Smoke On The Water...

Dean. 34. Aquarius. Pie Lover. Anything else you need to know, you already do.

[uodean-blog]

A Shadow You Won't Recognize - Dean&Sam

[areyouhummingmetallica-arc-blog1]

There was another presence in the room, that much he knew.  Could hear breathing.  But it didn’t sound quite like dad and it certainly wasn’t the lighter, shallower sounds that Dean made.  Which meant that it was someone else and dad didn’t usually let anyone in their room when they stayed somewhere, sending either Sam or Dean to ask for clean sheets or towels when they needed them.

And - duh! - it’s not like Sam was stupid.  Not like he hadn’t poked around and found the stashes of papers his dad always seemed to be gathering up and stuffing into that beat up old leather jacket.  Not like he hadn’t seen the flash of a gun or a knife tucked into his jeans, or failed to notice the shotgun propped in the corner for their ‘protection’, in case anyone came in while he was gone.  Wasn’t like he hadn’t dug a little deeper, curious mind taking him to places he knew he wasn’t supposed to go.  Stealing the keys to the Impala and peeking in the trunk, finding the hidden compartment which always ‘thunked’ with a hollow sound each time he dropped in his book bag…  Rifling under mattresses till he found the leather bound notebook with all kinds of weird and wonderful scary stories about monsters and demons and black dogs.  About hunting them.  A few names he recognised.  A few he didn’t.

He remembered the first page he’d flipped to most of all.  Because it was about his mom.  And how much his dad missed her.  How proud she would have been of Dean.  About Sam taking his first steps…

Of course he hadn’t read the whole thing.  Only a stolen, fleeting glimpse.  Secretive glances when he thought there were minutes to spare.  Hadn’t been caught at it… Yet.  And didn’t intend to be.

"Dun c’ll me S’mmy…" Sleepy voice as eyes blinked and focused on the stranger, mentally gauging how far it was to the shotgun and wondering where Dean had gone.

Little legs swung over the edge of the couch, not quite reaching the floor and he leaned forward, slowly and cautiously, squinting at the tall figure only a few feet away.  “Yeah, and I’m the Easter Bunny."  A slow drawl of words as he pulled himself to full wakefulness.  There was a slow breath as he weighed up his options.  Dean obviously wasn’t here or there’d already be a ruckus.  He wondered how long the big creep had been skulking around and one hand ventured close to his pocket, Dean’s Swiss army knife was in there.  A jab with that and a kick in the nuts might be able to buy him enough time to make a run for it.

"Look, dude.  You shouldn’t be in here.  My brother’ll be back any minute and he’ll kick your ass.  He’s like, twice your size.  And a black belt in karate."

Sounded totally legit.

"If you’re looking for shit to steal, you busted into the wrong room.  So beat it punk, before I call the cops."  Sam wondered for a moment if this guy was some kind of whacked out druggie.  He’d heard his dad talking about hippies on PCP trips before, or high on mushrooms - don’t eat the mushrooms - which meant that he might be crazy or something.  And dangerous.

"Swear to god if you try anything freaky I’ll yell!  Dean’s right outside!"

[uodean-blog]

Dun c’ll me S’mmy…

The words hurt as much as they made him want to crack a smile, just like the fact that Sam didn't recognize him for who he was hurt as much as it filled him with a sense of relief. But of course Sam didn't recognize him. 22 years, a trip to Hell, more than a few stays in Heaven... not to mention the years that watching his little brother die... twice.. had tacked on, and Dean wasn't exactly as fresh faced as he used to be. Hell, most days he felt lifetimes older than 34 years would suggest, and lately, didn't look much younger either, let alone anywhere close to resembling his wide-eyed, though face from innocent prepubescent self.

And since Sam didn't recognize him, there was no way in Hell the kid would let him get away with calling him by the cherished nickname. Even dad using it was met with scowling half of the time. No, that was Dean's nickname, and since big Dean and little Dean were worlds apart from being the same person... both figuratively and literally, at least as far as little Sam was concerned at the moment, it was probably best if he stayed away from using the name for now. Hard as that would be, given that it was practically reflexive, if nothing else, he could take some solace in the fact that anyone else trying to use it was rebuffed by a bratty, defensive Sam. 

Still, Sam being a little shit to people he didn't know only went so far in making the older brother proud, given that Sam technically did know him, and Dean folded his arms across his chest briefly as the kid threatened him with both his twelve year old self (who was apparently gigantic and a black belt in karate... at least as far as strangers were to know, much to Dean's amusement), as well as the cops, his eyebrow quirking slightly at that one.

"Punk? Who are you, Clint Eastwood?" he asked before unfurling his arms to hold his hands up and out, assuming the stance of surrender when Sam threatened to start yelling. "Woah, easy tiger. I told you, I'm not here to hurt you... and I'm not here to steal anything, either." The latter came out a little indignant sounding, which was kind of hilarious, considering that a couple days from now, little 12 year old him was going to be breaking into a house down the street to steal presents for Sam out from under some little girl's Christmas tree. Once a thief, always a thief he supposed, but he shrugged anyway. "Besides everything worth stealing's in the car, anyway. I mean, c'mon, what am I gonna take in here? Your math book?" Flipping the corner of it up off the coffee table lightly with his fingertips for emphasis, he finally lowered both of his hands, but kept his distance from the kid, just in case Sam made good on his word to start hollering.

Looking over his little brother, who didn't seem the least bit reassured by his words, Dean heaved out a sigh, bringing his hand up to rub his temples in though. Even at this age, Sam had been too smart for his own good, and if he had any hope at all of getting him to believe what he was saying, Dean was going to have to start pulling out the big guns. Luckily, he had 30 years of Sam knowledge at his fingertips, and he finally dropped his hand, giving the kid a hard stare. 

"Look, I know you think I'm nuts. Trust me, I'd think I was nuts too, but I can prove it to you. Your name is Sam Winchester. You've got a dad named John, and a brother named Dean, who's actually about... ye tall," he said, holding out his hand down around waist level, "and has never taken a karate lesson in his life. But he does have a mean right hook," he added, looking thoughtful for a moment before pressing on. "Still cries over the Ewoks in Star Wars, though." Embarrassing, but true. He wouldn't grow out of that one for another two years or so, and even now, there was still a 50/50 chance that those furry little bastards helping take out the Death Star's shield generator would make him tear up a little bit... not that he'd ever admit it.

"You've got an A minus in math right now that you're pissed about, a small scar on your ear from where Dean accidentally clipped you with scissors while cutting your hair, and twenty years from now, you still won't let him cut it again. And you'll be taller than him too, which is why he never lets you drive." What? Moving the seat and fixing the mirrors every time was a pain in the ass... 

Pursing his lips and pushing them out as he wracked his brain for more things only him and Sam would know around this age... or that only Sam would know, it dawned on Dean that this was the Christmas where Sam would start asking him... or 12 year old him, anyway, about things Sam really shouldn't have known. Eventually, it would come out that Sam had found dad's journal, but that meant that right now, ask they spoke, Sam already knew something wasn't quite right with the crap both Dean and dad had been trying to feed him... at least until he was old enough to hear the truth. 

With that in mind, and with a silent, mental apology to his past self, who would be the one trying to fend off the questions Dean was about to stir up, the older brother narrowed his eyes a bit, studying the kid sitting on the couch with a scrutinizing look before he spoke again. "And I've got a sneaking feeling that you've come across that journal of you dad's by now... which means you know that there's at least half a chance I'm telling you the truth. But I'm not a demon, or a shape shifter, or any of the other creepy son of a bitches in that book. And I'd bust out the wings to prove it to you, but you wouldn't be able to..." See them, was where that train of thought was going, but he cut himself off, eyebrows knitting together for a moment as he weighed the horrible likelihood of this going wrong against selling the kid for good on his angel story. 

Letting out a deep breath, Dean glanced back at the space behind him where his wings had folded in neatly on landing. Worst case scenario, they'd accidentally bust out a window, or get stuck in a doorway or something... but maybe if he moved slowly enough and only shifted one of them...

His face screwed up in concentration as he watched Sam out of the corner of his eye. With any luck, his rattled off facts would keep the kid from booking it toward the door, or toward the shotgun locked and loaded and propped up against a nearby wall. Hopefully anyway, Dean thought as he very carefully rolled his shoulder a little, letting bone and feather expand outward slowly. No Sam wouldn't be able to see them, but they were tangible to the touch if one knew where to grab at, and with just enough of a wing fanned out from his back, Dean looked over at his brother again, keeping his shoulder pulled tight.

"Actually, c'mere," he said, nodding his head toward the space next to him that the wing invisibly occupied before he slowly held his hands up again. "I won't try anything, promise. Just... you should be able to feel feathers, right in here." He waved slightly with his right hand in the general area of the wing tip before giving Sam another knowing look. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's okay, Sam. You can trust me."

[queenforadaydream-deactivated20]

A House Full of Heartache II Dean and Anna

[queenforadaydream-deactivated20]

Anna heard glass cracking just before the shards of her shattered life drove into her heart, forever entangled in the soft ‘thuh-thud‘-ing rhythm of it’s beat.Tiny little pieces that would dance forever in the turpentine of her veins. If she bled would it even come out red? She wondered, but sorely wished she wouldn’t find out.

Fists clenched.

Lips thin. 

His voice was a lullaby that would sneek into her bed at night and strangled her -though she had blue birds in her eyes. She shivered at the sound of him. The almost touch, the almost greeting, the almost interest, the almost kindness, just… the almost of him. 

Her gaze slowly lifted from his chest up to his nose, once she finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were glossy with the weight of all the apologies she wanted to make. Her lips wouldn’t move and instead she just watched his mouth move. Guarded and indifferent, but so much more casual than her own trembling. And all of her shook, like a cement wall holding back a tidal wave. Dean Winchester, perhaps the one crack in her so fully capable of collapsing the strength she had rebuilt. He was different though -and not just in that she now attached so much regret with the memory of him and Sam. 

She moved one hand slowly to her pocket and then carried out the movement by placing her few coins and crumpled dollar bills on the countertop. Anna slipped her pale hand back underneath the protective confines of the grey sweater. She pressed her arms tight against her stomach. How exactly did one apologize for trying to kill someone’s brother, or explain that in a million years they wouldn’t have done so unless they were brainwashed? But wasn’t that also just a convenient excuse? 

‘The angels made me do it! I swear.’ 

Well that worked out perfectly, didn’t it? Truth or not, she was still an angel, she still should have been strong enough to fight that bitch in a power suit. But she hadn’t been and that in itself was a betrayal of everything she owed the Winchesters just for helping her. She could have run from Uriel and Castiel, they’d have left Sam alone, she’d have never been brought to Naomi, never seen her brothers condemn her the way they had. Gabriel had hidden out for eons. She could have left, she could have run, and that way at least she might be able to look him in the eyes. Because she couldn’t right now, couldn’t do anything but tremble with the knowledge of everything she had done -what she had become. 

And she was clean now. But her sins were still shards of glass scattered over the floor she had to cross in bare feet. 

Anna held her breath, replaying what he’d said. Well obviously she’d be the last person he expected to see. He was the last person she ever planned on having a reunion with. What could he mean by other people rising from their graves. Something not quite kosher was happening. She could ask him… if she could find the words…

"I just…’

"Dean I’m… I"

"No…yeah… no well…"

"…Uhm"

"I-I-I only have enough money for the two cups of coffee… I can’t buy you anything else."

Red hair like a flame to match her burning heart. 

[uodean-blog]

Tightly wound movements, slow and skittish almost, like a trapped animal, and a glazed, but not quite distant stare spoke volumes more than stammered words ever could. Because words were a dime a dozen, and people used them at their will. To lie. To tell others what they thought they wanted to hear. To manipulate, and get what they wanted... But actions were different. Little things, like the shake of her hand as she placed money on the counter, or the way she never quite met his gaze... the pursing of her lips, and the curled posturing... Dean had learned a long time ago that if you wanted to really know someone's intent, you didn't list to them. You watched. And even then, it was usually a matter of "believe only half of what you see and non of what you hear."

It was a truth he held above nearly any other, ingrained as deeply into him as how to disassemble and reassemble every gun in his trunk was. But every once in a while, it was disregarded in favor of practical, first hand experience, the natural air of suspicion he harbored derailed by recognition. And as he looked at the red head next to him, watching with well practiced casual caution, Dean was practically blindsided with the familiarity of it all. If he'd been anyone else, or had lived any other life, then maybe it would've slipped past him. Maybe he would've asked what was wrong instead of just innately knowing how to interpret her behavior, because if he were anyone else, the possibilities would've been endless. But they weren't. Not to him anyway. It was written in bold, and stamped across her facial expression, laced in her tone, and threaded into trembling movements.

Regret. Guilt. Shame. Fear. 

All of the above. And all things Dean knew well. 

He didn't have to hazard guesses as to the what or why's, because she'd been... well, maybe relaxed was pushing it, but certainly more so before he'd made his presence known to her. And given the circumstances of their history, it wasn't exactly difficult to connect the dots. But if she was the one afraid of what he might say or do in this situation, the hunter saw no reason to worry about the opposite. More than likely, she'd bold out of his sight before even thinking of going on the offensive, putting as much distance between them as possible, the same way Dean would take off whenever a conversation he desperately did not want to have came up. Which, while vaguely reassuring since at least that meant she wasn't going to try to kill him in the middle of the diner, was also not exactly something he wanted to happen. Not until he had some answers anyway. Then, they would see. 

So he relaxed a bit instead, raising an eyebrow at her briefly before the waitress returned with their coffee. Catching the older woman's gaze, he gave her the slightest shake of his head before she could scoop the change and crunched up bills off the counter, and when she left it and turned away to head toward the other end of the counter, Dean pushed the money back toward the angel with a small smirk.

"You already stole my best pick up line... there's only so much emasculation a guy can take, Anna," he told her before casting an eye around the nearly empty room. For the most part, people seated themselves at the counter in this place... easiest way to get the VIP treatment, otherwise known as timely service. But unfortunately, that made holding the particular conversation looming over the two of them difficult, to say the least. It wasn't as if 'hey, welcome back from the dead, remember that time you tried to kill my brother?' was average small talk, and Dean finally fixed his attention on the woman next to him again before letting it skate off toward the bar behind the counter as he brought his mug up toward his lips.

"We should move this conversation to a booth," he said matter of factly before sipping some of the warm liquid from his cup. With his coffee already in hand, the hunter stood then, picking up the second mug as well in order to make it harder for the angel to say no. He cocked his head toward a table tucked in near the corner of the room, and then shot another glance in Anna's direction, lifting his eyebrow slightly again. 

"C'mon. I'll behave if you will..."

[uodean-blog]

While the Aethyrs are picking up and moving full steam ahead, Dean continues to remain at a loss for how to stop this catastrophe. Throw in some unwanted and uncontrolled angel mojo, and the fact that he's separated from his brother on top of that, and you've got one confused, lost, and pissed off human angel hybrid who's teetering dangerously close to being at his wits end over this new apocalypse in the making.

[The Cry of the 8th Aethyr]

With no help on the home front now that Sam's gone and...well, considering just about everyone else they know is dead, Dean called in Garth for help, hoping maybe a fresh pair of eyes looking over their problem would give him some new perspective on the matter. But in order to get to that point, he had to tell Garth what was going on in the first place, and now that he's dropped the bomb on just how severe the situation is, all he can do is hope that Garth doesn't run screaming for the hills on him... not that Dean could blame the guy if he did.

[Scene - Running on Empty]

But with the stress of everything clouding his head, Dean figured it was possible he just needed a break from thinking about the issues surrounding them for a few minutes. A little alone time to clear his head. So after putting his angel mojo to use to steal a new TV (hey, he's an angel, not a saint) to replace the old one that same mojo blew up, he settled in for a few minutes of "quality time" with himself, and a little Casa Erotica for company. But, as per his luck, that was quickly interrupted by the familiar, pornstachioed face of archangel Gabriel popping up in the movie, and shortly there after, his room. Irritation with each other is running a little high, but now that they're (sort of) done trading barbs, the real reason for Gabriel's impromptu visit is coming to light. The archangel wants answers, just like everyone else, and he's come to one half of the source to get them. But how much Dean will reveal about what he knows to his new "step-brother" is anyone's guess.

[Scene - A Touch Too Much]

And as if he didn't have enough on his plate to think about with Aethyrs popping open, new powers coming out of his pores, and a brother off doing the unthinkable (practically with Dean's blessing at that), it turns out that no matter how distant the pair are, they'll always be connected. An overheard prayer from Sam ringing through his head, and the unyielding need to know that his brother is okay, despite what he's about to do prompted Dean into a stealth visit to the warehouse where the younger Winchester has taken shelter. And though he didn't outright reveal that he was there, he did leave behind a calling card to let Sam know that, whatever he thought otherwise, someone was still out there listening to him and watching over him--a single feather, plucked from the wings on his own back.

 [Scene - Oculis In Caelum]

Feeling slightly better over the knowledge that if need be, he could pop in every now and again to check on Sam without his brother knowing about it, and with the words of Sam's prayers still ringing in his ears, Dean found a renewed sense of determination for nipping this second apocalypse problem in the bud. Much like the habits of his Dad before him, the older Winchester hit the store on a beer run before returning back to the hotel, ready to tackle his notes and research again in hopes of figuring out some kind of solution. But he was quickly side tracked by the sense of an angelic presence lingering in his room, and with Gabriel running around again, Lucifer and no doubt Michael free from the cage, and surely hundreds of angels still in Heaven, it was anyone's guess as to who was behind the door.

Turns out, it was the last angel he expected to see. Cas, fresh from Purgatory of all places, loaded with questions regarding how he came back, what had brought him back, why his angelic grace has been weakened, and how Dean of all people had managed to end up with angel grace of his own. But even while seething with animosity over the angel's betrayals, Dean once again finds himself the bearer of bad news, dropping the word 'Aethyrs' on his impotent friend like an atomic bomb. And though the relationship between the pair is rife with issues to say the least, the fact of the matter is that Cas is about the only tie to Heaven they have that the Winchesters could consider a friend... however much that friendship is worth these days. Right now, and especially with Sam off fighting his own front of the fight, Dean is realizing that he and Cas need each other, which means somehow, he's going to have to find a way to put aside those differences so they can learn to work together again.    

[Scene - Chains Keep Us Together]

And it seems as if Cas isn't the only angel to do them wrong crawling out of the woodwork. A trip from the motel into town and a tug on his grace from a nearby restaurant led Dean to yet another angel he, quite understandably, never expected to see anywhere around them again. Given that Anna once tried to wipe out his parents before either of the boys were born, and successfully killed his brother (however short it lasted), Dean's more than a little wary of what she might be up to this time. But it would seem that rather than being poised and ready to smite, Anna's just as disturbed and shaken up over seeing him as he is over seeing her, leaving Dean to wonder if there's maybe more to story than he knows... and, just like with Cas, whether their history together will let him put aside his anger long enough for them to work things out.

[Scene - A House Full of Heartache]

So with angels now crawling out of the woodwork, answers to the Aethyr issue still miles away, and the ever lingering question over whether or not he's doing the right thing in letting Sam walk into Hell to take over pinging through his mind on a near constant loop, getting out of the motel and away from everyone else for a few minutes to clear his head seemed like a good idea. But at his cabin just north of town (procured for him by one computer hacking genius, Charlie Bradbury), Dean's attempts to sort through the questions in his head coupled up with a bit of depressing nostalgia over the time in their past before things were screwed to Hell and back seemed to focus his...mojo like a magnifying glass, dragging him back 22 years into the past to the days before their Christmas in Broken Bow, Nebraska. But before he could get himself back to his own time, the 8 year old version of his brother woke up just in time to catch him lurking in their motel room. Not recognizing his much older brother, younger Sam is currently doling out a round of sass that would make older Sam proud regarding Dean's revelation that he's an angel, and his presence in their motel room. Can Dean convince his smart ass little brother that he is what he says he is before he gets shot by his own 12 year old self? Well... he sure as Hell hopes so, because how awkward would that be?

[Scene - A Shadow You Won't Recognize] 

And that's what you missed from Dean this month on UO!

[uodean-blog]

A Shadow You Won't Recognize - Dean&Sam

It wasn't often that Dean found himself at the cabin these days. Protected by salt, warded against angels, and with a devil's trap hidden in every room, it was a fortress, hidden by woods and magic from those who might have any interest in it. So he wasn't worried about keeping an eye on the place, and ever since his last conversation with Sam, the building gave off a hollow feeling to him. Dean knew better than most that a house did not make a home, and while eventually he did want to get everyone out of the motel and into the safe, nearly self-contained building, he knew that no matter how many of his recently resurrected friends and family members occupied the place, it would never be his home. Sure, if they made it through this, then he'd live in it, just like everyone else. There'd be meals at a real kitchen table between hunts, memories made within its walls. Arguments and fights for the bathroom. Movie nights, and working on the Impala in the garage... but it'd always be missing that last piece--that final fixture, giving it the finishing touch, the heart and soul it would need for him to even start to consider it home.

But every once in a while, he'd make the twenty minute drive to just look at it. To see if maybe, if he stared hard enough at it, or willed it hard enough, he could find something about the cabin that would make that empty feeling attached to it disappear. To think, without the ruckus of motel life filling his head and distracting him, chasing the rights and wrongs of the decision to let his brother do what he was about to do around in his head.

Not that it was a matter of Dean 'letting' Sam do anything anymore... But there was always the possibility that if he'd made a bigger fuss; yelled and screamed his points that Sam would've given it up--however slim that possibility was, and whatever the consequences of that fight would be. And the thought of doing just that had crossed his mind more times than he cared to count, but to his credit (or discredit, depending on how he felt that day), he hadn't. Just like when Dean had conceded to him driving the bus on the Stull plan, Sam had his points and reasons, and damn if the older brother had come up with a better alternative yet. And until he did (if that ever happened), soldiering on with their current plan was their best hope for beating at least one front in this fight.

Pulling a sip from his beer as he leaned against the side of the car, the same question that had plagued him day after day slid to the forefront of his mind while he stared at cabin in front of him. How had things gotten screwed up this badly? These days, it was hard to pinpoint just where their life had gone to shit. Was it the night of the fire that started them on this road? Was it before, the angels screwing around with their parents to get them together in order to make sure him and Sam were born? Or was it later? Not shooting Azazel in order to spare John, or selling his soul for a one way ticket to breaking the first seal, or not killing Lilith when they had the chance? No one group had pulled all the strings. Heaven, Hell, their own choices or inaction...so it was impossible to say 'yeah, that's where we ended up fucked for life'...

And maybe that was the point. Because even if he could define an exact moment, it wasn't like they could change it. Dean had learned the hard way that the past couldn't be altered like that--that all roads would eventually lead to the same place. And knowing that now, it was strange to think that at one time, things had seemed so simple. Maybe not ideal, but simple. Before the apocalypse; before Heaven proved itself to be real (and full of dicks with wings); before Hell's plans came to light, and before Dean had made that fateful trip to Stanford, and even before Sam had left for school...

With a blink though, he was staunchly reminded that even for as simple as things had seemed, they never quite were as he found himself in a motel room not his own, but not exactly a whole lot different either. Wood paneled walls, thick plaid curtains that somehow possessed an ability to keep the room dark, whether they were open or closed... shitty tv playing some Christmas special, two crap beds, a couch that had seen better days... it all felt familiar, and while every motel room they ever stayed in had an air of familiarity to it in that all of them possessed similar qualities, this one stuck out for some reason. Like it held some kind of significance that he couldn't quite put his finger on. At least, not until the sight of a small body stirring on the couch a few feet away from him caught his attention, and on seeing who it was, the realization hit him like a freight train.

He was all of 8 years old, sprawled out on the couch under a tatty blanket, and fast asleep. Homework littered the wobbly coffee table, along with the remnants of 'dinner'... a can of pop, and a plate with a half eaten microwaved burrito on it. And Dean didn't know how... but if the snow, and the cartoon playing on the tv, and his friggin 8 year old little brother were supposed to clue him in, then he was in Broken Bow, Nebraska, 1991--just a few days before Christmas.

A quick glance around told him the room was otherwise empty, which meant that his own younger self was off somewhere else. If memory served him correctly, then right about now, he would've been walking around the motel parking lot, floating between the lobby and the vending machine, trying to get some of the nervous pent up energy he had about not hearing from Dad for a few days out of his system. The man wasn't father of the year by any means, but he always made it home for the holiday, and both of their birthdays if he could swing it, so the silence from his father's end had made Dean restless enough with worry to have to get out of the motel for a little while so he could brave face for Sam when he got back. 

Which was probably a good thing for him, since he couldn't think of anything more awkward than being shot at by his 12 year old self. And knowing himself as well as he did, and considering this was... two? three years after the shtriga incident that had shaken him up enough to have him swearing to himself that it'd never happen again? Dean was pretty sure that "Dude, relax, I'm you... 22 years into the future..." wouldn't exactly cure that itchy trigger finger.

And while knowing "he" would be back at some point was enough in and of itself to make him want to turn around and zap back to his own time period, something was rooting him to the spot as he looked over at the sleeping little kid version of Sam. It was like he thought earlier: strange to know that these memories had ever been real. That this time in their life actually existed. Before all of the shit of the last ten years had happened; before Sam even knew the truth about what their dad did, or what had happened to their mother... Recollections that were so cloudy, so distant, and yet crystal clear again in the blink of an eye. And even though, whatever Sam did, the guy would always be his little brother, Dean's chest ached with the idea that this little kid in front of him was his Sam--a Sam that was free of all of the guilt and the bullshit that would plague the him later in life, and full of an innocence that Dean wished Sam could've always held onto.

This was a Sam that was years away from knowing that his life had been tainted by demon blood... almost two decades away from knowing that one day, he'd be Lucifer's vessel in an apocalypse. It was a Sam that didn't yet know the pain of losing the girl he was planning on marrying in the same way they both lost their mother, or watching his brother get ripped apart by hell hounds in front of him, or the trauma of being trapped in a cage with two pissed off archangels, and he swallowed down the knot in his throat as the thought that he'd give anything to spare this Sam a future drenched in blood and laced with a terrible responsibility crossed his mind. Because it wasn't fair. None of it... not a goddamn thing that was looming just off in the distance of time to one day shatter this Sam completely out of existence was fair, and this angel mojo of his really needed to stop rubbing all of these inevitable truths in his face, because it wasn't making that thought any easier for him to bear. He wanted simple again, yes, but not like this. Not with painful reminders that this was a time and place that they could never go back to attached to it.

But just as he was about to focus his energy on attempting to poof back to his own time again, more stirring from the little body on the couch distracted him, making him freeze in his spot once more. Because it wasn't the 'rolling over to get more comfortable' kind of stirring... no. It was the 'I'm about to be conscious' kind of stirring (because after 30 years, he had come to learn the difference between these), and in his moment of panic as he hovered between wanting to bolt as fast as possible to avoid the imminent conversation, and knowing there was no way Sam hadn't already seen him through bleary eyes as small fists came up to rub at the sleep still clouding them, Dean spit out the first thing that popped into his head:

"Okay Sammy, I know this looks bad... But don't freak out, alright? I'm..." There, he paused for a second, because how in the hell was he supposed to explain that he was this Sam's brother, when this Sam's brother was still at the age where he was nose deep in comic books and a bag of Funyuns at any given moment? Considering he'd just asked the kid not to freak out, it was probably not the best idea to drop that bomb, but thankfully, his brain conjured up a different end to that sentence--one Dean could only hope would make him freak out marginally less than the alternative as he looked at his little brother with a desperate sincerity. 

"I'm an angel. And I'm not here to hurt you."

[uodean-blog]

OOC note that... I guess I can't put in the OOC blog.

Or, at any rate, it just makes more sense to put it on the dash. This is just a heads up about my url change guys. deanfrigginwinchester is now badassonbowlegs. The master list has been changed, and since it was just a url swap, I should still be on everyone's follow list (just under the new blog name), but if any of you have me linked on your theme, you're gonna have to fix the url. Otherwise, it'll just lead to a nonexistent blog.

[uodean-blog]

A Touch Too Much - Dean&Gabe

[tricksterinapxrnstache]

-

"Well we do use the whole radio thing, but ya know? No private conversations. This is the easiest way." Plus interrupting Dean’s private time was entirely too hilarious to tell the truth. What a better way to be a pain in someone’s ass than to just appear at the most inconvenient time?

There was a shift in the archangel’s movements after Dean put space between them. Rolling over and stretching out with his back against the headboard. His focus seeming to be on the now broken TV rather than the new Winchester angel that was apparently in the ranks. The sucker rolled from one side of his mouth to another. There was a reason for him being there. With all the trouble brewing around the town, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the Winchesters were involved in some way. When there was trouble, both boys never seemed far from it. Who better to bother about it than Dean? Sam wasn’t seeming like the practical choice. Apparently killing someone’s brother over a hundred times wasn’t as amusing as one would think.

"Don’t go getting your feathers in a bunch, sheesh. I’m not about to help you unravel them." He could of cracked jokes left and right just about the grace Dean had, and he would have happily given another time. Gabriel may have appeared at an amusing enough time, but he knew enough to know there was a time and place for everything. For now this wasn’t the place to keep poking him.

A loud, exhausted sigh broke from his lips at the mentioning. Of course it was brought up. Seemed like anyone with a brain could piece together that the archangel had died by Lucifer’s hand with his own blade. Wasn’t his proudest moment, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. The only problem was he was prepared to argue until he was blue in the face that he didn’t die. If he admitted to it, then others could poke around trying to figure out if there was something wrong with him.

Gabriel wasn’t about to chance that. He couldn’t go from being a fearsome archangel to a target that quickly.

"And your brother was worn like a pretty little dress like my brother. Could be askin’ you questions about that." The sucker was removed from his mouth as he finally turned to look at the Winchester. “Nope. Wasn’t dead. Decided to take an indefinite vacation until your whole lot sorted out the apocalypse issue. Seems like something new is brewing around and wouldn’t you have it!" He exclaimed loudly, throwing his legs off the bed and standing up. Both hands raising in the air before pointing in Dean’s general direction, lollipop still in hand. “You and your brother are right here for it all!"

[uodean-blog]

Far from amused at the moment, Dean's expression slid into a glare that was halfway between annoyed and bored. "I meant the phone, Chuckles. God knows I already got enough angel babble goin on in my head." And wasn't that the truth? Well, not about the God thing... that guy wasn't up for knowing much of anything these days. But the constant barrage of static noise in a language he understood even less than he understood Latin half the time? It was enough to keep him awake at night, and with an yielding throbbing feeling pulsing between his temples during the day. Although, at one point, he had picked up on the so called Enochian exorcism that turned out to be fake, and some kind of joke about breeding with goats... But despite what Cas had told him, as it turned out, it wasn't any funnier in angel-tongue.

Unless...

Wait a minute...

Hadn't they come across some lore about Loki having some kind of half horse offspring through their research on tricksters?

....

Huh.

Shaking the thought off before his brain decided to start shooting those mental images through his head, the older brother shot the archangel a bitchface that would've made Sam proud over the crack about his wings. It wasn't bad enough that they were heavy, and friggin huge, and prone to snapping out if he rolled his shoulder the wrong way (which had made for some seriously unfortunate accidents of him being nearly suffocated in feathers when it happened in his car... not that he'd ever tell anyone about that...). No. They had to get all tangled and ratty too, which was a pain in the ass to sort out. Especially since it was damn near impossible to get even a few minutes alone to himself these days... obviously... and it wasn't like he was gonna do that kind of thing in front of his dad. John knew about his new status, of course... it would've become impossible to hide eventually, so he'd been honest about it from the jump... but the less his old man saw of his new supernatural mojo, and anything tied to it, the better off Dean felt about the whole thing, and he guessed his dad probably felt the same way.

Pointedly ignoring Gabriel's quip about Sam being the Devil's prom tux, because he wouldn't put it past the archangel to stir up that conversation if he pushed his luck, Dean let out a snort. "Yeah, and thanks, by the way. You couldn't have taken five minutes to give us some kind of instruction manual for the damn things instead of banging Jenna Jameson?" Not that he was all that pissed about it... at least not as far as Gabriel was concerned. He'd helped them out a hell of a lot more than all of the other angels combined had... aside from maybe Cas... and in the end, they'd figured out how to make the horsemen's rings work, anyway... kind of. Apparently they didn't lock the box up as tightly as everyone was hoping though, considering Lucifer, and no doubt Michael too were topside again. But then, Gabriel would already know that, considering that no... he apparently wasn't dead, and with another roll of his eyes, Dean picked up his beer from the nightstand again.

"So, what? You just popped off to Witness Protection or whatever again and waited for the storm pass, is that it? Washed your hands clean of the whole damn mess until another one you could screw around in cropped up?" There, Dean snorted as he brought the bottle toward his lips. "Man, some angel you are..."

Taking a long pull from his beer, he set it back down on the small table again, and then regarded Gabriel carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust the archangel... well, no, he didn't; but in all fairness, he didn't trust any of the angels these days. He'd been burned enough to learn to stay away from their fire as much as he could, and with his laminated membership card to the Holy Country Club now, that hadn't changed. But the last time he'd seen Gabriel, they'd been on... okay terms. As far as okay went with angels, anyway. So now the question was whether or not that had changed, and if not, what did the archangel want?

With that in mind, he lifted his eyebrow at the other man and sneered, folding his arms across his chest--his usual stance of impatience as Gabriel decided to play Captain Obvious for the moment. "Yeah... lucky us..."

"Look, is there a reason you decided to go mustache riding through my porn again, or did you just come to say hi?"

[queenforadaydream-deactivated20]

A House Full of Heartache II Open

Anna used her hazel-grey eyes to study the people sitting around her. It was strange to be among them once again, when only a few days ago she existed as a million-trillion particles of dust -no, less than dust and yet infinitely greater than dust. She was elemental. Helium and hydrogen, iron and gold. She had been everything and nothing stretched and spread across eternity touching all things at once and yet… knowing nothing at all. 

It was comforting in some ways, to know that the world had spun on despite her misgivings and betrayals. That the people she loved, for better or worse, had also managed to live. Though the number of people that came to mind were very limited and truth be told, the majority probably hated her for what she had become, what she had done, before Michael -well, before he killed her. That unapologetic smirk and his cold eyes. Unloved by too many of her brothers, forgotten by too many of her friends, but still she found the haunting images flicking behind her eyelids when she blinked to be much better than the ideas of what the world would have become if she’d succeeded in carrying out Naomi’s orders. 

She tugged the over sized gray sweater she wore, tighter up around her shoulders. Anna smiled at the elderly waitress who came up to where she sat at the bar. “Just a coffee to start," her voice came out soft and sweet, if not a bit hesitant. She still wasn’t exactly used to speaking and her nerves continually being on end was no help either. She finally let her eyes roam over the menu, though the three dollars and twenty-three cents she had in her pocket would buy little more than her cup of coffee.  

[uodean-blog]

These days, the rain didn't so much as stop as it just lightened up every now and again. In between the regular monsoons, there'd be a few hours, or maybe even a whole day where it was just a steady light rain, practically a sprinkling when compared to the deluge that normally plagued the small town. And when it happened, Dean tried to take full advantage of it, if only to get himself out of the motel without having to resort to subjecting his poor baby to conditions she wasn't made for in order to do so.  

So that was how he found himself walking past the small bar and grille en route to the diner a little further up the street, on a mission for a slice of their boysenberry pie. It wasn't usually his favorite, that honor going to apple, but something about their recipe for it had made it a staple of his stay in Bigfork so far--to the point where even if it wasn't ordinarily on the menu for the day, he could get a whole one whipped up just for him, no matter which waitstaff group was on duty. And had it not been for the tug on his grace that had him backtracking just as quickly as he'd passed the grille's front, today probably would've been no different. But as it was, things had quickly gone from as ordinary as they possibly could be, given their current issues, to... well, anything but, actually.

Dean knew it couldn't have been Cas, even before he doubled back to peek inside, considering he was still back at the motel... but there was still Gabriel running around on the loose, along with a slew of angels he wasn't familiar with, no doubt. But the grace emanating from the building belonged to none of the above. Instead, a woman, fair skinned with firey red hair was seated at the counter, and it took a moment for his brain to wrap around what he was seeing as he stared blankly through the glass before the words slipped out under his breath.

"Son of a..." But he didn't even finish the thought though before his hand was tugging the door open, bell ringing above him as he stepped inside just in time to hear her order herself a coffee. Her voice carried, and even though there was very little of it to begin with, the sound of it wiped out any lingering doubt he might've had about what he was seeing. At this point, he was used to people popping back from the dead, so it wasn't that he was surprised about that part. It was just... of all the people he expected to come poking around their neck of the woods, Anna was probably damn close to dead last on that list, considering what had happened the last time he'd seen her.

But there she was, and now he was here too, so it wasn't as if he could just... slink out and pretend like this wasn't actually happening. Well, he could... but for all he knew, she'd follow after him anyway, and Dean was not at all prepared for what might happen if this little reunion didn't go down in public. For one thing, he was pretty sure that his own angelic prowess wasn't up to snuff when compared to hers, which meant defending himself was probably not an option. And given that his entire family had nearly died last time she'd come around, he didn't think testing fate and betting against her still being hell bent on murder was in his best interest at the moment. All he could hope for was that the presence of innocent bystanders might deter that potential plan, so instead of bolting back out the door, he moved to sidle up behind her, eyes flicking to the waitress behind the counter.

"Make it two, Donna," he said as he slid onto the seat next to Anna's, giving the woman a smile and nod when she asked if he wanted his usual--black, two sugars, and a shot of whiskey--before he turned to glance at the angel with a knowing look as the waitress set about filling the order.

"Well I gotta tell you, Anna... I've seen my fair share of people springing up these days, but you are the last person I expected to come poking around here..."

[uodean-blog]

Chains Keep Us Together - Dean&Cas

[bloodstainedwings]

Rain hammered the motel incessantly, reverberating within the room wherein stood Castiel.  The angel watched the monsoon as it raged outside through a window as he waited for the return of the room’s owner.  He had been anticipating this reunion ever since his unexpected return from Purgatory, figuring it best to meet with Dean and relate his experience as soon as possible.  The hunter’s well-being was important to him, of course, but the help the man might offer in identifying why Castiel had reappeared as he had was just as, if not more, important. He relished the opportunity to work the case with him, but ached more for the answers it would yield.  He needed to know who had brought him back, why they had done so, and what had happened to his Grace.  The last one was particularly important.  Without his Grace, he was all but helpless – it was required to execute angelic deeds, such as flying, healing, and fighting to his full potential.  His current state rendered him little more than human, clinging desperately to the insignificant amount of Grace still left to him.

Just where Dean could be found at this time, Castiel did not know, though it also mattered little.  He had succeeded in finding the man’s abode, however temporary it may be, and that ensured their eventual meeting.  As anxious as he was for answers, he was grateful just for this opportunity to meet again with the elder Winchester.  In the meantime, he saw no harm in getting comfortable, as he had no way to determine when exactly Dean would arrive.  He strayed from the window and seated himself on the bed’s edge instead.  His feet ached more than he had expected, and he regretted not having the Grace necessary to ease the pain.  That was just as well, however – humans certainly had to endure their share of foot pain.  Being in his predicament, he could no more avoid it than could they, so he must learn to tolerate it.  How long he would remain Graceless and have to abide by such inconveniences was indeterminable, but he resolved to handle it.  This was nothing severe, anyway – he had been on his feet too long, probably, and they just needed the rest.

There came a sudden exclamation of astonishment that announced Dean’s arrival, and Castiel snapped his gaze to regard the man before him.  His eyes held in them a hint of the concerns plaguing him, but rather than starting with those, he opened his mouth to apologise for unintentionally scaring the hunter.  Such had not been his intention – he only desired to reacquaint himself with his friend and perhaps get some assistance.  Something stopped him from uttering more than a simple “Dean, I—”, however.  As Dean bulled ahead with his questions, Castiel grew increasingly aware of a peculiarity about him.  He had changed, it seemed, and rather drastically.

Men did not become angels.  Angels were creations of God, separate beings entirely from humans.  Men did not possess Grace that the angels had, and had no way of acquiring it.  Odd, then, was the fact that, with Dean, Castiel felt the presence of such Grace, indicating the presence of an angel that he simply did not see.  Perhaps more curious was that the Grace felt unmistakably like Dean – so much so that Castiel could not deny the obvious connection.  Could Dean, then, have found some way to become one of the beings he seemed to most loathe?  Absurd though it seemed, what else could it be?

Castiel’s eyes widened with the intensity of this realisation.  It came to his awareness, though, that Dean either did not notice or did not care about his discomfort and uncertainty.  Indeed, the hunter seemed only to expect answers from the angel.  As he had come all this way with the intent of divulging all this information anyway, he saw fit to comply.

“Purgatory,” he started simply.  “I was in Purgatory.”  A pause followed as he considered how best to continue.  The passage of time had eluded him during his penance, and so he could not reasonably gauge how much time had been spent wandering aimlessly through the trees, fighting the horrors that jumped out at him.  The time must have been substantial, however, for Dean to have changed this much.  Instead of bringing this up yet, he opted to continue with everything he knew for certain regarding only himself.  “I was sent there after we killed the Leviathan.  I realised that being there gave me a chance to atone for all that I’d done, so I stayed.  I wanted to serve out my punishment.”

His brow furrowed in consternation.  “I was extracted suddenly and left near a highway, but without my Grace.  My guilt still torments me.  I shouldn’t be here.  I don’t know who’s responsible for this, but I need to find out before I can return.  So I searched for you.”  He lifted his eyes to meet Dean’s once more, though now they were clouded with uncertainty.  “And I see you’ve changed.  I’ve never heard of a human having Grace before, but you seem to have developed it.  Dean, what happened to you?”

[uodean-blog]

The emotion laced into his features didn't so much as soften when the word left Castiel's mouth as it merely morphed from frustration to skepticism. Cas didn't necessarily have a reason to lie to him, but then again... maybe he did, given the lack of contact over the months. And it wasn't like it'd be the first time the angel had told him one thing while something else entirely was going on, the other man's partnership with Crowley after supposedly killing the slimy bastard still more than fresh in his mind, and served up with a steaming side of anger regarding the months of torment Cas had inflicted on Sam by ripping down his wall. Trust was a very fragile thing--especially when it was given by a Winchester--and while the double crossing during the Crowley situation might've been a large crack in their dynamic all on its own, the Sam issue was an entirely different ballgame. A complete shattering of that typically implicit and unyielding sense of faith and loyalty Dean put into those he considered friends... family.

"Purgatory," he echoed, every bit of that disbelief weaving in through his tone while his brow hiked questioningly. Not that it was entirely far fetched either, as it had, in fact, been a theory tossed between him and Sam regarding their friend's whereabouts after the showdown with Roman...

'Well that's where Dick would've gone, right?' his brother had asked when Dean had all but scoffed at the idea. 'So maybe Cas got yanked there too. Some kind of... I don't know... tie to him for letting him loose in the first place?' 

Admittedly, that had made some sense, so it wasn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that Cas was being honest about it. But then, this was the same angel who had walked into Hell, not once, but at least twice, and had managed to climb back out. And one of those trips had been to the goddamn cage when he yanked Sam's body out. Not exactly an easy feat, and now he was sitting here, telling Dean that he couldn't get out of Purgatory?

But no, not couldn't. Didn't want to.

'I stayed...'

That had the hunter bristling all over again as Cas went on to explain that it had been a way to punish himself. To atone for what he'd done. And fair enough, Dean didn't know much about Purgatory, other than the fact that it was the only afterlife option for monsters, and that Eve was a raging bitch. But what he did know was that when people screwed up, running from those mistakes and the ones they had hurt wasn't punishment; it was cowardice. A chance to shirk the responsibility of honestly making up for what they'd done, so it was with the glare still resolutely etched into his features that he regarded the angel again, shaking his head as the angel mentioned wanting to go back. 

"No. No, you are right where you're supposed to be, Cas," he said flatly, though the words were sharply edged with that anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The only reason it was still in check at all was because losing his temper these days usually came with casualties, and while he had managed not to explode any people yet, he did not want to test that theory on Cas. No matter how pissed off he was at the guy, the angel was still... a friend, and Dean had a long list of people he'd rather try that trick out on than his friends... even in spite of whatever their friendship was or wasn't worth these days.

But thinking about his own unchecked grace, and the questions that Cas had about it made something else the angel had brought up during his breathless explanation settle in on the hunter, and for the moment, all of that emotion was set aside in favor of satisfying the need to make sure he'd heard right as realization dawned on his face.

"Wait a minute, without your... Oh, you've gotta be kidding me..." he all but groaned. But while his own angelic status was admittedly more confusing to him than not, now that he was sure he wasn't going to be smote by the intruder in his room, and was actually paying attention to the... feeling that Cas's own grace was emitting, it was easy enough to tell that something about him was... off, without the need for reassurance about the matter from the other angel. It seemed... weak when compared to his own, and even though Dean was hardly an expert on how angel mojo worked, something like this seemed like it would be one of those 'strength comes with age' sort of deals, meaning that Cas's grace should've easily been overpowering his own. Now that the hunter was reading the situation though, that was very obviously not the case at the moment, and he rolled his green eyes before letting them slip closed, reaching a hand up to rub at his forehead in another bout of frustration.  

"Well that figures..." And honestly, it did. At this point, it was safe to say that his whole life had been governed by the shit end of Murphy's Law anyway, so really, how could he even pretend to be surprised that with the end of everything bearing down on them, one of the only ties they had to all of Heaven was now defunct? That was just how it always worked, and if he'd actually bothered to give the possibility of Cas walking through the door much thought before now, he probably could've felt something like this coming a mile off. After all, it had been a few days since another check had appeared in the totally 'screwed column', which clearly meant they were due for one.

With this news, and after mentally taking stock of the situation as it stood now, he finally dropped his hand and looked over at the angel seated on his bed, wondering just how much, if anything at all, the other man knew about the state of things now, considering his absence. Did he know about God being dead? Not just gone, but dead? Did he know what the aethyrs meant, or what the signs of them were? It didn't seem like it, given his surprise over Dean's new status, which meant that it was going to be up to the hunter to break all of that news to him. Everything from Cas's father being six feet under... or whatever... to the fact that they were standing on the brink of everything being wiped out. Not just humanity, or even the planet. All of the planets, the stars, Heaven, Hell... the universe as a whole, just... gone. About to blink out of existence entirely.

Talk about a shitty welcome back gift.

And suddenly, Dean was extremely glad this reunion had come after his beer run, although considering the immensity of the conversation they were about to have, whiskey probably would've been the better investment. Still, he ripped open the soggy box and pulled a can out to pop it open before swinging one of the dining chairs around in front of him, seating himself with his chest leaning against the back of it as he took a long drink from his beer before focusing his attention on Cas again.

"Alright, look, one question at a time dude. First, I dunno who pulled you up, but it isn't just you. Gabriel, my dad... even Thing 1 and Thing 2 crawled out of the cage. And this..." Motioning with his free hand to the warp in space behind him where his wings attached, heavy and huge even while folded in, to his back, Dean shrugged, shaking his head again. "This is part of it, I guess. I got angel mojo, Sam's got some... weirdo x-ray soul-vision crap going on. And we don't know much, but as far as we can tell, it's..."

There, Dean hesitated for a moment, biting the inside of his lip as he hovered on the edge of dropping the first bomb. He didn't know for sure if it would stir any understanding in Cas, but if it did rang a bell, then it was possible everything else would slide into place without him having to spell it out for the other man. Which, on one hand, would be great, if only to absolve Dean of the task of bearing a metric fuckton of bad news. But on the other hand, it would mean a whole lot of devastation packed into a single verbal punch, so it took him a few moments to brace himself for the impact it could have before he breathed out a sigh, and found Cas's gaze again to hold it as he spoke.  

"Does the word aethyrs mean anything to you?"

[uodean-blog]

A Touch Too Much - Dean&Gabe

[tricksterinapxrnstache]

  The joys of being topside and leaning that not only was dear old Dad was dead, but there was a new angel running around? A Winchester of all things? Gabriel needed to get to the bottom of it. Curious as ever and just as mischief as before he’d died, it really didn’t take much for him to focus in enough on the Grace he couldn’t place who it was. Had to be Dean. Even when he was absent from Heaven on his own personal vacation, which in reality was Hell, he was aware of any and all new fledglings and angels. This Grace was new and tracking Dean down had been easy, just as seeing him swipe the TV. It was enough to satisfy his curiosity and put the rumors to rest.

As much as he hated to do it, he touched into his grace. What better way to have a nice talk with the hunter than to interrupt some quality alone time? The archangel knew he’d regret it later, using it for something so petty and pointless… but the last he needed anyone knowing was the fact not all of him had been restored. Still had his powers and abilities, still had his six golden wings, but not all of his true self was intact. It was something Gabriel was still trying to figure out exactly how to fix.

The moment Casa Erotica was flipped on, stopped on longer than any of the other channels, Gabriel used exactly the thing he knew he shouldn’t. Warping the movie much like he did for his own sick enjoyment with his TVLand, which sadly wasn’t as entertaining without people to torment with it, he appeared at the door. Hand knocking and waiting.

The mustache was something he couldn’t resist. The costume itself was ridiculous, even to Gabriel’s standards, but it was a porn-o after all. The cheesier, the better. Golden eyes turned from the blonde to the camera, staring straight at Dean and taking in the face of horror. “Hey-ya, Dean-o.” He stated simply enough. The silver tray in hand tossed to the bed and a snap of his fingers before the whole TV shorted out. Dramatic effect, that’d teach the Winchester for being a thief[probably not, but it was amusement he needed for himself].

Appearing on the bed right beside the hunter, Gabriel still had the delivery costume on. Hair slicked back, the pornstache stuck to his lip. He laid on his side, one hand propping his head up while the other pulled a sucker out of his mouth. One leg up with his knee bent and his hand moving to rest his wrist on it. “Miss me? I don’t have to start calling you bro now since you got the feathery thing going on, do I? You’re like the step-brother nobody wants around, right?”

[uodean-blog]

Seriously, was nothing sacred anymore? First there was Anna, popping into his double lap dance dream which... might not have been so bad had she joined in, but no dice there... and now this? What, did the angels have some kind of radar on his personal time or something? Some alarm that went off whenever he was actually privy to a few minutes alone where he could just indulge? And if so, were they contractually obligated to respond to it in order to spoil his good time? Because as far as he could tell, that was clearly the case. Especially when he considered the fact that, with a single finger snap, Gabriel was right next to him rather than in the tv, sprawled and posed in his bed with a sucker dangling out of his mouth, and still clad in his porn get up.

Because it wasn't as if this whole moment wasn't awkward enough or anything. Nope. Not at all.

"Seriously, can't you guys just call like normal people!?" he demanded before it dawned on him that he was now in bed with the archangel. That realization had Dean scrambling off of the mattress and to his feet, obviously eager to put some distance between them because with his luck, his dad would choose that exact moment to walk back into the room, and then he'd have a whole lot of explaining to do... none of which that would likely sound the least bit plausible. 'Yeah, he's an archangel porn star who popped out of my tv and into bed with me...' Mhm. He could only imagine the expression on his dad's face at that one.  

But now with the level of uncomfortable in the situation reduced by about half, Dean could focus on the fact that there was an archangel who, up until a few minutes ago, he thought to be dead, laying on his bed, and less importantly, but no less irritatingly, making snide comments about his own recently granted status.

Rolling his eyes, the hunter folded his arms across his chest before shooting Gabriel a glare. "Oh yeah, tons. And please don't," he answered when the other angel asked if he had to start calling Dean bro. He might've been an angel now, but one dysfunctional family was enough for him, and he was not looking to be a part of another one, whatever his grace contrarily meant. "Cuz trust me, no one wishes I wasn't a part of your screwed up halo club more than me." Which was probably the understatement of the century, actually. Sure, it made stealing tv's easier, but that was about the only upside to this entire situation that Dean could find so far. Everything else seemed to err heavily on the side of 'this freakin sucks'.

As far as he was concerned though, that was enough about him. It was likely Gabe hadn't had his last word on the matter, of course, but for now, Dean was going to try his damnedest to redirect the conversation, eyebrows knitting together in mild confusion as he looked at the other angel. "When did you pop back, anyway? Last we heard, you were door nail dead..."

Then again, that message had come from a porn that was eerily similar to the one he'd just attempted to watch, so for all he knew, Gabe had just spent the better part of three years hanging out in TV Land... And actually, given the angel in question, that possibility seemed highly likely, and at that thought, Dean squinted, regarding Gabriel with a new air of suspicion. 

"Wait a minute... you were dead, weren't you?" 

[uodean-blog]

Lake Monster Fight Training Redux~

Sammy: Dude, he’s hardly collecting his pension.

Dean: Whatever. He’s older than me, which means I get to make jokes.

Sammy: And you’re older than me…. -smirk-

Dean: I know. Which is why I stick to kicking your ass instead -grins-

Sammy: Bullshit.  And you know it.  I can totally take you.

Dean: Yeah, when I let you.

Sammy: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAheeeno.

Dean: Listen smartass, just because you’re taller and have like, 30 pounds on me doesn’t mean I can’t still kick your ass six ways from Sunday.

Sammy: I’ve had plenty of practice ‘out there’.  -grins-  You think you can take me?  Go for it.

Dean: Really? You wanna go before we even had coffee yet? -waves fingers toward himself- C’mon then. 

Sammy: Why not?  S’as good a wake up as any? -rolls his shoulders and cracks neck, shaking arms out before taking a slow step to one side-  Jerk. -flicks out one hand as a feint, then shifts the other way, taking a ‘warm up’ swing-

Dean: -lifts an eyebrow and then shrugs- Fine. It’s your funeral. -gets up and rolls his shoulders as well, hearing his back crack and steps in the opposite direction, starting the circling- What’s the pot? Laundry detail? -darts to one side slightly, then dodges to the other, feeling the swing breeze past his ear before reaching out for his wrist to twist him around, grinning- A month on whoever loses?

Sammy: -grunts slightly at the grab, letting that arm loosen to stop tension wrenching his muscle as it’s twisted, pausing for just a moment- Nuhuh… the roof.  Loser gets clean up.  Deal? -plants one foot on the floor then shoves backwards, trying to slam Dean into the nearest wall-

Dean: -thinks about it for a second and then nods- Okay. Deal. -grunts out as Sam shoves back into him and loses his hold as he cracks back against the wall, pushing himself back off of it after he balances out to circle again- Oh, so you do still fight like a bitch… -shifts lightly back and forth on his feet, and swings short with his left while he jabs with his right-

Sammy: -grins at the quip then just shrugs- If you say so, Dean.  And when this ‘bitch’ kicks your ass, you’ll be eating those words. -stays still this time, just adjusting his stance to keep facing his brother, a slight lean away at the jab before the second swing hits more solidly, not quite twisting away fast enough.  A small ‘oof’ as he loses a bit of air, but instead of stepping back, he moves into it, attempting to barrel Dean off his feet-

Dean: That’s pretty big talk Sam.. -smirks at the small victory of his fist connecting with Sam’s middle, and the little woosh of air the guy lets out. it fades fast though as he’s charged right off his feet, hands scrabbling around his brother to tug him down with before he hits the floor with a loud grunt. he bends his knees as quickly as possible while he still has some room, and then reaches around for Sam’s wrists again, pushing up to roll them over. Legs stretching so his knees are between Sam’s legs instead of buried in his stomach, his hands shove his brother’s wrists against the floor- Nuh uh, Sammy. Gotta beat me without the dead legs this time…

Sammy: WOAH!  -stumbles forward and attempts to land without his full weight smashing straight into his brother, because *squish*, and broken ribs were never fun, managing to thud one elbow hard enough into the floor to make him feel the jar of it right through to his teeth.  Enough for Dean to take advantage and the room to spin for a moment as he’s shoved down, grimacing slightly-  Uh… Come a long way from dead legs, Dean.  Doesn’t mean I don’t fight dirty. -he grins and leans up to lick a gross stripe of spit onto Dean’s face, legs hooking over his brother’s calves and bucking up to twist to one side, trying to wriggle free-

Dean: -sniggers a bit- Yeah, I bet. -feels momentarily cocky about his winning position until he feels Sam’s tongue slide across his face and he jerks back, nose crinked up tightly- UGH, freakin..! -but doesn’t get to finish as his brother bucks up against him and twists enough to tip dean onto his side, turning both of them in a half roll, knees now trapped between Sam’s legs instead. he lets go of the wrist closer to the floor, and threads his fingers in Sam’s too long hair, tugging his brother’s head back so he doesn’t get licked again- Gross, dude!

Sammy: -snickers for just a moment, still wriggling and shoving till Dean yanks his hair and he grits his teeth, bringing his free hand round to try to land a jab to the bottom of his brothers rib cage-  You’re just lucky I brushed my teeth, coulda been a lot worse.  Morning breath. -snorts and pushes again till he manages to loop one leg right over and sits on Dean’s stomach, twisted to one side with the hand still in his hair, then sucks on a free finger and tries to jam it in his brother’s ear- Let go, damnit!

Dean: -wiggles as the blow lands against the dip of his ribs, trying to get away from it- Still gross, Sam! -feels the leg come up and tries to pull one of his out from under, but can’t before he’s on his back, brother sitting right on the flat of his stomach. it’s a little harder to breathe with the added weight and before he even registers to fight against it, there’s a wet finger in his ear, and he tries to awkwardly swat at Sam with his free hand- OH C’MON. Are you try’na lube me up or wrestle me here?! -gives up trying to get the finger out of his ear with the one hand and lets go of his brother’s hair to yank it out, and then shoves at his chest with both hands in an attempt to push Sam off, bucking at the same time to unbalance him- Get offa me!

Sammy: It worked, didn’t it?  -snorts again, sits back, pulling both hands away, flicking his hair out of his face as soon as Dean lets go, feeling a pull down one side of his neck-  Dude, if I was gonna poke my dick in your earhole, one; it’s too small.  Two; not much resistance with that empty skull of yours.  It’d be like spitting in the grand canyon.  -and to punctuate the sentence, the flat of his palm pops against Dean’s forehead, thudding the back of it off the floor- Op! -arms windmill for a moment as Dean, shoves and bucks, before he topples off to one side, banging the same elbow and cursing blue under his breath, scrabbling to try to get away and back to his feet-

Dean: -rolls his eyes-Har har, smarta— OW. Bitch! -bends up once Sam falls off, lifting a leg quickly to wrap it around his brother’s, right behind the kneecap as Sam tries to crawl away, and locks it in place between his own legs. Reaching out, he grips the back of his brother’s shirt tightly and tugs him back, leg swiftly moving out from under Sam’s knee to join the other along the back side before he’s shifting to straddle his calves while pulling Sam back until he’s kneeling. His other arm snakes around the front of Sam’s neck and shoulder area to hold him in place before he lifts up a bit on his own knees, and brings the hand that was gripping his brother’s shirt up, fingers curling into a fist that he rubs knuckle down aggressively against the top of Sam’s head- You wanna fight like you’re five? Fine. Then you get noogies.

Sammy: -grunts and keeps wriggling, trying to crawl to the couch till he’s hauled backwards, reaching back over his head to bat at Dean with one hand while the other tried to yank the arm from round his front- I’m no— Ow!  OW!  St— OW! -stops trying to bat at and grabs one of the cushions, pummeling it over his head to try to swat Dean off before leaning his weight back again and pushing them both over backwards, completely stuck now with legs tangled together and jammed underneath, stretched out in a long line as his sore elbow takes another shot at Dean’s ribs-

Dean: -tries his best to dodge the cushion which keeps smacking him in the face anyway, despite his muffled, cut off protests of ‘STAH’ and ‘ahddammit!’. Gives up trying to dodge it and lets his fist falls away from the top of Sam’s skull, hand reaching for the cushion instead to grab it so he can toss it away while he holds on to the head lock as they rock back. Feeling the elbow jam into his ribs, he grunts in mild irritation at the point sinking into his middle, and tightens up the choke hold around Sam’s neck as he grits out— Dude, you’re either gonna lose conscious or unconscious, but you’re gonna lose. What’s it gonna be, Sammy?

Sammy: -another jab to the ribs and one hand flails for his ‘weapon’ the cushion laying just at the very tips of his fingers, straining to try to grab it.-  Noh’gunnalose j’rk -the words jumble together slightly as the choke hold tightens and things get a bit blurry, finally grabbing the cushion and heaving it over his head one more time right as stars start dancing behind his eyes- Noh…. gunn—….. mh…. -blacks out and just lays there like a large, immovable samoose shaped boulder-

Dean: -smirks from his spot underneath Sam- Huh? Can’t understand you, Sammy, gotta speak up… -it earns him another smack from the cushion before his brother finally slackens against him, going even more mumbly and he grins more victoriously because he’s gonna be gloating about this for days.- HAH. Told you I’d kick your ass! Now get off of me dude, you’re heavy… -releases his arm from around Sam’s neck just a few seconds too late, and shoves his shoulder roughly, blinking once he notices how Sam doesn’t move an inch- Sam? -shoves at his shoulder, trying again… still nothing and attempts to lift his head so he can see. Doesn’t really work… - Sammy? -still no answer and he groans from his spot, completely trapped under the dead weight of his moosey, unconscious brother- SON OF A BITCH!

[uodean-blog]

Chains Keep Us Together - Dean&Cas

In a never ending biblical-type assault, rain pelted the glass of his windshield with ferocity, the swishswish noise of his wipers seemingly growing angrier by the second. He feels bad for his car. Cooped up in one town, hammered constantly with shitty weather... She's not made for this, but she keeps on going, odometer ticking over every mile. 120,000, 130,000... footprints of his life--of their life--embedded into the tread lines of her tires, and she rarely complains. A rattle here, a shake there, but he can always count on her, even when she hates what's being dished out to her. Like now, for instance, every pissed off swish of the wiper blades telling him so.  

"I know baby, me too," he agreed with a consoling pat of the dashboard. Luckily, they weren't going far. Then again, in a town this small, far didn't really exist, and the grocery store wouldn't have even been considered driving distance, if not for the monsoon outside. So it wasn't long at all before he finally pulled into the motel parking lot, swinging his car into her spot, which is how he knows they've been here too long. Because no matter how many people check in and check out of the motel, no one else ever parks there. Not even when he's gone. It drives Dean crazy as much as it conveniences him.

Cutting the engine, and with his 30 pack in hand, he climbed out of the cabin, rain drenching him almost immediately as it soaked through layers like they didn't even exist. There wasn't even a point to running for cover under the overhang above their motel room door, so instead he simply walked, soggy box in one hand while his other fished around in his pocket for the key to his room. But something stops him, and he looks up at the door, eyebrow raised in wary curiosity.

Something... or someone rather, is in there, and if he had to hazard a guess, he's pretty sure it's the angelic sort of someone, given the tingly feeling that weakly shudders through his own new grace. Great. Like he doesn't have enough angels coming out of the woodwork to pop up in his porn. At least that one was a sort of friendly face though. For all he knows about the new intruder in his room, it's one of the handful of other angels who he's pretty sure solely exist to make his life miserable. Zach, Uriel, Michael, that Rachel bitch... 

He's so focused on running down the list of possibles that he doesn't even catch the tell tale pins and needles feeling working its way through the top of his left arm. If he had, the answer as to who was on the other side of his door would've been plain as day, silvery white scar in the shape of a hand print prickling at being so close to its source. But he doesn't notice, and so, with a deep breath, and after figuring that there's no chance of whoever is in there just leaving since they likely know he's standing outside if he knows that they're inside, he pulls out the key in his pocket and jams it into the lock, turning the knob along with it before he gives the door a gentle push to open it.

Whoever he was expecting though, it isn't who he sees, and he's understandably startled, nearly dropping the case of beer in his hand before the nanosecond of shock wears off enough for him to swear under his breath and step inside.

"Christ, Cas, warn a guy next time! I just spent the last 30 seconds out there wondering if I was about to walk into angel harakari!" Shutting the door loudly behind him, he didn't even stop to think about what he wanted to say. Instead, demanding questions just came spilling out of him, hardly a breath between them the second he turned to face the angel again. 

"Where the hell have you been anyway? Do you even know how many times I've called your ass?" Called meaning prayed, but he hated referring to it like that. Dean didn't pray--he just yelled at the sky. But if the angel did have an explanation, the hunter didn't wait to hear it, launching into his assumptions instead. "What? God kicks the bucket, Heaven decides to unleash friggin Armageddon on us, and you just piss off to..."

But Dean wasn't sure how to finish the thought. Not like Cas was the type to go party in Cabo with enough hookers to drown him up to his eyeballs or anything. So rather than try to come up with a logical explanation for where the angel had disappeared to, he settled on giving the guy an annoyed glare instead as he set his beer box down with a heavy thunk and shrugged out of his wet jacket, folding his arms across his chest as he turned to face the other man again with anger and frustration embedded deep into his expression.

"Well?"

[uodean-blog]

A Touch Too Much - Dean&Gabe

Finally.

The 40 inch tv gleamed under the shitty lighting of the motel room, shiny, and brand new, and fresh out of the box. It seemed trivial in the grand scheme of things, considering the crap Heaven was dishing out to the world as a whole at the moment, but it had been... well, Dean didn't even want to think about how long it had been since he'd actually sat down to watch television, their last one exploded into bits of plastic, glass, and wiring by his unchecked angel grace, and he was going crazy without something to help him unwind. But those days were over now, also thanks to his new celestial mojo. What? Like hunting was pro-ball enough for him to afford a new 40 inch flat screen... yeah, right. Besides... just because he was an angel didn't mean he was going to start pretending to be a saint too, and it wasn't like Wal-Mart was going to miss the 500 bucks anyway.

Not that he cared one way or another, tongue caught between his lips in concentration as he connected up all of the wiring from the cable box to the new TV. Capitalism wasn't exactly high on his priority list... especially these days... but seeing the freckles on the ass of his favorite porn star? Now that was a different story, and with the last HDMI cable hooked up, he ran his fingers down the side of the television, pressing the power button once he located it, and watched the bright, colorful picture spring to life.

A rerun of Doctor Sexy played out across the screen, and Christ, how had he never realized how rich and deep Dr. Piccalo's dark brown eyes were before?

"Maaaan this HD thing is awesome," he muttered to himself with a smile, watching a few minutes of the episode before wandering into the kitchen to grab himself a beer the moment Dr. Wang started going on and on about her latest heart surgery she'd botched. Seriously, what kind of doctor didn't check to make sure their patient wasn't allergic to the anesthesia? Really, getting almost fired was about the best she could hope for. Good thing she was hot. 

Coming back out, bottle in hand, he plopped on his bed to start flipping through channels. News, nature documentary, news, some guy eating bugs in Cambodia or something, MTV, Evangelical dudes preaching, news... crap, crap, and more crap. Okay, so maybe the HD part was awesome, but apparently programming content hadn't improved since the last time he'd watched. Giving up on normal cable with a sigh, he punched in the numbers to where the more... adult programming started, and flicked his eyes to the television. Much better, although nothing he hadn't seen before, and he settled back against his pillow to start flipping again, options growing more and more promising with every new channel. 

Bringing his beer to his lips, he finally caught sight of one of his favorite Casa Erotica's and stopped. John was off doing who only knew what, but knowing his dad, it'd keep him out of the room more than long enough for Dean to get a little bit of alone time in. So he set the remote on the stand next to his bed, and then settled back in against his pillow, watching as the busty blonde made her way to the front door to answer the 'delivery' on the other side.

Except... the delivery guy wasn't who he expected at all, though definitely no less familiar. Even with the cheesy mustache, it was impossible to mistake the face on the screen, and with mild horror laced in his own expression, Dean couldn't help but groan.

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me..."

[hotmomkate-blog]

Rude Awakenings | Dean & Kate

Wake up, princess. Got some work to do.   

If there was any rude way to wake up a person, it was probably with a bucketful of water to the face. The young blonde unconscious to the world  just laying on the bus stop bench as the rain fell down on her. Pellets of water splashed on her face, dampening her hair and clothes until eventually, she jerked awake with a gasp and sat up, hands to her face to wipe off the rainwater. Her bare arms shivered as she looked around to get her bearings, her legs with the same fate despite being covered by denim. Frantic jerky movements from a normally calm and collected woman.

Lightening flashed across the sky above her, snatching another of her breaths as she scrambled to her feet. The bus stop she was at was hardly familiar to her, none of the buildings around her either. Though, there were hardly any to begin with. Her eyes darted around, blue and wide, unsure, scared, before she finally remembered her cell phone. The stupid thing was always reliable even when she expected it to hardly have any battery left, let alone signal. But her jean pockets were empty save for a few IDs and a couple hundred dollars in twenties. 

“Fuck,” Kate hissed, resisting the urge to curse a bunch of celestial beings out in favor of cramming the items back into her pockets and running down the street. She was bound to look like a wet rat, running around in the rain completely soaked, but she was sure there would people willing to help if she just looked for them. Of course, the first thing she cam across was a bar. Just this side of respectable versus seedy and a couple of cars in the parking lot. One appeared to be familiar but honestly, it was dark as hell and she’d just woken up feeling too light on her feet and maybe even her head a bit heavier since her hair was randomly past her shoulders and not shorter as it had been at her death.

Her death. Not a fun thing to think about.

She entered just as another crack of thunder resounded through the air and she squawked in surprise, the door slamming behind her from her jumping. Kate looked back towards the few people milling around, face sheepish and apologetic as she looked around. A couple of guys, leather jackets and a bit scruffy but clean. Her type but she really wasn’t looking for that kind of help at the moment. Maybe in a bit. After five shots, probably.

“I’ve had such a long day, man,” Kate sighed in greeting at the bartender, plopping down on one of the stools at the bar. She held up a single finger for a beer and waited for a moment, looking back up in confusion as he simply looked at her. “My card? Seriously?” At his insistant look, she reached into her wallet and pulled out her driver’s license. He flicked his eyes to the year and nodded, going to get her beer while Kate tried hard not to make a face at his back. Carded? She hadn’t gotten carded in more than twenty years, what the hell. The soaking wet blonde wrang out her hair as she waited, the pale yellow short sleeve t-shirt doing nothing to help the chill seeping into her bones, especially since she appeared to have no bra on.

“Fantastic,” Kate murmured, reaching for her beer when it was put in front of her and trying to figure out how to go from here.

[uodean-blog]

It was one of those rare nights, where having another presence in the motel room was enough to drive him crazy enough to get out of there. And honestly, he loved his dad to pieces, he did, but living with John hovered on that border between living with Sam and living with a power of authority: all of the neurotic tendencies of his little brother, but with a sharp barking voice that said 'my rules, take 'em or leave 'em'.

He'd come back from grabbing the two of them some food to find his notes reorganized and re-outlined, lining the walls of their motel room, in the same way Sam would've always done, if Dean had ever let him. But the older Winchester son lived his life in a state of chaos, and honestly, he preferred it that way. He liked the clutter, the space. Sure, crap roadside motels weren't home, and would never be, but while they were on a job, Dean took advantage of them like they were, clothes strewn everywhere, research completely disorganized on torn out pages of notebooks or scribbled on print outs. Even the trunk of his car, with all the weapons of a supernatural armory on wheels, had no rhythm or rhyme to it. But when Dean went looking for something, he always knew exactly where to find it, whether it was his jeans crumpled up under his bed, or his favorite machete, and seeing John's version of redecorating with his notes and his maps was enough to push him over that edge of getting out for the night. A few glasses of whiskey, and he wouldn't give a damn one way or another when he strolled back in later.

He'd made it to the bar just before another monsoon broke loose, bolting from the car to the heavy door to duck inside. It wasn't his regular one (and Dean had long ago stopped trying to figure out when he'd ever had a regular anything, let alone a regular bar that wasn't Bobby's kitchen or garage...), but somehow even less busy than his usual hole in the wall place, and with a higher ratio of women who weren't Lynnie the bartender, with her fire red hair coated in hairspray, and her impatient gum snapping. Not that Dean had a problem with either of those things, but the menthol that clung to her made his nose scrunch up, and she always looked bored out of her mind whenever the hunter attempted to make conversation. Mostly because it was just one of those places where no one tried to make conversation, which was half the reason he liked it so much in the first place.

This one wasn't completely unfamiliar to him though, Wendy the petite brunette waitress sashaying by him with a smirk. She was married, and strictly off limits on account of it, but it didn't stop her from playing along when he made halfhearted attempts at pressing his luck the few times he'd wandered in here anymore than it stopped him from checking her out from behind as she set down drinks at a nearby table. But liquor was priority number one at the moment, and after a moment of ogling, he found himself a spot near the end of the bar without trouble, ordering the usual from the guy working behind it: jack, neat, and a pint of whatever was on tap to go with it. Simple, usually delicious, and after 4 or 5 rounds, an easy set up for a good night.

Waiting for his drinks, he took a quick glance around the room, more of a force of habit than for any kind of purpose. The room was paid for for the next week after a particularly good hustle, and it wasn't like Bigfork was sporting any kind of world class strip joints for him to run through another take. Actually, there wasn't a strip club at all, which was probably for the best: too easy to run into them again when he couldn't just blow town like usual.

The sound of the door slamming shut caught his attention though, and he glanced over with an eyebrow raised in curiosity, picking up his whiskey absently as it was set down in front of him.

She was blonde and soaking wet in that drowned rat sort of way, but definitely cute, and more importantly, legal, his eyes strictly focused now on the eye level whiskey as he drank while he casually listened in on the brief impatience coming from her when asked for her ID. It was the kind of tone people who weren't used to being asked took, a minor and annoying inconvenience when they just needed a damn drink. Dean knew that feeling all too well, and polished off the rest of his whiskey before picking up his beer. 

From somewhere behind him, a guy walked out of the bathroom, making his way back to his table of friends who had also taken an interest in the new female in their midst. A quick glance at them was enough to tell Dean that they were likely college kids, barely legal if not only here because they knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who could hook them up with a fake ID for when they went home for the summer. Not to mention, definitely the kind of guys who didn't get laid nearly enough. They weren't exactly the pocket protector wearing crowd, no, but the fact that they congregated in a pack told him that much. Seriously, what kind of guy needed group support to get some ass? The kind that never got any, that's what kind.

And sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, they were clustered together in a tight group, one of them casting surreptitious looks at the blonde every couple of seconds. Really, a part of him was tempted to just watch it play out, and see them get shot down, if only so he had something entertaining to watch. But the woman'd had a bad day already, and it just wasn't fair subjecting her to those kind of cheesy pick up lines and failed attempts at being slick, so the minute one of the kids disengaged to start making his way toward the bar, Dean picked up his beer and stood up as well, casually walking around the corner of the bar to slip onto the stool next to her instead. 

Without even glancing over at her, he held up a finger of his own to order her another round of beer, and snuck a quick look over his shoulder to see the kid dejectedly doing his walk of shame back to the table before he gave the woman next to him a lazy smile and a halfhearted shrug. 

"Sorry. Just figured you weren't in the mood to give the lost boys over there the time of day," he explained, subtly tilting his head in the direction of disappointed frat pledges before he nodded his thanks to the bartender as he set the new glass down in front of her. Picking up his own glass for a drink, he set it down again as he swallowed the cold liquid, absently swiping the foam off his top lip with his tongue before turning slightly toward the soaked woman. Much to even his own surprise, Dean managed to keep his eyes trained on her face, and not the nipples peeking through her wet, see-through shirt (for now, because c'mon... how could he not look at some point? They were practically calling for it...) as he gave her another smile and introduced himself.

"I'm Dean," he told her, and then gave her a fast once over, under the guise of taking in just how rain-wet she was before he shrugged off his green military jacket and motioned it over to her with a nod, his gun safely tucked in against the small of his back instead of in his jacket pocket for a change. "Here... you could probably use it a lot more than me right now."

[haveyoubeengarthed-deactivated2]

Running On Empty // Dean & Garth

[haveyoubeengarthed-deactivated2]

Garth hardly expected Dean to return the hug the way he himself normally hugged people. It wasn’t much of a hug as it was an unavoidable glomp with tight arms holding onto your neck. The only way to escape it was when Garth’s arms fell away from you and you were able to breathe again. But that was Garth in a nutshell - all hugs and fun, even on the job he could still joke around. But make no mistake. While joking and giddy, he was as serious as he could be. Fools didn’t make it through hunts. And he was no fool.

He was satisfied with just the pat on his back and was still grinning at Dean as he let him into the motel room. He looked around the place, seeing that it was on the messy side. Papers and books were scattered everywhere, beer bottles here and there. Beer, that actually sounded really good to Garth right now. He hadn’t had one since before Utah. Knowing his alcohol tolerance level, he knew that he shouldn’t be drinking when he was about to invade a nest of hungry vampires. He could get drunk way too fast and that did not mix well when trying to fight off fangy creatures.

“Yeah, the shojo. Fun times, huh?” He chuckled a bit, shoving his hands in his pocket as he passed around the room to get a look at Dean’s living conditions. Leave it to a hunter to walk in a room and not being able to help to see the surroundings of another. Garth seriously doubted that the shojo had been a lot of fun for Dean, but to him, he had a good time. He got to hang with his new pals and finally met Sam when he wasn’t giving that chick Becky goo-goo eyes. Not to mention: alcohol.

Garth let out a small sigh as he took a spot on the edge of Dean’s bed, hoping he didn’t mind him sitting there. But he had been driving all night and though he did like to get up and stretch his legs, he was a bit tired. “Coffee sounds good, man,” he replied, running a hand through his short wet hair. “Driving all night, I need something to wake me up. I only stopped long enough to get gas and a Big Gulp. Man, this gas station, let me tell you…fifteen flavors of slushies…grape, strawberry vanilla, orange creamsicle…” Garth could’ve gone on, but he figured Dean probably wasn’t too interested in flavors of slushies so he just trailed off on that one.

He let out a chuckle and waved a hand. “Anyways…yeah, man, I was in northern Utah when I got your text. Dealing with some nasty ol’ vampires leaving a trail of bodies behind them. Talk about sloppy…” He scoffed at the thought. It was easy to figure out from the papers that the creatures doing those biddings were vampires. Massive blood loss, strange bites on the necks, and mangled corpses. Didn’t take a genius to know that those were vampires.

“Drove all night just to get here. Figured it was urgent.”

[uodean-blog]

For all of his own exhaustion, and the weight of everything unfolding around him, Dean let out a snort as Garth reminisced about the 'fun times' they'd had on the shojo gig. Getting his ass kicked by a Japanese spirit that he could only see while he was drunk beyond belief didn't exactly rank in the older hunter's top ten list, but maybe it hadn't been all bad. If nothing else, he'd had an excuse to get wasted without Sam giving him the look, and managed to get a kick out of his younger brother's expression when Garth had all but tackled the guy in one of his hugs. That bitch face had lasted a good thirty minutes after they'd taken off, granting Dean a whole car ride back to their motel of chuckling at Sam's discomfort.

With a nod, he walked into the kitchen to grab the guy a cup of coffee, listening as Garth prattled on about all of flavors of Big Gulp slushies. And while he was tempted to roll his eyes with that impatient...fondness Garth seemed to draw out of everyone, even he couldn't argue that those things were pretty good, and finally paused his pouring because..

"Wait, an orange creamsicle one!?" Holy crap, that sounded delicio... oh, right. End of the world. Okay, focus. He could get himself an orange creamsicle slushie after they saved the friggin universe.

If they pulled it off, that was.

Not a comforting thought as he headed out of the kitchenette to hand over the steaming mug of coffee to the other hunter, doing his best not to look envious as Garth explained about the vampires. The last hunt Dean had been in on had been the ghost that had brought them here to Bigfork in the first place, and it was starting to get to him. Cabin fever in the worst way, with a side of 'what the hell?' Same town, day in day out, no job of the 'killing things' variety to tackle, dead dropping out of the sky or popping up from down below left and right...  It was getting to the point where Dean was ready to chew off his left arm if it would let him go back to setting Wendigos on fire instead of getting wrapped up in whatever bullshit of the week Heaven had up its sleeve.

But that just wasn't the hand he and Sam had been dealt in life, as Garth so kindly reminded him, and with a sigh, he turned one of the dining chairs around and straddled it when he sat, reaching up to scrub a hand over his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, that's one way of puttin it," he admitted, dropping his arm down on the other one folded across the chair back. Dean figured that, to most people anyway, the end of the cosmos was probably pretty urgent business. But he and Sam were not most people, and at this point, it was kind of just another day at the office. But no, that wasn't right, was it? Because if it had been just another day at the office, then he wouldn't have had to call in Garth at all. If it was just another day at the office, then Sam would still be here, and he wouldn't be sharing a motel room with his dad, or all of the two week old takeout in the fridge that neither man dared to touch because his brother would've harped on him to throw the food out the moment it started growing a layer of fuzz on top of it, and it'd be him and his brother butting heads round and round on how to tackle this problem instead of Dean bashing his head against the kitchenette table on a regular basis while his dad... well, Dean had no clue where the other man went when the older son wasn't trying to walk him through this aethyr thing, or filling in selective bits and pieces of what he'd missed over the past 6 years, but something told the hunter he didn't exactly want to know either.

Anyway, another day at the office or not, that was just according to him. Dean wasn't sure how much Bobby had divulged to other hunters about the two of them over the years (though he suspected not much, especially after the hunters who'd come after Sam when the brothers had split up after Colorado, or Walt and Roy later that year), and so, had no idea how used to hearing Earth shattering, universe ending news Garth was. It was easy now to have second thoughts about getting someone else wrapped up in their bullshit, and he was half tempted to make up some BS about a shape shifter a few towns over or something, but no. He'd had Garth come all the way out here--made him drive all night just to bring him in on this, so the least he could do was tell him the truth. No matter how bleak or potentially devastating the news would potentially be.

So he just launched into it, starting at the beginning, trying to sort out the details in his head as he went. "Uh... a while back, Sam and I ended up on this ghost job here in town." Some Native American spirit, but the details of that weren't important. "So we took care of it. Decided to stay an extra day, and then... shit just got weird."

Dean explained about the dead coming back to life, and not in the cool Romero flick kind of way where he'd get to shoot zombies in the head either. People...souls they knew, pulled down or yanked up, bodies intact, walking, talking, breathing (if necessary)... completely alive, memories still whole, or mostly whole. His dad, a few of the archangels, Chuck the prophet... probably even more that he didn't know about yet... He explained about the aethyrs, or what he could of them, anyway. About how they were like seals, but different, and how they all seemed to be leading up to one massive fight between at least three of the archangels and one mystery contestant hanging out down in New Mexico (presumably on a tortilla).

"There's thirty of 'em altogether," he said, turning halfway in his chair to pick a few sheets of paper that had the aethyrs scratched across the lines, notes and names scribbled next to a few of them before handed them across the space between his chair and the bed to Garth. "And we've had a couple of 'em bust open on us already..."  And in the warp in time and space behind his back, his wings, invisible, and heavy, and hanging out of his shoulder blades twitched. At least they'd stopped accidentally popping out on him now, but they were still a pain in the ass, and he reached his hand up to rub his temples again in frustration over the whole mess before glancing over at the other hunter.

If he were anyone else... anyone at all, then he could probably think of a more delicate way to summarize everything he'd just told Garth. But Dean and delicate were two words that were astronomical distances apart from each other in pretty much everyone's vocabulary, so rather than lay it down gently, he more or less slammed the news down on the table for their friend to take whatever way he would. Dean just hoped he wasn't the crying type.

"Basically, God went and took his cosmic dirt nap on us, and left us with the mess. And if we don't find a way to get one of those archangels, or Taco Bell down there getting his tan in New Mexico to take his spot, then everything.. Heaven, Hell, the whole Party of Five... poof, gone. Blinks out of existence. Us too. All of us."

"Urgent enough for you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrow. 

[timebenderss]

i’m bleeding out for you

[areyouhummingmetallica-arc-blog1]

Oculis In Caelum

The funny thing about being human, is that it’s possible to lie.  And the funny thing about being Sam Winchester - the ‘Boy with the Demon Blood’, ‘Lucifer’s true vessel’ and ‘almost’ Boy King of Hell - is that no matter those stigmatic labels, when words came out of his mouth, people tended to believe him.

                                                                                       ‘I have no faith’…

It wasn’t an outright lie anyway.  Sam might have lost his faith in God.  But that didn’t mean it was gone.  It was still there, blazing in his chest like an inferno.  Like sheeting rain over ice, a constant thrumming inside that needed an outlet - needed grounding or release.

It had always been there.  He didn’t know where it came from.  Neither John or Dean preached about faith in any way.  Only the practicalities of having a rosary on hand or a flask of holy water.  That’s about as far as it went with them.  But with Sam, it was something else.  It was a need to believe in something else.  Not just himself.  Not just the things he could see or hear or touch.  But to think that in the vastness of this lonely universe and beyond it… Maybe someone, somewhere… Was listening.

So it was a worn and weary body that lay down on the thin rolled up sleeping mat, looking up at the metal ceiling of his makeshift ‘home’, listening to the hammer of rain on the roof.  It tapped out a beat that shifted and swayed.  Something that was almost soothing, bright sparks flaring like beads of shattering diamonds in Sam’s vision from the minute vibrations every single raindrop caused.

Alone and in the silence, his mind turned to the one thing it always did.  So maybe there was no one listening.  Maybe there would never be an answer.  but that didn’t mean he had to let it all just… fade.

So he watched the raindrops fall and let the words slip into his mind, into that space he kept for the most private of things.  The most intimate.  where all of his hopes and dreams and fears and regrets sat tangled together like a knotted mesh, but were ultimately his… In a way that few other things were…

{  So, I’m still here.  And I don’t really know why I’m even doing this.  Praying, I mean.  Because I know now.  So, I guess this isn’t so much for ‘you’ whoever you are.  But for me.  And I’m sorry if that sounds selfish, but I think I deserve to be a little selfish right now.  I don’t think there’s long left.  So maybe this is the last chance I’m gonna get…

Y’know, this life… Has sucked.  I mean, seriously, sucked major ass.  but I guess that’s okay.  There are still worse things happening to better people.  And if you have any sense in you, then you’ll listen to their prayers first.  But I’m putting this out there anyway.

My life might have been one shitstorm after the next.  But I do have a few things to say thank you for.  Thanks… For helping me get this far.  Thanks for giving me the chance to help - and yeah, I fucked up - more than a few times, but then, I guess, that doesn’t really matter.  I’m damned and I’m going to Hell anyway.  Under my own steam this time.  How’s that for irony, huh?  Thanks for giving me the will to keep going.  Even when things got real tough.  Thanks for giving me people to love.  And thanks for letting some of them love me back. 

I think though, thanks for giving me strength… His name is Dean. 

He’s my big brother.  And, if I have any favors owed by the universe or karma or what the hell ever.  Then I’m calling them all in now.  Just… Please… Make sure he’s okay?  Because that’s usually my job and I can’t… Not now.  Not with what I’m doing.  Just, a bit of happiness and - if you’re feeling generous, some peace… Go the whole hog and throw in a white picket fence and some pie if I’ve got anything left to call in. 

And… I think that’s it.

Oh, wait.  Sidenote or footnote or whatever… If you don’t want to do it for me, then do it for him.  Because he won’t ask.  I know that I’ve never meant much to anyone ‘up there’.  And that y’all don’t like me very much.  But if anyone deserves that chance at something… Better… Then it’s him.  And I’d be much obliged if you’d just… Just go and look.  At what he’s done.  For me… For everyone.  He saved the world, you know?  And he’s trying to do it again.  So even if you don’t owe me?  You owe it to him, okay?  Okay…

Thanks.  }

[uodean-blog]

It filters through his head the same way it's always done; same voice, same tone... same inflections on certain words, half an accent on others, and for a split second, Dean's positive that he's lost his goddamn mind because he knows... he knows Sam is not anywhere near him right now.

He knows because every day since they said their goodbye--which was supposed to be final, but that didn't stop him from wishing the guy a happy birthday, and has only barely stopped him from hauling ass over to the warehouse he knows Sam is calling home now--there's this hole in his chest that refuses to scar over, bleeding and aching and eating away at him in a very subtle, but very deliberate way. It's the same place where his heart might've once been, proud and loyal and good, although maybe he's getting that confused with Sam's too because these days, Dean struggles to remember a time and place where he actually possessed any of those qualities, and his heart is so tangled up with Sam anyway that it's impossible to tell what belongs to who anymore.

At any rate, it's gone now, leaving a wound that won't heal in its place, and that's how he knows Sam is gone too, because Sam's the only other person that's ever held it in his hands, fragile thing that it maybe once was. The only other person who Dean's ever trusted enough to give it to completely, no matter how many times Sam had taken it and squeezed until it was damn near lifeless in his grip. And yet, even though he knows his brother is gone (in that never coming back sort of way that he tries desperately not to think about and can't stop thinking about), the words filter through his head as if Sam is laying in the bed next to his. As if it's just the two of them talking quietly in the wee hours of the morning because neither of them can sleep, and there's nothing good on tv anyway.

So he's almost positive he's lost his goddamn mind, snapping under the grief and the weight and the pain of everything before one word hits home, and then it all becomes crystal clear.

Praying. Sam is praying and Dean can hear him.

It's a shock to his system, although he's not sure why. They've been practically telepathic since they were kids, entire conversations shared in glances and shrugs, pursed lips and narrowed eyes, and if he thinks back far enough, to a time and place where a different Sam and Dean existed, even smiles and laughter. But this... this is different. It's unfair, and invasive, and he wants so badly to shut it out because Sam has so little that's just his, just like Dean has so little, and this just seems like one of those things because it's certainly nothing Dean has ever heard before.

But he can't shut it out. Tries. Tries to ignore it, tries to focus on the endless barrage of white noise Enochian (which he still doesn't understand) that's been shifted back a channel in his brain. He tries closing his eyes tighter and willing it away, tries to direct his brain toward something of his own, and nothing works. Sam's words filter in, unchecked, clear as day, and Dean has no choice but to listen--the unwanted intruder on one of the very few things Sam has that's just for himself.

By the time he resigns himself though, he's halfway to wanting to strangle Sam for thinking he doesn't matter enough to be heard, and wanting to strangle dead God for giving him no option but to hear it. But the small flare of anger dies just as quickly, replaced by a sharp pain in that place where his heart is gone, brutal stab to the void it left behind

"I think though, thanks for giving me strength… His name is Dean." 

"Sam," he hisses warningly, as if Sam is right there next to him to hear him say it before he realizes that the only person who's going to possibly hear it is Dad, although that's physically impossible, given the loud snoring that's only being drowned out by the voice of his brother in his head. The only sound he makes after that is a sort of choked sob over the pie comment, and then all of his efforts get directed into switching channels or... whatever, because as much as he didn't want to hear this before, he definitely doesn't want to hear it now. It's all wrong, and so ass backwards, and then he's swearing a string at the dead asshole who did all of this to them because if Dean had to screw up at every other thing under the fucking sun, why couldn't he have just made Sam understand that? 

Sam finishes, finally, and by the end, his throat is tight and his jaw is clenched, eyelids squinting they're shut so goddamn hard, as if it was going to help him block his brother out. That hole in his chest is jagged and raw now, carved out deeper and wider, and he can't fucking take it anymore. He tried. Gave it all he had, but he can't do it, and with hardly any thinking at all on his part, he materializes silently in the familiar warehouse, watching the outline of his brother's form rise and fall with his steady breathing from a short distance away in the shadowy space. Close enough, but still just out of reach.

He has no idea if Sam can see him or not, though he feels tangible in the space of the warehouse. And of course, Sam is staring up at the ceiling anyway which gives him no indication, but he feels like if he moves any closer, or Sam turns his head, any shred of hope he has that he might be invisible to the guy with his x-ray vision is going to be completely demolished, and then he's really gonna have some explaining to do. He's not supposed to be here as it is, and definitely isn't supposed to pop up right after a freaking praying session, considering his new mojo and all. Not like Sam's an idiot who couldn't put that puzzle together, and he's pretty sure he's the last person on the planet who was supposed to hear that prayer.

But at the same time, he wants so badly for Sam to know that someone's still listening... that Dean's still listening. Wants to tell him that even though everything else is going to shit around them, that it's okay. That he's there. That he's always right there, just like he's always been, and always will be.

So he stands there for who only knows how long, though it feels like an eternity, just watching the familiar rhythm of his brother's breathing. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, and having no clue what to do, though he has half a mind to storm over there and shake the hell out of the kid for being so goddamn stubborn--no pun intended. But he doesn't. He doesn't because they've been over this before and he can't go through that again. Saying goodbye once was hard enough... saying it twice would kill him.

And he knows Sam isn't coming back either. Even if he popped into view right now and got down on his hands and knees begged the guy to come back, Dean knows better than to think he can actually out stubborn Sam once he gets an idea in his head. But he can't let this go. Can't let Sam think that he'd ever let it go before the answer hits him like a ton of bricks. 

It isn't much. But it's something and he reaches behind himself slowly until he feels the smooth glide of skin against something unfathomably soft. His fingers move, dig, single one out, and with clenched teeth, he pulls, hard, wincing with the sharp pain of it before he brings his prize for it around so he can see.

It's long and weighty, but delicate at the same time, oily blue black sweeping into a dusty white grey at the tip, and gleams just enough in the low lighting to be seen if given a reason to look. So he sets it down on the floor of the warehouse, still moving slowly in the shadows just in case this invisibility cloak thing isn't working like he thinks it is before he stands again and looks over at the outline of his brother.

Sam's still breathing, undisturbed and unruffled by the happenings nearby, and Dean nearly exhales before he catches himself, just in case. Instead, he takes one long, last look... at least until the next time, because this might be just what he needs after all... before he disappears again in a single thought, with only the soft flutter of wings and the single feather to mark that he was ever there at all.

It's okay, Sammy... angels are watching over you.  

[pleaserepeatthequestion]

SPN MEME: Two Quotes (2/2)