NSFW. 18+ ONLY. ✨ Mobile Masterlist Kat. 30s. bi/pan. she/her. spoonie. veterinary assistant. writer. 👩🏼🦰🥄🐶🏥✍🏼 Side blog, following from: make-your-world-magical ✨ Lots of smut, lots of swears. NO (W)incest or vehement Tinhattery, I ship just about anything else if it’s done well. ✌🏼👋🏼 I’m not in any way new to SPN, but I’m newer to this fandom. Please be patient w/ me. ❤️ Other side blogs: musicsaves-usall : music stuffs marsha-mallow : just happy things highstakesstoryboard: writing lokismewlingquim : Bi BeB
I have a couple of irl friends who have asked me and I gave them a shortened version of this.
Supernatural attracts, comforts, and provides space for people with trauma in its many forms.
Warnings: swearing, mentions of triggers, mentions of trauma
I always suspected this based on the fanfiction I’ve read and the connection people profess for their favorite characters or actors, and it was unfortunately confirmed for me. One never wants their sad suspicions confirmed, but wishes don’t make trauma go away.
Supernatural pulls in people who have suffered, who have fought battles no one else gets to fight, and battles that we don’t always get to tell people about. How could it not? We watch the boys take on the literal weight of the world in so many instances, and that’s what trauma feels like. The boys have to keep this huge secret and process everything despite it, just like many of us. Trauma is isolating and breaks us down, so seeing it worn by someone else on screen can be comforting, a reminder that we’re not alone.
Obviously one doesn’t have to have trauma to love Supernatural, but it has created a space for us anyway. It’s terrible that so many people have gone through so much. It fucking sucks.
But we’re still fighting and that’s amazing.
If you’re in this fandom and you are struggling and you feel alone in this, please remember that you’re not. There are so many people going through things too who may not understand everything, but they’ll understand a lot.
Personal connections below the cut:
- Castiel: 5-6 years ago, I found myself lost and bereft from the religion that I’d been raised in, no longer content to watch the way it hurt those I loved. Seeing Castiel struggle with his fallen status reminded me that I could bumble and mess up as I found a way to relate to the world outside of the religion I grew up following. How could I not connect to an angel cast out, attacked, misunderstood, and fighting to make himself heard by his family?
- Sam: I think anyone who is neurodivergent, who struggles with any mental health anomaly, can relate to Sam. As someone with a whole lot of problems, but who doesn’t tick enough boxes for a diagnosis beyond trauma (cPTSD), I couldn’t help feeling connected to Sam as he struggled with what was real, as he struggled with coping mechanisms for his own powerlessness, as he was sucked into flashback after flashback, as he broke down and put himself back together time after time. All of this was further brought to a head when Jared opened up about his struggles with mental health and started what was personally a crucial part of keeping me alive, the Always Keep Fighting campaign. The public outpouring of support and love during that time just solidified that this fandom is incredible and our fight is stronger than we know. It’s unfortunate that his own struggle made his depiction of Sam that much more real, but his honesty has been incredible for us.
- Dean: I didn’t relate to Dean at first, ngl. But Jensen has this way of bringing him to life, crying, grimacing, and acting his way into making me relate. It made me look at Dean a little more. He’s the epitome of weight on his shoulders, of picking himself up and keeping moving even when everything in him wants to collapse and give up, of suffering in silence (until Bobby or Sam yell at him for bottling it up), of helping everyone but himself. He really is the fine wine for me that needs more watchings to process and relate to, but hooooly shit do I relate.
.
This show has brought together so many incredible people, all with their own struggles, people who are fighting and doing their best to live in a world that seems weighted against them.
Remember. You’re not alone. Even if the characters aren’t real, the people who watch and relate most definitely are.
Summary: Sam Winchester and I were volcanic. This is the story of how I broke my own heart.
Pairing: AU Sam Winchester x female reader (Narrator), AU Dean Winchester x female reader (Narrator)
Warnings: AU, explicit, weed-smoking, canon-compliant date-rape/roofie (Becky), love triangle, self-flagellation
Words: ~2700
c.1 | c.2 | c.3 | c.4 | c.5 | c.6 | c.7
AN: apologies for the delay in posting this. I had to rewrite this chapter about 17 times.
Many thanks to @cracksinthewalls @mskathywriteswords @itmighthavebeenintentional @there-must-be-a-lock @fangirlxwritesx67 for moral support and hard truths. You're my people.
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When I looked back on the chain of events preceding that afternoon in the alley, it was clear that I’d been tragically blind. I wasn’t even able to see the value of what was right in front of me, let alone what could have been.
What little sight I did have was overruled by the lure of independence and freedom to build my own life on my own terms.
Sam and Dean were both beautiful, kind, attentive men who treated me like something incredibly precious, something to be cherished.
Yet I turned my back on the value of that for something material, something I thought was supposed to be important. And for that, I would never forgive myself.
Meg arched a brow in question as I joined her behind the bar just in time for the first wave of Friday afternoon patrons. I silently bobbed my head in answer and willed the tears to remain at bay for the rest of the shift, yet the ache in my chest grew despite my best efforts and the demands of the growing crowd.
Over the 4-hour crush, I staggered through doubt and shame, sick of myself and my prideful ignorance.
I had waltzed into a relationship with a man who had every intention of making something of it. And who wouldn’t want that? Who wouldn’t want to be with someone who strived for a healthy, fulfilling relationship? I should have wanted it, and, in hindsight, I needed it, but I was too caught up in what I thought I was supposed to do with my life.
Still, I’d spent weeks trying to be what I thought Sam wanted, fully knowing I was leaving. I’d tried to live up to what I thought were his expectations, tying myself in knots and hurting my best friend in the process.
And for what? I wasn’t sticking around. Why did what Sam thought about me matter so fucking much?
And what about Dean?
By the end of my shift, I was exhausted from thinking and overthinking, so I began to turn my frustrations with myself outward.
Why couldn’t he just be a regular guy? Why couldn’t we keep it casual? Why should I feel guilty for wanting a life of my own making?
Sam had come on to me. He’d pushed and assumed things. I never promised him anything.
Even if I had told him about Philly sooner, I was sure that he’d still have pushed, determined to have what he wanted on his terms, no matter what the circumstances.
“What can I getcha girls?” Benny asked as he and Pamela clocked in, and Meg and I clocked out.
“Shot and a beer,” I answered, swiping my work ID and placing my food order.
“That’s my girl,” Meg said, following my lead. “You been so busy with Groot, I’ve barely seen you.”
“I’m ready to blow off some steam.” I gave her my best smirk, and she gave one right back.
Benny and Pamela quickly took their shots with us before he shooed us out from behind the bar. “Go get food. I’ll have your beers when y’all get back.”
“Copy that,” I answered.
On our way to the kitchen, we passed the small booth where Dean sat, closing the afternoon books. He glanced up at us, his gaze instinctually dragging down and up my form, and I shivered.
“Wanna talk about that?” Meg didn’t miss a thing.
I peeked through the window to the kitchen making sure the path was clear before pushing through the swinging door. “About what, how dumb I am?”
We passed the dishwashers and waved.
“Sure,” Meg snorted. “What’s dumb?”
“Thinkin’ I could just fuck and run?” I stopped in the corridor on our way to the grills in the back of the kitchen. “Should’ve known Sam wouldn’t be easy like Dean.”
I hoped she’d have a clear-cut answer or fresh perspective; maybe from the outside, I hadn’t created as much of a mess as it felt like to me.
Meg leaned against the wall opposite me. “We both know Dean’s not as easy as you’re makin’ him out to be.”
I sighed and glanced back at the grills where Bess and Garth were working on our orders. “What the fuck am I doin’, Meg? I feel guilty all the time and I already miss... everyone.”
She eyed me sideways. “Listen,” she said with a look that told me she was about to serve the truth. “I’m not gonna say you’ve totally been yourself lately. You’re... different with Sam.”
“I feel different with Sam-”
She nodded. “Different how?” she asked with genuine curiosity. “Like I can see it, but I’m curious what’s goin’ on in your head.”
I leaned against the wall at my back.
“Like I’m always trying to be whatever it is he wants me to be, but I dunno what that is, so I’m just kind of... spinning. And like what’s even the point when I’m leaving in six weeks?”
“Everybody wants approval.” She mirrored my stance against the opposite wall. “But you never tried that hard with anyone else. Why do you think Sam doesn’t want you the way you are? Lots of people love you just the way you are.”
"I'm a mess. That's not what anyone really wants, is it?" I huffed a bitter laugh.
“You are,” she agreed with a smirk. “It happens to the best of us.”
I rolled my eyes and chuckled.
“I’m just... Am I making the right choice here?” I asked, not knowing if I wanted her to answer.
“Which one? The right Winchester, or the right move?” Meg asked with brilliant clarity.
The bald truth in that question was exactly what I needed to hear, but it was also my undoing.
“Girls, your food’s ready!” Bess called from the grill.
I drew a deep breath and dragged my gaze from Meg’s before heading over to pick up my dinner.
“Bess, I will miss your grilled cheese mastery above all else when I blow this popsicle stand,” I said, accepting my plate from her.
“There’s extra lovin’ in it,” Bess said with a smile.
“Butter and mayo,” Garth said. “Dean’s secret.”
I chuckled, remembering the midnight snacks Dean had prepared for me.
“Toast the bread first, butter in the pan — nice and hot, now — and mayo on the toast.”
“That’s a heart attack in the making,” I’d said even as my mouth watered.
“Worth it,” he’d replied with a wink as he carefully layered thinly sliced, beefsteak tomatoes with three kinds of shredded cheese. “And don’t skimp on the cheese either.”
“Thanks, kids,” Meg said as we swiped tiny containers of chipotle ranch dressing onto our plates and breezed out of the kitchen.
“Mind if we sit with Dean?” Meg asked quietly as we approached his booth.
“Course not,” I answered, feeling my gut flip and my heart leap forward.
“Cool,” she said.
There was no obvious reason for me to mind sitting with Dean, but as we drew closer my heart rate sped up and my hands shook.
“Aye, Papi, you see our numbers from this afternoon?” Meg asked Dean as she slid into the booth opposite him.
I set my plate next to his laptop and turned to see what was taking Benny so long with our beers.
“Ladies,” Dean greeted, not looking up from his work. “Nice hustle, drinks’re on me.”
“Woot! Hey, Benny,” Meg called, as Benny made his way down the length of the bar to our booth. “Herradura, please. Daddy’s buyin’.”
Benny nodded, setting our beers on the railing. “Getcha anything, chief?” he asked Dean.
Dean twisted in his seat, propping one heavy boot up on the bench as he closed his laptop. “Two Hearted,” he answered before glancing up at me. “You gonna sit?”
“Yes,” I snapped before plopping down beside him with a sigh. The recent realizations shouted in my brain and I just wanted them to quiet down.
Dean snagged a fry from my plate. “You’re in a mood,” he grumbled.
“Existential crisis,” Meg offered around a mouthful of cheeseburger.
I glared at her, and Dean’s eyebrows shot upward with amusement.
“That right?” He eyed me, chewing his stolen fry.
“Can we not?” I asked, digging into my grilled cheese, hoping that by keeping my mouth full of food, my careening emotions would stay buried instead of flying out in the open.
Benny appeared at the railing again with a beer for Dean and four shots of tequila.
“Not feelin’ talky?” Dean asked, handing Meg a shot and claiming one for himself.
I lifted my own shot in a gesture of a toast. “Nope. Feelin’ drinky.”
Benny chuckled, lifting his own glass. “Sounds good to me.”
We each downed our tequila then Benny quickly whisked the glasses away and got back to work.
I shoved down my volatile feelings and focused on spending time with my friends. We laughed a lot and hard. Meg and Dean together were a snark fest worth millions. Four shots and two beers later, Meg was dragging Cas home, and I was following Dean to his office.
“Meg and Cas are so cute,” I babbled. “I’m gonna miss them. And I’m gonna miss Garth and Bess. And Benny, that big ol’ bear. And Pamela’s biceps!”
Dean shot me an amused look, raking his eyes over me, as he unlocked his office door. “Haven’t seen ya this tipsy in a while,” he said, pushing his door open and waving me inside.
I felt loose and hot — impervious and insouciant at the same time. I wanted to go back in time before I worried about what Sam thought about me or anything else.
“You haven’t seen much of me as anything in a while,” I muttered, running my fingers over the back of the leather chairs facing Dean’s desk.
He cleared his throat and moved around me and behind his desk. “Lemme just put this away and I’ll get you home.”
I watched him reconnect his laptop to all the appropriate cables with care, remembering those warm, capable hands on me. I could almost feel his plush lips on my skin and the thick, solid slide of him inside me.
I wandered around the side of his desk and sidled up beside him, letting my hand wander to finger the hem of his flannel.
His shoulders hitched as he slowly turned to face me, before settling back against his credenza.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“Just catchin’ up with my BFF,” I muttered, inching closer, bunching the lapels of his open flannel in my fists.
“Hmm.” He hooked his fingers in one of my front pockets and rested his other hand on one of my hips as I gravitated between his sprawled legs. “Might regret that in the mornin’.”
I held his gaze, so warm and lush. A thousand stories of pleasure, joy, and coming home flashed in the verdant depths, and I was overwhelmed with desperation.
I wanted so much to run from the feeling that everything I did was wrong. I wanted to go back to before everything got fucked up — back when things were simpler and I wasn’t obliged to anyone for anything.
Dean didn’t place expectations on me ever. He just let me be myself.
So I closed the little gap that was left between us, and I kissed him.
I wanted to burrow into his arms as if I’d never left, to devour him whole, to breathe with him.
“Dammit,” he growled into my mouth, tightly gripping my hips.
He was so warm and smelled so good, tasted good, felt good.
“Miss you so much,” I whispered, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. “Touch me.”
His thumbs and fingers twitched at my sides but he didn’t make a move to do more.
“Dean,” I breathed, doubling down on taking his mouth with mine, with everything I had.
I wanted him to know that I was sorry and that I loved him — that I wished I hadn’t hurt him or anyone else. I wanted things to be different.
I felt him tense and shudder as he let go a sound between a groan and a whimper.
“Baby,” he whispered, pulling away from the kiss. “Baby, slow down.”
I shook my head and tried to dip back in. “Don’t want to,” I said, feeling that ache returning to my chest. “Don’t push me away, Dean, please.”
“I’m not, princess,” he replied, cupping my jaw to gently hold me still, looking me in the eye. “Believe me, I wanna lay you out on that desk and make you say my name till you can’t even think of anyone else.”
His eyes and his grip on my hips confirmed that what he said was true and I just wanted so much.
“Then do it,” I whispered, my vision beginning to blur. “Please.”
He shook his head and pulled me in to cry it out for the second time that day.
“Fuckin’ me ain’t gonna fix anything with Sammy,” he murmured in my ear. “You’re ‘bout to burn it all to the ground before you even know what’s what.”
He was right, and it made my heart ache harder.
It was unfair of me to cry on Dean’s shoulder about how impossible it was to choose between him and his brother. It was downright despicable for me to try and seduce him into fucking away the pain of Sam walking away from me.
Yet, he didn’t miss a beat.
“C’mon,” he said, turning to press a kiss to my temple. “Let’s get you home.”
I reluctantly stepped away from that familiar bubble of safety and straightened my clothes as he snagged his jacket from the back of his desk chair.
“You got a jacket?” he asked.
I shook my head and wiped my eyes, feeling pitiful.
“Here.” He handed me his jacket. “Walkin’ around half-naked, it’s friggin’ 40 outside,” he mumbled, pushing past me toward the exit.
Dean locked his door behind us. We were silent as we made our way to the back parking lot.
I was suddenly very tired and very sad.
I followed him into the night, head down and hands stuffed in the pockets of his heavy utility jacket.
We were almost to his car when Dean called out. “What the shit is that?”
I looked up to find Sam, leaning against a brand new, black Dodge Charger.
“Tired of sharing Dad’s old car with you,” Sam answered, his eyes heavy on me.
“A Dodge?” Dean scoffed, circling the vehicle as if inspecting it. “Dad’s rollin’ in his grave, you know that right? Not to mention that thing’s a giant hunk of plastic.”
“What’s your mileage again?” Sam asked, finally dragging his gaze to his brother.
Dean straightened to his full height, narrowing his eyes at his brother. I watched a silent exchange between them, much like the night of my birthday party, before Dean rolled his eyes to the sky with a sigh.
“This hunk of plastic’s plenty warm. You can take your jacket back,” Sam said with eyes back on me.
My stomach flipped and fluttered as Dean walked up behind me, helping me out of his jacket.
“‘Night, princess,” he murmured before swinging his keys around his finger and walking to his car.
I stood, waiting for Sam to say something.
Earlier in the evening, before the shots and crawling back to Dean, I had resolved that Sam was demanding something of me that I wasn’t ready to give. But for the life of me, I couldn’t muster an ounce of resentment toward him at that moment.
He looked as tired as I felt as he pushed away from his door to walk around the front of the car, motioning for me to follow him.
I did so, without hesitation, and settled into the passenger seat once he’d opened the door for me.
“Thanks,” I said, looking up at him.
He nodded as he closed the door for me.
When he rounded the hood to the driver’s side once again, the flash of Dean’s headlights washed his profile in amber as the Impala flew from the lot.
Sam folded himself into the driver’s seat and fired the engine before putting the car in gear and pulling out onto the road.
As we turned the opposite direction from Dean, a small voice in the back of my mind wondered if I was in the right car.+
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Chapter Five coming May 7!
If you like what you’ve read, please let me know and/or buy me a coffee!
OMGG you’re killing me MJ 😭💔 at this point, my heart is gonna break no matter what happens. Either of the boys will be a wreck and uuugh. I’m outrageously invested in this and I’m excited for however you choose to break my heart
Mmmm still one of my favs 😍 idky but Dean’s lack of jealousy is so attractive. He just wants her to enjoy herself 👌🏼 Purely delectable, every single part
