Rose (she/her) 26 ⟢ the queer samcoded samgirl in question
𖤓 this blog is NSFW ≬ og ≬ AO3 ≬ icon 𖤓
From 20-22 I wrote a series of spn fanfics almost twice as long as lotr. So that was insane of me. Guess who's back bitch!! Late-seasons connoisseur⁓ I am a S7 apologist and everything beyond it is where I personally like to play within my fics & critique
COME TO WATER (complete)
Character Study Through Smut ⟢ 4 vignettes exploring Sam's toxic relationship with desire & his often destructive need for some feeling of self-control. [41.3k words] (smut)
PENUMBRA (in progress)
Multi-Chapter set in S8 ⟢ After the first trial and Cas' disappearing with the Angel Tablet, a chance encounter at a crime scene leads Sam to discover reader, who has been invisible to everyone for years. For some reason though, he can see her.
ONE-SHOTS
❧ Undo Me ⟢ New relationship, Sam asks to be tied to the bed, femdom, service dom (I think this counts) [11.8k words] (smut)
❧ Void ⟢ Established relationship, argument as foreplay, penetrative sex, possessive behavior, protective Sam [6.6k words] (smut)
❧ {More coming soon}
✧ To just get the writing + stories on your dash follow #raspberry fics ✧
NAVIGATION ⟢ #rose recs ⟢ #next level samposts ⟢ #rose answers ⟢ me when I say things ⟢ #sillyposting ⟢ fanart I like ⟢ #rose lore ⟢ #salivating over that man ⟢ #rose's photoshop addiction ⟢ my list of AO3 recs
(series complete)
Extensive S9-S15 Canon Rewrite ⟢ thesis: it all would've been better if they had more women & queers in the story that didn't die. Alternate perspectives on family dynamics, relationships, love and forgiveness can only be discovered when one goes outside of their niche. If there were more characters introduced that pushed the Winchesters to challenge their internal biases then maybe they would actually finish their character growth. Also Amara is part of the ending which I made make SOME KIND OF SENSE.
AHHH thank you sm to the lovely @theedaythatnevercomes for tagging me in this post!! I'm stoked about this, I haven't really considered it much before but now I shall! EDIT: I really needed this, tbh! I was feeling a little out of sync with my writing this week so this really helped me come back! NOW I WILL FINISH THE NEXT CHAPTER OF PENUMBRA!! hehe
FIRSTLY: Theedaythatnevercomes is so right. all of the things she says about Sam in her post are so true to me as well. 100% agree.
What are some parts of a character/headcannons unique to your style that is kept consistent in all/most of your fics?
SAM —
Sam is a naturally inclined to jealousy. Not insane, overbearing jealousy, more like territorial-ness. He doesn't like that he's jealous, and it always makes him question his worthiness but he also is protective of what he's earned. Someone on a fic I love once described him as "submissive like a guard dog" which I LOVE and think is the perfect way to describe it.
ONE OF HIS NICKNAMES IS SPACEMAN BECAUSE SOMETIMES HE SAYS THINGS THAT MAKE ME QUESTION WHETHER HE'S ACTUALLY FROM EARTH AND NOT FROM THE STARS. This can be negative and positive! Negative in the sense that he too can be silly and dumb sometimes, despite how smart he is. And positive in the sense that sometimes he's just the most tender-hearted soul and it makes me wonder how that heart could have survived and stayed so kind throughout his life. ANOTHER NICKNAME OF HIS THAT I AM FOND OF IS SASQUATCH!
He is a nerd who loved Lord of the Rings as a kid. I'm not sure if this is canon or not but we all know tha truth. Dean was a Vonnegut lover (he's so fuckin real for that ily sm reader Dean) and always thought fantasy was too close to reality, so he was drawn more to sci-fi. Sam on the other hand, loves the epic tale of LoTR because of the cast of characters, the political intrigue, and good prevailing over evil in the end. He really likes the relationship of the Fellowship in particular. AND (I'm not projecting here, you are) he loves Arwen. He thinks she's really cool and special and he thinks Aragorn is lucky to have earned her love. And of course, like all young boys (and me) who ingested LoTR, Sam thinks Aragorn is THE BEST!!!
Where emotional behavior is concerned, his first thought about himself is almost always the worst thought
HE BE YAPPINNNNN!!1 during sex specifically. It's like all his walls come down and he's perfectly in-tune with himself and he doesn't feel ashamed about voicing his feelings and thoughts aloud. Very sexy of him.
Sam Winchester deserves a fish. Everyone thinks he would be a dog guy (which he would) HOWEVER he cares too much about emotionally neglecting the dog to have one while he's still hunting. FISHY is perfect for Sam! He would watch it to be calm and to remember that the world is full of beautiful things that can't fight for themselves, so he would feel better about hunting, even just a little bit, even just for a moment. Cont. later in post
When he's angry, he speaks first before thinking things through. There are sooooo many examples of this in my stories, I thought about specifying them but I decided against it. Instead, I will show the sketch I made to illustrate one of those moments in my magnum nopus:
ID: drawing of a man immediately regretting the words he just spoke impulsively as his future partner glares at him for the perceived slander of her abilities.
DEAN —
He is a Trekkie. I will die on this hill. He loves Captain Kirk sm and he pretends it's not gay but we all know the truth. Dean Winchester would fall hook-line-and-sinker for James Tiberius Kirk's rizz instantly.
He's often been put into the more dominating role in his relationships (other than johnald) but he really does want someone to take care of him. He doesn't believe anyone wants to take care of him equally, but he does secretly want to not be the one in charge all the time.
He likes people who pay attention to his needs but he DOES NOT expect them to, even Sam.
He has cornerstone syndrome (i.e. he thinks everything will fall apart if he doesn't do everything he can to hold it together)
THE ELDEST DAUGHTER TO END ALL ELDEST DAUGHTERS
He yaps aloud to himself alllll the time.
Dean never manages to put the things he uses from the library back in the right spots.**
CAS —
Honestly never meets a child he doesn't want to adopt. Especially if they have no guardian but like literally.... he would mother every kid on Earth if possible.
WHILE WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT OF PARENTING: Cas really likes being invested in someone who's growing and learning. The same way he watched the lizards crawl out of the mud with awe, he watches with bated breath for the younglings in his care to bloom into their full selves.
He does not see parenting as some kind of way to heal his past wounds, it's the way he can aid the healing of the world. He abandoned Heaven to protect something imperfect and highly flawed (the world) because he saw that in those flaws (*cough cough* Dean Winchester) there's immense beauty and wisdom.
Cas' main form of love is genuinely watching over people while they rest. He doesn't need to sleep really but he sympathizes with the fact that others do. He knows the people he loves often have not felt safe enough to sleep deeply. Cas thinks of this as a great service he can provide.
Cas likes to observe well-organizes systems. I think he particularly likes Sam's system for organizing the library and when he's stressed out (and no one's around) he'll go through meticulously to make sure everything is in the right place. **he particularly does this for Dean to minimize bickering between the brothers and also Sam's frustration at not being able to find things when he needs them.
JACK —
He is SO GOOD at making friends. He's just a very sweet boy who's not really all-too familiar with Social Shame™ the way the Winchesters are.
He eats when he's upset, usually cereal or a whole jug of juice (apple is a fav, but also lemonade).
He adores animals, and always tries to engage with them, regardless of whether or not it's appropriate. Often times one of his dads has to gently re-direct him away from the creature and only then does Jack notice that he was getting distracted.
I think he'd do card tricks. I think he'd start with Sam fumbling his way through whatever ones he remembers from his childhood magic-phase but then, almost immediately, Jack would be able to do much more complicated ones.
A: Jack has to sleep sometimes, and when he does it's INTENSE. Like he does not wake up for anything until he's done recharging. B: Jack teleports in his sleep. Like sleepwalking but... he has wings. So. Sometimes Cas finds him asleep on tables in the Bunker, or one time in a tree outside. They had to just wait for him to wake up. Dean tried tossing pebbles up at him but it didn't do anything.
THOUGHTS ON THE FISH
Okay so this is something that I implemented in the magnum nopus but I elaborated on it much more in a random response to a post made by @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth (though I'm not sure which one at this point...)
I think that Sam would get a goldfish. I think he would give it a human name that he thinks is goofy. And he'd go watch it swim around just to think, trying to slow his big brain down to the speed of the little fish in its tank. He's meticulous about cleaning the tank and changing the water. And he's convinced the fish likes Tchaikovsky.
Cas likes the fish for the same reasons as Sam— it's beautiful and it's outside of all the craziness they have to deal with all the time. He speaks to the fish too, like Dean, but he actually addresses it and asks it "how are you, today". He also thinks the fish likes Tchaikovsky.
I think Dean would act very confused about the fish at first, teasing Sam mercilessly over it, but then he'd start appreciating the creature. It's always there when they come home, and Dean likes that consistency. It's low-maintenance and Sam does all that anyways so it's no more work for Dean. Also, Dean yaps to himself and it makes him happy to yap at the fish instead— it's a little whimsy in his day-to-day that the man needs. On one hunt, kind of randomly, he sees a little toy car that is plastic and looks somewhat like the Impala. He buys it on a whim and puts it in the tank. This delights Jack, and buying new silly objects for the fishtank becomes something they all do. Eventually they have to get a bigger tank just to fit all the silly stuff.
Jack adores the fish. He feeds the fish every morning, he asks Sam all kinds of questions about it— "do you think [the fish] Is happy?" "do you think he's lonely?" "what do fish think about all day?" —which in turn makes Sam very happy. AHHH I LOVE THE FISH.
In my Magnum Nopus, the fish is named Howard Harold Henry. After Sadie complains about the lack of sunlight and living things in the Bunker, Sam is inspired to buy a fish. He's never owned a fish, but he decides to try. He asks her to name the fish. She suggests Howard. He pretends to mishear her and replies "alright Harold it is" to make her laugh. She shoves him a little and corrects him. He decides that they'll both be the fish's names. "Howard Harold..." He tries to think of another name to finish it off. Sadie says, "Howard Harold Henry" and it's decided. For the rest of the story, she always calls the fish Harold and Sam always calls him Howie 🥰
AHH I love him. ANYWAYS! Tagging some of my lovely mutuals! Feel free to do this yourselves for any characters you write for!!
@hopelessbrain @fig-ink @aseafullofstars and anyone else who follows me and wants to join in!! Feel free to tag me so I can see 👀
contents ٠࣪⭑ Sam Winchester x reader, established relationship, Sam’s in love, major fluff, 422 word count
notes ٠࣪⭑ here’s a little Sam drabble cuz I love him sm and have been dying to write for him, this was written in like 10 min after seeing Sam in a suit in s5 (rewatch) 🤭
“Stop messing with it” you chuckled under your breath, putting your quick makeup applying to an end, making your way over to your struggling boyfriend.
Sam grumbled something under his breath with a huff of slight frustration, his big hand fiddling with the tie around his neck, pulling at the collar in a feeble attempt to get more comfortable.
You called his name, like an owner does to get their puppy’s attention when it’s doing something it shouldn’t but still looks so cute. You wordlessly reached for his collar and flipped it up. Delicate hands undoing the tie completely before adjusting and tying it again, this time looser.
“You always do it too tight,” you murmured, flattening your hands over the tie going down his chest, and flipping the collar back down before doing some final adjustments.
He hasn’t looked away from you the entire time, a small fond smile on his lips and a lovesick look glazed over his eyes. His hand gently rested on your waist, his thumbs mindlessly caressing over your cheap dress-shirt.
“There— very handsome, agent” you smiled, tugging a little on said tie and lifting on your toes to bring him into a kiss.
He kissed you back, smiling into it just like you did— you always made him smile, more than he can remember anyone in his life being able to. His hands tightened just a little on your waist, pulling you closer ever so slightly, given your already close proximity.
Even though you were the one to initiate it, you melted into the kiss as you always did, a quiet contented sigh passing through your lips onto his. Like kissing him was some sort of medicine that you’ve been prescribed to take daily in order to survive.
The kiss didn’t deepen but the moment did, it was stretched out like molasses slowly pouring down into a thick puddle at your feet. You both pulled away just enough for your lips to separate, smile even wider than before. You stayed there just a little longer, foreheads touching, living in the puddle for a moment.
“We better get going” you whispered, pressing a sweet peck to his cheek and stepping back. Flattening his tie once more before throwing on your suit jacket.
“Let’s put those big, beautiful puppy dog eyes to use and milk some information out of people” You chimed, giving a quick playful tap on his behind as you passed, accompanied by a giggle.
Sam just smiled and shook his head, he’s so gone for you.
Cas's ideal occupation is to go around threatening and hurting people to keep Dean safe/protected/provided for/happy. And then he wants to come back to him, watch him smile, and watch Dean be in awe of his masculine strength or whatever. And this works out coz Dean wants to be treated with care for once and he's a sucker for Cas's autistic rizz and also morally grey badassery. They should just kiss and become husbands smh.
summary. existential crisis questions make the best topics.
pairing. sam winchester x reader
wordcount. 506.
Sam is hunched over at the war room table, papers spread out in front of him and his laptop open to some lore-heavy website. His hair falls in loose waves around his face, and he absentmindedly pushes it behind his ear as he reads.
You’re sitting across from him, pretending to be invested in your book, but really, you’re watching him. The way his lips purse when he’s concentrating, the way his eyes narrow ever so slightly—it’s unfair how distracting he can be.
“Hey, Sam?” you say, breaking the comfortable silence.
“Yeah?” He doesn’t look up, his fingers still scrolling on the touchpad.
You close your book, leaning forward with a grin. “Would you still love me if I was a worm?”
That gets his attention. He blinks, tilting his head as he finally meets your gaze. “A worm?”
“Yes,” you say seriously, fighting to keep a straight face. “Like, if I magically got turned into a worm. Would you still love me?”
Sam leans back in his chair, his arms crossing as he gives you a look that’s equal parts amused and incredulous. “How the hell do you even come up with this stuff?”
“Just answer the question,” you say, grinning now.
He sighs, but there’s a playful glint in his eye. “Okay, fine. Yes, I’d still love you. I’d carry you around in one of those little terrariums with fancy dirt. Maybe even give you a cute name, like Wiggles.”
You snort. “Wiggles? Really?”
“What? It’s fitting,” he says, shrugging with a smirk. “I’d keep you safe. Make sure no birds got to you. You’d be the happiest worm alive.”
You giggle, leaning your chin on your hand as you watch him. “That’s... surprisingly sweet.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. You’re my girl, worm or not.”
Your heart does a little flutter at that, but you school your expression into mock seriousness. “That’s very noble of you. Because if the roles were reversed, I definitely wouldn’t love you if you were a worm.”
His jaw drops, and he stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “What? Are you serious?”
“Worms are disgusting,” you say, wrinkling your nose.
“You literally just asked me to pledge eternal love to Worm-You!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up.
You shrug, biting back a laugh. “Yeah, but that’s different. I’d be a cute worm.”
Sam groans, leaning forward to rest his head on the table dramatically. “Unbelievable. This is the thanks I get for indulging your weird hypotheticals?”
Reaching across the table, you pat his hand, still laughing. “Come on, don’t take it personally. I’d totally make sure you had a nice patch of dirt to live in.”
He lifts his head just enough to glare at you, though the smile tugging at his lips ruins the effect. “You’re lucky I love you, even if you’d throw me to the birds.”
You grin. “What can I say? You’re a better person than I am.”
“Clearly,” he mutters, shaking his head as he tries—and fails—to hide his amusement.
OK I READ RHE SUMMARY KF VOID! (I'm sick so my brain is not remembering things lol)
I love a soft but rough Sam~ that sounds like an oxymoron tho. But like he's so loving but rough 😫😫
Also I'm a sucker for jealousy as well; you wrote him so well 😭 you write him well all the time, BUT STILL
-🐻
LOOOL no worries!! Sick brain is sooo real haha
😝😝 he is soooo soft but rough!! I think the words I use in my head to characterize a very important side of intimacy for Sam are like: needy, restrained up until a breaking point, desperate, and protective of what he’s earned. Like he’s so worried about the things he loves being taken from him and while that might seem like I’m saying “things” as in “reader/partner” but what I actually mean is the feelings only he and his partner share. The feeling of not being alone, the feeling of worship, the feeling of intimacy, the feeling of trust and safety, the feeling of being loved by someone he loves so much. He can only have those things with the partner— they create and evolve in those feelings together. It’s all this loop of reciprocal emotion that he resists becoming reliant on until suddenly he realizes: holy shit I’m already relying on them to help me form these feelings, it’s too late.
I am also a sucker for jealousy lmaoo. It can’t be too much, definitely not overbearing or controlling but the sort of unavoidable kind that he would definitely feel bc he’s territorial 🤭
Sam going from (rightfully) angry to so soft has me WEAK 😫
I loved the Dean part as well, it's interesting to see how homophobia greatly affects his relationships with himself and others
ALSO! I read void~ I loved it 🙂↕️ (I'll have to go back and reread the summary to remember my thoughts on it)
Hope you are having a good day; much love
-🐻
HEHE thank you my friend!!!
Yes! Sam speeds up and slows down so quickly. He’s someone who wants to be tender and I think at this point in the show he doesn’t want to be mad. I think he finds it exhausting. But also he doesn’t know how to stand up to Dean truly when it’s fully on his own behalf. Sam’s much more likely to find courage on behalf of reader and Kevin than just for himself. The cycle of shame he’s in is sooo heartbreaking.
And Dean is in the same cycle! He’s perpetuating the cycle of shame & abuse begun by their father and ALSO hurting from it. We develop coping mechanisms to survive in our early lives and then when circumstances change, those mechanisms that once worked to keep us safe only hold us back :(((
fem!reader x Sam ⟢ ✧ MASTERLIST ✧
About + Masterlist for Penumbra
Summary: Reader is invisible, cursed to walk the Earth but not able to interfere with it for several years. A chance encounter while snooping around a crime scene leads her to the one person who can see her: Sam Winchester.
Content/Warnings: [no use of y/n] + slurs (fag, fairy, etc.), internalized homophobia, smut (not super explicit), VERY Dean-centric chapter
Titular Song's Artist: DJO ♡♡
A/N: I've been SO excited for this chapter. This is probably my favorite one so far. It's pretty angsty 😔
Closing the gates of Hell forever. That’s the mission Sam signed onto.
You’re not sure what to make of it all once he’s done explaining. You both sit in silence under the muggy night on a curb at the edge of the parking lot. You’re frowning ahead of you, towards the closed motel room door. Beside you Sam absently rubs his hands together between his knees. He steals a glance at you.
You open your mouth like you’re going to speak then close it. This happens a few times in succession. You look cute— kind of like a confused fish. He can’t help a little snort of admiration. The sound draws your focus immediately, still frowning hard. He offers you a weak but genuine smirk.
“I know. It’s a lot.”
You shake your head softly, “That’s an understatement.”
He snorts again with a little more gusto. “It’s kind of hard to think of another way to put it.”
You don’t reply to that. Instead you look down at your outstretched legs with a glum expression of concern. Seeing that look on you makes a faint ache bloom in Sam’s chest.
“I’m sorry.” He says again, “I should’ve told you.”
You shrug a shoulder weakly. “I guess I… wouldn’t have known where to start either if I were you.”
He nods a few times and you both slip into silence. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance, and the breeze returns. You tug your jacket closer to you.
“Are you cold?” He asks.
“No.” You shake your head, “I’m just, uh, doing it for comfort I guess.”
He watches you for a long moment. “Are you upset?”
You’re not sure how to answer at first. “I’m… worried.”
“Listen, we’ll figure this out, okay?” He says, instinctively going to touch your shoulder then stopping himself. “You won’t be stuck like this forever. I’ll make sure of it.”
You frown and meet his eyes. “I’m worried about you, Sam.”
“Oh. Uh…” He doesn’t really know what to say so he kind of shrugs.
“I mean, closing the gates of Hell sounds good but I… I just wonder what the cost will be. To you.”
He smiles without any joy. “I’ve done a lot of things that… others have had to foot the bill for. I see this as… my way of paying them back, I guess.”
You raise your head again to look at him. There’s a pain in your face. His brows twitch together a little in concern.
“Can you close your eyes?” You ask at almost a whisper.
He nods and does it, still facing you. He waits for a moment, wondering what you’ll do. Tentatively, the weight of your head rests on top of his shoulder. You drape yourself around the one of his arms closest to you, wrapping it up in both of yours. You feel him relax under your touch. Your cheek makes a soft noise against the canvas of his coat as you nuzzle into a comfortable spot. His next exhale comes out shaky.
He turns his face towards yours, tilting down a bit to where he knows you are. You peer up at him through your lashes, face still flush with his front. Another long breath rattles out of him. The hand of the arm in your embrace lifts up cautiously. Blindly, he seeks you out, moving haltingly in case you reject his touch. You stay perfectly still in invitation, watching his hand come to rest on your knee. You stare down at it there, watching it settle into holding you.
“I wish I could look at you right now.” He barely murmurs, worrying that’s too transparent— will you recoil at his honesty?
Your head lifts off his shoulder but your arms stay tight around his. He’s waiting with bated breath for your response, tension slipping back into his musculature. Your arms gently tug him a little closer and lower. He bows his head and then your soft lips press into his cheek. He puts all his energy into not revealing that this makes him want to swoon. You pull back and the skin of his face immediately misses your warmth— misses you blocking him from the wind.
“I… I think I… wish you could look at me now, too.” You mutter, clearly unsure of whether or not that was an okay thing to admit.
He lifts the hand from your knee. Just barely skimming his fingertips against various points of you, he uses touch to find your face. With all this tenderness you’re sure he shouldn’t have, his fingers curl and his knuckles brush against your cheek. It’s just a brief pass across your skin but you almost feel like you’re glowing off of the ghostly touch.
In the corner of your eye you see movement. Glancing in the direction of the motel makes you inadvertently bump into Sam’s hand, which was still hovering near your face. He doesn’t move away from you, instead letting his knuckles rest on the swell of your cheek. Your eyes narrow when you see Dean looking out the open door for his brother. The expression he has is less angry but his brow is still furrowed in suspicion.
To Dean, his brother looks very odd right now— eyes closed, head turned towards an empty spot, and his fingers curled to rest against seemingly nothing. Deciding to swallow the urge to poke fun at Sam, Dean just closes the door behind him.
You turn to whisper to Sam. “Dean’s coming over here, I think.”
Sam sighs with exhaustion and nods. When he doesn’t open his eyes immediately you somehow know it’s because he doesn’t want you to get shoved away from him. Reluctantly, you pull away, a lingering squeeze left on his forearm as you fully withdraw. Sighing, he opens his eyes to see Dean walking towards you both. You hover beside Sam with a guarded expression. He doesn’t stand to greet his brother, just lifts his head.
Dean’s boots shuffle to a halt in front of Sam’s. “So are you gonna sleep out here or come back inside?”
Sam takes a breath and glances away briefly. The silence makes Dean shift his weight.
“How do you feel?”
Sam frowns up at Dean. “About what?”
“After the Trial, dipshit.”
“Oh.” Sam’s face in blank, “Okay, I guess.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sam shrugs, “I dunno. I feel okay.”
Dean shifts in place, “Sam, you were flat on your ass back there. Are you sure you’re okay? You were unconscious for at least three hours.”
Sam turns to you for confirmation. You shrug a shoulder, “It was probably much longer. That’s just how long you were asleep after we found you—”
“—Sammy.” Dean cuts you off without knowing, garnering Sam’s focus again. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at his younger brother.
“Dean, I’m fine—”
“—My ass.”
Sam opens his mouth to reply then closes it with an annoyed hum through pursed lips. Dean clears his throat and you can tell he’s posturing.
“Is, uh… she here?”
Sam’s eye flicker to their corners to scowl lightly at Dean as he nods. You think Sam’s got every right to be more outwardly angry than that. Despite this, you hold your tongue.
“So you believe me?” Sam asks.
Dean’s eyes are shifty, not really meeting Sam’s for long. “I guess.”
“You guess?”
“I don’t know man, what you’re telling me is crazy.” Dean replies then heaves a sigh, “But… if you say she’s real then… sure.”
He finishes that with a lame shrug. It’s clear he’s just trying to pacify someone he thinks is losing their mind.
Your head cocks to the side as you give Dean a disbelieving look. A comment slips out before you consider it carefully, “It’s like he’s allergic to just saying sorry.”
Sam snorts a little at that, shooting you a brief look, his eyes softening significantly as they focus on you.
“What?” Dean asks impatiently.
“Nothin’.” Sam replies, face falling as he sits forwards again.
“No, go on,” You say, “tell him what I said.”
Sam hazards a glance over at you. You’re staring up at Dean with your head still tilted, eyes narrowed and dark like tinted glass. Sighing, Sam’s feet scoot further out onto the asphalt and he rubs his stubbly chin with one hand.
“She said: ‘it’s like he’s allergic to just saying sorry.’” Sam peers up through his lashes at Dean.
A muscle on Dean’s jaw juts out as he clenches his teeth. “Well why don’t you tell Casper to mind her own fuckin’ business, how about that.”
You can’t help a dismissive snort, “I will when I get something better to do.”
“Don’t be a dick.” Sam addresses his brother.
Dean rolls his eyes dramatically, “Sammy, are you sure this isn’t some kind of side-effect of the Trials?”
Sam’s face wrinkles incredulously. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know!” Dean raises and drops his hands, “You didn’t start acting weird until after the second one and now you’re insisting that there’s a person here that only you can see. You gotta understand how that looks.”
“What I understand is you not trusting me.”
“Well excuse me for trying to be a bit delicate with you!” Dean snaps, “And if she is real, then why don’t you tell her we’ve got bigger things to worry about than whatever dumbass shit she did to get herself cursed!”
You open your mouth to reply when Sam stands up to his full height. You watch Dean’s chin lift so he can keep glowering right into Sam’s eyes.
“She can hear you perfectly fine. You just can’t hear her.”
Dean lets out a huff through his nose. “Alright fine, and what’s she saying?”
“Nothing right this second.”
“You’re a dick, Dean.” You interject.
“Now she just called you a dick.” Sam repeats to his brother.
“Sure.” Dean rolls his eyes a little and turns on his heel, “Whatever. I’m going to bed.”
Sam’s fists clench at either side of him. He marches a few steps to catch up with Dean.
“What is your goddamn problem, huh?” Sam demands angrily.
In their wake you slowly stand up from the curb, hands clasped in front of your chest a bit anxiously.
“I am not the one with the problem, Sam!” Dean snaps, immediately turning to face his brother with an accusatory finger pointed at his chest. “I just drove five hours here with no stops, dragged your giant limp ass out of a blown-up church and I still can’t get a straight answer outta you to save my life! Sorry if I’m not in the mood to indulge your crazy shit right now!”
“No you’re not! You’re not sorry!” Sam swipes a definitive hand through the air between them, “You’ve been riding my ass for months now! First it was because I didn’t look for you, then it was about me not hunting for the last year, then it was me taking on the Trials instead of you! Are you noticing a pattern here? It’s like everything I do is fucking wrong to you!”
Dean’s face is stoney but he doesn’t answer.
“It doesn’t matter what I do, or what I say! You always would’a done it different— you would’a done it better! Why don’t you believe in me anymore, huh?”
“Well maybe because you’ve started actin’ like Molly Jensen and expected me to just go along with it!”
Both you and Sam frown and utter: “What?”
Dean raises and drops his hands, “My god, dude! C’mon! Ghost! The movie! Molly Jensen’s the— you know what never mind! You comin’ or what?!”
Sam takes a single step closer to Dean, staring deep into his brother’s eyes with a dark tint to them.
“She’s not a ghost. She’s real. And she’s a person who needs our help.”
Dean swallows but doesn’t reply. He doesn’t look away from Sam’s intense gaze either as he continues.
“You know what, Dean? I’m sick of dealing with your extended hissy-fit about Cas.” Sam menaces, “It’s not any of our faults that he ran off! You don’t get to take it out on everyone just because he’s not here for you to get angry with, alright? No one’s gonna put up with your bitching just because you’re hurting! You change your goddamn tone when you talk about her and when you talk to Kevin.”
“What about how I talk to Kevin?”
“You keep ordering him around like a sergeant! He’s a kid, Dean!” Sam exclaims, “Who just lost his mom! Don’t you remember what that feels like?!”
“Don’t.”
“Or what?!” Sam snaps, “You think it’s okay for you to be, uh, uh, unsympathetic to a kid just because you’re mad about your friend running off?! You don’t just get to throw your emotions at everyone else when you can’t be upset with the one person you’re actually mad at!”
“Sammy, enough!”
“I’ll tell you when it’s been enough!” Sam raises his voice louder, “And when we find Cas— which we will —you can be as angry with him as you want! But stop taking it out on everyone else who’s still sticking around!”
Dean’s nose wrinkles and he glances away. He wants to say “it’s not about Cas” but he can’t make himself do it. Because he knows that it is in large part about the angel. Everything has been annoying and anger-inducing recently and Dean secretly does know why. Where’s the dorky guy in the trench coat that’s supposed to be following him around? Maybe if he were here Dean would have some backup against Sam’s hallucination-talk. As things stand, though, he’s got no reply left in him.
A few feet behind Sam, you cock your head to the side, eyeing Dean in a new light.
“Who’s Cas?” You ask.
Sam glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice but doesn’t fully meet your gaze. He replies with a gentler tone than the one he’s been using for his brother.
“Cas is our friend.”
You frown harder but Sam’s not really looking at you anymore. He’s turned back to Dean.
“Cas is an angel.” Dean adds with the intonation of a correction. “A stupid, reckless, idiotic one who dropped out on us. So sorry if I don’t have a lotta patience when it seems like you’re about to do it too!”
Sam raises his hands to either side of him, “Dean, I would never do that to you!”
“You literally did! Earlier this year!” Dean snaps, “And what, I’m just supposed to forgive and forget while you were off with some girl? And not hunting?!”
“’Cause I gotta do everything exactly the way you would, right?!” Sam shouts, “I told you— you either move on or I will! I don’t have to put up with this! You’re not a teenager anymore, Dean, you’re an adult! So start acting like one! You always act like you’re so much more advanced than me when in reality you’re still just a scared little boy afraid of everyone abandoning him all the time! Do you never stop to consider why people might not wanna put up with your shit after a while?!”
A dead silence fills the air. You shiver at the tension, watching Dean’s nostrils flare. He shakes his head softly, a humorless snort puffing past his lips. For a moment he glances to the side and swipes his thumb over the crease of his mouth, almost casual— almost unbothered. Without warning or preamble, Dean snaps back around to punch Sam in the jaw.
You screech in surprise as Sam stumbles to the side a little. “What the hell—!?”
Sam straightens with a mean glare.
“Did that make you feel better?!” Sam can’t help taunting, wiping the blood off his lip.
“Yeah, it did.” Dean lunges towards Sam again.
The two of them crash into the sedan parked to the side. They tangle and wrestle with each other, both grunting and shouting non-verbal noises. Your heart gallops uncontrollably, mouth agape and unsure of what you ought to do. Dean gets the upper-hand on Sam, shoving him down onto the hood of the car with a forearm to the throat.
“Dean—!” Sam grits out, voice strained.
Dean’s nose wrinkles like an animal, fury burning in his green eyes. There are no words now, just blinding fury and the desire for the simplicity of Purgatory. The rules of engagement were clear-cut back there— kill anything that’s standing between him and the angel, then anything standing between him and the portal. For months Dean bled and sweat and slashed his way through that wasteland in search of Cas, never sleeping, barely ever even resting except to wet his dry mouth with some water. All Cas seems to have done recently is run away from him. Is Dean really so bad? Why is it that Cas won’t just—
Smash! The splintering noise of wood shattering interrupts everything. A searing wave of pressure-pain blooms between Dean’s thighs.
“Agh!” He doubles over immediately, releasing Sam.
Sam shoots upright with a gasp, hands going to touch his own throat. Much to his confusion and surprise, Dean stoops forwards with a hand over his crotch. Bewildered and still catching his breath, Sam looks around only to find you holding a big branch, now broken in two pieces. The second his eyes process the sight you’re dropping the stick. Flushed and panting hard you look up at Sam with watery eyes.
“I— I’m s— sorry, I didn’t know—” You’re trembling now, “—I didn’t know what to do— I’m— I’m sorry!”
Sam takes a step towards you and you shift back instinctively— is he angry with you? That sight pains him to see more than he could ever admit. He knows rationally that there are many people who are afraid of him just purely based on his physical size, but seeing you almost cower away from him makes his skin crawl— it makes him wish he could slip out of his skin for a moment, if only to show you he is no threat to you.
He squeezes his eyes shut and holds out a hand to you. Over the sounds of Dean groaning in pain Sam hears you release a relieved breath. Your smaller hand slips into his and Sam finally feels like his lungs inhale a full breath. He’s not sure what to do. He’s still reeling from Dean’s attack and struggling to catch his breath. He wants to double-check that Dean won’t make another move but he can’t. If Sam opens his eyes right now your pressure and the weight of your hand will leave him. He doesn’t think he can endure that right now but what’s more important is getting the two of you to safety.
Sam gives your hand a squeeze before releasing it then opening his eyes to look at his attacker. Dean has slumped from all fours onto just his knees, leaning a shoulder against the sedan as the dizziness slowly subsides. He won’t meet Sam’s gaze out of obvious shame.
“Sleep somewhere else tonight.” Sam says, voice scratchy and still unsteady.
He opens his mouth to add more but there’s nothing else he can say. Swallowing his guilt over this decision, he jerks his head towards the motel in silent request that you go ahead of him. Dean doesn’t look up or speak, just stays close to the ground, shaken by himself and the situation he’s found that self in.
When Sam’s finally got the door closed behind you both, he slips the chain into place, too.
“What’s going on?” Kevin pipes up from the far bed. He’s tucked in below the waist, some headphones on over his head but one out of the way so he can hear.
“Uh,” Sam swallows, still somewhat out of breath, “Dean’s gonna, uh, sleep somewhere else tonight.”
Kevin blinks, clearly surprised and confused. “Why?”
Sam shakes his head slightly, “Not right now, Kevin. I can’t explain right now. Let’s just all go to sleep, okay? We’ll talk in the morning.”
Kevin frowns, “Is your imaginary friend here?”
Sam’s expression melts into one of reserved annoyance. “She’s not imaginary. She’s invisible.”
“Oh. Uh-huh.” Kevin nods slowly, clearly unsure.
Sam’s shoulders slump with exhaustion. “We can talk about everything in the morning, okay? You, uh, should get some sleep.”
Kevin’s expression shifts to one more tinged with concern. “You too, right?”
“Huh?”
“You need sleep, Sam.” Kevin says, the worry clear in his young features. “The Trials are no joke. You need to rest.”
Sam exhales and nods, “I will. Go on. I’ll turn the lights off in a bit, okay?”
Hesitantly, Kevin nods and then with one last long look at Sam, settles down onto his back, slipping the headphone back over his ears. A heavy silence falls over the room as the boy turns onto his side, facing away from them.
Sam faces you. There’s this lost expression in his eyes, like he’s unsure what exactly he needs in this moment. Swallowing thickly, you barely extend one hand out near your hip, letting it hover there in an offer. Sam immediately squeezes his eyes shut and takes you by the wrist, tugging you to his chest without hesitation.
You bump face-first into his t-shirt, which is still riddled with holes from the broken glass. His arms envelop you and one hand cradles the back of your head close to his heart. You think at first this is for your benefit but then you feel him trembling beneath his clothes. Your brows pinch together— he’s never seemed so fragile before.
Your arms loop around his middle and tug him close to you, too. It’s as if you’re trying to silently communicate: I can comfort you, too. I can hold you, too.
A shudder releases from his exhausted body and he begins to lean on you like he just can’t help it. Your hands creep up higher under his arms, taking ahold of his shoulders to encourage this. He doesn’t go so far as to crush you, but you stay there for a long few minutes just breathing together, chest-to-chest. Even after all of his last 24 hours of messy work, the smell of him— the unique Sam-musk —comforts you.
After some time, the two of you agree it’s time for bed. You insist on Sam going to the bathroom first. He does, washing his face clean of blood. You ask him several iterations of questions about whether or not his nose is broken. He assures you finally that it’s been broken twice before— he knows the feeling well. You’re hovering at the sink beside him, and something shadows your face when he says that.
He catches the expression in the corner of his eye and glances over to you. With your brows knit together with a sorrow he doesn’t know how to discern, you tell him “it’s nothing” when he asks what’s wrong. After he brushes his teeth he leaves you to do what you need to do in there.
Sam doesn’t get under the covers, waiting until you come out of the bathroom sometime later. He’s sitting with his feet on the floor, hands between his knees while slowly rubbing his palms together. His eyes flicker up to find you as soon as you return. They follow you as you round the foot of Kevin’s bed and come to stand beside Sam.
“Are you gonna get in?” You ask, quiet even though the kid can’t hear you.
Sam nods slowly, a distant look in his eye.
You’re not sure what comes over you but you reach out to brush some hair off his forehead. You freeze inches from his face, not close enough to feel the magnetic repulsion that keeps you from contact with objects. He glances up at your hand. Without a word, he closes his eyes. Your heart melts and you finish the movement, fingertips skating across his forehead, very carefully tracing some of the hair off his tacky skin. When you reach his ear, he cranes his neck just a tiny bit, like he’s seeking out more contact. You hesitate for a split second then card your fingers through the front of his hair. Instantly, he melts under the touch, a long weary exhale squeezing out of him like an air mattress deflating. You have to swallow a lump in your throat.
When your hand lifts off of him at the crown of his head, he lets out a low, barely audible noise. You’re not sure what it implies until he murmurs to you.
“Again?”
His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so shy— it seems like a man his size shouldn’t be able to sound so small and delicate. It makes you want to slip into his lap and run your fingers through his hair repeatedly until he drifts off into the most peaceful sleep. But you don’t. Because you hardly know the man and you don’t know what he wants. You grant him his wish though, performing the action again, a little slower this time.
He shivers in a way that seems quite pleasant. His chin raises, making his face parallel to yours. If his eyes could open he’d stare right up into your face as you repeat the movement again for a third time.
Before Sam knows what he’s doing his lips are moving. “Can you… hold me tonight?”
Your brows pinch together heartbrokenly. “Yeah. Of course I can do that.”
He nods softly, a little childlike in his manner but not in an off-putting way. Maybe childlike isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s simply… vulnerable. He’s just sitting there, eyes closed and letting you touch him without being able to watch.
“Is… is it hard for you to do this?” You find yourself asking.
His face scrunches a little in confusion. Goddamn it he’s cute. “What d’you mean?”
You slip onto the bed beside him, using just your index finger to curl a lock of hair over his ear. “I dunno. Ask for… this, I guess. I just… I can’t imagine touch has been overly abundant or… very kind in your lifetime.”
He snorts humorlessly. “Understatement.”
Your features scrunch in misery, heart clenching on his behalf. You crawl across the bed and slip under the covers. He picks up a tie he’d packed in his duffle, tying it around his eyes before tucking himself in beside you. He turns to face you and you’re not sure how he wants you to hold him. He doesn’t see your hesitation, just slides his hands through the covers in search of you. Gently, he tugs you closer. You catch on quickly and wrap your arms around his middle.
“I’m sorry.” You murmur.
He shakes his head slightly, a soft scratch on his pillow. “S’not your fault.”
Your brows furrow harder. “It doesn’t have to be my fault for me to be sad about it. To feel sorry you have to deal with… that.”
His face cracks into a little smirk but you can’t quite tell what it means. “You’re a softie.”
“Pfft!” You roll your eyes but can’t completely subdue the smile his teasing caused. You sober up after, not letting him get away from your attention to his difficult life. “It’s… it’s not fair.”
He releases a long, weary sigh. The sound makes you more sad. It’s so resigned— no fight left in him tonight. Your eyes flicker down to his throat, where some purple bruises are forming.
Without thinking you scoot closer to him, your knees bumping into his. You see his brows twitch a little above the tie at the contact. You wish he could look at you— it’s so painfully clear now how much he wants to see when you’re this close. Your fingertips graze over his Adam’s apple making him shudder softly. One of his tree-trunk arms slips across your middle. Despite the disparity, you take in every bit of him this close as you can— the strong nose that comes to a gentle point; the eyebrows that are only relaxed now, in the dark without anything to perplex them; the weariness in his every breath.
After a moment you softly ask, “Has Dean ever done something like that to you before?”
Sam sighs and the breath causes goosebumps on the exposed flesh above your shirt collar. “Yeah. A few times.”
“That’s awful. Why would he do that?”
Sam doesn’t answer you for a long moment. “Unlike tonight I… think I might’a deserved it the other times he tried ‘knocking some sense into me’.”
You immediately make a hum of disagreement. “I sincerely doubt that.”
Sam shrugs a little in your embrace but doesn’t push the conversation any further. He doesn’t want to get into it— he doesn’t want to tell you about the demon blood. He doesn’t want you to know about Ruby.
Is he a coward? Maybe. But also… is it so wrong for him to want to preserve the way you look at him? His eyes are open behind the blindfold, straining like he might be able to see through it— to see you staring at him so close. You look upon the world with concern and distrust, but he can see the way you soften for him. He yearns for your gaze every time it’s not on him.
You see him and he’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean but he feels what it means in the silence.
“Get some rest.” You say, though your eyes are nowhere near drooping.
He nods, “Is it… okay if I stay here for a bit?”
You swallow with some effort and nod. “Of course. Stay as long as you need.”
* * *
It’s not something Dean thinks through fully. There’s not much to it— it’s nothing he hasn’t done before —but it’s still different. It’s new.
The bartender comes back to refill his glass over and over, pausing for longer each time to chat with him. The truths that slip past his lips, loosened by liquor, are never even close to the full ones. He’s returned from somewhere rough after a long while of being there. He doesn’t get specific. He doesn’t need to. Despite his best efforts, the feelings swirling around in Dean are easy to discern on his pretty features. For someone intuitive enough, there’s no need for intense interrogation to read them loud and clear.
The lights are getting turned off overhead. Last call was a half-hour ago. He’s still sitting on the stool at the bar, dawdling with his last finger of whiskey, still sipping from the glass that’s held more drinks than he’s kept count of tonight. People move around him but they’re shadows in his periphery. The only person outside of him that’s real is the bartender. The music overhead is a low droning thrum, a constant undercurrent of noise that he doesn’t process.
Dean doesn’t feel real right now. In truth, he hasn’t felt real in a long time. He doesn’t know when it started. He doesn’t know if he ever felt real. He tries to think of a time when he did.
The first thing that comes to mind is the memory of a mouthful of dirt; hands clawing at oppressive darkness trapping him inside the Earth; splinters from pine wood in his knuckles and palms.; the prickling ghost of claws tearing his guts out slipping away from his skin’s memory in place of a sharp stinging on the swell of his shoulder. A first gulp of fresh air that burned his lungs and a burst of soil between parted lips made him feel alive for the first time in years.
How can a man feel like his skin is brand new? If he’s worn his body ragged for over 25 years, how can he feel like the breeze tickling his flesh is new or different at the age of 29?
Walking down a road so desolate there wasn’t even a line demarcating the two lanes, he knew he was born again somehow. His body looked like he remembered— by all accounts he was once again the man he’d become on Earth —but the flesh tingled with every sensation like the world birthed him anew.
There was one thing about existence that began then and had not been present before: the feeling of being watched. Despite that, he could spin around in circles looking for the eyes following him only to find nothing. At first it was nerve-wracking because he didn’t know who was watching. But then he got used to it. He became reliant on the ability to look upwards and speak to empty air and know someone heard him.
When he thinks back on it now, Dean knows when that feeling left him. It was that first night in Purgatory, when all the woods were dark and not quiet. When he hissed out into the shadows for the angel that had played a large hand in getting him to this place and only ominous noises of other creatures responded. He was supposed to feel like there was someone watching him— someone watching out for him when all he’d ever done was watch out for others. But there was no one.
So is it so unreasonable of Dean to be angry? Is he so broken and incomprehensible that even his own brother can’t relate to that feeling of abandonment? What’s he saying— he knows that Sam’s abandoned him many times over. And if he were in more of a charitable mood he would consider how many times he’d done the same thing to Sam. All the times that he’d gotten John so mad that he’d sent Dean packing on the road with nothing but a rucksack and whatever money he’d recently hustled from pool, barely legal-looking enough to get into bars without too many questions thrown his way. All the times when Dean had done the same thing to Sam upon being faced with disappointment in his brother’s behaviors.
There’s a part of Dean that still remains logical, even after Purgatory where the term “logical” became a moving target. He knows that he and Sam have tangled each other up in this mess over and over— both of them contributing new knots to a giant ball of twine that only the two of them know about.
“What’s your name, stranger?” The bartender asked some hours ago.
“Dean.” He swallowed his gulp of bourbon. “Yours?”
“Alex.” The bartender smirked. “Let me know if you need anything else, Dean.”
Dean’s name is spoken like it’s dreamy somehow— like his name alone holds some kind of beauty Dean has never heard in it himself.
When the bartender comes to lean on the counter in front of Dean for the last time that evening, there’s no one else in the bar. Dean’s in a daze— not drunk, just buzzed enough to let himself hide in the persona of the “stranger”. The bartender doesn’t know him, doesn’t know what he’s done or who he’s become in the last year. Dean doesn’t know who he’s become either.
The back room is made of brick, the overhead light dim from needing a new bulb. Dean offers to change it as soon as they walk in— he’s tall enough to reach without much effort. Alex shushes him with a seductive smile.
“Have you ever done this before?”
Dean scoffs lightly, “I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you mean.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Alex’s lips brush against Dean’s with each syllable.
Dean’s breath hitches and he thinks that makes him sound like a girl. He doesn’t answer, just grabs the bartender and smashes their mouths together. He thinks maybe he’ll imagine it’s a girl he’s kissing. When his eyes are closed and their lips begin moving together, though, he doesn’t disappear into a fantasy. He’s perfectly aware the whole time that he’s letting a man card his fingers through his hair. There’s a cock in the dark pants pressing into the front of Dean’s dirty jeans, making a bulge grow in Dean’s boxers.
It’s rough from Dean’s side— demanding and impatient. Alex is slow and careful, hands strong and sure enough to make Dean match his pace. Dean thinks he might’ve been convincing enough that Alex believes he’s not nervous. Just to be safe, he keeps his hands busy so Alex can’t see the tremor in them.
Dean wants his brain to turn off. He wants to be lost in this like how he used to lose himself in sex. It’s not working. He’s painfully aware of the lower register in the soft sighs and moans he’s eliciting from his partner. He wants to go into a fugue state— the kind where he leaves everything about himself behind to please someone who will never see him again. Still, if he does his job just right, she’ll always remember him as one of the best lays of her life. A one-night wonder, he’s often thought smugly as he comes after arduous effort.
Alex’s hands go to Dean’s belt. Instinctively, Dean grabs his wrists to stop him. Alex pulls back to look him in the eye, panting softly and flushed from Dean’s kisses. There’s no words out of Dean, just his back to a wall and his eyes flickering to the ajar door over Alex’s shoulder.
▪ What if someone catches me?
It’s not the first time that thought has paralyzed Dean. It’s a thought he’s encountered many times over— one he’s shoved away easily sometimes. It doesn’t leave easily this time.
“It’s just you an’ me, sweetie.” Alex whispers.
Dean scoffs a little— how many times has a girl said something like that to him? Doesn’t Alex feel pathetic talking like that? It doesn’t seem that way. Alex is perfectly in his element, totally within the headspace Dean wishes he could disappear into. Alex’s hand covers Dean’s hard-on through his jeans, giving his cock a firm, tempting squeeze. Dean just barely manages to choke down a moan that makes him sound like a bitch in heat.
▪ No one’s watching you now.
▪ No one knows what you’re going to do.
“We gotta make it quick.” Dean manages to grit out.
Alex smirks, “That’ll be up to you, baby.”
His hands are big on Dean’s cock. It’s not like Dean’s only been with women who he could break in half— he’s been the one begging for a big lady before —but Alex’s touch is different. He’s methodical, un-bothered, and completely in his element. The rasp of day-old stubble against the sensitive skin of Dean’s thighs is new. It tickles, makes him flinch a little. Alex hums happily around his cock and Dean can’t help a choked moan slipping past his lips. It’s not like him— this isn’t like him at all.
Or is it?
Fuck, the man has got skill, though, there’s no doubt about it. He’s thorough and builds up to a pace that has Dean holding back whimpers. When he gags around Dean’s cock he doesn’t retreat, he forces it deeper down his throat. It’s like he’s—
“You’re a greedy thing, huh?” Dean can’t help mumbling, fisting a hand into Alex’s curls.
The man on his knees hums affirmatively, eyes closed in bliss. He takes Dean into his mouth over and over, his hands picking up the slack. In the past Dean’s had no qualms asking for what finishes him off every time— if a girl’s finding his prostate, it’s not wrong, right? He’s sure it’s a loophole he’s been lying to himself about for years when Alex finds it without his guidance or asking.
Dean comes down the man’s throat with a knee-jerking wave of pleasure so strong it borders on nausea. His knuckles are white in Alex’s dark hair, gripping too hard because he’s not in full control of himself right now. His head falls back against the brick wall and his lungs burn with gasping breaths. The overhead bulb flickers and dims even further as he calms his heart rate.
Alex is too tender to him. He tucks Dean’s limp cock away with slow, practiced movements, too kind to the man who can’t admit what he’s just done. Dean’s lucky that his gruffness after the act isn’t taken personally. Alex knows Dean’s type— the lost man who’s too cowardly to act on or ask for the kind of intimacy he wants. Alex might not know Dean’s past but he knows Dean is a man who has never felt this kind of closeness to another man— at least not without the threat of violence hanging over him. That’s familiar.
He kisses Dean one last time and Dean tastes the last residue of his spendings on the tip of Alex’s tongue. He’s not unfamiliar with that flavor, nor has he ever turned down a kiss from a girl good enough to swallow all of his cum down without complaint. His eyes are closed and he returns the kiss somewhat, but he’s caught on the idea of what this looks like from the outside. If someone were to walk past that ajar door, they’d think Dean’s a queer— a fag, a fairy, a queen, a pussy. It doesn’t stop him, but he thinks about it until the very moment Alex pulls away.
“Well then.” Alex straightens Dean’s coat with a smug smirk. “I guess this is goodbye.”
Dean’s brows twitch together a little in confusion. “You don’t… you don’t want me to…?”
He can’t even finish the question— he can’t even get out a simple “return the favor” kind of line. Alex smiles wistfully.
“I don’t think you’re ready for that yet, honey.” He pats Dean on the cheek and then turns towards the door. “I’m gonna finish cleaning up.” He pauses with one hand on the door and gives Dean a once-over, “I hope you had fun. I sure did. Let me know if… you want more.”
Alex winks and then slips out of sight.
Dean swallows thickly, a burning behind his eyes. He feels his throat contracting and he wonders silently if he’s going to be a real bitch and cry after coming.
▪ What a fuckin’ pussy.
Dean slips out the back door of the bar a few minutes later— anything to avoid seeing Alex again. The Impala’s wheels kick up gravel as he speeds off, tears blurring his vision and no feeling of eyes on his back to comfort or shame him. He disappears into the night, down a road so desolate there’s no yellow lines on the asphalt.
Whistling to himself, Alex goes to put crates of recently-cleaned glasses into that back room. When he flicks on the light, it comes on brighter than he expects. This only startles him a little. He glances into the small trash bin near the door and sees an old lightbulb laying on top of other random trash. Alex knows he’ll never see Dean again— he knows he’s just changed the man’s life and that’s more than enough of a rush for him. Still, he softens at the sight of the overhead light, wondering how a man so repressed could be so concerned with paying someone back for the simple safety of intimacy with a stranger.
Dean sleeps in the Impala tonight, arms crossed and cheeks repeatedly wiped clean with a scowl. He wishes he had a blanket— something to cover him from the unfamiliar eyes of the outside world peeking in through his car’s windows. He makes do, though. When has Dean ever had enough comfort? He oughta be used to this by now. Still, there in the silence, he realizes that he might never be okay with how much he still longs for the things he lacks.
i just binged penumbra i’m obsessed!! real tears in my eyes reading chapter 5 holy moly
AHHH omg I'm so so glad you're enjoying it!! 😳😝 I'm sorry to say that there will probably be more tears in the upcoming chapters OOPS hehehehe
I'm REALLY excited about chapter 6, I just need to finish my draft of chapter 7 then I can post it!! AH I've had a really bad night but I've been wanting to keep writing and this ask finally pushed me over the edge so I'm gonna see how much I can get done tonight, my lovely!
would you like to be added to the taglist? lmk in the replies!!
MUCH LOVE TO YOU 🩵🥰
