#jukebox remix

[thejukeboxzero]

17 AND MAKE CAS THE INJURED ONE 💵💵💵

CHEESE DO YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT OR-? ___ Watching a newly human Cas crumple to the ground after running head first into a metal pole was as panic inducing as it was comedic.

Listen- Years of the Winchester brothers laughing at each other's misfortune, Scooby-Doo cartoons, and questionable coping mechanisms has trained Dean to laugh at any/all bodily injury not obtained on a hunt.

Unfortunately that means Cas continues to stay on the ground for about 15 seconds before Dean realizes something’s wrong.

“Shit-” He weaves under the mess of pipes and beams that litter the space above his head- The ones that he’d been so careful about not cracking his skull on but had neglected to warn Cas about, “You okay?”

Cas is flat on his back, staring up into blank nothingness, and even in the dim basement lighting there’s a very clear red mark right above his eyebrow.

“Cas?”

The newer human blinks slowly, once then twice, before slowly turning his head towards Dean's voice, “Why are you shouting?”

“I’m not-” He takes a breath, letting his words echo off the walls and back towards them, and drops down next to Cas, “I’m not shouting.”

Cas winces, “It’s- It’s unnecessary.”

“I’m not shouting, I promise.” 

The mark on Cas’ forehead is already starting to swell, there’s no blood or broken skin, but the former angel flinches away then makes a pitiful noise in the back of his throat when Dean lightly touches the wound.

“That’s gonna’ be a nasty goose-egg,” He laughs again, but this time it’s forced, “How are you feeling? Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Your ears ringin’?”

“Yes.” Cas’ eyes focus and unfocus on Dean’s general vicinity, obviously working overtime to put together what he wants to say next, “We should consider making this room less hazardous.”

“Yeah buddy, we’ll put pool noodles on the pipes right away,” He holds up his hand, about arms length from Cas’ face, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Cas’ answer is quick and confident, “Six.”

“Dude… I don’t have six fingers.”

“Of course you do,” Cas smiles widely, like he’s divulging some fantastic wisdom, “Humans have up to ten fingers, ten, Dean.”

“Yeah, but-”

“I know you have ten, I re-attached them myself-” He sloppily raises his arm, pointer finger extended, and moves to tap Dean’s palm, frowning when he misses by a mile, “Hmm.”

“And you did a great job with that, man,” Dean bends over, trying to arrange Cas in a way that will make him easier to haul to his feet, “Wanna’ try standing up?”

“Not particularly.”

Dean already has Cas’ arm around his shoulder, “Great; Three, two, one-” 

You’d think the floor was made of ice from the way Cas nearly keels back over several times on his way up, and he almost brains himself on the piping again, but eventually Cas is standing on his own two legs- albeit leaning heavily on Dean.

“I had… so many fingers- My true form…” Cas trails off as Dean starts their slow journey towards the exit, one hand reaching over to cup the top of his head to prevent any more damage, “But humans…. I advocated for an 11th finger to dictate one's dominant hand but it-” he sways a bit, “It was disparaged.”

“You always talk this fancy when you’re concussed?” The last time he’s heard Cas talk so… formally, well, he was getting regular lobotomies.

“I’m not sure…” Cas squints at him a little, “I don’t mind the head injury.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Cas nods, then winces, “Yes, it means I get to see two of you.”

“Well then,” Dean swallows thickly, feeling his face heat up a little at the sudden tenderness in Cas’ voice, “Let’s at least get you some Tylenol, Casanova.”

[thejukeboxzero]

I am obsessed with the identifying Chevys post and crave more info. Desperately curious what you meant by "gear shift placement, transmission, and seat materials come to mind" If you ever have the time and energy to do an interior version i would absolutely love to read it

I always have time to talk about Chevys!

These little details I mentioned at the end are more for people who write about 67’ impalas and such more than they are for spotting ‘em in the wild, but let’s get into ‘em anyhow!

Seat Materials

This is the easiest to knock off the list first. I see a lotta’ fics fall into this trap- I’ve been victim of it myself, because there’s just something appealing about leather seats- but the interior seats are vinyl. Like, bar stool upholstery type vinyl. The steering wheel as well! Well- Kind of.

Stock 67’ Impalas actually have a wood steering wheel! I have no clue what Baby’s originally was, I’m betting the Walnut style, but it looks like John added a modified cover to it, so Baby specifically has a wood wheel with vinyl padding.

Here, you can kinda’ see what a stock steering wheel would look like on an Impala (Left)) ignore the center console, we’ll get there)), vs Baby's (Right)-

Shifter Placement

Okay, there’s a saying “3 on the tree, 4 on the floor”

Meaning, a three-speed shifter will go on the steering column of the vehicle (kind of where you’d see a blinker on most cars nowadays) and a four-speed shifter will go on the floor of the vehicle OR on the center console (see, told ya’ we’d get there)

When 67’s were being produced, a bench seat was still the cheaper option than a bucket seat, which is why it came with the three-speed option and the pricier versions came with the four-speed in the center. 

In the context of Supernatural specifically, Baby’s gear shift is up on the steering column and, while we’re here, Baby isn’t a manual transmission; She’s an automatic. We know this from Dean telling Jack “‘D’ is ‘Drive’.”. The Winchesters are rockin’ a PRNDL.

Here's what a 3 on the tree looks like (Left) and a 4 on the floor (Right)

Other

Originally this is where I was gonna’ cover transmission, but that got lumped in with the shifter placement, so here’s some extra stuff!

Two big “others” come to mind about Impalas, first one is the engine! The reason I (and the old geezer who taught me most of what I know) will always be loyal to a good classic Chevy is the swapability of their engines. This was because these cars either came with a “Big Block” (454) or a “Small Block” (359) engine, but sometimes you weren’t gonna’ make a different body for each, so the manufacturers had to make sure the car would be compatible with either engine and that it’d be easy to substitute one engine for the other. This means a lot of the mechanics of these old ones are open and easy to access, and sometimes (depending on the part) you can take a piece from a 454 and use it in the repair of a 359.

Second one, and this is a very obscure thing but I think it’s so kickass- Spotlights.

There was a kit for 67’-68’ Chevys that gave ‘em spotlights, it wasn't stock, but it was an option.

All you needed were a few basic tools, a centre punch, the kit, and some beer, and now you’ve got spotlights on your Chevy.

Why were you able to slap spotlights on your Chevy? Well, back then lot’s of cars had kits for ‘em, but they were on almost every police car, so volunteer first responders might install a set on their own vehicle. GM, Chevrolet's parent company, made spotlight kits to order, and even if you weren’t using them for work, they made driving in bad weather way easier. These and Continental kits are some of the more common modifications you’ll see to a Chevy.

A continental kit is just a kit that mimics the way Lincoln Continentals had a tire on their rear.

Here’s what a Chevy might look like with a spotlight kit (Left) and without (Right)

Aaaand here's what a Contenential kit looks like, just for fun-

So yep, those are some of the more random, minor Chevy details that not everyone will need to know about, but are interesting none the less.

Hope this answer was enough, ask box is always open for more questions!

[thejukeboxzero]

Yooooo 🥺🥺🥺 🫴🫴🫴 with Dean being the one forced 👀 (or of course you to you)

Pushing Whumpee's head down to make them stare at the floor and keeping them in the uncomfortable slumped posture

Oho, this was so fun to put my own spin on, mighta' taken some creative liberties but oh well... CW for blood and general SPN stuff, hope this is good for you Jenny o7

---

“Hey, Cas…” There’s a burning in Dean’s ribs when he breathes, an ache that goes too deep to be ignored, “I think we’re lost.”

The angel doesn't reply right away, just keeps unevenly dragging the two of them through the underbrush. Dean thinks he’s supporting his own weight, he’s not really sure, he hasn’t been able to feel his foot since those demons got the drop on them back at the cabin.

‘Routine poltergeist’ his ass. 

“Cas…”

This isn’t the worst place to be lost, honestly it looks right out of Dean's dreams, a lake as smooth as glass, stars filling the otherwise unlit sky, a sandy beach that backs up to woods thick with cedars and hemlocks. But they lit that cabin piled with demon meat suits up almost an hour ago and Dean’s starting to feel the cold in his bones.

“Cas-” They stumble and Dean wheezes out a cough, “Can we take a breather?”

He really just wants to lay down and nurse the wounds Cas refuses to heal.

The angel turns to him and, wow, have his eyes always been so blue? Maybe it’s just the splatters of red across the bridge of his nose that’s really making the color pop.

“We need to keep going.”

Cas is hurt too- He’s pretending he isn’t but Dean can read him like a book, and he saw that demon stick Cas with a weird looking pole before Cas’ angel blade found a new home in its sternum, he’s hurting too.

“Just a quick break,” Dean’s not begging, he’s not, “We’re both hurt.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas stumbles forward a few more steps before his resolve begins to sway. Dean can see the moment of acceptance in Cas’ eyes, when he decides to stop, when he decides that they’re not going to drop down into the dirt and instead hauls both of them out of the bushes and onto the sand, “I- I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay.” Dean drops down to his knees, looking towards the surface of the lake and feeling a detached sense of awe. 

There’s worse places to rest for a while.

“I can’t heal my vessel.” Cas is on the ground next to him, chest heaving, “They- they warded me-” He lifts up his shirt and it’s hard to tell exactly what he’s showing off through the blood; It looks like there’s a shape underneath it all, formed from split, bubbling skin.

A brand, Dean’s brain provides.

“I can’t heal you.”

Dean reaches out to ghost his fingers over the wound, “What’s it doin’?”

“It’s-” Cas swallows, looking up at the sky for a moment, looking like nothing more than a man from Illinois begging to be something more, “It’s a trigger. I tried to use my grace to heal you, Dean, I swear but-”

The edge of Dean’s vision is starting to get a bit hazy.

“I could feel myself leaving.” The angel looks frightened, it doesn't suit him, “I think it will separate my true form from my vessel once I use my grace.”

“That sucks.” The ache in his ribs has spread to the rest of his chest, “Think I could use some healing right about now…”

The world shifts a bit then suddenly stops, when moved to stop him from face planting into the sand, Dean can’t say.

“I want to heal you.” There’s a hand in his hair, it’s comforting, “I don’t know…”

Cas trails off and Dean focuses on the feeling of Cas holding onto his hair- His knees hurt and his back is slouched at an odd angle and the beach is so thin that Dean’s hands are nearly in the water, but that doesn't matter.

“If I told you not to look back, would you listen?”

What kind of a question is that? Of course he would, he’d listen to Cas even if it killed him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas,” Why does his mouth taste like copper? “I’d listen.”

“Good.” The hand in his hair tightens and his head is forced downwards and- despite the promise he just made- he tries to lift it back up to ask what the angel is up to, only for it to be shoved back down.

The hand in his hair hurts now, it’s too tight, too hot, there’s heat radiating off of Cas in waves and it hurts, it’s blinding- 

He’s firmly pushed forward enough that he needs to brace his hands on the shore just to stay upright, back screaming in protest. He didn’t even realize he’d tried to look at Cas again. 

His own face is staring back at him from the surface of the lake, bloody and battered, lip split, and then there’s Cas.

Maybe it’s the concussion talking but Cas damn near has a halo above him, reflecting in the water brighter than the stars. His eyes too, are glowing, and his hands-

The water ripples from a breeze Dean doesn't feel and all he sees is wings, wings, wings-

Gone is Jimmy Novak, now there’s something new, something so vast even the lake can’t fully catch its reflection. In the corner of Dean's eyes it burns, so bright he knows it’d be the last thing he ever saw, but in the water it’s clear.

“Hey, Cas.”

A skeleton smiles sweetly back at him, framed with the mane of a lion, then the antlers of a stag. The rings of Saturn wrapped around its wrist bones, a rib cage filled with birds Dean’s only ever seen in museums, and wings.

There’s something wrong with them, they’re barren and, in some places, just bone. But they’re spread wide, they’re touching his shoulders, they’re scraping heaven itself, they’re beautiful.

His head is so foggy from blood loss, from the sheer drunkenness of this moment, that he doesn't realize how close he is to turning towards the light till he’s forced back to the ground with those painfully gentle fingers.

“Hello, Dean.”

[thejukeboxzero]

Worm Sam should be really really fluffy

I love your worm lazarus rising and I need to see more. I just got an idea; worm dean crawling out of his grave at the beginning of the episode. he is worm

Lazarus Worming...

[thejukeboxzero]

Fuck, Marry, Kill

67' Chevy Impala, 69' Chevy Impala, 59' Chevy Impala

Fuck- 59'

Those curves are fun at first, but with the continental kit making the gas tank a bitch to access and lack of safety standards when they were first produced I don't think they're the best for daily driving.

59's are kinda like hookin' up with a bendy yoga chick, a fun night, but do you really wanna' eat quinoa for the rest of your life?

Marry- 67'

Without a doubt I'm marrying the one that with a steering column that wont impale me in a crash. 67's brought back the old coke-bottle figure with a bit more subtlety, they were the first to have shoulder belts and side lights as standard, they've got a good build and are easy to maintain if you know what you're doin' and treat 'em well. That's marriage material.

Kill- 69'

These are like un-fun 67's. No round headlights, no sedan trunk, and the 3 disconnected tail lights? pass. They're just... compared to the others on the list they just don't hold up. Maybe compared to others it'd be different, but compared to these 2, yeah. Kill it.

[thejukeboxzero]

This is a side blog, my main is @vynilcowboy, but I figured I should give all y'all a way to navigate my top tier work so here ya' go!

Tags:

Jukebox 78's: For original posts that include art, writing, etc.

Jukebox 45's: Small ramblings that may or may not be coherent

Jukebox Mixtapes: Reblogs!

Jukebox Remix: Asks & Awnsers

Garage Tunes: My love letters to classic cars

More Below the cut, ask box is always open, Ramble On my friends!

Fics:

-White Wedding (on A03)

-Nowhere Man (on AO3)

-18 Years Gone (on Ao3)

-Dude (looks like a lady) (on A03)

-Seaside Rendezvous (on A03)

-Communication Breakdown (right here on Tumblr and also A03!):

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8

- Still the Same (Tumblr and Ao3)

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3

[thejukeboxzero]

well obviously I need to know about Panini Cas

Panini!Cas is @noxemma and me's shorthand for this fic after the thought process of "Hey, what if Dean moved down the road from the commune where Endverse!Cas lives?" and let it snowball from there!

Here's an exerpt feat. The Paninis™ 

“This is what you’re up to?”  It really does catch Dean off guard- Not that he believes all the rumors, of course, but he was expecting a little hedonism. Maybe some psychedelics, at the least a joint or two, not… sandwiches. Cas shrugs and slides a steaming plate towards Dean, “Among other things.” “Listen man, I’m not complaining-” He’s not, because this sandwich looks heavenly; Fresh cheese and bread from the farmers market, tomatoes that Cas probably grew himself, all pressed together and warmed on top of his little wood stove. It takes everything in him not to moan like a C-List porn star when he takes a bite, “Ju’th wathn’t-” Cas arches an eyebrow and Dean swallows his food hastily. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”  He watches the hippy putter around his little kitchenette, putting together a second panini for himself, “Everyone in town thinks you’re up here holdin' orgies on the weekly.”

Panini!Cas is such a fun character. He's a Sex God. A single-mom. He wants to have a two-person orgy with Dean. His chickens are named Nugget, Tender, Noodle, Sandwich, and Emmanuel. His favorite shoes are bunny slippers and he won't hesitate to hold someone at gunpoint.

[thejukeboxzero]

Alright, okay. There are so many good options but I gotta go with :

Garth and Benny/ Geanie and Betty (yeah, I’m still thinking about Betty 😂)

No. 8, 13, or 22 (some variety if you want it funny or whump)

Dealer’s choice on choose who’s injured

Ah, my weak spots, the werepires and Suphernatural, my God...

---

Betty likes to think that she’s kept a pretty level head on her shoulders considering the goddamned Winchesters didn’t tell her she was being used as a glorified battering ram to get into this nest.

No, she barely even shouts when the name “Dean” eventually flashes across her phonescreen, accompanied by some god-awful sound that she hasn’t been able to figure out how to change (Dean says it’s an old-timey car horn and that it’s funny because Betty’s also old? Betty thinks it’s a fucking nuisance).

“Hey, Betty, you get into the nest ye-”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME I WAS YER’ FUCKING BAIT!?” Of course she’s in the nest, that’s the only reason she picked up the phone, she’s standing next to the dead bodies of vamps that might’a been her kin in another life, and this devil wants to know if she’s in? “Deanna Michelle Winchester you’ve got some ‘splaining to do.”

The line is silent for a beat, “I told you my middle name out of boredom, not so you could chastise me like a disappointed nun.”

“Explain.” Betty moves deeper into the nest, shifting her phone into her left hand so that her right hand is free to swing her blade.

“Fine-” Deans probably rolling her eyes on the other end of the line, “We've got this hunting pal, she was tracking this nest around and then sorta dropped off the map.”

Betty winces, carefully opening up the door to the kitchen, “Chief I hate to be the bearer of bad news but she's probably-”

“She's not dead.”

“Lotta’ confidence you got in this gal,” The house is eerily quiet except for the sound of her boots on the floorboards, seems like all of the vamps came out to greet her, “Why couldn't you come look for her.”

There's no response and Betty thinks she hears Sam whispering something to her sister.

“Dean?”

“...It's a full moon.”

“So it is.”

“And we don't know what they fed her so…”

Betty scoffs, “Ain't like your friends is a werewolf, Cher.” There's another pause, “No.”

“Betty, listen-”

“You sent me to pick up a were for you!?” If there's a werewolf in here, it's probably in the basement, “The sun is rising, come get her yourself!”

“But if you get bit you won't turn, I've done the turning thing, it ain't pleasant!"

“You think I don't know that?” There's a suspiciously placed throw rug in the middle of the kitchen for no reason, and Betty isn't surprised when she kicks it aside to see a trap door, “If she rips my throat out I'm clawing my way out of purgatory so I can tear you apart myself.”

“Thank's Betty, you're the best.”

“Bras ma chu, Winchester.” She ends the call and shoves her phone back in the pocket of her jacket, already preparing the earful she's going to give her friend when this is all over.

Two steps into the basement Betty can already smell the tang of blood, thick and overpowering, but it doesn't smell human. She hopes Dean won't be disappointed when presented with the corpse of her friend. Honestly, it's rare enough for a nest to take another creature hostage instead of killing it outright, whatever happened to this hunter-turned-werewolf…. Well, she probably didn’t deserve it.

“Shit…” She reaches the bottom of the stairs with a heavy, un-beating heart, “Shit, that's a lot of blood.”

The basement is a concrete room with a sliver of a window far out of reach, showing the first peek of the morning light, with a floor that’s absolutely stained red. Betty wants to take off her cap, out of respect for the Winchesters friend, but a low rumbling noise from the far corner stops her.

There's something in the shadows, held in place by a shiny chain, its eyes flash dangerously as Betty takes a cautious step forward, hands where the other person can clearly see them. It's not a vampire, Betty can smell that much, and those chains holding it- her, Betty also realizes- in place look like they're silver. Maybe she should have taken this friend of the Winchesters more seriously.

“Hey there, Cher,” Betty never drops her weapon, even when she crouches down what she deems a safe distance away, “Okay, here's what we're going to do- Merde-”

The werewolf snarls and lunges from the corner, the chains stopping her about a foot away from where Betty planted herself. She doesn't look much like a hunter, all wiry limbs and wrinkles that look suspiciously like smile lines, but Betty doesn't doubt that some of the blood she's doused in isn't her own.

“Easy there,” She tries not to show unease, there's no way she'll keep a handle on this situation if the werewolf thinks she's running this show, “I don't wanna’ fight you.”

The were smiles, showing off a few dropped fangs but nowhere near the amount Betty would expect to see from someone coming off their own little moonshine rendez-vous, “Heard that one before, pal.”

“The Winchesters sent me to wrangle you,” Betty, very carefully, leans forward, not even sure if the smell of the impala is even noticeable anymore under all the other vamp blood- From the way the werewolf wrinkles her nose after taking a careful whiff, she assumes not, "Believe me or not, I'm supposed to leave here with you, alive.”

The werewolf seems to consider this for a moment before offering up her chained wrists, “As soon as I'm out of these I'll be able to claw your eyes out.”

“You can certainly try,” Betty takes hold of the restraints, “Silver, nasty business-" then snaps them clean off, letting the pieces crumble to the ground, “You hurt?”

“Nope,” She staggers up to her feet, “Are you?”

“Nah, it takes more than a nest to hurt me.”

The were cocks her head a bit, “See, I would believe that, but you have a gosh darn knife sticking out of your leg, so.”

“I do?” Sure enough, someone's best pocket knife is handle-deep in the side of her thigh, she didn't even notice it, “Well, shoot.” She yanks it out and tosses it off to the side, earning a raised eyebrow from the werewolf, “What?”

“Nothin’,” The were looks at the knife for a bit longer before shrugging, “Name's Genie Fitzgerald IV, you can just call me Genie.”

“Betty Lafitte- You sure you ain't hurt? That's a lotta’ blood you got on ya’.”

Genie grins wickedly, “Please, this isn't mine. I don't bite humans but I'll certainly bite some handsy vamps.”

Betty can't help it, she pauses climbing the stairs to laugh- Not at the werewolf, far from it, she's laughing at the poor sons of bitches who thought they could take on this apparent force of nature.

“Ya’ know, I think me and you are gonna’ get along swell.”

At that, the werewolf's face absolutely lights up, showing off the smile lines Betty notes earlier, “I'd like that.”