Warnings: relationships are hard, even in the afterlife, angst, some cursing, mention of institutionalization, m/m m/f kissing, wincest/no sex, unprotected p/v in heaven-wrap it up on earth, Cas’ism
Based off the Youtube video of the husband hitting on his wife after surgery.
Warnings: like 1 curse word
You were awoken by the loud sound of your phone alarm. It was already noon, which meant Dean should be out of surgery any minute now. It had been a long morning. You and Dean got to the hospital at 4AM for his pre-surgery preparation and his surgery wasn’t until 6AM. So instead of sitting around and worrying, you thought it’d be best to lay down to get some rest while Dean was in his four hour leg surgery.
About ten minutes later, two nurses roll Dean’s hospital bed into his recovery room. He is half awake, trying to figure out where he is. “Here. Try to get him to eat some of these.” the nurse tells you as she hands you a sleeve of saltine crackers, “It will help calm the nausea he may have from the pain medication. Other than that, everything went fantastic and I’ll be right back with his meds.”
“Thank you!” you told the nurse. You turned to Dean and handed him a cracker.
“I need some medicine” Dean blurted, his voice sounding very hoarse.
“They’re bringing you some right now” you assured him. “Go ahead and finish eating your cracker.”
“Did the doctor send you? Man, you are eye candy!” he exclaimed, clearly still coming out of his anesthesia and waving his hand with the cracker in it all around. “Woah. You might be the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Are you a model?”
You couldn’t help but giggle. How could this man still be so handsome while so drugged up? “No, but I’ll be right here with you, Dean. Keep eating your cracker.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“My name is Y/N. I’m your wife.”
“You’re MY wife?!” Dean questioned, astonished. All you did was shake your head. “Holy shit! Dang! How long?” you couldn’t contain your laugh.
“Just eat the cracker, you are waking up!” you told him.
“Do we have children?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh man. Man, have we kissed yet?”
“Keep eating your cracker.”
“Oh, it’s hard. It’s hard, baby, it's hard. Do we call each other ‘baby’? How long have we been married?” questions spewed out of Dean’s mouth.
Characters: Dean Winchester, OFC, Sam Winchester mentioned.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Emily)
Notes: First-person POV (OFC). I don’t specify what happened to Sam but I do mention the bunker so let’s go with Season 8-ish.
A/N: I was listening to Need Me - Eminem ft. Pink and this fic happened as a result. I’ve no idea where it came from if I’m honest, or why I wrote it in first person.
Warnings: 18+ Only, explicit sexual content, explicit language smut, fluffies, a little angst.
A/N: I’m just so happy I actually finished something 😃 This is entirely from Dean’s POV. It was challenging to do this, but I absolutely love being in Dean’s head, imagining the things he thinks about. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed this! Let me know what you think - I’d love to hear from you ❤ Much love, hugs, and thanks to @babypieandwhiskey for the quick beta!
I really hate bein’ away from her.
Almost a month. A friggin’ month me and Sammy’ve been gone. Thought this was just gonna be a milk run, a one-two-wham-bam-adios-bitch.
But everything's gotta be complicated or it ain't for a Winchester.
Sam fell asleep an hour ago. I've been tossing and turning for two. I know if she was here I'd be deep in dreamland by now. Or maybe deep in her. Either way, she makes everything... better. Easier. Worth it. I can get a full eight hours when she's layin’ next to me, her head on my chest and hand over my heart. Her skin always feels so soft and warm against mine and she always smells so good, puts on this oil that Rowena mixed up for her - I think it's got lavender or somethin’ in it. There’s nothin’ I love more than fallin’ asleep with my arms around her, holding her close to me.
Sometimes I won’t let myself drift off and I’ll just watch her sleep. Not like in a creepy way, I just...I can't believe she's mine, and I'm scared that I'll blink and she won't be there. So I fight to keep my eyes open, so I can savor every second of how it feels to be with her. ‘Cause when the two of us are together, my world, it...stands still. No fights, no blood, no death - just me and her and nothing can break us.
I turn on my side and clutch the extra pillow, staring at the empty space in the bed. I wonder what she's doin'. Probably buried under a dozen blankets, watchin’ a rom-com she won't admit she likes. Eatin’ ice cream out of the carton, drinkin’ that fruity white wine she loves so much, thinkin’ I don’t know she’s wearin’ one of my flannels. But I don’t mind -she looks sexy as hell in my clothes.
Goddamnit I miss her - I'm usually only gone for a week, two tops. I ain't right without her. Can't believe I'm sayin’ this but I've never needed no one like I need her. She keeps me focused, calm. And on my really dark days, when I think I’ve just had it and I’m so tired of it all, she gives me a reason. She is the reason. I will never leave her, whatever it takes.
She always wants me to call her when I’m done with a hunt, give her an ETA so she can cook us “something that isn’t goddamn road food”. I tell her she doesn’t have to do that, seems kinda piggish and old-fashioned, but she tells me to shut up. It’s just a weird feeling, having someone that wants to take care of me, even in small ways like makin’ me breakfast. I never want her to think I take her for granted. So I make sure to stop at a Gas n’ Sip before Sam and I roll in. They sell single red roses, so I always grab one for her, along with a giant bag of gummy bears. It seems like a weak gesture, nowhere near a match of what I feel for her, but she loves it. She’s saved every flower I’ve given her, even dried a bunch of roadside wildflowers I gave her when we first met.
When my brother and I finally get home, she'll be there waiting; probably in the kitchen, wearin’ those cute pajama shorts and drowning in one of my shirts. She’ll run up and wrap her arms around me, standing on her tiptoes to give me a kiss. And I’ll hold her so close, slip my hand beneath her shirt so I can feel her skin. Then she’ll give me that look, the one that makes me wanna scoop her up and haul ass to the bedroom...but she’ll pull away with a wink ‘cause breakfast’s almost ready: coffee and pancakes and bacon and some kind of vegetable egg-white monstrosity for Sam and I’ll swear for a minute I’m in what heaven’s supposed to be like.
We’ll eat, talk about the hunt, throw back a couple of breakfast beers. Sam cleans up and I hit the shower, knowing she’s waiting for me. I’m already gettin’ hard while I wash up, imagining her gorgeous body beneath mine, thinkin’ about all the things I’m gonna do with her...
I just wanna crawl into bed with her and stay there for at least a day. Sundown to sunup, I just wanna worship her like the goddess she is.
She’s beneath the blankets when I come into the bedroom and lock the door. Then she gives me that smile, a smile that - when I first saw it - wrecked me in all the right ways. Any time she smiles it’s like I’m coming all undone and I can’t think of anything but her.
She stretches and sighs as I whip off my towel and slide in next to her. I take a minute to gather her up in my arms and feel the heat of her naked body warm me like a pool of sunshine. Needing the taste of her skin on my lips, I kiss her shoulder, her neck, and make my way up to her mouth. Her lips are so soft, so inviting as she parts them to let me in. I roll on top of her and kiss her hard, deep, sliding my tongue against hers as I fall under her spell. Her hands run through my hair and down the back of my neck, sliding across my shoulders. I shudder a bit because her touch feels so damn good. She wraps her legs around me, hips grinding slow and sweet, wanting. But I won't dive in, not yet. I wanna tease her, take my time... take in as much of her as I possibly can.
My lips leave hers and I start kissing her everywhere, slowly, from shoulder to shoulder and down each arm, all the way to each of her fingertips. Her hips move a little quicker, breaths coming faster. I cup one of her breasts in my hand and take the other in my mouth, running my tongue over her stiff nipple before catching it between my teeth. Her body arches and she moans, whispering my name and pleading. I let it go and move to her other breast, nipping and sucking while my hand runs over her stomach and further until my palm rests between her legs. She tries to open up more and buck against my hand. I can already feel how wet she is and I slip my finger along her folds and press slightly into her pussy. Holy shit, she’s so soaked and I need to feel her so I slide my finger all the way in and add a second. And I look at her as I drag slowly in and out, and fuck she’s beautiful - skin flushing, body trembling and aching, lips making those sweet, beautiful sounds I love so much. My thumb finds her clit and I rub gently, slowly, and I can feel her body start to give. I take her lips in mine again, swallowing her sighs and moans as I fuck her with my fingers, driving her closer and closer to the edge. But I stop before she gets there. I have to taste her, make her come on my tongue.
She bends her knees as I kiss my way down her body, opening herself up to me. Then I drape her legs over my shoulders and brush my nose against her clit...fuck she smells delicious. I tease the both of us, lightly flicking my tongue on that sensitive little bud and kissing her inner thighs. I didn’t shave so I’ve got some stubble that makes her flesh turn a little pink and I know she absolutely loves that. She threads her fingers through my hair, her desperate whimpers and needy groans filling the room. I glance up at her - I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, so marvelous in my goddamn life. My tongue dives into her and I lap up the tangy spice that drips from her like its goddamn ambrosia. Her arms fall to her sides and she goes slack again - I can feel the rush of heat coursing through her while her knees shake and then I feel her tense...I push my fingers back into her tight, perfect pussy, sliding and twisting until I find that spot and when I do, when she belts out something between a grunt and a cry, I wrap my lips over her clit and suck. Then I can feel it - her walls tightening, cunt clenching, getting even wetter until I finally make her explode, the sweet taste of her filling my mouth as she drenches my hand. I watch her while I slowly work her through it. Holy shit, she's looks incredible like this - skin flushed, eyes clamped shut, limbs trembling and chest heaving as she catches her breath. I swear I could spend hours doing this, just making her come and watching her fall apart.
It’s almost like I’m dumbstruck - I just stare at her, at this gorgeous woman who’s giving herself to me. When her eyes finally flutter open and meet mine, her gaze pierces right into my soul as she whispers, “Fuck me, Dean...please.”
My dick is throbbing, hard as steel and dripping with precome and I can't wait anymore. I grab my cock in my fist, line up, and slide in slowly, watching her cunt take me all the way in. She feels so...fuck, there’s not a word for it. Beyond good. More than amazing. Being inside of her is such pure ecstasy that I’m afraid my head’s gonna explode. I start to fuck her harder, faster, loving the way her tits bounce and her sighs turn into near screams. I press the pad of my thumb on her clit, circle a few times and she’s coming again, soaking and squeezing my cock so good and so tight and then that fantastic feeling hooks me... I’m gonna come, deep inside of her, fill her pussy up. I close my eyes and lean forward, my chest touching hers, the sweat from our skin all but gluing our bodies together. She wraps her legs around me, heels pressing into the small of my back, fingernails digging into the meat of my shoulders and I groan, the sensation if it all too much and not enough at the same time, I hear her mutter against my ear, all sultry and primal, “come for me...fucking come for me, baby…”. I open my eyes and get trapped in hers, letting go and getting lost in everything that she is. I thrust in deep and with a shout of her name I come, hard, spilling everything I got into her waiting cunt. I can feel her breath against my cheek as I empty into her, my elbows shaking, legs weak. She holds me tight when I collapse on top of her, my dick twitching in her warm heat as I come down. Her fingernails lightly scratch the back of my head and I shiver, burying my face in the crook of her neck. I can taste her sweet saltiness on my lips, still taste her on my tongue.
I groan as I slide out of her, missing her warmth already. But I roll onto my back and she tucks in, head on my chest and a hand over my heart. “I love you, Dean,” she murmurs, and I can feel her relax, her breaths becoming even. “Love you too,” I say, “so fucking much.” And then we drift off, holding one another until sleep has to tear us apart for a few hours. And I fall asleep feeling so damn lucky, so friggin’ astounded that I found this woman. I’d do anything for her - die a thousand deaths and make ten times as many deals just to keep her safe and near me.
And if she ever says she wants it, I’ll leave the life for her, no hesitations.
I can’t believe I found someone who makes me laugh and smile, who I’d share everything with and do everything for, who actually loves my sorry dysfunctional ass this much.
The motel clock says four am. Sam’s snoring and I’m still tossing and turning. I hope I didn’t pass her by. Maybe I already know her, have already loved her for a night or two, but couldn’t stick around long enough to realize it. But I gotta believe that’s not the case, that she’s still out there. Maybe one day, someday soon, I’ll find her waiting for me, ready to give me her heart and steal mine. But for now, I’ll just keep smokin’ the pipe dream, because a pipe dream woman is all I got.
Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Might Get Me Laid
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Summary: When Dean's name calling goes too far, Castiel decides to teach him a lesson in manners.
Rating: Explicit
Words:3353
Warnings: None really? Dean’s slightly masochistic. Cas is not gentle.
A/N: I’m new to this tumblr fic thing and I don’t exactly know what I’m doing. But yay for new experiences. :p Fic is set in Season 6 immediately after Eve is defeated.
Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, but Words Might Get Me Laid
They were all still angry.
Well, Dean was embarrassed, but it was essentially the same thing. He was not one to admit fault, even to himself, and the gnawing sense that he should--that he should apologize--pissed him off. It made him pissed off at the person he owed the apology to, too, but he was sure he could find something to offer him in lieu of the dreaded s-word. With luck, they could take things out on each other and call it even.
The day had been generally draining, what with being turned into a Jefferson Starship and then healed, and then thinking he had unleashed a global pandemic and then finding he hadn't, and the twenty hour drive from Grants Pass to Sioux Falls seemed far less appealing than a motel room and a cooler full of beer. That was why Dean was currently unpacking his duffel bag in anticipation of a shower hot enough to burn away sin itself--or at the very least, a little shame.
“Well. Didn’t take you long to wrap things up,” he remarked without turning around. His visitor hadn’t announced himself yet, but Dean had been expecting him since Sam had walked out the door to find dinner and a store still selling alcohol. Late as it was, that promised to take some doing. They had time, if not a lot of it.
“You’d be amazed what an angel is capable of when properly motivated.”
The gruff voice was much closer than predicted, and it set Dean’s heart tripping. He tossed his duffel bag on the bed and wiped the thirsty look from his features before turning to face Cas. The angel’s expression was hard, and Dean's answered it with an almost bored defiance. He hadn’t endangered humanity just to piss Cas off, but as silver linings went, it wasn’t half bad.
“What? Aren’t you needed upstairs, Mister ‘I’m in the Middle of a Civil War’?” Dean asked, affecting Cas’ serious tone.
Cas didn’t rise to the bait. Not really. He did lean forward, his voice frighteningly low, to ask, “What was it you called me earlier?”
Dean's nervous gulp was more conspicuous than he might have liked. He had known, when Cas had started pouting in the diner, that he’d be answering for that sooner or later. He was glad it turned out to be sooner. Dean cleared his throat.
“A baby,” he reminded the angel matter-of-factly, “in a trench coat.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cas’ already pursed lips tightened. Dean knew it was part of the act. Cas wasn’t really as angry as he looked. At least, Dean hoped he wasn’t, because he looked really angry.
“And...do you still think I’m a baby?”
Dean considered for a moment and nodded. “In a trench coat,” he added.
“In a trench coat,” Cas repeated, nodding as well.
“Hey, if the shoe fits.”
Cas’ scowl faltered. “Why are we talking about shoes now?” he asked hesitantly, breaking character to whisper, and Dean breathed an internal sigh of relief. Not as mad as he looked, after all. A genuinely angry Cas was not as much fun. Or rather, he was fun of a different sort, but a brawl was not what Dean craved. “The trench coat seemed very important a moment ago,” said Cas, cocking his head in confusion.
Dean smirked and cranked up the smart-ass a notch or two. “Point is, without your mojo?” he said with a shrug, “You’re like an infant.”
“I’m like an infant?”
“Yup."
“Well, I don’t need 'mojo' to make you my bitch,” Cas pointed out, his affront nudging him back on script. Dean said a silent prayer of thanks that he’d taught Cas that line.
“Oh, you think you can?” Dean said cockily.
“I know I can.”
“I’d like to see you tr-”
Before the sentence could clear his lips, Dean found himself pressed face-first against the far wall. The swiftness and force involved were not the only things that stole his breath. Dean grinned to himself, his cheek pressed to the cheap wooden motel paneling, knowing Cas couldn’t see him. They’d come a long way since that reluctant discussion a few months prior when, missing Lisa and still distrustful of his brother, Dean had been desperate enough to finally allow himself to succumb to the silent something that had always been between the two of them.
He'd called Cas to discuss his suspicions regarding Sam and the Campbells, but his situation seemed even more disheartening when described out loud, and as he'd talked, Dean had realized that Cas was the only sure thing he had left outside of Bobby. He'd found himself feeling suddenly lonesome, and he noticed he was fixating on the angel's lips, wishing he could kiss them. The thought had surprised him at first, though it really shouldn't have, and it only took a moment for Dean to make peace with the longing.
And then a moment more for him to pray for the thing to actually happen.
Finally, was all Cas had said before answering that prayer in spectacular, thorough, and exceedingly satisfying fashion.
“So, you mean role play,” Cas had attempted to clarify afterward, “as a means of foreplay.”
Dean had still been feeling relaxed enough, covered more by angel than by their tangled sheets, to broach the subject. But he should have known, no matter how elementary the concept seemed to him, that the conversation wouldn’t be simple or straightforward.
“Do you have to label it, Cas?” Dean had whined with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, I suppose, if it will help you to understand. Foreplay.”
“So you enjoy being dominated.”
Dean winced. “Don’t put it like that,” he objected. He’d acquired a few new tastes while in Hell, none of which he was particularly proud. This one was the most acceptable by far, though it was the last he’d admit to anyone else, or in any other situation, and it was the one he had the least opportunity to indulge in. “Look. I’m not quite...comfortable yet with the fact that I apparently crave sausage,” he’d explained as delicately as he could.
“That seems unlikely,” Castiel had argued with a skeptical bunch to his brow. “You appear to be very comfortable to me. I watched you eat three hot dogs in a row just hours ago. Besides, what do sausages have to do with-”
Dean’s bemused expression had caused the angel to pause long enough to realize the error in his analysis.
“Oh,” he’d exclaimed softly, “It’s a euphemism.” He seemed pleased with himself to have worked it out, though his confidence was evanescent. “It is a euphemism, isn’t it?”
Dean had nodded slowly but emphatically. “So, it would help me to feel more secure in my manhood if I didn’t just, y'know, grab ankle every time you gave me that look.”
“Which look is that?”
“Just pretend that I don’t have a choice, okay?” Dean had huffed, exasperated by the angel’s inexperience. Geez. You’d think a guy who had watched humanity since it pulled itself out of the trees would have paid more attention to the one thing it seemed to enjoy most. “I don’t want to just give it to you. I want you to have to take it out of me.”
Castiel had seemed confused still but willing to play along. “And that will make you feel better about the fact that I penetrate you during intercourse?”
“Yes, Cas,” Dean had said through clenched teeth, struggling to remain civil and almost succeeding. “Yes, you ‘role playing’ will make me feel better about me taking it up the ass from a little nerdy dude with wings. Can we please stop discussing it?”
Painful as the conversation had been, Dean considered it to have been well worth it to find himself currently pressed against the grimy paneled wall of a nameless motel room by the entire length of Cas’ strong, belligerent, trench coated vessel.
“I find it hard to believe that I am the baby in this scenario," Cas griped in Dean's ear, "when I’m the one always cleaning up your messes. In fact, I think you need a diaper cha-”
“Whoa, whoa,” Dean interrupted, scowling at the tainted mood even as Cas reached to undo his belt. “Can we cool it with the baby metaphors while you’re touching my junk, Cas? Little weird.”
Instead of more timid stumbling, Castiel turned Dean roughly to scowl in his face. Both his aggression and the tone of the angel’s voice when he next spoke turned Dean’s knees to putty, and he might not have managed to remain upright if not for Cas’ fist bunched in the collar of his flannel overshirt.
“Listen,” Cas hissed, apparently officially done with Dean’s shit, “I am not familiar with all the rules of this little ‘game’ you want me to play. So why don't I simply take off your pants, and you be a good boy and stop talking and eat my sausage.”
Dean nodded wordlessly (though he might have whimpered) before he was tossed unceremoniously onto the nearest bed, the impact causing his duffel bag to bounce to the floor where it was promptly ignored.
“That’s better,” Cas growled as he tugged Dean’s belt free of his jeans. He tossed it in the general direction of the man's neglected luggage before attacking his pants, stripping them, boxers and all, to reveal Dean’s very eager and obviously quite confident manhood. The angel considered it hungrily as he dropped his trench coat across a nearby chair where it was soon joined by the rest of his bedraggled suit. His eyes were still glued to it when he slipped onto the bed between Dean’s thighs to admire it up close.
“You know, human genitalia really is quite unlovely.” The statement was at odds with the fond look on Cas’ face as he gazed at the thing. “But it makes me feel somewhat privileged to think--no matter how many women this has been inside--no man, outside of Hell itself, has ever touched it,” he remarked, his eyes cutting to Dean’s, which were imploring. “Except for me,” he finished, making sure the tip of the organ in question brushed every inch of him, clavicle to cock, as he climbed his way up the length of Dean’s body.
Cas’ hand slid up Dean’s shirt as he rose, his touch firm and possessive, and Dean could barely breathe. The hunter decided respiration was overrated anyway, really, as he poured what was left of the air in his lungs into Cas’ mouth when their lips met and locked. Their kiss was rowdy, bordering on violent, and it stated unambiguously that Castiel would not be denied his pound of flesh. Which was exactly how Dean liked it. He was so thoroughly drunken on the angel's tongue that he could hardly follow the flurry of activity that found him suddenly bound and at Cas' mercy.
Cas had drawn back, pulling the hunter with him to yank the front of his shirt up and over Dean’s head. Instead of removing it entirely, Castiel left it looped around Dean’s upper arms so that, once he flipped him over and pressed him face down on the mattress, a twist of the fabric restrained him entirely. It had been so abrupt, it took Dean a few seconds to process everything. Particularly, how delicious his restraints felt cutting into his biceps. And how throbbingly goddamned hard the whole thing had made him.
“Spit,” Cas demanded, his hand held ready by Dean’s mouth to collect it. What he was offered was apparently insufficient, as the angel’s fingers delved past Dean’s lips to find more, gagging him a little. Dean helpfully wrapped his tongue around the invading digits, and Cas grunted approvingly. Wet to the last knuckle, those fingers then went immediately to the crack of the elder Winchester’s ass.
It was not enough. Dean might have invested in lube if he wasn’t terrified of Sammy finding it on accident while digging through his bag for deodorant or something equally mundane. It didn’t matter. Dean liked this part of it, too. He’d made friends with pain long before selling his soul. That relationship simply became more intimate after his trip downstairs.
Castiel didn’t waste any time. They didn’t have any to waste. Sam could be on his way back already. Dean buried his face in the musty, threadbare velveteen coverlet to muffle his groan as two of the angel’s already drying fingers forced him open. He struggled reflexively, but Cas knew by now not to stop because of it. His hand followed Dean’s squirmings until his fingers were buried completely. Only then did he pause to lower his face to where Dean’s panted, beaded with sweat, and reach to tenderly kiss away a tear that threatened to escape from the corner of Dean’s eye.
“Do you still want me to get out of your ass?” he whispered directly in Dean's ear, shoving his fingers even deeper.
“Oh, god,” Dean moaned. It was pitiful and helpless, and it brought a smile to the angel’s lips.
“He’s not the one answering your prayers anymore, Dean Winchester,” he said, removing his hand and quickly slipping on top of the whimpering man to position his cock there instead. “I am.”
His plunge wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle, and he sank balls deep with a moan in answer to the one shouted into the mattress by the man he was embedding himself in. Dean felt Castiel’s chest press itself to the backs of his arms, which were pinned uncomfortably between them as the angel burrowed his beneath Dean to cling to him as he rode him. Then his mouth fell to the back of Dean’s neck, and the hunter sobbed out his gratitude. It was almost too perfect.
Cas was a fast learner, and his skill was almost miraculous considering how recently he'd taken up this sport. But the act was still new enough to him for him to get lost in it, and Dean loved that. The angel wasn’t aiming to impress. He didn’t overthink things. He allowed himself to be overwhelmed by the experience, and the sound of his very vocal enjoyment never failed to push Dean to heights of arousal he’d never experienced with any lover before this one. Dean struggled to turn his bound hand to grasp at Cas to encourage him deeper, harder--fuck--faster. Not that he needed any encouragement. Both the hunter and the bed frame groaned as the angel pounded Dean with increasing enthusiasm.
“Ah, fuck, Cas.”
“Say all of it,” the angel begged between ragged breaths. “Dean. Say my name.”
Dean obliged.
“Castiel!”
It was as surely a prayer as any other he’d ever uttered. At that moment, Dean absolutely fucking worshiped the divine staff that impaled him, pumping him full of thick, warm benediction. He felt himself spill his own load in response, soiling the gold bedspread beneath him, which had no doubt seen countless similar stains before this one.
Dean felt Cas withdraw moments before he felt him collapse with a bounce onto the mattress beside him, and he turned his head to look at the angel. Castiel’s post-coital expression always reminded Dean of the beatitude seen on the faces of the saints plastered to the sides of cheap candles at the grocery store. It was endearing, and Dean supposed it stood to reason. A really mind-blowing orgasm was probably the closest any of them would ever get to feeling the presence of God.
“Uh...Cas?” Dean grunted after they’d both had a chance to catch their breath. He wriggled his bound arms demonstratively, and Cas quickly finished stripping the t-shirt from them. Once free, though they were reluctant to obey, Dean reached to draw Cas closer to him. They didn’t have long, but surely there was enough time for this, even if only a moment.
Dean didn’t stretch to kiss him, though. He knew Cas wished he would be more demonstrative in his affection, but Dean wasn’t yet ready to turn their relationship so maudlin, especially with Cas fighting a war against the current strongest known being in the universe. Dean didn’t want to let himself need Cas just when he was likely to lose him soon.
“Did I hurt you?” Cas asked, his brow creased with worry. He asked it every time, and the answer was always the same.
“Just right,” Dean told him with a nod and a groggy smile. He wanted to, but he couldn’t fall asleep. He had to get into the shower before Sammy got back. He had to make sure Cas ‘angelled’ away the evidence of what they’d just done, including the stain on the bedspread and the smell of rut and sweat that hung heavy in the room. As if reading his thoughts, Cas untangled himself and sat up.
“I should go,” he said, though his tone was apologetic. “We’ve received word that Raphael is planning a major offensive soon, and I need to meet with my generals to discuss strategy. Today has delayed some very important plans. Though, I believe it to have been worth it. It is good to know that Eve has been taken care of once and for all.”
He crawled back into his clothes as he spoke, though Dean knew he could have dressed himself with a snap of his fingers. Cas was reluctant to go. Dean was reluctant to let him. The Winchester was no stranger to cosmic-scale machinations. He’d been caught in the middle of them literally his whole life. But something about the talk of war--proper, celestial war with literal armies of angels--made him feel even smaller than usual. Or perhaps it was simply knowing that Cas was on the front lines of this one, where Dean couldn't follow, where he would be worse than useless. The angel had saved his life countless times, and Dean wouldn’t be able to return the favor when the time came.
Once dressed, Cas did the obligatory house cleaning and turned to go, but Dean halted him.
“Hey,” he called, forcing his limbs into compliance to roll off the bed and go to him. Dean wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He only knew that he didn't want Cas to disappear, but also that he would and that he must. He gripped the angel by the back of the neck and tugged him close to press their foreheads together. Cas mirrored Dean’s grasp with a grateful sigh, pressing his forehead more firmly for a moment before starting to pull away. Dean refused to release him.
“Castiel?”
The angel gave him a quizzical look, patient though clearly confused, and Dean heaved a deep breath and decided to sack up already. He realized suddenly that it didn't matter whether he wanted to admit to what he felt, he felt it anyway. Losing his guardian angel would hurt just as badly if he never expressed it as it would if he had. More, probably, because then he'd have to carry the weight of regret over things not said, over kisses not shared. Dean had learned that lesson the hard way.
He watched Cas’ expression shift from confusion to astonishment as Dean leaned in to press their lips together. It wasn't lewd or overtly sexual. It was tender. Affectionate. It took longer than Dean might have expected for Cas' shock to bleed away sufficiently to allow him to return it but, though it lingered, the kiss ended well before Dean was ready. Castiel had to go. Half of Heaven was waiting for him.
Not that Dean particularly cared about those feathered assholes.
“You give ‘em Hell, you hear?” he said finally, embarrassed by the threatening tears that choked his voice to a pitiful croak. Castiel was no less emotional when he stepped back. Unable to answer aloud, he merely nodded at Dean with a gentle smile that conveyed more than words ever could. Then he vanished, leaving both the hunter's arms and his heart suddenly, achingly empty.
A/N: This was written for @plaid-lover-bay25 and Baylea’s SPN/Disney Birthday Challenge. My prompt is one of my favorite lines ever and it’s bolded below. Happy Birthday Bay! I hope you enjoy this little bit of insanity! Xoxoxo
Beta’d by: @wheresthekillswitch (aka my Soul Sister aka The Masterbeta) and @hannahindie (aka my Twinny aka the better half of HanPan) - Thank you so much for being the world’s best cheering squad and making my words make sense. Lee - thanks for the idea for the ending. You always make me a better me. I love you both!
x
Yes Ma’am
“I hate you.”
I glare at the man sitting next to me and he tilts his head almost imperceptibly as his gaze bores into mine. The flickering light above our heads casts a sickly glow across his face and I shift my body as best I can, trying to put as much distance between the two of us as possible.
“I can assure you that had I known the outcome of my attempts at gallantry, I would not have offered any kind of assistance.” His voice is hoarse and low, the sound eerily magnified in the small room. Mere hours ago I’d found his voice intoxicating and sexy, but now it grates on my already frayed nerves; it’s funny how much can change in such a short amount of time.
“And if only you’d listened when I said I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself, do you really think we’d be stuck here?”
He sighs, irritatedly. “I hardly think our ending up here was solely my doing. You are the one who thought assaulting the police officers was the logical next step.”
Before I can argue, the heavy, metal door to our right groans open, it’s hinges squealing in protest.
“Alright, Novak, James and Y/L/N, Y/N?” A sour faced officer appears from behind the door, glancing at us briefly to confirm our identities. We both nod and he drops his gaze back to the manila folder in his hands. “Alright, well, who wants to go first?”
---
I attempt to cross my arms over my chest before remembering my hands are shackled, connected by a length of iron chain, making the movement awkward and impossible. I lower my hands to my lap and narrow my eyes at the officer across the table from me. In any other circumstance, on any other hunt, I’d have been laying on the charm and playing up the puppy dog eyes in hopes of weaseling my way out of the inevitable interrogation. I’ve learned, however, that there’s no charm to lay once your secret stash of weaponry has been collected and bagged as evidence.
“So, Miss Y/L/N…”
I clear my throat, interrupting him. “It’s ‘Ms,” thank you very much.”
I hate that title - Ms. - it always makes me think of edgy divorcees from the 70’s who smoked pot in their basements and wore head to toe mustard colored polyester jumpsuits and feathered hair, but it was marginally better than the alternative.
He blinks at me blankly before over emphasizing it. “MS. Y/L/N, why don’t you start from the beginning?”
“How can I help you today, ma’am?”
I cringe at the overly-friendly voice from behind me. With all the advancements of human civilization, how have we as a society not come up with a better way to address a woman. It’s always “ma’am,” which makes me feel like a middle age matronly woman with a bun and a secret smoking habit. And if it’s not that it’s “Miss Y/L/N,” like I’m some sort of blonde haired, mini-skirt adorned sorority girl that speaks in acronyms and wears Uggs in the summer. Is there no middle ground? Can we just universally agree on a form of address for a woman in her mid thirties that enjoys long walks to the fridge in her yoga pants between episodes of her current Netflix binge show, but can be fancy if she wants to be?
“Ma’am!” The voice has lost a considerable amount of it’s previous cheeriness and I realize I’ve been silently internal-monologuing in my head for longer than socially acceptable.
I sigh, my shoulders drooping slightly and turn on my heel to face my newest companion.
“Ya know, it’s just rude to call someone, who’s clearly under 50, ma’am,” I scowl at the uniformed employee, who seems to be truly taken aback by my tone of voice. “I’m younger than you are! ….ma’am. You oughta be ashamed of yourself.”
“How can I help you today,” he pauses, his eyebrows flickering together for a second, trying to figure out a way to complete the sentence.
“Better, thanks. I was really just wanting to get an inside look into your operations here.” I gesture behind me with a limp hand.
“But M…” he pauses, flinching as I raise my eyebrow, silently daring him to say it again. “Mmm…” he drags the letter out, clearly unsettled. He takes a deep breath and sets his shoulders, plastering a smile on his face. “This is a museum. I’m not really sure what kind of ‘inside look’ you were hoping for, but this section is off limits to everyone except the director.”
“So,” I cross my arms, tilting my head to one side, “are you saying you’ve never been in this section before?”
I almost miss it, it happens so quick, but his left eye twitches the tiniest bit as his ruddy cheeks subtly drain of their recent influx of color.
“You have, haven’t you?” I jab an accusatory finger in his direction. I’m cut off by a swarm of tourists all sporting calf-length black socks with their sandals as they pass by, snapping photos and moving on to the next exhibit. None of them seem to notice me or my new friend.
When they are out of earshot, I continue in a hoarse whisper. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who opened the box and summoned the demon.”
“Ma’am,” his top lip curling in satisfaction as my nostrils flare. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I will be calling the police.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get in there and undo whatever bullshit, hoey-doey nonsense your ignorant ass conjured up before any more people get hurt.”
I reach for my gun as he makes to lunge at me, and a second swarm of tourists interrupts us. I try to use their distraction as a way to buy time, but as I turn to run, a heavy hand lands on the back of my neck. I jab backwards, trying to put all my weight into the point of my elbow as it slams into my attacker, and the accompanying ‘crunch’ of ribs is just damn satisfying.
“Excuse me, miss?” A low gravelly voice from somewhere behind me makes both me and my new buddy freeze. I huff a breath in the direction of a stray strand of hair as I crane my neck to find the source. “It would appear that you seem to be in some sort of trouble. Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”
The man’s grip on my neck tightens and I kick back hard with my left boot, connecting solidly with the man’s groin. I whirl to face a man in a long, tan trench coat with dark messy hair and icy blue eyes looking at the scene curiously and, dare I say, a little amused?
“And what makes you think I need your help, blue eyes?” Without looking, I pull the gun from it’s holster and aim it at the man on the floor, who's now making a keening sound and clutching his pearls. “Do I look like some kind of damsel in distress to you?”
His sapphire eyes narrow to slits in a way that should be menacing, but actually makes him endearing somehow. Except he just grins and nods, which makes my blood boil.
Before I can react a hand wraps around my ankle and my back connects with the floor with a painful thud, the gun flies from my hand and I scramble after it.
He shrugs. “Point proven.”
My hand wraps around the handle of the gun, and I jerk upright to a sitting position, the gun and my attention trained again on my assailant.
“Ok, so I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle this. Have a nice day.”
Blue Eyes opens his mouth to respond but he’s cut off by a voice over a bull horn “Put your hands in the air where we can see them! Nobody move!”
“And that, Officer Fife, is where you showed up and ruined everyone’s fun.”
The stunned officer sitting across from me blinks several times, his ears reddening before he stands and leaves without so much as a grunt in response.
Well, this looks like to be shaping up a great day.
-----
Castiel
“And that’s as much information as she gave us. Do you have anything you’d like to add or change from Miss...sorry MS. Y/L/N’s story, Mr. Novak?”
With Sam and Dean occupied with other things, I had hoped to have found a way to make myself useful, even with diminished grace. So when I’d heard that there was something that sounded like a case only a few miles away, it had only seemed logical that I check it out. Dean had always used the term “milk run” and I had felt that the term applied to this scenario, so I didn’t feel the need to involve them.
However, standing across the room from a man and a woman engaging openly in verbal conflict, I wish that I had perhaps done a little more homework. I have no idea if either person involved is in any way linked to the case, but their fight happens to be occuring right in front of the partition that my limited research had found to be the epicenter of the supernatural activity.
The scene doesn’t look dire, per say - in fact it looks quite tame compared to the battles waged in heaven since...well, since the dawn of time. It does seem that the woman has some level of control of the situation, and I’m almost ashamed to find that there’s something about her that I find both fascinating and albeit somewhat intimidating. It’s almost as if my interfering would be taken as an insult.
I feel compelled to spring into action as I see the man’s hand land firmly on the back of her neck and she makes a squeaking sound. As I cross the room, though, she has once again regained the advantage by cracking at least one of his ribs with her elbow. A sensation of pride floods my mind, followed quickly by amusement as I see the corners of her lips turn in a pleasant and satisfied smile.
“Excuse me, is there anything I can do to help?” The words are out of my mouth before I am fully aware my brain has formed them.
She turns a furious glance toward me and scoffs, causing a ribbon of hair to fall over one of her eyes.
She kicks him in the groin and I vaguely hear her muttering something about the lack of gender equality prevalent in the current culture. She turns and aims a gun at the man, now writhing in pain on the floor, likely caused by intricate and centralized assemblage of nerves in the pelvic region of the male anatomy.
“I’m not some damsel in distress!” Her voice takes on a notably higher tone as she whirls to face me. It appears my offer of help was a mistake.
The writhing man must have sensed her distraction as well, because for a moment I’m looking into her beautifully infuriated face and the next she’s flat on the floor, her gun skidding along the ground and landing a few yards from her grasp.
“Well damsel is an antiquated term referring to a female of human persuasion, which you appear to be. And distress...well, that seems to illustrate your current situation quite accurately.”
The woman reaches the firearm and realigns herself in an upright, seated position.
“I think I can handle this on my own, thank you very much.” Her tone of voice doesn’t seem to indicate any manner of genuine gratitude, but I think the point is made.
“And that is when you gentlemen showed up, arresting her and myself, along with the employee, who you see, appears to be the cause for all of your recent mysterious disappearances,” I smile at the officer and offer a wink. I feel like I’ve seen Dean respond in this fashion. “You’re welcome.”
The officer studies my face, opening and closing his mouth without saying anything. He places his palms on his knees to stand, and winces. It seems that up until this moment, he'd forgotten about the assault portion of the night's festivities. With a desolate tone he asks “Mr. Novak, can you tell me why you and Ms. Y/L/N attacked and injured a handful of the responding officers?”
I purse my lips together, thinking carefully.
“I think she really dislikes being called Ma’am.”
-----
Y/N
The metal hinges squeak again, the stream of light flooding into the room taking on an amber glow as the sun begins to set. Blue Eyes shuffles back into the room, his handcuffs tinkling lightly as he perches on the cot beside me. The door slams shut again and I drop my head.
“I’m just letting you know, that if we have to stay the night here, I am not sleeping on that filthy, grimy, urine-drenched concrete floor.”
He just sighs, his shoulders dropping gently, as though exhaustion is beginning to wear on him too.
We sit in uncomfortable silence as I study the intricate patterns in the cracks of the cinder blocks making up those damn walls.
“The officer asked why you and I assaulted them.” His rich, textured timbre startles me and I glance at him to find blue eyes squinting at me curiously.
“And what did you tell them?” I raise an eyebrow, gnawing on my bottom lip.
A slow smile spreads across his face and he looks down at the floor again. “I said I was sure you’d had your reasons.”
“I did. I can’t say they were good, but I had them.” I turn, shifting to face him. “But why did you help? You would never been arrested if you’d stayed out of it.”
Blue Eyes, or Novak the officer had said, tilts his head to the side and he presses his lips together before speaking. “You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I was hunting a malevolent entity that had been wreaking havoc in the midwest for the last month or so. My capacity for belief is a little broader than most.”
He smiles again, one corner of his mouth pulling inward as though he’s trying to suppress it.
“I was hoping that the last bit of my grace would have been effective in subduing the officers long enough for you to get away.”
“Grace?” I scrunch my nose up, confused.
“Angel’s powers are derived from their grace, but mine was stolen by a sweater-vested megalomaniac trying to take over Heaven. I borrowed the grace of one of my brothers, but it’s fading as are my powers.” He licks his lips and looks at me like he’d just told me he was born in Sheboygan.
I lean forward, not really sure why. “Why didn’t you just get more of the super soldier serum from your brother and power up, Mario?”
Stunned, his mouth opens and closed a few times, but before he can find his words, the door slams open again and we both look up to find the officer standing in the doorway, flanked by two, tall men.
“Well hello, princess.” The man with the green eyes purrs, the wrinkles under his eyes betraying his attempt at keeping a straight face. “Fancy meeting you here!”
“Dean…” Novak and I bark, in matching annoyed tones. We freeze, and he turns around slowly to look at me, his features even more befuddled than before.
“Hey, y/n. I’m so glad you’re ok,” Sam stresses the last word, his eyes boring into mine as he sneaks a glance at the officer. “Thank you so much, for finding her, Cas. We were so worried about her when we couldn’t find her this morning!”
“Cas?” The officer barks.
“It’s a family nickname.” Sam smiles.
The officer doesn’t seem convinced and he crosses his arms. “Family huh? I suppose that would be on your mother’s side? Since you all have different last names.”
“Yes,” Novak, or Cas, or whatever his name is says, tentatively, having obviously caught on. “Our mother was quite promiscuous in her youth.”
“Whatever, just please go home, wherever that is, and stay there,” the officer rolls his eyes, unlocking my compatriot’s cuffs and then mine. He turns back to Sam and Dean. “You need to keep better track of your sister, in case she has another manic episode.”
I glare at the Winchesters, neither of whom make eye contact with me as the officer escorts us quickly to the front and out into the late evening air.
I wait until the officer is out of view, and I whirl to face Dean, jabbing him hard in the arm. “Manic episode, Dean. Really?!”
He rubs at his arm dramatically, though I’m sure it’s just for show as Sam chuckles lightly behind me.
“And you,” I spin to face him, poking a finger in his chest, “I’m only here because you two begged me to, seeing as how you’re so busy saving the world all the damn time. You could have at least given me the head’s up you were sending Rain Man here to check in on me.”
“We didn’t. We had no idea Cas was here until he used his one phone call on us,” Sam holds up both hands in a playful surrender before turning to him. “Why didn’t you tell us where you were going?”
Cas clears his throat, his hands resting lightly in the pockets of his trench coat. “I wanted to do something that would prove helpful to you both, and this seemed - though I recognize the egregious error now - to be easy.”
“So…” I muse, “your name is Cas, not Novak; you weren’t sent by Jolly Green and his trusty sidekick, Freckleface Strawberry to check up on me;” I motion behind me toward Sam and Dean respectively, “and you’re an angel?”
“It’s Castiel, but otherwise, yes. That is all correct.” His gaze flicks between the other two men before asking. “How did you come to know the Winchesters?”
“Dean called me ma’am once and I broke his nose.”
Cas turns to Dean, his eyebrows arched incredulously. “You told me you got into a fight at a biker bar, Dean.”
Dean shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and drops his eyes to the ground as he kicks at a clump of grass. “Yeah, well, I mean I didn’t lie…” Dean trails off.
“I’m still pissed about that, too, Winchester.” I frown at him. “That was my happy place and now I’m banned for life thanks to you.”
Dean gawks at me, vaguely horrified. “Me!? You’re mad at me about that?!”
“Alright, listen, we still have a case to finish,” Sam cuts Dean off, fighting down the smile playing at his lips. “I think it might be best though if you and Cas take off and let us clean up. You’re welcome to stay at the bunker for a few days.”
“I would be happy to drive you, in my vehicle if you wish, as it is getting late and as an angel, I do not need sleep,” Cas offers.
As much as I want to argue and stomp my foot about being able to fend for myself, the offer is tempting. “Ok, but I get to pick the tunes and you’re gonna tell me more about this angel business. ‘Sweater-vested megalomaniac’ sounds like a punk band from Seattle and I want to know everything. Savvy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)
Characters: Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester
Pairing: eventual Sam x Reader
Words: 1939
Summary: Sam, Dean and you go to a small town called Lake Manitoc to investigate a series of weird murders, and the only leads you have are the ones given by a kid named Lucas. Based on the third episode of the first season of the show.
Warnings: language, show level angst and violence.
A/N: This is a new part of my Series Rewrite. Hope you guys like it! Please press the heart and consider sharing, and leaving some feedback, it’s what keeps me going. This is not beta’d. All mistakes are mine.
Catch up
Dean in the Water - Part 1
Sam, Dean and you are eating in the restaurant of a hotel on the road called Lynnwood Inn. Dean’s plate is pretty much empty and he’s checking the obituaries in a newspaper. You are checking the ones he’s circling when you see one pretty odd about a girl named Sophie who drowned.
“This one…” you say, pointing out for him to circle it.
He does it and you’re distracted by a waitress who comes and talks to Dean.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asks.
You look up and see Dean grinning at her around the pen he’s chewing on. You grimace at all the flirting. Sam then comes over and sits down next to you.
“Just the check, please,” he says.
“Okay,” she walks showing a big smile.
Dean drops his head, then looks at Sam.
“You know, Sam,” he starts, “we are allowed to have fun once in a while.” He points at the waitress and you check that she’s wearing very short shorts. “That's fun,” he says.
Sam and you look at him.
“I don’t wanna block you, but please, next time don’t flirt in front of me,” you tease him.
“Just because you don’t get any action doesn’t mean I can’t get any action,” he told you.
“I can get action if I want to, I just… don’t want to,” you shrug.
“Yeah, sure,” he said.
“Shut up,” you mumbled.
Dean hands Sam the newspaper.
“Here, take a look at this, I think we got one,” he showed Sam.
Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin. Last week Sophie Carlton, eighteen, walks into the lake, doesn't walk out. Authorities dragged the water; nothing. Sophie Carlton is the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either. They had a funeral two days ago.
“A funeral?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” you answered. “They buried an empty coffin. For some closure I suppose.”
“Closure?” he asked, “What closure? People don't just disappear. Other people just stop looking for them.”
“Something you want to say to me?” Dean inquired, making you groan.
“The trail for Dad. It's getting colder every day.”
“Exactly,” Dean said. “So what are we supposed to do?”
“I don't know. Something. Anything,” Sam told him.
“You know what? I'm sick of this attitude. You don't think I wanna find Dad as much as you do?”
“Yeah, I know you do, it's just—”
“I'm the one that's been with him every single day for the past two years,” Dean cut him off, “while you've been off to college going to pep rallies. We will find Dad, but until then, we're gonna kill everything bad between here and there. Okay?”
There was a long pause in which Sam and Dean began a staring contest of hard looks, Sam rolled his eyes and the waitress walked by distracting Dean.
“All right,” Sam agreed, “Lake Manitoc,” no answer from Dean. “Hey!”
Dean returns his attention to Sam.
“Huh?” Dean hummed.
“How far?” asked Sam
You got back on the road again, your journey musicalized with Round and Round by Ratt on the stereo, you watched a clothesline with white sheets in one place, a little bit further was a man fishing on a small bridge. After a while, you see the “Welcome to Lake Manitoc, WI” sign. You go straight to the Carlton house. Dean pulls up in front of it and stops the engine. You get out and go to knock on the door. A man opens it.
“Will Carlton?” Dean asks.
“Yeah, that's right,” he answers
“I'm Agent Ford,” Dean lies, “This is Agent Hamill and Agent Fisher. We're with the US Wildlife Service,” he shows up a fake ID.
Will takes you around to the lake, his father Bill is sitting on a bench on the dock.
“She was about a hundred yards out,” Will explains to us looking at the lake, “That's where she got dragged down.”
“And you're sure she didn't just drown?” Dean asks.
“Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer,” Will answered. “She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub.”
“So no splashing? No signs of distress?” Sam wonders.
“No,” Will shakes his head. “That's what I'm telling you.”
“Did you see any shadows in the water?” You add, “Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?”
“No,” Will denied. “Again, she was really far out there.”
“You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?” Dean asked.
“No, never. Why?” Will frowned, “Why, what do you think's out there?”
“We'll let you know as soon as we do,” you calm him.
Dean and you turn to head back to the car.
“What about your father?” Sam questions, making Dean and you to stop walking and turn back. “Can we talk to him?”
Will turns to look at his father, then turns back to you. “Look, if you don't mind, I mean... He didn't see anything and he kind of been through a lot,” he states.
“We understand,” Sam nods.
After that, the three of you go back to the car and drive up to the police station to talk to Sheriff Jake Devins.
“Now, I'm sorry,” Jake says, “but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?” he lets you into the station to go to his office.
“You sure it's accidental?” Sam asks him. “Will Carlton saw something grab his sister.”
“Like what?” the sheriff sighs while you get into his office. “Here, sit, please, “ he motions the chairs in front of his desk. “There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake,” he states, “There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster.”
“Yeah,” Dean nods, chuckling, “Right.” He glances at Sam and you.
“Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks,” Jake said looking at us. “Still—” he continued and sat down, “We dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there.”
“I’m sorry, but that's weird, though,” you say, “I mean, that's the third missing body reported this year.”
“I know,” he nods, ”These are people from my town. These are people I care about.”
“I know,” Dean responds.
“Anyway…” Jake sighs, leaning back in his chair, “All this...it won't be a problem much longer.”
“What do you mean?” you frown.
“Well, the dam, of course,” he states.
“Of course, the dam,” Dean looks at Sam and you, “It's, uh, it sprung a leak,” he agrees.
“It's falling apart,” he declares, “And the feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway. In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that.”
“Exactly,” Dean nods.
Someone taps on the door, interrupting the conversation. You turn to see a young woman coming in. "Sorry, am I interrupting?” she apologizes and all of you stand up. “I can come back later.”
“Gentlemen and lady,” Jake said, “This is my daughter.”
“Hi,” you greet her.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dean says shaking her hand. “I’m Dean.”
“Andrea Barr,” she introduces, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Dean smiles.
You shake your head fighting the urge to laugh.
“They’re from Wildlife Service,” Jake says, “About the lake.”
“Oh,” she deadpans.
A boy walks in and around Andrea.
“Oh, hey there,” Dean says, “What’s your name?”
The kid just walks away without speaking and Andrea follows him.
“His name is Lucas,” Jake explains.
You turn back and look at the main room where Andrea and Lucas are.
“Is he okay?” Sam asks.
“My grandson's been through a lot,” Jake explains. “We all have.” He stands and goes to the door. “Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.”
The four of you walk to leave the office.
“Thank you, Jake,” you thank him. “You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?”
“Lakefront Motel,” Andrea answers. “Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south.”
“Two—would you mind showing us?” Dean asked.
Andrea laughs. “You want me to walk you two blocks?”
“Not if it's any trouble,” Dean says.
“I'm heading that way anyway,” she nods and turns to Jake, “I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three.”
She then turns to Lucas, “We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?” she kisses him on the head.
Dean wave as you leave and Jake nods.
“Thanks again,” Sam says.
Outside, Andrea leads your way along the street.
“So, cute kid,” Dean tells her.
“Thanks,” she says.
“Kids are the best, huh?” he mentions, Andrea glances at him and ignores him.
You look at Sam, frowning and feeling the cringe. You keep walking until you stop in front of the Lakefront Motel.
“There it is,” Andrea points, “Like I said, two blocks.”
“Thanks,” you and Sam say in unison.
Andrea looks at Dean. “Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line.” She leaves and calls back over he shoulder, “Enjoy your stay!”
That’s when you lose it and start laughing.
“'Kids are the best'?” Sam mocks. “You don't even like kids.”
“I love kids,” Dean shrugs.
“Name three children that you even know,” Sam dares.
Dean thinks and comes up with nothing. Sam waves a hand and walks into the hotel, leaving Dean scratching his head and whining that he’s thinking.
“Dude,” you pat his shoulder, “That made my skin crawl of how lame that was.”
“Shut up,” he mumbles.
You got a room at the motel Andrea recommended you. Sam was working on his laptop, you were lying in one of the beds, and Dean was going through his clothing.
“So there are the three drowning victims this year,” Sam acknowledged.
“Any before that?” Dean asked.
“Uh, yeah...” Sam answered, checking the browsers he has open with The Lake Manitoc Tribune, the local newspaper. “Six more, spread out over the past thirty-five years. Those bodies were never recovered either. If there is something out there, it's picking up its pace.”
Dean folds his clothes and tosses them onto the bed. “So, what, we got a lake monster on a binge?”
“This whole lake monster theory, it, it just bugs me,” Sam shakes his head.
”Why?” Dean asked coming to read over our shoulders.
“Loch Ness,” he started to number, “Uh, Lake Champlain, there are literally hundreds of eyewitness accounts, but here, almost nothing. Whatever it is out there, no one's living to talk about it.”
“Wait,” Dean says pointing at the screen. You get up and crawl to them. “Barr, Christopher Barr. Where have I heard that name before?”
“It’s Andrea’s last name,” you remind him, standing next to them and looking at the computer.
“Christopher Barr, the victim in May,” Sam reads. He clicks a link opening a new page. You read the header “Local man in tragic accident.” A picture of Lucas loads up. “Oh. Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband, Lucas's father. Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued.”
You suddenly felt goosebumps on your back and shudder. Dean looks at you.
Sam clicks the picture for a better look, then scratches his head. “Maybe we have an eyewitness after all.”
“No wonder that kid was so freaked out,” Dean states. “Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over.”
Next Part
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