed to send three of you?” He counters. I giggle, tilting my head slightly, “Would you prefer me leaving?” I ask sweetly. And as predictable as men can be he drags his eyes across my body before shaking his head, “No. No. That won’t be necessary.” I ignore the dirty feeling that washes over me and sticks to my bones like a new layer of skin, it was necessary to do that because now he won’t bother questioning us anymore on that topic.

“We were just wondering, had the deceased mentioned any unusual recent experiences?” Sam questions, getting back on topic. Reluctantly Ron looks away from me to look at the man who questioned him, “What do you mean, unusual?”

“Well visions, hallucinations” He elaborates.

“We’re working with local psychologists to broaden our questioning and research,” I explain, trying to clear the confusion from his face, “It’s all very standard.”

“What company did you say you were with?” Ron counters. Maybe he was more on guard than I thought. “All National Mutual” Dean answers smoothly, “Tell me, did he ever mention seeing a truck? A big black truck?”

“What the hell ‘you talking about?” Ron exclaims, “‘You even speaking English?”

Wow, what a lovely guy.

“Son this truck, a big scary monster-looking thing?” Ron's friend suddenly says.

“Yeah actually, I think so” Dean answers. The man hums to himself in thought, please let this interaction be useful. “You’ve heard of something like that?” I ask the man. “I have,” he nods, not bothering to elaborate.

“You have. Where?” Sam pushes.

“Not where,” he finally answers, “When. Back in the ‘60s, there was a string of deaths. Black men. Story goes, they disappeared in a big, nasty, black truck.”

“They ever catch the guy?” I ask. He shrugs, “Never found him. Hell, not even sure they really looked. See there was a time, ‘this town wasn’t too friendly to all its citizens.”

“Thank you” Sam nods.

We walk away, heading back to the Impala. “Well, it seems like history is repeating itself,” I began, “From the lack of investigation and racism down to the–”

“Truck,” Dean says, finishing my sentence. “Keeps coming up doesn’t it?” Sam adds.

“You know, I was thinking. You heard of the Flying Dutchman?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, a ghost ship, infused with the Captian’s evil spirit. It was basically part of him” Sam answers, explaining the lore. Dean nods, “So what if we’re dealing with the same thing? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard’s ghost, re-enacting past crimes.”

“The victims have been black men” Sam continues the theory. I half-shrug, “I don't know. The town has to have more than a handful of black people, but it only seems to be going after specific people. It’s practically targeting those connected to Cassie and her family. I’m sure there’s some deeper link there.”

“That’s why I think it’s more than that,” Dean says.

“All right. Well, you work that angle, go talk to her,” Sam tells his brother specifically, clearly playing matchmaker. “Yeah, I will,” Dean agrees.

“Oh, and you might also wanna mention that other thing” Sam noted, a playful smile on his lips. Always the meddler. “What other thing?” Dean asks, either genuinely lost or faking it. “The serious, unfinished business?” Sam elaborates. I huff a laugh, “Yeah, seriously Dean it's so painfully obvious. Just talk to the girl.” It pained me to even suggest that, to motivate him in such a way but I want him to be happy, and if that means being with her then so be it.

Dean stops just as we reach the car, going obstinately silent. Sam huffs a laugh this time, “Dean, what is going on between you two?”

“All right, so maybe we were a little more involved than I said,” he finally admits. I give him a pointed look, “Yeah…that was obvious.”

He huffs, “A lot more. Maybe. And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn’t have.”

“Ah look man, everybody’s gotta open up to someone sometime,” Sam reasons, being a little too understanding compared to how we were only yesterday. “Yeah I don’t,” Dean argues, “It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended.”

I smile at him softly, hoping any sadness is concealed far behind my eyes, and I realize Sam is giving him the same look except he’s nearly beaming. “Would you both stop!” he shouts. But we don't because this is a side of Dean we’ve never seen before, and it is beautiful even if it's heartbreaking for me. “Someone blink or something!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up.

“You loved her,” I say softly, the gape in my chest deepening at the verbal declaration. Saying it aloud was so much worse. “Oh God,” he groans, turning to the Impala. “You still do!” I call after him.

“You were in love with her, but you dumped her,” Sam states, connecting the pieces. Dean goes silent, staring at the ground, then carefully glances at his brother before reverting his eyes. “Oh wow. She dumped you.”

I have to stop myself from taking in a sharp breath, there was a lot to this he wasn’t telling us. But why would she break up with him if she still has feelings?

“Get in the car” Dean demands, done being “emotional” and open, “Get in the car!”

Sam hands me my hot chocolate, but not even the sweet treat or the soft snow falling just outside can lift my mood. It makes me feel a little better but it does not fix my heart. Dean didn’t come back last night and I know it’s because he spent the night at Cassie’s. I’m happy they worked things out and hopefully had a wonderful night but again it does not fix my heart.

I held the cup tighter, welcoming the immense warmth it brought to my frozen hands as we stepped out of the small coffee shop. The air was crisp yet gentle as the light fluffy snowflakes descended onto us, the cold flakes collecting in my hair. A small smile graced my face, maybe it was making me feel better. I like the cold, preferred it even, I was cozy in my thick turtle neck and my favorite fleeced-lined jacket.

Sam and I walk in comfortable silence side by side, sipping from our cups and basking in the scenery of the unexpected snow. It was early May in Missouri, it really shouldn’t be snowing but I suppose if it could snow here a little in April then early May couldn't be that weird. Plus it was a light snow that likely wouldn't even stick. But the calming scenery is cut in half by an ambulance that speeds past us, sirens blaring. We share a questioning look but ultimately ignore it until two cop cars rush past us heading the same way. That we can’t ignore. With another shared look, we follow after the sirens.

I look out at the macabre scene, the yellow caution tape not having stopped me from investigating thanks to the use of a fake ID. The body had been bagged after countless photos were taken, but the blood of Mayor Todd still stains the streets. It was a gruesome scene, arguably worse than the others in this case his organs squished out like roadkill and, truthfully, that’s what he had become.

“L/N” Sam calls out from just a few feet behind me. I turned around swiftly, the snow whirling around me, Dean stood next to his brother. He came.

I walk over to the two boys, watching Dean’s clear expression of shock masked by annoyance, “‘You gonna ask me a bunch of questions too?” he asks. I look at him confused, “...no” I drag out slowly. His face seems to relax slightly, something unrecognizable passing in his eyes, “Good,” he nods.

“I already know you made up–made out” I add, his face drops, “Anyways, crime scene,” I point behind me.

“Every bone crushed. Internal organs turned to pudding,” Sam explains the case, catching his brother up, “The cops are all stumped, it’s like something ran him over.” The wind picks up again, swirling the snow in its own private storm, the cold will help with the case as it preserves the body longer. “Something like a truck?” Dean asks, gaining his footing in the case.

“Yeah, except of course there’s no tracks” I answer. He nods, rubbing a hand down his jaw and I have to force my eyes away from the movement, “What was the Mayor doing here anyway?”

“He owned the property. Bought it a few weeks ago” Sam says referring to the building site.

“But he’s white, doesn’t fit the pattern,” Dean points out. Sam nods, “Killings didn’t happen up on the road. That doesn’t fit either.”

I shove my hands into my pocket, taking a quick look back at the crime scene before turning back to the boys, “Then it seems like this case is one of revenge.”

I shuffle through the papers in front of me, glad that I was sent to do research at the town's main library rather than be at the newspaper office with the boys and Cassie. She was probably looking at him all sweetly and being a kind person, and I did not wish to see the loving way they looked at each other. And if avoiding that meant having my nose in dusty boxes of court records then that was okay.

I pull out my phone calling Sam directly instead of Dean, the phone rings a couple of times before he picks up, “Hi” I greet, “I got some info.”

The line goes quiet for a second before I hear his voice, “Alright you're on speaker.”

“Ok, so,” I start, balancing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I look over the papers, “I have courthouse records here, and according to them Mr and Mrs Mayor bought an abandoned property. The previous owner was the Dorian family who owned it for, like, 150 years.”

“Dorian?” Dean repeats back. “Yes.”

His voice grows quieter but still in range enough for me to hear, “Didn’t you say the Dorian family used to own this paper?” he asks someone else in the room. “Along with everything else around here. Real pillars of the town,” Cassie answers. “Right, right” Dean responds followed by the clicking of keys.

“You got something there?” I ask, readjusting my phone.

“Think so” Sam mumbles, seemingly focused on whatever was happening over at the office.

“This Cyrus Dorian. He vanished in April of ‘63. The case was investigated but never solved. It was right around the time the string of murders was going on back then,” Dean informs, adding more information to what that man yesterday had told us.

“Well to add to that information, the Dorian place seemed to be in really bad shape when the Mayber bought it,” I add, “He bulldozed the place.”

“Mayor Todd knocked down the Dorian place?” Dean asks, presumably, Cassie. “It was a big deal” she answers, “One of the oldest houses left. He made the front page.” I huff a breath, everything connecting yet leaving so many questions at the same time. “You got a date, Y/N?” Dean calls back.

“Um,” I hum shuffling the papers around and reading over the words quickly, “‘3rd of last month.” The line goes quiet again the only sound ringing back being the sharp noise of fingers on a keyboard, “Mayor Todd bulldozed the Dorian family home on the 3rd,” Dean finally responds, “The first killing was the next day.”

Pouring the boiled water into the mug I take a quick look back, Dean kneels in front of the shaken-up Cassie rubbing her knee softly and looking at her with pure determination and adoration. I swallow roughly looking back at the mugs in front of me, nearly overspilling and burning myself.

This was not the time to grieve a love that never happened. Cassie called Dean afraid, having seen the black truck. We were here to help, I was making a soothing herbal tea for her and her mother to calm the nerves.

Finishing with the mugs I carefully carry them into the sitting room. Sam takes one from me, gently handing it to her mother. I hand the mug to Cassie, her shaky hands accepting and rattling the cup, Dean immediately moves to sit at her side but it does not stop his protectiveness if anything it amplifies it; he practically radiates it. “Maybe you should throw a couple of shots in here,” she says, half joking.

I huff a laugh, “Well while the effects of alcohol do have the capabilities of easing the central nervous system, when the effects wear off your body will be jolted back from its depressive state which would really only make you feel worse, more anxious as well as stressed.”

She gives me a half, almost awkward, smile before taking a sip from her mug. Did I say too much? Why didn’t someone stop me? Someone should’ve just cut me off, especially if I wasn’t helping.

“You didn’t see who was driving the truck,” Sam says suddenly, pulling the awkwardness out of the air. “It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast. And then it was just gone,” she explains, “Why didn’t it kill us?”

“Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first,” Dean answers. This would explain why at least one of the victims had seen it and truthfully thought they were going mad. “Mrs Robinson,” Sam began, “Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died.” Mrs Robinson doesn't answer, seemingly lost in her mind as she shakes. “Mom?” Cassie says carefully, worry laced in her voice.

The older Robinson shakes her head nervously, “Oh. Martin was under a lot of stress. You can’t be sure about what he was seeing.”

“Well after tonight I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck. What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked. Ok?” Dean snaps, “Your daughter could die. So if you know something now would be a really good time to tell us about it.”

“Dean…” Cassie warns. But her mother's face contorts in emotion, something in her breaking, “Yes. Yes, he said he saw a truck.”

“Did he know who it belonged to?” Sam asks, taking a seat across from the woman. “He thought he did,” she answers cryptically. “Who was that?” Dean pushes. Her eyes get watery and she sinks into herself, “Cyrus. A man named Cyrus.”

My gaze flickers to the boys, we are all thinking the same thing, I look back at her, “By any chance was it Cyrus Dorian?” I ask carefully. Dean pulls out a newspaper from inside his coat, handing it to the woman. She doesn't shake her head or nod only replying with, “Cyrus Dorian died more than 40 years ago.”

“How do you know he died, Mrs Robinson?” Dean asks softly, “The papers said he went missing. How do you know he died?”

She hesitates, her mouth agape like a fish out of water or in reality that of a person who got caught, “We were all very young,” she says, “I dated Cyrus a while, I was also seeing Martin…in secret of course. Interracial couples didn’t go over too well back then. When I broke it off with Cyrus and when he found out about Martin, I don’t know, he, changed. His hatred. His hatred was frightening.”

“The murder,” Sam voices.

Her voice wobbles, “They were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of truck. Nothing ‘ever done,” she swallows shifting in her seat, “Martin and a…Martin and I, we were gonna be, uh, married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn’t want the attention.” She pushes her short hair out of her face, stressed. “And what became of Cyrus?” I ask.

Endless tears fall down her cheeks, “The day we set for the wedding, was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children’s choir practicing in there. They all died.” I suppress the gasp that wishes to leave my lips, the room seems to dim with the information. What was meant to be a beautiful day was soiled by the blood of innocents.

“Did the attacks stop after that?” Sam asks softly, careful of her fragile mindset.

A sob escapes from her chest, “No! There was one more. One night that truck came for Martin. Cyrus beat him terribly. But Martin, you see, Martin got loose. And he started hitting Cyrus and he just kept hitting him and hitting him.”

“Why didn’t you call the cops?” Dean pushes. She continues to cry, “This was forty years ago. He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus’ body into the truck and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land and all three of them kept that secret all of these years.”

“And now all three are gone,” Sam acknowledges. This all confirms the theory of a vengeful spirit. “And so is Mayor Todd,” Dean adds, “Now he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist. Why would he say that?”

“He was a good man,” Mrs Robinson answers, “He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus’ disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done he…he did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Cassie asks, her voice hard yet full of emotion. I couldn't imagine what was going on in her head, to find out something like this–“I thought I was protecting them. And now there’s no one left to protect,” her mother reasons.

“Yes, there is” Dean counters, fiercely. His green eyes harden with determination as he looks at Cassie.

I sit on the cold hood of the Impala, gently kicking my legs back and forth watching Dean pace in front of me. Sam leans against the car next to me, his arms crossed as he too watches his brother, “Ah, my life was so simple. Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms…”

I look at him with an amused smile, “I have no idea what that last part is but it sounds fun!” That stops Dean in his tracks for just a half of a second, he points at us, “No it doesn’t. I saved him from a boring existence.”

“Yeah, occasionally I miss boring” Sam reasons. I nod enthusiastically, “Honestly, we have not had a normal day in like months. Kinda miss it.”

Dean brushes our light complaining off, “So this killer truck–”

“I miss conversations that didn’t start with ‘this killer truck’” Sam quips with a dramatic sigh. I failed to hold back my laughter, Dean laughs lightly and for a brief moment, things feel how they used to, “Well this Cyrus guy. Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for 40 years.”

“So what woke it up?” Sam asks.

“The construction on his house. Or the destruction,” Dean points out.

“Right. Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless” Sam recalls. His brother hums a ‘yes’, nodding.

“Like that theater in Illinois, ya know?” Sam references, and I in fact had no idea what he was talking about. “And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus’ murder quiet and unsolved,” Dean adds, bringing it back to the case at hand.

“So now his spirit is awakened and out for blood,” Sam acknowledges.

“Yeah, I guess. Who knows what ghosts are thinking anyway” Dean shrugs.

“Wait, does this mean we have to go swimming in that swamp?” I ask. I mean if we had to salt and burn the bones then we would need said bones which are in a swamp, how nice. Dean smiles at me, I know that look. “No” I warn, pointing at him like an animal that did something wrong. “You said it” he rationalizes.

“Noooo” I whine a pout on my lips, “Do I have to do it alone?”

His wicked smile deepens, “‘Course not, Sammy’s gonna be with you.”

Sam’s shoulders drop, “Man,” he sighs.

Suddenly a familiar figure approaches, her hands tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. Dean stands up straighter, “Hey.” She smiles sadly, “Hey. She’s asleep. Now what?”

“Well, you should stay put, look after her…and we’ll be back. Don’t leave the house,” Dean explains, looking at her in that way that hurts my heart. But she smiles, any worry melting off her face, “Don’t go getting all authoritative on me. I hate it.”

Dean glances back at us, Sam looks down grinning acting as if neither of us could hear the conversation. He turns back to Cassie mumbling something I can't quite make out but whatever it was must have been good because he slowly leans in to kiss her. I drop my head and gaze at the very interesting ground, trying my best to ignore the sound of their intensifying making out. A pang of jealousy, longing, and pain shoots through my chest. If the ground wanted to just open up and consume me now I wouldn’t complain, I’d even help it and just throw myself in it wouldn’t have to work very hard. Sam clears his throat, I look up but Dean just holds out a finger to wait as he brings Cassie even closer.

I drop my eyes again.

Loving someone never hurt so bad. Loving him never hurt so bad.

Was it wrong to love him? Was this always going to be my fate? To see him evermore with other girls, loving them more than he could ever love me.

“You two comin’ or what?” Dean asks. I look up once more and this time his lips aren’t on Cassie.

I tug on the chain again, making sure it's secure, my hands getting wet in the process. I wipe my icky hands off on my jeans as I back away, “Alright he’s good,” I call out to Sam who stands feet away from me, closer to the butt of the pickup Dean was driving. He gives a thumbs up to his brother who begins to move the car forward, the pickup moving slowly in the weight of the heavy truck and water pressure.

We had already gotten it up a lot, but it had gotten stuck on the side of the swamp so we had to readjust its hold to get it the rest of the way up.

The years in the water had diminished it. The old black truck was now more like a rust bucket, remains of the swamp water spilling out from the seams. “All right. A little more…little more,” Sam leads, “All right, stop.”

The engine shuts off and Dean heads to the Impala, he pulls it open rummaging through the various weapons. “Now I know what she sees in you” Sam declares with a snap of his finger, meaning he finally understood what that look in her eyes meant. “What?” Dean asks.

“Come on man, you can admit it. You’re still in love with her” Sam clarifies. I nod even though the implications hurt, “Plus it’s not like no one else knows. So the only person you’re hiding from is yourself.”

Dean looks up from the trunk, “Uhh, can we focus please.”

I purse my lips, “Yeah…focusing has never really been our strong suit…” A container of salt is pressed into my chest, “Hold that” Dean says swiftly.

His expression hardens, all jokes put to rest as he dishes out items, “Gas” he says first, handing the large container to his brother, “Flashlights,” he lists out next filling my empty hand with one.

“Ok, let’s get this done,” he quips, closing the trunk.

We trudge back over to the rusty truck, our flashlights leading our way across the grass. Dean places his hand on the handle and I must wonder how he isn’t grossed out by just the feeling of the flaked paint and rotting metal. He glances at us in a silent ‘you ready?’ We give a nod and he opens the door.

A decaying wet corpse falls out the door and onto the soft grass, a small gush of water following its lead. I leap back like a scared cat, clasping a hand to my mouth and nose the decomposition of the body as well as its marinating in swamp water left a putrid smell. One perhaps worse than anything I've ever smelt before which was saying something considering what I’ve hunted.

“All right let’s get to it,” Dean says. Sam pours the gasoline all over the body, careful not to get it close to us and I jump in with the salt, opening the little latchet to sprinkle the small white crystals over the open-mouthed corpse. The satisfying scratch and flick of a match sounds softly beside me in the quiet night followed by the drop of the matchstick on the body. In mere seconds the remains go up in flames, the warm glow of the fire reflecting on the truck just beside it. I hoped no one would come looking over here with the whirl of smoke twirling above us, the heat powerful enough for me to take another step back.

“Think that’ll do it?” Sam voices, staring down at the burning corpse. But his question is followed by the revving of an engine and two blinding lights pointed at us. Without looking in the direction I knew it was the ghost truck. “I guess not,” Dean quips.

“So burning the body had no effect on that thing?” the younger Winchester asks. “Sure it did. Now it’s really pissed,” Dean responds. I glare at him, “I don't know if this is the time for cool jokes.”

“But Cyrus’ ghost is gone, right Dean?” Sam asks, a hint of panic in his voice as the tuck stares us down. But his brother doesn't answer right away, instead, he starts to walk away, “Apparently not the part that’s fused with the truck.”

I go on my tip toes trying to peak into the truck, maybe we missed something like a severed piece of him that didn’t spill out but before I can vocalize this Sam is calling out to his brother, “Where are you going?” I turn around, catching up to the boys, “Goin’ for a little ride,” Dean answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “What?!” Sam and I exclaim in unison, “That’s a horrible idea!” I add. But he ignores our concern, “Gonna lead that thing away. That busted piece of crap, you gotta burn it.”

“How the hell are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?” Sam asks, voice raising in volume. But being the determined man he is he shrugs, “I don’t know. Figure something out.” He rounds the car, opening the driver's door, “At least let one of us come with you, this is horribly dangerous,” I try to reason.

His eyes move up and down my face, before he settles on my eyes once more, “‘Exactly why you’re not comin’ with.” Before I can come up with a retort on how stubborn he is he settles himself into the car, closing the door behind him. I look to Sam for any support on this but he just stares at the car muttering, “Figure some–something–”

I rack my brain for ideas because Dean wasn’t going to listen and would rather be all hot and stubborn than be reasonable, “An explosion?” I suggest. Sam shakes his head, “No, that wouldn’t work. Parts would go everywhere and everything has to burn.”

I huff, frustrated, “I hate when you’re right.”

Dean reverses the Impala and takes off, the engine revering. As predictable as possible the ghost truck roars after him. I try to rack my brain for more ideas, even if we could suddenly light a truck on fire it would take too long for it to burn completely, “Sam, please tell me you got some idea rolling around in there.” He doesn't answer, lost in concentration with his bottom lip between his teeth.

My phone suddenly rings in my pocket, I pull it out swiftly seeing Dean’s name glowing. I flip it open bringing it to my ear, “You okay?” I say immediately. “Uh…yeah,” He says but I remain not convinced, “what are we doing?”

I look at Sam, panicking slightly, “Um, Sam what are we doing?”

He pulls out his phone, “You gotta give me a minute.” He presses his phone to his ear, “He says to give him a minute, I think he’s callin’ someone.”

“I don’t have a minute!” He half yells. “Dude, I don't know!” I panic, “Just…just don’t die, okay?”

“Trying here sweetheart.” I look back at Sam who has stepped away, I give him a hand motion of ‘please hurry up.’ He nods, coming closer to feed me info, “Ask him where he is.” I pull my phone away from my ear putting him on speaker instead, “Okay, Dean where the hell are you?”

“In the middle of nowhere with a killer truck on my ass!” he exclaims, “It’s like it knows I put the torch to Cyrus.”

“Listen to me, this is important” Sam orders, calmly, “I have to know exactly where you are.” Seemingly taking his advice he goes quiet for a beat, “Decatur Road, about two miles off the highway.”

“Ok. Headed East?” Sam follows up.

“Yes!”

A rattle and a bang followed by skitting noise sounds from the phone followed by cursing, “You son of a bitch!”

“Sam!” I yell, begging him to hurry up. “Ok, uhhh, turn right! Up ahead, turn right.” Again the line falls silent, “You make the turn?” Sam questions softly. My heart beats faster with each silent moment that passes. “Yeah, I made the turn!” Dean yells, “You need to move this thing along a little faster.”

“All right, you see a road up ahead?” Sam asks.

“No!... Wait. No, yes, I see it.”

“Ok turn left.”

“Wha..?” Dean half says before he goes quiet again the only sound coming from the line being more screeching and shuffled movement. “All right, now what? He finally responds.

“You need to go seven-tenths of a mile and then stop,” Sam explains. I looked at him strangely, noticing he wasn’t on the phone anymore, but what the hell was he talking about? “Stop?” Dean voices.

“Exactly seven-tenths Dean” Sam repeats.

“God, I hope you know what you’re talking about,” I tell the man beside me. “Me too” he mumbles over the sound of his brother repeating the words ‘seven-tenths.’ I look at him my mouth agape, “You wha–”

“Dean, you still there?” He cuts me off, focusing on his brother again. “Yeah,” Dean responds.

“What’s happening over there?” I ask, not knowing was killing me. “It’s just staring at me,” he answers carefully, “what do I do?”

“Just what you’re doing, bringing it to you,” Sam replies.

“Wha–” Dean began before cutting himself off, the line going quiet for the umpteenth time, “Come on. Come on,” he mumbled quietly but just loud enough for the phone to pick it up. My heart thumps in my chest, anticipation and fear running through my veins as well as something else from those two stupid words–something had to be wrong with me to find that hot now of all times.

The line is silent, for one beat, then another, then another…I grip my phone tighter, “Dean? Dean, are you there? ‘You okay?”

“Where’d it go?” he responds with a mix of shock and confusion. “Dean, you’re where the church was,” Sam explains. “What church!” he freaks.

“The place Cyrus burned down. Murdered all those kids,” Sam clarifies.

“There’s not a whole lot left,” Dean responds.

“Church ground is hallowed ground, whether the church is still there or not. Evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, and sometimes they’re destroyed, so I figured, maybe, that would get rid of it,” Sam explains. I hit his arm, “That was a hunch?!”

Dean adds in with the lecturing, “Maybe? Maybe!! What if you were wrong?!”

“Huh,” Sam hums, “Honestly, that thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

I glare at him sharply, hitting his arm again as I say, “You’re too sassy for your own good.” He laughs, a boyish grin on his face.

I wait in the back, Sam in the driver seat for Dean to say his goodbyes. I liked the back seat, more now than ever because being in the front would mean being able to see out the side mirror and watch Dean kiss the woman he loves and say a goodbye I was sure he didn’t want.

Life was being really unfair and uncool.

I bury my nose in my new book, it would be better to just escape into this world than have to deal with my feelings here in the real world. My feelings in the real world were not fun, they were depressing and hurt…a lot. But no amount of ink on paper formed into beautifully crafted words could fill the gaping hole in my heart, still, I tried as there was nothing else to do.

What is worse is knowing there will never be a chance for me to be loved by him, at least not in the way I do, because there will always be a place in his heart for her. He’ll think of her all the time, dream about her, and perhaps see her in the breeze. His heart belongs to her, and possibly always has.

I needed to accept that. The sooner I did the quicker the pain would go away. I couldn't go on believing I had a chance I needed to huff the flame out now.

No more hope. No more love. We’re friends, always have been, and always will be. That will have to be enough. I couldn’t love him anymore, not if it meant feeling this much pain. I wouldn’t accept his touches anymore for they gave me more hope than I’d like to admit.

No. I was wrong.

Worse of all is knowing that I can’t just stop loving him. Let it be the Gods' fault or the stars or whatever it is I’m meant to believe in but my heart has long been his and always will be. I could never love someone the way I love him, I wasn’t capable of that. Let it be that our love was written in the star's constellations that it was undecided by me or him for my love had to transcend the binds of that nonsense.

I loved him and he did not love me and maybe it was that which I had to accept because to stop loving him would mean to stop my heart from beating. Though even then I suspect not even the afterlife could keep me from my eternal love. And maybe that was pathetic or stupid, especially since he did not care for me in such a way, but it was the truth and no one has ever claimed truth to be a beautiful thing.

I’m brought back to reality with a bump. When did we leave and start driving? I look out the window, we had already made it to the highway…I look at the boys, but both seem fine. Ok then.

“I like her,” Sam says, and suddenly I wish to be lost back in the state I was in moments ago. I would love not to hear or be a part of this conversation. “Yeah,” Dean replies, seemingly just to get his brother to stop.

“You meet someone like her, doesn’t it make you wonder if it’s worth it? Putting everything else on hold, doing what we do?” Sam asks innocently perhaps trying to get him to understand what he had felt with his girlfriend. But something flickers in his face and suddenly he’s making eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, his eyes written in apology as if it just hit him now what all of this was doing to me. It was that puppy dog look.

I smile sadly at him, giving him a curt nod in a silent ‘it’s okay.’ His gaze flickers back to the road.

Dean leans forward pulling sunglasses from the glove box, he puts them on carefully ignoring his brothers' initial question, “Why don’t you wake me up when it’s my turn to drive?” He slouches down in his seat with a sigh. I shake my head, roll my eyes, and go back to my book.

We were leaving Missouri and all would be well, or as well as they could be.

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supercap2319 · 4 months

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The first time Y/N met Sam and Dean, they tried to shoot him in the face.

They were on a case in a small town in Georgia. The locals said that they were being cursed. To anyone else, that would sound nuts, but to Sam and Dean, it was normal. They asked around town and ended up meeting a shaded FBI agent named Jackman. He was looking for an evil witch hunter named Selena.

Doing a little bit of digging and investigating, led the brothers to a witch. A witch looking for Selena as well. They were both at a safehouse where she was, but neither side was able to question her as the Winchesters and this witch, whose name was Y/N, was fighting against her body guards until it was over.

Dean looks at him. "Alright, kid. Who are you, and why the fuck are you here?"

"The better question is. Why are you two hunters ruined my chance to get to Selena?" Y/N said.

"Wait. Who's Selena?" Sam asked.

"A fellow witch from a sister coven." Y/N said.

"You're a witch?!" Dean raised his gun. Sam after.

"Put those things down before you hurt yourselves, boys."

Dean didn't like that as he shot his gun and so did Sam as Y/N flicked his hands out and the bullets froze in mid-air. To say the brothers were shocked, was an understatement. Witches couldn't do that. Y/N waved his hands and their guns flew out of their hands.

"Now, you two hunters are going to help me." Y/N said.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #supernatural #sam and dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #witch male reader

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hamletshoeratio · 21 days

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Castiel did not drag Dean out of Hell for y'all to get annoyed when we say that Deancas walked so Bi Buck could run because they literally did, respect your elders!

#911 abc #911 season 7 #911 spoilers #buck x eddie #bi buck #evan buck buckely #evan buckley #eddie diaz #destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #do not cite the deep magic to me witch i was there when it was written etc #they're the last great American queer bait for a reason

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spn-fanfic-reblog-writes · 14 days

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Destiel Prompt #50-something

The Magician vs the Real Thing

The question will be why is Castiel the real thing. Multiple possibilities:

1. Angel of the Lord

2. Witch

3. Psychic/Natural ability

4. From an alternative universe my where he has been implanted with a device that allows him to do his trick.

5. Superhero (Alien from another world where everyone can do this on his planet or could be just the elite)

6. Military experiment results

7. From the future, eugenically created/altered

8. Artifact/Artefact that gives him this ability to perform his illusions/tricks

If you write any of the prompts, please tag me so I can read the story! I would love to see what you creative minds think up! ❤️❤️❤️

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witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐲𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

10 years after the Battle of Hogwarts, the same boys who shared a dormitory are now raising little humans.

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

・The Nurturing Dad™

・Always makes sure the baby has everything it wants and needs (always goes over the top.)

“Harry she already has everything. Just sit down!”

“But maybe she wants more binkies? Or another teddy? Babies love teddies-”

・Because he was given very little in his childhood, Harry unconsciously experiences that type of love through his daughter

・You had to point it out to him a few days before her first birthday. Harry was going OVERBOARD.

“She won’t remember Harry, it’s okay.”

“I don’t care if she doesn’t remember. She deserves it anyway.”

・He hates hearing her cry. The Dursleys used to let him cry and cry when he was younger. So his baby self realised no one was coming when he cried - so he stopped

・So, he never wants that to happen to his baby girl.

・Bought her a broom for her third birthday. It was only a toy one, barely hovering more than four feet in the air. But your little one loved it

・Molly and Arthur are referred to as Nanny and Poppy. Harry’s smile was ear to ear when Molly told him they wanted to be called that

“You’re our son, Harry.”

・Harry gets up in the middle of the night to check on her. He just loves looking at her in the doorway

𝐑𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

・The Interactive Dad™

・The first time you got pregnant, you were only expecting ONE baby. But lo-and-behold, two heartbeats were found on the monitor.

・Ron nearly fainted

・Molly cried when you told her the news

・Ginny was ecstatic! So eager to be an Aunt. George was a bit hesitant, as well as distant when you told him. He didn’t want to be around the babies because he thought he’d give them some sort of darkness.

・But as soon as they were born, George was in love with them and with being an Uncle.

・When you were in the hospital bed, exhausted but content, the Weasley’s found their way to your suite and Ginny was holding balloons

・ Molly cried again

・They two babies, a girl and a boy, had freckles but only one had red hair

・When George sat down and was given both babies to hold, you could see the change in him.

“He...he looks like Fred.”

“We know. His names Fred, and the other is Georgina.”

・During the birth, Ron was there the whole time. From beginning to end. He told you to squeeze his hand as much as you needed to

・Is a stay-at-home dad. When you go to work, Ron has the twins strapped to his front and back.

“Look who’s home!” He calls from the kitchen. The place is pretty messy, but he’s started on dinner.

・The twins wear the beanies, scarves and jumpers that Nana Molly has knitted for them

・Georgina has a thing with biting though, and the first time she bit Ron he was ... kinda impressed

“Honey at least we know she can defend herself-”

𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦

・The Thoughtful & Affectionate Dad™

・His child is the light of his life. You couldn’t find a better father.

・He’s patient, caring, level-headed and loving.

・Makes the baby’s food, does bath time and changes nappies (probably changed more than you have. He always says “You carried him for nine months, ripped parts of yourself to birth him. The least I can do is change his nappies.)

・He remembers your little boy’s favourite toy, colour, food and place.

・Neville has a hard time leaving your son with anyone, or going somewhere else without him. He constantly sends messages and writes down detailed instructions on how to look after your baby

・Takes as many photos of your son as possible. Has a whole book of them already

・Neville also shows anyone/everyone the photo he keeps in his pocket of you two. It’s of the first Christmas you had in your own home with your firstborn

・Isn’t afraid of showing your son affection. He’ll pepper kisses all over his face and it makes him giggle (the baby, well, Neville as well...)

・LOVES reading bedtime stories

𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧

・The Providing Dad™

・You’re either a working mum or stay at home mum. Seamus is out during the week, working for the ministry

・He felt really bad in the beginning because your son wouldn’t recognise him. The hours were long, especially because the ministry was working overtime, trying to get the Wizarding World back into shape

・But with consistency, and patience, Seamus bonded with his son so strongly

・Seamus makes everyone feel safe at home. He locks all the doors and windows, and can be relied on for backup whenever it’s wanted

・Did your son inherit the blowing things up gene? To your utter dismay. Yes.

・Was a bit defensive when your son liked ‘girly’ things, but you explained gender norms and expression. When he saw how much your son found joy in dressing up or playing with dolls, he came round

・You dress your son in matching outfits with Seamus. You do it without telling him and see how long it takes for him to notice (he hasn’t noticed yet)

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬

・The Cool Dad™

・Everyone wants to come around to your house because Dean is so friendly

・Dean actually loves going shopping for your daughter. He loves the little outfits, the pink onesies and tutus with matching fairy wings.

・He’s great with sleepovers. They drive you insane, but he handles chaos so easily

・You asked him about it one day.

“How do you handle it, Dean? They’re so loud when they’re together! There’s so much mess too. God, I don’t want to ruin their fun but it’s driving me crazy!”

“I know, it’s okay sweetheart. I guess it doesn’t bother me because it doesn’t matter. And the mess, the noise, it’s all caused because they’re having fun.”

“You have a point. But you keep your calm with everything!”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. The battle at Hogwarts changed me. Life is so fragile. Anything can mean nothing and everything - you just have to decide what’s important and what isn’t.”

・Uses your daughter to flirt with you. He’ll send her in with a bunch of roses and says “these are from daddy” but she gets bored with it and drops them on the floor

・DEFINITELY plays dress up and has a favourite princess crown

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azrael08 · 1 month

Text

Dean gets hit with a love spell during a case and looks at Cas first trope except him and Cas are already together, so Cas and Sam assume nothings gonna change. And nothing really does, except that Dean now openly holds Cas's hand when their out walking around and he holds onto Cas's waist from behind when their just standing and he lets Cas scratch and play with his hair without pulling away from embarrassment and worst of all is the kissing!

Sam will be explaining what they should do next to catch the monster and when he looks up he sees Dean staring softly at Cas and Cas staring softly back which is fine, that's what they do, they stare, so Sam turns away. But when he looks back for the second time he sees Dean start peppering little smooches all over the angels face, just quick kisses on his nose and cheeks and forehead and neck too, all while they both smile dumbly, which is also fine, its not like Sam hasn't seen this before, they were exactly like this in their honeymoon phase at the beginning of their relationship, so he turns away again trying to focus but then he has a question to ask Cas and he turns and- HOLY SHIT THEY'RE MAKING OUT! RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM THEY'RE USING TONGUE AND CAS'S HANDS ARE AROUND DEAN'S WAIST AND HIS HANDS ARE HIS CAS'S HAIR AND THEIR MOANING AND SAM NEEDS TO BEAT THEM OVER THE HEAD WITH A STICK-

#Sam's uncomfortable Cas has a dopey smile on his face the entire time and Dean just wants to cuddle and kiss his angel #Dean is still kinda repressed so I imagine that even after they're official he would still be hesitant about outwardly showing love to Cas #So after the spell wears off Dean's all flustered and blushing and embarrassed #meanwhile cas is silently wondering if it would be morally wrong to revive the witch who cast the spell in the first place to cast it again #Maybe Rowena would do it? he thinks #Rowena would do it. For free even.#Wanna smush them together like little dolls❤#supernatural #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #destiel headcanon

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deanwinchesterswitch · 9 months

Text

Run Away With Me

Summary: Timing is everything.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 935

Warnings: None

Beta: @princessmisery666

Inspired by: Runaway by The Corrs

The door behind you crashes open, a loud crack of plaster emanating as it slams against the wall, and an imposing flannel and denim-clad figure fills the entrance. You hadn’t expected to see him here but aren’t surprised by the intrusion. The rush of air that follows carries his unique cologne of leather, motor oil, and spicy aftershave, and you scold yourself for the deep inhale to momentarily savor its familiar comfort.

“Don’t do it.” His chest heaves with the effort of speaking as if he’s run a marathon.

The gravelly rasp sends your pulse skittering, “Winchester,” but you keep your tone deadpan, suspiciously eyeing his reflection in the mirror in front of you. “You weren’t invited. What are you doing here?”

His almost imperceptible glance to your left tells you all you need to know, and you sigh in exasperation. An amalgam of emotions swirls in the ardent depths of the viridian eyes that again find yours in the mirror’s reflection. Afraid to analyze why your lungs seize as if the entire room has become an airless void, your relief is palpable when he doesn’t give you a chance to.

“He won’t make you happy.”

You inhale sharply, taking a moment to try and calm the fury that overtakes your turmoil as you turn to face him. “I haven’t seen you in over a year. You have no idea who or what makes me happy.”

“That’s not true.” His tone is sure, but no smug smirk backs it up, only a look of dejection.

Tension thickens in the air like the barometric pressure of an oncoming hurricane, and Donna decides to make her escape. Placing a kiss on your cheek, she rubs a hand down your arm, whispering, “Give him a chance to say what he needs to, yeah?”

“You and I will talk later,” you huff, but return the soft smile she gives you before walking toward Dean. She pats him on the chest, and he nods, giving her a brief smile as he steps further into the room to let her pass.

His eyes rake over you, top to bottom and back up. “You’re stunning.”

He says it with such appreciative awe that your casing cracks a tiny bit as you snap, “Why are you here?”

“Missed ya.”

Ah, there’s that cocky grin that has a way of either firing you up or infuriating you—contingent on the circumstances, of course. Scowling at him, you wave a hand down your body. “Kind of busy right now.”

“Yeah, ‘bout that,” he scoffs, “you’re making a mistake. He doesn’t know you like I do. He-”

Unable to stop yourself, you sneer, “As I said, you know nothing.”

If you give him an inch, he will take that mile and then some. You refuse to let him see that you’ve been having doubts, that you’d been caught up in a rip current barely keeping your head above water, and mere minutes before he came bursting in, you’d been talking to Donna about calling the entire thing off.

Ignoring your interruption, he smirks, “I know that under that silky little number,” pointing a finger, “you’re wearing your favorite Chippewas, the black ones. I know there’s a garter on your left thigh, but on your right is your PPK-L in that sexy little holster I bought you.”

Damn him!

He takes a step closer. “Does he know what you used to do? Have you told him what really goes bump in the night?” He nods at the press of your lips, accurately surmising that you haven’t. “So you’re starting this new life with a lie.”

“It’s not a l-”

“An omission of facts?” he supplies, brow arched in arrogance.

“I left for a reason. It hasn’t changed.” He paces like a jungle cat eyeing its prey. Apparently, he has something to get off his chest and isn’t going anywhere until he does. “Say what you came to say, then leave.”

“It has.”

“What?”

“Your reason—for leaving—oh, it’s changed.” Placing a hand over his heart, he states, “Everything fell apart after you left. I tried. I tried to let you go. I knew you’d be better off, happier without me, so I tried to forget about you and move on. Throwing myself into hunt after hunt, drowning in bottle after bottle of cheap booze …nothing worked. You’re everywhere.” The longing in his eyes belies the fierceness of his tone. “Your voice is a constant whisper in my ear. The taste of you lingers on my tongue like good whiskey. My dreams …you- you’re always there. It’s like we’re rigged up to an IV of dream root. Even when I’m awake, you haunt me. You're a ghost that I can’t dispel,” throwing his hands up, he grunts, “and I’m done trying to.”

Swallowing thickly, you stare at him, jaw slack, lips shaped around a heavy exhale. You know he loves you. Understand why he never voiced his deepest emotions or let you get too close. But maybe, now …

“You say I don’t know you, but I do. I always have. And I’m sorry for not giving you what you needed. I’m sorry for hurting you. I came here,” doubt creeps into his features for the first time since muscling into the room, “to beg you for a second chance.”

Your pulse beats like a hummingbird's wings as you mutter in disbelief, “It’ll never stop.”

“What?” The word weighs heavy with defeat in the space between you.

“I’ll never stop falling in love with you.”

Smile radiant, his voice a siren’s song, he extends a hand. “Run away with me.”

Sam's Version

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deaneverafter // @deans-baby-momma // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @impala-dreamer // @iprobablyshipit91 // @irgendwas122 // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @musicissmylife // @mvdeanw // @pallographsunspot // @princessmisery666 // @raisinggray // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix // @yvonneeeee

#dw's witch writes #run away with me #dean's version #dean winchester #flangst #080923

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zepskies · 10 months

Text

If You Want It To Be - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: And here’s Part 3! This fic is an entry for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event. 🩵❄️

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,600 Tags/Warnings: 18+! Smuttish, fluff and feels.

Part 3: Christmas Day

The next day, Christmas morning comes. You’re up early after a night of somewhat restful sleep (anticipation of today kept you up for a while).

And so are the guys, though their enthusiasm isn’t as bright as yours.

Everyone is still in their pajamas, the humans with their mugs of coffee as you corral your friends into the living room by the sparkling, multicolored tree.

During your trip to Walmart on your first night in, you managed to squeeze in some shopping for actual presents. Your wallet now hates you, and likely will until February.

But it’s worth it to see the guys’ faces when they find their names on gift-wrapped boxes under the tree. Jack in particular wears an expression of wonder, almost like a little kid. It makes you smile.

Everyone has a small gift from you, though they clearly weren’t expecting it. Sam accepts his parcel from you with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, I don’t think any of us remembered about this part,” he says.

“No worries,” you wave him off. “It’s just a ‘thank you’ for letting me crash here for the holidays.”

You have a new book for Sam, an old-school Gameboy for Jack, a new set of ties for Castiel. You hold your breath when Dean sits down on the couch to open his.

He considers the small box with slightly furrowed brows. He glances up at you.

“What’d you do?” he asks. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Just open it, Dean,” you reply with a laugh. A smile twitches at his face, and he finally obliges you.

Inside the black velvet box is a nice silver watch with a leather strap.

Dean blinks in surprise. He glances over at his empty wrist where his father’s watch used to rest, but he hasn’t replaced it since it broke after the witch hunt in Indiana.

You come over to sit beside him and point out the new watch’s features.

“This part is adjustable,” you explain. “I figured you could take it off and use the strap for your dad’s watch.”

A slow smile spreads across Dean’s face, warm and somewhat disbelieving. You bought him a whole new watch, just so he could use the leather strap for his old one.

Something in his heart tightens, and also eases when he looks up at you. You’re smiling, a little nervous.

And Dean can’t help himself. He cups a hand behind your head and kisses your cheek, wishing he could do more, but not wanting to invite curiosity. Already he can feel Sam’s gaze on both of you.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Dean says. “This is…it’s real nice. Thank you.”

But Sam notices the warmth in his brother’s voice, and the way he looks at you. And the way you’re looking at him, like he hung the damn moon.

It brings a suspicious smile to Sam’s face.

When you offer to pick up breakfast, Dean intervenes and says you’ve done enough. Sam will get breakfast going, he insists. (And Sam, rolling his eyes, agrees with him.)

“I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I’ll be back,” Dean then says.

“See ya later,” you reply with a little wave before you go to help Jack set up his Gameboy. Castiel is already sorting through his new ties, arranging them by color, then by pattern on the sofa.

You glance over your shoulder though, and manage to catch the way Sam pulls his brother aside. You don’t hear what they’re saying, but it sparks your curiosity.

“What?” Dean asks. Sam raises a brow at him, with a knowing smile.

“Get her something good,” Sam tells him.

“Dude, shut up,” Dean holds a finger over his lips and glances over at you. Thankfully, you seem invested in helping Jack.

“I’m just saying. Put some effort in,” Sam persists. His eyes hold a teasing glint. “Nothing from the gas station.”

“All right, I got it,” Dean snipes back. It’s none of Sam’s business, really, but he already has an idea growing in his mind as he heads down to the garage.

Dean has all but disappeared since this morning. You thought the two of you were going to talk at some point, but you haven’t seen him all day.

Maybe it’s stupid, but you start to wonder if he’s avoiding you. If the gift was too much…

Sam happens to catch you lost in thought while you’re glazing a large ham in the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything?” he asks.

“Sure,” you reply. “Want to peel the potatoes?”

You glance at the bag on the counter. Sam agrees and joins you to wash and start peeling for you.

“Have you seen Dean?” you ask him, hopefully subtle.

Sam’s lips start to form a knowing smile, but he dims it down. “He’s probably in the garage.”

“…Oh, right. God forbid I bother him while he’s working on his car,” you joke. Sam glances at you.

“Or yours, most likely,” he says. “He did promise to get it done by today. Didn’t you guys have a little bet going?”

He knew about that? you think with a blush.

“That was silly,” you admit. “It’s Christmas. He should just relax.”

“When my brother says he’s gonna do something, he commits,” Sam says. “He deals with people the same way.”

You raise a brow at him. “What do you mean?”

Sam just smiles, like he knows something you don’t. He finishes peeling the last potato and sets it down on the counter with the rest.

“All right, what’s next?” he asks.

Once the ham is in the oven and the other side dishes you and Sam prepared are set off to cook, you return to your room to shower and get ready for dinner later.

You decide to wear the dress you found while you were shopping, before you even knew your relationship with Dean would change.

You almost went with a red lacy one, but there was something about this dress—green velvet, off the shoulder sleeves and flaring at the waist. It’s simple, but pretty. You pair it with some comfortable black flats.

You spend longer getting ready, only having to redo your eyeliner once this time. Then you steel yourself, gaining some confidence, and you go downstairs.

Jack is in the kitchen, sneaking a finger in the cranberry sauce.

“I saw that,” you tease. He stiffens like you’ve caught him red-handed. He quickly tucks his hands behind his back. He notices how you’ve cleaned yourself up with a polite nod.

“You look very nice,” he says.

“Thanks!” you chirp, blushing lightly. “Want to help me set the table?”

Jack obliges you like the nice kid he is. You two set up the long dining table that the guys usually use for research, first with the new red tablecloth, then the plates and silverware and glasses.

And finally, while Jack checks on the ham in the oven, you place the (fake) gold candleholders on each side of the table.

Dean comes out of wherever he’s been hiding, right as you’re leaning far over the table to light a candle. You don’t realize how your dress rides up your thighs in the back, but Dean is captivated by the sight for a moment…until he clears his throat.

“Need some help there, sweetheart?”

His unexpected voice startles a yelp out of you. You flail as you lose your balance, but he hooks an arm around your waist and prevents you from catching your hand on fire. He brings you flush against him, smirking down at you.

“Nice reflexes,” he teases. “When’s your audition for the Karate Kid?”

“Oh, shut up,” you gripe back.

You shoot him a playful glare as you rest your palms against his chest. But it loses its effect when you melt into his subsequent kiss. You reach up to twine your arms around his neck, letting your nails graze up the back of his neck and through his hair.

He shudders a little, with a pleasant hum, making you smile against his lips.

He breaks from you with a customary Dean grin, which is equal parts flirtatious, amused, and a hint cocky.

“Miss me?” he asks. You smile through your blush, but you have to taper down your inclination to say yes. His gaze drags down your body with interest.

“I like this dress too,” he says, and his voice fairly rumbles. Along with his scrutiny, it makes your face flare with heat. Your fingers play with a button on his shirt, red flannel this time. He rubs the soft velvet along your hip.

You tilt your face up to him, despite your lingering blush.

“Where’ve you been all day?” you ask. He quirks a smile.

“I’ll show you,” Dean says.

Dean takes your hand and leads you downstairs to the garage.

There you find the remains of your car, which has rusted out parts strewn haphazardly all over the ground. You raise a brow. This is how he fixes your car?

“You are so not winning the bet.”

Dean snorts. “It’s an old rust bucket. Needs a complete fucking overhaul, or the scrap heap. If you really want, I’ll get the new parts, fix it up top to bottom…or, you could just take a stroll through my garage.”

He gestures around, where classic cars are lined up on either side of you. A wide grin spreads across your face.

“Oh my God, you’ll let me drive one of these?” you say in excitement.

“You can pick one out and take it home,” Dean replies. Though he doesn’t want to think about you leaving…maybe you two can talk that over later.

Your smile falters. “What? Dean, no. This is your collection.”

He pulls you in by your waist and gently bucks his hand beneath your chin.

“Call it my gift to you,” he says. You notice his father’s watch once again rests on his wrist, with the help of the new leather strap you bought for him.

“You’d really give me a whole freakin’ car?” you ask, tearing up and beaming bright at the same time.

Dean brushes your cheek tenderly with curled fingers; his answer is in his eyes. You try your best to blink away your would-be tears. He catches the one that falls from the corner of your eye with his thumb.

“Why don’t you go pick one out?” he suggests, nodding behind you.

Biting your lip, you reach up and kiss him sweetly before you get started. You miss the way Dean blushes a bit. Because you’re already meandering down the line of beautiful old classics.

Soon enough you stop at an interesting red one.

“Ooh, this one’s nice,” you say. Dean is unimpressed.

“No,” he shakes his head, crossing his arms.

“What, why?”

“I ain’t puttin’ you in a Volvo. Come on, you can do better than that.”

“But it’s cute.”

“Remember, you’re gonna be driving across state lines,” he reminds you. “You want something reliable, strong.”

You huff and decide to keep looking, but you lay a gentle hand on the side mirror.

“I might be back for you. Don’t go anywhere.”

A smile threatens Dean’s lips as he watches you. He knows for sure he’s losing the bet. But it’s worth it for this moment right here.

You flit between the rows of cars. Finally, you stop at a funky mint green one. It reminds you of a car your grandfather had when you were a kid, when he’d take you out for ice cream on a Sunday.

“You like that one?” Dean asks. He walks over and joins you at the car, soothing a hand over its hood.

“I think I do. What is it?” you ask.

“A Ford Thunderbird, 1960.” Dean’s gaze meets yours, and he smiles. “Good choice. 5.8-liter V8 engine. 300 horsepower. This gal was powerful in her time.”

“Let’s see if she still is,” you say with a grin.

So you and Dean break out the Thunderbird into the open roads of Lawrence, Kansas.

Dean gives you pointers on driving stick, as it’s been a while for you. But after a few minutes, you regain the hang of it and test the car’s powerful sounding engine. It almost rumbles as loud as Baby.

“Oh, crap. What about dinner?” you realize. “The guys must be waiting on us.”

“Eh, they’ll live,” Dean says with a grin. “Keep going. There’s a park right around the corner here.”

Sure enough, you’re about to turn into a park that borders on a small, but beautiful lake. You probably should’ve brought a coat; the car’s old heater isn’t doing you much good in your little dress.

But right now, you don’t care. Because this is a perfect moment, and you don’t think you could be much happier.

You park the car in view of the sparkling lake. Before Dean can turn to you and ask what you think of the car, you’ve started climbing over the upholstery over to his side.

“Whoa. Easy tiger,” he chuckles as you grunt and struggle.

“Here’s my Karate Kid audition,” you joke, earning an even deeper laugh from Dean.

But he helps guide you into his lap, where you straddle his hips and reach down to anchor his seat back. The two of you laugh when it momentarily gets stuck, but Dean is able to fix it. With a turn of his wrist, his seat jerks back and gives you more room to maneuver.

His warm hands smooth up the back of your thighs while you find purchase on his shoulders.

“Hmm. You’re cold, babe,” he remarks with a frown, and he rubs your legs more to generate some warmth on your skin. “Should’ve brought your jacket.”

Your legs might be cold, but your face heats up at the way he calls you babe. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like you’re really his.

Your answering smile is both warm and playful.

“Who needs clothes when I’ve got a big, strong, flannel-wearing man to warm me up,” you tease, soothing your hands along his toned arms.

It lifts his frown into an amused grin, even as he shakes his head and grips your thighs more firmly.

“Oh, so I’m a portable heater now?” he remarks.

“Yup,” you nod with a grin as you lean down. “Do your job, heater.”

Swiping your hair over your shoulder, you lean down for a sweet kiss. But it quickly gains in passion as his tongue slips past the seam of your lips. His hands move to take a healthy grip of your ass, grinding you down into his lap.

A pleased sound gets trapped in your throat when you feel his length pressing against your core through his jeans. You slip a hand into his hair, deepening the kiss and nipping at his lower lip.

You feel like a teenager making out with your boyfriend in some backwoods clearing. But it’s an exhilarating feeling.

You never thought you’d be able to do this. Not with Dean.

You cup his face in your hands and pull back a bit.

“I love this car,” you say. “You really gonna give it to me?”

Dean smirks. Once again, your lipstick (though lighter this time) is smudged all over his mouth and chin. You wipe some of it off with your thumb.

“Maybe I won’t,” he says. “Maybe I’ll take my sweet time fixing that rusted out piece of shit sitting in my garage.”

You giggle against him, and his hands smooth up your thighs, rucking up the skirt of your dress.

“Is that your plan?” you reply. “Strand me at the bunker, make sure I can never go home?”

“Something like that,” he says. “Gotta keep my girl close.”

You huff. “Your girl? That’s presumptuous.”

“Oh, really?” Dean gives a deep chuckle. “Weren’t you the one who said this wasn’t a one-time deal?”

“No, you said that. I’m just along for the ride,” you quip.

But you think you’ve teased him too much when his amusement starts to fade. His green eyes dim to embers as he tilts his head.

“Is that right?” he asks.

You soften, gazing down at him with a more genuine smile. You press your hand to the side of his face, letting your thumb sooth over the apple of his cheek.

“Dean, of course not,” you say patiently. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

That admission is thick in your throat. It comes out at nearly a whisper.

But then, the shadows begin to clear from Dean’s eyes. His lips curve into a more familiar smile.

He kisses you, and the two of you continue exploring one another. Not to mention, testing the limitations of a reclined car seat.

By the time you two get back to the bunker, the dinner table is a mess. The guys have clearly eaten without you, and now Sam is trying to explain the finer points of football to Cas and Jack in the living room. He pauses when he notices you and his brother walk in.

“Where’ve you guys been?” he asks. But he spies Dean’s hand resting on the small of your back with a smile. “The food is in the kitchen. All you need to do is heat it up.”

“Thanks!” you call to him on your way to the kitchen.

Dean means to follow you, but he stops short when he sees a framed picture of Mary Winchester hanging on the wall in the living room. He draws closer to it, not realizing that the others are watching him. Most of them with curiosity, and one with hopeful wariness.

His mouth curves with a slight smile. Someone caught her by surprise. He can tell by the way she’s looking over her shoulder in the 8” by 10” frame. She wears her favorite green jacket—one that Sam bought for her last year. Her hair brushes past her shoulders in a haphazard mix of blonde curls and waves. But her smile. That smile’s even more golden.

“Who put this here?” Dean asks. When he doesn’t get an answer, he glances back and finds his brother’s gaze first. He just smiles, but doesn’t look like the culprit. Dean moves on to Cas, who subtly shakes his head.

Jack, on the other hand, looks both guilty and hopeful, before his eyes fall to the folded hands in his lap.

Instinctively, Dean wants to tighten up. But when he looks back at his mom’s smile, a little more of the edge in his heart crumbles.

“She looks good there,” he says. He turns back to Jack and gives him a nod…and a reserved smile. The nephilim hesitates to return it, but when he does, it’s a genuine one.

Dean moves on to the kitchen, where he pretends not to catch the way you’d been surreptitiously watching the scene from the kitchen. You duck your head and continue cutting some ham for the two plates you’ve set out on the counter.

Dean’s face lights up when he finds the pies: pecan and apple.

“Okay, you want mashed potatoes or macaroni with the ham?” you ask him. Dean raises a brow at you. You smile in amusement.

“What am I thinking? Both, obviously,” you say.

“Obviously,” Dean quips with a nod.

“Ah, well that’s interesting,” says Castiel. It stops both hunters in the kitchen with curious looks.

“It seems you’re caught again,” the angel tells you, nodding up to the mistletoe poised above you and Dean.

You roll your eyes, while Dean just smirks. You glance up at him with a question in your eyes.

Should we tell them? you ask.

Dean’s smile grows. Hell, yeah.

He leans in to cup your cheek, and he kisses you soundly—something that shocks both angels…but not Sam. You close your eyes with a sound of contentment. You grab onto Dean’s shirt, holding him close.

“She didn’t kiss Sam that way,” Jack comments.

Castiel recovers first, realizing what’s happened by Sam’s knowing look.

“No,” Cas says in amusement. “I don’t believe she did.”

While Sam turns up the volume on the TV, giving you and Dean some privacy, Dean finally parts from you and tugs a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You know, I promised you a car by Christmas,” he says with a grin. “Technically speaking, I did come through on that deal.”

You raise a brow, though a smile tugs at your lips. “Hmm. I suppose you did.”

“And if I remember right, I get a…what was it?” He pretends to recall with a raised finger. “Oh, that’s right. A consequence-free request.”

“Here we go.” You roll your eyes, but amusement and warmth still gleam them. “All right, Dean Winchester. What can I do for you?”

He hums and seems to consider it. He makes a show of it, really, tilting his head, looking down at you with a deepening smirk. You fight not to blush under his scrutiny, even as your smile grows. Your hands rest against his chest, while his slide around your waist and pull you in closer.

“How about you don’t go running off so soon,” he says, thumbing at your cheek. “Stay through New Year’s, at least.”

You’d be lying if you said you aren’t shocked. You raise a brow.

“That’s your request?”

Dean shrugs, but his quirking smile can’t hide the fondness in his eyes. It warms you in a way you also don’t expect.

Taking your chin with gentle fingers, he presses a lingering kiss to your lips. Your eyes close as you once again take in this heady feeling. Being with him still doesn’t quite feel real, but you’re holding on for as long as you can.

When he eventually pulls away, he smiles at your slightly hazy face.

“I already got what I wanted,” Dean says. “Now we just…keep this good thing going.”

You really do blush this time.

“Got what you wanted, huh?” you tease. He gives you a wry look.

“Not what I meant.” Then he smirks, squeezing your hips. “But actually yeah, that too.”

You laugh and swat at his shoulder.

“Well, since I’m honor bound. I suppose I can stay a few more days,” you reply. “And I mean, your birthday’s not long after that.”

Dean hums in agreement. “We talkin’ early birthday present?”

You flash him a cheeky smile and slowly slide your hands down his arms.

“Then Valentine’s Day’s is just around the corner,” you add. Dean nods sagely, trying to temper his smile.

“Might as well stay through February,” he says.

You grin. “Ooh! St. Patrick’s Day!”

Dean laughs genuinely then, throwing his head back. You hold onto the edges of his button-down shirt and tug him back to you.

“What I mean to say is, I could consider staying longer,” you say. However long you want me, your tone suggests. “…I’ll just need to tie up a few things.”

You know your father will be just fine if you decide to move to Lawrence someday soon. He now has his new wife to keep him company, and there isn’t much else tying you to your hometown besides nostalgia, and bittersweet memories of your mom.

“Is that a serious offer?” Dean asks.

You grin up at him playfully. “If you want it to be.”

He smiles and kisses you again. The way he holds you, looks at you, it’s tender enough to make your throat tighten with emotion.

“I do,” Dean says. He stares down into your eyes. “It’s you, sweetheart. For me too. Just you.”

Your smile is tremulous, but oh, so bright.

“Good.”

AN: And that's it, folks! 🥹 Let me know what you thought of Part 3. I truly hope you enjoyed it!

Coming Up Next:

I have one other Christmas in July fic in store, over in The Boys fandom. Look out for "Love Actually" (Soldier Boy x Reader) next week!

It's set in the "Break Me Down" story-verse, but can be read as standalone. I will tag everyone who follows that ongoing story (which is almost finished!!).

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

Comment below or send me an ask if you'd like to be tagged in this series!

@iprobablyshipit91 @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @skyesthebomb @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @emily-winchester @hobby27 @spnexploration @freewastelandstrawberry @stoneyggirl2 @satanicpixiedreamgirl @agothwithheavysetmakeup @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @melancholictearz @tipthejar @deans-baby-momma @nic-kolas @jacklesdeanvessel @beautyvaliant @mrshalverson2021 @ajjustice @leigh70 @violetlilysunshine @jackles010378 @ades106 @luvs4dria

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underground-secret · 8 months

Text

The Hunter and the Witch ~ Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: y/n l/n (aka reader) has known the Winchesters ever since they helped her family start anew, away from a town that hated them for being witches. Or more specifically for y/n being a witch and accidentally causing mayhem. So when Dean comes knocking at her door asking for help she obviously complies, even if it means being stuck on the road with the man she’s secretly in love with.

Or it’s basically just y/n following the adventures of Supernatural

warnings: cannon violence, most likely poor representation of witch craft, everything written is fiction and should not be taken seriously

Prologue

Playlist

Season 1

Chapter 1: The Woman in White

Chapter 1~ Continuation

Chapter 2: Wendigo

Chapter 3: Dead In the Water

Chapter 4: Phantom Traveler

Chapter 4.5: Can you Promise Me?

Chapter 5: Bloody Mary

Chapter 6: Skin

Chapter 6.5: You’re not him

Chapter 7: Hook Man

Chapter 7.5: A fool in love

Chapter 8: Home

Chapter 8.5: Reunion

Chapter 9: Asylum

Chapter 10: Scarecrow

Chapter 10.5: Rest

Chapter 11: Faith

Chapter 12: Route 666

Chapter 13: Nightmare

Chapter 13.5: Words mean more at night

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supercap2319 · 10 months

Text

"You can't just stand there another 12 hours, Dean. You're hurt and you need help." Y/N sighed as he moved towards the hunter as he flinched and back away from Y/N, gun pointed at him.

"Stay where you are. I hate fucking witches." Dean growled. He had witch killing bullets in his gun. If this guy tried anything, he was dead.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm a good witch? Although, if you make me say that again, I just may hurt you." Y/N mock warned.

Dean cocked the gun and pointed higher. "I mean it. Stay the fuck away from me."

Y/N groans in frustration. "Man you have a giant stick up your ass don't you? Of all the people to be trapped in here with, why couldn't it have been the other Winchester brother? The sexy one."

"Sexy one? Sammy is not sexier than me. Have you looked at me?"

"Ha! That's a laugh. Those green eyes and dirty remarks won't get you far with me, buddy."

Dean growled and frowned. "I could shoot you right between the eyes before you could even blink."

"Look I was trying to save you."

"Did a hell of a job didn't cha?" Dean pointed to his cut on his forehead and then on his leg.

"I didn't expect that to happen. And now that we're on the subject. "Take off your pants."

"Excuse me?!" Dean's eyes were wide and shocked.

"Listen, Dean, I'm not trying to hurt you. I just want to help you. And it's going to get infected, so take it off."

Dean looks down at his pants and then back at Y/N. "Forget it."

Y/N chuckles. "Either you take your pants off on your own, or I could always do it by telekinesis."

"You're getting off on this shit ain't cha?"

"Please, don't flatter yourself. I'm not looking forward to seeing you naked."

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #supernatural #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester #jensen ackles #Jensen Ackles x male reader #reader witch

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