Pairing: Sam/Dean Winchester x OlderBrother!Reader [Platonic]
Warning(s): Language, Fake Lore, brief mention of Dean's balls (but not in a sexual way)
Summary: The aftermath of a witch hunt is always a coin toss. In this instance, Sam and Dean got the short end of the stick, leaving their older brother to pick up the mess.
A/N: I don't know why, but I've had this scenario bookmarked in my brain for the past several years, so I decided to finally write it. Anyway, my grandmother won't stop begging to watch Supernatural, so we're almost halfway through the third season already. Please send help and maybe a therapist, she's gonna need it soon. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
“I call first shower!” Dean was quick to pipe up as he, Sam, and (Y/N) entered the motel room.
Sam and (Y/N) simultaneously groaned.
“Come on, man, why the Hell do you get the first shower? I was the one who killed the witch.” Sam complained.
“Well, I’m the oldest, so I should always get the first shower,” (Y/N) countered.
“No, no, no,” Dean waved a finger as he rushed over to his duffel bag and grabbed out some spare night clothes. “I’ve been the last one in there the past three times, and I get stuck with all the cold water. It’s about time one of you gets the same treatment.”
“Well then, I get-” (Y/N) started.
“I call second shower!” Sam quickly interrupted.
“Oh, come on!” (Y/N) threw his hands up.
Sam smirked in response and walked over to his own duffel bag as Dean retreated to the bathroom. Under normal circumstances, (Y/N) would argue his ass off to get what he wanted, but he was too tired to do so. The hunt took a lot of energy out of him, so if his younger brothers wanted to take their showers first, that was fine by him. He mumbled a brief ‘whatever’ under his breath as he walked over to the couch and collapsed. Not only did he have to wait until the very end of the shower rounds to wash off, but he was stuck on the old, dilapidated couch as well. He should’ve fought harder for that shower.
(Y/N) lay on his side and kicked off the boots. Dried mud and gravel decorated the floor. He placed one of the scratchy throw pillows underneath his neck in an attempt to get as comfortable as he could. He could rest his eyes for a bit while his brothers showered. Then, he could silently pray that the water wasn’t too cold by the time his turn came around. He wouldn’t find out if the water was too cold, however, as he drifted off to sleep soon after he lay down. The fatigue from the hunt made him sleep heavier than normal, ignorant of the world around him. The way that his brothers shuffled around and talked in low volumes. It was as if he were dead to the world.
And it was the best sleep he had gotten in a while.
The wake-up call wasn’t so lovely, though.
Wet. That’s all (Y/N) felt on his face was wetness. Small dabbles here and there. Then, a long, moist stripe right on his cheek. He grimaced and wiped his face with his calloused hand.
“Fuck,” he slurred, his voice filled with sleep. “What the fuck is your-”
When his eyes opened, he came face-to-face with a canine. Two canines. Two giant, furry dogs. A Leonberger with chocolate colored fur stood to the left, and then a Labrador Retriever with sandy blonde fur to the right. The Lab barked right in (Y/N)’s face, causing him to jump up. Suddenly, it was as if the exhaustion vanished and panic set in.
(Y/N) held his hands out in front of him, far enough from the dogs so that he could pull them back in case they went to lunge. Carefully, he pulled himself up and stood on the couch.
“Sam? Dean?” He called out, loud enough for his voice to echo off the walls.
When he spoke, they barked. He took a second to look around the room before his eyes returned to them. The room was empty. His brothers were nowhere to be found. He crept off the sofa, one foot on the ground and then another, before he backed away to the window that was next to the door. He grabbed the dingy, greasy curtain and pushed it to the side. The sun rays spilled out through the opening and illuminated the room. With one glance outside, he could see the Impala that sat in the same spot they had parked it the night before. (Y/N) furrowed his brows and slowly turned back to the dogs.
The dogs stood there, their tails swished back and forth, and their tongues flapped as they panted. (Y/N)’s eyes narrowed as he studied them closely. Their similarities. Their differences. Then, his eyes widened in realization.
“Sam? Dean?” He asked quietly.
Both of the dogs barked again as the shorter one moved closer. (Y/N) watched him. He pointed to the Lab.
“Dean?”
Bark.
He pointed to the Leonberger. “Sam?”
Bark.
Fuck.
(Y/N)’s muscles visibly relaxed, and he stood up straight. His shoulders slouched. Sam and Dean were dogs. Sam. And. Dean. Were. Dogs.
“That fucking witch.”
………
“You nasty bitches, always leaving your stuff out, never organizing it, making me pick up everything,” (Y/N) grumbled under his breath as he shoved Sam and Dean’s clothes into their respective duffel bags.
Dean sat next to the couch and watched (Y/N) move, growling at him in response to his rambling. Sam, on the other hand, was scratching at the motel door.
“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” (Y/N) sighed.
After everything was accounted for, (Y/N) grabbed all three duffel bags and the car keys. He turned off the lights and opened the door. Sam and Dean rushed out of the room at lightning speed. They almost knocked (Y/N) over in the process, which caused him to curse under his breath. As he went to the car, Sam and Dean bolted right, towards a small patch of grass that was just off the roadway. (Y/N) furrowed his brows as he watched them. He was about to say something, but when he noticed the way that they lifted their back legs, he grimaced and looked away. While they relieved themselves, (Y/N) placed the duffel bags in the trunk.
“Alright, guys, let’s go,” (Y/N) called out.
Sam and Dean rushed from the grass towards the car. (Y/N) opened the back driver’s side door. Sam was quick to jump in, while Dean hesitated. (Y/N) sighed.
“Dean, I know you hate dogs being in the car, but you have to make an exception for this.”
Bark.
“I don’t give a fuck, Dean, get in the car.”
Bark, bark.
(Y/N) clenched his jaw, letting out a heavy sigh as he squatted down so that he was at eye level with his brother.
“If you don’t get in this car right now, then I’m going to that pet store down the street and buying a shock collar for you, do you understand?” His voice was deep and eerie.
Dean’s ears lowered until they pressed flat against the side of his face. He lowered his head for a second before he jumped into the back of the car with his brother. (Y/N) stood up to his full height and closed the door. He grumbled under his breath as he got into the driver’s seat of the car. The engine roared to life, and (Y/N) backed out of the parking spot and left the motel, heading back towards Lebanon, KS.
…
Thirty miles into the trip, the Impala sat along the side of one of the many backroads. Sam and Dean were both wandering around the field just past a thin line of trees that rested next to the highway. Castiel and (Y/N) leaned up against the side of the car, their arms crossed as they kept an eye on the brothers at a distance.
“Do you remember the witch saying anything before she died?” Castiel asked.
(Y/N) shook his head. “I can’t remember. I don’t even think she threw anything. We can also rule out hex bags because I went through their duffel bags and pockets.”
Castiel let out a huff and pressed his lips into a thin line. He watched as Dean and Sam seemed to frolic in the field. Dean got into a playful stance, which Sam didn’t seem interested in mimicking. Castiel cocked his head to the side. (Y/N) studied them for a moment before his mind went back to the curse.
“Right,” (Y/N) said. “There’s bound to be something at the bunker that can lead us in the direction of how to turn them back. You go ahead and get a head start, and I’ll drive them back.”
(Y/N) placed his thumb and middle finger into his mouth and whistled, the sharp sound piercing the trees, which caused Sam and Dean to raise their heads, ears perked up.
“Alright, guys, let’s go!” (Y/N)’s voice carried.
Sam and Dean broke out into a sprint as they rushed through the tall grass back to the Impala. Dean was the first one to start barking. (Y/N) sighed.
“Dean, I don’t have time for this,” he mumbled as he ran his fingers over the bridge of his nose.
Castiel, on the other hand, looked down at Dean, cocking his head to the side as Dean continued to bark. He looked up at (Y/N).
“Dean said that they are hungry,” Castiel stated.
Bark.
“And that he wants a cheeseburger.”
(Y/N) furrowed his brows and shook his head. “Cas, how do you-” He stopped and his eyes widened in realization. “You can read their minds! That’s it! You can talk with them and see what they remember about what the witch threw at them. Obviously, killing her didn’t affect the curse, but if we could find the source of what did, then we could track down the reverse spell easier.”
(Y/N) opened up the back door of the Impala. Sam was quick to jump in, but Dean simply barked.
“Dean said he wants to eat first,” Castiel commented.
(Y/N) sighed. “At the first stop, we’ll get some burgers, alright? Now get in the damn car.”
Dean let out a huff as he hopped into the back of the car, and (Y/N) closed the door. With (Y/N) in the driver’s seat and Castiel in the passenger’s seat, the four of them got back onto the road. They got plain hamburgers at the nearest fast food joint they encountered, which Dean hungrily scarfed down in the backseat, while Sam was more reserved with his eating. Afterwards, as they drove down the backroads, Castiel began to gather as much information as he could about their encounter with the witch. (Y/N) had to remind himself not to get annoyed with the occasional bark that came from his brothers in the backseat as he focused on the road ahead.
“They said it was a powder. Sam thinks he remembers a scent of lavender, but Dean’s arguing that it was rose.” Castiel relayed, his eyes shifting back and forth between (Y/N) and the rearview mirror.
“Great, that narrows it down,” (Y/N) grumbled. “Did she say anything?”
Bark. Bark bark bark. Bark.
“No.”
“Great. So, we’re looking for a powder with a floral smell that doesn’t require a verbal spell to activate, at least not when it comes in contact with the victims.” (Y/N) sighed. “You guys better understand that you two will owe me after we turn you back.”
Dean barked.
“I will not be repeating that,” Castiel mumbled.
“No, go ahead, say it,”
Castiel opened and closed his mouth before he cleared his throat. Before he could speak, Sam barked. “I plead the fifth,” Castiel said.
(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “I hate both of you right now.”
…
Books littered two of the heavy wooden tables of the Men of Letters’ Library. Text on witchcraft that dates back before the days of Christ. Still, despite their time and effort, they continued to fail to find the information they were searching for. Bags were present under (Y/N)’s eyes after three days of, what seemed like, no sleep, while Castiel seemed more frustrated than exhausted—damn angels. Sam and Dean, on the other hand, were lying on the floor, sleeping, as if they were content with the mere idea of remaining canines for the rest of their lives. As if they hadn’t scratched at (Y/N)’s door repeatedly throughout the night to go outside. (Y/N) adored dogs, but not when the dogs were his brothers. He swore they acted that way on purpose, and he would get them back sooner or later.
(Y/N) slammed the heavy book shut, which caused Sam and Dean to both jump up into a lying position.
“We’ve gone through all these books, all these fucking books, and not a single thing has come up. I mean, we’ve gone over Europe, Africa, fucking South America. Everything that we have and still nothing.” He shouted, frustration coursing through his words.
“(Y/N), perhaps you should get some sleep,” Castiel suggested.
“No! Okay, I’m-I’m done with all of these stupid fucking witches and their ancient spell bullshit. Why did the Men of Letters have to have everything so disorganized! We’re living in the twenty-first century, for fuck’s sake, you would think that we could come up with a better idea for organizing them than spending hours on end searching through books that could fall apart at any second.”
Sam barked.
Castiel glanced towards him and then back at (Y/N). Hesitantly, he spoke, “Sam said-”
“Don’t,” (Y/N) said sternly and held up a finger.
Castiel stopped. (Y/N) licked his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair.
“I mean,” he began. “Who would even want to turn someone into a dog? I simply cannot think of any reason why-”
(Y/N) trailed off, eyes cast down to the withered cover of the book below. His thoughts moved at the speed of light, but mostly came out jumbled due to a lack of proper rest. After a moment of silence, his eyes shifted, and he began to search across the spines of the closed books next to him. He scanned over each faded word until he found the book he was looking for. He grabbed the bottom book from the stack and opened it. Castiel, Sam, and Dean stared at him curiously.
“Maybe I’m not thinking deep enough about it. Maybe,” (Y/N) mumbled before he raised his brows. “A-ha! See! Right here!”
(Y/N) shoved the other books to the side and turned it so that it faced Castiel. (Y/N) pointed to the page. At the top of the page sat a script that was unfamiliar, but ancient. The rest of the text had been translated into English.
“Ancient Mesopotamia. They loved dogs just as much as we do today. They were always associated with loyalty and fierceness, but they were also seen as property and a major status symbol at the time.” (Y/N) began, his finger trailing over the text as he tried his best to read it upside down. “So, when wives would catch their husbands being unfaithful, they would cast this spell on them, turn them into a dog, and guarantee that they couldn’t leave them. And the spell does contain a flower, but it wasn’t lavender or rose. It was mandrake. They would make it appear as if their husbands left them for their mistresses, but, in reality, they were there the whole time. The husband was seen as an adulterer, and the wife would climb the social ladder.”
Castiel furrowed his brows as he read. “Is there a way to reverse it?” He asked.
“Uh…” (Y/N) trailed as he turned the book towards himself slightly, his neck craning to read the words. He flipped the page. “Here. It appears that the earliest recorded instance of a reverse spell occurred after a wife gave her husband an ultimatum. She would turn him back if he played the part of the desperate ex who came crawling back to her. Otherwise, she would have him killed. And, boom, right there is the reverse spell.”
Castiel nodded. “Good,” he said as he dug his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the page. “I’ll begin collecting the ingredients. You might want to stay here and get some rest.”
(Y/N) beamed, his cheeks almost sore from how hard he was smiling. “Sounds good, because I am this close to losing it.” He held his index finger and thumb incredibly close together.
Dean barked.
“I agree with Dean,” Castiel began as he stood. “I think the sleep deprivation has already gotten to you.”
“Who cares what you both think!? Because I figured it out,” (Y/N) stood from the table as well. “And that is what paying attention in AP History Class will do to a man.”
“(Y/N)?”
“Yeah?”
“Please get some rest.”
“Will do,” (Y/N) gave a thumbs up, followed by a chuckle as he walked out of the library, stumbling slightly.
The three of them watched as he wandered out of the room before Castiel’s gaze turned to the brothers on the floor. He walked over to them and squatted next to them.
“Alright, I’m going to get the ingredients for the reverse spell. Please do not bother (Y/N) while I’m away.” Castiel pleaded.
Bark. Bark bark bark. Bark bark. Bark.
Castiel sighed as he stood back to his full height.
“Fine, let’s go out.”
…
Crushed mandrake seeds, rosemary, ash from a date palm, a drop of blood from each of the brothers, and red candles made with wax used from a sesame plant and dye from madder. All of the ingredients were placed into two separate bowls, one for Sam and the other for Dean. Castiel and (Y/N) took their time to mix them according to the instructions. Once everything was mixed properly, (Y/N) lit each of the candles. They hovered the bottom of the bowls over the flame for exactly five seconds before they removed them. (Y/N) stood in front of Sam, while Castiel stood in front of Dean. Under their breaths, they mumbled a Sumerian chant before they picked up the powder with their fingertips and flicked it at the brothers. Sam and Dean closed their eyes as the powder speckled their muzzles with the black dust. Dean’s nose twitched before he sneezed.
(Y/N) sighed as he placed his bowl down on the table. He blew out the candles and took a look at the book.
“Alright, it doesn’t give a time for the reserve spell to take effect, but if it’s anything like the time the initial spell took to take effect, I would say it would be about six hours? We’ll probably know something by morning,” (Y/N) commented.
Castiel looked down at the brothers. Dean’s nose still twitched from the powder. “That sounds like it would be accurate.” He said.
(Y/N) poked his tongue into his cheek. “While we wait on that, I’m gonna go get some more sleep. That nap did nothing for me.” He walked over to Sam and Dean and squatted in front of them. “Do you two need to go potty before I go to bed?” He asked in a dramatic baby voice.
Dean and Sam looked at each other with what could only be described as the dog-equivalent of a look of disgust. Dean let out a faint growl, which caused (Y/N) to chuckle.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m so out of it right now.”
Castiel placed a hand gently on (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Go get some more sleep. I can watch over them until morning.”
“Thanks,” he said and ruffled the tops of Sam and Dean’s heads. “Goodnight, you two,”
They both growled that time, their lips curling into a snarl, but (Y/N) seemed unfazed by it as he turned and left the library for the last time that day.
…
Scratch scratch.
(Y/N) groaned.
Scratch scratch scratch.
“Go away,”
Knock knock knock.
(Y/N) shot upward, his hair askew atop his head and eyes still half closed. He got up from the bed and shuffled over to his door. As he rubbed his eyes, he opened it, the light from the hallway pooling into his pitch black room.
“I told you guys to get Cas if you needed to go potty,” he said, his mouth wide open in a yawn.
“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll need help with that anymore,” a familiar voice spoke.
(Y/N) pulled his hand away from his eyes and looked at the two figures that stood outside his room. It was Sam and Dean. And they were human. (Y/N)’s brows lifted, and the sleep seemed to melt away.
“Oh, thank God it worked.” He let out a sigh of relief.
“Yeah, thank God I can finally do things for myself again,” Sam commented.
“I do have to admit,” Dean chimed in. “It was pretty nice being a dog. Not having to worry about getting my own food, lying around all I want, cleaning my-”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” (Y/N) cut him off and smiled tightly. “I think the last thing I ever imagined was seeing my brother, as a dog, licking his own balls.”
“Hey, dogs have it easy. I don’t know why Sammy was complaining the whole time.” Dean shrugged.
“Because it’s disgusting, Dean,” Sam said.
“Yeah, you both were disgusting,” (Y/N) said, his nose crinkling. “But, I gotta admit,” (Y/N) turned back and walked into his room. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and returned to his brothers. “I did get a nice new background picture.”
He turned the phone towards Sam and Dean, showing them the picture of the two of them sleeping on the floor in their dog forms, Dean’s head resting atop Sam’s stomach. They frowned.
“Delete that,” Dean said flatly.
“Oh, I could, but it’s just so cute.”
“(Y/N),” Sam grumbled.
(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he huffed as he deleted the photo and showed them the screen. “There, see?”
Sam and Dean both nodded approvingly.
“Alright…now let’s get some food. I’m starving. You didn’t feed us nearly enough.” Dean said as he rubbed his stomach dramatically.
“Oh, boohoo,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But, yeah, I could go for some grub. You want breakfast, Sammy?”
“You know what? Yeah, food sounds delicious right about now.” Sam agreed.
“Great,” (Y/N) said. “You two get a head start. I’m gonna make my bed.”
With that, Sam and Dean turned away from the door and made their way down the hallway toward the kitchen. (Y/N) walked over to his bed and placed the phone back on the nightstand. He grabbed the blankets and adjusted them so that they were straight, folding the top of the comforter back to give it that clean appearance. Just as he was about to leave, he looked at his phone for a moment and smirked. After all…
Who needs a single photo on their phone when it's already saved to the Cloud?
Warning(s): Some really cute fluff, Sam being a hater
Summary: After a month of draining, annoying hunts, the reader and Dean finally have some time together, and the reader is taking full advantage of it.
Request:
Yay! I’m super exited that I’m able to request Dean Winchester! I was thinking that the reader felt just like sticking to Dean for the day. Dean didn’t mind that the reader was being clingy he loved it actually and the reader just wants to cuddle for the day and do nothing because they’ve been working very hard all week. And it’s all fluffy and stuff? Sorry that I didn’t give a lot of details I’m not sure how detailed you wanted it.
I hope you have a lovely day/night!
@hpxmcusworld
A/N: I'm sorry this took an extra day to get out. The weather has decided to shit on the weekend, and it has been super cold in my house without central heat, so my fingers are completely numb while writing this! Anyway! I hope I did your request justice—just something cute and cuddly, because that's exactly what Dean needs every now and then. Poor tortured brother. Feedback is greatly appreciated!
My grandmother and I are almost done with Season 5. I called Dean closeted at some point, and she said 'yep', so we may have a future Destiel shipper on our hands.
It wasn’t often that they got a break from hunting. For the past several weeks, (Y/N) and the brothers had been on the road nonstop. Hunt after hunt, the monsters didn’t seem to take a rest, and when the monsters were active, so were hunters. That’s why, after an intense fight with a coven of witches that left the trio beaten and bruised, (Y/N) was thankful that there was nothing of interest in the news articles to keep them away from the bunker any longer. They were finally able to go back to the stuffy, safe, concrete structure that they called home.
And (Y/N) couldn’t have been happier.
When they initially moved into the Men of Letters’ bunker, (Y/N) thought it was silly - cute, but silly - that Dean seemed to have a fascination with the memory foam mattresses in all of the rooms. After the peaceful rest he got last night, he felt stupid for even having had that thought process. It’s true that ever since he and Dean got together, the nights in the dingy motels weren’t as bad. A night with Dean on a memory foam mattress, though?
Heaven.
Which was why, after they awoke at ten in the morning the day after they returned, (Y/N) didn’t want to get up.
Dean had fallen asleep on his back, one arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders. Both of (Y/N)’s arms were wrapped around Dean’s midsection, a leg draped over Dean’s hip, and his head on his chest, similar to the way a koala would cling to a tree. Dean was the first to wake, his eyes welcomed to the overwhelming darkness of the room. The downside of living in an underground bunker was the lack of natural lighting. Was it 6 AM, or was it 5:30 PM? Who knows.
Dean groaned as he attempted to get up, but found that he was stuck. He glanced down at the weight that kept him pinned to the bed. He let out a sigh once he saw (Y/N)’s restful expression. Although he would have loved to be in bed, cuddled up next to his boyfriend for hours on end, if he didn’t go to the bathroom soon, then his bladder was going to explode.
Gingerly, he rubbed (Y/N)’s shoulder. “Baby,” he mumbled, his voice gruff. “I need to get up.”
(Y/N) let out a mere hum, but didn’t verbally respond. Dean rolled his eyes and tried to get up, only to find that (Y/N)’s arms and leg got tighter around him. His shoulders slouched in frustrated defeat.
“Babe, I need to go piss,” Dean said.
“No,” (Y/N) replied, matching Dean’s tone of voice.
“Do you want me to pee on you?”
“No,” (Y/N) nuzzled his nose into Dean’s neck. “I just wanna cuddle you.”
“Well, I can’t do that if I have to piss.”
They sat there for a moment, neither of them moving. Then, reluctantly, (Y/N) pulled his body away from Dean’s. In that moment, Dean missed the warmth of his boyfriend’s body on his, but he couldn’t deny the ache in his pelvis. He tossed the comforter off himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head lowered as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. (Y/N) mimicked his actions, albeit more clumsily. As Dean stood, (Y/N) followed, and the two of them made their way out of the room. The hallway light blinded them as they left the comfort of their bedroom and made their way to the bathroom. The entire time, (Y/N) was a single step behind Dean, similar to that of a tailgating car. He grabbed Dean’s hand and held it tightly, which caused him to chuckle.
“You’re like a lost puppy,” Dean commented, his voice still laced with sleep.
(Y/N) could only grumble incoherently in response.
When they reached the bathroom, (Y/N) dropped Dean’s hand and leaned against the wall, eyes still halfway closed as his boyfriend went into the lavatory. One big thing that he and Dean had in common was the fact that they weren’t morning people. Most of that had to do with the fact that they would stay up until the ass crack of dawn, digging up graves or hunting various monsters, only to have to leave first thing in the morning when check-out was at eleven. When he and Dean would proclaim that they could survive on only four hours of sleep per night, they always neglected to mention that caffeine played a huge role in their ability to tolerate their fellow humans. If that need was ignored, God help anyone in their way.
The toilet flushed behind the concrete wall, followed by the sound of running water from the faucet. It didn’t take long before silence filled the hallway once more, and Dean emerged from the bathroom. (Y/N) grabbed Dean’s semi-wet hand in his and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. Dean kissed the top of his head.
“Do you wanna get some coffee?” He asked.
(Y/N) nodded.
“Then we can sit down in the Man Cave for a bit?”
Nod.
“Alright then,”
They went into the kitchen and turned on the coffee pot. The entire time the machine heated up, (Y/N) stayed clinging to Dean’s side, an arm wrapping around his waist soon enough. Even as Dean prepared their individual coffee mugs, he wouldn’t let go. Despite Dean’s rugged exterior and lack of interest in the general population, his boyfriend’s clinginess felt good. Soft. Surprisingly domestic. As he got older, the idea of domesticity didn’t seem as bad as it did when he was in his early thirties, and (Y/N), sometimes, gave him a glimpse at a life that could be in the future for the two of them if the world wasn’t in constant peril. Perhaps in another life. Maybe in this one?
There were perks when it came to having a bunker to themselves. In spite of the isolation, with the location being just outside of one of the smallest towns in the state of Kansas, the bunker was spacious. Yes, it kept everyone safe, both from supernatural entities and natural disasters that were bound to pass by from time to time, but there was nothing like knowing that you could go anywhere in the bunker and have the opportunity to not see anyone else for the rest of the day. Only true family knows when they need a break from one another, some time to themselves, and respect it when other people feel the same.
That’s why both Dean and (Y/N) were grateful when they made their way into the Man Cave and Sam wasn’t there. Granted, Sam normally spent most of his time in the library, which was the last place the two of them wanted to be. Dean walked over with his cup of coffee and set it down on the table between the two recliners. (Y/N) set his down next to it. Dean let out a sigh as he sat down in his chair. He barely had time to get comfortable before (Y/N) sat down on his lap, one arm wrapped around Dean’s back, the other wrapped around his torso. (Y/N)’s head rested on Dean’s chest, and Dean let out a grunt of surprise.
“What the Hell’re you doin’?” He asked, unable to keep the small smirk away from his face. “You have a chair just for yourself.”
“Yeah, but I wanna be with you.”
“You are with me, that doesn’t mean you have to try and crawl into my skin.”
“But I want to.”
“What? Try and crawl into my skin?”
“Why not?”
Dean sighed and let out a breathy chuckle. He draped an arm around (Y/N)’s back. He grabbed his coffee mug and sipped on the black liquid. For a moment, they sat there, wrapped up in each other.
“You wanna watch a movie?” Dean asked quietly.
“Sure,”
“You have a preference?”
“No, just pick one. I’ll be here.”
(Y/N) nuzzled his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean chuckled as he turned and planted a kiss on (Y/N)’s cheek before he turned on the television.
…
Dean’s hand felt big in his. The course pad of his thumb ran across the side of (Y/N)’s hand. Their eyes weren’t on each other, for once. Rather, their attention was turned to their own activities as they sat in the library, side by side. Dean’s eyes were on his laptop, a variety of news articles across his browser, while (Y/N)’s was on one of the many Latin lore books they kept. Everything was peaceful. Content.
Then Sam walked into the room.
He carried his own laptop in his hands, his gaze turned to his brother and (Y/N) as an amused smirk graced his lips. He set the computer down on the table across from the couple.
“Aw, aren’t you guys just the cutest little couple?” Sam said, his words laced with a teasing intention.
Dean looked at Sam, his lip curled into a small scowl as he rolled his eyes. (Y/N) simply gave Dean’s hand a squeeze, which wiped the expression off of his face. Dean went back to focus on his computer.
“Dean’s looking at potential hunts. I’m catching up on some studying,” (Y/N) stated.
“Is that the sixteenth-century book about witches I’ve been telling you to read?” Sam asked as he opened his laptop.
“Yep.”
“Well, it’s at least good to see that you guys are using your time wisely. Do you have to do all the PDA while doing it?”
“Could be worse,” (Y/N) shrugged as he finally looked up at Sam. “You missed the first thirty minutes of us being in here, where I was sitting in his lap.” He grinned.
Sam’s nose scrunched as the image popped into his head. “Yeah, well, thanks for not doing that when I came in here.”
“Anytime, Sammy.”
The three of them sat in a comfortable silence aside from the occasional sound from the keyboards of the brothers’ computers or the gentle turn of the feeble pages. God only knows how long they sat there, with no way to tell time but the clocks on their devices and no desire to check them; none of them cared how long they were quiet.
Then, Dean let out a sigh and closed the last tab he had open.
“There’s nothing for us to snag yet,” he grumbled.
(Y/N) turned his attention from his book to his boyfriend. “How many states have you checked?” He asked.
“Twenty, which means I have a little under thirty to go, not counting Alaska or Hawaii,” he began to type into the search bar with his free hand. “I’ll be damned if I’ll get on a plane just to gank a bitch.”
Sam snorted from across the table, but said nothing. (Y/N), on the other hand, gave a small, gentle smile.
“Do you want me to get you a beer, babe?” He asked softly.
“That’d be great, thanks.”
(Y/N) stood from the table, their hands parting as he placed a kiss atop Dean’s forehead before he turned to leave the library. Sam watched the interaction, his gaze following (Y/N) as he left. He looked at Dean.
“What the Hell is going on with you two?”
Dean furrowed his brows and turned his attention to his brother. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, why are you two all lovey-dovey all of a sudden?”
Dean recoiled, as if Sam had insulted him right to his face. “We are not lovey dovey.” He replied.
Sam flashed him a signature bitch face. “Come on, Dean,” Sam said. “Hand holding? Forehead kisses? Lap sitting?”
Dean opened his mouth to respond, but found that any retort would be futile. “Alright, fine, yeah, we’re being lovey dovey,” he spoke with disgust. “I don’t know what it is, man. (Y/N) just woke up this morning and wouldn’t let me go. And, I mean…” Dean gave a sheepish shrug. “It’s not that bad.”
Sam raised his brows and smirked. “Wow,” he shook his head and ran a hand over his stubble. “You’re going soft.”
“Hey, come on, we’ve been on the road for the past month straight. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to be close to his boyfriend while we have the only downtime in a while.”
Sam shook his head as he looked back at the computer. “I guess you got a point,”
“Plus, I think the only reason why you’re so grossed out by it is that you’re jealous that I get to cuddle with my boyfriend while Gabriel is up doing whatever the Hell he’s doing in Heaven without you.”
It was Sam’s turn to be rendered speechless. His mouth moved up and down, like a fish out of water. Finally, as the words failed to formulate, his jaw clenched. “Shut up,” he grumbled.
Dean smirked triumphantly.
…
For the rest of the day, (Y/N) and Dean didn’t leave each other’s sides. From lunch to a supply run, to another movie, to supper, and showering, they never parted. The only time they separated was when one of them had to use the bathroom. That was where they drew the line.
By the end of the day, they were tired. Not nearly as tired as they would normally be after a hunt, but tired enough to retire to their room for the night. Dean dressed down in a t-shirt and boxers, with (Y/N) dressed in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. They crawled into their bed, underneath the covers, and (Y/N) swiftly wrapped his arms and legs around Dean in a similar position that they were in when they awoke that morning.
Perhaps ‘tired’ wasn’t the right word to describe how they felt. They didn’t feel tired, nor exhausted. Rather, they felt calm, placid. It had been the most relaxing day that they had had in a while, and they would repeat it for many days to come if they could.
Dean turned his head, his nose brushing against (Y/N)’s forehead. “Hey,” he said, his voice deep, yet quiet.
“Yeah?” (Y/N) replied.
“Why were you all clingy today?”
(Y/N) blinked for a moment before he looked up at Dean, their eyes connected, his cheek resting atop Dean’s shoulder. “Because I love you,” he began. “And we focus on the hunts so much that I honestly forget that I want to be cute and cuddly with you half the time. So, since we’re on a break from hunting, I really need to be clingy with you. It’s kind of like sexual frustration, but with cuddling and hand holding.”
Dean couldn’t help but smile, a deep chuckle vibrating in his chest. “Well,” he said as he turned slightly so his body to better face (Y/N). “While we’re here, I’ll give you as many cuddles as you want.”
(Y/N) smiled as their noses brushed against one another. “As many as I want?”
Dean leaned down and pressed their lips together. He pulled back. “As many,” kiss. “As,” kiss. “You,” kiss. “Want.”
Warning(s): Description of a panic attack, spiders (obviously), disgusting motels that should probably be condemned
Summary: The reader and the Winchesters have stayed in some rather grotesque motels in their days. However, at the Copper Inn, he runs into a little eight-legged friend that sends him spiraling. Luckily, his knight in shining armor is there to help him.
A/N: Firstly, I want to apologize that this is out later than my last ones were. My grandmother and I started hardcore watching Season 4 (just got done with Yellow Fever), and I am happy to announce that she is obsessed :)
The event that happens within this story is based on true events that I experienced. Except this happened in my own apartment. Have fun reliving my trauma :)
The motel was old and dilapidated. In retrospect, it should’ve been condemned years ago, but it was the only place just off I-95 with vacancy, and the trio could see why. Ripped wallpaper, stained sheets, and (Y/N) was sure that there was black mold in the corner of the room. They couldn’t afford to be picky, though. They were all too exhausted to drive safely, and the Impala could only hold two people when they slept.
That’s a lie. The three of them could have slept in the car, but Dean wouldn’t stop bitching about wanting to sleep in a bed, even if it was potentially covered with bed bugs. Sometimes that man could be the biggest diva on the planet, which was why (Y/N) opted to date the youngest Winchester. Sure, Sam had his moments of nagging, too, but nothing nearly as dramatic as Dean.
Still, out of all the dingy motels they had stayed at over the years, the Copper Inn took the cake.
By the time the group settled in as best as they could, they were starved, and the nearest fast food joint was no less than twenty minutes away. (Y/N) would’ve offered to go to get the hell out of the disease-infested room, but Dean was quick to grab the keys and leave. Perhaps he had realized his mistake once he saw the state of the room, but motels didn’t do refunds when you paid cash.
That left Sam and (Y/N) on the itchy couch in front of the television that hadn’t been updated since the late nineties. The scene was blurry, so they could barely make out the actors' features. Sam’s arm was wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders, their bodies pulled close to one another. In any normal circumstance, it would be a comforting experience. However, with the mixture of the couch cushions against his legs and the stuffiness of the air that surrounded them, since it seemed as if the windows hadn’t been open since the building was created, overstimulated seemed like too weak a word to describe how (Y/N) felt.
“Do you think this place has hot water?” He asked quietly, as he knew how thin the walls had been from the moans and groans that came from a room several doors down proved earlier that night.
Sam hesitated for a moment. “Probably not.” He answered, his voice just as quiet as (Y/N)’s.
(Y/N) pursed his lips, deep in thought. “I’m gonna try anyway.”
He hoisted himself up off the couch, which proved to be more difficult than others he had been on, as the base of the couch was close to collapsing. He shuffled over to the bathroom door and turned on the light. It flickered for a moment, illuminating the room. It was small and cramped, and a small hint of mold hit his nose. The light was dim, seemingly seconds from dying. Against his better judgment, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. When he turned on the hot water handle, he could hear the pipes as they shook behind the drywall. Brown, murky water spouted out of the shower head and into the stained tub below. (Y/N)’s nose scrunched, but he would try to trust the process and let it run for a bit. Perhaps it needed to get rid of the rust in the pipes before the fresh water came through.
The white cabinets, which encountered the renter’s special more often than they should have, above the toilet had spare towels and toilet paper inside. He grabbed a towel and placed it on the towel rack right outside the shower. He then walked over to the toilet and hooked his fingers onto the waistband of his boxers. Before he could sit down, he saw that the toilet paper roll was empty. A sigh fell past his lips as he straightened himself out and opened the cabinet back up. He grabbed one of the spare toilet paper rolls and crouched down next to the toilet roll holder. He took the rod off and put it through the cardboard roll. Right as he placed the rod back into the holder, in the blink of an eye, a spider crawled out of the middle of the roll and onto his hand.
Before he had time to think, a gasp got stuck in his throat, (Y/N) quickly stood up, and swatted the spider onto the floor. It fell gracelessly onto the floor and collected itself before it crawled towards the base of the toilet. (Y/N) grabbed the towel and tossed it onto the spider and stomped on it with his bare foot.
He hated spiders.
He could feel his heart racing a million miles an hour, as if it was ready to free itself from behind his ribcage. Hesitantly, he lifted the towel and saw the crushed remains of the eight-legged freak sprawled out on the tile. He dropped the towel once more and placed a hand over his chest, as if silently willing his heart to calm down.
Shower, right, he wanted to shower.
When he pulled back the curtain, he saw that the water was still a faint shade of brown. One touch and he could tell that it wasn’t going to heat up any time soon. He pressed his lips into a thin line, let out a huff, and turned it off. He would have to wait until their next motel stop to get himself clean. It wouldn’t do him any good to try and scrub the feeling of filth away when that’s all the water was, too.
Just as he turned to head back into the main room, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. His gaze returned to the toilet paper holder. Barely outside of the cardboard, he noticed that the rod looked…wet? Why would it look wet? He furrowed his brows and curiously took a step closer. He took the rod, carefully, off the holder and removed the toilet paper roll. He examined the rod. It was wet and slimy, covered with speckles of white. His curiosity strengthened as he turned the toilet paper roll onto its side so he could look inside the cardboard. In an instant, his eyes widened.
On the inside was a messily created spiderweb, decorated with meticulously placed egg sacs. Egg sacs that scattered onto the ground and (Y/N)’s feet as gravity took over.
The reaction was almost immediate.
(Y/N) let out a noise that he had never made before as he threw the toilet paper roll against the wall and lifted his foot to wipe off the eggs. His heart picked up speed once again, and his vision blurred for a moment.
Get off, get off!
He stood on his tiptoes to escape. When he opened the door, he did so with too much strength, causing the hollow door to bounce off the wall as he stepped back onto the carpet.
Thump thump thump thump.
Sam jolted from the couch at (Y/N)’s entrance, his brows raised and eyes widened with worry. (Y/N) stood there, hands held up in front of him, shaking like a leaf. His chest moved up and down at a rapid pace in tandem with his breathing. His state was enough to cause Sam’s worry to deepen as he moved over to him.
“Hey, hey, hey, you okay?” Sam asked as he reached out to carefully touch (Y/N)’s arm, only for the arm to be pulled away.
(Y/N) clenched his eyes shut tight as he rubbed his arms and his legs, purposefully dragging his feet against the carpet to get the feeling of the eggs off of them.
They’re still there, they’re still there! Get them off! Get ‘em off!
(Y/N) moved as far away from the bathroom door as he could, with Sam taking small steps behind him.
“(Y/N), what happened?” Sam’s voice was calm and soothing.
All (Y/N) could do was cast his eyes back toward the bathroom before his heart began to pick up pace again, and he looked away. He continued to rub his arms as Sam looked over at the open door. He took a couple of long steps closer to get a look inside the bathroom. While Sam went to investigate, (Y/N) was too busy attempting to scrape off the invisible eggs that he was convinced were still on him.
They’re there, they’re there. Get them off. Get off of me! Get ‘em off, get ‘em off, get ‘em off.
The words repeated in his head as his vision blurred. Sure, there had been times when spiders had freaked him out before, but he had never had a panic attack to that extent. But it wasn’t just the spider or the eggs. It was everything. The couch, the carpet, the beds, the spider, the eggs, and water. Everything was so nasty.
And it felt like everything was on him.
When large hands pressed against (Y/N)’s sides, his body tensed. With how he was worked up, it didn’t take much strength from Sam to move him towards the door of the motel. He forced it open and had (Y/N) step outside, the cool, wet concrete under his bare feet. The air outside felt different; strong and cool, as if small tacs were prickling (Y/N)’s lungs to allow more room for fresh air.
“Okay, (Y/N), we’re outside,” Sam began, his voice soft and calm. He placed his hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders, and he didn’t pull away this time. “The spider is dead; it can’t get you.”
(Y/N)’s fingers twitched, and his hands involuntarily flexed. His mind was still coated with an anxious fog, but the location change began to help. He didn’t feel as claustrophobic or trapped. Soon, he began to blink quickly. Slowly, but surely, it had begun to ground him back to reality.
“Eggs,” he said, his voice soft and quick.
Sam nodded. “Yes, baby, I saw the eggs. It was really gross.”
“My foot. My foot.”
“Did they get on your foot?”
(Y/N) nodded.
Sam averted his gaze down to the ground, eying the tops of (Y/N)’s feet. He squatted in front of him and used the palm of his hand to brush them both off. There had been no sign of egg sac remnants that he could see, which he was grateful for. When he finished, he stood up to his full height, his hands returning to (Y/N)’s shoulders. He noticed that the muscles under his touch weren’t as tense as they had been.
“Your feet are clean,” Sam confirmed with him. “There are no more eggs on them.”
“No more?” (Y/N)’s concerns came out quickly.
Sam shook his head. “No. No more.”
(Y/N) could simply nod in response.
Sam, satisfied with the acknowledgement that (Y/N) knew his feet were clean, transitioned to the next problem at hand, his panic attack.
While he could confidently say that (Y/N) didn’t get nearly as many panic attacks as he used to, it’s become such an uncommon phenomenon that, when he got that, they were bad. So, Sam and (Y/N), together, worked out a couple of methods that could help ground him. With (Y/N)’s limited capability to communicate, Sam would simply have to go through each of the methods to see which one would work best.
“Alright,” Sam began. “Do you need some weight on you? Want me to hold you for a bit?”
(Y/N) was quick to shake his head.
“Okay, that’s okay. How about the deep breathing we do?”
(Y/N) nodded.
“Yeah? Wanna do that?”
Nod.
“Okay, here,” Sam placed his palms into (Y/N)’s. “We’re gonna go slow, okay? Go ahead and take a deep breath in.” As Sam inhaled, he lifted (Y/N)’s hands above his head gingerly. “And out.” As he exhaled, he lowered his hands.
After a couple of moments, (Y/N) joined him, copying his movements flawlessly. Over time, his hands shook less, and he could feel his heart begin to calm. The fog that had plagued his brain dissipated. While he breathed, he repeated the same phrase over and over again.
The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs, I am safe. The spider is dead, there are no more eggs. I. Am. Safe.
Twenty minutes had passed by the time (Y/N) took his last deep breath. When he finished, he lowered his hands to his sides and looked up at Sam.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and tired.
Sam returned the smile. “Of course,” he said as he reached up and cupped (Y/N)’s cheek.
(Y/N) leaned into the touch and sighed. “I can’t sleep in there tonight.”
“Don’t worry, neither can I. I figure as soon as Dean comes back, I’ll suggest we head somewhere else.”
(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh. “But we won’t be able to get the money back.” He said.
“Oh, yes, we will.” Sam raised his brows.
“How? It’s no cash refunds.”
“Just,” Sam gently grasped his hand and moved him away from the motel door so he could sit down on the curb nearby. “Wait right here. I’ll go in, get all of our bags, and then come back out, alright?”
“Alright,”
With a small smile, Sam turned and went back into the motel room while (Y/N) waited outside. Granted, he hated the idea that their duffel bags were in there for a period of time unattended, the likelihood of a spider getting inside of them was slim to none. Still, he planned on washing his clothes at the nearest laundromat when he was able to. Perhaps twice.
Sam returned with all three duffel bags, tossing them onto the ground next to (Y/N). “Now, I’ve got a little trip I wanna make to the office.” He said with a tight smile.
“Oh, God, Sam, don’t beat the poor guy up.”
“Me? Come on…I might,” he mumbled as he held out his hand and exposed the giant lump of toilet paper in his hand. “I got the spider and the eggs in here. The spider was a brown recluse.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” (Y/N) deadpanned.
“Yeah, so it’s a good thing that you killed it. Anyway, I’m gonna go get our money back. You okay with staying out here and waiting for Dean?”
“Sounds good,” he said as he gave a thumbs up with a tight grin.
(Y/N) watched as Sam turned sharply and walked towards the main office on the other side of the parking lot. When he was out of sight, he let out another sigh. He was tired, he was hungry, and he was ready to just say fuck it and go back to the bunker at that point. Forget the hunt, forget everything. He was ready to go back and take the hottest shower known to man. That way, he could clean any remnants he might have had on him of the horrible arachnids he had to encounter.
Five minutes after Sam disappeared into the main office, the Impala drove carefully into the parking spot that sat next to (Y/N). He squinted and turned his head, as not to be blinded by the headlights. When they turned off, he looked and watched as Dean got out of the car, a white, greased-up paper bag filled with food in his hands.
“The Hell are you doing out here?” He asked as he stepped closer.
(Y/N) shrugged. “Saw a spider.”
“A spider?”
“Yeah, plus all of the egg sacs that fell on the floor.”
Dean’s face turned to an expression of disgust. “Gross.”
“Not only that, but it was a brown recluse.”
“Aren’t those the ones that can-”
“Kill you? Yeah.”
“Yikes…”
“Yeah, so, Sam took the spider and its eggs to show the office manager so that we can get our money back. We already have the duffel bags; we just need to find somewhere else to sleep. Hell, I’ll take a ditch on the side of the highway over this.”
Dean grimaced as he walked over and sat down next to him. “I don’t blame ya,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think this was the cleanest place when we first went in there, but I draw the line at killer spiders.”
“Me too,” (Y/N) pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Do you wanna sit in the Impala and eat while we wait for Sam?”
“Thank God, because I was gonna start downing everyone’s food.” Dean pressed a hand to his knee as he stood up.
(Y/N) followed suit and grabbed all of the duffel bags. “Pop the trunk,” he said as he began to make his way to the back of the car. His eyes were cast down to the ground, careful of any debris that might pierce the bottom of his foot.
Dean stepped ahead of him and used the key to unlock the trunk. They tossed the bags into the car and slammed the trunk shut before they both got into their respective seats within the car - Dean in the driver’s seat and (Y/N) in the back passenger’s. As soon as they closed their doors, Dean turned on the overhead light and dug into the greasy white takeout bag. He grabbed a burger and handed it back to (Y/N). It took mere seconds for him to rip open the wrapping and inhale his food. The taste was just as good as the smell. (Y/N) closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the seat.
“This was definitely worth the wait.” He said with a mouthful of food.
Dean glanced at the backseat before he unwrapped his own burger and took a bite. His reaction mirrored (Y/N)’s, eyes closed and head leaned back against the window.
“Hell yeah, it was,” Dean mumbled.
They ate in starved silence, the car filled with the satisfying aroma of freshly made burgers. It was in that moment when (Y/N) felt completely relaxed, as if he was able to forget about the incident in the motel bathroom. With food, in the Impala, he truly felt safe.
Then the passenger’s side door opened, and Sam plopped into his seat in front. Sam looked at Dean, then at (Y/N). Dean, then (Y/N) again. He furrowed his brows and smiled an amused grin.
“Are they that good?” He asked.
“Oh, Hell yeah,” Dean said, the words mostly muffled by the food as he dug into the bag and brought out Sam’s food.
He dropped it into Sam’s lap, and Sam couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Well, here, let me trade ya,” he replied.
In return, Sam slapped a wad of cash into Dean’s hand. For a moment, Dean forgot about the food. His eyes widened and his brows furrowed as he set his burger down between himself and his brother. (Y/N) chewed his bite as he scooted forward so that he could look over the back of the front seat. His brows raised as he watched Dean count the stack of twenties.
“Holy shit,” he said.
Dean’s mouth moved quickly, but he said nothing as he thumbed through the bills. When he was done, he looked over at Sam with a shocked expression.
“This is a thousand dollars, Sam,” Dean said, his voice laced with heavy surprise. “What did you do? Hold him at gunpoint? I only gave him three hundred for the week.”
Sam snorted and smirked. “You’d be surprised at the lengths someone will go to not to have the health inspector called on them.”
If Dean’s jaw hadn’t been connected to the rest of his skull, it would’ve been on the floor. He licked his lips and folded the money up quickly, shoving it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
“Well, I’m wide awake now,” he mumbled as he took a massive bite out of his burger and dug out his car keys. He turned off the overhead light. “What do you say we start driving and just get the Hell out of here?”
(Y/N) nodded as he ate the last of his food, crumpled up the paper into a ball, and tossed it onto the floor. “Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Me, too,” Sam agreed.
With that, Dean shoved the rest of his food sloppily into his mouth, mayonnaise and ketchup coating the corners of his lips. He didn’t bother to wipe it off as he tossed the wrapper into the back, turned the car on, put it in reverse, and ripped out of the parking lot. The tires squealed against the damp road.
As they drove, a fresh dose of adrenaline coursing through their veins, (Y/N) leaned up and kissed Sam on his cheek. Sam furrowed his brows as he looked at him, his cheeks noticeably bulging from the food.
“What was that for?” He asked, words muffled.
(Y/N) smiled in return. “Thank you for grounding me.”
Sam smiled, his cheeks puffed out even more before he swallowed. “Anything for you,” he leaned over and kissed his lips softly.
(Y/N) grimaced as the remnants of Sam’s burger stayed on his lips. He wiped his mouth. “Ew,” he chuckled. “Wipe your mouth next time.”
Sam chuckled, his teeth stained yellow from the mustard and lettuce stuck between his front teeth. (Y/N) scrunched his nose and pushed Sam’s shoulder as he leaned back into his seat.
“You’re just as gross as your brother,” (Y/N) said.
Sam shot him an offended look. “No, I’m not,” he retaliated.
Pairing: John/Dean Winchester x Male!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]
Warning(s): Language, John Winchester, John Winchester's parenting
Summary: In the third installment of (Y/N) Winchester's Journal, he recounts the first hunt that he ever went on with his dad and oldest brother.
A/N: I'm sorry this is getting out a day late! My grandmother wouldn't let me leave the living room for longer than five minutes yesterday and I was exhausted by the time we finished the first part of Season 5. Anyway, I had this typed up prior to the requests coming in, so I'll post this now and get those requests out starting next weekend :)
I was sixteen the first time I was allowed to go on a hunt. Granted, that was after months and months of begging and pleading with my father not to stick me in some random motel room for several days. He was hesitant, more so than he had been when Dean first started fieldwork. Dean didn’t even have to ask to go; my father just decided that, one day, he was going to help him on hunts. This was after months of personal one-on-one training that Dean refused to talk about. With me, Dad made Dean teach me. Of course, he didn’t know that I had already gotten some lessons from him, so the official trainings were simple refreshers.
Mostly, we worked on hand-to-hand combat, something that I had always been rusty with. Firearms came naturally to me, but I got my ass kicked the first couple of times Dean and I sparred. We did it at Bobby’s house, in motel parking lots, and in wooded areas. Dean said it would help me get a feel of the different environments I could meet monsters in. Get used to the elements around me. I didn’t know sticks could hurt as much as they did, but that was the last time I would ever wear shorts and a t-shirt while training or hunting.
While we trained, Dean would try to talk me out of it. Our father wasn’t keen on the idea of my joining them, so why was it important for me to so quickly jump into the field? He’d always question me, yet I would never give him a straight answer. It would always be different, generic responses of ‘school is boring’ and ‘it’s the family business’.
What I didn’t tell Dean was that I didn’t think it was fair that he got to be with Dad all the time. Sammy and I had to stay back while the two of them got that experience of being together. Ultimately, though, I think it was because I wanted to be just like him. Like Dean. Not my father. I didn’t look up to Dad as I had Dean, and, in my older age, I know that I never will.
So whenever I saw the two of them going out on hunts, I wanted to be by Dean’s side, to make sure nothing happened to him. I wasn’t sure how well of a hunting partner our Dad was at the time, so I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. He was supposed to protect my brother while they were out there together, but a string of broken promises led me to have little faith in his ability to keep his word. So, if Dad wasn’t going to protect him, then I would.
Of course, I had to get through Dad to do it.
After a couple of months of retraining with my brother, he confirmed with Dad that he believed I was ready. Of course, Dad tried to argue back with him, but Dean stood firm on his decision. The next hunt, I was going to play backup to the two of them.
It was a ghost hunt along the border of Colorado and Wyoming, nothing too harsh for my first run. A couple that had been plagued by the death of many people in their lives: coworkers, friends, and some family. Later, we determined that they were all individuals that the couple were having affairs with, and that the spirit was one of a woman who sought revenge on her husband for being unfaithful.
Lorraine Wilder.
I remember it like it was yesterday.
She was a young housewife, one who, despite the persistent attempts, had never been able to have children. Her husband, seemingly unsatisfied with the result (this was the early 1800s, after all), started an affair with Lorraine’s cousin, Ellen. She was even younger, the perfect childbearing age. Well, Lorraine found out and couldn’t bear the thought of seeing him again. She took her own life, then proceeded to haunt his ungrateful ass until his untimely death several years later. People speculated it was a broken heart. Yes, he had played the role of a widow perfectly. What people weren’t aware of was the fact that he was still seeing Ellen in secret. Lorraine didn’t like that.
Her body was buried in a private cemetery, about a block down from where her family’s old estate used to be before it got condemned. Dean and Dad were in charge of digging up the grave while I was on watch.
It was going so well before shit hit the fan…
It was cold enough to snow that night, but the Winchesters were grateful that it was merely overcast. The wind was sharp as it whistled through the branches of the naked trees. John and Dean were in the grave, about five feet deep at that point, grunts falling past their lips as they dug shovelful after shovelful of dirt out and onto the earth above. (Y/N) paced back and forth above them, his hands placed deliberately on the shotgun he held. Occasionally, he would look at his dad and brother, but he was primarily focused on his surroundings. The quiet cemetery was filled with cracked headstones and dead foliage.
“Why doesn’t he have to be the one to dig up the grave? He’s the rookie?” Dean complained as he gestured towards (Y/N)’s pacing frame.
“Because he’s backup, Dean. He’ll have his turn someday.” John answered, his voice deep and gruff, which left no room for questioning.
(Y/N) smirked as he looked down at Dean. Their eyes met. (Y/N) stuck out his tongue at him. Dean’s nose scrunched as he tossed a pile of dirt at him, which (Y/N) avoided and chuckled.
“Hey,” John’s voice boomed. “This isn’t a fucking game, you two. Pay attention.”
Dean and (Y/N) halted, their bodies still for a moment. Dean gave a sharp, curt nod.
“Yes, sir,” he replied as he began to dig again.
“Yes, sir,” (Y/N) voice was quieter as his gaze turned back to the cemetery and paced.
“(Y/N), this isn’t something that you can just half-ass, you have to be on the lookout for anything, do you understand me?” John said.
“Yes, sir,” he said, his voice as quiet as it had been before.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, sir,” (Y/N) repeated, louder that time.
John nodded, and he and Dean went back to digging up the grave.
As they felt themselves getting closer to the coffin, suddenly, the wind died, and they were plunged into silence. It was eerie, to say the least. No bird chirped, no critters scurried through the bushes. It was just silence.
Then, a scream.
(Y/N) turned his head to the sound, and there she was. Lorraine Wilder, dressed in black, her eyes dark and hollow. His grip on the shotgun tightened as he lifted it. In one smooth motion, he shot the apparition with rocksalt, and she vanished. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. The adrenaline began to course through his system.
“You guys might wanna hurry,” he said with a serious voice.
John pulled himself out of the grave and moved over to him. “Give me the gun, you finish digging with your brother.” He said.
“No, Dad, I got this,” (Y/N) retaliated.
“That wasn’t a question. Give me the gun!”
“No, Dad!”
“Now!”
(Y/N) lifted the gun and shot just to the right of John, which caused him to jump, only to see that the apparition vanished under the rain of rocksalt. John glared daggers at (Y/N), his jaw clenched tight. (Y/N) held his ground, his facial expression just as stern.
“I said, I got it.” He said.
John didn’t reply and only jumped back into the hole with Dean, silently shoveling the rest of the dirt out, with obvious anger in his motions.
It was like clockwork. Every two minutes, she would appear, scream, and (Y/N) would shoot. After two shots, he would reload. A wash-rinse-repeat kind of deal. His shots were quick and precise every time, as if he had been hunting for years before.
When ten minutes passed and the coffin was open, Dean and John hoisted themselves back onto the ground above, salted the body, doused her in gasoline, and lit her up, just in time to see her spirit return and scream in agony as the flames engulfed her being. With a puff of smoke, her soul vanished, and the world around them returned to normal.
(Y/N) looked at John, and then looked at Dean. He grinned. “Dude, that was awesome,” he chuckled.
Dean shook his head and silently gestured over John. (Y/N) smile faltered as he examined him. His brow was creased, nostrils flared, and he swore he could see steam coming out of his ears. His shoulders slouched and, within moments, John silently stormed back down the hill and to the Impala. Dean followed at a slower pace with (Y/N) right behind them.
John popped open the arsenal in the trunk of the car. When (Y/N) got close enough, he snatched the shotgun from his hand, unloaded it, and then shoved it into the car. He slammed the cover down and put the shovels he and Dean had on top of them. (Y/N) fiddled with his fingers slightly, the anxiety and nervousness of being close to his father when he was upset flooded him.
“So…how did I do, Dad?” (Y/N) asked quietly, which John never responded to.
John slammed the trunk down. Wordlessly, Dean had snuck around the side of the car to get into the front passenger’s seat. He knew when to avoid his father when he was like that.
“What do you think the next hunt will be? Maybe I’ll be able to really help out next time,” (Y/N) said with an anxious chuckle.
John glared at him. “There won’t be a next time for you,” he said before he turned and made his way to the driver’s side.
(Y/N)’s eyes widened as he followed him. “What? Why!?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I gave you an order and you disobeyed.”
“It was a bullshit order.”
John stopped before he was able to get the door fully opened. His body turned towards (Y/N) eerily slow. “What did you say to me?” He asked, his voice deep.
“I said it was a bullshit order. I had it handled; I didn’t need to switch with you.”
John poked his tongue into his cheek as he pointed one of his thick fingers at (Y/N)'s face. “You better watch your tone, boy,” he said.
“Why, just because I’m right?”
Within seconds, John grabbed the collar of (Y/N)’s shirt and slammed him against the side of the Impala. “You listen here; when you are on hunts, you listen to me. I don’t give a fuck what you think you should do; all that matters is that what I think you should do, do you understand?”
“Dad!” Dean called out as he quickly got out of the car and rounded it, trying to separate the two of them.
“I do everything I can to protect you, I’m not gonna have you get yourself killed because you don’t know how to fucking listen. Do you understand!?” John got into his face.
(Y/N) winced and closed his eyes, his head turned slightly to avoid the spittle that came out of John’s mouth. “Yes, sir!”
John shoved (Y/N) into Dean’s arms. He panted, jaw still set, eyes icy cold. He pointed at him again. “You’re done with hunting.”
“Dad…” Dean trailed.
“Shut up. If he can’t listen, then he can’t hunt. End of discussion. In fact, he can fucking walk back to the motel.” John waved an arm out dramatically as he opened the driver’s side door.
Dean frowned. “But, Dad, that’s a twenty-minute drive, he can’t walk-”
“Get in the car, Dean.”
“Dad!”
“Get in the car,” John shouted before he got into the car and slammed the door shut.
(Y/N) looked over at Dean, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. Dean shot him a look of intense sympathy. He opened his mouth to say something, but (Y/N) lifted his hand to stop him.
“It’s okay, Dean, go,” he said softly.
“But…”
“Dean,” (Y/N)’s voice was soft, contrasting the way that their father’s had been. “It’s okay. I’ll make it back.”
Dean’s shoulders slumped. With a nod, he walked over and patted his back. (Y/N) then watched as Dean walked around the car and got into the passenger’s seat. The car roared to life and ripped out of the cemetery, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. (Y/N) stood there, arms crossed, and watched as the red taillights disappeared into the night.
At the time, I always thought abandoning your child on the side of the road in the middle of a cemetery in a town they were unaware of was the worst thing any parent could do, but now that I think about it, it was probably for the best at the time. I would rather have had an hour and a half to myself, lost in my own thoughts in my own emotions, than spend twenty minutes trapped in a cramped car with my father. By the time I came back home, he wasn’t nearly as pissed. He was pissed enough to give me the silent treatment, leaving Sam and Dean as the only ones to ask if I was okay. I was fine, I was just cold.
My dad didn’t talk to me for a couple of weeks after that. I was benched until further notice, which left me back in the same hell that I was in - watch Sammy and stay back at the motel. I had asked Dean what I had done wrong. I had an inkling, of course, but Dean confirmed it.
I didn’t listen to Dad.
That was it.
All I did wrong was not listen to an order that Dad gave.
From Dean’s perspective, I protected them perfectly. I was accurate with my shot and didn’t show any hesitancy. I took initiative. I just didn’t listen to Dad.
That made me feel good. Less like I had to train to be better and more that I just had to suck it up and listen to Dad, no matter if I think his idea was stupid. I wasn’t there to fight Dad; I was there to protect Dean, a mistake on my part. I let my frustration with my father cloud my judgment and take my focus away from the goal that I already had in mind. Sometimes I swear I was too stubborn for my own good.
I tried for months to get my father to let me go on a hunt with him and Dean again. No matter the amount of ass kissing that I did, he would barely talk to me and got pissed if I brought it up at the wrong time. I learned to read him, to tell, based on body language, when he was upset. I knew when I could casually bring it up. If he turned me down, I didn’t argue back.
It wasn’t until a little after my seventeenth birthday that he agreed to let me try again.
I had never been so obedient in my entire life.
And I hated it.
Yet, no matter how much I hated it, I still did it.
After the hunt, Dad didn’t bitch about anything I did. He didn’t acknowledge that I did a good job, either. Dean did, though, outside of dad’s earshot.
That’s all that mattered to me. What mattered was that Dean thought I did a good job. What mattered was that I knew that Dean was safe. I wasn’t allowed to go on every hunt, though, which I was fine with. That way, I could take turns keeping an eye on Sam and keeping an eye on Dean. That was my goal: to make sure my brothers were safe.
That’s my goal, even today. Every hunt we’re on, I have to protect my big and little brothers.
Warning(s): Dean Winchester's Anger, Dean has a really hard time forgiving himself, this man really needs therapy and I will happily drive him
Summary: The life of a hunter is physically and mentally taxing. When the trio assumes the wrong monster on a hunt, leading to another victim being taken, Dean has a hard time with the reality of their mistake, leading him to unintentionally harm the reader.
Request:
I was the person who asked about past asks, thank you so much for answering and no worries im glad youre back!! ♡♡ im resummiting a past request if that wasnt obvious..
Yknow how Dean has like... anger issues and has a few crash outs in the show? What if during that GN or Male!reader runs in because they heard thing breaking and thought Dean was in trouble, and Dean accidentally hurts them while throwing things, or if youre uncomfortable with that, accidentally breaks something precious to reader? Angst!! We love angst, right?
Thank you so much!!!
Anonymous
A/N: I could've made this more angsty than I did, but, honestly, Dean already hates himself so much that it would be like kicking an alcoholic puppy while it's down. This took a bit longer, and the next ones coming up may not be exactly on time as I had been doing because finals are slowly approaching for the semester, and I'm super anxious to do well, because I want to be able to graduate in May. Anyway, I hope I did your request justice! Feedback is greatly appreciated!
When you sit back and analyze the willpower required to perform a job such as monster hunting, you realize that not only does it take a physical toll on the body, but also an emotional one. Going across the country, hunting creatures that you know want you dead, finding death around every corner, and hearing about your fellow hunters being killed on the job. It was so much to take in. There's so much to deal with daily.
And then it just gets worse.
Overland Park, KS. Not exactly a quiet town, but certainly not bustling to the degree of New York City or Los Angeles. Though if you asked the residents, they would say quite the opposite, both in regards to busy traffic and price point. News articles flashed all across KMBC about individuals going missing, only to wind up dead several days later. The signs all pointed to vampires. The way that the majority of their blood was drained from their bodies was a dead giveaway, and the trio was certain that they had found a connection between the victims. They were all women, aged between twenty and thirty, with deep brown hair, all last seen at one of the many local bars.
It was going to be difficult, they knew, as the size of Overland Park made it nearly impossible to find the bar that was going to be hit next. They had to split up. Sam went to Talk of the Town, (Y/N) went to The Other Place, and Dean went to Maloney’s Sports Bar and Grill. They spent the entire night staking out their locations, sending update texts in a group chat they created for the occasion. They were there until last call.
But it was all to no avail.
The next morning, an Amber Alert was activated on their phones. When the news article came out thirty minutes later, it was revealed that a child, no older than six years old, was taken from a playground outside of the apartment complex she lived in. No one saw who took her. She just vanished. Then it hit them.
Vampires can’t just vanish.
They had gotten it wrong.
After the victims vanished, it took them three days before they appeared once again, which meant that the three of them had a limited amount of time to figure out which monster it was, find the hideout, and save the girl. Tensions were high, and everyone was feeling it.
(Y/N) and Sam opted to head out, with (Y/N) heading to the apartment complex to interview the little girl’s mother, while Sam got dropped off at the coroner’s office to get a more in-depth look at the latest victims. Dean offered to stay back at the motel to look at all the records that they had grabbed from their previous visits to the police station and coroner’s office to try and find a connection from there.
The meeting with the little girl’s mother went as expected. Nothing of importance. It was just slurred words with tears and snot running down her face. The poor woman was a wreck. (Y/N) was the more sympathetic of the three, at least that was how he was able to portray himself. He was able to get her talking. Granted, it wasn’t helpful, as she couldn’t help but spill every last bit of information about her daughter as if telling her biography, and while (Y/N) could understand that grief could cause people’s mental stability to go off the deep end, he didn’t have time to help the mom when he knew her daughter was out there alive. The sooner they could get her back, the better.
After the talk with the girl’s mother, (Y/N) walked back out to the Impala and plopped into the driver’s side. He pulled out his phone, dialed Sam’s number, and pressed it against his ear. It rang only a couple of times before Sam’s voice rang through.
“Hey,” he answered.
“Hey, Sam,” (Y/N) ran his fingers through his hair. “Just got done talking with the girl’s mom, Angie, and she was just hysterical. Couldn’t give me any relevant information because all she could do was sob. I’m pretty sure my suit has some snot and tears on it.”
Sam sighed. “Alright, well, they just got done wheeling the victims in here. I’m gonna be away from my phone for a while to see if I can get to the bottom of this, so why don’t you head back to the motel with Dean? I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”
“Sounds good. Have fun putting your hands in dead people.”
Sam grunted on the other end, which caused (Y/N) to chuckle before he hung up the phone. With that, he turned on the car, the engine roaring to life, backed out of the parking spot, and made his way back to the motel.
It wasn’t that long of a drive, seven or eight minutes with mild traffic. It was a Motel 6, just off of Metcalf and I-435. For a chain motel, it was awful, and they didn’t have many expectations going into it. Any of the motels or hotels in the surrounding area would’ve been better, but the Motel 6 was the cheapest, at least for Overland Park.
He parked the Impala in front of their room door and turned off the engine. His muscles relaxed into the leather seat as he leaned his head back. He sat there for a moment, thoughts scattered about his mind, as if the twist in the case had blown a gust of wind against his brain. What could it be? Everything had pointed to vampires, yet they had missed something. The hope that Sam would find something while searching the decedents boiled within (Y/N), and he set a goal for himself to come up with a way to further examine the evidence if all else failed with the autopsies.
Perhaps if he lay on the cheap motel bed, it would be comfortable enough to restart his decision-making skills.
(Y/N) pocketed the keys and stepped out of the car. Just as he closed the driver’s side door, a muffled crash was heard. Instinctively, his ears perked up and his heart raced with fresh adrenaline. He rushed to the door of their room in just enough time to hear the slam of something inside.
Dean had been the only one to stay back.
He was in trouble.
He fished the motel room key out of his pocket, a basic metal key that most chain motels and hotels no longer used, and shoved it into the keyhole. To the right, the key got stuck; to the left, the door unlocked. He pushed the hollow door open, and it snagged on something, causing the door to ricochet back. (Y/N) used his forearm to stop it from hitting him as he stepped into the room and surveyed the scene. His hand froze atop the gun in his waistband as he got a good look at the room.
It was completely trashed, and the only one who was there was Dean. Not a monster in sight.
Cheap blankets and pillows were strewn across the floor, the TV had been ripped from the wall, the small brown table had been turned over, and there was a trail of broken glass that led into the bathroom. Dean paced around the room, his head lowered, fists clenched at his sides. Every couple of seconds, he would pick something up and throw it. A couple of holes had been left in the walls.
“Dean, what the fuck?” (Y/N) asked as he moved his hand from his gun.
Dean didn’t answer. It was as if he was completely zoned out. As if he wasn’t entirely present.
“Dean, dude, you gotta calm down. What the Hell happened?” (Y/N) took a step closer, but his words still didn’t seem to reach him.
It was a cycle, of sorts. He would pace, then throw something. Pace, then throw. Pace, then throw. (Y/N) held out his hands, palms up in a look of surrender.
“Dean, come on, this isn’t helping anything.” His voice was calmer now. “Let’s just sit down, and I can help-”
(Y/N) was interrupted when Dean ripped the corded phone from the wall and threw it, unintentionally, in his direction. While he moved quickly enough to avoid getting hit in the face, the phone still smacked the side of his forehead. He jumped and cursed as one of his hands bolted up to hold onto the spot where the phone had hit him.
Then, it stopped.
Dean froze, his muscles tense and eyes wide. He stood there, as if he were afraid to move, as he watched (Y/N) look up at him. A small cut was revealed right at the corner of (Y/N)’s forehead as he moved his hand away, the open wound already pooling with a dribble of blood.
“Dean, what the Hell?” (Y/N) breathed.
His voice broke Dean from his trance as he rushed over to him. He placed a hand on (Y/N)’s arm as he moved his head to get a better look.
“Son of a bitch, are you alright?” Dean asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I just-”
“Come on, sit.” Dean pulled him over to one of the beds that had since been stripped of all the bedding.
“Dean, I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
Though his words were stern, his tone was still meek. Hesitantly, (Y/N) complied and sat at the edge of the bed. Silently, Dean removed (Y/N)’s hand from his forehead. There was, indeed, a small cut present. Under the cut, however, a bruise and bump had already begun to form. Dean cursed under his breath as he walked away, over the trail of glass, and into the bathroom. He returned momentarily with a semi-warm, damp washcloth. He pressed it against the bump gingerly, which caused (Y/N) to wince. Dean took notice, but said nothing. Instead, he had (Y/N) hold the washcloth in place as he walked over to his duffel bag, which had been thrown halfway across the room during his episode. Only when he stepped back to the bed did (Y/N) speak.
“What was that about?”
Dean stopped for a moment. He shifted on his feet. “I don’t know,” he breathed out.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. You destroyed the damn room…”
“I know,”
“Why?”
Dean reached up and removed the washcloth from (Y/N)’s head. He untwisted the cap on the bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his hand, held the washcloth right below the cut, and poured a tiny bit of the liquid on it. The cut foamed for a second before it dissipated.
“It’s because of the hunt, isn’t it?” (Y/N) asked.
Dean’s silence confirmed his suspicions.
“Dean, we don’t know what it is.”
“We should’ve known; otherwise that girl would’ve been fine.”
“But we didn’t,”
“And because of that, the girl is missing.”
Dean dabbed the washcloth against the cut before he set it to the side. He pulled a Band-Aid out of his pocket and tore off one of the sides. He put it over the cut and pulled the other piece of paper, smoothing the bandaid down carefully. Before he could pull his hand back, (Y/N) grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand down to get his attention. Dean’s brows raised.
“Dean,” (Y/N) began, his voice stern. “We can’t focus on what we could have done. We can only focus on what we can do. Everything added up to a vampire. The blood draining, the holes in their bodies, the times that the victims were taken, it all added up to vampires. You thought so, I thought so, Sam thought so. We were all wrong. What we can’t afford to do right now is blame ourselves for that girl getting taken. After the victims’ disappearances, they reappeared three days later. A whole seventy-two hours. It’s not a lot of time, but it’s time. We can still save her, Dean.”
Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. He looked away for a moment before their eyes reconnected.
“So instead of going around and getting pissy and destroying shit in the room that we’re renting, we can buck up and look for what we missed. We can save the girl, and everything will be alright.” (Y/N) continued.
Pause.
“Alright?”
Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. “Alright,” he replied softly.
(Y/N) gave a small, curt nod before he released Dean’s wrist. Dean stayed in place and let out a sigh. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to the dark bruise that was forming around the tan band-aid. He reached a thumb up and brushed it over the latex.
“Does it look bad?” (Y/N) asked.
“It’s going to.”
(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped, his hands limply folded in his lap. “Gotta admit, they don’t make landlines that durable anymore. Hell, do they even make landlines anymore?”
“I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.
“Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”
“I was the one who threw it.”
“You were angry and upset. You didn’t even know I was there.”
“Still, I should’ve-”
“Dean, really. I forgive you, alright? Shit like this happens. Plus, if you really meant to throw it at me, then you wouldn’t have missed as much as you did.” He smiled.
Dean slowly mirrored his grin. “You’re too forgiving of me sometimes.”
“No,” (Y/N) shook his head. “I’m just as forgiving as you should be with yourself. Maybe you should take some notes sometimes.”
As Dean pulled his hand away from his forehead, he smirked, leaned forward, and pressed a kiss to the band-aid.
Warning(s): Language, Winchesters being Winchesters, implied sexual content, awkward 'flirting', Dean feeling the same way about Cas x Reader as Sam feels about Destiel, Fluff, Humor
Summary: The reader does NOT have a crush on Castiel. At least, that's what he keeps saying. Sam and Dean, however, aren't convinced in the slightest. What happens when the classic Winchester shenanigans take it too far? Will the reader's true feelings be revealed?
Request:
hi. i love your work very much. I humbly request a Castiel x Winchester!reader, where the reader is the oldest brother and Cas and the reader fall for each other. Cas and Dean are best friends I feel like so Dean might tease and be like "what are your intentions with my big brother" and Cas is like "...wdym........." bc he doesn't wanna admit he has feelings and meanwhile the reader and Sam are on a minor hunt together or something and Sam is like "so when are you gonna make your move" and the reader is like "!!! i do not have feelings for this baby in a trench coat!!! wdym!!!!!" and so Sam and Dean come together and take matters into their own hands and come up with some shenanigans that make Cas and the reader come together and admit how they feel for each other. just something nice and fluffy and sweet. thank you very much 💕
Anonymous
A/N: Happy Monday! I had a lot of fun writing this and I'm glad to finally be getting it out! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
Dean’s laughter erupted down the hallway as (Y/N) left his room. He couldn’t help but shake his head as he slung his large duffel bag over his shoulder. Just as he closed his door, Sam’s door opened. He came out, clad in his usual flannel and jean combination, his duffel resting at his side. When he caught sight of (Y/N), he smiled.
“You got everything?” (Y/N) asked.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Let’s head out.”
The two of them made their way down the hall towards the bunker entrance. Dean’s laugh could be heard getting louder as they walked near the library. Upon closer inspection, they could see Dean and Castiel sitting together at one of the tables, Dean’s laptop between them. A bowl of popcorn sat in Dean’s lap, his cheeks slightly puffed from the handful he had just eaten. Castiel’s head was tilted slightly to the side, eyes squinted as he studied the screen. The sound of Bill Murray’s voice echoed through the speakers.
“The Hell are you two watching?” (Y/N) asked.
“Groundhog Day,” Dean answered, words slightly muffled by the popcorn. “Cas hasn’t seen it before.”
(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Out of all the movies you could pick from, you pick Groundhog Day?”
“Hey, don’t knock Bill Murray.”
“I’ll knock whoever the Hell I wanna knock. Anyways, you got the keys to Baby?”
For the first time since they approached the archway, Dean turned to look at them. He took in their attire and eyed their bags.
“Where’re you two going?” He asked as he began to dig the keys out of his pant pocket.
“Buddy of mind in Colorado says they have a Wendigo problem that needs fixing. They can’t seem to track it down, so they need some extra hands.”
“Well, why does Sam get to go but I gotta stay here?”
“It’s a Wendigo, Dean. Bringing more people will make things complicated. Four against one is plenty. Consider this your little vacation.”
Dean sighed. “Fine. I bet it’s Bradley Knox who called anyway,” he said as he tossed the keys.
(Y/N) swiftly caught them with his left hand and pointed at his brother. “For your information, it was, in fact, Bradley Knox.”
Sam’s eyes widened and he frowned. “Oh, what? That jackass? Come on, you never said we would be helping him.”
“Because I knew you were going to bitch about it.”
“Who is Bradley Knox?” Castiel asked, his attention turned away from the computer screen.
Dean reached over and paused the movie. “He’s this dick (Y/N) met when he tried hunting solo. A real piece of work. We helped him out a couple of times, and he just shit-talked us the whole time.” He answered.
“He acts like he’s still in middle school. He smells bad, dresses like a pig, and he talks like one, too. Plus, he wouldn’t stop calling me Sasquatch last time.” Sam added.
(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “Look, I know he sucks, but he has a hunt, and we need to stop this Wendigo. It’s already killed five people. We just have to get in and get out. That’s it.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Alright, but if he calls me Sasquatch again-”
“Then I’ll make sure to stop him from hurting little Sammy’s feelings,” (Y/N) reached up and pinched Sam’s cheek.
Sam smacked his hand away. “Get off me.”
“Oh, get the stick out of your ass. We’ll be near Denver, so I’ll take you to that new fancy vegan place that opened recently.”
“Wait, really?”
“Yeah, whatever will get you to not bitch and moan the whole trip.” He flipped the keys in his hand. “Alright, we’re heading out. Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone, Dean.”
Dean scoffed. “I’m not five.” He grumbled.
“You act like it,” (Y/N) mumbled before he looked over at Castiel. Their eyes met. “Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?”
Castiel nodded. “I will watch over him.”
“I don’t need a babysitter!” Dean exclaimed.
“I beg to differ. Then, Cas, when Sam and I get back, I’ll show you a good movie that isn’t poorly acted.”
Slowly, a smile formed on Castiel’s lips. “Okay,”
(Y/N) returned the smile. “We’ll see you later,” he took a couple of steps backward before he turned his back on them.
Sam gave a small wave before he followed his brother up the stairs and out the front door.
*~*
Dean leaned back in his seat when the heavy metal door slammed shut. The movie on the computer was still paused, so he took a moment to glance over at Castiel. He noted how the corners of his lips were still curled upward, his crow's feet and laugh lines prominent. At the sight, he smirked and shifted his body so he was facing him.
“So…” Dean trailed as he sat the bowl of popcorn on the table. “(Y/N), huh?”
Castiel looked over at him, the smile vanishing, and replaced with an expression of confusion. “What about (Y/N)?”
Dean shrugged his shoulders. “He’s a good guy, right?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“A really good guy?”
“Yes?”
“Would you say you like being around him?”
“I do.”
“Really like being around him?”
Castiel shifted in his seat. “I’m not understanding this line of questioning, Dean.”
“Do you like my brother?”
“I do, yes, he’s my friend. Did I do something that made you assume I didn’t?”
“No, it’s just-” Dean sighed. “You know what? Nevermind. Let’s just watch the movie.” Without waiting for a response, he reached over and resumed the film.
Castiel stared at him for a moment with furrowed brows. After a couple of seconds, he shook his head and returned his attention to the computer.
*~*
The Impala drove smoothly down the nearly deserted highway. Instead of the loud classic rock that normally played through the speakers, Celine Dion’s smooth voice filled the car. (Y/N) sat in the driver’s seat, one arm resting on the window sill while the other held the wheel. Sam took his usual spot in the passenger’s seat.
“So, what info do we have so far?” Sam asked.
“Well, so far, the only thing we know is that the victims were tourists. Some of those people decided to search for a good hiking trail and then, all of a sudden, they were snatched. At least, that’s what’s assumed.”
“Did the victims know each other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do we know when they got snatched?”
“Kind of.”
“Where they got snatched?”
“Kind of.”
“Does Bradley even know what he’s doing?”
“Probably not.”
Sam sighed and slouched in his seat, running his fingers through his hair. (Y/N)’s shoulders dropped.
“Look,” he began. “I know it’s not the best scenario, but any start is better than a blank slate. We know a great deal more about Wendigos than Bradley does, so I’m sure we can knock this out of the park, alright? I say we just talk about something else, get our mind off of it for a while, then we-”
“Do you like Cas?”
“What!?” (Y/N) exclaimed, eyes wide, both hands tightly clenched onto the wheel. “No! I, no, what, why would you ask me that?”
“What?” Sam asked innocently, although he couldn’t hold back the smirk that curled on his lips. “I just asked if you liked him, that’s all. You said you wanted to talk about something else.”
“I didn’t mean that!”
“Come on, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“Well, I think your hallucinations are back because you’re seeing shit.”
“So…you don’t like Cas?”
“I don’t like Cas! Now drop it!”
(Y/N)’s eyes were glued to the road ahead, which allowed Sam to get a good look at his profile. At the top of his cheekbones, next to his nose, sat a red tinge. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. He pressed his lips together and looked away, holding his hands up briefly in mock surrender.
“Fine, I’ll drop it.” He said, voice barely above a whisper.
“Good. Now shut up, Whitney Houston’s playing.” (Y/N) grumbled, reached over, and turned up the music.
I Wanna Dance With Somebody thumped through the metal frame, the brothers silent as they continued their lengthy trek from Lebanon, Kansas to Denver, Colorado.
*~*
Vacation? What could Dean do on vacation? Stuck in the bunker, no less. He could catch up on some television series that he started, but he knew he would get tired of that soon enough. The Impala had been hijacked, so giving her the fine tune he had been desperate to give was out of the question. Bar hopping wasn’t an option, as he trusted no other car than Baby. What kind of hobbies did people his age get into? Crochet? Cross Stitch? Sudoku? Over his dead body.
In the end, Dean sat on his bed, pieces of his handgun scattered across the blanket as he meticulously cleansed each part until they glimmered in the dim lamplight. It was a task he had been meaning to do for a while. He guessed his ‘vacation’ could be used to catch up on all the chores he had held off.
Smoke on the Water rang out through the otherwise quiet room. Dean stopped his action to look at the screen. Sammy Calling… Dean sat the pieces down, grabbed his phone, and accepted the call.
“Hey, Sam. You guys doing okay?” He asked as he settled on the edge of his bed.
“Yeah, we’re about halfway there. Listen, I don’t have much time to talk, (Y/N) just walked into the gas station for a minute. Did you talk to Cas?”
“Yeah,”
“And?”
“He didn’t get it.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I asked him if he liked (Y/N), he said ‘Of course I do, he’s my friend’,” Dean explained with a slightly mocking tone.
“Or, he could have understood what you were asking and just played dumb.”
“I give Cas credit for a lot of things, but this is not one of those times. What about you? Did you ask him yet?”
“I did, and, of course, he denied it.”
“Of course, he did,” Dean rolled his eyes as he laid back against his pillows.
“Get this, though. He was blushing.”
“No way.”
“Yes!”
“And you’re sure it was a blush?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Oh, this is just too perfect. Sam, we have to get those two together.”
“How? Neither of them will admit their feelings for one another. They’re in denial.”
Dean hummed and pursed his lips in thought. “We might just have to get creative. I’m on vacation. I’ve got plenty of time on my hands to think.”
“Yeah, yeah, lucky you.” Sam deadpanned. “Oh, I gotta go. (Y/N)’s coming out.”
“I’ll send you my ideas,” Dean spoke quickly before he ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed.
Many thoughts formed in his head. Mischievous, Winchester thoughts. If he thought his pranks were good, the ideas that he had to get (Y/N) and Castiel together were to die for.
It had been a personal goal of his for well over a year. He wasn’t ignorant to the passing glances that the two of them gave one another, it was rather gross if he had anything to say about it. He could tell, though, that Castiel’s presence made his brother genuinely happy. If anyone deserved that happiness, it was him. If they got together, perhaps then they could keep their bedroom eyes away from him. If he had to witness it anymore, he was sure to go insane.
As he went to stand from his bed, the familiar clink of metal filled his ears. He glanced down at the scattered handgun parts that littered his bed. With a sigh, he sat back against the pillows and began to reassemble his gun, not caring that the quality of his cleaning wasn’t perfect. Brainstorming could wait until he was finished. He was on vacation, after all.
*~*
“Stupid rich people and their stupid, worthless suits,” (Y/N)’s deep grumble echoed throughout the small motel bathroom.
His brothers snorted in amusement. None of them wanted to dress up for the charity ball they had to attend - as it was necessary to gain intel for their case - so a three-way game of rock-paper-scissors was done to determine which would be unlucky enough to wear the rental suit. For the first time in months, (Y/N) lost. The title of ‘loser’ normally went to Dean, rarely Sam, but the younger Winchesters didn’t want to risk having to put on the constrictive outfit. They seldom rigged the game to get what they wanted, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
Castiel sat at the end of one of the beds, eyes fixated on the bathroom door, brows knitted together. “(Y/N) doesn’t seem too happy,” he commented.
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be happy either if I got stuck wearing a suit around old people.” Dean chuckled.
“What’s wrong with wearing a suit?”
“They’re just uncomfortable.”
Castiel glanced down at himself before his eyes settled on the brothers. “I’m not uncomfortable in my attire.”
“You’re used to it, Cas,” Sam said. “We wear jeans and flannel every day. It’s more practical for hunting. Hell, even getting around in our FEDs costumes is a pain. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Who the HELL thought cuff links were a good idea!?” (Y/N)’s loud voice boomed.
Dean covered his mouth to stop himself from spitting up his coffee. Oh, how the simple struggles of his siblings made him smile. Castiel’s head whipped back around as he stared at the door with a look of worry. Sam and Dean took note of it immediately and shared a knowing look. Dean gestured with his head over to his friend, and that was when Sam turned in his chair.
“You know what I think could cheer him up, Cas?” He asked.
Castiel peered over at him and Sam swore he saw those baby blues light up. “What?” He asked, head tilted to the side.
“Compliments.”
“Compliments?”
“When he comes out, tell him he looks nice.”
“Tell him he looks hot,” Dean interjected.
“Yeah! Tell him he looks hot.” Sam nodded in agreement.
“Hot?” Castiel frowned.
“Trust me, Cas, people love compliments, and saying that someone’s hot is a huge one. It’ll make him feel better almost immediately.” Dean explained.
Castiel considered the advice before he nodded. “Okay, I will tell him he looks…hot.”
Dean beamed and reached across the table to give Sam a fistbump. Sam furrowed his brows and shook his head. Dean’s smile faded before he cleared his throat and placed his hands back down on the table.
It didn’t take long before the bathroom door opened and out came a rather irritated (Y/N). The suit looked and felt foreign on him, a massive step from his usual hunting wear. He adjusted the collar of the jacket before he smoothed out the front. Finally, he let out a sigh and gestured out with his arms in a grandiose fashion.
“How do I look?” He asked, voice monotone.
Sam and Dean pursed their lips, looked him over, and gave supportive head nods before their eyes shifted to Castiel. (Y/N)’s gaze moved from Sam to Dean to Castiel. Their eyes locked and Castiel immediately looked away, seeming to find his hands easier to look at.
“You look…hot,” Castiel said.
(Y/N)’s brows shot up and his eyes widened. “I, um, I do?”
“Yes,” Castiel gave a small, sweet smile.
(Y/N)’s lips opened and shut rapidly, as if he were a fish out of water. He let out a breathy chuckle as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks, Cas,”
“Of course,”
A soft smile graced (Y/N)’s lips as their eyes connected for a brief moment. It didn’t take long before his eyes wandered back over to his brothers, who were both sporting wide smirks. He wiped the smile off of his face and straightened up as if he had seemingly forgotten they were in the same room.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” He swiftly made his way out of the motel room.
Sam and Dean shared a look before they stood from their spots at the table. Castiel followed suit. When (Y/N) was out of earshot, Castiel spoke.
“He seems better,” he said with a bright, proud smile.
Dean returned the smile. “He sure does, buddy,” He patted him twice on the back before he wrapped his arm around his shoulders and led him out of the motel room. “He sure does.”
*~*
God bless the Men of Letters and God bless good water pressure.
There were countless amenities the bunker had that (Y/N) loved. The stainless steel kitchen appliances, the massive garage, the memory foam mattress, each of them held a special place in his heart. However, the showers take the cake. Who knew water could get so hot? And who knew water could relax your muscles so well? If there was one thing he loved to do after a long day, it was spend a good chunk of his evening in the shower to unwind.
All good things must come to an end, though, as he had earned his fair share of lectures from his brothers about conserving the hot water. While he understood their point, he felt like he deserved the comfort after years of abuse in the hands of rusty, weak motel showerheads. And, dammit, he was going to get his compensation.
As he turned off the water, the bathroom fell into silence. Steam warped around his naked form and covered him like a blanket as he stepped onto the bath mat. He absentmindedly reached for the towel rack, but only came in contact with the cheap metal bar. He furrowed his brows and glanced at his hand to find that the rack was barren. He swore he had placed a towel there before. Above the towel rack, a light pink post-it note hung limply on the wall. (Y/N) frowned deeply, reached up, and grabbed the note. He held it close to his face to be able to see the sloppily written words.
This is for putting Nair in my body wash. ~ Sam
“That little bastard,” (Y/N) grumbled and crumbled up the note in his hand.
When had Sam been able to sneak into the bathroom to take his stuff? True, he had been known to mentally doze off in the shower, and lose all sense of himself in the middle of his wash, which had ultimately landed him victim to countless other pranks, but he would certainly be able to hear if anyone were to enter the bathroom and take his towel not two feet away, right? Regardless, at least he was within the safety of the bunker to do so. Having him space out in a motel bathroom could mean the difference between life and death. In the bunker, all he had was his pain in the ass little brothers to worry about.
With a new wave of irritation and not a care in the world, (Y/N) walked to the bathroom door and opened it. He was stopped dead in his tracks, mouth slightly open as he made to call out for his brother when he noticed Castiel standing directly in front of him, hand raised as if to knock. (Y/N)’s eyes widened and he felt a tightness appear in his chest. His mouth went dry and his heart raced. He was frozen.
“Hello, (Y/N),” Castiel said.
“Uh, hey,” (Y/N) replied slowly.
Castiel glanced down at the object in his arms before he held it out. “Sam and Dean asked me to bring you this. It was freshly washed.”
It took every ounce of willpower for (Y/N) to look down at the towel in Castiel’s possession.
“Thanks,” his voice was small as he accepted and brought it to his chest.
“You’re welcome.” Castiel smiled widely, and it was as if time itself had stopped.
(Y/N) returned the gesture as he found himself lost in Castiel’s gaze, a rather common occurrence as of late. He couldn’t help it. It was as if he were a deer in headlights, or a child staring directly into the deadlights of Pennywise’s true form. However, instead of an impending sense of doom, all he felt was peace, like a world of tranquility lived behind his eyes. A world that he wanted to go to.
“(Y/N)?” Castiel’s voice broke him out of his trance.
“Yeah?”
“Are you alright?”
It was impossible to miss the flicker of Castiel’s stare as he looked over (Y/N)’s body before retreating to his face. One good glance at himself made realization dawn on him. He never covered up. His face turned an undeniably dark shade of crimson as he was quick to unravel the towel he was given to preserve what little modesty he had left.
“Uh, yeah, I’m, um, I mean, yes, I’m okay,” he stumbled over his words. “I’m just gonna,” he slowly edged his way past Castiel awkwardly.
As he walked past, he tripped over his own feet and barely caught the towel before he could be revealed again. He chuckled, but it was more forced than anything.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel pushed, a hint of concern in his words.
“Oh yeah, I’m fine! Fine and dandy! A-okay!” He continued to answer as he walked backward down the hallway. It didn’t take long before his back came in contact with the cold, stone wall. He jumped and sheepishly fumbled to the conjoining hall. “There’s a wall there,” he muttered with an inelegant chuckle before he turned and made a mad dash down the hallway and away from the bathroom.
His face was on fire, he was sure of it. He knew Sam and Dean did that on purpose, those idiots. A part of him was thankful none of them were around to witness the interaction. Another part wanted them to be near so he could clobber them. Regardless, he knew he would have to get back at them, and he was going to make it his best revenge yet.
*~*
Itching powder? Too basic. Computer virus? Too complex. Hair dye in the showerhead? Possibly. All of the pranks he could think of were either too childish or had been used before over the years. He couldn’t believe he was forced to sit on his bed and scroll through the terrible articles that included titles such as “15 Awesome Pranks Your Sibling Will NEVER See Coming!” and “50 Best And Funny Pranks To Do On Friends”. None of them were helpful. They just seemed to spit the same suggestions of salt in their coffee, fake bugs on their pillow, and post-it notes over their rooms, all of which seemed bland for the level of revenge he sought.
The bedroom door flung open and bounced off the wall. (Y/N) jumped, eyes wide. Dean came into the room, all but dragging a confused Castiel to the bed. Sam followed closely.
“What the Hell is going on?” (Y/N) asked with a look of bewilderment.
“An intervention,” Dean responded as he sat Castiel down on the edge of the bed.
Without a moment of hesitation, Sam and Dean began to retreat to the exit.
“An intervention? Cas, what’re they- what’re you talking about?” (Y/N) stammered as he stood and began to follow them to the door.
He was too slow, though, as the door was shut seconds before he could reach it. He grabbed the door handle in a futile attempt to open the door but found it to be locked.
“What the Hell? Open the damned door!” He shouted and began to pound on the door with his fist.
“Nope!” Dean’s muffled voice came through the thick wood. “Not until you tell Cas how you feel.”
“What are you talking about!?”
“Oh, come on (Y/N)!” Sam exclaimed. “We both see how you look at him! Just tell him!”
(Y/N) pressed his lips together, nostrils flared. “Open the door!”
“No.” They said in unison.
(Y/N) growled and slammed his fists into the door, causing it to shake on the hinges.
“(Y/N),” Sam’s voice was quieter. “We know how hard it is for you to say how you feel, but we see how happy you are around him.”
“Yeah, and I’m tired of seeing you guys staring at each other all of the time. If I have to see you guys make bedroom eyes one more time I’m going to blow my brains out.” Dean scoffed.
(Y/N)’s jaw tightened as he leaned his forehead against the door. “If you don’t open this door right now, you both are going to feel my wrath.” He growled and venom dripped from his words.
“Ooo, I’m so scared,” Dean spoke in a childish tone.
“Dean,” Sam hissed. “Just, talk to him, okay? We’ll be back in an hour. If you guys have talked it out, we’ll unlock the door.”
With that, two pairs of footsteps could be heard retreating down the hall.
“An hour!? Sam! Dean! Open the door!” (Y/N)’s shouts echoed in the room.
Once more, (Y/N) grabbed the doorknob to try and pry it open, but quickly found his efforts to be fruitless. After a couple of attempts, and the logical side of him begging to not rip the door off the hinges, he pulled back. He ran his fingers through his hair stressfully and turned back to the bed. Castiel sat in the same spot Dean had put him in, hands folded in his lap. (Y/N) sighed.
“I’m sorry you got roped into their bullshit, Cas,” he said with a soft, sympathetic tone as he walked over and sat beside him. “Whenever those two idiots get something in their heads, they won’t rest until they are proven right, even if they aren’t.”
“Are they wrong?” Castiel asked.
“What?”
“Sam and Dean told me you have romantic feelings for me. Are they wrong?” He tilted his head to the side.
(Y/N) opened his mouth to speak, to deny anything and everything his brothers said. However, as he looked over at Castiel and stared into his eyes, he found the words were lost on him. He looked away, hoisted himself off the bed, and made his way over to the dresser. He leaned against it with his elbow, his opposite hand placed on his hip, back to Castiel. A moment of silence weighed heavy on them before Castiel, too, stood from the bed.
“(Y/N)?”
“No, they’re not wrong,” (Y/N) said, his voice quiet, almost mute. “I…I like you.” He snorted. “That’s the first time I’ve admitted it.”
“You like me?”
(Y/N) turned back to Castiel. Their eyes met once again, but, that time, neither felt the urge to shy away. Instead, they kept their gaze, as if to read the other’s expression, as words seemed too complex for either one to be masters in. Slowly, (Y/N) took a couple of steps closer to Castiel.
“Yes. More than a friend. More than family. I mean, I don’t even know how to describe it. I get…nervous whenever I’m around you, but I’m the happiest when I am. No matter how terrible of a day I have, you always seem to make it better just by being near. I don’t know if this is what love feels like, but if it is, it’s strong when you’re around, and I never want it to stop.” His voice got quiet, words spoken barely above a whisper.
Again, they stared in silence, eyes searching for words yet spoken. Although only one had the capability of hearing them while the other was left in the dark. Eventually, (Y/N)’s gaze shifted to silent begging, wanting Castiel to say something, anything.
“I feel the same, and I have for a while,” Castiel finally spoke, never breaking eye contact. “I admit, I was scared to share how I felt. I understand the Winchester’s long history with the loss of loved ones, and I feared you would have your reservations about entering a relationship with me. I, too, have some reservations.”
(Y/N) nodded. The Winchesters had a lengthy list of enemies, most of whom would gain immense pleasure from causing as much pain to them as possible, even if it meant they took the lives of the ones they loved most. Being the lover of a Winchester wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a death sentence.
“I understand. But, Cas,” (Y/N) reached up and caressed his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his stubble. “I hate to admit it, but I think it took my brothers locking us up in my room to finally realize that I would rather live a short life with you than any life without you.”
Castiel leaned against his touch. His hand reached up to brush his fingertips.
“May I kiss you?” His voice flowed smoothly, like a river.
(Y/N) smiled. “I would be offended if you didn’t.”
Their lips met and, at first, it felt as if they began to float. Then, the spark. The same spark one only seemed to read out in romance novels or those trashy films Dean claimed to hate. A spark of love, adoration, passion, and lust. It was as if all the words left behind spoke loudly in that kiss. Everything they wanted to say, everything they wanted to hear, was translated into the movements of their lips.
When they broke away, they were breathless, faces flushed, pupils blown. Their mouths moved like they wanted to say something more, but it was lost in their need for one another. They had a silent understanding of what they desired. They kissed again feverishly and fell back onto the bed.
*~*
“Think they’ve been in there long enough?” Dean asked as he chewed on a mouthful of popcorn.
Sam tore his eyes away from the movie for a second to look at his watch. He shrugged. “It’s been almost an hour and a half. We can go see what happened.”
Dean nodded and used the sleeve of his flannel to wipe the butter from his lips. He paused the movie and both brothers stood.
“You remember the rules of the bet?” Dean asked as they made their way down the hallway.
“If (Y/N) confessed first, you owe me twenty, and if Cas confessed first, I owe you twenty.”
“And if they haven’t confessed yet, the bet is off until they do.”
“Do you really think they’ll do it if they’re forced to?”
“Do you have any other ideas?” Dean asked with raised brows. “The last two things we tried got us nowhere. We know they love each other, they just have to admit it. I think having some time alone together should do the trick.”
“Yeah, but we forced them into that situation. I don’t know about you, but that wouldn’t really put me in the romantic mood.”
“You just know I’m going to win the bet.”
“You’re delusional if you think Cas is going to confess first.”
“Come on, have you seen (Y/N) try and talk about his feelings? He can’t do it!”
“Neither can Cas! If anything, Cas is worse about feelings.”
“Look, all I’m saying is-”
“Oh, Cas!”
The brothers froze as their wide eyes shot towards the end of the hallway where (Y/N)’s door sat. It was silent as they waited to see if anything else would happen. When they heard nothing, they began to make their way to the door, slower that time. As they got closer, a rhythmic thump resounded inside the concrete walls, growing louder as they neared. When they were a couple of feet from the room, they stopped.
“Fuck, Cas! Harder, please!” The unmistakable moans rang out in the wall. Sam and Dean’s eyes grew wider.
“Say my name,” their friend’s voice was practically unrecognizable by the way it growled out the words.
“Castiel!”
(Y/N)’s loud cry was enough to break Sam and Dean out of their daze. Without a second thought, they turned and scurried down the hallway and out of range from the sounds that were sure to scar them for years to come.
*~*
As the sound of rapid footsteps resonated down the hallway and slowly vanished, a sly smirk fell upon (Y/N)’s lips. He glanced over at Castiel, who sat perched on some of the pillows, fully clothed. Once the footsteps were gone, (Y/N) seized the shaking of the headboard and took his spot next to Castiel on the bed. Castiel lifted his arm and (Y/N) was quick to snuggle against him.
“That should keep them away for a while,” (Y/N) hummed.
“Why was it necessary for them to believe we were having intercourse?” Castiel asked.
“Not only so they would leave us alone, but it’s the first part of the revenge plan I have in store for them for locking us in here.”
“You know, if they hadn’t locked us in here, then we would have never told each other how we felt.”
“Stop trying to justify their actions,” he grumbled.
Castiel smiled and pressed a soft kiss to (Y/N)’s temple. “I, for one, am thankful for their decision.”
“Don’t let them hear you say that, or you’ll never hear the end of it.”
“So I’ve come to notice.” Castiel chuckled.
(Y/N) copied his laugh as he wrapped an arm around Castiel’s torso and one leg around his to nuzzle closer. Castiel rested his cheek atop (Y/N)’s head.
“I wish we could stay like this forever,” (Y/N) said with a content sigh.
Castiel reached down and softly pressed a kiss on his cheek. “The moments I spend with you make it seem like forever isn’t enough.”
Warning(s): Language, multiple character death, torture, TWD reference sprinkled in there, Lucifer being Lucifer, Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Animal Abuse (?) idk the butterfly isn't real, Castiel is the sweetest boyfriend known to man
Summary: The reader recently got Castiel back, and he has convinced himself that everything is back to normal, but the past has a tendency to haunt us, refusing to let go. What happens when the one person he loves more than life itself begins to remind him of the one that caused him the most pain?
Request:
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Cas x winchester!reader(male and romantic) where Reader wakes up from a nightmare, Castiel is there to comfort them, but he refuses to tell Castiel what the nightmare was about.
After more and more repetitive nightmares every night, Cas finally got him to tell him what it was about. It turns out it was about readers' experience with Castifer. (I'm giving you free range with what happened)
The brothers can be there too, or they can be on a hunt, you choose. Thank you! I love your writing sm btw
Anonymous
A/N: It's been a while! In the course of writing this story, which consisted of 38 handwritten pages, we've had two staff members at work quit, leaving only two teachers in the entire center with a director who refuses to be in the classroom, so I've been working open-close, coming in early and staying late off the clock, and just trying to mentally recover over the weekend. Yay us :) I hope to get back in the groove of things now that this request is out of the way, as I knew I wanted it to be long enough to add the detail I had in mind. I hope I did your request justice and, as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!
The woods near the bunker were beautiful. Tall, thick oaks decorated the skies above. Below sat wildlife. Squirrels scurried about to gather food, rabbits burrowed beneath the base of various tree trunks, robins collected sticks for their nests, and butterflies rested on wildflowers that grew on the spare patches of grass. It was a stunning forest to explore, one that (Y/N) and Castiel had walked through thousands of times, and with each instance, new beauties were presented. There was never a dull moment in nature, which was what the couple appreciated about it. Even the parts of the world that some would consider ugly were attractive to them, and they were loved even more.
They wandered through the woods as they normally did, hand in hand. Their eyes scanned every aspect of the ground below their feet and stopped to mention the most notable elements. One thing that caught (Y/N)’s eye and halted their walk altogether was a stray flower that had grown at the base of a towering oak tree. (Y/N) pulled Castiel to the flower and knelt on the ground to get a closer look. The petals were a soft white, painted with a dusting of woodchips, and the center was bright yellow. Just as (Y/N) was about to reach down and touch it, the quiet flutter of wings filled his ears.
Out of his peripherals flew a magnificent monarch butterfly. It took a moment to brush past his nose before it landed gracefully in the center of the flower. (Y/N) broke out into a large, bright smile as he glanced over at Castiel. He, too, had a smile, only his was softer. Slowly, Castiel reached his free hand forward, his index finger extended. The butterfly confidently climbed onto Castiel’s finger, as if they were old friends. When it was fully nestled in his hand, Castiel withdrew it and moved his hand so it rested between their bodies.
(Y/N) stared in awe at the closeness of the creature. The intricate detail on the wings, the way the antennae moved, the small size of its body, all of it was beautiful. Remarkable. A true gift to the universe. For a moment, (Y/N) looked up at Castiel, and he could feel the love in his heart. He was so kind and caring. A gentleman - angel if you will - and (Y/N) could not ask for a better lover.
Then his smile changed.
Instead of the peaceful grin he wore before, the corners of his lips curled into - need I say - a devilish smirk. In an instant, Castiel grabbed the butterfly’s wings between his index and middle finger and crushed them. (Y/N) opened his mouth and felt his throat contract, as if to gasp, but no sound came out. He looked up at Castiel’s eyes, and one thing that he noted was the fact that they were no longer the oceanic color he had grown fond of. They were dark, and gloomy, as if to represent an upcoming storm. When Castiel’s look shifted so their eyes connected, (Y/N) felt his stomach drop.
That wasn’t his Castiel.
“Pathetic little creatures, don’t you think?” He leered.
Lucifer.
(Y/N)’s chest rose and fell rapidly in tandem with his breaths. He wanted to run, to scurry away until he was out of sight, but he couldn’t find the strength in him to move. It was as if he was bound to the Earth, held captive by God himself. Lucifer chuckled.
“What’s wrong, (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The voice didn’t belong to Castiel, despite wearing the same face.
(Y/N) tracked the movements of his hand - his familiar hand - as Lucifer reached over and brushed his fingers through his hair. Still, (Y/N) couldn’t move. Even his touch was different.
“Oh, how I’ve missed that look. It was so much fun to mess with you. So fun that I just had to come back. Did you miss me?” The last question came out barely above a whisper.
Still, (Y/N) said nothing. He failed to notice that the world around him had stopped, frozen in time. All he could focus on was the terror that reflected in Lucifer’s deep, dark eyes. The eyes of his lover. The lover who was no longer there.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is, now we’re back together! And, in this little dreamland of yours, you can’t get rid of me. No, you’re not strong enough to. Because all you see in front of you is your precious little Castiel, and why would you want to get rid of him, right?”
(Y/N) felt himself blink rapidly. No. He’s not real. Nothing is real. It was all fake, a trick his mind made up to make him suffer. His sick, twisted mind. All he had to do was wake up.
“Sick and twisted is a little harsh, don’t you think?” Lucifer smirked.
Wake up.
“Stay with me, come on,”
Wake up.
“Stay.”
Wake up!
*~*
(Y/N) gasped as he jolted upright. His heart pounded in his chest, eyes blown wide. A thick layer of sweat coated his brow. One good look at his surroundings and he could see he was no longer in the forest. He was in his room, in the bunker. He was safe.
A hand pressed against his shoulder, which caused him to jump and let out a shout of surprise. To his right, Castiel sat on the bed, worry hidden behind his electric blue eyes. Blue eyes. His eyes. The eyes he fell in love with. His safety. As suddenly as he awoke, his nerves calmed and he could feel his heartbeat regulate.
“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Castiel spoke with his normal, gruff voice.
It’s Cas.
(Y/N) let out a shaky breath and gave a small nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Just…had a bad dream.”
“I’m sorry, Bumblebee. Do you want to talk about it?” Castiel asked as he reached up and gently cupped (Y/N)’s cheek.
He leaned into the comfort of Castiel’s hand. The fear and stress washed away. He smiled a little wider. “It was just a hunting dream, nothing more.” He spoke softly as he reached a hand up to touch Castiel’s.
With a troublesome expression still on his face, Castiel gently grasped (Y/N)’s hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed his knuckles.
“Are you sure? You seemed rather bothered by it.”
“I’m positive.”
Castiel smiled sweetly. “Okay,” he whispered and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Would you like to sleep again? It’s still early, and Sam and Dean aren’t expected back for several more hours. I can hold you while you rest. Perhaps that’ll keep the nightmares at bay.”
(Y/N) opened his mouth to turn down the offer, but quickly shut it. The idea of being held in Castiel’s arms while he slept seemed to put him at ease. Maybe Castiel was right. There was a chance he could feel better that way. More at peace. Then his nightmares wouldn’t appear and, instead, they would be relaxing dreams. He missed those.
“I’d like that,” he said and laid back down on his side, facing Castiel.
Castiel lay beside him, mirroring his position, one arm wrapped under him and the other around his waist. (Y/N) laid his head on Castiel’s arm, nose brushed against his chest, and was instantly filled to the brim with warmth. In his arms, he felt protected, safe, and secure. The same security a child had when they were covered by their blanket.
Gingerly, Castiel placed a kiss on (Y/N)’s forehead. “Goodnight, my sweet Bumblebee.” As he spoke, it was as if his words dripped with love and adoration.
“Goodnight, my angel.” (Y/N) whispered.
*~*
Just as he was about to drift off into slumber, light kisses could be felt on the shell of his ear. Stubble tickled his neck and cheek, and he couldn’t help but grin tiredly.
“Cas, I’m trying to sleep,” his mumble sounded more like a whine as he let out hearty chuckles.
Kisses turned to nibbles at his protests, and he couldn’t hold back the giggles that erupted within him. (Y/N) tried to swat him away, but Castiel was persistent. After a moment, he began to trail sloppy kisses down his jawline, to his chin, then gave him a peck on his lips.
(Y/N) slowly opened his eyes and smiled up at him, but when Castiel pulled back and opened his own eyes, he was met with a familiar look of dark clouds.
“Thought you could get away from me that easily?” He asked.
(Y/N)’s smile vanished and his eyes widened. He swiftly pulled back from Lucifer’s grasp. In his getaway, his hand fumbled off the side of the bed and he fell to the floor. Instead of the concrete bunker floor he had expected, he landed on a soft dirt ground that was littered with natural debris. As he quickly looked around, he could see that he was back in the forest he had been in before he awoke. In any other situation, he would be full of peace in that setting. All he could feel, though, was a sense of dread.
Lucifer let out a deep chuckle that rumbled the Earth below. He moved to perch himself on the edge of the bed, feet planted on the ground on either side of (Y/N)’s body. The smirk on his face stood out as he looked down at him.
“(Y/N), you wound me! After all the time we spent together?” Lucifer pouted and placed a hand on his chest to feign hurt.
“You’re not real.” (Y/N) breathed.
Lucifer pursed his lips. “Pretty sure I am,” he nodded and stood from the bed so he towered over him. “Maybe I can get another kiss to figure it out.”
(Y/N) began to crawl backward, his eyes never leaving Lucifer’s. “No, no, no! This is all a dream! It’s all a dream. All I have to do is wake up again and you’ll be gone.”
“Oh, sweetheart, it’s so funny that you think you can run away again.”
“Fuck you!”
“Only if you want to.” Lucifer laughed.
(Y/N) sneered in disgust and finally pushed himself off of the ground. For a split second, his eyes left Lucifer, and, at that moment, he had vanished. His heart thumped to the beat of a thousand drums, and he swore he could hear it in his ears. He turned around completely in an attempt to find Lucifer, but he was nowhere to be found. Oddly enough, he found no comfort in his absence. With the forest as eerily quiet as it was, it was as if he was in the eye of the storm. That he could be hunted before he knew it.
And he wasn’t going to stick around for it.
His movements were slow at first as if he were covered in a thick layer of honey. Eventually, he gained momentum and began to rush through the maze of trees. Leaves under his feet crunched and branches cracked under the power of his steps. He did not know where he was headed, nor where he would end up, if anywhere, but all he knew was that he needed to get as far away from Lucifer as possible.
“You can run, but you can’t hide, (Y/N).” Lucifer’s sing-song voice echoed against the trees as if he were right on top of him.
He swore at any moment his heart would give out. If he thought about it too much, he was sure it would explode. He wouldn’t put it past Lucifer.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He sounded closer, but that didn’t break (Y/N) out of his sprint. If anything, he went faster.
“I see you! Can you see me?” Lucifer laughed, and that caused the back of (Y/N)’s head to throb.
The corners of his vision started to blacken and his heart felt like it stopped. At once, his legs seized to function, and his feet scraped against the ground, not enough stamina in his body to lift them. It would prove to be his downfall as, seconds later, the tip of his foot caught on a protruding root. His whole body fell to the ground with a heavy thud.
(Y/N) felt drunk, as if his entire world spun rapidly. A soft groan fell from his lips and he opened his eyes, but he was met with nothing but darkness. He felt so helpless. So lost. So scared.
He had to wake up.
Footsteps echoed around him as if someone actively encircled his body. They stalked him, teased him, and filled his mind with thoughts that raced, too fast to comprehend. They made him want to run, but his blindness made it impossible.
Have to wake up.
Have to wake up.
Please wake up.
Then, he spoke.
“Waking up won’t do anything, you know. I’ll still be here, waiting.” Lucifer chuckled deeply.
Suddenly, Lucifer snapped his fingers, and (Y/N)’s vision was restored. They were back in the war room of the bunker. Lucifer, still clad in Castiel’s face, had his hands placed in the pockets of his trenchcoat. He began to circle (Y/N), as a predator would its prey, eyes trained on his.
“I’ll be trapped in your little dream world with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs. That’s okay, though, because I know that, while you’re out there awake and somewhat alert, you’ll be thinking of me. Not only that, but you’ll see me, too.”
“No-” (Y/N) began weakly.
“Yes! You will,” Lucifer’s voice got louder, and the ground began to quake. “Because every time you look at your sweet angel Cassie, all you’ll see is me. All you’ll hear is me. All you’ll feel is me.”
“Cas is nothing like you.”
“Maybe not in terms of charms or amazing personality, but when it comes to looks, we are the same.” Lucifer slowly walked up and squatted down next to him. “While you lay in bed in Cassie’s arms, and you look up at him one more time to say goodnight, you won’t be able to think of anything but me.”
(Y/N)’s jaw clenched. “I won’t let you control me.”
Lucifer let out a low chuckle, deep enough to sound similar to a growl. “Oh, (Y/N). Sweet, sweet, (Y/N). It seems you’re mistaken,” he reached over, grabbed his chin, and lifted his head so their eyes met. “I already do.”
*~*
Another pothole, another curse from the eldest Winchester. Kansas backroads and highways were notorious for their terrible patchwork. The cities and counties would spend weeks on end filling any hole that had been reported only for their work to deteriorate after the next rainfall. It was all a ploy to get more money from taxpayers, and the Winchesters were glad they didn’t have to contribute to such a scam.
While most in the car sat jolted by the road conditions, nothing seemed to rouse (Y/N) from his slumber in the backseat, something Sam and Dean were jealous of. Castiel, on the other hand, sat worried in the opposite seat. His eyes hadn’t left (Y/N) for some time, and the lack of response from his partner whenever Dean would curse nearly at the top of his lungs troubled him further.
“Have you noticed that (Y/N) has not gotten much sleep recently?” Castiel asked faintly over the car radio.
Dean reached over and turned the dial so the Classic Rock faded into the background. “What was that, Cas?” He asked.
Castiel looked up at Dean for a brief moment. “Have you noticed that (Y/N) hasn’t gotten much sleep recently?” He repeated.
Dean nodded. “I’ve started to notice that, yeah.”
He glanced over at his brother to see that his gaze was straight ahead, earbuds in. Dean sighed, slapped him on the shoulder, then returned his hand to the wheel. Sam flinched and glared at Dean as he removed a bud from his left ear.
“Dude, what?” He asked, offense obvious in his tone.
“Have you noticed (Y/N)’s been losing sleep a lot?”
Sam furrowed his brows and glanced in the backseat at Castiel and (Y/N). “You know, now that you mention it, I have.”
Castiel hummed lightly, eyes still attached to (Y/N). The confirmation from his friends gave him some comfort. “I’m beginning to worry about him,” he admitted. “He’s awoken from numerous nightmares as of late.”
“That’s normal for hunters, Cas,” Sam said.
“Not for (Y/N). He has never had this many before.”
“Have you tried talking to him about it?”
“I have, but he never wants to tell me about them. He only ever tells me they’re hunting dreams, but…”
“You think he’s lying?”
Castiel’s silence answered for him.
“Look, Cas,” Dean began. “Nightmares, to hunters, are a bit of a touchy subject. We see a lot of things in the field and our everyday lives, and (Y/N)’s been through a lot. Maybe (Y/N) doesn’t want to worry you. I think he’ll come around eventually.”
“You believe so?”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably.”
Sam rolled his eyes and scoffed as he put his earbuds back inside. Dean shot him a look.
“What?” Dean asked.
Sam shook his head. “Nothing.”
Dean grumbled under his breath before he peered in the rearview mirror. “Look, (Y/N) loves you, Cas, more than anything - trust me, he’s told me more times than I can count. If there’s anyone he would go to about this problem, it would be you. Just give him time.”
Time.
Castiel was a patient man under normal circumstances, but when it came to his partner, he found that his patience wore thin quite easily if he was in distress. Castiel never liked to see (Y/N) unhappy, and it made his heart ache when he felt he couldn’t do anything to help. How he wished he could take the pain away. How he wished he knew where to start.
(Y/N) let out a soft whimper, brows furrowed tightly, and Castiel cast him a saddened expression. He reached over and softly pulled him closer so that his head rested against Castiel’s chest. While he knew Dean was right, one thing’s for certain;
Castiel hated waiting.
*~*
“We’re on Easy Street,
And it feels so sweet.
‘Cause the world is but a treat
When you’re on Easy Street.”
(Y/N) groaned and leaned his head back against the wall as the song repeated for, what seemed like the hundredth time. A faint laugh could be heard from across the room, but the darkness that surrounded him left him completely blind. He knew it was Lucifer, though. He could tell.
“Come on, cheer up!” Lucifer said. “It’s a catchy tune!”
It was the first time in a while that (Y/N) didn’t feel terrified while he dreamt. In Lucifer’s unorthodox method of torture, he had rather grown quite annoyed. He knew it was Lucifer’s way of getting under his skin, and he was doing a fantastic job at it. It wasn’t long before the short song came to an end, then repeated. Again. (Y/N) let out a frustrated shout and buried his face in his hands.
Suddenly, the lights flickered on and revealed the gray, dull, concrete room that they were in. (Y/N) clenched his eyes shut before he removed his hands from his face to look over at Lucifer, who paced around the room rhythmically as he snapped his fingers to the beat of the song. The music mixed with the bright lights and Lucifer’s arrogant face caused the bottom of (Y/N)’s eye to twitch. When Lucifer saw the look on his face, he snickered.
“Aw, is (Y/N) getting upset?” Lucifer teased, bottom lip pushed out in a mock pout.
“I will castrate you.” (Y/N) deadpanned.
Lucifer hissed. “You know, I don’t think you can do that.”
“I’ll find a way.”
Lucifer let out a loud, boisterous laugh that reverberated off the walls. (Y/N) shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. Once the laughter died down, Lucifer stared at him intently, uncomfortably so. He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. The music stopped. Then, it was silent. They stared at one another. Neither broke eye contact. Lucifer tilted his head to the side, and (Y/N) was partially convinced it was Castiel in that body, but he knew better.
“This isn’t working,” he sighed.
Yep, still Lucifer.
“I say you cut your losses.” (Y/N) grumbled.
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
Lucifer tapped his chin and he began to study the stone walls around them. (Y/N) furrowed his brows. There wasn’t much to study. They were just walls. Concrete walls that looked new, as if they had been constructed mere hours propr, and expertly as well. A single light fixture was placed in the center of the ceiling with a bulb bright enough to attract moths from miles away. The room was rather uncreative. Unoriginal. (Y/N) needed to start constructing better landscapes for his dreams.
“I got it!” Lucifer’s voice broke through the silence.
With the snap of his fingers, the room vanished and was replaced by a darker, dimmer setting. A small, abandoned warehouse that appeared as if it should have been demolished decades prior. Broken glass and metal beams littered the filthy floor. The only source of light came from the moonbeams that shined through the shattered windows. He took a moment to stand from his spot as his eyes scanned his surroundings. Lucifer had, again, vanished. He didn’t hold his breath, though, for he knew he wouldn’t be gone long.
“You know me so well,” a voice came from behind.
(Y/N) whipped around and came face-to-face with Lucifer. The real Lucifer. Not the one who hid behind Castiel’s face. With Castiel’s appearance gone, (Y/N) didn’t feel as much hesitation as he had before. All he felt was irritation. Annoyance. His jaw clenched, fists balled up at his sides. Lucifer smirked as he reached behind him and pulled a long blade out. He walked over and held the hilt out to him. (Y/N) took the blade and examined it intently.
“An Archangel Blade?” He questioned.
Lucifer shrugged nonchalantly. “I figured I’d tortured you long enough. You might as well get your revenge.”
(Y/N) narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You want me to kill you.”
“It’s not gonna kill me. That would be stupid of me to give you something that would get rid of me, don’t you think?”
“Then I’m not interested.”
“Aw, why not? You know you want to.”
“Nope.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Not even a little cut?”
“No! Now fuck off,” (Y/N) waved him off as he turned on his heel and walked away.
Lucifer’s jaw dropped in shock. He was quick to follow. “So, what? You’re just going to throw away your one opportunity to get revenge even when I serve it to you on a silver platter!?”
Lucifer reached out and grabbed (Y/N)’s shoulder. It was almost instinctual, the way (Y/N) tightened his hold on the hilt, the way he turned at a speed no human should have to face him, the way he grasped Lucifer’s shoulder with an iron grip, and the way the Archangel Blade seamlessly plunged into his stomach was almost a surreal experience. Then, there was silence. Nothing moved, nothing blinked, nothing breathed. It was as if he were part of a photograph or a television show that had been left on pause. Slowly, (Y/N) closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out.
Play.
“This is why you should never let your guard down.” (Y/N) said, eased the blade out of Lucifer’s (?) stomach, and took a step back.
That was when he saw them. The eyes. His heart stopped. Baby blues. Deep blues. The ocean. Wandering sea. Hurt. Sorrow. Betrayal. Death. The sea is dying. No one can stop it.
Castiel.
Castiel gripped the wound in his gut as he stumbled back. In an instant, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed. Under his back, a deep, black imprint of angel wings got singed into the concrete. (Y/N) stared at the scene before him, mouth agape, eyes wide, heart still frozen in time. The blade dropped to the ground as if it wanted to part from his shaky hand.
“Cas?” He barely registered his voice as he stumbled down onto his knees beside his body.
He could feel the tears flow down his cheeks and he watched them methodically drop onto his trenchcoat. The sobs built up inside, but were unable to escape, caught in the back of his throat. He used one hand to caress Castiel’s cold, rough cheek. Just as the cries rattled in his chest, a smirk spread across Castiel’s chapped lips and his gaze darted toward (Y/N).
“What happened to not letting your guard down?” Lucifer mused.
(Y/N) let out a loud shout that echoed in the empty building. He fell back and began to crawl away. Lucifer cackled maniacally and stood. The wound in his chest began to close as he stepped closer.
“I don’t know why I never thought of that before! To make you take down the one thing, the one person that means the most to you. But, now that I’ve got you right where I want you, we’re going to have so…much…fun…”
*~*
“Agent Bermudez.”
…
…
“Agent Bermudez?”
…
…
“Agent!”
(Y/N) jumped slightly as he was pulled out of his trance. The cup, that held scalding hot coffee, in his hand jostled, but thankfully the contents remained in the glass. His eyes shot over to the sound of the voice. Dean and Sam stared at him expectedly. It took him a moment to realize that they had been talking to him.
“Uh, um, yes D-Agent?” He corrected himself.
Sam and Dean shared a look before their gaze returned to him. Sam cleared his throat.
“Did you have any more questions for Mrs. Calloway about her husband?” He asked.
It was then that he realized the middle-aged widow had been sat there the whole time. They were in her living room. In her house. The gears creaked in his brain as he attempted to figure out what had happened. When he caught on, he sat up quickly and placed the cup on a coaster that sat on the coffee table between the four of them.
We’re on a case, (Y/N). Get your shit together.
“Um, no, no I don’t.”
The brothers nodded before they turned back to Mrs. Calloway. They stood from the couch, and (Y/N) clumsily followed.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to us, Mrs. Calloway. You’ve been very helpful,” Sam said with a small, sympathetic smile as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out one of his faux business cards. “Give me a call if you can think of anything else.”
Mrs. Calloway took the card with a smile that mirrored Sam’s. “Thank you, agents. I appreciate you taking this so seriously. David would be grateful. Don’t burn yourself out over it, though. I know how much of a toll this job takes on you.” As she spoke, her eyes were trained on (Y/N).
(Y/N) flashed a small, albeit embarrassed, grin and gave a brief wave. Sam and Dean turned to leave as (Y/N) trailed behind. They let themselves out through the front door and back into the promotional poster for suburban America. Compared to the white and blue colonials with SUVs and Minivans parked in each driveway, the Impala stood out as a historic relic. Once they closed the door, the brothers looked over at (Y/N), each of them sporting their own look with Dean’s of slight annoyance and Sam’s of concern.
“What the Hell was that?” Dean asked, exasperated.
(Y/N) shook his head. “I don’t know. I just zoned out.”
“Yeah, we can tell,” Sam said. “What’s been going on recently?”
“Nothing, I’m fine,” (Y/N) said, although he wasn’t too convinced himself.
“No, you’re not fine!” Dean said. “Look, Cas told us about the nightmares. I get how they are, but these seem to be getting to you. Bad.”
“I said ‘I’m fine’.”
“You’re obviously not, and until you are, I think it would be best if you sat this one out.”
“Dean’s right,” Sam agreed. “He and I can do this one on our own. We’ve done it before. You need to get better.”
“You’re benching me?” (Y/N) growled.
“Yes.” Dean nodded sternly. “Until you’re better, that would be for the best.”
(Y/N) opened his mouth to rebuttal, but knew it would be futile. He clenched his jaw and stormed over to the Impala. He opened the back passenger door, sat inside with a huff, and slammed the door shut. Sam sighed and ran his fingers through his hair stressfully while Dean shook his head.
“He’s getting bad,” Dean mumbled.
“Yeah, I’ve never seen him like that before. He needs some rest.” Sam said.
“Right, we don’t need him getting himself killed.”
“Cas wouldn’t like that very much.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“We still need to interview the employees at the bookstore. You can drop me off there and take (Y/N) back to the motel.”
“No, I’ll go to the bookstore, you drive him to the motel.”
“Why me?”
“Because he’s more likely to talk to you about it. You might even get him to talk to Cas about it.”
Sam gave a small nod. “For once, I agree with you. You suck at empathy.”
“Oh, bite me,” Dean grumbled. “Just get in the damn car.”
*~*
The bookstore sat three miles from the motel. Once they dropped Dean off, (Y/N) moved to the passenger’s seat - much to his dismay - and Sam shifted to the driver’s. At first, the two were silent while Van Halen hummed calmly over the speakers. (Y/N)’s arms rested at his side, head hung down, eyes half-lidded. Sam glanced over at him now and again as he drove through the middle of the small downtown. It was from the occasional peak that Sam truly saw how exhausted he was. The skin under his eyes was dark and heavy, eyes bloodshot. His body slouched, and it appeared as if he could fall asleep in an instant.
“Cas is worried about you, you know.” Sam broke the silence.
“Why?” (Y/N) furrowed his brows.
“Because of these nightmares you’ve been having. Hell, Dean and I are just as worried as he is.”
“I’m fine.”
“See, you say that, but I think the only person you’re trying to convince is yourself.”
(Y/N) looked down at his lap and began to fiddle with his hands.
“We care about you,” Sam continued. “And we hate seeing you like this.”
Sam made a right turn into the motel lot and parked in the vacant spot in front of their door.
“How did you deal with it?” (Y/N) whispered.
Sam looked over at him. “Deal with what?”
“Lucifer.”
Sam hesitated. “Is that what your nightmares have been about?”
(Y/N) could only nod.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since a couple of months after we got Cas back. No matter how hard I try, he won’t leave me alone. It’s like he’s really there.” (Y/N)’s voice became shaky and tears streamed down his face.
Sam reached over, placed a gentle hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder, and gave it a light squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’ve been there before. It’s horrible…you need to tell Cas.”
“I can’t. I don’t want him to worry.”
“He’s already worried, (Y/N), and you’re getting worse by the day. You need to talk to him.”
“I don’t want him to blame himself.”
“Why would he blame himself?”
“Because Lucifer is always in Cas’ body.”
Sam raised his brows and sighed. When Lucifer used Castiel’s vessel as his own, it was tough on all of them, but he knew it was especially difficult on (Y/N). For Sam, it was difficult to see his friend a prisoner in his own body, he couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for (Y/N). To see the face of your lover worn as a mask by an Archangel that tormented the people that you loved? ‘Hard’ must’ve been too light of a word.
“Listen, you know Cas would never do whatever Lucifer is doing to you.”
(Y/N) sniffled and nodded. “I know, I know. It’s just that it keeps reminding me of when I didn’t have Cas…and Lucifer was horrible when he took over his vessel and I just hated seeing him like that. I wanna forget that it even happened.”
“I know,” Sam rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “But I think Cas’ll understand.”
“You think so?”
“I think so.” Sam smiled over at him.
(Y/N) reached up and wiped the tears from his cheeks.
“Tell you what,” Sam said. “Why don’t you go in and lay down? I’ll give Cas a call and have him come over.”
“Don’t tell him.”
“I won’t, but you need to. If you don’t, then I will.”
(Y/N) looked over at Sam before he gave a nod. Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out the spare room key, which (Y/N) graciously took.
“Get some sleep, okay?” Sam spoke softly.
“I will. Goodnight, Sam,” (Y/N) mumbled, got out of the car, walked to the door, and entered the room.
*~*
Please, make it stop.
The warehouse was the same as in his previous dream. Still old, still dilapidated. The only difference was the large array of angel wings burnt meticulously into the floor. There was no blood, no gore, no bodies strewn about to remind him of what he did. He didn’t need the extra detail, Lucifer knew that. The wings were more than enough.
No more, please.
“And, again!” Lucifer exclaimed.
No!
(Y/N) gripped the angel blade tight in his hand, despite his mental protests. Castiel appeared in front of him, blue eyes pleading. He wasted no time as he drove the angel blade into his chest. Onto the floor, he fell like a ragdoll and a new etching of wings joined the bunch. He breathed.
It was a vicious cycle.
“Again!”
Command. Kill. Breathe.
“Again!”
Command. Kill. Breathe.
“Again!”
Command. Kill. Breathe.
“Again!”
Command.
Kill.
Breathe.
He collapsed onto his knees. The angel blade slipped from his grasp and skidded across the floor. His eyes were so wide he was half certain they would burst from the sockets, lips parted to allow the heavy breaths of air to flow. Lucifer’s deep chuckle sounded in his ears as he stepped closer and knelt in front of him. Lucifer lifted his chin so their eyes connected.
“Good,” he smirked. “You’ve come a long way, my dear hunter.”
Fuck you.
“Thank you, Lucifer,” (Y/N)’s voice sounded fake and robotic.
Lucifer hummed and pursed his lips. “I still hear a little defiance in that head of yours. Perhaps we should keep going.”
No! Please!
“Of course, Lucifer.”
(Y/N) stood on shaky legs and made his way to the discarded weapon.
No, please, don’t do this.
“You are such a good listener, (Y/N).” Lucifer praised.
Don’t listen to him! Stop!
(Y/N) picked up the blade and held it with a death grip.
Put that down! You don’t have to do this!
He turned so he faced Lucifer, back straight, head held high.
Command.
No!
Kill.
Please!
Breathe.
I’ll do anything!
Lucifer smirked.
“Again!”
*~*
“No!” (Y/N) let out a loud, guttural scream as he shot up from his spot on the bed.
His eyes were red from the tears that stained his cheeks, and his chest moved up and down with the efforts of his breathing. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, he jerked away violently and scrambled off the bed, his legs weak and barely able to hold his weight.
“No, please,” (Y/N) leaned against the wall to keep himself upright. He had his palms pressed against his ears, eyes shut tight.
“(Y/N)? (Y/N), it’s me.” Castiel gently edged himself off the bed and walked over to him.
As Castiel placed his hands on (Y/N)’s shoulder, he felt his body tense.
“You’re not real. You’re not real. You’re not real.” (Y/N) repeated continuously.
Carefully, Castiel removed (Y/N)’s hands from his ears, despite the weak protests. He could feel the way his heart raced, the way his hands shook, and it hurt to see.
(Y/N)’s eyes shot open as he turned his head - eyes, look at the eyes. Elegant waves of blue. Sapphires. Full of worry. Full of life. Life. He was alive. Castiel was alive.
“Cas?” His voice came out hoarse.
“Yes, it’s me. You’re safe.”
Hesitantly, (Y/N) cupped his cheek. His thumb brushed against the stubble that decorated his jawline. The longer he stared into his eyes, the more he felt peace, comfort, a sense of love and longing, home. He brought Castiel close to him and embraced him tight enough that it was sure to hurt if he were human. The grip he had on him was tense as if he were convinced Castiel would vanish at any moment. Castiel returned the affection but, instead of wrapping his arms around him, he placed an arm around his back and another under his knees. He picked him up, carried him the short distance over to the bed, and laid him down. He lay next to him, their arms never retreating.
“(Y/N), please,” Castiel’s breath was warm against his ear. “I know that it wasn’t a hunting dream. Please, talk to me.”
(Y/N) was silent as he reveled in the fact that he was able to hold Castiel as close to him as he was. Alive. He took a moment to think back to the conversation he had with Sam - He’s already worried…You need to talk to him. Based on Castiel’s tone of voice, and the words he used, he knew Sam was right. He had to tell him.
“They’re about you,” (Y/N) whispered just loud enough for Castiel to hear.
At those words, Castiel pulled back ever so slightly, but never took his hands off him. He studied (Y/N)’s face and noticed the way he refused to look at him. His brows knit together in confusion and concern. He reached a hand up to caress his cheek.
“What happens in these dreams, (Y/N)?” He asked softly.
(Y/N) was hesitant to respond, a part of him terrified of the guilt Castiel could potentially feel, another scared at the mere idea of mentioning Lucifer’s name aloud. What if he wasn’t truly gone? What if he heard him? Would he find him? Would he kill him? Would the nightmares he had dealt with for the past several months come true? He knew he had to reveal the source of the dreams, though. Not only for his sake but for Castiel’s as well.
“It’s never really you in the dreams. It’s always Lucifer inside your vessel. He started by teasing me, mocking me, and then…he started to torture me. It was stupid shit at first, stuff that didn’t really hurt me. Then he brought you into the picture.” (Y/N)’s voice began to shake as tears appeared in the corner of his eyes, a result of recalling the events of his nightmares and exhaustion. “He made me kill you, Cas.”
Castiel was quick to pull him back into his arms. He brought their bodies so close together that it was as if they were one. At the warmth he felt wrapped around his body, (Y/N) finally let himself cry. Hard.
“And I try to stop him,” (Y/N) sobbed. “I try so hard, but nothing I do seems to work, and I have to kill you over and over and over again and he won’t let me go. I know he’s not there, but he feels so real.”
Castiel shushed him gently as his hand rubbed his back soothingly. They simply held each other as (Y/N) let out all the sadness, pain, and frustration he had kept in for the longest time. With each cry, with each shake of his body, Castiel felt himself break. The man he loved, the man who stole his heart, sat shattered in his arms, and he felt responsible.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into his ear between sobs.
(Y/N) shook his head. “It’s not your fault, I knew you would do that.” His voice was broken and shaky.
“I let Lucifer in.”
“But you couldn’t control his actions. Lucifer is to blame, not you. I could never blame you.”
“But if I would’ve-”
“Lucifer would have found a way, we both know this.”
By then, his cries had mellowed out to mere sniffles and hiccups with the occasional stray tear. They spent the next several minutes holding one another, silent. The room started to get dark as the sun set, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but wonder where the brothers were. How they were doing on the hunt. He hoped his debilitating exhaustion hadn’t cost them any valuable time or extra hands they may have needed. It wasn’t long before Castiel spoke once more.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.
“I didn’t want you to blame yourself. I knew you would. There isn’t anything you can do about it anyway. I thought I could get it under control.”
Castiel paused before he pulled back. “Maybe I can. May I try something?”
(Y/N) hesitated before he shook his head. “I don’t want to go back to sleep, Cas,” he said, voice laced with uncertainty.
“Trust me, Bumblebee, please? I believe I know how I can help.”
(Y/N) sighed. Despite everything he told himself, he was exhausted. He had been for the past several weeks, and the strength he previously used to keep himself awake had all but faded. He didn’t want to have another nightmare, but if Castiel could help him, he had to give him a chance. (Y/N) gave Castiel a quick peck on the lips.
“I trust you.”
Castiel smiled warmly. He nuzzled his nose against (Y/N)’s and grabbed the comforter. He draped it over their bodies. He shifted so their legs were tangled together, wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist, and rested his forehead against his. He began to rub his back in small, slow circles, and (Y/N) could feel his body instantly relax.
“Get some sleep, Bumblebee. I promise I’ll keep you safe. I love you.” Castiel whispered, and his words alone sounded like a lullaby.
“I love you, too, Cas. So much.” (Y/N) mumbled back.
With the warmth of Castiel’s embrace, (Y/N) was quick to drift off once more with a new hope of content slumber.
*~*
Nothing. That was the best word he could use to describe where he was. It wasn’t dark, nor was it light. It wasn’t a basic abandoned warehouse, nor was it a location embedded in his memory. It was simply and utterly nothing. Although the implication of ‘nothing’ meant the absence of ‘something’. The question was: what was missing?
“Bumblebee?”
(Y/N)’s head perked up at the nickname. He began to look around but found no source. There was still nothing.
“I’m here, (Y/N).”
As he turned around, he was blinded by a bright light. He squinted and shielded his eyes. From the light, a heat radiated off of it and surrounded him like a blanket. He felt the urge to go to it as if a rope had wrapped itself around his waist and begun to pull. When he walked, he floated. His legs didn’t move. It was unknown what waited beyond the light, but whatever it was made him feel safe, loved, and wanted. Soon, the light engulfed him, and he was blinded once more.
When his vision was restored, he was welcomed to a sight he had never witnessed before. Yellow, sandy beaches surrounded by a deep blue ocean. The sun seemed to sit where it barely kissed the distant waves, giving the sky an orangish pink tone. In front of him sat a pier, one that he was no stranger to, yet he had only seen in movies and television shows. ‘Pacific Park’ was inscribed into the archway of the entrance. Behind it sat various theme park rides, all small in size, but worth the experience.
“(Y/N)?”
(Y/N) turned to his right to see Castiel, a small smile on his lips. He was uncertain at first, but once he saw the brilliance in his eyes, he relaxed and mirrored his smile.
“Cas,” he breathed, reached over, and took his hand. “Is this the Santa Monica Pier?”
Castiel looked up at the archway and nodded. “I’ve been here once during my exploration of Earth, and you mentioned that you had never been here before.”
(Y/N) shook his head and pursed his lips. “I think I’ve only been to California a handful of times, most of which were up North near Red Bluff.” He said. “But why are we here?”
Castiel gave his hand a gentle squeeze and began to lead him down the pier. Unlike the true Santa Monica beaches, these were barren. Not a single soul resided on the pier or beach besides (Y/N) and Castiel. It would have been an eerie experience had it not been for the sound of the roaring sea.
“Your nightmares focused on memories, or memories of how Lucifer was, correct?”
“Right?”
“Well, I figured the best way to rid you of those memories is to create new ones while you dream.”
(Y/N) couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his lips. “Like a date?”
“Yes. A date.”
“So, what? You’re going to take me on a date every time I dream now?”
“If that’s what it takes to stop the nightmares and allow you to get some sleep then we will have dates every night while you dream for the rest of your life.”
(Y/N) stopped in his tracks and slowly pulled back on Castiel’s hand. Castiel looked back at him and tilted his head ever so slightly. (Y/N) grabbed Castiel’s other hand, brought both of them up to his lips, and kissed his knuckles.
“Castiel, you are the best boyfriend that anyone could ever ask for. I don’t deserve you.” He said.
“No, Bumblebee. You deserve the world. I would love to give it to you.”
(Y/N) reached up and cupped Castiel’s cheek. “I have my world right here.”
He pressed his forehead against Castiel’s. Their noses brushed against one another, then they kissed. It was short and sweet, but it held all their love and passion behind it. When they parted, they stared deeply at each other.
“I love you, Cas.”
“I love you, too, (Y/N).”
(Y/N) beamed and dropped one of Castiel’s hands. He began to drag him towards the theme park rides.
“Now, come on! I’ve always wanted to ride these!”
Castiel followed at an even pace behind him, and he couldn’t help but feel the guilt and pain that had built up inside of him wash away. To see his partner shine with happiness was an experience he would not soon forget. He made it his mission, from then on out, to guarantee that every dream (Y/N) had would be just as wonderful, if not better, than the last. For, as long as they were together, Castiel pledged that nightmares would be a thing of the past, never to plague the mind of his beloved until the end of his days.
Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!ExAngel!Reader [Platonic]
Warning(s): Mention of past sexual harassment, sexual harassment, angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: Humans are interesting and complex creatures, and ever since the reader lost his grace, he had to learn to become one. Luckily, he had his friends by his side to help him through his trials and tribulations. What happens when he's face-to-face with a human experience he never anticipated, and how will Team Free Will help him resolve his issue?
Request:
Hi! I hope you're having a good day/night. This request is very specific. I would write it myself, but im awful at it. I hope you don't mind, lol.
May you do (ex?)Angel!Male!reader x TFW (platonic obv). You can make it where Reader joined after the angels fell and was castiels past battle partner and was good friends with him, or something else if you'd like.
Reader lost his grace after a rogue angel took it from him. He has no idea how to be human and struggles a lot, even with the help of Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Anyways, to get to the point- Reader picked a pretty attractive vessel, so both men and women hit on him a lot when the group goes to diners or bars and most of the time Reader wanders off to explore since hes never really gone to earth before so the boys never notice, and he doesn't know how to react or what to do when they start to get touchy, only that he doesn't feel comfortable with it at all, but he thinks if he tells them to stop its a form of being rude, so he never says so. the person usually stops when they realize Reader isn't having the type of reaction they were looking for.
When Reader mentioned this to the boys randomly, they realized that Reader didn't know that it was bad that they were touching him and explained what it was, what to say, and do when that happens and comforts him when he finally cries as a human.
Anonymous
A/N: I am so sorry for going off the grid for a while! Honestly, keeping track of dates and time frames has not been my strong point, especially with everything going on with work. Luckily I'm almost done with another request as well and will have that up by this weekend! I hope this gives the request justice. As always, feedback is very much appreciated!
Humans are interesting and complex creatures, each with their own thoughts, wants, needs, and interests. When (Y/N) first joined Castiel on Earth two years prior, he was amazed by the array of personalities and emotions. No two people are alike, but, due to the vast differences, many of them can be categorized under three distinct titles; good, neutral, and evil.
The good people are the ones who are selfless. They take the first step when it comes to helping others. They aren’t perfect but they are as close as anyone can be. Only a small amount of people fit into the category of ‘good’, most of which find themselves canonized into sainthood years after death. Many strive to be classified under such a prestige title, but few make the cut. However, just because someone isn’t worthy of the title, doesn’t make them a bad person automatically.
Neutral individuals are what most would describe as your ‘average Joe’. It is the category in which most people lie. They are neither good nor bad. The choices they make in life come with a mix of positive and negative intentions. An example of a neutral person could be someone’s English teacher, who partakes in volunteer work after hours, or your boss, who had just been caught cheating on his wife with Jim from the mailroom. Just because people do bad things, doesn’t make them inherently evil.
True evil is much darker. An individual who would put a demon to shame with their actions, thoughts, and desires. One with little regard for the well-being of others. Ones that hurt others purely for self-gratification. To gain an advantage. Those are the ones that end up in prison or a seat in Congress. They’re usually manipulative, have a silver tongue placed in their mouth at birth, and can easily coerce those who are weak and gullible.
(Y/N) had met his fair share of individuals from all three categories throughout his time on Earth, supernatural entities excluded. At first, with his angelic powers, he was able to make an assumption of others based solely on their thoughts. Ever since the fall, however, his judgments on people had become rather askew. He was able to get the full experience of being human - not able to truly tell what one was thinking during various interactions - and he would be lying if he said he enjoyed it. Rather, the lack of understanding when it came to others caused him to develop a sense of paranoia. The last thing he wanted was for others to assume the worst of him. Even as an angel, he would treat the worst of the worst with as much kindness as he could muster.
Little did he know that the paranoia would lead to his downfall and a deep realization of how evil some people could be.
The first couple of weeks after his grace was stolen, (Y/N) was lost. He knew next to nothing about maintaining the necessary needs to keep his body alive. It was all tedious in his eyes. Why did humans need to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom so much throughout the day? Who possibly had the time to do so? Do they have to thread their needs into their schedules for work and school? On top of that, why did humans need to pay for food and water? Were they not necessities? Why would someone need to pay to survive? (Y/N) held a plethora of questions in his mind that still go unanswered.
Thankfully, Castiel, Sam, and Dean were all there for him, guiding him through the processes necessary to provide for his new form. It took a while for him to get the hang of it - the most overwhelming thing was when he was introduced to a large variety of foods. All the new flavors and textures send his tongue into sensory overdrive. Dean was more than happy to realize, though, that the two of them were rather fond of the same flavor of pie.
With the loss of his grace came the depletion of his strength. He was no longer invincible to man-made weaponry. Because of this, and since Sam and Dean’s jobs were so physically demanding, they spent weeks in training. Blades, firearms, and hand-to-hand all had their challenges, but (Y/N) was a quick learner, something the brothers respected him highly for. Within a month and a half, he was on the road with them, hopping from case to case.
Saving people, hunting things, the family business.
And true it was. The time he had spent with Castiel and the Winchesters was extensive, and there was never a dull moment. Away from the darkness and the monsters that crept in the night, Sam and Dean were playful jokesters. Childish, yet mature when they needed to be. It was noticeable that Castiel had also developed certain aspects of their personalities, as he was more lighthearted than when (Y/N) first met him. As time passed, (Y/N), too, started to display those characteristics. He felt like a member of the team. A real Winchester. For the first time since the fall, he felt at home.
*~*
(Y/N) had been to a handful of bars since he turned human, before becoming an honorary member of the Winchester family, and there was one fact he could confidently state; he didn’t like them.
Sure, he met some rather nice people while at said bars, mainly the middle-aged female bartenders who gave off a motherly aura, but with every kind individual he saw, he encountered twice as many assholes. Those were the ones that drunkenly called him slurs even though they knew nothing about him, the ones that shoved him out of the way when they wanted to get to the bar, or the ones that continuously pushed their limits on his personal boundaries.
Unfortunately, he had experienced the latter more than he would have liked.
He couldn’t quite describe how he felt when he had those interactions. When a bar patron would press themselves against his back or chest, touch his ass or thighs, or even leave kisses on his neck, shoulders, cheeks, and lips. It was decided, though, that he was extremely uncomfortable. Why would he possibly feel that way? He assumed that touches and kisses were how humans expressed affection towards one another. So, why didn’t he like it? He chalked it up to not being used to that form of affection or affection in general. Surely, he was bound to get comfortable with it eventually.
After-hunt celebrations were common with the Winchesters. Either the day of or the night after, they would all gather at the nearest watering hole, grab a drink or two, and then head back to the motel. Sometimes, Sam or Dean would abandon the group to retreat with a romantic partner, but (Y/N) would always stick with Castiel and the remaining brother. He never had any interest in human relations. It was a new, complex situation outside of learning to be human. He was just getting used to that concept, and he had no desire to learn about other aspects of humanity yet.
Classy Cline’s sat on the edge of a small town in Washington state. While its name suggested an upscale establishment, the place was, in all actuality, a shit hole. The booths and barstools were ripped at every corner of the seam, the tables were chipped and scuffed, and it appeared as if the employees hadn’t swept or mopped the floor in well over a decade. They had all been to nasty bars in the past, but Classy Cline’s took the cake.
“I don’t even wanna drink from this glass,” Sam mumbled as he eyed the pint glass Dean had placed in front of him.
While aesthetics weren’t on Cline’s side, the beer looked more than appetizing. An amber/gold liquid, topped with a beautiful, white head. Any beer enthusiast would foam at the mouth at the sight. The glasses, contrary to the floors, looked spotless. If they had put as much effort into cleaning the building as they did disinfecting the glassware, lines would be out the door, and Cline would be a millionaire.
“Oh, don’t be a baby, Sammy,” Dean rolled his eyes and gave a beer to (Y/N) and Castiel. “It may not live up to its name, but the beer sure looks good.”
“Thank you, Dean,” (Y/N) and Castiel spoke in unison.
“I’ll never get used to that,” Dean shook his head and sat down next to his brother. “It’s as if you two are constantly in sync.”
(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he cupped the glass with one hand, condensation coating his palm. “We’re an American boy band from the 90’s?” He cocked his head to the side.
Dean froze, the glass inches from his lips as he shot him a questioning glance. “While I’m proud of you for remembering what I taught you about music, that’s not what I meant. ‘In sync’. Two separate words.”
“Oh…”
“(Y/N) and I have worked together for well over a century. We’re bound to have some similarities.” Castiel explained.
Dean shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” he took a sip of his beer.
(Y/N) noted Sam’s hesitancy to drink, so he took a moment to examine the liquid himself. It looked clean, safe, and better than many other beers he had drank before. He took a swig and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still very cold. A layer of foam coated his upper lip. Sam picked up his glass and examined the bottom.
“Will you stop that?” Dean scolded. “The beer is fine, Sam, you’re not going to die. You look like an idiot.”
“Well, excuse me for being skeptical, Dean! Have you seen the state of this place? I believe I have a right to be concerned.” Sam hissed.
“The beer is very pleasant, Sam,” (Y/N) smiled as he took another long swig, downing half the pint.
Sam slowly nodded. “I can tell,” he mumbled and glanced down at his glass. He hesitated for a moment before he took a careful sip, letting the liquid rest against his tastebuds before he swallowed. He hummed and raised his brows. “Wow, that’s pretty good.”
“See? Your big brother knows a thing or two about beer,” Dean smiled.
A bartender waltzed into view - an overworked twenty-something with her dirty blonde hair tossed back into a bun that she should have fixed hours ago. She sat a rocks glass in front of (Y/N), the ice emanating a clink inside as it shifted. He stared and intensely studied the dark liquid.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t order this,” he looked up at her.
The bartender sighed and gestured towards the bar. “The man over there sent it,” she grumbled, her voice unenthusiastic and laced with exhaustion. She didn’t give him any time to further investigate before she swiveled through the booths and tables, vanishing into the crowd of regulars.
The group looked at the drink with curiosity before their attention shifted to the bar. Only one of the patrons had their gaze glued to the hunters. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with short, salt-and-pepper hair decorating the top of his head and a beard to match. Age lines crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. A leather jacket covered his broad shoulders and the jeans he wore left little to the imagination. When (Y/N)’s eyes connected with the stranger’s, the man smirked and winked. (Y/N) continued to stare at him, lips slightly parted, until he felt an elbow in his side. His gaze shot over to the eldest Winchester.
“Give him a smile and a wave. That shows him you appreciate it.” Dean said through a smile.
“Oh,” (Y/N) raised his brows and looked back at the man, whose eyes were still on him. He gave a small smile, followed by a timid wave.
The stranger grinned before he turned his head away. (Y/N) looked down and studied the glass once more. The liquid was a slightly darker shade than the beer, but more transparent. When he picked it up, the liquid sloshed inside. The smell was strong but slightly sweet. Whiskey. A sip of it caused him to cringe. It was Fireball. Not the best choice to send a stranger across the bar, but to each their own.
Dean leaned in close to him, his cheeky grin still prominent. “You should go over and talk to him.”
“Why?”
“He just gave you a drink. He wants to talk to you.”
(Y/N) gave Dean a confused stare. “How does that-”
“It doesn’t matter.” Dean waved him off. “He’s flirting with you by sending over the drink! You should go flirt back.”
(Y/N) looked from the drink to Dean, from Dean to the stranger. He was a very attractive man, but (Y/N) was far from interested in flirtation. However, if Dean thought he should, what could go wrong? He trusted Dean’s advice.
Hesitantly, (Y/N) stood, the glass of Fireball in hand, and made his way over to the bar where the gentleman sat. He took the empty barstool next to him. The man looked at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked.
“Good to see you up close,” he said and turned his body to face (Y/N). “You’re even cuter than I thought. Chris,” he held out his hand.
This is a handshake. This is how strangers greet each other.
(Y/n) grasped Chris’ hand and shook it gently. He noticed how firm his grip was. “My name is (Y/N),” he said.
Chris smirked. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” he pulled his hand away and casually placed it on (Y/N)’s knee. “I’ve been coming here for, close to, fifteen years, and I have never seen anyone as good-looking as yourself. You new around here?”
(Y/N)’s eyes shifted to Chris’ hand before they returned to his face. “My friends and I are on a trip.” He replied. It’s a classic lie most hunters use and one that was taught to him early on in his training.
“Ah, and how long will you be staying?”
“I believe this is the last night we’re here.”
“You’re not sure?”
“My friend, Dean, drives us. He knows more about our itinerary than I do.”
“A ‘go with the flow’ kind of man. I like it.”
As they continued to talk, Chris’ hand ventured further up (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing the flesh on his leg from time to time. Simple conversation switched to flirting rather quickly, the majority of it one-sided. What started as cheesy ‘first date’ type questions turned risque in the blink of an eye. At first, they were easy questions that (Y/N) could answer without an issue, but once they started to get dirty, his mind turned blank. Half the vocabulary Chris used was new to him. While he knew all of them revolved around sex, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the definition, regardless of the context clues provided.
He could feel the familiar pit in his stomach as the questions droned on. The sensation that he couldn’t quite give a title to yet. At least, not an accurate one. ‘Uncomfortable’ seemed as if it fit too loosely for the circumstance. It felt as if there were a swarm of bees buzzing around in his stomach, moving from his gut to his chest periodically.
Chris leaned in close to (Y/N)’s ear, his warm, whiskey-filled breath caressing his cheek. (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down. He had lost the ability to maintain constant eye contact when the mood shifted, and the bees began their attack.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Chris asked. “I could show you a thing or two.”
When Chris’s hand landed on (Y/N)’s crotch, every muscle in his body was on fire as they clenched tightly. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide and his body froze. The bees didn’t just fly, they infiltrated his entire nervous system. He felt an overwhelming need to retreat like one would in a battle they knew they couldn’t win. But he wasn’t in a battle. It was a simple conversation. Why did he feel like that?
Chris pressed small kisses on the back of (Y/N)’s ear. (Y/N) inhaled and turned his head slightly, the need to get away from Chris strong. Chris immediately stopped and opened his eyes. He paused for a moment before he pulled away and sighed.
“I see you’re not as interested as I thought you were,” he gave a tight smile, pulled out his wallet, and slammed a twenty on the bar. “Thanks for nothing.” He grumbled before he got up and stormed away.
With his presence gone, (Y/N) felt a sense of peace and ease wash over him. The beating of his heart inside his chest began to lessen and return to a normal pace. With a glance down at his hand, he noticed the way his fingertips trembled. That hadn’t been the first time someone else had gotten so bold with touching him, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. When was that feeling going to go away?
After a minute or so passed, he was able to compose himself enough to stand from the barstool and wander back to the table where Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat. He joined them without a word, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, and grabbed his lukewarm beer. There was no chance he was going to drink anymore that night. Not with his stomach as uneasy as it was.
“Hey, you okay?” Sam asked.
“I’m fine,” (Y/N) spoke.
“You sure?” Dean chimed in. “Guy looked like he had a stick up his ass when he left.
(Y/N) shrugged. “I believe he just wanted to leave.” He tried to keep his voice as straight as possible. He could tell his nerves hadn’t fully recovered.
Dean shook his head. “Well, his loss.”
*~*
One thing (Y/N) adored about being human was the way showers made him feel after a hunt. He never quite realized how tense his muscles could get until the hot water caressed his limbs. It was as if all the adrenaline was washed from his body. It made him feel refreshed. Renewed.
That night, he got the last shower. The water wasn’t as hot as other showers he had taken, but he would accept warm any day. By the time he left the bathroom, clad in a pair of night pants and a loose t-shirt courtesy of the youngest Winchester, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were dressed to leave. Another post-hunt celebration. Dean glanced at (Y/N).
“You’re not coming?” He asked.
(Y/N) shook his head and walked over to his bed. “Not tonight, no.”
“Why not? You never miss out on a bar.”
(Y/N) settled into the bed, and sat up with his legs crossed. “I notice that humans get very physical when they are at bars. I’m not quite used to it yet, so I think I’m going to wait until I’m ready.”
“Ready for what, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked.
“The touching.”
The three of them shared a concerned look before Sam waved his hand dramatically, eyes closed tightly.
“Wait,” he reached a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean ‘get used to’?”
“Well, I’m not accustomed to the way humans express attraction. I surely wasn’t aware that there was as much physical contact involved. So, I figured it was something I would be more comfortable with as time went on. I mean, I never knew strangers were so interested in touching each other’s genitalia.”
They all furrowed their brows, confusion etched perfectly on their faces, and slowly made their way over to the bed. Sam sat at the edge next to (Y/N), Dean stood next to him, and Castiel sat on the opposite side of the bed from Sam.
“(Y/N),” Sam started, his voice soft and steady, the same voice he used when talking to the families of victims. “Have you…given these people permission to touch you?”
(Y/N) cocked his head to the side, slightly taken aback by the question, as it was something he had never even considered before. Had he permitted them to touch him? He could not recall. Then again, he didn’t remember them asking. He took a moment to think back on the times he had been in bars since he became human.
“No,” he answered. “The first couple of times it happened, I pulled away from the touch, as it made me rather uncomfortable, but they would just get upset. One man told me it was wrong to ‘lead him on’ and then deny his touch. After that, I let people touch me. I would like a break from it for tonight.”
“(Y/N), other humans need permission to touch you,” Castiel said.
“But they get upset-”
“To Hell with them being upset,” Dean interjected. “No one has a right to touch you, especially if you don’t want them to.”
“Is that why that one guy left the last bar we went to left? You wouldn’t let him touch you?” Sam asked.
(Y/N) could feel his cheeks and neck heat up. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hide his face. Was it because of the answer to the question? Was it because of the question itself? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of the sense of dread, but he knew it wasn’t going to vanish anytime soon.
He shook his head, eyes cast down to his hands. “I let him touch me. I assume it was because I didn’t respond when he asked me to leave with him.”
Dean’s jaw clenched as he ran a hand down his face. “Son of a bitch,” he growled and began to lightly pace between the motel beds.
Sam slowly shook his head. “(Y/N), those people are horrible. You should never touch someone without consent, and you should never let anyone touch you if you are uncomfortable with it. Do you understand?” His eyes were laced with sympathy.
(Y/N) went to say something, but he felt a lump in his throat prevent him from doing so. Instead, he just gave a short, brief nod.
“I can only imagine how tough it was to become human. To lose all that power. You may not have the power to heal us anymore or read others’ minds, but you are still your own person, (Y/N). You have the power to tell people to keep their hands off of you. You have the power to let yourself have a good time at these places. It doesn’t matter what other people think about your choices. In the end, all that matters is you, okay?”
“Okay,” he replied, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper.
(Y/N) sniffled, and he felt as if his head was pulsing. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. For the first time since he lost his grace, he cried. It wasn’t loud and dramatic, but, rather, soft.
It explained so much. How he hated the way bar patrons touched him, the sinking feeling when they got too close, the panic that coursed through his veins. That was no flaw on his part, but a flaw on the strangers. What they did was wrong, not him.
And that validation broke him.
(Y/N) immediately knew he hated crying. His chest ached as the silent sobs racked his body. In a way, it was relieving, though. It felt as if all of the pent-up discomfort was being released. As if he was reborn. Still, it hurt worse than it did comfort him.
Castiel was the first to respond as he placed a gentle hand against (Y/N)’s back, Sam, being the closest, engulfed him in a near bone-shattering embrace, and Dean halted his paces to kneel beside the bed, one of his hands landing on the small of his back. (Y/N) closed his eyes tight and leaned his head against Sam’s chest. Their touch made him feel safe. This was a good touch. This was how touch should make him feel. He shouldn’t be forced to feel uncomfortable to please others, because, in reality, some people aren’t going to like him, even if the reasons are far from valid. It was a harsh reality, but as long as he had his family by his side, he didn’t mind if the whole world hated him.
After a few quiet minutes, filled with silent cries, the tears stopped. (Y/N)’s eyes were bright red and puffy, and he occasionally sniffled.
“Hey,” Dean said, his voice soothing.
(Y/N) lifted his head from Sam’s chest and glanced over at him. Sam pulled back a bit so the embrace wasn’t nearly as intense.
“If you’re ever in a situation like that, where some douchebag won’t keep his hands off of you, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll kick his ass for you.”
“What if it’s a woman?” He asked quietly.
Dean opened his mouth to give a quick answer but shut it as he thought about it. “Then we will have Cas bring Jody or Charlie in to kick her ass. The point is; fuck everyone else.”
(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Does that not mean to have intercourse with them?”
Dean sighed. “Sam, Cas, a little help?”
“What Dean is trying to say,” Castiel chimed in. “Is that you should not prioritize other peoples’ desires over your comfort. You are more important than a stranger. They are not important, you are, and what other people think doesn’t matter. If someone does not listen to you when you deny them, we will do everything in our power to protect you. We still care about you, and want what’s best for you.”
Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s exactly what I meant.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Look, we know how tough it is to be human. Dean and I have been dealing with this our whole lives. We know that there are setbacks that come with the package, but there are also a ton of fun experiences. We don’t want some jackass to ruin it for you. Cas said it better than Dean or I could. We care about you and want to do everything we can to look out for you. You deserve it.”
The tears reappeared, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. Of relief. As if his heart would burst with all the love and care his friends will it with. (Y/N) took a moment to wrap his arms around each of them in an individual hug to show his appreciation.
“Thank you. I am very grateful to have friends like you.” He smiled warmly.
Dean smiled before he cleared his throat and waved him off. “Alright, enough of the chick-flick crap,” he said as he stood from his spot on the floor, a groan escaping his throat that he tried not to make too noticeable. “What do you say we skip the bar tonight, order some takeout, and watch a movie? I hear Roadhouse is on at seven.”
(Y/N) cocked his head to the side. “What’s Roadhouse?”
Dean froze, wide-eyed. His jaw dropped in shock. “‘What’s Roadhouse’?” He repeated in disbelief. “Action movie? Patrick Swayze? Sam Elliott? Kelly Lumch? Julie Michaels? Keith David!?” With each name, his voice got louder.
“Are those actors?”
“I-” Dean threw his hands up as he turned his back on him and began to pace around the room once more.
(Y/N) flashed a worried look at Castiel, then Sam. Sam shook his head and chuckled.
“Dean’s just being dramatic,” he whispered, which caused (Y/N) to let out a sigh of relief.
“I am not being dramatic!” Dean retorted before he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “This is all my fault. I was so focused on teaching him about good music that movies never crossed my mind. Have you at least seen Indiana Jones?”
“Indiana…as in the state?”
“If it makes you feel any better, (Y/N), I, too, have yet to see Roadhouse or Indiana Jones,” Castiel said.
Dean deadpanned. “I have some work to do. Sam, go get us some food. I need to make a list of movies for them to watch.”
Sam snorted as he stood from his spot on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Just text me what you guys want.” He mumbled and retrieved his jacket from the back of one of the chairs.
As Sam left to get them food, Dean began to ramble on about movies he determined (Y/N) and Castiel had to watch, most of which were either action or old westerns. He talked with such passion regarding the films that (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile. Dean was right, the opinions of others didn’t matter, especially those whose only goal was to satisfy their selfish desires, disregarding others’ wellbeing. They were foolish, scum, true lions in sheep’s clothing. Those hidden evil beings could make themselves look innocent. (Y/N) didn’t need to please them. Didn’t need to make them happy. He only wanted to make his family happy, just as they did him. For how much they’ve helped him on his treacherous journey into manhood, they deserve it, for they have taught him the most valuable lesson of all;
