dean and sam and cas all standing around a table

Let's Swayze This Mother

Summary:  You, Dean, Sam and Cas decide to search for Gabriel, it does NOT go as planned.

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Castiel, Gabriel

Word Count: 1931

Warnings: language

A/N:  This is my submission for @ravengirl94 1.5K Challenge.  I had the prompt:  “I make bad decisions when I’m tired.  You’re always tired. Exactly.” which will be bolded in the fic.

Thanks to my MastaBeta @wheresthekillswitch for word checking and so much more!

This may be slightly spoilery if you haven’t seen the season 12 finale.  If you haven’t watched it, keep scrolling.


“I can’t believe that he’s been alive the whole time,” Dean says, walking into the bunker library.

You, Sam and Cas are sitting at the far table, books strewn about.  He hands you and Sam a fresh beer before sitting down next to you.

“And you really didn’t know?” Dean asks Cas.

“Didn’t know what?”

“That an angel blade can’t kill an arch angel,” Sam supplies.

“No I did not.”

Cas looks between Dean and Sam as they stare him down.

“So Gabriel’s just been alive and keeping to himself?”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” you blurt out.  The three men turn to you in surprise.  “What?  Gabe avoided some major drama.  He didn’t have to play middle man to Lucifer and Chuck or deal with Amara.  I think it was pretty smart.”

“Ok, Y/N’s acceptance of Gabriel’s behavior aside, we need to find him,” Sam says, giving you his signature Sam-face.

“He could definitely help us with the Lucifer, Nephilim, alternate dimension crap,” Dean continues.

“So, how do we find him?” you ask, looking to Cas.

“It will be difficult.  Gabriel is a master at staying hidden if he wants-” Cas starts.

Suddenly the four of you are standing in a dining hall.  Except Dean who’s sitting at the table nearest you, wearing a light pink dress.

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its-the-tenerife-sea  asked:

I KNOW I ALREADY SUBMITTED BUT I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING BETTER JUST NOW THAT I'VE WANTED FOR A WHILE: "really guys, right in front of my salad???" (preferably non-establish destiel too, it's fine if not but likeee)


I could not, for the life of me, think of a way to write this as non-established Destiel without being completely crack-tastic, so please accept this established Destiel written as a sequel to this story. It just seemed too perfect to NOT have these two stories go hand-in-hand, I couldn’t pass it up.

Dean steps into the kitchen, intent on drinking the everloving shit out of some coffee, and pulls up short.

“That,” he says instead, “is a ton of rabbit food.”

Sam and Cas glance up at him, both sitting at the table. Sam looks like he’s in the middle of cutting cucumbers into slices, and Cas has a pile of tomatoes in front of him, carefully sorting through them. That’s not all, though – Dean spots a pile of bell peppers too, a bowl of pea pods with the ends snapped off, and even a couple heads of lettuce.

Sam beams at him. “We harvested some stuff from our garden today!”

“It’s going very well,” Cas adds, a note of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I can see that.” Dean moves to stand at the head the table and look down at the spread. He’s not gonna lie, he’s a little impressed. To be honest, he just figured that Sam and Cas would spend a few weeks puttering around in the dirt, maybe get a few pathetic tomatoes out of the deal, and give up.

…well, maybe that’s what he would have done, because he doesn’t know shit about gardening.

Sam finishes cutting up a cucumber and carefully scoops the slices into a bowl, already piled high with some shredded lettuce and tomato slices.

“This salad is gonna be awesome,” he says, almost wistfully. He pops a cucumber slice into his mouth and offers one across the table to Cas, who takes it between two fingers.

Dean snorts. “Dude. It’s still just a salad.”

“It’s not just a salad, Dean. It’s a salad that I grew. It’s the fruit of my labor!”

“…don’t you mean the vegetables of your labor?” He snickers at his own joke.

“Hilarious. You know what I mean.”

Yeah, Dean does. He gets it, really. The pride that comes with making something from your own hands, the feeling that your hard work has a purpose. It’s the same feeling he gets when he works on Baby, or gets a sincere ‘thank you’ from someone they’ve managed to help for once. It’s that rare gratitude that gets Dean through some of the really shitty cases. So yeah, he gets it.

…but he’s still gonna tease Sam about it.

“If you’re this excited about a salad, we need to take you out more often.” He reaches out for a cucumber slice – and promptly snatches his hand back, scandalized, when Sam smacks it.

Sam smirks at him. “If you’re going to insult our vegetables, you don’t get any.”

“Harsh, Sammy. Harsh.” He glances at Cas, idly munching on his own cucumber slice, and hits upon an idea. His lips twitch in a smirk of his own. “…that’s fine. I have other ways of getting what I want.”

Leaning forward, he catches Cas’ chin under his fingers and turns his head so Dean can kiss him. Cas makes a surprised, but pleased, sound against his mouth. He tastes fresh, like cucumbers.

There’s a disgusted noise from Sam’s side of the table. “You guys are gross. Go away if you’re going to do that.”

Dean decides to take that as a challenge. He slides onto the seat beside Cas, legs straddling the bench, and kisses him as if his life depends on it. Fisting his hands in the front of Cas’ shirt, he yanks him closer, elbow knocking into the table and jostling it. He thinks he hears a couple of tomatoes start to roll and hit the floor.

“Jesus, be careful! You’re knocking stuff off the table!”

There’s a pleased little rumble in Cas’ chest as Dean licks into his mouth, and god, Dean loves that sound. Cas puts a hand on the table for support, obviously overwhelmed by Dean’s mad skills, and bumps into Sam’s salad bowl, making it rattle and spin noisily.

“Hey! Watch it!”

They break apart in time for Dean to see Sam snatch up his salad bowl to safety, clutching it to his chest. He’s giving them both a monumentally unimpressed look.

“Seriously, guys? Right in front of my salad?”

Dean snorts and starts to laugh, and Sam shoots a bitch-face at him, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re a terrible person, and you’re both gross. I want to move out.”

Sam strides out of the kitchen with as much dignity as he can muster, considering he’s clutching a bowl of salad in his arms like it’s goddamn precious infant, and Dean turns back to Cas with a triumphant grin.

Cas looks deliciously kissed, lips pink, but somehow still manages to seem stern when he raises an eyebrow. “Was that really necessary?”

Dean shrugs and picks up a cucumber slice, popping it in his mouth. The taste of victory. “No. Good thing you love me anyways.”

Cas leans forward and kisses him, chasing his own taste of cucumber this time, and hums against his mouth. “Yes.”

Back to the Future: Part 9

Pairing: Castiel x reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: pregnancy, angst, injured/bloody castiel, another cliffhanger bc I’m a bitch 

Back to the Future Masterlist

Originally posted by thewincheters

As soon as you and the Winchesters got back to the bunker, you began formulating a plan to save your Angel.

To say you were conflicted was an understatement. You wanted to save Castiel more than anything, and you wanted to do it yourself. You wanted to show him that he could count on you, that you would always be there to protect him just as he was always there to protect you. But you also had to protect your daughter. She became your world as soon as you first heard her heartbeat, and as of right now, you were the only one that could keep her safe from harm. Your daughter had to come first.

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Full of Grace

Requested by @bkwrm523: A smutty Cas x reader fic where Cas teases you with his grace while you’re in public.

Word Count 1660ish

Warning: grace!kink, smut

A/N: Thanks for this request, I have missed writing Cas! Hope you enjoy it! XOXO

It was a warm tingle, so light that it seemed like it should have tickled, but it didn’t. It was just pure electric heat sliding over your skin and somehow making your cells come more alive than they already were.

“Wow,” you breathed, opening your eyes to stare into Castiel’s bright blue ones.

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Human Things

word count: ~2800

Summary: You decide Cas needs to experience a normal “human thing” - a sleepover. (Cas x reader fluff)

You were currently standing in the kitchen of the bunker, snacking on some grapes.  You could pretty much feel Dean’s judgment on your snack choice, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.  He was sitting at the kitchen table, laptop in front of his nose, looking at Chuck-knows-what.

Sam was in the library, searching for a case.  It had been almost a week since you had gotten back from your last hunt, and things were getting a bit boring.  There were only so many nights in a row the three of you could head into town to have a few beers at the local pubs, so you all decided to stay in tonight.

As you turned to grab another grape to pop in your mouth, Cas appeared next to you.

“Geez, Cas.  One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” you berated, before eating your grape.

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How to Save a Life

Title: How to Save a Life

Characters: TFW x Friend!Reader

Word Count: 792

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This was written for @dreamin-of-somewhere-else ‘s  “2000 Followers Writing Challenge”!

My sister and I used to listen to it a lot when I was younger and it was actually kind of hard for me to go and listen to over and over again.. Anyway, sorry it took me so long to get this out, but school has been WilD so far. I am taking a lot more challenging classes than last year, but I am having fun so far. Luckily a few of the parents of the of students in my Latin class and told him that he is assigning way too much work. I understand where he is coming from in the sense that we will learn more if we do more outside of class, but I have other classes to worry about as well.

Feedback is appreciated!!

If you would like to be tagged please send me an ask! Requests are closed for the time being, but I’ll let everyone know when I open them again :)

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First Impressions and Second Chances (part 14)

Summary: He never thought he’d get a second chance with you. Life didn’t work like that and it wasn’t something he’d been counting on. But now, being here with you at his side, he felt like he couldn’t thank the universe enough. He wasn’t going to screw it up this time.

Words: 1,518 (including texts)

Misha x Reader

Warnings: angst, resolved in fluff

Notes: we’re almost there! this is the second to last part of the series, things are starting to resolve themselves. next part is basically gonna be fluffy fluff and closure, but there’ll still be some of the good stuff :D (sidenote: this is unbeta’d and it took me AGES to write on a portuguese computer bc all the stuff is in different places, so sorry in advance if anything in the text or formatting looks weird. i fixed as much as i could!) leave in the comments if you liked this part :)

text messages in italics

Your name: submit What is this?

“We need to talk.”

Misha nodded slowly, contemplating. “Ok.” He lead you to the bed where you sat down next to each other, watching you carefully.

“Ok.” You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “So,” you linked a hand with one of Misha’s, “we need to talk about us- what’s going to happen when you leave and all.”

Misha stared at your joined hands, silent. You craned your neck down, trying to meet his gaze. “Mish?”

“What if you came with me?”

The words came out too fast, and he immediately looked like he regretted saying anything. You swallowed. “What?”

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Rise & Shine, Birthday Girl

A/N: It’s Kari’s birthday today and as she does such a wonderful job in hosting this year’s Hiatus Writing Challenge, and because she’s just an amazing and wonderful person, I thought I’d write her a little something to celebrate her special day. So @thing-you-do-with-that-thing - hope you like it.

Word Count: 551

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: None


Waking to the sound of the cleaner’s cart rattling along the walkway of the motel, you sighed and wished you didn’t have to get out of bed, especially not today. Not quite in the land of the living, you stretched one arm out of the blankets, groping blindly for the cellphone you knew was somewhere on the bedside cabinet. Blinking at the harsh light from the screen, you checked the time…..10.40am!

Thankful no innocent ears were around to hear the string of expletives that spewed from your mouth, you practically leapt out of bed, grabbed your Fed clothing and bolted out of the bedroom, heading for the bathroom. Turning the shower on as high as it would go, you sent out a silent prayer to the motel gods and hoped that the boys hadn’t used all of the hot water earlier that morning. Luckily your prayer was answered as soon enough, hot water started to cascade down the tiles as steam slowly filled the room.

As you stood under the water, you mentally slapped yourself. You should have been up and out hours ago for a long and mind-numbingly dull day of interviewing potential witnesses. Getting more irate with yourself, you quickly rinsed your hair and climbed out of the shower. Drying and dressing faster than you had ever done before, you tried to think of a reasonable excuse as to why you were so far behind schedule but your mind failed you - there was no excuse apart from sheer exhaustion thanks to back to back hunts. But that wasn’t good enough; Sam and Dean had been on each of those hunts and they were still up at the ass crack of dawn, probably already trying to convince the local sheriff to share information with them.

Rummaging through your bag for the extremely uncomfortable high heeled pumps that you would be forced to wear for the remainder of the day, you almost jumped out of your skin as a voice rang out across the otherwise silent room.

“Little overdressed for breakfast, aren’t you?”

Sitting, feet propped up on the chair in front of him, was Dean, still in the grey sweatpants he’d worn to bed the previous evening. Your eyes drifted from your boyfriend to the table which was full of food…..and a bunch of flowers. Barely able to string a sentence together, you merely followed Dean’s directions as he gestured for you to take a seat. Passing you a plate piled high with waffles, bacon and eggs, he took in your expression of confusion, smirking a little as he watched you.

“You didn’t think we were gonna have you working on your birthday, did you sweetheart? Nope, we called Cas in - he and Sam are at the morgue as we speak.”

Smiling at how thoughtful he was, you wasted no time at all in eating everything that was laid out in front of you. Once you had cleared your plate, Dean stood up and walked around the table to stand behind you. Placing his hands on each of your shoulders, he bent down to whisper in your ear…….

“So now you’ve finished breakfast, there’s just one thing we have to talk about. Are you gonna take off that outfit…….or am I stripping it off you piece by piece?”


Tagging: @waywardimpalawriter, @eileenlikesyou-maybe, @hexparker, @zepppie, @helvonasche, @mysteriouslyme81, @mamaredd123, @madamelibrarian, @chainez-8, @babypieandwhiskey, @supernatural-jackles, @wheresthekillswitch, @jensen-jarpad, @deathtonormalcy56, @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel, @notnaturalanahi, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @keepcalmandcarryondean, @casbabydontgoineedyou, @purgatoan, @redlipstickandplaid, @jayankles, @autopistaaningunaparte, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @katymacsupernatural 

anonymous asked:

1/2 (my attempt to insert some happiness into all your angsty cas death messages/fics lol.) Cas died on a random Tuesday. He came back on a random Thursday. There's no great light or big show. He just shows up in the doorway of the bunker's kitchen in the mid-morning. Dean is turned around at the counter, Sam is sitting at the table and glances up to the familiar figure standing in the doorframe, filthy and looking...well, looking like he'd been through death. Sam can't speak.

2/2 He stands up quickly and immediately feels like he’s going to pass out. “Hello, Sam.” Cas says in his polite, matter of fact way, dusting dirt from his own grave off of him. Sam, wide-eyed, looks to Dean, who is frozen still as if afraid to turn around. Dean squeezes his eyes shut. He’s had nightmares exactly like this. He turns around only when a gravely voice tentatively says “Hello, Dean.” Dean is there in three strides, crushing the angel to him. “You came back.” “Of course, Dean.”


Sand and Ash // Ao3

There was sand crushed into the dips and grooves of the leather seats.

Sam’s hands gripped the wheel, his fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. He didn’t know if he would be able to let go, the worn leather under his fingers the only thing that felt real.

A glance to his right confirmed that Dean was still staring straight ahead, his eyes blank. He hadn’t moved since Sam had directed him to sit shotgun four hours ago.

A bright light shone in the rearview mirror as a car turned sharply behind them, it’s highlights flaring out and catching the mirror. Sam refused to look.

It was silent between them. There were no words that came to mind. Sam glanced at Dean once more before turning back to the road. The dark asphalt sped underneath the Impala’s wheels, slowly eating up the distance between there and home. Though what was waiting there Sam wasn’t sure. The bunker had never been home to him. Dean had clung to it as soon as it was in their grasp. The echoing hallways, the long tables with only two people to fill the space around them, the dozens of bedrooms slowly building layer upon layer of dust on the undisturbed beds. For all too brief periods they had been filled intermittently, Kevin and his notebooks, Charlie and her music, Mary and her shy and then warm smiles and Cas…

The sun slowly rose as they drove and still Dean didn’t move. Sam was half tempted to swing the car around, to drive north, back the way they had come and go straight back to Jody’s doorstep. He couldn’t stand the thought of the empty bunker awaiting them, rubble and debris still lying around. It was the possibility that Claire could be there however that made him continue. She shouldn’t have to see this. They could handle it. They would have to.

The sun was beginning to sink in the sky by the time they made it to the bunker, the Impala’s tyres crunching over gravel as Sam drove her slowly into the garage. He let her idle for a moment before turning the engine off.

The silence seemed to press in on them. Sam could only hear his own breaths, his pounding heart, ratcheting up a notch despite the fact he was just sitting. Dean’s breaths were barely audible, as if he too no longer breathed. There was no noise from the backseat.

For a moment neither of them moved. Sam didn’t want to have to turn his head further than it took to check on Dean. Getting out of the car would mean that something had to be done. He would stand, the door would shut behind him and he would have to turn, to look into the backseat.

His fingers were still gripping the wheel.

It felt like something was pressing down on his chest, not enough to prevent breathing but with enough pressure to make him conscious of every breath he took, the threat of that pressure increasing in weight the longer he sat.

A brief glance to his right showed that Dean was not going to be moving anytime soon so Sam took a deep breath - in through the nose, down his throat, scraping the sides as it entered his lungs, forcing air, life, into his bruised body - and slowly pulled his hands away from the wheel.

As if he had been waiting for Sam to move, Dean suddenly lunged for the car door and was out on his hands and knees on the bunker’s unforgiving concrete floor before Sam could even blink. Everything felt sluggish and slow but the sound of Dean retching soon had Sam reaching for his own door. He hurried around the front of the car, his eyes firmly glued to the floor before him until he rounded the bonnet to where Dean was kneeling. Sam dropped to the ground beside him without lifting his eyes once.

Dean’s arms were shaking, his back tense as he heaved. Nothing was coming up and Dean was soon gasping for breath and Sam felt like he was stuck, the air thick like soup. It became difficult to move, to think, to breathe. All Sam could make sense of was a bit of gravel digging into his left thigh and his hand, clinging to Dean’s shoulder.

What felt like hours later, Dean finally stopped retching but his gasping breaths didn’t halt. It took Sam a moment to realise that it wasn’t sweat that was running down Dean’s cheeks. It was in that moment that it all seemed to hit Sam, the ever present weight on his chest finally falling on him completely, the crushing weight forcing all air out of his lungs, his own eyes burning as he fell back against the open passenger door. His brother was hunched over, sobs wracking his frame and Sam could barely breathe, the concrete swimming before his eyes, the air in the garage pressing down on the both of them where they had fallen.

There was sand and ash crushed into the dips and grooves of the leather seats.

~12x02 codas keep making me cry, so I’m offering up a happy one lmao here goes~

“What are you doing?”

“Ordering dinner.” Mary looks up from the takeout menu with bright eyes. “You can do that over the phone, can’t you?”

Dean knocks his hip against the counter and squints at his mom. “Yeah. You planning on picking it up yourself?”

“Why is it that I feel like I’m the child here and you’re my mom?” She playfully raises her eyebrows at him to punctuate the question.

Dean smiles down at the floor. “Uh, overprotective I guess. I’d, uh, love it if you went and got us some grub. Let me just get the keys and–”

“I’ll need 10 dollars. I wasn’t resurrected with any cash.”

Dean doesn’t hold back his laugh as he pulls a wad of cash out of his back pocket. “You’ll need more than that, Mom. Wait ‘til you see gas prices.”

She frowns down at the bills in her hands, but she doesn’t say anything else. As she makes her way toward the garage, she pats his cheek.

When she’s almost out of the room, he calls after her and reminds her that she hasn’t placed the order yet. She laughs and hits her forehead. He shows her how to use an iPhone. She calls it ridiculous and asks why they even say it’s a phone when in reality its other uses far outweigh its ability to make calls. He blinks at her.

Some stress drops from Dean’s shoulders once his mom is out of the bunker. He grabs a beer out of the fridge and downs half of it before joining Sam and Cas in the war room. Sam is staring intently at his laptop while Cas reads an old Men of Letters journal to see if there’s anything about the British chapter.

As Dean walks around Cas’ chair, Cas reaches his hand up without taking his eyes away from the book. Dean hands over his beer, Cas takes a drink, hands it back, and Dean pulls a chair out and sits close enough to Cas that their legs are knocking under the table.

Dean sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, reaching his arm toward Cas so he can give him a neck massage. Cas very briefly closes his eyes before resuming his research.

“How you doing, Sammy?”

From the opposite end of the table, Sam offers a tightlipped smile and trains his eyes back to the screen. “Still think I’m hallucinating, but at least it’s pleasant for the time being.”

“Did you try–”

Sam lifts his hands and presses his thumb to the old scar in his palm.

Dean smiles and drinks his beer.

“You trusted your mother to take the car?”

“You eavesdropped?”

“It’s easier than actively blocking you out,” Cas deadpans.

Dean stops rubbing his neck but keeps resting his hand on the back of his chair. “Should I have stopped her? I mean, she’s getting us dinner when she’s a guest in our home. Doesn’t that make us bad hosts?”

Cas just barely rolls his eyes as he closes the journal. “When I was sick, you let me watch Netflix and eat all of your Lucky Charms. I think you’re a fine host.”

Dean smirks at him and squeezes his shoulder. “That’s when you started sleeping in my bed, too. I think I went above and beyond as a host.”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate with your mother.”

“OK, the hallucination is once again a nightmare,” Sam says seriously. He closes his laptop and heads toward the kitchen.

Dean scoots his chair closer to Cas so he can nose at his jaw.

“You don’t seem too concerned about the British Men of Letters.” Cas’ neck betrays his words by tilting to the side and angling toward Dean’s mouth.

“Too hungry to care right now.”

“You could’ve offered to cook. That probably would’ve taken less time than Mary picking something up.”

Dean stops kissing Cas’ neck. “Honestly, I thought she might offer to cook. I was about to ask her what she wanted to do for dinner when I found her hovering over a menu.”

“Did you even check to see what she ordered?”

Before Dean can answer, Mary walks in empty-handed. She stops in the middle of the room and plants her hands on her hips.

“They were backed up. Said it would take an hour to fill our order! I’m starving.”

After a pause, Cas says, “I see where Dean gets his impatience.”

“And my appetite apparently,” Dean adds as he stands. “Don’t worry, Mom, we have steaks in the freezer. I got it.”

They’ve got some onions and peppers and a freaking eggplant in the fridge, so Dean quickly throws together an orzo salad with macaroni noodles since they don’t have orzo. Once the steaks are thawed (in the microwave, but nobody needs to know that), he throws them on the grill, heads back inside and tells Cas to keep an eye on them. He definitely doesn’t waste five minutes passionately explaining to Cas how to make sure all the steaks turn out perfectly medium rare.

While he’s roasting some broccoli, carrots and zucchini, Mary comes up behind him and asks what he’s doing.

“Uh, just roasting some vegetables. We went to the farmer’s market right before…well, a few days ago. Everything’s still good. You good?”

“You’re roasting the vegetables?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And they taste good that way?”

“You kidding me? They’re amazing. I didn’t know I liked broccoli until I tried roasting it.”


Dean mixes the not-orzo salad and lets the silence sit between them for a second.

“Oh! I gotta ask you. Um. That meatloaf you used to make when I was a kid. You still know the recipe?”

Mary laughs and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Piggly Wiggly, sweetheart.”


“I hated cooking. Why do you think I gave you PB&J for lunch every day?”

Dean huffs a laugh and scratches the back of his neck. “That’s, uh–I gotta be honest, one of the main things I’ve thought about you over the past three decades is that you’re a good cook.”

She immediately gets up and walks over to him. “Well, we’re getting to know each other now.” She pats his back a few times. “So, show me how you roast these vegetables.”

By the time Cas comes in with the steaks, Mary is cutting up some feta and laughing as Dean goes through the list of all the different kinds of mac and cheese he made for Sam when they were kids.

“He’s gonna be pissed when he sees the macaroni noodles in the salad,” Dean says with a wink to Cas and a nod toward the table.

Cas sets the plate of steaks down and stands with his hands by his sides, waiting.

“Macaroni and feta,” Mary says.

“Babe, go get Sammy, would you?”

Once Cas leaves, the conversation dies.

Dean and Mary laugh some more as they navigate around each other to set the table. When Sam comes in and asks what’s funny, they shrug him off.

Dean takes his usual seat next to Cas and squeezes his hand before they start eating. It’s his way of saying grace, which Cas finds sacrilegious. And hilarious.

Mary immediately stuffs her face and sings Dean’s praises with her mouth full. Sam looks at her, slack-jawed, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean loves cooking. He’s good at it. Not because he was trying to imitate his mom or take care of his little brother–even though those things are true–but because he just loves cooking. And that’s something he can share with his mom, show his mom, because they don’t have it in common.

After dinner, they all sit around the table and talk for a long time. Dean rubs Cas between the shoulder blades like he always does and then he scoots himself closer to Cas like he always does and then he wraps his arm tightly around Cas like he always does and then Cas leans up against his chest practically in his chair like he always does.

It’s not until Cas lazily turns and presses a kiss to Dean’s cheek that Dean registers something.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“You know Cas and I are–we’re–we have a, uh–I should’ve said–mentioned–”

Mary downs the rest of her beer. “You had a crush on John Travolta when you were 4, Dean.” She winks at Cas. “If you want my approval, you’ve got it.”

Without a Trace - Part 2

Word Count: 2091

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Torture, Violence toward a baby (Check the tags if you really need to know what it is. It’s not as awful as it seems, honestly.), Major character death-ish, Canon divergence, Language, Gore. This is a pretty dark chapter, I admit. 

A/N: This took forever! I’m sorry! I wrote this drunk so any and all mistakes are completely my bad. Feedback on this is much appreciated! It’s been a huge struggle. 

Without a Trace Masterlist 

“Dean…Y/N… you both need sleep.” Sam approached you both cautiously. You’d both been up for days, searching through lore books and checking for demonic omens all over the world trying to track down Adam and your son. You’d both been living on coffee and liquor and ignoring Sam and Cas as they pled for you to get some rest.

“No, Sam.” You mumbled, your eyes fluttering back open. You hadn’t even realized they’d fallen shut. “Our little boy is out there somewhere and we need to find him.”


“She said no, Sam!” Dean bellowed, slamming his fist on the table. “Don’t you get it? Bobby, our son, is out there somewhere with a bunch of demons and the fucking Mark of Cain on his chest. We need to get him back, now.”

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Written for Riz’s prompt: Sam and Cas getting drunk and talking about Dean. Cas reveals his feelings for Dean to Sam.

(Kind of a 9x10 coda)

Sam hasn’t been this drunk in a long time.

No, but seriously, a long time.

Squinting, the hulk of a man stumbles from the kitchen, dropping onto a chair with a loud ‘thump’ as Castiel watches him almost fall off the piece of furniture, eyes that would have once been alert and bird-like now soft and slightly unfocused from all the alcohol. He snorts as Sam’s eyes widen, the hunter giggling to himself. “Woah.”

“Woah, indeed.”

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I wrote a oneshot about this imagine from this great blog

The hunt had taken a little longer than expected. The shapeshifter wasn’t who you originally thought it was, so you and the guys had to start all over again. Luckily, you guys got the damn thing in the end, but you needed some alcohol in your system. 

“Wanna go to a bar?” You asked the guys, Dean smiled, and started driving to the nearest bar.

The place wasn’t much to look at, just another bar on the street. You quickly found a table and all four of you squeezed in. Sam and Dean sat on one side of the booth, with you and Cas on the other. 

“I’ll get the first round,” you said, standing up. You managed to get up to the bar, and order your drinks. You stood there awkwardly, not wanting to talk to any of the men around you. 

“Hey baby.” Some giant  said, touching your shoulder. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you shook him off, not looking at him. “Don’t be that way.”

“I’m not in the mood.” You stated, thankful for the bartender bringing your beers so you could leave. You hurried back to the table, and didn’t mention it to the guys, they get protective. 

The night when on without any incident. You laughed and drank, exactly what you wanted. You were feeling a little drunk when Sam came back with your third and final round. Sam and Dean told funny hunting stories and Castiel tried to tell funny heaven stories, but apparently they were only funny in Enochian. You were having a blast, until the idiot from before came up, more drunk than earlier.

“Hey, whatda say we get outta here?” He asked you, grabbing your arm.

“Back off.” You said, ripping your arm from his grasp.

“You know baby, I’m way more fun that these douches.” He motioned to Sam, Dean, and Cas. 

“Look, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave.”

“The only way I’m leaving is if it’s with you.” He slurred. Then, the guy had the nerve to pull you from your seat. You saw Castiel stand up, ready to smite this guy, but Dean jumped up and held him back. 

You could deal with being hit on by drunk bastards, but when they touched you, you lost it. The guy’s hand was still around your wrist, and you flipped him over, holding his wrist now, ready to snap it. Going down to his level you whispered, “Now why don’t you leave, or I’ll break you fucking wrist?” You applied some pressure, letting him now you were serious.

The guy didn’t reply, instead he scrambled up and ran out the door, smart. “You okay, Y/N?” Sam asked, always concerned.

“Yeah, but I think I need another drink.” Dean got up and went to the bar. You sat next to Cas, he looked worried.

“Are you sure your okay? I could go smite him if it would help.” Cas offered. 

You smiled, and shook your head, “I think I handled it.” Cas nodded, and Dean returned with your drink. You took a sip, and leaned your head on Cas’ shoulder, tired and ready for bed.

Truth Be Told (Hunter!Cas AU Series) Part 13

Summary: The day finally arrives for Cas to meet his fate. Will you be able to save him, or will Crowley rip him away from you?

Pairing: Hunter!Castiel x hunter!reader

Word Count: 3.6k (YOOO)

Warnings: lots of angst, mentions of blood, very brief descriptions of anxiety/shock, language

A/N: “K/N” stands for “kid’s name”. I thought y'all might like to pick out you and Cas’ kids’ names instead of me picking them for you hahah. anyway, i’ve been looking forward to getting to this point in the story! Yes, this is a very angsty chapter, BUT THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GET SAUCY MY PALS. JUST WAIT TILL THE VERY END OF THIS PART OKKKK.

Truth Be Told Masterlist

x x

6:02 AM

Cas inwardly groaned as he stared at the clock, the bright red numbers indicating he was one hour closer to being ripped away from his soulmate, the life he knew, everything.

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Not the time

AO3 link


It isn’t fair, Dean thinks, hearing Sam heaving up an empty stomach for what’s got to be the fifth time that morning.

It’s beyond not fair, he adds, eyes closing in anguish at the awful, choked, retching noises Sam is spluttering out.

Sam’s a good guy, the best of them, never done anything but try to live a good life, do the right thing; even in their lives when the right thing is usually verging way past criminal. And okay, so maybe Dean’s a little biased because Sam’s his brother. But he’s never willingly hurt anyone, or done anything to excesses unless he felt he absolutely needed to, to do what’s right.

Which is kind of how he got himself into this mess in the first place.

Out of the two of them, Dean thinks again with a grimace, he always thought he’d be the one to follow their dad into addiction of some kind.

No one would ever have guessed that baton would be passed to Sam. Or that his poison of choice would be demon blood.

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I'll take care of you

A/N:This is for Karolina’s Playlist 1k follower celebration challenge and the song/prompt I was given is: Carry On My Wayward Son (lullaby version)

(there is a set part for it, but I’d listen to it through the whole story but id if it matches up and the story is sort of short,sorry)

Warnings:Cas being a dick(verbal abuse kind of) 

Pairing:Dean x Reader, some Castiel x reader 

Word Count: 1,029

A/N: Okay so I didn’t finish this so I’ll just turn it into two parts if you all want just please let me know through an ask/message or a comment on the post. Also you could like/reblog. This was really fun to write and I’m glad @loveitsallineed decided to do the challenge thank you for that love, and conrats! Hope you enjoy!

Y/N/N : your nickname


(This gif isn’t really relevant but..)

Originally posted by zest-wincest

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