sam is allowed to be angry

anonymous asked:

Am I allowed to vent? Im doing it anyway. Im a bit angry rn, saw the Promo for SPN-finale and... it just didnt moved me one bit. I fear SPN lost me with its constant resurrections. If Sam dies, hell live again, same with Dean, same with Cas. We saw Bobby again, I loved his death scene I hoped hed stay dead. Heaven is horrible... they portrayed it like a prison-cell for every soul and the angels are the wardens. How can Jensen say he wants him/Sam in heaven at the end... I think they lost me...

You’re always welcome to vent (as long as it’s not in a rude way) but I will answer the parts of the vent that I disagree with or that go against canon. This rant didn’t read as rude and I thank you for that.

The only alternative to heaven would be hell or purgatory. Being left in a comfy cell with things you enjoy is definitely preferable to being tortured and demonized, or to go to a violent wasteland of non-stop fighting. Sam and Dean have to go somewhere when they die, Jensen picked the best option, I don’t see how that was a bad thing.

We know now that Sam or Dean dying wont be permanent. They’ve stopped even trying to use that as a cliffhanger which is why season 9 ended with Dean becoming a demon instead of leaving it a mystery until season 10. The trials hurt Sam so badly that he died but they didn’t use that as a season 8 cliffhanger, instead they ended season 8 with the impression that he’d be okay since he stopped and saved the death drama for the season 9 premier. Jensen even said at a recent con that they know they can’t cliff-hanger us with one of the leads dying. The scene in the preview with Dean asking to be killed wouldn’t have been put in to make us worry that he’s really going to die, the audience knows better than to believe that. It would have been put in to make us think “What stupid ass thing is Dean going to do now?” and to show us that he’s completely given up on fighting the mark. We know he’s not going to die, what we don’t know is if he’s going to be saved or what the consequences might be.

There’s always a chance that Cas could die for good. Early season 7 interviews with Sera Gamble made it clear that they hadn’t intended to bring him back, the fandom’s reaction is probably what changed their minds. The majority of the fandom still loves Cas so it’s doubtful he’ll die but the fandom also loved Bobby and he was killed. He’s made a couple of appearances since then but he’s not nearly as prominent on the show as he used to be. Maybe you would rather he disappear forever but the rest of the fandom loves that we still get to see him on rare occasions. That’s what Supernatural is all about, death isn’t always goodbye. I’m sorry it’s just a little hard for me to wrap my head around how you could have stuck with this show for 10 seasons but not enjoy seeing dead characters come back to life or make cameo appearances. That’s a major part of the show.

If the show isn’t moving you then maybe it’s time to move on. I drifted in season 7, I was going through a lot and just couldn’t get excited about Supernatural like I used to, so I stopped watching. After a while the Supernatural things my friends posted started to excite me again, so I caught up and fully rejoined the fandom. I’m glad I took that break because the quickest way to hate something is to force yourself to keep doing it. After I came back to the show I realized that my drifting had more to do with what was going on in my personal life than with the show itself. Season 7 doesn’t excite me the way other seasons have but I don’t hate it either, I just had trouble concentrating because it wasn’t exciting me enough and I had so many other things to deal with. If I had forced myself to keep watching, even though it wasn’t gripping me, then I would have turned bitter and started looking for reasons to hate it. If you’re not enjoying the show, take a step back. Netflix and DVDs will be there for you if you get the urge to start watching again. This vent was about some key factors in the show, which says to me that you can’t be getting much enjoyment from watching it. The point of a TV show is to entertain us and maybe Supernatural doesn’t do that for you anymore. 

itsadevereauxthing asked:

Hi! I applaud to all you said about my post of Caitriona's tweet. That person was so out of line and to do the same of the FB page. I am sorry but she was asking for it.

She had written nasty things about Caitriona on Sam’s Twitter too, she’s a very angry person, and kept defending her tweets as fine because they were just her opinion, and everyone’s allowed their own opinion.

Sure, think whatever you want, but don’t say hurtful, non-constructive things where those you’re slamming might possibly hear (directly or indirectly).

Spreading hate reflects badly back upon the hater, and only causes an increase in negativity in the world. The Golden Rule is so simple, and such a good guiding principle.

My favorite Rabbi said that the entire teachings of the Torah, the main teaching in Judaism, is The Golden Rule, treat others as you wish to be treated.

Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

allsamallthetime asked:

I loved your fic about Sam getting out so much. Not just because I have been there (Sam's place, I mean) but also because it speaks to me as someone who still believes Dean can change and it can be alright and continues to be frustrated by the narrative selling both boys out by not allowing it. Also, my favourite part was this: "Then find a reason not to, if I’m not fucking good enough!" I love your Sam (both in art and in writing!) <3

Thanks!! I have been disappointed in Dean off and on in certain ways he is, though it definitely got rougher with season 8 and spiraled into “frustrated to the point of anger by my trouble child” where I get angry at him every other episode. But I want to believe he’ll get better from here, now that the Mark is gone and he can process how he’s been (aka like the fanfic, where he’s forced to face his alcoholism).

I just want my old brothers back. Not perfect, but better. Sadly, if it continues on the same path, I don’t see Sam leaving any time soon not just because of the narrative needing both, but of Sam feeling obligated to stay out of guilt and thinking it’s all he can have – and that he doesn’t deserve his own way out. That’s what worries me the most: getting parts of what we got in S9 and S10, without the Mark involved.

Dean is like a recovered alcoholic metaphorically with the Mark. Even if he didn’t mean to be the way he was. And the first step is to heal yourself so you can be forgiven and make amends.

:(

I WANNA BELIEVE THINGS WILL BE BETTER. I WANT TO. Hanging onto hope for the boys.

Everybody Needs Some Help

Hey guys! Here’s the next chapter!

This one will be long, kind of a filler but going with the Season Two Episode Two, so we can learn a bit more about Tasha. I’m making it a two-part chapter because I’m putting so much more into this!!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, just Miss Natasha Williams.

 

Everybody Loves A Clown: Part 1

 

The flames rose high in the sky around John Winchester’s body on the pyre, lighting up Dean and Sam and Tasha’s faces as it burned brightly. Tear tracks shined on Tasha’s face as she remembered all the things she and John had done together. She begged Dean and Sam to let her come to the burning, explaining again to Dean why she was there in the first place. They were quiet and angry, but allowed her to come along just the same.

They stood in silence, each of them enveloped in their own emotions, wishing John the best. Tasha didn’t dare look at Sam or Dean, instead just felt the pain and sadness rolling of them.

“Before he…” Sam choked out. “Before he…” He tried again, unable to say the word ‘died.’ “Did he say anything to you?” he finished, looking at Dean. “About anything?”

Dean turned slightly towards him, standing stiffly. He stared ahead for a few moments, before saying softly: “No… Nothing.”

Tasha dared to turn and look at the boys, seeing the tears streaming down Sam’s face and the single tear that ran down Dean’s. She wanted to hold them, knowing the pain and grief that was wallowing within. Tasha was sure Dean knew the reason that his father had passed, knew that John had sold his soul to the Yellow-Eyed demon to save his eldest son. But Dean did not say so, so she didn’t bring it up. Instead, words just began to slide out of her mouth, as if she couldn’t stop them.

“When… When that werewolf started stalking me, I had no idea the life that was ahead of me. My parents were killed during the whole thing… John…” she choked up. “Your father, he… if he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be here. He was a good man… Taught me everything I know. I don’t have anywhere to go now… No home…” she stopped, not able to continue.

The stood in silence a while longer, watching as the flames took John.

­——–

The next day, they were all at Bobby’s. Tasha had followed silently, not having anywhere else to go. Bobby welcomed her with open arms, knowing her story. Dean had seen his destroyed Baby, and went straight to work. He’d been out there as soon as the sun was out, working and working, stopping for nothing.

Tasha and Sam sat in the kitchen, a week later, a beer in each of their hands, silently. She and Sam had gotten to know each other rather well lately: Tasha had heard so much about the boys from John while he was alive, but it was nice getting to know them herself, though she hadn’t talked Dean much since he was always with his car.

Sam was very kind, caring, and passionate. Sam had also figured out that Tasha was very daring, but in her down time could be the biggest nerd about things. She enjoyed movies and TV shows, and often made references to them. She and Sam would spend hours debating favorite movies and shows: Star Trek or Star Wars, whether Firefly should have been continued or not, etc.

She never brought up John. It didn’t seem like it was her place to do so; John had been like a father to her, but he still wasn’t hers to call such.

Sam was the first to break the silence at the table. “Tasha?”

She started, broken from her thoughts. “Yeah, Sam?”

“I just…” he stopped, collecting his thoughts. “I just wanted to ask… What was my dad like? I mean, around you, when he was… teaching you… what was he like?”

Sam hadn’t brought up his father since the burning. She swallowed, thinking back on when she first met John. “He was stern, very strict. But as we spent time together, I was able to get a glance at the man behind the mask. He became like… Like a father to me. He was amazing.” She took another swig of her beer. “He talked about the both of you a lot.”

Sam looked at her curiously. “He did?”

“You two were the light of his life… I could tell you both meant more to him than he let on.”

“You do know that he and I… didn’t always see eye to eye, right?”

Tasha chuckled. “What parent and child do? Fights show the love behind the anger. He really cared about you, Sam. A lot.”

Sam smiled softly, looking as his feet. He took another swig of his beer, looking out the window. He stood, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer. “Dean probably needs about a dozen of these plus a shot right now,” he said laughing and heading to the door.

“I’ll come out with you,” said Tasha, standing as well.

­­——–

Dean was hard at work under the Impala. Tasha knew nothing about cars and admired Dean’s skill and dedication to his vehicle. While Tasha looked on, Sam knelt next to the car, checking it out.

“How’s the car coming along?” he asked.

“Slow,” Dean answered, straining.

“Yeah?” Sam said, standing and looking around. “Need any help?

Something dropped from the car as Dean answered “What, you under a hood? I’ll pass.” He continued as Sam watched.

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled out from under the car, looking at Sam reproachfully. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop askin’ if I need anything, stop askin’ if I’m okay, I’m okay.” He said, going over to the table covered in tools. He turned to Sam again, then back to the table. “Really, I promise.”

Tasha set the beer down on the table for Dean. Dean cracked it open, took a long gulp then went back to the tools.

“Alright,” Sam said. “Dean, just… we’ve been at Bobby’s for over a week now, and you haven’t brought up Dad once…”

Dean looked at Sam, then said “You know what, you’re right. Come here, I’m gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry and hug and slow dance.”

“Dean…“ Tasha started, but Sam cut her off.

“Don’t patronize me, Dean, Dad is dead, the Colt is gone and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind this and you’re acting like nothing happened!”

“Hold on a sec…“ Dean started, but Sam continued.

“Say something! Alright? Hell, say anything! Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car!”

“Revenge, huh?” Dean says.

“Yeah!”

“Sounds good, got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of dad’s research? Cause I sure ain’t. But you know what, when we do finally find it, oh! No wait, like you said, the Colt is gone, but I’m sure you figured out another way to kill it.”

Sam starts pacing from one foot to the other, looking at Dean angrily.

“We got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? See you know what, the only thing I can do, is I can work on the car.” He stares at Sam a little longer, then kneels down to get back at it. Tasha sighs in frustration, leaning against the tool table. She doesn’t know what to say to end this.

In between getting to know one another, Sam had brought out one of the boxes with John’s old things, asking Tasha to go through it. They had done some research, trying to learn about the demon that had a connection to their father, but nothing came up until Tasha found John’s old phone.

“Well we got something, alright? This is what I came out here to tell you. Tasha found one of Dad’s old phones. Took us a while, but we cracked his old voicemail. Listen to this.” Sam hands the old beaten phone to Dean, letting him listen to the voice of this Ellen or whoever was trying to reach John.

Dean lowered the phone, looking from Sam to Tasha. “A message, four months old,” said Sam.

“Dad saved that message for four months? Who’s Ellen? Any mention of her in his journal?”

“No, but I ran a trace on the phone and I got an address.”

Dean nodded, looking slightly interested. “Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars.”

“You can use mine,” said Tasha, standing up. “I’d like to go along too, if that’s okay with you two… I don’t have anything better to do, and I really don’t want to have Bobby ask for a pedicure again.”

Dean looked slightly hesitant, but he looked over at Sam, who shrugged and nodded. So he nodded his head yes. Tasha’s face lit up and she ran to pack her bags, not seeing Sam smiling and chuckling as he headed to pack himself.

——-

They pulled past an old windmill on a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. An old Tavern stood in the middle of the field, taking them to the address Sam had traced.

“I feel like a frigging soccer mom,” said Dean, climbing out of Tasha’s Jeep.

“Hey, go easy on Bitchin’ Betty. I saved up a lot of money before hunting to get this girl.” Said Tasha, smacking Dean on the arm.

“Bitchin’ Betty?” laughed Sam, coming to stand by Tasha.

“She’s a good car, but not without her troubles.” Said Tasha, chuckling with him.

“Hello?” called out Sam, walking around the building. “Anybody here?”

They all clambered into the Roadhouse, looking around cautiously. They stood in front of the door looking around, as something sparked in the corner. They stepped carefully, seeing that there was someone laying on the pool table. “Hey, buddy?” said Sam to him, but the guy didn’t stir.

“I’m guessing that isn’t Ellen,” remarked Sam.

“Yeah,” answered Dean, peering at the guy. Sam trudged off towards the back, looking for anybody. Tasha wandered towards the bar, checking behind it and around it.

“Oh, God, please let that be a rifle,” she heard Dean mumble. Tasha turned to see a blonde young woman, around her age, aiming a rifle in Dean’s back. Tasha reached for her gun in her waistband, getting ready to aim.

“No, I’m just real happy to see you,” said the girl, cocking the rifle. “Don’t move,” she said as Dean raised his hands.

“I’m not moving, copy that,” said Dean. “You know, you should know something, Miss,” started Dean. “When you put a rifle on someone, you don’t wanna put it right against their back. Cause it makes it reeeeal easy to do this.” He whirled around, jerking the rifle from the girl’s hands. She stood stunned for a moment, then cracked Dean hard in the face, grabbing her gun as he stumbled. Tasha quickly aimed her gun at the girl, seeing she clearly wasn’t as frail as she looked.

“Sam!” yelled Dean. “Need some help in here.”

“Just take it real easy, sweetheart,” said Tasha. “It doesn’t need to get messy in here, I kinda like your bar.”

“Sorry, Dean,” said Sam, emerging from the back with both hands behind his head. “I can’t right now, I’m uh… little tied up,” he finished, gesturing with his head to the elder woman behind him with a gun to his back.

She looked at the boys for a minute, then said “Sam…. Dean…. Winchester?”

“Yeah,” they both answered, groaning slightly.

“Who are you?” the woman asked Tasha gruffly.

“Natasha Williams, Tasha to my friends,” she answered stiffly, keeping her pistol on the blonde girl. “Who are you, might I ask?”

“Son of a bitch,” remarked the woman.

“Mom, you know these guys?” asked the blonde.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” She said. Dean looked up at her then, with an incredulous look on his face as he nursed his nose. The woman laughed, lowering her gun. “Hey, I’m Ellen,” she said, looking at the three of them. “This is my daughter Jo.” She gestured to the blonde who was lowering her gun, looking at the boys curiously.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” asked Dean, smirking.

“Tasha, we’re good,” said Sam, gesturing to her gun. Forgetting that she was still aiming it, she lowered it slowly, tucking back into her waistband.

——-

“Here ya go,” said Ellen, handing Dean a rag with some ice.

“Thanks,” he said. “You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?”

“Weeeell, the demon of course.” She answered. Tasha looked at Ellen then, as did the boys. “I heard he was closing in on it,” she clarified.

“Was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?”

“Hey, I just run a saloon,” she said, throwing her hands up. “But, hunters have been known to pass through now and again, including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once,” she said affectionately.

“How come he’s never mentioned you?” asked Tasha.

“You’d have to ask him that,” she said softly.

Dean looked tempted to tell her the news then, but they hardly knew this woman and her daughter. So he let it slide. “So why exactly do we need your help?”

“Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. Don’t let the door smack your asses on the way out,” she said. Tasha really couldn’t help but like Ellen. She had spunk for an older woman.

“But John wouldn’t have sent you if-“ she paused, realization dawning on her. Her face fell then, as she looked at the three of the hunters. “He didn’t send you,” she stated.

The three of their faces fell grimly. Tasha turned her face away, afraid the tears springing to her eyes would fall.

“He’s alright isn’t he?” asked Ellen. Tasha closed her eyes then, about to tell Ellen. She took a deep breath.

“No.” she and Sam said at the same time. They looked at each other, then Sam nodded for her to continue. “No he isn’t. It was the demon, we think. It, um… Just got him before he got it I guess.” She chuckled sadly. She felt bad for not telling the boys that she had witnessed the deal between John and Yellow-Eyes. But they would figure it out soon enough.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s ok,” said Dean, looking up at Ellen and Jo sadly. “We’re alright.” He finished, smiling lightly.

“Really, I know how close you and your dad were-“

“Really, lady, I’m fine.” Dean snapped. Ellen’s face turned stony as he said it.

“So look,” Sam said, breaking the uncomfortable glare between the two. “If you can help, we could use all the help we can get.” Dean looked at Sam then, silently telling him to shut up.

“Well, we can’t.” said Ellen, looking at Jo. “But Ash will.”

“Who’s Ash?” asked Tasha.

“ASH!!” yelled Ellen. The body on the pool table immediately sprang to life.

“What?” he called, scrambling to get on his feet, clearly a drunk at the old tavern. “Closin’ time?” he asked Ellen. Tasha shared a look with Sam, who was clearly not impressed with their ‘help.’

“He’s a genius,” remarked Jo.

———

A file was thrown onto the bar in front of the three of them, as Ash came to sit on the stool by the wall.

“You gotta be kidding me, this guy is a genius?” asked Dean smartly. “He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie!” he claimed. Ash just looked at him smugly.

“I like you,” he said, pointing at Dean. “Thanks,” answered Dean back.

“Just give him a chance,” said Jo, pouring beers for the three of them.

“Alright,” said Dean, sitting at the bar. “This stuff is about a years’ worth of our Dad’s work, so uh…” he slid the file over to Ash. “Let’s see what you make of it.”

Ash immediately opened the file, looking through it, sliding through the pages. “Come on, this crap ain’t real.” He growled in his very thick country accent. “Ain’t nobody can track a demon like this.” Dean look incredulous. He shared a look with Sam then turned back to Ash.

“John could,” said Tasha proudly and softly. Ash looked at her, then back at the papers.

“These are nonparametric statistical overviews,” began Ash. “Cross-spectral correlations, I mean… Damn!” he exclaimed, continuing with the papers. “They’re signs. Omens. If you can track them then you can track the demon. You know, like, crop failures, electrical storms… You ever been struck by lightning? It ain’t fun.”

“Well can you track it or not?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it’s gonna take time. Uh, gimme… 51 hours.” He stated, calculating it all in his head. He gathered up the papers and with a final look at the three, he set off to his lair.

“Hey man!” Dean called out.

“Yeah?” said Ash turning back.

“By the way, I um… I dig the haircut.” He said, smiling and nodding.

“All business up front,” he said, point to his face, then fluffing out the long strands of his mullet in the back. “Party in the back.” With that, he left.

Dean sat at the bar, watching Jo work her stuff. She saw him looking, but continued on her way.

Tasha turned to Sam to start a conversation, but he was looking at the back wall behind the bar. “Hey Ellen, what is that?” pointing to a box with lights flashing on it.

“That’s a police scanner,” she stated. “We, uh, keep tabs on things.”

“No, no, no, the um… The folder.” He said.

She walked over hesitantly and picked up the folder. “I was gonna give this to a friend, but… take a look.” She said, setting the file down in front of him. Tasha leaned on Sam, looking at the file. She became aware of the contact between her and Sam, looking over at him. He looked at her, then slid the file closer to her for her to get a better look. She heard Dean talking up Jo in the background, and wondered why she didn’t have that talent herself. So she sparked up a conversation with Sam.

“You think we’re ready for another case? I mean… So soon?” She asked him.

“Well we don’t have anything better to do… Might as well do something other than moping around, waiting on Ash. Plus,” he added, looking at her, “I’d like to see your hunting style. Haven’t watched you hunt, and I’d like to know who’s got my back.”

She smiled. “Well I don’t think I’m horrible, I can definitely take care of myself. And from what I’ve heard about the great Winchesters,” she smirked, “you aren’t too bad yourself.”

He laughed, looking back at the file. “Well I guess we’ll see then.” He turned back to the file, the both of them studying it for a minute, then he called out to Dean.

“Dean, come here, check this out.” Said Sam.

“A few murders,” started Sam, showing him the file. “Not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of.”

“Looks like a hunt,” said Tasha, smiling.

“Told her we’d check it out,” said Sam, looking up at Dean.

———

“You gotta be kidding me, killer clown?”

They were on the road, Dean driving and Tasha in the backseat.

“Yeah, left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces actually.” Clarified Sam.

“And the kid’s family was at some carnival that night, right?” asked Tasha.

“Yeah, the Cooper Carnival.”

“So how do we know we’re not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?”

“The cops have no viable leads,” said Sam, “and, all the employees were tearing down shop. Good alibis all around. Plus, the little girl said she saw a clown vanishing into thin air. Cops are saying trauma of course…”

“Well,” said Dean, “I know what you’re thinking, Sammy, ‘why’d it have to be clowns?’”

“Gimme a break,” said Sam.

“Wait, what am I missing here?” said Tasha, leaning over the seat. She tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Someone has a fear of clowns?”

“He still busts out crying when he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” said Dean laughing.

“At least I’m not afraid of flying,” quipped Sam.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

“Ok, boys, enough, so… these types of murders ever happen before?” said Tasha before the argument could escalate.

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus. Same MO, happened three different times, three different locales.”

“That’s weird, cause if it’s a spirit, it’s usually bound to the same locale, like a house or a town.”

“So how’s this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Could be a cursed object. Spirit attaches itself to something,” said Dean, “something the carnival carries around.”

“Great,” groaned Tasha, “Paranormal scavenger hunt.”

“Well this case was your idea, Sammy, I mean, why is that anyway?” asked Dean. “You were so quick to jump on.”

“…so?” asked Sam.

“So this is not like you, that’s all. I thought you were hell-bent on the leather for the demon hunt.”

“I dunno, I just think… taking this job, it’s what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” asked Dean, looking at Sam.

“Yeah.” He said, looking back at Dean. “So?”

“Nothin’.” Said Dean, turning back to the road.

Tasha sighed, glad that it hadn’t turned into another big argument between the brothers. She settled in to the backseat, waiting for the next stop. She looked at Sam’s silhouette against the darkness of the car and the streetlights flashing by. She started to think about the things she and Sam had talked about, butterflies setting into her stomach. She thought about his face, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, the way the corners of his mouth tilted when he smiled, the white of his teeth showing when something was really funny to him. How sharp his cheekbones were, his skin looking as soft as silk. The way his lips looked, so pink like a rose, and she wondered how they felt-

Woah, she thought as her eyes flashed wide open. I’ve barely gotten to know him, why am I thinking like that?? He probably wouldn’t look twice at me that way… But still… It doesn’t hurt to dream… Does it? She looked at Sam again, seeing the broadness of his shoulders across the seat, the way his hair fell against his neck. It looked as soft as feathers, and she was tempted to reach out and feel it, but she refrained from doing so. She fell asleep, dreams of Sam dancing across her vision.

——

Dean looked into the rear view mirror, seeing that Tasha was fast asleep. Her head was turned towards Sam’s back, as if she’d fallen asleep looking at him. He smirked and looked at Sam, who was completely oblivious, looking out the window.

“You know,” said Dean, “Tasha is pretty alright.”

Sam looked at Dean, with a curious look on his face. He peered into the backseat, seeing her fast asleep. He smiled softly, grabbing the blanket from the floorboard and tossing it over her. “Yeah, she’s cool.”

“I think she might kind of have a thing for you, man.”

“What? No, we just met her a week ago, why would you think that?”

“Well, she hangs on you a lot, you both have been spending a lot of time together since you met, and she is a feisty one.” He looked over at Sam, smirking. “I’ve seen how you look at her too, man. It ain’t hard to figure out there’s chemistry there.”

Sam sighed. “I dunno… I don’t think she’d look twice at me, given the chance. She…” he sighed again. “She deserves better than a curse like me.”

“Sam, we… you, are not cursed.” He looked at Sam and saw the sad look on his face. “Look, if this is about Jess-“

“Dean, don’t.”

“I’m serious man, I think Jess would want you to be happy.” He gave Sam a serious look. “You couldn’t help what happened to her, Sammy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I saw it, Dean, and I said nothing. I knew she was…” He paused, not wanting to say it. “I knew it was going to happen and did nothing.”

“Sam, that demon is to blame for that. She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Sam said nothing, just gazed out the window. “Just think about it, okay?”

Sam sighed and nodded his head. He looked into the backseat again, seeing Tasha’s sleeping form, and smiled before settling in to sleep himself.

­­­­———

Everybody Needs Some Help

Hey guys! Here’s the next chapter!

This one will be long, kind of a filler but going with the Season Two Episode Two, so we can learn a bit more about Tasha. I’m making it a two-part chapter because I’m putting so much more into this!!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, just Miss Natasha Williams.

 

Everybody Loves A Clown: Part 1

The flames rose high in the sky around John Winchester’s body on the pyre, lighting up Dean and Sam and Tasha’s faces as it burned brightly. Tear tracks shined on Tasha’s face as she remembered all the things she and John had done together. She begged Dean and Sam to let her come to the burning, explaining again to Dean why she was there in the first place. They were quiet and angry, but allowed her to come along just the same.

They stood in silence, each of them enveloped in their own emotions, wishing John the best. Tasha didn’t dare look at Sam or Dean, instead just felt the pain and sadness rolling of them.

“Before he…” Sam choked out. “Before he…” He tried again, unable to say the word ‘died.’ “Did he say anything to you?” he finished, looking at Dean. “About anything?”

Dean turned slightly towards him, standing stiffly. He stared ahead for a few moments, before saying softly: “No… Nothing.”

Tasha dared to turn and look at the boys, seeing the tears streaming down Sam’s face and the single tear that ran down Dean’s. She wanted to hold them, knowing the pain and grief that was wallowing within. Tasha was sure Dean knew the reason that his father had passed, knew that John had sold his soul to the Yellow-Eyed demon to save his eldest son. But Dean did not say so, so she didn’t bring it up. Instead, words just began to slide out of her mouth, as if she couldn’t stop them.

“When… When that werewolf started stalking me, I had no idea the life that was ahead of me. My parents were killed during the whole thing… John…” she choked up. “Your father, he… if he hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be here. He was a good man… Taught me everything I know. I don’t have anywhere to go now… No home…” she stopped, not able to continue.

The stood in silence a while longer, watching as the flames took John.

­——–

The next day, they were all at Bobby’s. Tasha had followed silently, not having anywhere else to go. Bobby welcomed her with open arms, knowing her story. Dean had seen his destroyed Baby, and went straight to work. He’d been out there as soon as the sun was out, working and working, stopping for nothing.

Tasha and Sam sat in the kitchen, a week later, a beer in each of their hands, silently. She and Sam had gotten to know each other rather well lately: Tasha had heard so much about the boys from John while he was alive, but it was nice getting to know them herself, though she hadn’t talked Dean much since he was always with his car.

Sam was very kind, caring, and passionate. Sam had also figured out that Tasha was very daring, but in her down time could be the biggest nerd about things. She enjoyed movies and TV shows, and often made references to them. She and Sam would spend hours debating favorite movies and shows: Star Trek or Star Wars, whether Firefly should have been continued or not, etc.

She never brought up John. It didn’t seem like it was her place to do so; John had been like a father to her, but he still wasn’t hers to call such.

Sam was the first to break the silence at the table. “Tasha?”

She started, broken from her thoughts. “Yeah, Sam?”

“I just…” he stopped, collecting his thoughts. “I just wanted to ask… What was my dad like? I mean, around you, when he was… teaching you… what was he like?”

Sam hadn’t brought up his father since the burning. She swallowed, thinking back on when she first met John. “He was stern, very strict. But as we spent time together, I was able to get a glance at the man behind the mask. He became like… Like a father to me. He was amazing.” She took another swig of her beer. “He talked about the both of you a lot.”

Sam looked at her curiously. “He did?”

“You two were the light of his life… I could tell you both meant more to him than he let on.”

“You do know that he and I… didn’t always see eye to eye, right?”

Tasha chuckled. “What parent and child do? Fights show the love behind the anger. He really cared about you, Sam. A lot.”

Sam smiled softly, looking as his feet. He took another swig of his beer, looking out the window. He stood, walking to the fridge and grabbing a beer. “Dean probably needs about a dozen of these plus a shot right now,” he said laughing and heading to the door.

“I’ll come out with you,” said Tasha, standing as well.

­­——–

Dean was hard at work under the Impala. Tasha knew nothing about cars and admired Dean’s skill and dedication to his vehicle. While Tasha looked on, Sam knelt next to the car, checking it out.

“How’s the car coming along?” he asked.

“Slow,” Dean answered, straining.

“Yeah?” Sam said, standing and looking around. “Need any help?

Something dropped from the car as Dean answered “What, you under a hood? I’ll pass.” He continued as Sam watched.

“Need anything else, then?”

Dean rolled out from under the car, looking at Sam reproachfully. “Stop it, Sam.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop askin’ if I need anything, stop askin’ if I’m okay, I’m okay.” He said, going over to the table covered in tools. He turned to Sam again, then back to the table. “Really, I promise.”

Tasha set the beer down on the table for Dean. Dean cracked it open, took a long gulp then went back to the tools.

“Alright,” Sam said. “Dean, just… we’ve been at Bobby’s for over a week now, and you haven’t brought up Dad once…”

Dean looked at Sam, then said “You know what, you’re right. Come here, I’m gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry and hug and slow dance.”

“Dean…“ Tasha started, but Sam cut her off.

“Don’t patronize me, Dean, Dad is dead, the Colt is gone and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind this and you’re acting like nothing happened!”

“Hold on a sec…“ Dean started, but Sam continued.

“Say something! Alright? Hell, say anything! Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car!”

“Revenge, huh?” Dean says.

“Yeah!”

“Sounds good, got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of dad’s research? Cause I sure ain’t. But you know what, when we do finally find it, oh! No wait, like you said, the Colt is gone, but I’m sure you figured out another way to kill it.”

Sam starts pacing from one foot to the other, looking at Dean angrily.

“We got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? See you know what, the only thing I can do, is I can work on the car.” He stares at Sam a little longer, then kneels down to get back at it. Tasha sighs in frustration, leaning against the tool table. She doesn’t know what to say to end this.

In between getting to know one another, Sam had brought out one of the boxes with John’s old things, asking Tasha to go through it. They had done some research, trying to learn about the demon that had a connection to their father, but nothing came up until Tasha found John’s old phone.

“Well we got something, alright? This is what I came out here to tell you. Tasha found one of Dad’s old phones. Took us a while, but we cracked his old voicemail. Listen to this.” Sam hands the old beaten phone to Dean, letting him listen to the voice of this Ellen or whoever was trying to reach John.

Dean lowered the phone, looking from Sam to Tasha. “A message, four months old,” said Sam.

“Dad saved that message for four months? Who’s Ellen? Any mention of her in his journal?”

“No, but I ran a trace on the phone and I got an address.”

Dean nodded, looking slightly interested. “Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars.”

“You can use mine,” said Tasha, standing up. “I’d like to go along too, if that’s okay with you two… I don’t have anything better to do, and I really don’t want to have Bobby ask for a pedicure again.”

Dean looked slightly hesitant, but he looked over at Sam, who shrugged and nodded. So he nodded his head yes. Tasha’s face lit up and she ran to pack her bags, not seeing Sam smiling and chuckling as he headed to pack himself.

——-

They pulled past an old windmill on a dusty dirt road in the middle of nowhere. An old Tavern stood in the middle of the field, taking them to the address Sam had traced.

“I feel like a frigging soccer mom,” said Dean, climbing out of Tasha’s Jeep.

“Hey, go easy on Bitchin’ Betty. I saved up a lot of money before hunting to get this girl.” Said Tasha, smacking Dean on the arm.

“Bitchin’ Betty?” laughed Sam, coming to stand by Tasha.

“She’s a good car, but not without her troubles.” Said Tasha, chuckling with him.

“Hello?” called out Sam, walking around the building. “Anybody here?”

They all clambered into the Roadhouse, looking around cautiously. They stood in front of the door looking around, as something sparked in the corner. They stepped carefully, seeing that there was someone laying on the pool table. “Hey, buddy?” said Sam to him, but the guy didn’t stir.

“I’m guessing that isn’t Ellen,” remarked Sam.

“Yeah,” answered Dean, peering at the guy. Sam trudged off towards the back, looking for anybody. Tasha wandered towards the bar, checking behind it and around it.

“Oh, God, please let that be a rifle,” she heard Dean mumble. Tasha turned to see a blonde young woman, around her age, aiming a rifle in Dean’s back. Tasha reached for her gun in her waistband, getting ready to aim.

“No, I’m just real happy to see you,” said the girl, cocking the rifle. “Don’t move,” she said as Dean raised his hands.

“I’m not moving, copy that,” said Dean. “You know, you should know something, Miss,” started Dean. “When you put a rifle on someone, you don’t wanna put it right against their back. Cause it makes it reeeeal easy to do this.” He whirled around, jerking the rifle from the girl’s hands. She stood stunned for a moment, then cracked Dean hard in the face, grabbing her gun as he stumbled. Tasha quickly aimed her gun at the girl, seeing she clearly wasn’t as frail as she looked.

“Sam!” yelled Dean. “Need some help in here.”

“Just take it real easy, sweetheart,” said Tasha. “It doesn’t need to get messy in here, I kinda like your bar.”

“Sorry, Dean,” said Sam, emerging from the back with both hands behind his head. “I can’t right now, I’m uh… little tied up,” he finished, gesturing with his head to the elder woman behind him with a gun to his back.

She looked at the boys for a minute, then said “Sam…. Dean…. Winchester?”

“Yeah,” they both answered, groaning slightly.

“Who are you?” the woman asked Tasha gruffly.

“Natasha Williams, Tasha to my friends,” she answered stiffly, keeping her pistol on the blonde girl. “Who are you, might I ask?”

“Son of a bitch,” remarked the woman.

“Mom, you know these guys?” asked the blonde.

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” She said. Dean looked up at her then, with an incredulous look on his face as he nursed his nose. The woman laughed, lowering her gun. “Hey, I’m Ellen,” she said, looking at the three of them. “This is my daughter Jo.” She gestured to the blonde who was lowering her gun, looking at the boys curiously.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“You’re not gonna hit me again, are you?” asked Dean, smirking.

“Tasha, we’re good,” said Sam, gesturing to her gun. Forgetting that she was still aiming it, she lowered it slowly, tucking back into her waistband.

——-

“Here ya go,” said Ellen, handing Dean a rag with some ice.

“Thanks,” he said. “You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?”

“Weeeell, the demon of course.” She answered. Tasha looked at Ellen then, as did the boys. “I heard he was closing in on it,” she clarified.

“Was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?”

“Hey, I just run a saloon,” she said, throwing her hands up. “But, hunters have been known to pass through now and again, including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once,” she said affectionately.

“How come he’s never mentioned you?” asked Tasha.

“You’d have to ask him that,” she said softly.

Dean looked tempted to tell her the news then, but they hardly knew this woman and her daughter. So he let it slide. “So why exactly do we need your help?”

“Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. Don’t let the door smack your asses on the way out,” she said. Tasha really couldn’t help but like Ellen. She had spunk for an older woman.

“But John wouldn’t have sent you if-“ she paused, realization dawning on her. Her face fell then, as she looked at the three of the hunters. “He didn’t send you,” she stated.

The three of their faces fell grimly. Tasha turned her face away, afraid the tears springing to her eyes would fall.

“He’s alright isn’t he?” asked Ellen. Tasha closed her eyes then, about to tell Ellen. She took a deep breath.

“No.” she and Sam said at the same time. They looked at each other, then Sam nodded for her to continue. “No he isn’t. It was the demon, we think. It, um… Just got him before he got it I guess.” She chuckled sadly. She felt bad for not telling the boys that she had witnessed the deal between John and Yellow-Eyes. But they would figure it out soon enough.

“I’m so sorry,” she said.

“It’s ok,” said Dean, looking up at Ellen and Jo sadly. “We’re alright.” He finished, smiling lightly.

“Really, I know how close you and your dad were-“

“Really, lady, I’m fine.” Dean snapped. Ellen’s face turned stony as he said it.

“So look,” Sam said, breaking the uncomfortable glare between the two. “If you can help, we could use all the help we can get.” Dean looked at Sam then, silently telling him to shut up.

“Well, we can’t.” said Ellen, looking at Jo. “But Ash will.”

“Who’s Ash?” asked Tasha.

“ASH!!” yelled Ellen. The body on the pool table immediately sprang to life.

“What?” he called, scrambling to get on his feet, clearly a drunk at the old tavern. “Closin’ time?” he asked Ellen. Tasha shared a look with Sam, who was clearly not impressed with their ‘help.’

“He’s a genius,” remarked Jo.

———

A file was thrown onto the bar in front of the three of them, as Ash came to sit on the stool by the wall.

“You gotta be kidding me, this guy is a genius?” asked Dean smartly. “He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie!” he claimed. Ash just looked at him smugly.

“I like you,” he said, pointing at Dean. “Thanks,” answered Dean back.

“Just give him a chance,” said Jo, pouring beers for the three of them.

“Alright,” said Dean, sitting at the bar. “This stuff is about a years’ worth of our Dad’s work, so uh…” he slid the file over to Ash. “Let’s see what you make of it.”

Ash immediately opened the file, looking through it, sliding through the pages. “Come on, this crap ain’t real.” He growled in his very thick country accent. “Ain’t nobody can track a demon like this.” Dean look incredulous. He shared a look with Sam then turned back to Ash.

“John could,” said Tasha proudly and softly. Ash looked at her, then back at the papers.

“These are nonparametric statistical overviews,” began Ash. “Cross-spectral correlations, I mean… Damn!” he exclaimed, continuing with the papers. “They’re signs. Omens. If you can track them then you can track the demon. You know, like, crop failures, electrical storms… You ever been struck by lightning? It ain’t fun.”

“Well can you track it or not?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, with this, I think so. But it’s gonna take time. Uh, gimme… 51 hours.” He stated, calculating it all in his head. He gathered up the papers and with a final look at the three, he set off to his lair.

“Hey man!” Dean called out.

“Yeah?” said Ash turning back.

“By the way, I um… I dig the haircut.” He said, smiling and nodding.

“All business up front,” he said, point to his face, then fluffing out the long strands of his mullet in the back. “Party in the back.” With that, he left.

Dean sat at the bar, watching Jo work her stuff. She saw him looking, but continued on her way.

Tasha turned to Sam to start a conversation, but he was looking at the back wall behind the bar. “Hey Ellen, what is that?” pointing to a box with lights flashing on it.

“That’s a police scanner,” she stated. “We, uh, keep tabs on things.”

“No, no, no, the um… The folder.” He said.

She walked over hesitantly and picked up the folder. “I was gonna give this to a friend, but… take a look.” She said, setting the file down in front of him. Tasha leaned on Sam, looking at the file. She became aware of the contact between her and Sam, looking over at him. He looked at her, then slid the file closer to her for her to get a better look. She heard Dean talking up Jo in the background, and wondered why she didn’t have that talent herself. So she sparked up a conversation with Sam.

“You think we’re ready for another case? I mean… So soon?” She asked him.

“Well we don’t have anything better to do… Might as well do something other than moping around, waiting on Ash. Plus,” he added, looking at her, “I’d like to see your hunting style. Haven’t watched you hunt, and I’d like to know who’s got my back.”

She smiled. “Well I don’t think I’m horrible, I can definitely take care of myself. And from what I’ve heard about the great Winchesters,” she smirked, “you aren’t too bad yourself.”

He laughed, looking back at the file. “Well I guess we’ll see then.” He turned back to the file, the both of them studying it for a minute, then he called out to Dean.

“Dean, come here, check this out.” Said Sam.

“A few murders,” started Sam, showing him the file. “Not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of.”

“Looks like a hunt,” said Tasha, smiling.

“Told her we’d check it out,” said Sam, looking up at Dean.

———

“You gotta be kidding me, killer clown?”

They were on the road, Dean driving and Tasha in the backseat.

“Yeah, left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces actually.” Clarified Sam.

“And the kid’s family was at some carnival that night, right?” asked Tasha.

“Yeah, the Cooper Carnival.”

“So how do we know we’re not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?”

“The cops have no viable leads,” said Sam, “and, all the employees were tearing down shop. Good alibis all around. Plus, the little girl said she saw a clown vanishing into thin air. Cops are saying trauma of course…”

“Well,” said Dean, “I know what you’re thinking, Sammy, ‘why’d it have to be clowns?’”

“Gimme a break,” said Sam.

“Wait, what am I missing here?” said Tasha, leaning over the seat. She tapped Sam on the shoulder. “Someone has a fear of clowns?”

“He still busts out crying when he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” said Dean laughing.

“At least I’m not afraid of flying,” quipped Sam.

“Planes crash!”

“And apparently clowns kill!”

“Ok, boys, enough, so… these types of murders ever happen before?” said Tasha before the argument could escalate.

“Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus. Same MO, happened three different times, three different locales.”

“That’s weird, cause if it’s a spirit, it’s usually bound to the same locale, like a house or a town.”

“So how’s this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?”

“Could be a cursed object. Spirit attaches itself to something,” said Dean, “something the carnival carries around.”

“Great,” groaned Tasha, “Paranormal scavenger hunt.”

“Well this case was your idea, Sammy, I mean, why is that anyway?” asked Dean. “You were so quick to jump on.”

“…so?” asked Sam.

“So this is not like you, that’s all. I thought you were hell-bent on the leather for the demon hunt.”

“I dunno, I just think… taking this job, it’s what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

“What Dad would have wanted?” asked Dean, looking at Sam.

“Yeah.” He said, looking back at Dean. “So?”

“Nothin’.” Said Dean, turning back to the road.

Tasha sighed, glad that it hadn’t turned into another big argument between the brothers. She settled in to the backseat, waiting for the next stop. She looked at Sam’s silhouette against the darkness of the car and the streetlights flashing by. She started to think about the things she and Sam had talked about, butterflies setting into her stomach. She thought about his face, the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating, the way the corners of his mouth tilted when he smiled, the white of his teeth showing when something was really funny to him. How sharp his cheekbones were, his skin looking as soft as silk. The way his lips looked, so pink like a rose, and she wondered how they felt-

Woah, she thought as her eyes flashed wide open. I’ve barely gotten to know him, why am I thinking like that?? He probably wouldn’t look twice at me that way… But still… It doesn’t hurt to dream… Does it? She looked at Sam again, seeing the broadness of his shoulders across the seat, the way his hair fell against his neck. It looked as soft as feathers, and she was tempted to reach out and feel it, but she refrained from doing so. She fell asleep, dreams of Sam dancing across her vision.

——

Dean looked into the rear view mirror, seeing that Tasha was fast asleep. Her head was turned towards Sam’s back, as if she’d fallen asleep looking at him. He smirked and looked at Sam, who was completely oblivious, looking out the window.

“You know,” said Dean, “Tasha is pretty alright.”

Sam looked at Dean, with a curious look on his face. He peered into the backseat, seeing her fast asleep. He smiled softly, grabbing the blanket from the floorboard and tossing it over her. “Yeah, she’s cool.”

“I think she might kind of have a thing for you, man.”

“What? No, we just met her a week ago, why would you think that?”

“Well, she hangs on you a lot, you both have been spending a lot of time together since you met, and she is a feisty one.” He looked over at Sam, smirking. “I’ve seen how you look at her too, man. It ain’t hard to figure out there’s chemistry there.”

Sam sighed. “I dunno… I don’t think she’d look twice at me, given the chance. She…” he sighed again. “She deserves better than a curse like me.”

“Sam, we… you, are not cursed.” He looked at Sam and saw the sad look on his face. “Look, if this is about Jess-“

“Dean, don’t.”

“I’m serious man, I think Jess would want you to be happy.” He gave Sam a serious look. “You couldn’t help what happened to her, Sammy, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I saw it, Dean, and I said nothing. I knew she was…” He paused, not wanting to say it. “I knew it was going to happen and did nothing.”

“Sam, that demon is to blame for that. She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Sam said nothing, just gazed out the window. “Just think about it, okay?”

Sam sighed and nodded his head. He looked into the backseat again, seeing Tasha’s sleeping form, and smiled before settling in to sleep himself.

­­­­———