Title: they know not what they do
Square Filled: Justin Smith!Sam (S14)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Summary: When all the town's mysterious force did was make Sam happy, it didn't seem so urgent. But everything went downhill so quickly from there, and Castiel lost him in fractions until he was gone, until Sam became a stranger.
The case was simple enough. That didn't mean it wouldn't hurt.
Word Count: 4574
(read on Ao3)
Created for @swansongbingo
It wasn't that Castiel couldn't eat, or didn't enjoy it, if the meal was good. It wasn't that Mrs. Dowling’s pot roast wasn't good - quite the opposite in fact. By the smell alone, he guessed it was well cooked, and well seasoned. It must have been delicious.
It was that, for all indigestion wasn't something he’d ever have to deal with, something inside Castiel felt deeply, deeply wrong. Like his stomach had shifted an inch and a half to the left of where it ought to have been. Like even the finest chefs on Earth couldn't have cooked him anything that wouldn't make him vaguely queasy, and taste like ashes in his mouth.
Something about the town. Charming Acres.
He wasn't sure when he'd last seen Sam excited about food, but if this pot roast was enough to make him settle down and rest, eat, take care of his body for once, Cas wouldn't complain. He looked at it like a gift from heaven when Mrs. Dowling set it down in front of him, and when she was out of the room, Castiel gave Sam his own portion as well.
At least he wouldn't have to suffer Mrs. Dowling's offended looks over the slight of not eating what she’d graciously cooked. Like the looks she'd given him for the apparent indiscretion of simply existing here, in this town where he didn’t belong.
Cas watched Sam eat, and reminded himself: something wasn’t right. These people were not themselves. And Sam was not immune.
Forgive them, for they know not what they do.
Sam tucked into the second portion of pot roast with as much gusto as he did the first. In spite of himself, Cas smiled just to see him enjoy it.
Cas followed Sam to his room - Sam’s, not theirs. Because even in 2019, travelling rural America as a same sex couple was a constant series of battles to pick and choose from, and Charming Acres didn’t seem like the place, or possibly even the time, to try and justify “FBI agents but also gay lovers” to any of the locals. Castiel’s room was located one floor above Sam’s. The beds, however, being just wide enough, maybe, to fit two grown men (even when one was of Sam’s size), Cas figured the third floor room would go absolutely untouched.
Sometimes modern America just irked Castiel. He hated that one had to jump through so many hoops and write epics of justification for the simple platonic comfort of sleeping next to a family member, never mind that Sam was his partner, too.
Sam made a beeline for the dresser, where he’d already unpacked. Cas sat on Sam’s bed, half-lounging against the headboard with his feet, still in their shoes, hanging awkwardly off the side. He flicked through the letters he’d found in Conrad’s room, pouring over them a second time in search of some smoking gun, as Sam moved around the small space, in ritualistic preparation for sleep.
“Of course, our first order of business in the morning should be returning to the ice cream shop,” Cas said, almost absently.
“Hm?” Sam hummed, stepping back out of the ensuite bathroom with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.
Cute, Cas couldn't help but think.
“To speak to Sunny,” he clarified.
“Oh,” Sam said, distorted by his mouth full of toothpaste. He stepped back into the bathroom to spit, and Cas heard the faucet running. “Right.”
“I have to admit, I’m glad you’ve let go of some of this urgency,” Castiel said. “I know you don’t need me to tell you it doesn’t serve you to push yourself to exhaustion, but--”
“No, you’re right,” Sam said. He came back into the bedroom, flicking out the bathroom light. Cas sat up to greet him.
“I am?” Castiel asked. He still couldn’t quite internalize how quickly Sam had gone from his trauma-hardened, nose-to-the-grindstone philosophy to this new, albeit affected, laissez-faire version of himself.
Sam sat down next to him. “Well, yeah,” he said. “Monster’ll still be here in the morning. Why rush? Why can’t we enjoy a good night’s sleep? A beautiful day? A home cooked meal?”
Cas found himself smiling. “I’m glad you feel that way,” he said. “I… I want that for you.”
Sam beamed. “And I,” he said, planting his hand on Cas’ knee like he was giving a pep talk. “Want that for you.”
Castiel’s hand found Sam’s on his knee, brushed over the ridges of his knuckles, and he leaned in to claim a kiss. It had barely begun, however, before Sam let out a surprised grunt, a small sound of protest, and Cas pulled back instantly.
“Is something wrong?” He asked.
“Ah, I, um…” Sam sputtered.
Strange, Cas thought.
“You just, uh, took me off guard, there, Cas,” Sam said, pulling back his hand. Castiel’s heart broke. Just a fraction.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Can I… would you like to…?”
“Um…” Sam mumbled, but without a word spoken, he cupped Cas’ jaw and went back in, trying valiantly to close the distance he’d placed between them. But something wasn’t quite there, anymore. Wasn’t quite right.
Sam’s eyes closed, his mouth pressed against Cas’, but something about him was stiff. His touch was too light, his lips unyielding and awkward, and it was like kissing an entirely different person. An energy of discomfort rolled off of Sam, so thick and putrid that Cas couldn’t have continued if he’d wanted to, and so Cas pulled back.
“It’s okay,” Cas rushed to say, before Sam could try and explain.
“I’m sorry,” Sam blurted out.
“It’s okay,” Cas repeated, quieter.
Sam shook his hands out in front of him. “I don’t know what’s wrong I just feel… I just feel weird, you know? Maybe I’m sick.”
“Maybe you are,” Cas said. He weighed the pros and cons of presenting his little theory on the town’s influence, but decided Sam wouldn’t be able to accept it, anyway. He sighed. “We can just go to bed, Sam.”
Still lost in his own thoughts, Sam nodded.
“I assume it’s still alright if I sleep here?” Cas asked. Or, rather, lay beside him with his eyes shut, but Sam knew what he meant.
“Uh, sure,” Sam replied, shaking himself. “I mean, if you want to. If you’re sure.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, if I’m sick…” Sam said, in a thin, wavering voice. “I wouldn’t want you to… you know. Catch anything.”
Ah.
Cas understood. Like a creeping cold eating into his form, from the paper thin lie, he understood.
Castiel stood from the bed. He tried to remind himself that Sam was not fully in control of his own emotions. He tried not to feel foolish for having thought a calming little dose of mind control would come without side effects and ulterior motives. For thinking that a town straight from the pages of the Saturday Evening Post would allow those under it’s quell to even think about so-called deviance of their kind. Some things, perhaps, just couldn’t quite survive assimilation.
Castiel didn’t turn on the light, when he returned to his own room. He shut the door. He sat on the bed.
He thought about finding a book, sitting in the common area of the boarding house and reading all night. But something in him felt tender. For all the privacy of his room was conditional, owned by someone else, it was still a place to be alone. And if he couldn’t be alone with Sam, well, he’d be alone by himself.
Forgive him, he knows not what he does.
Cas’ body felt unbearably heavy. He lay down on top of the bed covers, still dressed, still in his coat and shoes. He laced his fingers together over his stomach, body rigid. Closed his eyes. Like a corpse, all dressed and ready for burial.
He was being horribly melodramatic. How sad, moping over his lover’s rejection when Sam wasn’t himself, anyway. Lying in the dark, feeling sorry for himself.
Castiel approximated sleep, stillness and quiet, and did his best to clear his mind and not let his emotions get the best of him. He counted the seconds, minutes, until he faded out into the haze of the closest thing he could get to rest, and he waited for dawn. It would feel better in the morning. It always did.
In the morning, Sam was gone.
If the atmosphere in town was enough to set Castiel on edge, Cindy Smith sparked a gut, primal fear in his stomach. The painted face and flawlessly sculpted, unmoving smile, would have looked forced enough in a vintage Jell-O advertisement, and there was something uncanny about the way it twisted the face of the living, breathing woman in front of him. He wondered if the townspeople were universally dominated, body and mind, or if any of themselves were left. If Cindy had ever had a choice. If she was awake, in there, under the updo and pearls.
He tried to sit. She screamed at him. A raging roar erupted from her, from such a slight woman, and yet it was all of it wiped away in an instant. Vanished to be replaced with that tidy little smile.
And yet, somehow, the giggle she let out a minute later, when Castiel told her her husband had died, was almost worse.
“No, my husband, he’s good,” Cindy sang, with her voice like an old radio.
“No, he’s not,” Cas replied.
And then he found Sam.
“Oh, hi, there,” Sam said, walking into the living room like he owned the place, in clothing Castiel had never seen before. Cas schooled his expression as best he could, took his shock and worry and stuffed it deep, deep down inside of himself. He took Sam’s offered hand, shook hands with him like they were total strangers. His stomach shifted another few inches to the left.
“Agent,” Cas choked out, at a loss for words.
“Justin,” Sam corrected. “Justin Smith. And you are?”
Castiel’s mouth went dry. He was… how did he even begin to answer that question to the man he’d pulled from hell, saved and injured, loved and hurt and lived with and slept with for years, now? Who was he? Who was Castiel?
Who was Castiel when he was a stranger to Sam? He didn’t know that person, anymore.
“Your partner,” Cas said, gently, but firmly, and meaning it in both senses of the word. As if Sam would slap his own forehead and exclaim ‘ah! Of course! How could I have forgotten?’
But he didn’t. Sam looked lost for a moment, like he was trying to remember, but seemed to just give up without much effort. Like he’d just decided to shrug it off, or like some comforting alternative explanation sprung to mind, something that didn’t challenge his unwanted new worldview.
“Partner!” Sam - Justin - Sam repeated back. “Super! That’s swell! Great!”
Castiel wondered if Sam had successfully convinced even himself, but Cindy didn’t seem to have any curiosity of her own and Sam didn’t ask any further questions. It was like Castiel’s words just rolled off of their minds like water on a window, unable to truly get inside.
“Tell you what,” Sam continued. “Why don’t you stick around? We’re having pot roast.”
He kissed Cindy on the cheek. Dispassionate. A pantomime of romance.
Fucking pot roast.
Castiel shut down, trying to process it all. Sam and Cindy exchanged words he didn’t care to listen to, just the looks between them making him feel unwell. He watched after Cindy as she left the room, not really seeing her, just looking as, in his mind, he was spiralling down, down.
Sam… Sam wasn’t her husband. Sam wasn’t hers. Sam didn’t belong to this town, didn’t belong in this house, didn’t… didn’t…
Sam didn't belong to anyone but Sam, but Sam belonged to Castiel. With Castiel. Him, and Dean, and Jack, and Mary. With their family.
His grip on his surroundings, his vessel, had gone fuzzy, and he jumped when Sam touched his shoulder, just a shade too light to be familiar.
“Would you like one?” Sam asked. Cas had already lost track of what was being offered. It didn’t matter.
“Your name is Sam Winchester,” Castiel insisted, in his most forceful tone of voice.
“So, that’s a no-no on the hooch?” Sam asked with a nervous laugh.
“Sam, I don’t know what’s happened. I don’t know if this is a spell, or a curse,” Cas said, and Sam began looking around, back towards the hall down which Cindy had disappeared. Nervous. Confused, and unwilling to be enlightened. “But you will snap the hell out of it!”
Sam - Justin - jumped when Castiel raised his voice, startled out of complacency but not out of whatever delusion was holding him. He waggled a finger in Cas’ general direction, like the world’s least aggressive threat. “Sir!” he exclaimed, moved to anger. “You watch your mouth! If we cannot remain civil, then you can skedaddle.”
“Sam--” Cas began, but it was apparently the last straw for Justin.
“That’s not my name!” He said, and immediately called for his wife.
Sam wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, turning him towards the door, and grabbed him by the back of his coat’s collar. He steered Cas forward with that pressure, angry and forceful, and Cas almost thought he could feel the heat of Sam’s hand through his coat, his suit jacket, his shirt, burning against the back of his neck and radiating through him. A touch in anger, in almost-violence, the only impotent intimacy he was allowed.
Sam threw Cas out of Justin’s house. As he slammed the door, insisting again that there was no longer any Sam Winchester, his picture perfect, Jell-O advertisement wife was posed like a porcelain figurine in the hallway behind him.
Cas was only parked a few blocks away, as far as he could safely trust himself to drive with the noise buzzing in his head and the horrible tension in his body, when Dean’s name lit up his phone screen.
Hands trembling, Cas fumbled the phone and considered just letting it ring out, and getting the voicemail later. He didn’t know what he was supposed to tell Dean, just then. “Hey, I lost your brother’s brain, and I’m too busy having feelings about it to tell you it’s gonna be ok.” That wouldn’t do.
Though, really, neither would anything else. And he wasn’t handling it like such a champ on his own, was he?
He accepted the call.
“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, tapping it over to speaker phone and putting it on the dashboard in front of him.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean answered, tinny but clear. “Just trying to check in with you two. Sam’s not picking up.”
“I know,” Castiel said.
There was a long pause. “Details, Cas,” Dean said, frustration creeping into his tone.
“He’s fine,” Cas said. “Physically, anyway. He’s just fallen under this sort of wide cast, but powerful mind control. He doesn’t remember himself, right now, but he’s not in danger. I’ll get him back.”
He heard Dean breathe out a sigh on the other end of the line. “Like, honestly casual ‘we’ll get him back,’ or ‘I’ll move heaven and Earth to save him’ ‘we’ll get him back’?” He asked, doing his best impression of Cas’ lower tone.
“There are maybe a hundred and fifty, two hundred people here under this spell, and they have been for years, maybe decades,” Cas said. “So far only two have died. Whatever’s doing this, it’s not out to hurt the people it’s controlling. It just… it just makes them… happy.”
“Happy?” Dean asked.
Cas closed his eyes and leaned back in the driver’s seat.
“It’s using him to replace the last victim,” Cas explained. “Slotted him into this prefabricated life Justin Smith left behind. He’s got a house, a wife, his voice is different, his clothes… He’s wearing a cardigan...”
“A wife?” Dean scoffed. “Wow. I’m surprised you didn’t swoop in there and start smiting just to get her off your man. He’s gonna owe you some hardcore apology sex for that, huh?”
Cas didn’t answer. After a minute Dean spoke again.
“Cas, I didn’t mean anything by that,” Dean said. “He wouldn’t. If he was himself, he wouldn’t.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t let it eat you, alright?” Dean asked.
Cas stayed quiet another long, long minute before speaking again.
“He’s happy, Dean,” Cas said softly.
“It’s not real,” Dean replied.
“But if it were,” Cas interrupted. “If he could… you know as well as I do that your life isn’t the one he wanted for himself, not really--”
“So what, Cas, he’d wanna be stuck in some blissed out mind fuck fantasy world?” Dean asked, cutting him off. “I’ve been down this road, okay? I know it’s not ideal. Sam knows it’s not ideal. I’m out here throwing shit at the wall with Jack trying to figure out if anything sticks, we’re not good right now, and I know that. But Sam chooses us. Again and again. He chooses you.
“Of course he’s happier without all that weight on his shoulders. We’d all be happier if we could forget the last… the last thirty five fuckin’ years. But it’s not real. And it’s not what he wants. And the only reason he thinks otherwise is because something got into his brain and made him think that. It’s not because some hot chick came along and offered something better.”
“I--” Castiel opened his mouth to protest, to throw some gas of the pity party bonfire, but he fell short. What could he say? He knew Dean was right - even if he couldn’t make it feel true.
“Cas, if you need Jack and I to come down there--” Dean began.
“No,” Castiel said. “No, Dean, I-- I’m going to get him back. Don’t worry about us.”
Dean half-laughed. “I always worry about him,” he said. “But if there’s anyone I can trust with Sammy, it’s you. I know you’ll jog his memory - even if it takes true love’s kiss, or some shit like that.”
Dean hung up not long after that.
Castiel stayed there, sitting in the driver’s seat of his parked car, for a while longer.
When he was ready, at last, Cas shook himself, and turned the ignition. He’d wasted enough time lamenting the loss of Sam already - it was time to get Sam back. And Cas might not know where this force of influence was coming from - not exactly - but he knew who to ask.
For once, the monster came to him.
It came with a human face, flanked by men who were no longer themselves, and with Sam. Broad and strong as he was, of course, when bodies were needed, the monster came with Sam.
“I won’t hurt you, Sam,” Castiel said, preparing himself to fight as the three men advanced upon him.
“Golly, I told you, my name is Justin!” Sam yelled back.
Castiel kept his promise. The other two men, he could hurt. Wouldn’t kill them, not for the sins of their slavemaster, but he wouldn’t let them hurt him, either. But Sam, he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Cas deflected blows, threw Sam to the ground before turning to deal with his equally unwilling compatriots.
He, of all people, shouldn’t have underestimated Sam’s ability to fall hard and get back up again.
Sam tackled Castiel to the ground before Cas even saw him coming, already at a hell of a speed when he slammed, full bodied, into him. The fall was enough to distract Castiel, disorient him for just a minute. It was long enough that Sam managed to pin him to the ground, seat his weight across Cas’ hips, and thoroughly trap him. Worse - it was enough for Sam to disarm him.
Sam hovered over Castiel, wielding Cas’ own blade, and he had no hesitation. The only thing stopping Sam from staking Cas to the floor of the ice cream shop then and there was Cas finally coming back to his senses, throwing an arm out and using every ounce of strength in his body to hold onto Sam’s wrist, locking out his elbow and refusing to go down without a fight.
“Fight this!” Castiel screamed.
“Why?” Sam asked, and more than any other time that day Cas had seen ‘Justin,’ he was not Sam. “I’m happy in Charming Acres. We’re all happy!”
All except Castiel.
Because this was it. Because if he couldn’t get Sam back, Sam might as well kill Castiel, but so long as there was a spark of free will in him, Cas wasn’t going to stop. And he wasn’t going to let that spark go out in Sam, either. Not when they’d carried one another through darkness so many times before. Not when they had people back home relying on them to pick up the torch.
“Sam, I know you want to be happy,” Cas said, forcing the words through clenched teeth as he struggled to keep the blade away. “And I know what it’s like to lose your army. I know what it’s like to fail as a leader, Sam. But you have to keep fighting. You can’t lose yourself, because if you do, you fail us.”
Sam was unmoved. He still struggled to overpower Cas, to land the killing blow.
“You fail us,” Castiel continued, desperate and reaching a breaking point. It was this or nothing. This or it was over. “You fail all of those that we’ve lost. You fail Jack. Sam, you fail Dean.”
Cas had hardly finished speaking when Justin made a last show of force, and he felt his elbow give out. And for a moment, it was over.
Then there was the high pitched crunch of a ceramic tile shattering mere inches from his head.
It worked. Sam was… was...
Justin - Sam - ripped the glasses from his face, still panting like he’d run a marathon. “Cas?”
“Sam,” Cas breathed.
Shaken, Sam looked at the spot where he’d buried Castiel’s blade in the floor, then back to Cas. He put one trembling hand on Cas’ cheek.
“I--” Sam began.
“It’s okay,” Cas interrupted.
Sam half lay down over Cas, half lifted Cas to him, gathering him into a tight, desperate embrace, face buried in Cas’ neck. Cas, in turn, wrapped his arms around Sam’s middle. And the touch… like nothing else. So close, after their ordeal. So fucking close.
“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Castiel shushed him.
Sunny, Cas thought. The case. The monster. There wasn’t time.
“Harrington,” he said to Sam, and without another word, Sam understood. He released Cas, got to his feet before helping his partner up.
“Let’s get the son of a bitch,” he said.
It never felt quite right, walking away when the hunt was over. Some part of Castiel always longed to wait, to help, to do anything except leave the survivors with broken lives and questions they couldn’t answer. But Sunny was strong - if anybody could handle it, she could.
He hoped she’d be alright.
As Sam and Cas walked back to the car, Cas gazed, a little sadly, up and down the quiet main street. Right now, there were a hundred some odd people waking up with homes and families they didn’t know. In clothes they didn’t like. In bed with people they hadn’t chosen.
And Harrington got away with it. Stopped, but not punished.
But such was the way, in this place and time. In most places, at most times. Someone chose what a normal life looked like and everyone else could either join, make themselves inoffensive and consumable, or they could suffer on the outskirts. The only difference here was what skin that oppression came wearing.
Castiel didn’t always enjoy humanity. Not all of it.
Sam stripped off Justin Smith’s cardigan and threw it on the ground, having abandoned the overcoat already somewhere along the way. As they reached the car, he started working on the tie, too, but he was clearly flustered and struggled to get his fingers in the knot.
“Here,” Cas said, gently pushing Sam’s hands away from his throat. “Let me.”
Sam stood quietly on the sidewalk while Cas carefully, methodically untied and removed the thin strip of tartan fabric. Sam kept his eyes down.
“I know you didn’t mean it,” Cas said softly, when he was done, wrapping the tie into a little ball.
Sam nodded. “I didn’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, I was… I was weak.”
“Not weak,” Cas corrected. “Human.”
Sam sighed, shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and leaned back against the car. He turned his face up to the sky, staring at nothing.
Cas, however more stiffly, joined him. “It’s human to want happiness,” he said. “Peace.”
Sam shook his head. “That wasn’t happiness,” he said. “They’re not… we weren’t exactly awake, under it all, but we weren’t unconscious. And even if you smile, and go through the motions… I don’t know Cindy - if that’s even her name. She doesn’t know me. Maybe not knowing about all the shit we’ve been through, maybe that would make me happier, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever want to be sitting in the suburbs drinking martinis all day.”
“Hm,” Castiel hummed in thought. “You’d rather be in the middle of nowhere drinking whiskey all day.”
Sam looked down at him. He must have found that funny, because he smirked, a half smile like he couldn’t quite hold it back, wasn’t quite distraught enough not to laugh. He took Cas’ hand.
“With you,” he said. “And Dean, and Jack, and Mom, but… for the record? If this was some other world, if there were no monsters, no hell, if I just met you at a coffee shop one day? I’d still rather be with you.”
“I do, Cas,” Sam said. “Because even under all of that… that shit, part of me still knew. Part of me still would have run off with you, and damn the consequences.”
Castiel didn’t know how to respond to that, knew it made him happy, but not how to answer for it. For the idea that… that even at their most distant, the gravitational pull was still mutual.
Cas looked at Sam, who was looking at him, and an urge struck him. He reached for the nape of Sam’s neck, and when Sam allowed the touch, his fingers wormed into Sam’s hair and he felt the elastic hair band holding Sam’s tiny approximation of a ponytail. Cas pulled it out and Sam’s hair fell like a light, soft curtain around his face.
Cas smiled. Sam smiled back.
“There you are,” Castiel said. He used both his hands to finger comb through the mess the fight had made of Sam’s hair, and Sam shut his eyes momentarily, feeling the soothing motion on his scalp.
“Are you ready to go home?” Cas asked.
Sam sighed, leaning back to look at the stars once more. Some of his old mood took him back again, and Castiel wished he know how to cleanse it.
“Back to Lebanon? Honestly? No,” Sam said with a shrug. He stepped forward off the car, crowded in around Cas and bent to give him a short, soft kiss. “But back to our family? Absolutely.”
Summary: "The court was nearly returned to normal...as normal as Hell can get, at least…"
WC: 997
Tags/warnings: nothing in here you won't see on the show
A/N: After much wailing and hand wringing, I did it! My piece for @crispychrissy and her Gif It To Me Challenge, prompts below, also filling in the following bingo squares: a day in the life of Crowley for @crowleybigbang bingo, Demon!Dean for @heavenandhellbingo, and King of Hell!Crowley for @swansongbingo. This fits on the timeline between s9 and s10, for whom it may concern, and a shout-out to @letsby for looking this over. Enjoy!
###
The court was nearly returned to normal...as normal as Hell can get, at least. Abaddon was dead and her followers were soon to, well, follow. There was no one who stood to take Crowley's throne from him. And now that he had kicked the habit of human blood, things seemed to be looking up for the King of Hell.
He even had a new bestie.
It had been a long day of torturing captives and executing traitors, and while he enjoyed bringing his kingdom back in line, he was glad to be able to step away and take some time for himself, have a whiskey, cuddle the hellhounds, and contemplate his victory. He was in his private quarters, in his favorite armchair with a glass of Craig, and Juliet at his feet. It was blissfully quiet, and he had earned a peaceful moment or two.
And it seemed like two was all he was going to get.
Juliet sat at attention, a low growl rumbling from deep in her belly, glancing up at the door a moment before it burst open. Crowley looked up with an angry outburst on his lips, but paused when he caught sight of the intruder, his ire fading with a pleased smile. "Dean," he said, "where have you been?"
The elder Winchester sauntered into the room, shrugging. "Around," he replied. "What, you think I'm gonna sit through all your trials and executions when you won't let me in on the action?"
"We've been over this," Crowley replied, getting to his feet. "I need you to keep a low profile while I sort out which demons are mine and which were Abaddon's. They tend to run scared when they think a Knight of Hell might be after them. After that, there will be more than enough action to pacify the Mark."
Dean rolled his eyes. It was...sort of...a shame what the Mark of Cain turned him into, and Crowley truly had no idea what would happen when he suggested Dean take it, but it was breaking eggs to make omelets when one thought about it. Not his fault, really. And he wasn't about to complain when it meant Abaddon was history and he had a new and powerful ally. Saying nothing of the fact that he'd had eyes on Dean for a long time, in more ways than one. Hard to feel bad about the whole "becoming a demon" thing when he hit the bloody jackpot.
On the other hand, the Mark still demanded blood, and it took some work keeping its bearer on a leash.
Crowley took a few steps toward Dean and Juliet followed, her growls silenced. "Forgive me for saying, Squirrel, but I need subtlety for a moment, and that's hardly your strong suit."
"Wanna bet?" Dean replied, smiling. He disappeared into the hallway for a moment, then came back into the room leading a bound and gagged, bruised and bloodied demon Crowley recognized from his court. "You remember Thaddeus, right?"
"Of course." Crowley drained the last of the Scotch in the glass and looked the demon up and down; there was no telling how Dean had managed to successfully secure him, considering Dean's own state, but it was certainly impressive. He indicated the bonds and bruises with a gesture and said, "I assume there's a reason for this."
"You're gonna love this. Your man Tad, here? One of Abaddon's."
Crowley raised his eyebrows. "You don't say? And how did you deduce that?"
"Come on, Crowley, you know I'm not just a pretty face. I put out a few rumors that there's a new sheriff in town. I mean, I already killed Abaddon, so why wouldn't I try to get rid of you?"
"A truly heartwarming notion, Squirrel."
"Oh, don't get your panties in a twist. It worked. Tad came sniffing around, saying he had passed information to the Bitch That Would Be Queen, and he could do the same for me, if I made it worthwhile. I'd say it's worthwhile for someone, don't you think?"
Crowley nodded slowly, turning to Thaddeus. "And what do you have to say for yourself, Tad?" Thaddeus mumbled around the gag, but it fell away with a snap of Crowley's fingers.
"He's lying, your Majesty, he wants your throne! He said it himself, why wouldn't he try to kill you?"
"Tad, come on, why do I want stuck in this hellhole? This literal hellhole?"
"He's got a point, Dean," Crowley reasoned, his tone mild. "We've been mortal enemies often enough, and now's the perfect opportunity to wipe me off the slate. Why should I trust you, over one of my own loyal subjects?"
Dean leaned in, imposing in presence as well as stature. "Crowley," he said, his eyes turning black, "if I wanted to kill you, I could, and you couldn't stop me. We both know it."
Crowley nodded, drawing his angel blade. "Also a good point." He thrust the blade into Thaddeus's stomach; the demon let out a short scream and a spark of orange light glowed beneath his skin, then he fell silent, his body hitting the floor with a thud.
"Well?" Dean prompted. "Subtle enough for your Highness?"
"Impressive," Crowley conceded, glancing at the blood on the blade. "I never suspected him."
"What can I say? I'm an asset in the field. Think of what we could have done if you didn't keep me sidelined--"
"Blah, blah, blah," Crowley muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.
"--and didn't you say something about howling at the moon?"
Crowley stared at him.
Dean gave him a charming smile. "What do you say? Stick around for another day at the office, or go cut loose for a change?"
This was bound to end badly, but the idea did sound tempting...and Crowley knew a thing or two about temptation…
He shrugged and stowed the blade, giving Juliet a scratch behind the ears. "You know something, Squirrel? I think we've earned a vacation."
Squared Filled: Late Night Call ( @spngenrebingo); Dad!Sam ( @samwinchesterbingo); Pups ( @spnabobingo); Free Square( @swansongbingo)
Summary: Being an Alpha hunter isn’t easy when you have to leave your Omega and your pups at home. One night Sam can’t seem to fall asleep away from home, apparently, neither does one of your kids.
Pairing: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Uterus Owner!Omega!Reader, +Dean Winchester, Luna Winchester (OC)
WC: 770 words
Warnings: I opted for the name “Zaza” for the reader, as it is a non-gender-specific name to address one’s parent and I find it very cute.
Once Upon a Dream
Squared Filled: Make Up ( @spngenrebingo); Gabriel ( @swansongbingo); Changing Scent ( @spnabobingo); Dancing on his feet ( @spnfluffbingo2019)
Summary: You’re freshly back out of a hunt when Gabriel picks out a change in your scent. Turns out, something is about to change in your little family of three.
Pairing: Alpha!Human!Gabriel x Omega!Reader (gender not specified, but can get pregnant)
WC: 1k words
Warnings: I opted for the name “Zaza” for the reader, as it is a non-gender-specific name to address one’s parent and I find it very cute. Also, there is an explanation to why Gabriel is human, just go read. Lots of fluff.
The Single Parents Club
Squares Filled: Human!Cas ( @spnkinkbingo); Human!Castiel ( @swansongbingo); Pine/Snow/Wood Smoke ( @spnabobingo); Single Parent ( @spnfluffbingo2019)
Summary: Moving out of your home town with a kid after losing your spouse was a tough decision for you, but you who knew you would find a new opportunity on love thanks to your son finding a new best friend.
Pairing: Human!Omega!Chuck x Alpha!Reader (No gender defined)
Other Characters: Castiel, Gabriel, Lucifer, Raphael, Michael, John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jody Mills, Patience Turner, Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Donna Hanscum, Alex Jones, Claire Novak.
WC: 2.5k words
Warnings: Human AU. I opted for the name “Zaza” for the reader, as it is a non-gender-specific name to address one’s parent and I find it very cute. Y/L/N = Your last name. I’m also using ‘mannie’ as an addressing from Castiel to his other parent, for the same reason I’m using Zaza.
A/N: Proofread by the lovely @joannie95
Stay, please
Rating: General
Squared Filled: The Ex ( @spngenrebingo); Chuck ( @swansongbingo).
Summary: You loved Chuck with all your heart, but all of the ‘I love you’s and the promises in the world wouldn’t be able to fix the disaster your relationship had become.
Pairing: Past Chuck x Reader (no gender specified)
WC: 700 words
Warnings: Angst. I cried while writing this and listening to the song and I’m not sorry. I actually tried writing this story once and lost it, so I guess it’s way overdue.
The Fall (Part 1)
Squares Filled: Fallen!Cas ( @spnkinkbingo); Guardian Angel AU ( @spnfluffbingo2019); Ellen Harvelle ( @swansongbingo)
Pairing: Castiel x Reader
Other Characters: Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Zachariah, Crowley (Mentioned).
Summary: As a guardian angel, Castiel only had one duty: Watch out for you so you didn’t die. He’s not supposed to feel affection towards you or long to be by your side. He wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you. But he still did.
WC: 910 words
Warnings: A bit of angst, fluff… I don’t think there’s a lot.
All to Ourselves (Picspam)
Title: All to Ourselves
Square Filled: MOL Bunker:
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Just some kissing and light makeout.
Ship(s): Sam Winchester x Reader:
Summary: Dean is gone, so now you and Sam have the bunker all to yourselves.
Like Family Does
Squared Filled: Nephilim ( @swansongbingo); Soulmate AU ( @spndeanbingo)
Summary: After weird situations started happening around a small town, you and the boys decide to investigate. You expect to find a trickster, instead, you find your father. It’s not exactly a nice family reunion.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Nephilim!Reader
Rating: Teen and Up
WC: 1.5k words
Warnings: Spoilers. Tension and angst. Soulmate AU where once you’re bonded you can feel each other’s pain. The amount of family problems in this one is huge.
Sam’s bad day, Dean’s good day; (Gif set)
Hello, Goodbye (Gif Set)
Not Baby
Title: Not Baby
Square Filled: Other Vehicles ( @swansongbingo )
Rating: General
Warnings: Nothing really.
Ship(s): None.
I Call it Love
Title: I Call it Love
Square Filled: Eileen Leahy ( @swansongbingo )
Rating: General
Warnings: Nothing really.
Ship(s): Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy
Angel With a Shot Gun (video)
Awesome
Squared Filled: Claire Novak ( @swansongbingo)
Summary: You were the stark opposite of Claire. Where she was a sassy troublemaker, you were very gentle and bubbly; she didn’t know what you saw in her and couldn’t understand how in hell she’d gotten such an amazing person like you in her life, but she was very grateful you did.
Pairing: Claire Novak x Female!Reader
WC: 1.3k words
Warnings: Spoilers, some angst (?) at the start and then lots of fluff. I just want good things for Claire, is it too much to ask?
Summary: Thriving at Stanford, Sam believes he is finally free to embrace who he really is.
Read on AO3 (I might turn this into a full length fic)
“Sam? What’s wrong?”
Sam lifted his eyes from his computer screen to meet Jessica’s. Holding her cup of coffee, she stared at him. She was already dressed and ready to head out for her morning class.
Sam smiled at her. “Nothing’s wrong. Um, far from it actually.” He swallowed hard and returned his focus to his computer screen to make sure he had read the e-mail properly.
“What is it, babe? Did—oh my God. Did you get it? The scores?” She stepped into the kitchen.
“Yup.”
“And?” she asked, putting down her cup on the counter.
Sam looked at her again. She was staring at him intensively and kept shifting on her feet with giddiness.
“174.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God, Sam!” she cheered as she dashed towards him. With her arms wrapped around him, she gave him a warm, tight hug. “That’s almost a perfect score.”
“It’s not.”
“Stop. I’m so proud of you!”
Sam, unable to contain his smile, beamed. “Yeah?”
“Of course! I knew you could do it!” She loosened her embrace to look at him properly. Standing on her tip toes, she kissed him tenderly.
“Damn it,” she said, after breaking the kiss. “I have to leave. I’m sorry. I’m—I’ll probably be late already.”
“Don’t be sorry,” said Sam.
“We have to celebrate!” she said urgently. “Tonight.”
He let out a sigh. “You know how I feel about—today.”
“I know, but—Sam, this is huge. We have to do something. Besides, we agreed to meet Luis at the pub.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek and walked away from him.
Sam groaned. “I was hoping to skip it.”
She stopped and turned around, amused. “Nah-uh. You said you would go out with us. Despite today being Halloween. And now you have a perfect excuse.”
“You mean you have the perfect excuse to drag me there.”
“Just be ready!” she said, laughing. And after a quick look at the clock, she hurried towards the door. “I love you!”
Sam’s morning was rather uneventful. He went to study for an hour at the library before his morning class as he always did.
The class was long. His mind was slightly wandering today, so he took avid notes to focus and was grateful that at least his professor was engaging.
After his class, he stopped by Brady’s place to check up on him. He hadn’t seen Brady in quite a while and he didn’t live far from campus, so Sam would have plenty of time to come back for his afternoon class.
Brady welcomed him with a broad smile.
“I was just about to eat some leftovers. Want some? Chinese food,” said Brady after shutting the door behind Sam.
“Great. I guess it will pair up perfectly with the subs I picked up for us on my way here,” said Sam, lifting the paper bag he was holding.
Brady laughed loudly. “Weird combos it is. Just like freshman year.”
“Seems so,” said Sam, sitting at the counter. While Brady was busy retrieving the food containers from the fridge, Sam glanced around the apartment.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing troublesome.
Spick-and-span.
“Sam?”
Sam mildly jumped at his name and returned his attention to Brady.
“Sorry. I didn’t hear you. I’m having issues focusing today, I guess.”
Brady stared at him quietly for a moment. “Any reason why?”
“Just tired. I just—”
“What?”
“Just had issues sleeping. That’s all.” He handed Brady one of the subs and began unwrapping the second one.
“Any reason in particular?” said his friend.
“Stress. School. I finally got my LSAT,” he said before taking a bite of his sub.
Brady froze. When Sam remained silent, he asked him about his score. Once Sam told him, trying not to feel embarrassed, Brady cheered loudly, pumping his fist in the air. “That’s terrific, Sam.” He looked down at the food on the counter. “I kinda feel like we should eat something else instead.”
Sam shook his head. “Nah. This is actually nice. What about you? Did you finally made a decision for next year? Last time we talked, you seemed undecided.”
“Nothing concrete, yet, I’m afraid.”
“That’s okay too. You tell me when you do, though? And then, we’ll celebrate.”
“Deal,” said Brady, grinning. He helped himself to some dumplings and asked, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Hadn’t heard from you in a while.”
Brady stopped chewing. He paused a moment, and then smirked at him. “You wondered if I was up to no good?”
“Brady—I—”
“That’s why you were eyeing my place earlier. Are you worried about me?”
“No. I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be nosy. I—I just—”
“Sam, relax,” he said after taking a big bite of his sub. “I get it. You want to make sure I haven’t gotten back to my old ways—”
“Brady, I’m—”
“If anything,” he said, cutting him off, “I’m touched. But I promise I’m fine. I’ve just been busy.”
“Okay,” said Sam, nodding. “Can I ask how you’ve been busy?” he asked in a lighter tone, which made Brady laugh.
His friend observed him a moment, as if he was deciding to what extent he should share, and finally said, “Let’s just say that something is brewing in the background. Something big. Life altering big for some of us. In a way.”
“Really? And when is your big turning point is supposed to happen?”
“Oh, I didn’t say it would be life altering for me, per se. Although, it will evidently change things for me too.”
Sam frowned at him. “What?” He let out a small laugh. “What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ll see,” said Brady, smiling at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m not giving away the surprise.”
“That’s not vague or ominous at all,” said Sam.
“Any plans tonight?” asked Brady, changing the subject. “I’m sure Jess is planning something to celebrate.”
Sam pursed his lips and lowered his eyes.
“Right,” sighed Brady. “You and Halloween. I forgot. What’s up with that?”
“I just—it’s not my thing. Jess and I are meeting Luis at the pub tonight. A few of the others said they’d show up there too—you’re welcome to join, by the way—”
“I would love that, believe me, but I actually have other plans tonight.”
“All right. I’m—I was sort of trying to get out of it, but now Jess is insisting on celebrating tonight…”
“Can’t really miss that,” said Brady, amused. “Want my advice? I think you should listen to Jess. She clearly has your best interest at heart. Going out, instead of staying in to study—again—won’t kill you, Sam. Embrace it while you can.”
Sam enjoyed the rest of his lunch with Brady, discussing their options and hopes for their school years to come. Brady was enthusiastic and gave Sam a detailed list of his intensive school year schedule to meet all the application deadlines.
Much like the one Sam had to endure as well.
Soon enough, however, Sam needed to head back towards campus, so he thanked Brady for the lunch and reminded him of the night’s invitation in case his plans changed.
Back on campus, Sam hurried to his next class, swirling the ambling students around him. But as he passed by the Hoover Tower, he came to a halt when a thought suddenly occurred to him.
Dean. Dad.
His stomach dropped. He hadn’t told them about his results yet. And he had just now realized that fact.
Why would I though? It’s not like they get it.
And while he knew perfectly well that this was true, he also felt somewhat guilty that his first thought hadn’t been to tell Dean.
Dean would care. He might think it’s pointless and that I am wasting my time with Law school, but he would care. Dad too, but…
He retrieved his phone from his pocket and pondered about dialing. He pursed his lips, staring stubbornly at his phone.
All his reasons for having left, for having kept to himself all this time, came rushing back in his mind. Because he wanted to be free and lead his own life. Because he was tired of hunting. Because it wasn’t who he was.
And now, even though he wanted to share this news with them, he was worried calling might open the door for them—for John—to pull him back in.
Sam let out a sigh of frustration.
I can’t do it.
Because this isn’t me anymore. This has never been me. I’m okay here. I’m with Jess. I have friends. A future. A future that won’t end with blood. And death. And pain.
And soul crushing drama.
I already had enough of drama as it is.
This—me being a civilian who actually has a life, who is participating in society and doesn’t run anywhere—this is what I want. This is who I am.
He stared at his phone. At the contact “Dean.”
But I would still like to tell Dean.
And after a moment of hesitation, when he almost hit dial, he shook his head, shoved the phone back in his pocket and continued his route.
The number is probably not even in service anymore. And they’ll say what? Congratulations? Even if they mean it and it’s not just out of politeness, they will still probably think it’s a waste of time.
And I don’t want to hear that. Not today. Not after everything.
And more than anything, I don’t want to risk getting sucked into that. I managed to get myself out of it. I don’t want to ruin it.
I’m not a hunter. I want to be a lawyer.
And that was what he kept repeating to himself the rest of the day.
In his afternoon class, which turned out to be extremely difficult to focus on.
When he devoured his dinner at the bookstore where he worked. Especially when he overheard two students discussing doing a séance at the Holy Cross cemetery that night.
Based on what they were planning on bringing, not to mention how they intended on proceeding, Sam judged that there wasn’t anything to worry about. He kept his mouth shut so he wouldn’t sound like a complete freak.
Which was extremely difficult at times.
I’m not a hunter. I want to be a lawyer.
Words that he repeated to himself, once again, when he bumped into Mr. Gable, who lived across the hall from him and Jess, in their building’s lobby. His neighbor appeared grim, which was very unlike him, so Sam asked him what was wrong. Mr. Gable complained that “weird stuff” was happening in his apartment and when he notified their landlord, he wasn’t very keen on doing anything about it.
“What do you mean by ‘weird stuff’?”
“The lights are glitching. And the damn thermostat is broken.”
Sam frowned. “How so?”
“It’s cold all the time. Which makes no sense, I know,” he added after assessing Sam’s expression. “I know it’s not winter yet, but it’s cold. Anyway, he came in, checked a few things and said everything was in order.”
“Did you ever have this problem before?”
“No. And I’ve lived here for almost ten years now.”
Sam swallowed. “Mr. Gable, I—I’m sure the landlord is—can I have a look?”
“At my apartment? You?”
“It’s probably just the wiring with the lights and…stuff, but I can check if you want.”
“And you’re an electrician?”
“Um, no. But I get by. I changed a few things in our apartment when we moved in. I got rid of that old ceiling fan that looked like it would just drop on our heads.”
Mr. Gable laughed. “All right. A quick look wouldn’t hurt.”
After Sam told him he needed to get a few things first, he dashed to his apartment and gunned for some of his gear he hid in the bottom of the closet. Away from prying eyes. Away from Jess’ grasp. He had explained to her that this was “hunting” gear and should be kept safely away at all times. He wouldn’t use it, but felt like he had to keep it for a weird “sentimental” value.
He knew Jess respected his space, especially in regards to anything involving his family. He also knew that if Jess ever decided to have a closer look in the duffle bag, while some guns and knifes would make sense, there was a bunch of other stuff that wouldn’t add up as hunting equipment.
Traditional hunting that was.
Sam simply grabbed the EMF and put his bag back in the closet.
Mr. Gable’s apartment’s inspection turned out to be very quick. He asked his neighbor the usual spill, trying his best to not sound overly invasive or weird. No recent deaths in the family or surroundings. No purchased or heirloom items. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
And while the place was a bit chilly, it wasn’t like the usual ice-cold spots. Not like the ones that made the hair at the back of his neck rise and paralyzed him for a second.
He also noticed that Mr. Gable liked to have the windows open.
“Everybody needs fresh air!” he said defensively.
And while the lights did flicker, the EMF, on the other hand, didn’t react, so Sam judged it was the wiring. Sam assured him that he would mention it to the landlord next time he saw him, and that if the landlord still did nothing about the lights then, he asked Mr. Gable to come and find him again, and Sam promised to help him out.
His neighbor thanked him and Sam headed back home, telling himself that it was just bad wiring.
Besides, I am done with all this. This is just me not being stupid. Being cautious. And he figured that the supernatural was simply on his mind due to Halloween.
We’re close to—this is why I’m going there. But there is nothing.
Despite having fun with Jess and Luis, and the fact that he was celebrating and happy about his scores, keeping his mind away from the supernatural proved to be challenging on that evening nonetheless.
He was used to Halloween being the “night off,” but observing everyone’s costumes made it difficult to ignore that fact.
Luis was dressed as a zombie, which was a nice effort, Sam judged, to the real thing with the ragged clothes and makeup.
Except for the smell. Nothing can be faked about the authenticity of a rotten corpse.
Failing to solely focus on Jess, Sam noticed everyone around them. Some guy wearing a pope outfit. A pirate. Some girl wearing a silver spandex and silver wig. Another one wearing a white puffy dress. And a veil. A bride. She walked right behind Jess. And next to someone wearing multicolored curly hair with—
Fuck, no. Why? Sam took a deep breath
Why do people insist on dressing up as clowns? Why do people want to dress up period?
And it wasn’t until later that night, once he was lying in his bed, desperately trying to fall asleep that a troubling thought came to him.
I don’t like that people are dressing up for fun because I was forced to do it my whole life. My whole life I had to pretend to be someone else. I had to lie about everything. I had to lie to everyone.
Every day was Halloween for me. The bad part of it, I suppose, but still.
And I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be that person. I want to be me. Just me.
He sighed as his heart grew heavy. Feeling his arm going numb, he turned on his back.
Another thought crept into his mind.
But I’m still lying. Not like before, but I’m still lying.
And then, he made the mistake of opening his eyes.
And momentarily froze as he stared at the ceiling.
And saw it in a flash. Jess. The burning ceiling. The image imprinted in his mind from his nightmare.
Nothing. There’s nothing. Of course, there’s nothing.
He turned his head towards Jessica who was peacefully sleeping next to him.
She’s okay. There’s nothing to worry about.
He told himself this a hundred times, convincing himself that it was all a dream. Nightmare. Nothing else. And considering the time of year, it was not surprising why these nightmares—theses atrocious, paralyzing nightmares—would occur.
This is just me reacting to stress or something.
And this is exactly the reason why I should keep on track. Not care about anything else.
He took a deep breath, turned on his side again to avoid looking at the ceiling and shut his eyes. He had every intention to clear his mind.
But it didn’t work as well as he had hoped. The moment that image surfaced into his head, it was difficult to let it go. And the usual depressing hits started to rush in. His mother. John yelling about Stanford. Crappy motels. The journal. Kids telling him he was weird. Moving.
And therefore, me always being the weird kid.
And now, creepy nightmares of Jess burning on the ceiling. Like Mom.
No. This is—
I have nothing to do with this.
This is not me. This is not me. This is not me.
I know who I am. And no one can change that. I have a say into this.
And he eventually fell asleep as he repeated his mantra. For the most part, it had worked.
Sam did not have nightmares about Jessica burning on the ceiling.
Summary: Dean had always loved ballet, even though he never told anyone about that. When he and Sam find cursed ballet shoes, Dean can’t resist and tries them on anyway. He gets surprised in more than just one way.
A/N: I really loved the episode in Season 7, where they found the cursed ballet shoes. So while Dean never actually tried them on in the canon version of that episode, here he does ;) Also bonus: Castiel comes back a bit sooner. This is for @swansongbingo!
Link (if posted on AO3): https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112022
Dean groans and ends the call. Frank doesn’t have any important news on Dick anyway and Dean feels like his head may explode. Sam is still in the bathroom and Dean uses that moment to write Castiel another text message.
He still hopes the angel is out there and would somehow find his way back to them.
“Dean?” Sam asks and he looks even worse than Dean feels. Dean knows something is up with his brother, but so far he doesn’t know what is happening. Sam admitted that he can’t sleep with Lucifer in his head, but Dean thinks maybe there is more to it.
“Here, you want some coffee?” Dean asks and holds up his own mug. Sam shakes his head and sits down at the table as well. There are dark circles under his eyes and Dean wants to hug his brother.
“No thank you, but I found us a hunt.” Sam says and he opens the laptop that was still on the table. Dean perks up a bit at that, he was getting a bit crazy without anything to do. The motel rooms feels too small.
“What about?” Dean asks and he hopes it’s not a Leviathan again, he could go without them for the rest of his life, even though he knows he will never be that lucky.
“A ballet dancer died horribly.” Sam says and Dean looks up at that, because this is a new one. Dean coughs a bit and he hopes that Sam won’t see the faint blush on Dean’s cheek. While he loved baseball and wrestling as a kid, dancing always fascinated him too.
Especially ballet.
“Do we know how?” Dean asks instead, when Sam already frowns at him. Sam nods and then shows Dean some very disturbing pictures. Dean shoves the laptop away.
“Seems like she danced herself to death.” Sam says finally and Dean nods, there was just way too much blood in those pictures. Poor girl though, Dean thinks. It’s always like that, poor innocent people getting hurt for nothing.
“Witch?” Dean asks and Sam shrugs.
Well, only one way to find out.
*
“So it happened at this dancing school?” Sam asks the police officer, who looks worried the second the FBI came to visit.
“Yeah, there are some classes there right now. We uh… closed that particular room for now though.” The Officer says and Dean nods, while he opens said door. The blood is still on the ground and he makes a face.
“Thank you, we will call you if we find anything.” Sam says, while Dean rolls his eyes. As if. They would for sure not call him anyway and even if they did, they wouldn’t tell the truth, so why bother.
“I can’t see anything.” Dean says, when Sam closes the door behind him. Dean even checks the big mirrors, watching himself for a moment. Sam seems busy with all the blood and Dean turns to his left.
Okay, sure he doesn’t really have the body for it anyway. Too broad shoulders, probably too tall anyway and his tummy seems to have gained a bit of weight the last months. Dean frowns at himself.
“She danced herself to death.” Sam mumbles and Dean focuses back on him. He still feels haunted by the big mirrors and he wishes he would be alone in here. He would not really dance, he doesn’t even know how, but maybe… he shakes his head.
“And the police officer said, the shoes were not bloody? How is that possible if the file clearly says her feet, were.. you know. A mess.” Dean shudders, and he is glad that Sam was the one to look at the pictures.
Some things you just don’t want to know.
“Yeah, maybe we should ask to see the shoes.” Sam says, before he takes on last look at their surroundings. Dean shudders again, because he feels as if somebody is watching them and he actually prays, that it’s not a witch again.
Sam walks back to the police officer, who waits at the front door. Clearly looking very uncomfortable himself. Dean can hear some faint music from one of the other rooms and feels almost drawn to it.
“Do you mind if we looked at the shoes for a moment?” Sam asks the officer, who shrugs a bit, before he nods.
“Sure we have them at the station, they are so clean, it’s really… a wonder?” He sounds unsure and also a bit afraid. Dean can understand that and while he gets Baby Sam talks a bit more to him.
The drive to the station is short, the town isn’t too big and Dean feels a bit better now, away from the dancing school. Sam next to him continues to rub his temple and Dean wishes he could help him.
“Okay gentleman, follow me.” The police officer says, once they are in the grey building. They walk through another door and Dean sees a few pictures on the table of the victim. Otherwise the evidence room is empty.
“Didn’t you say the shoes would be here?” Sam asks and the police officer looks a bit white around his nose now. He goes over to an old brown cardboard and opens it, but it’s empty.
“Oh no. My daughter Tracy is here today and she dances ballet herself. Maybe she took them.” The officer says, looking so stressed, that even Dean’s heart twists a bit. Sam is a lot calmer.
“Okay, we’ll find her and get the shoes back. Do you know where she could be?” Sam asks and the police officer takes a deep breath. He is still holding onto the brown cardboard, but then he finally nods.
“Yeah she wanted to use the bathroom.” The police officer answers and Dean is already out of the door.
He finds the bathroom quickly and he knows that Sam is directly behind him. He opens the door and there is a girl in the middle of the room, wearing ballet shoes and dances a bit too quick.
It takes Dean a second to understand the scene.
“Tracy!” Dean says and just then, she turns around, one of her legs stretched a bit to high and she almost whimpers in pain. Sam pushes Dean a bit away, looking at the girl, who now takes one turn after the other.
“I’m not doing this!” Tracy says and she sounds so afraid. Dean is next to her in a moment, while Sam tries to hold her. Dean gets kicked by the shoes and he winces in pain. Sam is also struggling to hold her.
“We got you!” Dean says, even though he feels a bit overwhelmed. He looks at the shoes and tries to pull them off of her feet. At first that doesn’t really work, but Dean feels weird as soon as he touches the shoes.
“Please help me.” Tracy says again and just then Dean finally manages to get them off her feet. Sam almost falls on the ground, Tracy with him, while Dean wipes over his forehead.
“Tracy, thank god!” The police officer comes back and holds his daughter, while Sam gets up again. Dean is still looking at the shoes in his hands.
He really wants to try them on.
“Dean?” Sam asks and Dean finally looks up. He was so concentrated on the shoes, he hadn’t realized that his brother, the police officer and Tracy are already at the door. Dean nods and they leave the bathroom.
“Cursed Object?” Dean asks, when they leave the police station. Baby is parked right in front of it and Dean opens her trunk. His heart beats almost painfully, when he puts the shoes down, but he is at least glad he can put them away.
“Think so. Already asked where they were purchased.” Sam says, he looks a bit worried, because Dean behaves a bit strange. Or even stranger than usual.
“Good. Maybe it’s owned by a witch.” Dean mumbles and starts the car. The drive is quiet, Dean is not even listening to any music. He feels kind of jittery and he doesn’t even know why.
Dean sees the shop and parks the Impala directly in front of it. Just as he wants to reach in the back and get his bag, to get the witch killing bullets, he stops in his movements. Sam coughs.
“Didn’t you… put them in the trunk?” Sam whispers, because there on Baby’s back-seat are the ballet shoes, lying there as if nothing happened. Dean swallows dryly and then nods.
“Y-yeah I did.” Dean slows withdraws his hand again, because there is that itch in his fingertips again. He wants to touch them, heck he would love to try them on just once. He looks back to Sam.
“Dude, they kinda look like your size now.” Sam says and Dean opens the car door, before he really tries them on. God the feeling only gets worse with every second and he is at the door of the store before Sam is even out of the car.
“Let’s go!” Dean says and he sees how his brother rolls his eyes, but he decides to not say anything. The store looks old and the doorbell rings only quietly, when they enter the store.
“Hello!” Sam says loudly, while Dean looks around. The shop seems to have everything and Dean would’ve imagined a witch to have a shop exactly like this. Heck it’s freaking dark in here and there is so much dust Dean sneezes.
Sam glares at him, but Dean just rubs his nose.
Dean barely notices that a young man joins them, because there in one of the corners are even more ballet shoes. Dean doesn’t feel the same attraction, he has with the one in his backseat, but he still needs to touch them.
He looks back to Sam, who is now deeply in a conversation with the shop owner. Dean takes a deep breath and nods to himself, before he touches a pair of shoes. They feel so soft and he takes them off of the shelf.
“Oh.” Dean says because they are so light as well and he loves the faint pink colour. His face burns probably right now, but he doesn’t care or at least he tries to ignore it. Sadly the shoes would never fit him…. not that he would have bought them anyway.
Just then Dean sees the skirts. He gasps quietly and walks over to them, putting the shoes back. He knows thoughts like that aren’t normal for men, but he would still love to wear one of those as well.
He hastily goes back to Sam.
“Thank you, that is all the information we need.” Sam says just as Dean stands next to him. Sam glances at him and Dean shrugs a bit awkwardly. They both say their goodbyes and leave the shop.
“And?” Dean asks outside, but Sam shakes his head.
“Said he got the shop, when his mum died and he had found the ballet shoes in the attic. Actually, he found a lot of boxes, but the rest of the stuff wasn’t anything special, so he threw it away.
“Maybe the mother was a witch.” Dean assumes and this time Sam is the one who shrugs. They walk back to the car and as soon as Dean can see the ballet shoes, he feels that itching again. He sighs.
“We should just burn them tonight.” Sam says finally and Dean nods. Then it would all be over. He tries to call Frank again, but he is still not answering. Dean catches himself thinking about Castiel again.
He misses him so much.
“You coming?” Sam asks and Dean nods, before he gets into the car. Maybe they still could get some food before heading back to their disgusting motel. Dean’s tummy growls, yeah he could eat.
*
It’s in the middle of the night and Dean can’t sleep. The shoes are outside, currently in the trunk. Or at least Dean hopes they are. He is kinda scared that he will find them in the bathroom or something.
He turns on his other side, away from Sam and looks out of the dirty window. His mind wanders back to Castiel again. He really hopes that Castiel is safe after everything that happened. Sure Castiel did fuck up but… but sometimes you have to forgive the people that you love.
Well, if Castiel is still alive… and if he understands that he made a mistake. Dean’s stomach growls again. Maybe the burgers weren’t such a good idea.
Dean sits up and his eyes widen when he can see the shoes outside on the windowsill. Before he can think any more about it, he is already out of the door and stands in front of them again. The itching finally stops when he touches them.
“Fuck.” Dean whispers, but then he sits down, carefully getting rid of his socks, before he tries the shoes on. They fit perfectly.
“Dean.”
Dean doesn’t even realize that someone is talking to him, because holy shit those shoes feel so incredibly good and maybe Dean could even dance a bit in them and….
“Dean!”
Dean looks up and sees Castiel watching him. For a moment he thinks the shoes manipulate him so much, that he is starting to see things, but just then Castiel steps closer. Dean wants to go towards him.
Castiel is alive!
And from the look of terror on his face, he isn’t the asshole god anymore, but just Dean’s Castiel. Dean tears up before he can even get one word out. While Dean had missed Castiel so much, he also regretted that he hadn’t told Castiel.
Dean holds his arms up, but before the angel can closes the distance, the shoes move on their own. Dean jerks a bit and it definitely hurts when he dances just on his toes. While he had always loved it, he never dared to try it and now it hurts him.
At the same time, Dean feels incredible. Just so light and if he had always done it. He takes a turn and he is sure it must look so graceful. He can hear Castiel yelling his name again, but he doesn’t answer.
He focuses on this feeling. This happiness.
“Cas!” Dean says happily and in the next second he is actually in the angel’s arms. Dean puts his arms around Castiel’s neck, dancing with Castiel together. The angel looks a bit overwhelmed, but he actually holds Dean’s hip.
“Come on, dip me.” Dean says, but Castiel still looks afraid. Dean moves on his own again, dancing a few steps back before he comes closer again. Kicking one leg in the air, Castiel holds him up at the knee, Dean’s tummy now pressed against Castiel’s.
“What if I let you fall?” Castiel whispers but Dean shakes his head.
“You won’t. I trust you.” Dean says and he means it. He puts his fingers against Castiel’s cheek, when he sees that the angel is tearing up, hearing those words. Dean smiles, he would like to kiss him now.
Finally show him what he never dared to say.
Just then the shoes can’t keep still again, but when Castiel lets go of his leg, Dean falls to the side and Castiel actually holds him, while Dean’s head nearly touches the ground. His leg stretched a bit too much, but he grins up at Castiel.
“Your shoes are cursed.” Castiel whispers and Dean nods. Shame fills his whole body, because of course he can’t dance this beautifully for real. Castiel sighs, but then he grabs Dean’s foot, still in the air and it promptly glows a bright white.
“What?” Dean asks, but then Castiel puts him on both feet again, before leaning down to touch the second shoe. It glows as well and just like that, the magic is gone. Dean looks sadly down. Ashamed now.
“They are fine now.” Castiel says, while Dean takes a few steps back again. Not on his tip-toes this time. He sits down on the ground, ready to take them off, when Castiel kneels in front of him.
“Don’t you believe me?” Castiel asks and Dean snorts.
“I do man, just means I don’t have to wear them anymore.” Dean says and he begins to unlace the beautiful shoes from his feet. They were never made for him anyway. He doesn’t have the stature for a dancer.
“But you want to.” Castiel says and it’s not a question. Dean’s cheeks burn and he has to look away, can’t meet Castiel’s eyes.
“It’s not… something a hunter does.” Dean finally says, because what else could he say? That his father would’ve killed him for knowing his son wants to dance ballet. He would say it’s no surprise Dean turned out to be a…
“Dean, you looked so beautiful.” Castiel whispers and Dean blushes even more now. The dark red on his cheeks a bad contrast to the shoes, he is sure.
“Wasn’t me.” Dean grunts, finally the lace is open on both shoes, but just then Castiel is already tying his left one again.
“But you can learn… and I could help.” Castiel says and Dean looks up. He searches for some joke in Castiel’s eyes but he can only see love. Dean’s breath hitches and before he knows what he is doing, he is already kissing Castiel.
Right there on the dirty parking lot under the bright moon, with ballet shoes on his feet. One tied and one not. It couldn’t be more perfect. Castiel kisses him shyly back and Dean hums happily.
“Promise to stay with me?” Dean asks when the kiss ends and the angel looks a bit overwhelmed, but also really happy. Dean knows they have a lot to talk about with Castiel being an asshole god and all the Leviathans, but right now he doesn’t care.
Dean ties the other shoe again, before he gets up and holds one hand out.
“Of course.” Castiel says and he takes Dean’s hand, before Dean tries to dance again. It doesn’t looks as beautiful before, but Castiel doesn’t laugh once. He just holds him and smiles so bright, that the moon could be jealous.
Dean smiles back. He is where he wanted to be. In the angel’s arms and he even is allowed to be himself. Castiel dips him again and Dean almost shrieks. Castiel hastily kisses him quiet when Dean starts to laugh.
Yeah maybe he would learn how to dance for real. With Cas.
Title: Women of Letters
Square Filled: Eileen Leahy (season 11)
Rating: Teen/PG-13
Warnings: Alcohol
Ship(s): Some light implied F/M attraction but no real shipping
Summary: Eileen goes for a drink with Jody and Donna.
Word Count: 568
Created for @swansongbingo
