Today, Cas is the one who almost died at the hands of a prince of Hell or whatever the fuck- it’s not like it matters what ends up doing them in, only when it happens- but Dean’s the one who’s wrecked. Dangerously drunk, waving a bottle around, nearly dropping it, though only twice.
Cas isn’t sure why exactly but he thinks Sam might have an idea since he retreated to his room as soon as they made it back to the bunker, leaving Cas and Dean alone in the library.
Cas didn’t notice just how much Dean was drinking at first, too occupied with leaning back in his chair and recuperating. There’s no wound, not anymore, but Cas is drained.
Eventually, he opens his eyes and Dean is standing (no longer sitting), holding a different bottle than the one he had started with, having entirely abandoned the notion of a glass, and glaring at Cas.
“You fucked up, Cas,” Dean slurs, moving to take another swig, but he aborts the idea. “You’re fucked up,” he corrects. He takes the swig this time and it’s a long one, long enough that Cas winces at the phantom burn in his own throat.
“The injury is gone, Dean,” Cas says placatingly, reluctant to defend himself. Dean seems primed for a fight and he doesn’t want to fight with Dean.
The feeling is not mutual, apparently. “Shut up,” Dean says. “Just- Just be quiet. You don’t get to speak anymore. You don’t get to say things, anymore.”
“Dean,” Cas starts, never one to obey. “It may have been a close call but everyone made it out with minimal damage.”
“You can’t say shit like that, Cas.” Dean stumbles back like being near Cas, even with the table between them, could hurt him. He takes another drink. It’s impressive, really, Dean wasn’t even sure he could get drunk anymore.
“It’s the truth. We are all alright and-”
Dean interrupts him with a dry laugh, arms swinging out, liquor spilling, balance precarious. “No,” he says. “You can’t say what you said.”
Cas doesn’t understand what Dean is referencing and it might be because Dean isn’t making much sense but Cas is so tired that it might just be him that’s unable to keep up.
“You said you lov- You said-” Dean can’t say it, Cas never should have, so he drinks more instead.
Cas gets it, then, and he’s relieved. This he can handle much more than a conversation about how mortal they all really are. How much time they don’t have. Telling Dean he cares, he can handle. Showing Dean how he feels, he can handle.
Dean knocks back maybe another two shots worth of booze and slams the bottle onto the table. There’s an audible crack, but nothing seems to leak. Then Dean stalks down the hall.
Cas thinks he ought to follow but Dean is already back with a duffle. The duffle is Dean’s, tattered and worn, but it’s the few articles of clothing he’s stuffing inside are Cas’.
Dean walks all the way around the table and pulls Cas to his feet by the lapel of his trench coat, shoving the bag into his arms.
“I’ve put some stuff you’ll need in there like cash, credit cards. Some IDs I had done for you.”
Cas’ eyes are wide but Dean can’t tell since he won’t even look at him. This is not how Cas thought this conversation would end up going, and he’s imagined it plenty of times.
“You need to go, Cas.” Dean speaks gruffly.
“W-what is this?” What is going on?
Dean’s head snaps towards him, eyes finally meeting his. Dean says, “You have to fucking go.”
“Because I said-”
“Because you said something you can’t mean!” Dean pulls on Cas’ lapel again, tugging him towards the stairs. He’s so drunk that it’s mostly Cas keeping him steady. The angel could easily subdue him but it’s not like Cas would fight Dean.
They’re at the foot of the stairs when Dean stops, apparently sober enough not to attempt going up the steps. He shoves at Cas to, though.
Cas stands firm for moment but his voice cracks when he says, “But I do mean it.”
Dean glares at him, shoves harder, meaner. “You don’t. You only think you do, Cas, because you don’t know anyone else. We’ve- I’m all you’ve known. You need to go.” Then, again, softly, “Please go, Cas.”
Cas doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t understand what is happening, but Dean is looking at him like Cas is the person who’s ruined him most in life and Cas can hear the prayer that’s begging him to get gone and Dean is grinding his teeth like being this close is causing him pain again and Cas doesn’t want that.
Cas loves Dean. Loves Dean enough to always come when he calls. Loves Dean enough to go when he asks.
The heavy metal door of the bunker shuts behind him with a clang and he’s left with the clothes on his back, whatever Dean’s packed in the duffle and a very big hole in his chest.
Summary: After sampling some of Rowena’s home brew, reader and Sammy are a little worse for wear.
Characters: Dean x Drunk!Reader, Drunk!Sam, Rowena mentioned
Word Count: 834
Warnings: Drinking? Crack, fluff. Generally not very good writing?
A/N: I don’t even know what this is. I’m tired, tipsy and I just wanted to write something in an attempt to shift this writer’s block. @arcturuz recommended the best cure is crack fic. So this is the drabble, too dialogue heavy trash that I spewed. Apologies in advance.
Dean taglist predominantly from @spnfanficpond , lemme know if you wanna be added/removed!
Request : @captain-princess-rose. Can I request a Sam x reader
where the reader has a size!kink and she’s really short (5 foot) and Sam
likes to tease her and it leads to him finding out about her size kink
and it leads to lots of smut?
A/N : Sorry this was on the list so long! I snagged it up yesterday when I got an idea, and being a tiny 5′0 girl myself, I what what it’s like to be short in a world of tall good looking men XD. I went the humor route with this one, hope you don’t mind.
You had always been interested in taller men. But when you’re 5 foot nothing, it’s not hard. Almost every man is taller. But everything over 6 foot, that’s where you were drawn to.
First, you met Dean. That had pulled you in. 6’1, good looking, and one hell of a mouth on him. But it was when you were introduced to his brother that you realized you had a size kink problem.
“Hey short stuff.” Sam grinned walking into the room. Dean just snickered drinking his coffee at the table. You were grabbing something out of the fridge when Sam came up behind you. His arm easily moved over your head with room to spare as he grabbed the juice you had been going for.
“Morning Sam.” You sighed. “How’s the weather up there.” you teased back.
Chapter Summary: You join Sam and Dean on a hunt, one that isn’t like it seems.
You are a reaper, actually one of Death’s favorites. You’ve been following the story of the Winchesters for a while, staying out of sight, never letting them see you. You slowly fall in love with Sam, even though he doesn’t know you exist. But that all changes one day.
Author’s Note: Thanks for checking out this story!! More chapters to come!
After the time traveling fiasco, Cas had disappeared, and Sam and Dean had found a hunt. Currently, you were lounging on one of the hotel bed’s, flipping through TV channels, while Sam and Dean talked about the case. You had been excited, and relieved that they had let you go along. You knew Sam would have, but you had been surprised that Dean had been the one to suggest it.
“Seriously, this couple ate themselves?” Dean asked incredulously, staring at his brother. His question had caught your attention, and you shut the TV off before getting off the table and walking over to stand behind Sam.
“Yeah, not much was left. But hey Dean, Y/N and I can handle this one. I know you’re probably ready to head on out.” Sam said, and you and Dean both stared at him in confusion. “Valentine’s day? What do you call it?”
“Are they?” Misha asked, looking up from his script.
“Are they what?” Jensen asked, absently repositioning himself
in his chair. He glanced briefly to
where Misha sat at the counter, across the trailer from him.
“Are they–do you think they’re in love? I know it doesn’t say that explicitly, but
these lines, and the way…just…what do you think? Honestly.”
With a sigh, Jensen rubbed at his face.
You had to go and break the pact,
didn’t you? he grumbled internally.
They’d stuck to their unspoken agreement for so long, he’d thought it
would continue indefinitely. They
weren’t supposed to talk about what their characters were to each other. The fandom did enough speculating for the
entire cast, let alone the two of them.
But he wasn’t going to bypass the question now that Misha had thrown it
out there. He could feign microphone malfunctions
at cons, but there was no dodging Mish and his this-is-my-sincere-face.
He took a deep breath and averted his eyes, pretending to scan the
script in his lap. “I think… I
think it’s complicated. Love is a part
of what they are, yeah, but they’re… It’s not romantic-comedy type love, and
it’s not Romeo and Juliet love. It’s
something else. What they’ve got isn’t a
romance, it’s…” He trailed off
and eyeballed his coffee.
“Yeah, I get it,” Misha said gruffly, turning away, fingering
the edge of the paper. “You’re
probably right. Taste the rainbow–but
“No, man, that’s not what I mean.
Trying to put a label on it like it’s normal, like it’s average, doesn’t
make any sense. I don’t think Dean can
fall in love that way, but he loves deeply.
Loves Cas deeply. And come on,
Cas doesn’t really get sex, you know? He doesn’t understand it. So whatever they have, it’s a thing all its
own, you know? Can a person really fall
in love with an angel and vice-versa, or does it have to be a different kind of
connection? I donno. Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I want to know how you’ve been… The way you play it,
the way I play it, it can’t…”
“It’s not just a friendship.”
“No, it’s not.”
“And it’s not just family.”
Jensen smiled secretly to himself.
“No, it isn’t that either. I
mean it is, but–”
“But it’s more.”
“Is it…do you think…?”
“Spit it out, Mish.”
“If what they have isn’t in the dialogue, and it isn’t in the
stage directions, and it isn’t even on the radar for a lot of our production
crew, then… is it our fault?”
“It’s nobody’s fault,”
Jensen said firmly. “And it’s
everybody’s fault. Sometimes you’re
trying to tell a story one way, but once everyone’s had a go at their bits and
pieces, the story is different. We can
only be the best damn Dean and Cas we know how to be, and if someone in the
editing department insists on using the entire shot of us staring at each other
for thirty seconds because someone forgot to yell cut, well that’s not on us is
Misha smiled softly, with subtle affection in his eyes. Jensen squirmed under his friend’s gaze, but
didn’t comment on the look. “So what you’re saying,” Misha clarified,
“Is sometimes stories tell themselves the way they want to be told?”
“No. It’s a story, it
doesn’t want anything. What I’m
saying is sometimes stuff happens–shit
happens–and when it happens often, you get these two bozos who can’t stop gasping
out each other’s names fifty-thousand times like they’re gonna die if they
don’t get to stare at each other for their designated thirty seconds.”
Misha frowned. “So what you’re saying is you don’t play Dean pining for
Jensen scoffed. “Damn straight I play Dean pining for Cas. It’s just not a romance, okay? It’s unique to them. I’m not stupid. I know how the dumbass feels about his
“Y/N–I really need to tell you something,” Dean said, avoiding your eyes. You waited patiently for him to go on and say the words he’d begun but never finished so many times before. Sam interrupted though, sneaking in behind Dean’s shoulder and startling him.
“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Dean asked, looking over his shoulder. Sam let out a laugh, standing tall again and looking between the two of you.
“I don’t know. I’m bored.”
“Well, you should go ask if you can buy Jody a drink–birthday girl shouldn’t have to pay for her own,” Dean said. “Y/N and I were kind of in the middle of something.”
“I doubt that, but it sounds more interesting than the bar,” Sam said, taking a seat next to the visibly chagrined Dean. “What were you guys talking about?”
Imagine bringing Dean snacks while he works on the Impala
Dean hovered under the hood of the Impala, sweat beading on his forehead, darkening the upper part of his t-shirt that clung to him, his thick arms, broad shoulders, wide chest. You stood in the doorway unannounced, clutching the tray in your hands, but you put off approaching him until you had enough time to drink him in fully. Nearly a full minute passed before you started moving, and Dean didn’t notice you until you were nearly right beside him. He turned to see you standing there, a tray with two cups of freshly squeezed lemonade and some little sandwiches you’d cut into wedges.
The boys had both been working all day, separately, Dean on the car, Sam on research for the next case. You’d visited Sam earlier, and although he was happy to have company join him on his break, it wasn’t long before he voiced his need to get back to work. You’d left, completely understanding of his concern, and went back into the kitchen to make Dean’s food, which was a little different than Sam’s salad, or “rabbit food” as Dean prefered to call it. No, Dean liked his meat more than anything, which was why your sandwiches had three kinds of meat on them, among other things.
Dean look up at you, then back down at the tray, and then back up at you. You laughed. “Go on, take one – Or all of them, okay…” Dean held all the sandwiches in his hands at once, minus the one he’d stuffed in his mouth without thinking. He looked down at his hands a little guiltily.
“Oh. You want one?” He’d said that with a full mouth, barely understandable at all, holding his sandwiches out to you in offering. Had you not heard him talk that way before, an embarrassing number of times, you wouldn’t have been able to pick up on what he’d said. You shook your head, trying extremely hard to not laugh at him, but a snort left your mouth without your control. “What? What’s so funny?”
Imagine being the youngest Winchester and your brothers seeing you fight for e first time
Winchesters x Sister!Reader
Warnings: mild violence, language
Word count: 1,716
Your brothers always looked out for you, thinking you were some fragile little piece of antique glass. Just because you were the youngest, they thought you needed help protecting yourself, and sometimes you would. It was kind of the family thing to look out for one another and keep each other safe at all costs. In every hunt it was like every time one of you spoke trying to stop the other from doing something dangerous, you’d all end up arguing…which usually ended in not speaking to each other for the remainder of the day, or at least until you all went to bed a woke up. Bobby always told the boys you could handle your own, but they’d never seen you actually take care of business, well business that wasn’t hunting. Like stupid guys in bars, or chicks who tried hitting on your older brothers and you told to back off. Truth be told, you didn’t like getting into it with other people. Like really getting into it. Let’s just say that once you started, there was no going back and you’d finish what was started. Your fathers bad temper ran through your blood, and sometimes it wasn’t a good thing. Of course your brothers had it too, but Dean definitely had it worse than Sam did.
“Dean, this is without a doubt, the dumbest, craziest thing we’ve ever done. And that’s in a long, storied career of dumb and crazy,” oh here we go, Sam would start lecturing Dean about being irrational whenever he was mad. Because apparently your oldest brother got ideas to do very stupid and unsafe things when he was pissed off. Which was true.
“Yeah, thank you Captain Obvious,” okay, maybe a certain level of irritated sarcasm was apart of his little pissy attitude. “I’ve got a hunch, just go with it,” yeah, you definitely weren’t stepping into this…Dean was on a roll and soon the other knuckle head would be too.
“You’re not risking my life on a hunch!” maybe you would step in, Sam was yelling and surely another big argument would break out.
“Okay, let’s just take a breather guys,” Dean gave you a look as you spoke. “and no I’m not siding with anybody so shut the hell up before you even speak,”
“Well Y/N, my little stubborn sister…if we don’t go in there and get the damn rabbit’s foot, we might as well be cursed from it,” Dean had a point, but there was no way in actually hell you three were rushing into a house full of some drunk hillbillies house guns blazing.
“We’re Winchesters, we’re already cursed,” you could tell this conversation wasn’t going anywhere as Sam spoke. Great.
That whole thing was about three nights ago. Now the three of you were headed out of town late at night, on the way back to the much loved bunker. Bored as all hell, you sat in the back seat like you normally did, listening to music on your phone and looking out the window.
“Hey,” you broke the silence, catching your brothers attention as you took your headphones out. “you two losers know we haven’t really had any fun lately right?” Dean raised his eyebrow, probably because you called him a loser, Sam seemed unphased however. “I mean, I don’t know if old age has taken away your ability to comprehend what fun is exactly, but as you both constantly say to me…I am the youngest. Which means I need fun,”
“Okay, first off-I’m not a loser. I’m like the coolest person on this planet and you’d best recognize that,” Sam rolled his eye’s while Dean held up his pointer finger while speaking. “Secondly…” he paused. “I-I don’t have a second thing to say,”
“See! Old age!” you laughed and watched as Sam tried his best not to.
“Watch it, or you can walk,” both you and your other brother continued laughing.
“Yeah we all know you’re not going to make her walk anywhere Dean,” of course Sam was right. “So what ‘fun’ thing do you want us to do then Y/N?”
“I heard some people over talking about a pretty nice bar not far from here,” both boys just smiled at your statement. “What?”
“You act just like us you know that?” Sam was laughing lightly as he spoke.
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” you sat back in your seat as Dean turned around and headed towards the bar.
In less than five minutes, Baby was pulling into the bar’s parking lot. The three of you got out and walked through the doors. From the looks of the inside, it was either ladies night, or dress like you aren’t wearing anythingnight. Either way you didn’t care you just wanted to drink. Dean walked up to the bar and ended up buying a whole bottle of whiskey and grabbing three glasses, bringing them back to the table which you had picked out in the far right corner which was somewhat quiet compared to the rest of the bar. For about twenty minutes, you all just casually sat and talked about anything and everything. Including playing would you rather and betting on who could drink the most without throwing up or quitting. This meant that you’d more than likely be sleeping off your hangover in the backseat tomorrow in the parking lot. Sam never really got hammered so he would no doubt be driving tomorrow. He had about three glasses half filled with whiskey, while you and Dean finished off the rest. Once you two had drank the last drop, literally, he went back to the bar and got you a bottle of vodka, and him another bottle of whiskey. Obviously he wasn’t paying with money you’d been giving for your line of work. But you three damn sure earned it that was certain.
The two of you continued to drink on for a good part of the night, making fools of yourself while Sam laughed. Surprisingly, neither your or Dean were drunk, regardless of the fact you had been drinking so much. Buzzed and on the verge of being drunk off your asses? Sure, in another few drinks that would be more than happening. But right now you were in full control of your actions, Dean probably was too but not as much as you were. It was the moment a random guy walked up to you guys, that your happy moment with your brothers left you.
“Damn baby,” he put his hands on your waist. “you must be a regulation hottie,” Dean set his drink down, no doubt about to beat the hell out of this guy for disrespecting you, let a lone touching you.
“I’d get your hands off of me if I were you,” you too set your drink down, turning around and pushing the man’s hands off of you.
“I like a little fight in my women,” he got this sick smirk on his face, and you had to put your arm out to stop Dean from swinging on him.
“Good thing I’m not your women. Now why don’t you go and find someone else who’s interested in a one night stand because I’m sure as hell not,” the same look on both your brothers face was resting on yours.
“Watch it. I won’t stand here and let some bitch tell me how it is,” this got a rise out of you, today you felt the need to handle your shit. So you stood to your feet, taking a shot before doing so to get warmth running through your body.
“Oh yeah?” an eyebrow raised on your face. “Do something about it,” Dean walked up to you and set a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t touch me right now,” that was all you had to say to get him to take his hand off of you.
The man just stood there, with both of his fists balled up. Which only made you laugh at him, making him more mad. You took a step forward, looking him directly in his mad bloodshot eyes.
“Don’t be a little bitch now,” your words threw him over the edge as he threw a fist in the direction of your face, but missed as you ducked your head.
Almost instantly your fist swung directly back at him, hitting him in his left cheek as hard as you could. Before he could react, you connect another fist to his face, not stopping and hitting him left and right. One fist after another. Now you lifted your leg up and kicked it as hard as you could into his stomach, causing him to fall backwards onto a table where some people were sitting but quickly stood up to get out of the falling man’s path. When he was laying on the table you grabbed a nearby bar stool and slammed it down onto his head, making him fall down onto the ground. Once he was lying defeated on the floor where his blood now rested, you bent down and put him in a headlock.
“Now, you can be respectful and apologize for being a pig,” your grip around his neck tightened. “or I can continue beating the shit out of you. Dealers choice,” although you weren’t looking, you were sure your brothers were watching with surprised looks on their face.
“Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! Just please stop!” he was practically yelling at you, but you still released him from your death grip, standing up and walking back to the table to grab your jacket.
“Did that just happen?” Dean’s look was beyond surprised as he spoke to Sam, whose face shared almost the same expression.
“Yeah, I think it did,” your second oldest brother replied.
“Well you were right about one thing Y/N, this was a fun experience,” both boys laughed and you smiled softly.
“Glad you think so, but can we get the hell out of here?” you held up your very swollen and bleeding hands. “I kind of need to wrap this up before it get’s infected with that assholes sweat,” the two of them just nodded in agreement and you all headed towards the car.