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Supernatural - Season 11 Episode 13 : Love Hurts (2016)

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Sam and Dean investigate a set of murders on Valentine’s Day and discover they are dealing with an ancient curse. Once kissed by the curse, the person is marked to die.
Title : Supernatural
First Air Date : Sep 13, 2005
Last Air Date : Feb 24, 2016
Number of Episodes : 233
Number of Seasons : 11
Genres : Drama, Mystery, Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Networks : The WB Television Network, The CW
Casts : Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, Mark Sheppard

HOLY FUCK THERE IT IS. Supernatural has actually canonically acknowledged and indeed spelled it out for us: Dean/Amara is non-consensual and it is not love or desire. It’s manipulation. It’s harassment. 

After all the jokes and allusions to and about sexual violence aimed towards Dean, we finally see an instance where this is called out as being wrong. 

…That ending almost made up for the rest of the ep. Almost.

Dean/Cas: Hopefully Next Year

My fix-it for 11.13 “Love Hurts.”

“So, who was it? Bach or Simpson?”

For a moment, there’s only silence, after which Dean says “Neither,” prompting Sam to look up. He isn’t sure whether Dean will tell him, tension and uncertainty in those pained, green eyes. Then, with a quiet sigh, Dean finally relents.

“It was Cas.”

Sam raises an eyebrow though not out of shock. Surprised that Dean confided, yes, but he’d expected the name. Who else could it be?

“Are you surprised?” he hedges gently.

Dean squares his shoulders at that. Defensive. Sam doesn’t miss the tick in his jaw. “That it was Cas? Hell yes, I’m… I’m-” He turns away, stares resolutely at the wall, and Sam is sympathetic. “Dean. Hey, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s-” Dean clenches his fists, mutters under his breath, “I’m not good for him, Sam. I’m bad news.”

Sam feels his heart break, for his brother and for Cas, the bond between them. Tenacious and fragile, tested and strained again and again. But also hopeful - the brightest part of Dean - a part that Sam wants to help to preserve.

“Don’t you think he should be the judge of that?”

Dean ducks his head and lets out one hollow, rueful laugh. “Yeah, trust Cas to make the best choices for himself.”

“No one’s accusing you of doing that either.”

Dean’s mouth twitches upward. “Ouch. Touché.”

Sam releases the breath he was holding as the tension seeps out of the room. It doesn’t escape his notice that Dean’s hand slips into his jacket pocket, running his fingers over his cell while the should I and shouldn’t I war in his mind.

Dean is restless on the drive back home, right knee bouncing like a little kid and barely saying a word till they stop for gas. He tries to leave the car for snacks but fumbles with his seatbelt, flushed in frustration, and it’s honestly so difficult to watch that Sam says “Call him” and steps out himself.

He spends some extra time going up and down the aisles, sneaking occasional glances out the window where he sees Dean lean back against Baby. He’s got his phone up by his ear, though with his back toward Sam, Sam can’t tell if he’s talking. He grabs a water and a Coke from the cooler and decides to browse the tiny Gas-n-Sip one final time - or two.

“How’d it go?” he asks a bit later, sipping his water and watching amusedly as the deep, deep pink dusts across Dean’s cheeks. 

“I mean, whatever, I just… said I’d see him at the bunker. You got everything?” Dean clears his throat.

Sam laughs, shaking his head. It’s still progress. Baby steps. “How’s he doing?” he asks instead while Dean starts the car and pulls out of the lot.

“Okay, I think. Researching, mostly.” Dean frowns. “Although- I dunno, Sammy, something’s up. He… I might just need some sleep, but, he sounds off.”

“Off?”

“Yeah,” Dean seems nervous, tightening the grip he’s got on the wheel. “It’s not just the voice, I- Something’s goin’ on… I just can’t put my finger on it.”

Sam nods, all remnants of teasing gone from his demeanor at the look on Dean’s face. “We’ll figure it out, once we’re back at the bunker. It’s probably nothing. We’ll figure it out.”


In the war room, Lucifer smiles, reading Dean’s text on Castiel’s phone, sent just minutes after their call.

‘Hopefully next Valentine’s, we’ll be case-free,’ it says.

“Oh, how sweet. Right, little brother? Looks like your hunter finally manned up.”

Inside, upon hearing this, the other angel closes his eyes. He commits Dean’s message to memory, whispers to no one, ‘I hope so too.’