What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!
When: September 7th, 2026 - September 13th, 2026
Day 1: Sept. 7th - Creep
Day 2: Sept. 8th - Memory
Day 3: Sept. 9th - Rest
Day 4: Sept. 10th - Illuminate
Day 5: Sept. 11th - Deal
Day 6: Sept. 12th - Haven
Day 7: Sept. 13th - True Form / Free
*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.
Sentence prompt for the week:
“I know what you are.”
How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2026 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!
You can also fill for last year's prompts: 2024, 2025, if you'd like and submit to those collections!
Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3
Below are extra details and information for each day.
Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:
Pride/Queer.
Ghost Zone vs. Super Hell.
Small Town.
Day 1: Sept. 7th - Creep
What a creep! Shh! I can hear footsteps... Do the creep!
Day 2: Sept. 8th - Memory
I don't remember. Or, well I do. They say I do.
Oh give it a rest! Take a load off... pitstop! I think I need to rest...
Day 3: Sept. 9th - Rest
And God said let there be light! I didn't understand at first, but I do now... Turn that off, geez!
Day 4: Sept. 10th - Illuminate
Day 5: Sept. 11th - Deal
Let's shake on it. Kiss? I'd like to talk to you about your car's extended warranty...
They say it's safe there. It's where I go when everything's too much. It's too good to be true.
Day 6: Sept. 12th - Haven
I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
Day 7: Sept. 13th - True Form / Free
*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~
Roy stared at the screen, utterly bewildered at the coach sitting at the center of a chaotic press conference.
He had been watching Theodore Lasso for many lifetimes—hell, before Ted was even a forethought.
There were billions of souls that came and went. There were billions of brilliant, incandescent people Roy had watched over from his post as a low-level angel in the high bureaucracy of Heaven. He had cataloged the quiet dignity of Albert Einstein, the gentle, timeless wanderings of Keanu Reeves, and countless others who had sacrificed themselves in the dark corners of the earth for humanity.
Yet, for some reason, he had become anchored to Ted.
Ever since he had first touched the man's soul eons ago—cradling it between his celestial hands like something impossibly warm and precious—he had felt an invisible tether stretching from the very tips of his wings down to his core. He had spent centuries watching Ted’s life unfold, or rather, what was supposed to be Ted’s life.
It was precisely why he had been cast out. He had grown dangerously, obsessively attached, losing sight of the divine detachment required of his station. He had abandoned his post, forsaking the main quest of Heaven’s ledger-keepers just to linger in the quiet hum of Ted’s orbit.
But luck—or perhaps a wry, bureaucratic mercy—had intervened. A weary angel, taking pity on his stubborn devotion, had offered him a loophole. Instead of enduring a full, agonizing descent into a screaming pit of damnation, he had been permitted a quiet, mortal rebirth.
And that’s how Raziel became Roy Kent.
It wasn't until a couple of years ago that he had managed to claw his grace back out of the ether, aided by arguably the only celestial in existence who truly understood what it was like to ruin an eternity for a human: Castiel, wearing his rumpled trench coat and carrying the weight of a broken universe on his back.
And having his grace back was a relief. It made him feel whole again, even if it came with a few frustrating catches. He could no longer taste the rich, grease-stained perfection of a proper pub Sunday roast, and his grace certainly didn't make him invincible. His knee was still fucked to hell and back from his playing days; he just happened to have the capability to soar through the clouds if he felt like bruising his ribs against an updraft.
But his eternal destiny—and every divine script he had ever memorized—never led him here.
He had seen Ted’s life chart out in front of him multiple times, neat and orderly like a well-drawn tactical map. He was supposed to be a phenomenal American football coach, have a kid, live out a quiet, dangerous double life hunting the things that crawled out of the earth alongside the Winchesters whenever their paths crossed, and eventually grow old. He was supposed to live a full, happy life in the Midwest, surrounded by cornfields and quiet dignity.
Roy had come to terms with that path during his angel teenage years. The same way he had come to terms with Ted eventually dying of old age. He’d seen all of it and rewatched it like his favorite sad movie.
None of those projected timelines ever featured Ted in London. Ever.
Which was why he was entirely glued to the pub television. Sam Obisanya was glued to the screen too, though mostly because he was buzzing with youthful, naive excitement about the club's future.
Roy had skimmed Sam’s celestial ledger too, of course, though he hadn’t been nearly as obsessed with it as he was with Ted's. Still, the ledger didn't lie: Sam was destined for greatness, even if he didn't know it yet.
“Oi! If I don’t hear silence, I’m gonna start punching dicks.”
On screen, they watched as Ted completely fumbled his introduction, cheerfully admitting to the room of ravenous journalists that he didn't have the faintest clue how football worked.
“For fuck’s sake,” Roy cursed silently, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Sam nudged his shoulder, offering an encouraging, bright-eyed smile. “You didn’t know anything about this place either when you first rolled up. None of us did.”
That wasn’t what Roy meant, though.
He watched Ted radiate a relentless, baffling optimism—the exact trait that had drawn Roy to him in the first place, centuries ago. Ted had ten thousand legitimate reasons to be miserable, anxious, or bitter, yet he consistently chose grace.
And then he watched Trent Crimm of The Independent absolutely humiliate Ted in front of the entire country. A violent, white-hot spike of rage surged through Roy’s chest. He wanted to bash his head straight through the table.
It was yet another reminder of why he had been voted out of Heaven in the first place: irreconcilable, volatile anger issues that didn't mix well with a choir of pacifist seraphim.
The crowd erupted into a chorus of jeers and mocking questions, demanding Ted name players and clubs he’d never heard of in his life. Even Richard was shouting rapid-fire French from the back of the room.
“No one can understand you,” Roy said plainly.
He could, though. It was both a blessing and a curse left over from his grace. He could understand every human language spoken on the globe, ancient or modern, and speak them with native fluency.
The eternal problem was that most of the time, Roy Kent actively did not want to understand what people were saying.
Especially when it was directed at Ted.
Roy saw Ted falter. He spotted the micro-expression—a subtle tightening of the jaw, the split-second widening of the eyes—that he knew all too well. The blinding optimism acting as a fragile shield against the panic attacks clawing at the man's throat.
And then Rebecca Welton stepped in, cutting the slaughter short. But at this rate, with the entire future violently unraveling off the rails, Roy couldn't tell if she was going to be Ted’s savior or his executioner.
Roy leaned forward, resting his heavy elbows on his knees, staring intently at the glossy flat-screen. His wings—invisible to the mortal eye, folded tight against his shoulder blades—tensed, a phantom ache rippling through his spine.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
The future wasn't supposed to change.
In every ledger, every prophetic timeline, and every celestial scroll he had poured over during his centuries as an angel, Rebecca Welton’s soul was dark with a specific kind of bitter vengeance. She was supposed to hire a bumbling, catastrophic disaster of a coach to intentionally tank the club. Rupert Mannion’s beloved Richmond, burned to the ground out of pure spite.
And then, eventually, she was supposed to feel guilty, sell the team, and fade into a quiet, lonely remorse.
Ted was never meant to be the pawn in that petty war.
He was supposed to keep coaching American football in Kansas while moonlighting as a quiet hunter, keeping the Midwestern plains clear of things that crawled out of Hell whenever the Winchesters rolled into town. He was supposed to raise Henry. He was supposed to grow old under a wide, open sky. He was—
Roy's stomach dropped into his boots.
He stood so abruptly his boots screeched against the linoleum.
Every head in the vicinity snapped toward him.
"Roy?" Sam asked, blinking in surprise.
Roy ignored him.
No.
No, no, no.
If Ted wasn't in Kansas...
Who was protecting Kansas?
And if Ted wasn’t in Kansas?
Who was protecting Ted?
The television continued to chatter behind him.
"Well, y'know, if you're lucky enough to coach one football team, why not coach another? That's kinda my philosophy—"
Roy couldn't hear him over the roaring blood in his ears.
His mind was already violently flipping through every hunter he knew was still kicking around the mortal coil.
Bobby Singer. Alive. Good.
The Winchesters. Somewhere in the Midwest last he checked. Probably alive. Hopefully not dead this week.
Jody Mills. Garth. Jo...
No.
Not Jo.
Wrong timeline. Wrong variables.
His mind raced through decades of hunters like an encyclopedic Rolodex spinning out of control. Because Kansas wasn't just a state. Kansas was a cosmic crossroads. It always had been. Supernatural predators drifted there like iron filings drawn toward a massive magnet.
Ted had unknowingly held that defensive line for years, keeping the local horrors at bay through sheer, stubborn force of will and an uncanny knack for stumbling out of danger's way just in time.
Not alone, obviously. He had friends and family.
But he'd always been... there.
Like one more candle keeping the darkness back.
If Ted had left...
Who filled the gap? And who was watching over Ted now that he was entirely defenseless in a foreign country? When did they stop watching over Ted?
"She's going to destroy him," Roy muttered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble vibrating with suppressed thunder.
Sam looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Rebecca? Nah. I mean, she looks scary as hell, mate. Like a Bond villain who wears really expensive heels. But she’s just trying to save face after hiring an American who thinks offsides is a type of cheese."
Roy let out a sharp, humorless exhale through his nose. If only you knew, mate.
Sam didn’t know. Sam couldn’t remember his own past life as a celestial observer before he, too, took the plunge into humanity. Most reincarnated angels had their memories erased—a cosmic mercy to keep them from going mad. But Roy’s grace had snapped back into place like a rubber band stretched too far, thanks to Castiel’s strange, trench-coat-wearing intervention a few years back. He remembered everything. Every timeline. Every predetermined fate.
And right now, the timeline was bleeding out on live television.
On screen, Ted was flashing that ridiculous, blinding mustache-smile, deflecting a barrage of insults with folksy platitudes about tea tasting like hot brown water. It was classic Ted. The armor he wore to keep the world from seeing the panic attacks clawing at his throat.
Roy’s fists clenched, knuckles turning white. His grace hummed beneath his skin, hot and volatile. It would be so easy. Just a flick of his wrist, a whisper of celestial wind, and he could shatter the lights in the ceiling, clear the room, or throw Trent Crimm out the nearest window.
“Deep breath,” he reminded himself, echoing the advice Castiel had once given him over a cup of coffee.
“You’re human now, Roy. Mostly. Act like it.”
"You're doing that thing again," Sam said, waving a spoon at him. "The glowering eye thing. You look like you're about to murder somebody."
"Shut up, Obisanya," Roy snapped, though the edge was gone from his voice. He rubbed his bad knee, wincing as a sharp throb reminded him of why flying was so much better than walking. "I'm just... processing."
"Processing what? The bloke's a walking cartoon." Sam turned back to the TV just as Ted cheerfully promised to teach the stern English press the magical wonders of karaoke. "Okay, wait. That's actually pretty brilliant."
"He’s a madman," Roy murmured, his eyes locked on Ted's face.
He watched the way Ted's shoulders dropped just a fraction of an inch when the press conference finally ended—the exhausted slump of a man carrying a universe on his back. Ted didn't know it yet, but he was standing on the edge of a cliff. Rebecca was waiting at the bottom with a knife, and the entire city of Richmond was holding a match.
And yet...
Roy felt that tug again. That fierce, magnetic pull right in the center of his chest where his grace lived.
Fate had derailed. The tracks were smashed to pieces. Ted Lasso was in London, walking straight into the lion's den with nothing but a whistle and a heart too big for his own good.
"I need to meet him."
"The coach?"
"Today."
Sam blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. "Training starts in twenty minutes, mate."
"I don't give a fuck."
"The new coaches are gonna kill you."
"I've been killed before."
Sam stared at him for a long, quiet moment. "...That is simultaneously the coolest and most concerning thing you have ever said."
Roy was already grabbing his jacket.
If destiny had changed...
If something had changed Ted's path...
Then there was only one explanation.
Something else had interfered first. He'd seen demons alter mortal trajectories for sport. He'd seen rogue angels rewrite destinies when it suited their hidden agendas. He'd even seen Heaven rewrite memories when it suited them.
But this...
This felt older.
Like reaching into a river you'd known your entire existence and finding the water suddenly flowing uphill.
It made every feather along the invisible span of his wings itch.
He hadn't felt that sensation since—
His blood ran cold.
The Garden.
Not the Garden.
The last mission he'd flown before he fell.
The mission where he'd last touched Theodore Lasso's soul.
Back then, Ted had only been a newborn. Roy had held the tiny, impossibly bright soul in both hands while another angel read the Book of Life.
He remembered every word. "This one must remain untouched."
Not protected. Not guided. Not tempted.
Untouched.
At the time, Roy had thought it odd.
Now...
Now he wondered why Heaven had been so agonizingly specific about it.
Because somebody, somewhere...
Had broken the seal. They had touched Ted Lasso's destiny. And from the look of that shimmering, tangled web of grace wrapped tightly around the coach's soul—
Welcome to the prompt suggestion form for SuperPhantom Week 2026!
This will be a week to celebrate the best crossover ever — Danny Phantom
SuperPhantom Week 2026, yippe ki-yay!!!!
Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005), what a funny crossover... let's do this again. Fanfic, fanart, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, all are welcome. But I need help with prompts, so let me hear them!!!
Even if you only have a few suggestions please do make them! You do not need to fill out every day <3
the tags for this event will be #superphantomweek2026 and #superphantom
I neeeeed a Supernatural and Creep (2014) crossover. Can you imagine?
Sam and Dean investigate a series of murders around Crestline, hear rumours about a "wolf-man" and go down a wild rabbit hole of different monsters it could be until they come face to face with Just a Guy in a Wolf Mask.
author's note: putting this part together was difficult, but i loved the result; you'll see dialogues taken out of both shows... also i had to change the format of the posts because the app kept limiting me a lot with the word count.
warnings/tags: canon divergence; spn canon violence | angst; hurt / litttle comfort, platonic fluff| mentions of injuries, blood, death, grief, family arguments, demonic possessions, infidelity (kinda), accidents, daddy issues, john winchester himself is a tw | language.
⭐️ pics aren’t mine, credits to their owners.
🚫 please do not copy, repost or translate my work without my permission.
without further ado, enjoy, my loves! 🩷
To say that Mila felt uneasy about her father's return was an understatement. He had left once again after insisting they had to let him go, that this fight was too dangerous for them. And then… a couple of days later, he reappeared.
This time, he wanted their help retrieving a gun, claiming that it was very important, but refusing to explain why. The secrecy gnawed at Mila. It didn’t help that Sam was just as anxious too, a lot more irritated even, at their father’s half-truths.
The four Winchesters were on their way to clear a vampire nest and get said gun. Sam and Dean were driving the Impala while John and Mila were on his truck.
John was on the phone with Dean, directing them to pull off at the next exit when Sam gunned the Impala forward. The car roared past them and screeched to a stop directly in front of John’s vehicle. Mila’s stomach dropped as John slammed the brakes, tires screaming loudly against the asphalt.
Sam shoved the door open and stepped out, his face set with grim determination. He approached the truck just as John climbed out to meet him, irritation radiating off him as well.
Dean and Mila got out of the cars too, muttering ‘Oh crap’ under their breaths.
“What the hell was that?”
“We need to talk.” Sam squared his shoulders, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer to John.
“About what?” John’s eyes narrowed, planting his boots firmly on the ground.
“About everything!” Sam’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but his voice stayed steady. “Where are we going, Dad? What’s the big deal about this gun?”
Mila watched their glaring contest and, for a second, she swore they were about to bump foreheads, like reindeers ready to lock antlers.
“Sammy, come on.” Dean intercepted before it could escalate. “We can Q&A after we kill all the vampires.”
“Your brother’s right. We don’t have time for this.”
Mila lifted her eyebrows in disbelief. John agreeing with Dean? That was definitely a first.
“Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous to be together... Now, out of the blue you need our help? Something big is going down and we wanna know what!” Sam’s voice kept getting louder and louder.
“Get back in the car.”
“No.”
“I said, get back in the damn car.”
“Yeah, and I said no.”
“All right, you made your point, tough guy. Look, we're all tired, we can talk about this later. “ Dean shoved Sammy in the Impala’s direction. “Sammy, I mean it. Come on.”
Mila didn’t even have a second to sigh in relief, thinking the fight was finally over, when Sam muttered something under his breath. She couldn’t catch it, but John’s head snapped up. He had.
“What’d you say?”
“You heard me.” Sam’s eyes locked into John’s, steady and defiant.
And just like that, the air thickened again, only ten times heavier this time.
“Yeah. You left. Your brother and me, we needed you. YOU walked away, Sam.” John jabbed Sam in the shoulder, his voice rising with his anger.
“Stop it, both of you.” Dean stepped quickly in between, but neither listened or moved back.
Sam’s throat tightened as he leaned forward and his voice came up sharp and loud through the night air.
“You’re the one who said ‘Don’t come back’, Dad. You’re the one who closed the door. Not me.”
Dean shot a pleading look at Mila, silently begging her to step in. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could do so, John’s jaw clenched and it was her turn to receive a deadly glare.
“You don’t get to say anythin’ either! You just followed him like a lost puppy… without lookin’ back.”
Mila froze, her breath caught in her throat. For a heartbeat she couldn’t move, her pulse hammering in her ears. But beneath the shock, her blood boiled inside of her.
“No! You don’t get to put this ON ME!” She snapped and the three men turned toward her with stunned expressions – even Sam. She couldn’t believe it either, that she was capable of talking to John Winchester like that, full of anger and bitterness. But... she was her father’s daughter after all. “Even if Sam hadn’t gone to college, you still would’ve lost me, Dad! I had NOTHING. I had NO LIFE. I had NO AIR. YOU STRANGLED ME!” Mila's heart was beating so fast she thought it was going to burst out of her chest.
“Yeah, yeah. I was so horrible. I was so controlling," John narrowed his eyes as he sneered. "Well, tell me, Camille, if I was so controlling, why couldn’t I control both of you going away and flushin’ the last four years of your life down the drain?”
For a fraction of a second, Mila’s hand twitched at her side, the urge to slap him was becoming overwhelming. Dean saw it; he instantly recognized his sister’s fight mode activating, and stepped in fast, his voice sharp.
“Stop it! That’s enough!” Dean made Sam and Mila back off and then turned around to look at John. “That means you too.”
Sam stormed toward the Impala, slamming the door as he dropped into the passenger seat. Mila followed, sliding into the backseat, unwilling to sit anywhere near John. Not that he cared, though. He simply turned around to walk to his truck without a word.
Dean lingered for a moment wondering how the hell was he supposed to survive this delightful family reunion.
“Terrific.” He muttered before climbing behind the wheel.
The next day, Dean received a call from John, but since he was in the shower, it was Mila who picked up the phone. She knew it was him because Dean had his number saved as Burt Aframian.
“Hi, you’ve reached Winchester’s Inc.” Mila answered, faking a higher-pitched voice. “Major Disappointment speaking.”
There was a pause and a frustrated sigh on the other end.
“Mila, this is serious.” His tone was low, clipped.
Oh so now we’re back at nickname basis, she thought.
“So am I, Dad.” She leaned back against the wall, her grip tightening on the phone. Her heart was still mending from the fight the night before. Her sarcasm was a way of shielding herself, of letting him know she wouldn’t let him off easily. Especially after the way he talked to Sam and her. “What do you want?”
After taking care of the vampires, the four Winchesters went back to the cabin they were using as a hideout place. John started loading all his stuff into his truck while his children finished with their own packing.
“So, kids…” John muttered as soon as he opened the cabin door. Sam, Mila and Dean turned around to look at him.
“Yes, sir?” Sam was the first one to speak. The uncertainty and hesitation lingered in the three pairs of eyes, though.
“You ignored a direct order back there.”
“Yes, sir.” Sammy replied, with a breathy voice, a sign of feeling resigned.
“Yeah, but we saved your ass.” Dean added just as quickly and both Mila and Sam tilted their heads to steal a look at their older brother, eyes wide, not fully believing what he had actually said, and also fearing their father’s reaction. Dean clenched his jaw, cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut.
“You’re right.” John admitted, barely blinking.
“I am?” Dean’s brows shot up. A hint of disbelief could be detected in his voice. He wasn’t really sure if his father was actually agreeing with him or if he was once again being ironic.
“It scares the hell out of me.” John’s voice softened, and he let out a long exhale, rubbing the back of his neck. For a brief second, his always stoic posture faltered, his shoulders sagged, and his gaze flicked between each of his children. “The three of you are all I’ve got, but I guess we are stronger as a family. So, we go after this damn thing. Together.”
Mila let out a shaky laugh, her shoulders finally relaxing as if a weight had been lifted.
“Yes, sir.” The three Winchester siblings replied at the same time, a proud smirk plastered on their faces.
During the next couple of days, John kindly took the time to walk his children through all the information he could gather on the yellow-eyed demon. They were still staying at the cabin, and John had just finished setting up a board on the wall with newspaper articles, torn book pages with relevant lore, and several pictures. He sat on the chair behind the makeshift desk, posture stiff, and started narrating the events as he remembered.
Dean stood in front of him, listening attentively, but shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Sam leaned against the window on the other side of the room, eyes narrowed and shoulders tense. Mila sat on the couch in between the three men, indirectly feeling like the glue that joined them altogether.
Sadly, it was also then when Sam found out more details on his mom’s death.
“l was 6 months old that night?” Sam’s voice slightly cracked as he spoke.
“Exactly 6 months.” Their father replied, no hesitation whatsoever in his tone.
“So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me?” Sam’s hands tightened into fists on his knees, knuckles white. John didn’t say anything so Sam took the silence to keep going. “So Mom's death… Jess…. it's because of me?”
“We don't know that, Sam.” Dean’s jaw clenched, his voice firm but his gaze settled in his little brother with unease.
“Oh really? Cause I’d say we’re pretty damn sure, Dean!” Sam snapped, his voice breaking into a yell. He pushed off the window frame, giving one step forward. His whole body trembled with guilt and fury.
“Sammy, no.” Mila exhaled sharply, pushing herself up from her seat and crossing the room towards her younger brother. She wrapped one arm around his shoulders, trying her best to comfort him. “Don’t blame yourself.”
Sam stiffened under her touch. He didn’t shove her away, but his shoulders shifted slightly – a subtle, unconscious brush that broke her hold. Mila froze for a second, her arm falling back to her side. The rejection stung, but she steadied herself.
“Yeah, you’re right! lt's not my fault, but it's MY problem!”
“No, it's not your problem.” Dean didn’t step forward, but he did shift his body to fully look at Sam, hoping to make him understand. “It’s OUR problem!” He shot back, his voice sharp and his fists clenched, chest rising fast. His eyes burned, not with anger, but with concern.
“Stop, yelling, guys! You’re freaking out!” Mila raised her voice as well, her brows furrowed. “Okay, we gotta calm down here.” She glanced at Dean, then back at Sam, her own voice cracking with tension.
“So, set an example” Dean muttered, his tone biting, though his eyes flicked toward his sister with a challenge.
“Hey, I’m human, too.” Mila retorted, lifting her hand in exasperation. She shook her head. “Ok, let’s just take a breath.” She took a deep breath, visibly forcing her shoulders to relax. “This freaking out is not good.”
“It sucks.” Sam whispered, his voice breaking and shoulders slumping. Mila’s heart sank as she looked at him. Suddenly, she didn’t see her grown-up younger brother; she saw the little kid she used to look after in dirty motel rooms and lonely cold nights.
“We’ve got this, guys.” Dean said, his voice softening and his fists unclenching. His gaze fell back on his dad again. “Maybe we need more information. Maybe we could talk to the locals, to check if they had seen somethin’ we haven’t during the last couple of days, before the house burnt down.”
“I think we need therapy,” Sam whispered again, half to himself, half to Mila. This time, his tone was laced with a playful sarcasm.
“And booze.” Mila added in the same hushed tone, her lips twitching into a faint, weary smile. She nudged him lightly with her elbow.
“Okay. Enough.” John said firmly, his voice carrying finality. He rubbed his temples and his shoulders fell a little, starting to wonder if working with his kids was a good decision.
One morning a couple of days later, Mila accidentally overheard her father talking to somebody on the phone. She couldn’t make out who or about what, but it definitely sounded weird, too secretive. So, she decided to do what any sane person would… She followed him. She was supposed to help Sam and Dean with research about the type of bullets the Colt needed, but right when they were with their noses buried in books, she snuck out of the library and took the Impala – she’d have to sit through Dean’s lecture about stealing Baby later, but she couldn’t care less.
She ended up following John towards Windom, in Minnesota. She couldn’t really understand why he’d go there – she found herself thinking he had found another clue on the demon and didn’t bother to tell his children again. Aw, how innocent. And stupid. What she discovered couldn’t be further from that.
Mila saw how John picked up a blonde-haired teenage boy and took him to the park to play catch and then to a dinner to get some burgers and beers. She didn’t want to read much into it or think something it wasn’t, but from the way John talked and treated this guy, anybody could tell they had some kind of bond. She tried to ignore how similar to her father the kid looked and how that thought twisted her stomach.
Right when John left the guy back at his house, when they parted with a “Bye, Dad” and a “Take care, Adam”, and the boy closed his front door, that’s when Mila revealed herself. She stood in front of John, shaking her head, her eyesight blurred by the millions of tears. John was briefly taken by surprise and mumbled a swear word. His expression then stiffened, and he tried to talk to Mila, but any attempts were deflated by her. She got in the Impala and drove off, leaving him with his pathetic explanation and excuses on the tip of his tongue.
Mila wanted nothing more than to find Sam and Dean. She wanted to tell them what had happened, get a big hug from them, and hate their father together forever. But the more she thought about it, the more against the idea she became. Sam was still harbouring some anger and resentment towards John after the arguments they had had over the last couple of days, and she didn’t want to keep adding things to the list. And Dean... with his blind faith in the old man, would maybe even get mad at her instead. She decided it wouldn’t be her who’d break the news to them, but she couldn’t deal with the hole in her chest on her own, so she took the way to Sioux Falls, to the only person who'd be able to provide her with some comfort in a situation like this.
Bobby hadn’t hesitated for even a second in opening the door to her and hugging her, especially after he saw her puffy eyes and the fresh tears falling on her cheeks. He wasn’t a touchy-feely guy, but everybody knew that she had carved a special place in his heart. He made her a cup of coffee and sat with her, wrapping a cozy blanket around her shoulders, and listened attentively as she poured her heart (and eyes) out.
The problem came later when John Winchester knocked rather angrily on Bobby’s door.
“Bobby, I know Camille is here. I need to talk to her.”
“Now’s not the best time, John. You know it.”
“Oh, so now I need your permission to talk to my daughter?” He let out a dry laugh. “Let me in.”
Bobby had to fight the urge to kick John’s ass right in that moment, but he stepped aside. He knew Mila wouldn’t let him down gently anyway. A smirk formed on his mouth when he realized he had front-row seats.
Bobby pushed the thought aside and walked towards the kitchen, trying to give them some kind of privacy.
“We need to talk.” John said in his usual firm and fed-up tone, making her feel she had no right to be upset about their current situation.
“What are you doing here?”
“You weren’t returning my calls.”
“Oh, I wonder why that would be.” Her eyebrows briefly arched.
“Camille, listen…”
“No. I don’t wanna have this conversation now.”
“You wouldn’t pick up the damn phone, so now seems the only time to have this conversation.”
“I’m tired," she sighed. "I just wanna catch some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Well, sure, I believe that.”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one lying here. There’s no reason to doubt my word, isn’t it? Now please... Go.”
“No. You don’t get to dictate this. You can’t shut me out like this. It’s wrong and-”
“And what do you expect me to do, huh?” she rose from her seat, the blanked slipping from her shoulders. “You want me to tell you I’m not pissed and heartbroken about you having another kid and hiding him from us? You want me to go back with you and act like nothing has happened in front of Sam and Dean?”
“I’m sorry. I did what I had to do.”
“Oh, yeah, OK. You surely needed to get into that woman’s pants…”
“Do not talk to me like that.”
“I’m soooo sorry, I didn’t get the memo on how to react when you find out your father has another family. I promise I’ll do better next time.”
“Camille…”
“Does he… Adam… know about the Winchester family business?” John lowered his head and shook it. Mila scoffed, her chest tightening. “That’s awesome. Really. Fucking unbelievable.”
“I had to protect him.”
“Well, joke’s on you because he’s a Winchester – the curse comes with the family package.” Mila retorted, and just when John opened his mouth to reply, she cut him off. “And tell me one thing… who the fuck was supposed to protect US, dad?” Her voice rose, higher and higher, as the words tumbled out faster and angrier than she could control. “What about Sam, Dean, and me? Huh? What is so special about Adam that he gets to receive your fatherly love? Why weren't we worthy of the trips in the park, ice-cream, ball games, hugs, and the time with you?” Her breath hitched and her shoulders trembled as she struggled to get the air in and out of her lungs. She pressed a hand against her ribs, trying to steady herself, but the fury kept spilling out. “Why can’t you see us as more than your little army of obedient soldiers?”
A broken sob escaped her lips and John instinctively reached towards her, his tone low and commanding.
“Honey, calm down.”
“You don’t get to call me that,” she hissed sharply, even venomously, but then she took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with tears. “I – you should go.”
“Mila, please understand…”
“No! I always understand and right now I don’t wanna understand! I don’t wanna talk or see you. I’ve got Sam, Dean, and Bobby. That’s all I need.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. You don't need to care about me. Go be somebody else’s dad!
John’s reaction was pretty weird – his face hardened, but at the same time, he flinched, as if the words had landed heavier than he had expected. His shoulders jerked back and his eyes widened in shock.
Mila stormed out of the living room, walking with heavy footsteps towards the room Bobby used to let her stay in when she was a little girl. As if on cue, Bobby reappeared from the kitchen with his arms crossed and a steady gaze.
“Give her some time. She wants to be alone and cool off. Respect that. I'll even talk to her later.”
“You’re gonna talk to her?” John let out a laugh, humourless and absolutely dry, but his voice cracked under the weight of the situation. “‘Cause you do know how to deal with my kids, right, Bobby? That makes me feel a lot better.
“You need to leave.” Bobby stepped in closer, his tone firm, almost threatening. “Right now.”
John shook his head, but guilt and defeat flashed across his features.
“No. She needs her father.”
“I know she does, but she feels like her father bailed on her. And she’s mad and hurt, and nobody can change that in a couple of minutes!”
John took a look towards the hallway where Mila had disappeared, and then stared back at Bobby. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the door, the slam echoing like a final punctuation mark to the fight.
After a well-deserved nap and a chocolate bar, Mila got a call from Dean. He said that he and Sam were on their way to Bobby’s.
After he seized his opportunity to tell her off for stealing his Baby and forcing him to hotwire a random, very uncool car, he explained that John went to see Meg to give her the makeshift Colt, but the bitch realized it was fake, so she took John God knows where. It was very likely she was coming after the Winchester siblings as well. Hence, the need of a plan.
When she hung up, Mila told Bobby the news, and after hearing him mutter 'Balls' under his breath, they started researching all the information they could on devil’s traps. Mila was in charge of learning the Latin incantations while Bobby gathered all the materials they needed to build one.
Needless to say, the words on the pages of the Key of Solomon turned out to be harder for Mila to memorize; not because she wasn’t smart enough – she actually knew enough Latin spells to exorcise a good amount of demons – but because her mind kept circling back to her argument with John. Even if the fire of their last fight was still burning in her heart, she would never let anything happen to him. She couldn’t let that awful fight be their last conversation; she’d never forgive herself.
As if on cue, a couple of hours later, Meg blasted through the door when the four of them were fairly ready. Luckily, she took the bait and walked right inside the devil’s trap, and just like that, the questioning and exorcism began. They ended up learning John was being kept in a building by the river, called Sunrise Apartments. They parked the Impala a few meters away from the back doors and as Dean and Mila prepared their guns and the holy water flasks, Sam started copying something from the book Bobby had lent them on the trunk door of the car.
“Dude, what are you drawing on my car?” Dean asked as he swiped a finger over the drawing, checking if it faded.
“It's called a devil's trap.” Sam replied, not tearing his eyes away from his task. “Demons can't get through it or inside it.”
“So?”
“Basically turns the trunk into a lockbox.” Sam moved to the other side and repeated the drawing.
“So?”
Mila closed her eyes, cursing to herself. She knew where the conversation was leading and she knew Dean wouldn’t like it one bit.
“So… we have a place to hide the Colt while we go get Dad.”
“What are you talking about? We're bringing the Colt with us.”
There it was.
“Can't, Dean. We only got three bullets left. We can't just use them on any demon. We gotta use them on THE demon.”
“No, we have to save Dad, Sam. Okay? We need all the help we can get.”
“Dean, do you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets?”
Dean gave Mila a ‘can-you-believe-what-he’s-saying questioning look, but she sighed.
“Sam’s right, Dean. Dad wouldn’t have wanted us to bring the gun.”
“l don't care. I don’t care what Dad wants.” The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upwards in disdain. “Since when do the two of you care what Dad wants?”
Mila was ready to call Dean on that low-blow, but Sam beat her to it.
“We wanna kill this demon. You used to want that too. Hell, you're the one who came and got us in the first place. You were the one that dragged us back into this. We’re just trying to finish it.”
Dean looked down and shook his head, a dry smile forming on his lips.
“You and Dad are more alike than l thought, you know that? You can't wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I'm gonna be the one to bury you.”
Sam looked to the side, at some faraway point, but said nothing, so Dean continued.
“It's selfish, you know that? You don't care about anything but revenge.”
“That’s not true, Dean,” Mila cut in, patting her brother in the back gently. “We both want Dad back.” She shot him a small lopsided smile. “But they are expecting us to bring the gun. If they get the gun, they will kill us all. That Colt is our only leverage and you know it. We cannot bring that gun. We can’t.”
“Fine.”
“We can’t.”
"We're serious, Dean.” Sam pressed.
“I said fine, Sam.”
Mila watched Dean put the Colt in the trunk of the Impala, but she knew her older brother better than anyone. He was going to seize his opportunity to snatch the gun out of the car and take it with him. She wasn’t going to stop him.
They went ahead with their plan and rescued John from the demons’ claws and quickly ran off to their hiding spot: the cabin on the outskirts of the city. Their father was slipping in and out of consciousness in the backseat of the car, his head resting on Mila’s shoulder. She was happy to have him there, despite a few bruises and scars, but a strange, upsetting feeling in the pit of her stomach prevented her from feeling completely content.
Mila felt she should’ve made a wish; her brothers were having a heart-to-heart talk – a ‘chick-flick moment’ as her older brother would name it– in which Sam thanked Dean for saving his life with the Colt. Mila just sat there, listening to their conversation as she reinforced the salt on the doors and windows. Meanwhile, John was resting in the other room.
“Hey, Sam.” Dean whispered, his gaze set on his gun.
“Yeah?”
“You know that guy l shot? There was a person in there.”
“You didn't have a choice, Dean.”
“Yeah, l know. That's not what bothers me.” Dean’s eyes darted to the floor.
“Then what does?”
“Killing that guy, killing Meg…” he made a brief pause, his jaw tightening. “l didn't hesitate. I didn't even flinch. I mean, for you, Mila or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill, it's just.... It scares me sometimes.
Suddenly, John appeared and the three of them instinctively looked up and straightened at the sound of their father’s firm voice.
“It shouldn't. You did good.”
“You're not mad?”
“For what?”
“Using a bullet.”
“Mad? I'm proud of you.”
Dean’s eyebrows briefly arched in confusion, but then he kept staring at his father with a silent but unreadable expression. John seized the opportunity to continue talking.
“You know, Sam and l, we can get pretty obsessed. But you… you and Mila watch out for this family. You always have.”
That feeling in Mila’s stomach turned into a freaking hurricane and she suddenly felt like throwing up.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
John couldn’t see Mila’s face because he was facing Dean, but he was looking at their dad the same way she was. As if their father’s gratified words were something they wouldn’t have dreamed of hearing in this lifetime – or in any for that matter.
Then, the lights started buzzing and flickering. The four of them exchanged startled glances. John walked to the window and sighed.
“lt found us. lt's here.”
Dean and Mila stepped closer to the window as well, tension etched into their shoulders.
“The demon.” Mila whispered, breath shaky.
“Sam,” John snapped into full sergeant mode, “lines of salt in front of every window, every door.”
“We already did it.”
“Well, check it.” John’s tone was sharp, dismissive even. Then, he turned to his eldest. “Dean, you got the gun?”
“Yeah”
“Give it to me.”
“Sam tried to shoot the demon and it vanished.”
“This is me. I won't miss. Now, the gun. Hurry.”
Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out the Colt. He stopped in his tracks and his stare hardened at John.
“Dean,” Mila leaned closer, whispering behind him. “Dad would be mad as hell.”
Her breath brushing his ear wasn’t the only thing that sent a shiver down his spine. The memory of the conversation with Sam earlier before rescuing John flashed through both minds.
Dean sighed and his grip tightened on the gun.
“Son, please.”
Dean took two or three steps back, shielding Mila with his body. His eyes stayed locked on John, unblinking.
“Give me the gun. What are you doing?”
“He'd be furious.”
“What?”
“That I wasted a bullet. He wouldn't be proud of me. He'd tear me a new one.” Dean lifted the gun, pointing at John, and his knuckles went whiter and his frown became more prominent. “You're not our dad.”
“Dean, it's me.”
“No, it’s not. We know our dad better than anyone. You ain't him.”
“What's gotten into you two?”
“We could ask you the same thing.” Mila cut in, chin lifting in defiance, but her fingers clutched the hem of her jacket sleeve.
“Stay back.” Dean warned him just as Sam re-entered the room.
“What the hell's going on?” Sam’s eyes widened at the scene in front of him.
"They've lost their minds.”
“He's not Dad.” Mila shot back, stepping closer to Dean’s side. Her eyes narrowed at the thing wearing their father’s face and her stomach twisted.
“What?” Sam’s gaze flickered between all of them, his brows furrowed and lips parted, waiting for an explanation.
“I think he's possessed,” Dean said, voice low and steady, never tearing his eyes from John or lowering the gun. “He's been possessed since we rescued him.”
“Don’t listen to him, Sammy.” John retorted, trying to coax Sam. His eyes flashed with irritation.
“Dean, how do you know?” Sam asked, his voice tight, and he studied his father’s face, searching for something familiar.
“He's…He's different.”
“You know, we don't have time for this,” John rolled his eyes, exhaling in annoyance. “Sam, you wanna kill this demon, you gotta trust me.”
Sam’s shoulders tensed as his eyes darted between Dean, then Mila, and finally John. John called his name again, sharper this time, trying to reel him in.
“No.” Sam shook his head, retreating a step until he was shoulder to shoulder with Mila.
“Fine,” John sighed and nodded. “If you’re all so sure, go ahead,” he arched his eyebrows defiantly. “Kill me.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor, shaking his head now. Dean’s lips quivered and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Tears threatened at the corner of his eyes, but he stood frozen, Colt raised, unable to move.
“I thought so.” When ‘John’ looked up again, the shift was undeniable. A sickish yellow shade covered his usual dark brown irises.
A violent invisible force slammed into them, tossing Dean, Mila and Sam against opposite corners of the room. The Colt clattered from Dean’s grip and the demon snatched it up with a sneer.
“What a pain in the ass this thing's been…” The demon muttered as he inspected the gun closely.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” Sam spat, his eyes narrowing with pure disdain. “We've been looking for you a long time.”
“Well, you found me.”
“But the holy water…” Mila’s brows shot up, disbelief spread across her face.
“Poor little thing... you think something like that works on something like me?”
“I'm gonna kill you.” Sam growled through clenched teeth, his body fighting to take a swing at the demon.
“Oh, that would be a neat trick. In fact, here,” he placed the Colt on the table with deliberate mockery. “Make the gun float to you there, psychic boy.”
Dean and Mila exchanged a worried glance, but weirdly hope also flickered in their eyes. Sam’s face tightened in concentration, but nothing happened. His shoulders sagged, frustration etching across his bruised features.
“You know, this is fun,” Azazel drawled, pacing the room with the tranquility of a predator that has its prey cornered. “I could've killed you a hundred times today, but this…” he sighed, almost content. “This is worth the wait.”
Dean strained against the invisible force pining him on the wall, but it was pointless.
“Your dad, he's in here with me. Trapped inside his own meat suit. He says hi, by the way. He's gonna tear you apart. He's gonna taste the iron in your blood.”
“Let him go” Dean pleaded, voice shaking. Then his tone hardened, eyes blazing. “Or I swear to God…”
The demon approached Dean again and leaned in, face inches from Dean’s.
“What? What are you and God gonna do?” His lips curled into a cruel smile. “You see, as far as I'm concerned, this is justice…” He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “You know that little exorcism of yours? That was my daughter.”
“Who? Meg?” Dean’s brows furred in sheer confusion.
“The one in the alley...that was my boy. You understand?”
“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” Mila blurted out to herself, but the demon’s head snapped toward her, his gaze sharp.
“What?” He prowled closer, his smirk widening sickly. “You're the only ones that can have a family? You destroyed my children. How would you feel if I killed your family?” He reached out, curling a strand of her hair around his finger. Mila stiffened, jaw clenching, and refused to recoil even as her pulse hammered. “Oh, that's right…I forgot, l did.” He flashed her a wry smile before backing to the center of the room, tongue clicking in mock disappointment as his eyes darted between the siblings. “Still, two wrongs don't make a right.”
“You son of a bitch,” Dean shouted, nostrils flaring and the veins in his neck popping, and prepared to throw another threat but Sam cut in.
“l wanna know why. Why did you do it?”
“You mean,” the demon turned his head slightly towards him, a sly smile tugging at his lips, “why did I kill Mommy and pretty little Jess?”
“Yeah.”
Azazel’s grin widened as he shifted his gaze to Dean.
“You know, I never told you this, but Sam was gonna ask her to marry him," he revealed, wiggling his eyebrows, as if he was the host of an afternoon gossip show. "Been shopping for rings and everything.” He stepped closer until he was inches from Sam’s face. “You wanna know why? Because they got in the way.”
“ln the way of what?”
“My plans for you, Sammy. You and all of the children like you.”
“Hey, can you just do us a favor and shut up?” Mila’s words tumbled out before she could stop them, her brows arched in defiance. It was too late to stop now, wasn’t it? “I’m getting tired of this monologue.”
“You think you’re funny, princess?” The demon marched towards her, tilting his head and throwing her a knowing look. “But that's all part of your M.O., isn't it? Masks all that nasty pain. Masks the truth. You and little Dean are the same.”
“Oh, yeah, what are we like?”
“You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is...they don't need you.” His gaze snapped to Dean, his voice twisting the knife. “Not like you need them.” He leaned closer, voice low and venomous. “Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you, isn’t it?”
Mila felt that last comment hit too close, especially with the sharp look the demon threw at her. If he was possessing John, it was highly probable he had access to his father's memories. However, before she could say anything else, Dean spoke.
“I'll bet you're real proud of your kids too, huh?” Dean made a brief pause, as if he was thinking. “Oh, wait, l forgot. I wasted them.” His lips curled into a bitter smirk despite the fury in his eyes.
The demon nodded slowly, then snapped his gaze back to Dean. A cruel smile spread across his face just before Dean’s body began convulsing. His chest arched violently and a strangled scream was torn from his throat.
“Dean!” Sam and Mila shouted in unison, struggling against the demon’s invisible force. Panic flashed across their faces as they witnessed Dean’s chest rip open under the demon’s power.
“Dad!” Mila screamed, her voice cracked in pain. Her eyes locked on John’s face, desperate, pleading. Sam caught her intent and joined in, shouting for their father.
“Dad, don't you let it kill me!” Dean gasped, his eyes wide, pleading as he searched for John beneath the demon’s mask. Blood trickled from his mouth as he choked out, “Dad, please…”
Mila’s vision blurred with tears, the scene in front of her stretching in slow motion. Dean’s body went limp, his head lolling as he passed out. Sam’s voice broke as he screamed his brother’s name.
Then, faintly, almost imagined, John’s voice – the real John – cut through.
“Stop!”
The crushing force vanished. Sam stumbled forward, rushing to snatch the Colt from the table, while Mila dropped to her knees beside Dean. She cradled his face in her hands, whispering frantically for his big brother to hold on.
For a fleeting moment, she caught John’s eyes, his familiar, human dark brown eyes. But then, the wicked yellow glow returned and his features twisted.
Then, John turned around in Sam’s direction and the sick yellow-ish color appeared on his irises again.
“You kill me, you kill Daddy.” Azazel taunted, smirking as Sam leveled the Colt at him.
“I know.” Sam’s voice came out steady, though every fiber in his body trembled. He pulled the trigger, the shot tearing through John’s leg. The body collapsed, and Dean sagged into Mila’s arms with a pained grunt.
“Dean. Hey.” She cupped his face, her thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. “Oh, God. You lost a lot of blood.”
“Where’s Dad?” The mighty Dean rasped.
“He’s right there.” Sam said moving closer to them.
“Go check on him.”
“Dean…”
“Go check on him. Mila will stay with me.” Dean’s hand reached weakly for Mila’s, gripping it with what little strength he had.
Sam hesitated, but then Mila nodded, taking his hand in her as a few tears fell from her eyes, and the youngest Winchester obeyed. He approached John with slow and careful steps.
“Dad?”
“Sammy!” John’s scream made them all flinch. “lt's still alive. It's inside me. I can feel it.” His body trembled violently. “Just shoot me. You shoot me in the heart, son.”
Sam raised the Colt, his bottom lip quivering, eyes widening with anguish.
“Do it now!” John’s voice was raw, desperate.
“Sam, don't you do it!” Mila cried, her voice breaking, not entirely sure that killing the thing that destroyed her family was reason enough to kill her father.
“You gotta hurry. I can't hold onto it much longer. Just shoot me, son. Shoot me! Son, l'm begging you. We can end this, here and now. Sammy!
“Sam, no...” Dean whispered hoarsely, his voice weak but urgent.
“You do this!” John screamed again, but then Sam’s arms shook, the Colt wavering and he finally lowered it, unable to pull the trigger. “Sammy!” John cried, his body convulsing as pitch-black smoke poured from his mouth, swirling before vanishing into the floor.
The three siblings exhaled in shaky relief. John’s eyes fluttered shut, but not before casting a disappointed look at Sam.
Sam grabbed John under the arms, trying to keep him upright, while Mila slipped her shoulder beneath Dean’s weight, guiding him carefully into the Impala’s backseat. Dean’s head lolled against her, his breath shallow, and she tightened her grip.
Once he helped John into the passenger seat, he walked around the hood and sat on the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut. He started the car and tore down the road. His eyes flickered constantly to the rearview mirror, catching glimpses of his siblings: Dean pale and fading and Mila whispering frantic reassurances.
John groaned, face contorted in pain, but still conscious. Sam glanced sideways and swallowed nothing.
“Look, just hold on, all right? The hospital's only 10 minutes away.”
“I'm surprised at you, Sammy," John snapped, ignoring his reassuring words. "Why didn't you kill it? I thought we saw eye to eye on this. Killing this demon comes first. Before me, before everything.”
Sam’s grip tightened even more on the wheel, his knuckles now white as snow. He stole a glance through the rearview mirror and saw Dean’s weak state: eyes fluttering, his head heavy on Mila’s shoulder. She stroked the back of his head with trembling fingers, whispering broken fragments of Metallica lyrics just to keep him awake.
“No, sir. Not before everything.” He paused, voice firm despite the fear in his body. “Look, we still got the Colt. We still have the one bullet left. We should start over, all right? l mean, we already found the demon once…”
The last words barely left his mouth before blinding headlights cut across the passenger’s side. The truck slammed into them with a deafening crunch of metal. The Impala lurched violently, glass exploding inward as the night was swallowed in chaos.
Then, pitch-blackness.
⋆ ｡ﾟ ☁︎ ｡ ⋆ ｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆
end note: i basically started this whole series because of this specific part. what a roller-coaster, huh? i love the winchester kids and bobby!!!
p.s. fuck you, john.
thank you for taking the time to read it and if you liked it, please leave a reblog, like and/or comment. i’d love to read your feedback and interact with you ❤️
lots of love,
lina.
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˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ With his nose always stuck in a book.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ Dreams of a better life away from the family buisness.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ Seems to finds himself kidnapped constantly (and often bounded).
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ Would totally fall in love with anyone that gifted him a giant library.
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ Monsterfucker.
Dean Winchester as… Mulan.
BE A MAN
➶⊹ ࣪ ˖ Has to bring honor to the family.
➶⊹ ࣪ ˖ Daddy’s perfect little soldier.
➶⊹ ࣪ ˖ Forced to “be a man” ever since he was a child in order to protect those he loves.
➶⊹ ࣪ ˖ “Help me not to make a fool of me / And to not uproot my family tree / Keep my father standing tall.”
➶⊹ ࣪ ˖ Bisexual icon.
⋆˚࿔ HERO VERSION:
Sam Winchester as… Milo Thatch.
YOU'RE NOT ALONE, YOU'LL FIND YOUR HOME
𓇼⋆ ｡˚ Awkward bookworm.
𓇼⋆ ｡˚ Always the odd one out, spends his life searching for his place in the world.
𓇼⋆ ｡˚ Very smart, but also a total idiot.
𓇼⋆ ｡˚ Empathetic, understanding, openminded.
𓇼⋆ ｡˚ Falls for the supernatural girl.
Dean Winchester as… Flynn Rider.
ON AN ISLAND THAT I OWN / TANNED AND RESTED AND ALONE / SURROUNDED BY ENORMOUS PILES OF MONEY
˖.𖤓 ݁٠࣪˖˚⋆ Charming, reckless, witty.
˖.𖤓 ݁٠࣪˖˚⋆ Lawless rascal who’s actually just a softie in disguise.
˖.𖤓 ݁٠࣪˖˚⋆ Honorable bastard.
˖.𖤓 ݁٠࣪˖˚⋆ “Here comes the smolder.”
˖.𖤓 ݁٠࣪˖˚⋆ Would cry if they got his nose wrong in his wanted posters.
NOTES: I really love making modboards omg. my brain has been fucking dry and dusty lately, so I decided to have a bit of fun and make these. hope you like them, tell me if you agree or if you'd assign each brother a different character, and let me know if you'd like me to do another one with disney villains. anyway, love you!
