I am 90% crap. I get rid of that, what then?

Canon Update

likemichael — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 09:09:04 GMT

After dealing with Castiel becoming a God-like form, and dying shortly after, Dean had been coming to terms with the death of his friend and the deteriorating mental state of his little brother, whose head was full of hallucinations of Lucifer and being inside The Cage in Hell. From the beginning of season 7 onwards, Dean becomes increasingly more depressed and turns more and more heavily towards drinking to solve his problems. Growing to be more jaded and bitter, Dean finds himself turning towards more black and white ways of dealing with hunting, especially shown when dealing with the Kitsune, Amy Pond. She had been killing criminals to take their pituitary glands to feed her dying son, and yet despite being asked specifically by Sam to leave her alive, instead Dean seeks her out behind Sam's back to kill her, but he leaves her son alive as he hasn't killed anyone. In general, Dean's attitude to monsters, through season 7, leads him to a simple mindset that either they're good or bad, and they only ever meet the bad ones, so they kill anything in their way. He is, however, faced with the reality of his own depression and self-loathing very early in the season when he is put on Supernatural Trial to defend his life against Osiris. Failing the trial (in which he must prove he does not hold any guilt), Dean is left to the hands of the ghost of Jo Harvelle, but Sam is able to rescue him by getting rid of Osiris. Despite this fact, Dean is left with the revelation that he isn't at fault for Jo and Ellen's deaths, but also that he'll never discover what's left of "Dean" until he lets go of a lot of the emotional baggage weighing him down.

Throughout season 7, the main antagonist is a monster known as the Leviathan. It is a biblical creature older than all creation. Leviathans are able to change into anyone once they've been touched by them and usually prefer to eat the original person to spare themselves any problems. The leader of these beings takes the role of a high class business man known as Richard "Dick" Roman, founder and CEO of Richard Roman Enterprises. Throughout the season, Dick is the source of constant problems (and a flurry of dick jokes) for the Winchesters, going so far as having two of his underlings masquerade as Sam and Dean and go on a killing spree in order of hunts that the boys did together since Sam left Stanford (meaning they started in the location in S1Ep1 and went onwards for several locations). Because of this, Sam and Dean were forced to deal with their dopplegangers and then had to hide the Impala and take on the fake names Tom (Dean) and John (Sam) Smith.

After dealing with their doubles, Sam discovered Dean had killed Amy. This set a strain on their relationship in which things between them become distant for a time, so much so that they go their separate ways, only to end up working the same case and getting roped into the situation together. It's here where Dean is contacted by Ellen Harvelle through a spiritual medium who tells him, again, to let go of his grief and guilt or it will kill him. Dean then apologises to Sam for betraying him and they hit the road together.

Shortly after that, Dean is faced with the distinct possibility of Sam leaving him for a normal married life. Despite the fact that Sam is drugged with a love potion and forcibly married (during their annual "Vegas Week", no less), he tries to be supportive until it comes to light that the whole thing is a sham. Still, this shows Dean is not prepared for the possibility of Sam leaving him behind, even if it means Sam will have a happy life with a woman he may love.

Following the wedding fiasco, and Sam's sham marriage being annulled, the two of them and Bobby get back to work on finding out what is happening at RRE. During this, Bobby is captured and the boys attempt to rescue him. As they are escaping, Bobby is shot in the head. Faced with the reality of their father-figure dying, both Sam and Dean handle it very differently. While Sam copes by making sure everyone who needs to know gets to know, Dean throws himself heavily into his work, trying to find out what is happening at RRE. It is during this time that the man who helped them cover their identities, Frank Devereaux, tells Dean that he can't keep running himself into the ground, and challenges him on the fact. The confrontation goes as follows:

Dean: I'm not going to quit. It's not even an option. I am not going to walk out on my brother.
Frank: Okay then fine. Do what I did.
Dean: What - go native? Stock up on C-rations?
Frank: No cupcake. What I did when I was 26 and came home to find my wife and two kids gutted on the floor. Decide to be fine 'til the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job. And do it again the next week.
Dean: So fake it?
Frank: I call it being professional. Do it right. With a smile. or don't do it.

Dean takes this advice to heart and, indeed, tries to do it right and be a professional. He is given a little time out (quite literally), when he's sent to 1944 to work a case with Eliot Ness concerning a time travelling god. It gives Dean some fun to be had in a bad time, perking him up quite a bit. The lifted mood helps Dean to get back into the swing of sleeping around but the woman he chooses (or is chosen by) for his first one night stand in years turns out to be an Amazon who uses Dean to give birth to an Amazon child, named Emma. Emma grows up in a matter of days to puberty at which point she is charged with killing her father to become a full-fledged warrior. Faced with his daughter, Dean tries to convince her to leave the Amazons and insists she hasn't killed yet and she doesn't need to. Instead, Emma tries to kill him and it is Sam who shoots her to protect Dean, putting both Sam and Dean on truly equal footing concerning Amy. Learning he had fathered a daughter and seeing Sam kill her took a lot out of Dean but he managed to bury the problem and move on, enjoying their next case (at Plucky Pennywhistle's Magical Menagerie where Sam is faced with his phobia of clowns and Dean gets both the chance to see his little brother covered in glitter and a giant rainbow slinky, thank you very much).

As their cases go on, Sam starts to succumb to his Lucifer hallucinations and Dean does what he can to help but it's a losing battle. Eventually Sam is checked into a hospital and Dean starts to look for a healer who might be able to fix Sam. It leads him into the path of a man named Emmanuel. It turns out that Emmanuel is actually Castiel without his memories, now married to a woman named Daphne who rescued him when she found him by a river without his memories. Emmanuel willingly comes with Dean to hopefully fix Sam. Shaken by the whole ordeal and still furious with Castiel for hurting Sam, Dean asks Emmanuel if he could actually be a bad person and simply not remember it, but Emmanuel says he does not feel like a bad person. Dean then explains that he is not able to forgive his friend Cas who betrayed him and caused Sam's illness. At the hospital, after meeting up with an old demon acquaintance named Meg, Emmanuel is forced to remember that he is Castiel in order for them to be able to get into the hospital and soon enough Castiel gets them in past the demons surrounding it, then taking on Sam's illness and remaining behind, insane and guarded by Meg, while Sam hits the road with Dean again.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Dean is emotionally weakened by seeing Castiel again and not really being able to take out his anger towards him. Having seen signs of things being moved around and having dealt with a haunting at a brewery, it is revealed that Bobby's spirit has been hanging around, attached to the flask that Dean carries with him. Gradually the boys come to terms with Bobby still being around but they are well aware that the longer his spirit lingers the sooner he'll become a Vengeful Spirit and they'll have to kill him again. Once things escalate, Bobby insists on them burning his flask to send him on, and the boys are faced with Bobby's death a second time.

Finding out what RRE was planning, Dean and Sam get their hands on an ancient stone tablet. When they break it free of the stone casing it was in, they awaken a prophet named Kevin Tran. Castiel, at this point, is awoken too but he isn't his normal serious self. The mess that was in Sam's head has turned Castiel crazy, leaving him frightened by conflict and more interested in speaking about flowers, bees, and honey than anything concerning the situation. This leaves Dean furious that Castiel is around but escaping his mistakes, and he lashes out at him, going so far as to say "Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas," because nobody ever cared that Sam was but Dean, and nobody ever cares when Dean is broken.

Kevin Tran, the prophet, is able to read what is written on the tablet and Castiel explains that it is one of many, written by the archangel Metatron, and it is in fact a Word of God. This specific one is entitled "Leviathan". With this, they learn how to kill Leviathan and prepare to do so. Once they've found their weapon to kill Dick Roman (and ultimately send him and all other Leviathan back to Purgatory) they head into RRE to get rid of him and to rescue Kevin after he was kidnapped by Leviathan. Breaking into the building by having Meg distract the guards by crashing the Impala through the glass display outside, Sam, Dean, and Castiel get inside and split up. Sam goes to find Kevin while Dean and Cas seek out Dick Roman. Finding him after a long search, they attack him with their weapon, the bone of a righteous mortal washed in the three blood of the fallen, but Dick explodes and takes both Dean and Castiel with him and his Leviathans to Purgatory, leaving Sam alone.

In Purgatory, Castiel's head is put right instantly and Dean is left alone when Cas flees. Frightened and alone, Dean is forced to fight. Season 8 shows that Dean becomes something primal and raw in Purgatory. He kills or he will be killed, he fights his way through Purgatory, demanding the location of "the angel" until he encounters a vampire named Benny who helps him fight off another few vampires. Benny explains that there is a way out of Purgatory for humans and that, if Dean wants him to show him the way, then Dean must take Benny's soul along with him. Teaming up with Benny, despite his wariness, Dean continues to slash and claw his way through Purgatory until they finally meet up with Castiel. Certain that Cas had been captured and not fled and left him, Dean hugs his friend when he sees him, relieved to have him around again, all past problems aside for the moment. It is then that Dean finds out that Castiel left him alone in Purgatory to supposedly protect him.

From here on out, the three of them fight their way through Purgatory to get to the portal that will get them out of there. Benny proves his loyalty to Dean countless times and Dean quickly forms a lasting friendship with him. However, Dean is single-minded. He wants only to get himself, Cas, and Benny home. Even Castiel's protests that the portal may not work for an angel fall on deaf ears and Dean continues to insist they'll all get out. Unbeknownst to Dean, Castiel doesn't actually want to get out of Purgatory, as he believes it is his punishment for the horrors he has committed. It is here that Dean will be coming to Mandalus, before performing the ritual to take Benny's soul into his arm, and before they all make a break for the portal.

All in all, Dean will come into Mandalus a more savage form of himself. It will take him a while to adjust back into normal life and he will be more distant with people to start with. Once he settles back in, Dean will be a lot more like his old, cheerful self. Forced to sober up in Purgatory, he drinks for recreation now, as shown in canon, rather than to drown his sorrows. He sleeps less, and is more alert, and more than anything he will be even more forcibly protective over his brother and his best friend. He will, however, be a little sterner and more world weary. His view on monsters has changed drastically after living amongst only monsters for a year, and he has learned that some monsters aren't bad, and that they don't choose to be what they are, and should all be given the fair chance if they haven't hurt anyone innocent.

Character Survey

likemichael — Sun, 23 Dec 2012 22:28:18 GMT

тнe вaѕιcѕ

Character Name: Dean Winchester
Nicknames: None specifically. He's been listed as "D" in Sam's phone previously, however.
Gender: Male
Righty or Lefty: Righty.
Age: 33 (in Mandalus), 34 in canon.
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 185 - 190lbs.
Eyes: Green
Hair: Dark blonde/brown
Distinguishable marks: Freckles, anti-possession tattoo, countless scars.
Describe physical traits in one sentence: Dean is tall, sometimes described as "pretty" and stocky built. He has quite pale skin with a lot of freckles, light brownish-blondeish hair, green eyes, a squared jaw, shortish hair, bow legs and isn't anywhere near as muscular as his brother.

ғaмιly

Parents: John Winchester (deceased), Mary Winchester [nee Campbell] (deceased)
Siblings: Samuel Winchester - Younger brother, Adam Milligan - Paternal younger half-brother (deceased)
Marital Status: Single
Significant Others:

Cassie Robinson - Ex-girlfriend
Joanna Beth Harvelle - Former love interest/sister figure (deceased)
Bela Talbot - Possible love interest (deceased)
Lisa Braeden - Ex-girlfriend
Lydia - Mother of his child

Children:

Emma - Biological daughter (deceased)
Benjamin Isaac Braeden - Ex-Girlfriend's son (possibly biological, never confirmed, repeatedly denied)

Other Relatives:

Robert Steven Singer - Adoptive Uncle (deceased)
Ellen Harvelle - Mother figure (deceased)
Joanna Beth Harvelle - Sister figure/former love interest (deceased)
Samuel Campbell - Maternal Grandfather (deceased)
Deanna Campbell - Maternal Grandmother (deceased)
Gwen Campbell - Third Cousin (deceased)
Christian Campbell - Third Cousin (deceased)
Mark Campbell - Distant Cousin (deceased)

Pets: None.
Friends: Castiel and Benny Lafitte
Enemies: Currently enemy Number One is Crowley. Otherwise, anything supernatural that is killing humans is an enemy of a Winchester.
Relationships: Romantic relationships are not Dean's strong point. A string of one-night stands are most common for him and he rarely remembers names or faces. Specifically there have been a handful of women that have made an impact in Dean's life. Cassie Robinson was the first person he told about the hunter lifestyle, shortly after Sam left for Stanford, and she promptly ended their relationship. Later on a hunt came up in her home town (Athens, Ohio) and they were able to reconcile their relationship. Although Dean suggested continuing the relationship, she insisted it wouldn't work. Following that, Dean was romantically interested in Joanna Beth Harvelle, but quickly took her into a sisterly role when he realised her mother was not a woman to anger and he couldn't just sleep with Jo and leave. Their relationship remained strictly platonic until her death, when he gave her a goodbye kiss. Between meeting Jo and her untimely death, Dean met Bela Talbot, a wily English thief with whom he often shared passes and suggestions, but her thievery and consistency at being a pain in the Winchesters' side was what quickly put a stop to any possible romance. She later died due to her deal with a Crossroads Demon coming to an end. After that, there was Lisa. Dean met Lisa almost nine years prior to her first appearance and they shared a weekend of sexual encounters. His affection for Lisa grew quickly and he fell hard and fast in love with her, despite (or perhaps aided by) the distinct possibility that Lisa's son, Ben, may well could have been Dean's child. When things get tough and Dean considers agreeing to become the vessel for the Archangel Michael, it is Lisa he checks in with to say goodbye to, and when Sam dives into Lucifer's cage to trap him and end the Apocalypse, Dean promises Sam he will go to Lisa and live a normal life with her. He does so, and for a year he is simply a boyfriend and a father figure, but it all changes when Sam returns and the relationship quickly goes south when Lisa is forced to tell Dean the truth due to a spell from a Goddess of Truth cast on Dean. With the relationship over, Dean leaves her and Ben alone until Crowley uses them as bait and he must rescue them. As way of protecting them, Dean asks Castiel to remove all trace of himself from their lives, including their memories of him. Finally, there is Lydia. Lydia was meant to be a one-night stand, but she uses Dean to give birth to her daughter, Emma, an Amazon whose task it is to kill her father to join the ranks of the adult Amazon Women. Emma is shot dead by Sam, and Lydia escapes with the other Amazons.

Ethnicity: Dean is Caucasian American, born in the city of Lawrence in the state of Kansas.
Religion: While Dean was never religious, he was soon forced to believe in God and angels. Despite this fact, he does not consider himself religious but will often pray to Castiel.
Beliefs: There isn't anything Dean doesn't believe in anymore. He's seen it all. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, monsters, fairies, angels, demons, and everything in between. The only things he's not certain on are aliens and bigfoot.
Superstitions: Dean believes in every superstition, because it has a basis in lore somewhere, and may well be true. He just doesn't follow them, because he'd be forever panicking about breaking the rules of these superstitions.
Diction/Accent: Dean speaks with a slightly mid-southern accent, due to his Kansan roots.

ѕcнool/worĸ/нoмe

Education: Dean graduated high school but never went to college.
Degrees: None.
Vocation: Hunter.
Employment History: Dean has had a variety of random jobs, usually to tide them over for cash. Most of all, he's good with vehicle repair of any extent, and he has worked construction. More often than not? He hustles pool and runs credit card scams.
Salary: N/A
Status and Money: Technically, Dean is homeless and lives in his car with his brother. Money is whatever cash they can hustle and what they get from credit card fraud. They do surprisingly well for themselves.
Own or Rent: Neither.
Bedroom: Usually a motel room or the front seat of the Impala.
Work Space: Anywhere the hunt takes them.
Main Mode of Transportation: Dean lives in a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. He affectionately calls the car "Baby" and is known to talk to the car often.

pѕycнology
Fears: Dean's biggest fear is Sam dying. It has happened far too many times and he is afraid that he won't be able to stop it from happening again. More than anything he wants to die first, so that Sam can keep living, because he knows he wouldn't be able to. Beyond that, Dean has a lot of other little fears, but the biggest after Sam dying is his near-crippling fear of abandonment. He is terrified of being left alone and betrayed, especially by Sam, considering Sam is the closest person in his life. He has an unhealthy fear of planes and flying as well, which is why he prefers to drive everywhere instead.
Secrets: Dean's biggest secret is that he is a hunter. Otherwise, he doesn't have many secrets to keep. He doesn't tell people about monsters or Heaven/Hell/Purgatory unless it's a must and for the most part he shares everything with Sam and, to a lesser extent, Castiel. Dean doesn't talk about his feelings, however, so it could be considered his secret.
IQ: 109.
Eating habits: Dean has an unhealthy diet, but it is made up for with a lot of exercise while hunting. He tried to cut back but often prefers to eat junk food over the healthier things, and usually it is takeout food, because it is quicker and more convenient than cooking, despite the fact he can cook rather well.
Food Preferences: Dean's favourite food is pie, followed closely by burgers.
Sleeping Preferences: Dean sleeps in two particular positions. If he feels safe and comfortable (usually when he is sure Sam is safe and able to protect him in his sleep) Dean will usually sleep on his front. Otherwise, Dean sleeps on his back. He needs four hours to be able to function, and usually sleeps with a knife or a gun under the pillow.
Book Preferences: He doesn't usually read for pleasure, given most of his reading is normally about different kinds of monster lore.
Music Preferences: 70s and 80s classic rock, though on occasion he will pull out a guilty pleasure song.
Groups or Alone: Dean prefers to be with Sam and Castiel, otherwise he prefers to be alone.
Leader or Follower: Leader.
Planned Out or Spontaneous: Spontaneous, most of the time.
Journal Entries: He's added bits to his dad's journal but he doesn't keep one of his own.
Hobbies/Recreation: Usually Dean will drink, play pool, and listen to music. Less often than before he went to Hell, he will occasionally have casual sex.
Relaxation: Dean doesn't get much of a chance to relax, but when he does he usually just lies down, listens to music, and tries to let go of all his crap for a few minute.
Excitements: He is a man of simple pleasures; pie, his car, booze, a decent hunt, good music, and good sex.
Pet Peeves: Sam's OCD and Sam's nagging, and generally most of his pet peeves are to do with Sam, since he is the only person he's spent more than a year living with consistently who is still alive.
Prejudices: Dean isn't a very prejudice man. While he often makes comments that are inappropriate, he only disapproves of things that are forced onto him. He makes the occasional gay joke but otherwise he's not that bad.
Attitudes: Generally Dean's attitude is cynical yet upbeat. He tends to see the good and bad in situations and opts for the bad, because it usually saves him a lot of waiting around for the other shoe to drop.
Stressors: His brother is his main source of stress. Otherwise, the job.
Obsessions: His car, pie, and music.
Addictions: Dean used to be quite a heavy alcoholic but after a year of forced sobriety in Purgatory he can now drink socially and doesn't rely on it for every moment of the day.
Ambitions: Dean has no ambition. He wants only to live his life as a hunter with his brother by his side and go out in a blaze of gunfire and blood.
As seen by others: A happy, cocky, cheerful guy who knows he's attractive and uses it to his advantage.
As seen by self: A failure. A worthless mess that doesn't deserve others to keep him close. If he can just save everybody, maybe he'll hate himself that little bit less.

aѕтrology/pнιѕιology

Birth Date: January 24th 1979
Time of birth: Unknown.
Western Sign: Aquarius
Traits: Aquarius traits are solidarity, fraternity, cooperation and fulfilment. Aquarius does not enjoy showing it's emotions and will prefer to bottle it up and unleash it in other, often more unhealthy ways, unless prompted to let out those emotions by others. Eccentric and odd, Aquarius tends to have a dark and morbid sense of humour but a general acceptance of others ideals and beliefs. Aquarius is usually unrealistic in goals, flighty in behaviour, but loyal, dedicated, and honest.
Chines Zodiac Sign: Horse.
Traits: The Horse is energetic, fond of travel, and good with money. The are the nomadic sign of the Chinese Zodiac. Horses yearn for both independence and freedom as well as love and intimacy, which often leaves them feeling conflicted in their romantic endeavours. Love connections come easy to Horses as they exude raw sex appeal and will come on strong in the beginning of relationships, using their innate sense of romance and intimacy to their advantage. Despite being sharp of wit and personable, a Horse often feels inadequacy to their peers and will shy into themselves or become louder and more overbearing because of that. They can be insensitive to the needs of others, sometimes, and will choose to control a situation, but still crave to care for those they consider important.
Handwriting: Dean's handwriting is quite messy and a little slanted. He didn't write much at school, barely making it through high school, and never often needing to write anything else. He writes big.
Sexual History: A lot of lovers.
General Health: Generally in good health.
Medical History: Many wounds including broken bones, and repeated deaths. None of those stuck, though.
Allergies: None.
Chronic Illnesses: None.
Handicaps: None.

oвjecтѕ ĸepт ιn

Purse/Bag: Duffel bag full of clothes.
Wallet: Cash, credit cards, a picture of his parents, a picture of Sam.
Motel Fridge: Half-finished takeout food, beer, soda.
~~Medicine Cabinet~~ First Aid Box: Painkillers, bandages, thread and needle for stitches, tongs for removing bullets.
Glove Compartment: ID, fake IDs, a gun, maps, phones.
~~Junk Drawer~~ Car Trunk: Knives, guns, ammunition, crosses, holy water, holy oil, etc.
Bedroom hiding place: N/A
Kitchen Cabinets: N/A
~~Closets~~ Duffel Bag: Jeans, t-shirts, over shirts, jackets, FBI suit, several ties.
Backpack: Usually weapons
Locker: N/A
Desk: N/A
Clothes Pockets: Wallet, keys, cash.

randoм

Halloween Costume: He doesn't dress up for Halloween. He doesn't celebrate it, he just eats the candy.
Tricks: Dean is a little bit of a prankster, but usually it only involves Sam or Castiel. He instantly reverts to being a six year old when pranks and tricks come up.
Talents: Dean is an incredible shot with any gun, he is an amazing mechanic, and he can hustle pool better than most people.
Politics: He doesn't care. The world is going to end bloody anyway.
Flaws: he can be insensitive, childish, possessive, and demanding. He expects the best but also expects the worst, and will hold grudges for the longest time. More than anything, he still finds it difficult to see Sam as an adult.
Strengths: He is loyal, caring, devoted, loving, friendly, charming, and sweet at heart. He cares and loves so much he will throw himself away for the sake of his loved ones.
Drugs/Alcohol: He's tried various different drugs, only recreationally. He used to drink heavily, now only socially and on occasion to numb his frustration and to sleep better.
Passwords: He doesn't use computers very often and usually borrows Sam's so he doesn't have passwords.
Internet stuff: His internet history consists of monster lore and porn.
Prized Possessions: His car, a '67 Impala, with little quirks such as lego in the heating vents, an army man in the ashtray, and his and Sam's initials carved into the door, as well as the weapons in the trunk. Until season 5, Dean also wore an amulet. It was given to him by Sam and he later threw it away to hurt Sam after having his faith in Sam completely demolished in Heaven.
Time and place: Earth, America, 2013.
Special Places: Inside the Impala, Las Vegas for the annual Winchester Vegas Week, and on the hood of the Impala, with Sam, watching the stars.

Code:

<center><big>тнe вaѕιcѕ</big></center>
Character Name:
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Gender:
Righty or Lefty:
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<center><big>pѕycнology</big></center>
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Fridge: 
Medicine Cabinet: 
Glove Compartment: 
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Bedroom hiding place: 
Kitchen Cabinets: 
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<center><big>randoм</big></center>
Halloween Costume: 
Tricks: 
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Drugs/Alcohol: 
Passwords: 
Internet stuff: 
Prized Possessions: 
Time and place: 
Special Places:

Payback

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 14:13:42 GMT

The text that Martin sends him makes Dean's breath hitch as he reads it. Finally. It's been years, more years than he cares to think about, but Martin found them, and he's not sure if he could even bring himself to celebrate yet or not.

It's late, when it comes, and Dean is already half way ready to get some sleep. Sam is already curled up on himself in the bed, facing Dean's bed, and the older of the two watches him for the longest moment before getting himself off the chair by the table and pulling his jeans back on. He sits on the edge of his bed, nearly silent as he pulls his boots on and laces them, facing Sam's sleeping form the entire time.

Feet planted firmly on the floor, Dean's elbows dig into his knees as he watches his little brother. He's not sure what to do. Should he wake him? Would it be something Sam would want to be involved in? He doubts it, somehow. Sam isn't like that. He's always been a vicious son of a bitch when he got started but he's not sure Sam's really able to stomach some of the things that Dean can cope with. They both came out of Hell different men, in the end, and Dean's got Purgatory on top of that.

"I'm doing this for you, so you can't be pissed at me," he murmurs to Sam's sleeping face and the only sign his words even register on a subconscious level is the minute twitch of Sam's nose.

Dean knows Sam doesn't just wake up easily with him knocking around in their room. He never has. Sam's a sensitive bastard, though, and always knows when something is up, even when he's asleep, so Dean waits a few minutes, in case his brother wakes, just keeping watch on him.

Things are still strained sometimes. They don't quite get each other as much as they did before and Dean knows it's because no one's talking about what happened, what really happened, in their year apart. They skirt edges and they offer half thoughts, half comments, but never the full story. Dean knows the Spectre did a number on them; it made him say things he never would have, it made him try to kill the one person he never would, and he knows Sam is still angry at him and he's sure Sam took to heart whatever bullshit the spirit made him spit out, and while he won't deny he probably felt some of that, he never felt that angry in his entire life and it wasn't him.

Maybe he can right a few wrongs tonight. Starting with this.

He gets up, hesitating with the urge to ruffle Sam's hair like he would when his brother was tiny and could be carried around, but he knows they're not really kids anymore. They never were. So, he heads out the door, after pulling on a jacket, and he doesn't leave a note because he knows Sam will come looking for him. He doesn't want Sam to see this.

---

It's a half hour drive to the location Martin sent him, and Dean's hands are trembling with anticipating. It's sick, he knows that, but he can't help wanting this. He has wanted this since long before Lucifer ever got his icy hands on his brother and before his faith in Sam had been well and truly shaken.

Dean steels himself as he pulls up outside the shack. It's a small hunting cabin, something of a worn down and battered place, but it adds to the charm, he decides, as he gets out of the car. He fills a small bag with weapons and slings it over his shoulder as he heads up the three creaking steps and to the door, pushing it open.

"Martin?" It's a gruff call and the older hunter comes out from a side room with a wary look in his eyes.

"Dean, it's good to see ya, boy," he tells him, and Dean gives him the regular cheery grin and the firm handshake, but even Martin is able to see how forced any happiness from Dean Winchester is. He remembers the last time he saw him, in that mental institution, and he doubts Sam knows about this. Honestly, these boys and keeping secrets from each other. "They're through there. You do what you gotta do, but I'm heading out. I got some stuff to do."

When Martin is gone, Dean waits at the door for only a moment, taking a breath to calm himself. He's sure he's going to snap with how much tension is running through him.

Finally, Dean steps into the room, and the way sweat beads and runs down the faces and necks of his prey is almost a thrill to Dean.

"Walt. Roy. It's good to see you again, guys."

The two hunters in binds exchange looks as Dean sets down the bag of what they know to be weaponry. Walt tries first, knowing it's futile but deciding he has to do something.

"Hey, hey, Dean, look... about that time--"

"About when you shot and killed my brother in front of me then shot me?" Dean's eyes are still on the weapons he's laying out meticulously, and Walt swallows the knot of fear in his throat.

"Y-yeah, that... Look, man, we're sorry. We're real sorry, aren't we, Roy?"

Roy stammers before he finds his voice, looking up at Dean with wide eyes. "Yeah-- Yeah, real sorry, man."

Dean huffs out a breath, something not quite a laugh and not quite a growl, but it's there and it's visceral, and the thick and cloying air is enough to choke a lesser man. Dean Winchester is not a lesser man.

"Oh, sure, you're both real sorry." Dean picks up a knife and he can almost hear Alastair in his ear, his nasally and yet commanding tone purring it's way into his mind like a litany of the worst possible praises for horrific acts no man should be proud of committing.

Oh, that's it, son. Give them back all the pain they caused you. They-- hm-- they deserve it, don't they? They took Sammy away, Dean.

Dean's breathing shallows and he closes his eyes. It's hardly the time to be having Hell flashbacks, not after surviving Purgatory. He's not sure which was worse, maybe Hell, for all the pain he caused innocent souls, maybe Purgatory for the exhaustion it set into his bones and his heart. Neither was pleasant, but Hell had a freedom to it, and Purgatory was pure.

Stabbing the knife into the table, Dean approaches Walt. He was the one who shot Sam, and then shot him. Roy was an unfortunate accessory to the plan. Maybe Dean will go easier on him. Maybe he'll be willing to let him live. Hell, maybe he'll let them both live.

Gripping Walt by the jaw, Dean looks into the man's eyes.

"You looking at me, Walt? Good, 'cause guess what?"

The pause Dean lets sink in is heavy and Walt is holding his breath, but Dean's vicious sneer is savage and inhuman.

"I'm back and I'm pissed."

He lets it linger for a moment before he pulls back, grabbing the knife from the table and leaning down over Walt again. "See, there's one thing I can't let slide, Walt, old buddy, old pal, and that's someone hurting my brother."

Dean slides the blade down Walt's chest, the edge so sharp it splits the fabric of Walt's shirt like it's gliding through butter, and Dean can hear Roy's panicked breathing to his right as he leans over Walt, this man's own breath hot on Dean's cheek.

"And you, you didn't just hurt Sammy. No, you killed him. And then, you dumb son of a bitch, you shot me too."

Walt's fear is so tangible in the air that Dean is sure he's breathing it in, directly from Walt's exhales. It's horrible, and he feels twisted and strange and broken, but he can't stop. This is a loose end, they're something he never got to finish, they're people who hurt Sam, who wanted Sam dead, that never got payback for doing the unforgivable. Damn it all, if he didn't give such a crap about Castiel, he'd have the angel strapped down for breaking Sam's wall, but that angel meant almost as much to him as Sam did.

But not quite. Not enough so that he'd do things like this for his sake. Not enough so that he'd willingly sell his soul, give the last of his blood and heart and breath, just to keep him going. No, Dean was already aware he'd failed Castiel, even if Cas swore he wasn't responsible, and he couldn't fix that, but this he could fix. This he could do for Sam. And a little bit for himself.

Maybe he'd finally lost it. Maybe everything the cops ever said about him over the years was true. Dean didn't give a shit anymore. No, he was going to make them pay for everything. He would make them pay for how his faith in Sam was shaken in Heaven. He'd carve out a new amulet for himself, if he damn well had to.

The first cut was smooth and along Walt's cheekbone. It only earned him a single hiss of pain from the other hunter who, as far as Martin had told him, hadn't hunted a god damn thing since they'd killed him and Sam. Maybe they had been big game back then. Maybe they were the Ultimate Hunt, and these two chuckleheads thought they could retire.

Guess they were wrong.

---

By the turn of the hour, Dean is bloodied, Roy is dizzy from the stench of blood and burned flesh, and Walt is drooling both blood and saliva as Dean pulls his head back by his hair. He eyes his work. It's all mostly superficial, just burns and cuts, and really he's been quite nice up until now, but he can't help wanting to cut deeper, and he isn't satisfied with the screams that come from Walt.

"So, how're we feeling, huh? It feels good, right? Cathartic, like a drink after a long day, hm?" Dean knows he's taunting, knows he's slipped into that dark place that he found himself in whenever Alastair handed him a blade in Hell. He wants to stop, he can hear himself screaming at him to stop, and Dean doesn't know if he can. What he does know is he'll be going back to the motel yet again a changed man and he hopes Sam doesn't have to deal with the fallout of it.

Sweat-slicked fingers drag over a wound on Walt's side, a knife cut, and Dean pushes on the sliced flesh until one finger slips inside, all the while listening to the screams coming from Walt.

Before he even has his finger inside up to the second knuckle, Walt is passing out on him for the third time since he started, and Dean yanks his hand away from the wound to slap Walt across the face. It wakes him and Dean tuts irritably.

"This isn't naptime, Walt."

Smearing the blood off his fingers and onto his jeans, Dean turns his gaze on Roy. He only now notices the man's thrown up nearby and he wonders vaguely when it happened. He doesn't remember it. Maybe he was too focused on Walt.

"So, either of you got a reason yet?" He'd been asking them for the past forty-five minutes, or so, about their reasons for everything. For killing Sam. They insisted it was the Apocalypse, and yet Dean wouldn't take it.

"We've... told... you..." Walt grits out through shaking breaths.

"The whole 'flipping the switch on the Apocalypse', yeah, I got that." Dean paces, like a caged animal aching to strike. "But, see, what I can't get my head around is why you thought it was a good idea to even point a gun at Sam. I mean, everyone's always known I'm a mean son of a bitch, and you guys caught me when I was barely a year out of Hell. It's like you just wanted me to do this." He turns to Roy then, hands pressing down on the man's arms where they're bound to the arms of the chair. "Is that it, Roy? Did you want me to rip Walt to pieces in front of you? Then do the same to you? Is that why you came for Sammy?"

Roy is trembling, eyes wide and pupils blown like he's high on something (fear, Dean figures), but he doesn't answer and Dean pushes away from him.

"Dammit, you guys were never this stupid before, were you? I mean, how anyone can just point a gun at Sam is beyond me." Yet Dean gets a flash of a memory in his head, of himself, doing that, pointing a gun at his little brother and spewing vile words he couldn't remember the taste of anymore, and he feels his self-loathing fury spark up like an ember bursting into a flame.

The anger and hatred for his own actions snaps him for a moment and Dean swings his fist, hitting Walt clean in the jaw. The man's head whips to the side and Dean brings that fist down over and over until Walt's eye is swollen shut and his lip is split and his nose is gushing blood.

Shaking out his hand, Dean curses under his breath and presses both hands down into the table sticky with blood from his knives. He breathes, trying to rationalise anything he can, and for a moment he spaces out, remembering doing this kind of thing in Purgatory, torturing for answers, trying to get Castiel's location out of beast after beast. They hadn't been humans anymore, not like Walt and Roy, but Dean's more primal side, his take care of Sammy instinct, was screaming at him that these two men gave up their right to be treated like humans when they pointed guns at Sam.

Dean looks over his shoulder, eyeing the mess Walt is in. He's weak, Dean can see that. He's not the kind of man who'd last more than a day on his rack in Hell, and Alastair's voice is back with a vengeance as he thinks on that for even a moment but Dean shakes it away. Sometimes, he wonders if this is his own mild, watered down version of Sam's hallucinations of Lucifer.

Hell fucks a man's mind six ways from Sunday, and while his forty years were horrifying, he's not prepared to imagine Sam's centuries.

---

Eventually Dean moves on from Walt. He leaves the man unconscious, with wounds so deep they'll need stitches, and burns so horrifying they'll need skin grafts. He tempts himself with the idea of giving him a Joker-like set of facial scars, but that'll just be a step too far, if he intends to leave them alive. He wonders if, maybe before he sold his soul, he would have just put a bullet in each of them. Now, he can't even consider such a quick and freeing end for them.

Roy gets cuts, he gets little burns, but Dean knows this one wasn't into the idea, he was dragged along by Walt, and tried to act the big tough hunter, but Dean is well aware that Roy was never going to pull the trigger on either of them.

"How you feelin', Roy? Because I'm thinking about letting you go, you know. You let Walt drag you around in that bullshit idea, and look where it landed you. He was right about one thing, though. Living with the knowledge of me being on your ass has you piss scared, don't it, Roy?"

The older hunter is shaking and Dean doesn't get a response beyond a whimper.

It's not even worth doing more to him. He's already as tortured as he'll ever be. That's enough for Dean.

---

He calls Martin, thanks him, ignores the six missed calls from Sam, and he even unties Roy, but he leaves Walt bound up. He packs away his weapons and the entire time Roy remains in his seat, just breathing and trembling. Dean is down from his high, he's out of the haze, and he's almost shaking too, with disgust and self-hatred, and a multitude of other emotions he can't quite pin down. Still, he doesn't let the mask slip and he makes sure Roy gets the full message.

"Don't fuck with the Winchesters."

It's nearing dawn when he finally gets back to the motel. Sam is awake, he knows that by the light on in the room that he can see shining even through the curtains over the window. Dean is bloody, it's all down his grey t-shirt and the blue and grey plaid shirt he had on over it, it's dried and crusted on his jeans, it's on his hands and his face, and he can feel his fingertips trembling a little bit as he turns off the Impala's engine.

Sam's at him before he even has the door all the way open.

"Where the Hell were you, Dean?!" It's a second later, when Dean's fully in the room, that Sam sees the blood and registers it as something Very Wrong. "What happened? Whose blood is that? Are you okay?!"

Dean just grunts at him, sliding his clean jacket off and hooking it over a chair. Next he's peeling off the plaid shirt, the blood making it hard to get off, and he still hasn't answered Sam. The taller brother isn't letting him off easy, though.

"Dean, god dammit, what's going on?!"

Sam's hands are on his arms, his biceps, and Dean's mind finally slams back into his own body with the realisation that Sam is here, alive, and awake, and completely, utterly, entirely freaked out. Dean breathes, looks up at him, and shrugs off his hands.

"I'm fine, it's not my blood," Dean assures him, but that only brings up more questions for Sam, ones he doesn't even need to say, because they're painted on his face and shining in his hazel eyes, and Dean can only see a six month old baby in his arms, a five year old asking too many questions, a thirteen year old that idolises him, a nineteen year old that wants to leave, and the twenty-two year old that needs him like he did when he was six months old.

"What did you do, Dean?" The quiver in Sam's voice is unnoticeable to everyone but Dean, because Dean knows this guy, this kid, like the back of his own hand. Better even.

He doesn't answer, he peels away his bloody clothes as he makes his way towards the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

---

Sam is wrung out with panic and confusion and questions, Sam on the end of Dean's unslept-in bed with his hands clasped tightly, to keep them from raking through his hair or down his face yet again. When Dean finally emerges, clean and wearing clothes Sam didn't realise he'd taken into the bathroom with him, Sam surges to his feet, crowding Dean up against the wall with both hands fisted hard in the black t-shirt Dean has on.

When his back hits the wall, Dean lets out a huff of breath, but he doesn't fight Sam off. He watches his little brother with the reverence he always did, with the unguarded devotion.

"What. Did you. Do?"

The way Sam grits it out makes Dean feel even more knotted and twisted inside for what he did.

"I called in a few debts," he answered vaguely and as Sam yanks him a few inches from the wall just to slam him harder against it should make him angry. It should bring out the belligerent older brother who can still knock his too-tall sibling on his ass, but it doesn't.

"Dean, god dammit!"

Sam backs off, most of the way, and Dean stays where he is. "Walt and Roy." He breathes the words out but he knows Sam hears them because he turns sharply to look back at him.

"Are they...?"

"Dead? No. They didn't deserve a get out of jail free card." Dean straightens his shirt and rubs his hand over his mouth, and he watches Sam with a guarded uncertainty.

The younger Winchester lets out a breath, pushes his hand through his hair, and he wonders if Sam is going to freak out even more. He's not sure what they can do to change anything, though, and Dean finally sets the line of his shoulders and squares up. "You can be pissed all you want, Sam, but I did this because no one screws with you. I couldn't give a damn about them killing me, but nobody screws with my brother."

And it's then, in the cool morning light, with the sun barely risen an hour ago, and the stink of blood still painted through the air, that Sam realises what this is about. This is Dean's apology, for Missouri, for the Spectre, for everything said, and Sam isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry, but he knows now, above all else, that he can't even imagine going back to being normal.

Not with Dean still alive. Not when he knows just how shattered and torn and damaged his older brother is.

If someone-- If Sam isn't there to keep Dean in line, then all Hell and all Purgatory will break loose of Dean Winchester and pour into the world like salt water on an open wound. He watches Dean for a moment, the way his brother stares him down like he expects an argument, and Sam is stunned.

Just over a year ago, his whole world imploded and rained down on him. Now, Sam realises, it's still raining and he's not sure he's ready for the flood that Dean is, but he'll have to be.

On The Rocks

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 10:14:21 GMT

Jo rolled her eyes at Dean for what felt like the fiftieth time the past ten minutes. She was already done with the conversation but Dean, stubborn jerk that he was, didn't seem to quite know when to quit. So, as he rambled on, she just poured herself another drink.

It was after hours and she was damn sure that she was going to make him pay for the amount of booze they were getting through, but she didn't mind his company. She liked having him around. It was sad, sometimes, seeing how he carried himself. It wasn't like she remembered. There was a difference to him now, a space that years apart couldn't quite make out, but she didn't want to try. Joanna Beth Harvelle was no damn fool and she knew when to leave well enough alone.

Dean Winchester, however, was the weakness for a lot of people and she wouldn't ever admit he was still a weakness of hers.

"And another thing--" he continued, but she'd had enough.

"Dean! Shut up." Her tone seemed to make it through his drunken haze and he pouted at her, sliding a glass across the bar to her.

"Another one, on the rocks."

"Ohh, no, you've had enough." She set the bottle out of reach, and Dean leaned over the bar to try to grab for it. Luckily, she was that bit faster and far more sober, and she snagged hold of his wrist before he could get anywhere. Dean was pouting even more, and Jo rolled her eyes (fifty-one) before she leaned in that bit closer to get her message across to him.

"You've had enough, Dean."

He stared her down, green eyes on blue, and she was damn sure she wasn't losing this one until his lips were pressed firm against hers. Jo took a sharp breath in, her hand tightening around his wrist, and when Dean didn't pull away neither did she. She was sure this was a stupid idea, but it was just a kiss, and when it was over she would make sure he knew he wasn't getting anything else.

Yet it lasted, and it was good, and god damn it all if she didn't wish fate wasn't such a fickle bitch. She knew the timing was bad, it would always be bad, but she just wished this would last a little while longer.

Handcuffs

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 10:02:02 GMT

He circled her like he was preparing to rip out her lungs and feed them to her. Maybe he would. Maybe he would hold her down and tear her apart piece by piece today. The urge was always present and he watched her with oily black eyes as he smirked at the suggestion she brought up.

"Sweetheart, you've got to be kiddin' me."

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, shrugging a little bit and giving him a grin. She knew he was dangerous, she wasn't stupid, and that was why Sam had insisted she get that tattoo she'd been forced to have. She knew the demon inside Dean was definitely the man he used to be, however, and there were times she saw the Real Dean underneath all the cruelty and savagery.

"I'm not scared of you hurting me. It'll be fun!" She waved the handcuffs at him, and he had them out of her fingers and clasped around her wrist in an instant. "Ah-ah, not me, you."

"I'll break them," he pointed out, shaking his head a little bit.

"That's the point. You have to try not to."

The demon sighed and rolled his eyes, but he freed her arm and willingly let her cuff him to the chair. It was a little bit silly, he was sure he'd break them, but something in him, that deeply human root of his inky black former soul, was already thrilled by the playful tone this had taken.

She teased and touched, her fingertips running over his skin, and Dean pulled at the cuffs a little, forcing her to give him a warning reprimand through fingernails dug into his skin. That only served to please him all the more and his head hung back as every touch and every scrape made his body ache. Well, his former body. He supposed the Real Dean Winchester was still in there, but he wasn't really his happy-go-lucky self anymore.

She straddled his lap, and Dean bucked his hips up, but Darcy simply grinned at him, enjoying the way she could make something so inhuman behave in the most human of ways, and her mouth played over his throat as she rocked her hips against him, her breasts pressed to his solid chest.

"Enough messing around," he hissed out, and she gripped his shoulders for more leverage, grinding against him. "I'm serious," he added and Darcy chuckled.

Seconds later the cuffs snapped and Dean had her on her back. She only laughed. She downright giggled, and the demon was sure at this point Alastair was knocking himself out with how hard he was facepalming at how little fear he struck into the heart of this woman. In fact, she seemed to find his demonic prostrating adorable at times.

He pinned her, his body sinking against hers, and she gave a pleasured sigh at the full up feeling, her legs looping around his waist. He was rough, she'd wounded his demony pride, she supposed, but she didn't mind it so much. He was never so rough that it left real damage, and God was he gorgeous when he was this worked up.

She missed Dean, the real man with the broken soul, but this demon... well, he was a little bit Dean inside.

Wings

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 09:46:24 GMT

The first time he'd seen those shadowy wings, Dean had been scared. He'd never admit it, no way in Hell, but the sight of the angel who rose him from perdition had been something of an eye opener for Dean. He had never had faith, and he had never believed, not like Sam, and yet here he was, raised and alive, and his best friend was a god damn angel.

Dean often wondered just what the wings looked like, the real things and not the shadows he'd seen. Maybe they didn't look like anything. Maybe they were, in fact, shadows. Maybe they were invisible, or maybe he just couldn't see them because humans had such a limited range of sight and thought that even looking at those would be out of his range of ability.

Castiel watched Dean when he looked at him that way. Sometimes, he wondered if Dean was about to ask a question, and of course he could pry into his mind if he ever felt the desire to know, but that was not how he would learn more of his friend. That was not how their friendship worked. Now, it was based on trust, and honesty, after everything he'd done, what he thought was necessary, he was lucky Dean would even look at him.

The angel cocked his head to the side in curiosity, and Dean's glazed look faded out for a moment of them simply looking at each other. Dean looked away first, he always looked away first, and it was never certain if it was discomfort or something else that made Dean turn away. Perhaps it was anger, Castiel could not read Dean so perfectly as Sam could, no one ever would be able to, and yet he was more than happy to try on some days.

Dean found his gaze on a bird nearby, as he leaned against the Impala, Sam asleep in the front seat, Castiel just stood beside him. They were waiting for Garth to show up, and Dean watched the bird with the same thoughts about wings as he had before. Did Castiel's have feathers and flap like a bird's? Was the noise of flapping wings that haunted his dreams the memory of Castiel pulling him out of Hell?

The questions were ever constant, but Dean could feel Castiel watching him in the way that made his skin crawl. He never liked being singled out, not even at his own birthday parties, and yet Castiel always seemed to pin him with a look.

"Quit it," he muttered.

"I don't understa--"

"You know what you're doing, Cas."

The resultant little hmph of a laugh was all the proof Dean needed that Castiel knew he was looking at Dean a little too hard, trying to figure him out like he did when he tried to work out a problem or how to work a microwave. It made Dean smile a little, to himself, and when finally Garth's truck was in sight, Dean turned to look at the angel.

"You go meet Garth, I'll wake up Sammy."

"All right."

"And Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?" The angel peered at him curiously.

Dean paused, eyeing the space around Castiel's shoulders curiously, before he just shook his head. "Nothing. It doesn't matter." Castiel simply nodded, after a pause, and turned to walk towards Garth's truck. Dean was a puzzle, sometimes, but Castiel enjoyed piecing him apart bit by bit.

Drinking Games

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 09:30:03 GMT

Teddy's laughter was infectious and Dean was certain they were really going to get into some stupid trouble if they were left unsupervised much longer. Someone, he wasn't sure who at this point, had come up with the idea of drinking games.

They'd started on a movie one, drinking every time the characters said or did certain things, and that evolved quickly into "I Have Never" which left Dean half pickled inside with how many things he had done, that Teddy never had. It was at least a good thing they were only drinking beer at this point, because any more whiskey or tequila and Dean was damn sure going to need a new liver. He was already preparing to beg Cas to heal his liver and kidneys in the morning, with how much he'd drank.

"Okay, one more game," Teddy slurred out, head propped up on his hand as he grinned lazily at Dean. The oldest Winchester hiccupped a little and then leaned forward, trying to discern just which Teddy was the real one and which ones were the imposters.

"Mmkay, sure, what?" Dean swayed a bit, his own grin a little bit silly as he looked at him.

"Hmm? What?" Teddy blinked, not quite sure they were even having a conversation anymore, and Dean squinted, leaning further forward, his hand swiping over his face.

"What, what?" Dean shook his head a bit.

"You're so drunk," the teen laughed out and slumped over into Dean's side, yawning and dropping his head back against Dean's shoulder. His hand wandered, finding Dean's arm and pulling it around him. Okay, so he wanted to snuggle a bit, so sue him!

Dean didn't mind, he was too drunk to mind, and he groped around aimlessly for his bottle of beer, picking up Teddy's instead.

"That's mine!" It was a slurred protest and an equally aimless grab for it that left the beer knocked over somewhere, where neither of them cared.

It wasn't until a second later that either of them realised they'd been distracted by a kiss. No one knew who started it, and Dean was the one to end it with a bubble of laughter that ended with him just hugging Teddy to his side.

It wasn't until four hours later, when they woke up curled up together on the couch, that either of them realised it had happened and neither of them was ready to talk about it.

Kiss With a Fist

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 09:16:01 GMT

Sometimes Dean wondered how he ever got into situations like this. Sometimes, it was either dumb luck, bad luck, or just a series of very unfortunate events. Yet, here he was, and through his drunken haze he knew he wasn't touching soft curves or gentle features, but instead hard muscle and a lean, toned body that he would never quite remember the feel of, come morning, but it would linger in the back of his mind as that one Big Mistake and That One Time, and he didn't know yet if that was going to be a good thing or a bad thing.

Neither of them was gentle, Kai Leng was downright brutal with some of the things he did, and Dean wondered if the bite on his shoulder muscle was bloodied or not. He wouldn't be surprised if it was. He huffed out a rough breath as they pulled and pushed at each other. It was like another of their fights. Catharic and vicious and everything they each needed, just to get out the sea of emotions neither of them ever let out otherwise.

Dean's hands tugged at Kai Leng and he would hate himself come morning but there was no way he was going to waste time fighting. He just wanted it, wanted the pain it would cause and the strung out madness it would leave him with, and every bit of him thrummed with pleasure and desperation.

Kai's smirk was nearly smug, but he was far too drunk to care about much at that moment. He was downright mad himself, he was certain of it, because this arrogant, too-tall American jerk was someone he'd sooner headbutt than give head to, but here he was, and while he wasn't giving head it was certainly enough to either of them as he slid between Dean's legs.

The ragged breathing and the hard motions were what they both craved, something painful and so good and it was insane for them to do it but there was enough alcohol and their inhibitions were lost. It was a screaming fight to the end, with grunts and pulled hair, and curses, and anger, neither of them giving the other a chance to get the upper hand, even with roles set as they were.

By the time it was over, neither said a word as they both passed out, but as the sun rose outside, and the noise of the day came into earshot, Dean stirred with what only could be described as horror.

Leng's hand rose to cover his eyes and he groaned irritably, rolling over to turn away from the sunlight. There, he was met with the sight of pale, freckled skin and a horrified man in his bed. He wasn't exactly pleased himself.

"This never happened," Dean huffed out quickly and Kai snorted as he pushed up on his hands, getting himself somewhat upright before his head gave the worst pound it could possibly have given.

Dean eyed him and shook off his own hangover more easily, raked at his face with exhaustion and tried to breathe steadily.

"It's not like I wanted it either, duck."

Dean shot him a look that could be described only as livid, and scrambled for his pants. That was it. No more drinking with this guy. No way in Hell was he going to get to this point again, he told himself firmly.

Three weeks later, with a similar ache in his lower back, Dean cursed under his breath as he woke up in the same place, the same guy next to him, and fuck this wasn't supposed to happen!

Poison

likemichael — Sat, 17 Nov 2012 08:59:53 GMT

The bitter taste in his mouth was sharper than blood, and he'd tasted blood countless times; his own, his brother's, his father's; that of monsters and the dead alike. It was sharp and it burned, and something told him that he was only just opening the door on something more volatile and dangerous.

She was beautiful, she looked just like Cate Blanchett if he was honest, and every brush of her hand against his skin had always sent an amalgamation of emotions surging through him. Every time was different, like the caress of a mother, a sister, and now, as they watched each other with guarded desperation, it was the touch of a lover.

Dean set aside the cup of wine, something he only ever drank in her company, and he could feel his own breathing shallow as Elizabeth's gaze held his. She was something he'd never aspired to have for himself. She was royalty, and of course she would see herself best suited to an archangel, but here they were, and she was enticing, as much as the bitter wine on his tongue, like poison ebbing through his veins, making him lose every shred of sanity.

Fingers ran through red hair as Dean pressed forward, not quite meeting his lips with hers, and his green eyes studied her blue as the smallest little smirk graced her face.

"Surely you aren't becoming shy, Master Winchester."

Dean's breath caught in his throat at the laughter that escaped him, and his lips pressed firm to hers, commanding and controlling for only a moment. He was never forceful with the women he went with. That just wasn't him. Yet something in him was always sparked ablaze when he felt the moment approach, and Dean wondered if this would be the time when her presence in his head, the throbbing poison in his veins, would ignite and send him reeling from desperation.

Neither said a word as they struggled out of clothes; neither gave the other a chance. Lips, tongues, teeth, a veritable dance of passion and frustration ebbed out between them, and both knew the other was aching to the core for just the smallest of relief.

Not since Lisa, Dean thought to himself, and still the memory of her gave him pause, making him break from the kiss with a moment to regain himself. He'd loved her, but she wasn't his anymore, and Elizabeth had been right when she had told him he didn't need to be alone. Now, at least, he had a chance to forget and with a woman he was sure would never want for anything from him besides company. That much he could give.

Neither was certain how they had found their way to Elizabeth's bed, but she caressed his jaw as he took that pause, smiling up at him with all the sweetness in the world, and for a moment Dean believed it. For a moment he was sure she was made of something only Heaven could form, but he knew her. He knew the sarcasm and the cynical thoughts, he knew her forceful tone and how damn frightening she was when she was mad at him for being stupid again.

Dean chuckled against her hand and closed in for another kiss. It was a mere misstep, the pause, something forgotten in an instant as they sparked another flame between them, his hands dragging over her pale flesh, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders. Sweat-slicked limbs slid together, and neither would give the other a moment to rest, unwilling to stop in the exploration of each other's bodies, the rough rhythm increasing with every moment gone by.

She sang his praises with her gasps and moans. He praised her existence with his tongue and his body.

Every motion was fluid, wrang out by their clutching hands and aching muscles. He didn't give a single moment of reprive, she didn't want one from him, and as she arched her neck, Dean's teeth found the pale flesh, leaving a mark for which he knew she'd curse him for days.

It was sudden, and like blinding light behind her eyes. His shoulders stung with the sharpness of her nails, and his body siezed as his own moment came, mere seconds after hers.

When stillness fell, and they simply breathed beside each other, Dean watched her for a moment, wondering how she'd become such poison for him, and if he even wanted to find an antidote.

Index

likemichael — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 19:50:24 GMT

Canon Information

Excerpts from John Winchester's Journal:

Excerpts from Bobby Singer's Guide to Hunting:

Coming Soon!

Mandalus

Application - Application for mandalus
Permissions Post - Permissions post concerning fourth walling and hunting.
CR Chart - Character relations chart. Last updated: Nov. 27 2012
Singer Auto Salvage - Information concerning Dean's business; Singer Auto Salvage.

Random OOC Fun Stuff:

Weiss' apology note for killing Sam on Sept. 5 2012

Fan Fiction

And I'd Do Anything To Make You Stay - Mandalus!verse Wincest. NC-17. Sam and Dean continue celebrating after Queen Elizabeth I's birthday party. 2206 words.
Battle For The Sun - Canon!verse Denny (Benny/Dean). NC-17. Benny and Dean take a breather in the search for Castiel in Purgatory. 1375 words.
There's Nothing Like The Smell of Death - Canon!verse AU. R. Sam wants to introduce Amelia to Dean, but there is an unpleasant surprise for the oldest Winchester. 2273 words.
Burning In The Midday Sun - Canon!verse AU. PG. Someone finds themselves alive again and goes searching for the Winchester boys. 5923 words.
Perspective - Canon!verse AU. G. Adam Milligan's perspective on his brothers after being rescued from The Cage. 1030 words.
Poison - Mandalus!verse AU. R. Dean and Elizabeth have some alone time. 745 words.
Kiss With a Fist - Mandalus!verse AU. R. Dean and Kai Leng have a little fun, and Dean regrets it. 605 words.
Drinking Games - Mandalus!verse AU. PG. Dean and Teddy get drunk together. 407 words.
Wings - Canon!verse. G. Dean contemplates Castiel's wings. 572 words.
Handcuffs - Demon!verse. R. Darcy and demon!Dean have a bit of handcuff fun. 550 words.
On The Rocks - Mandalus!verse AU. PG. Dean and Jo share a kiss. 398 words.
Payback - Canon!verse. R. Dean takes some time out to get some revenge for old wounds. 3677 words.

Excerpts from John Winchester's Journal: Part 2

likemichael — Fri, 09 Nov 2012 18:49:55 GMT

Part 1: 1983 - 1994

1995 | 1996 | 1997 | 1998 | 1999 | 2000 | 2001 | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005

1995

Jan. 24
Dean turns sixteen today. We're in Montana, and I think we're on the trail of a werewolf. That bow-hunting practice is going to come in handy. Sometimes you can't use a gun, and this is one of them. Tomorrow we're going out on a hunt, and I'm going to let him take the lead.

Jan. 25
Bull's-eye. Dean is a helluva shot with anything. He's coming into his own as a hunter.

May 2
Sammy is twelve years old today. He's a handful. Spends all of his time on the computer, unless he's arguing with me. I can't understand him, and he doesn't try to understand me. Typical father-son trouble, but it feels worse because neither one of us can talk about what happened to his mother. He wants to be in one place, live a normal life. The older he gets, the more he wants it. But the older he gets, the more I'm going to need him to help on the hunt. He's got to understand that. We will ﬁnishthis quest, and he's going to be a part of it.

May 17
This would have been our seventeenth anniversary. If we'd been British, turquoise. But Americans don't believe in seventeenth anniversaries, I guess. And I never got to have one.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for twelve years.

Nov. 13
Sammy's soccer team won a division championship. On to the state playoffs. I'm proud as hell of him, and I'm sad too. He's battling to keep himself together the only way he knows how—by rebelling. Only because he's Sammy, he rebels toward being normal. I get it, even if I can't let it keep happening. We owe Mary too much to give up now. But I'm going to keep this trophy.

1996

Jan. 24
Dean turns seventeen today. We went shooting. Then I sent him out on his ﬁrst hunt. I've let him take the lead before, but I've always been there to back him up. This time he's on his own. Partly it's a test, and partly I wanted some time with Sammy. Should be no problem for Dean. Ghosts of two nuns haunting St. Stephen's Indian Mission in Riverton, Wyoming. Simple salt-and-burn mission. Nuns in love with each other,then discovered. Killed themselves. We scoped the situation out,ﬁgured that something must be left behind that's now a focus for the haunting. Bible, rosary beads, some small article that's hidden somewhere in their room. I ﬁgured Dean would take care of it no problem, but I still stayed close by with Sammy.
The boys are old enough now that we can start spending a little more time in one place. Thinking California, maybe. When I need to ﬂy solo, they're big enough to stay home by themselves for a while without me worrying. When we go on a hunt together, they can bring their homework. That's what I wanted to talk to Sammy about. It's going to be hard enough getting his bullheaded self through adolescence without also having to fight every other day about how he wants to be Jimmy Normal. We can make this work if we do it together—but he's going to have to know that everyone pulls their weight. Mary comes ﬁrst.
Dean took care of the nuns just like I thought he would, but I don't think I'm going to be sending him on any more solos soon. That one was a little tense.

May 2
Sammy is thirteen today. He's ﬁnishing sixth grade, a year late and with all the grudges to show for it. When Dean hit this age,I started to worry about girls, booze, drugs... all the regular stuff. With Sammy, I don't worry about that. What worries me is that he's got so much bottled up inside him that when it comes out, he won't be able to control it. I think that's part of why he has the dreams. He's different, my Sammy. I think he's a little haunted by being in the room with Mary when she was killed. He feels like he should remember something, or be able to offer a clue. God, it must be terrible to know you witnessed something but that you'll never be able to remember it or tell anyone about it. I think he also wonders about Ms. Lyle. Dean and I never told him the whole story.

May 17
This would have been our eighteenth anniversary. Bismuth. A brittle metal, silvery white with tinges of pink and other colors.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for thirteen years. Longer than I knew her. What does it say about me that I've devoted more of my life to her death than I ever did to her life?

1997

Jan. 24
I gave Dean the Impala today for his eighteenth birthday. The car is 30 years old now, amazing it runs as well as it does. I've taught Dean a lot of what I know about working on cars, which was everything until 1983. Haven't kept up since then, all the computers and emissions spaghetti drives me nuts. Give me a fat 327, no electronics, just pistons, crankshaft, and a gas pedal. That's a car. And now it's my son's. He knows I'll still be driving it, but he's a man now, and since he's already made his share of kills, this was the only rite of passage I could think of. He goddamn well better take care of it.

May 2
Sammy is fourteen years old today. He's been having strange dreams again. I've tried to keep an eye out for any signs that he's more than a regular kid, but I don't see them. He's sensitive, has a lot of imagination, but that's about it. Plus now that he's hitting adolescence, he's a giant pain in the ass. Dean just chased girls and snuck around with beers in his coat pockets. That was teenage trouble I could understand. But Sammy just shuts down sometimes. Won't talk to anyone, and when he does, it's only because he wants to argue about something. He's got all the willpower us Winchesters are known for, but in him it sits quietly. You don't notice it's there until he decides he feels strongly enough about something that he won't compromise. Then you might as well wrestle angels.

May 17
This would have been our nineteenth anniversary. Nobody thinks nineteen is worth a traditional gift.

June 16
Got one of my boys through school. Dean is graduated. Seems like a miracle, after I don't know how many schools, but it happened. He's got his diploma.
Looks like Sammy's going to take an extra year. He's just going to be starting ninth grade next fall, because we were moving so much when he was in second, third, fourth grades that we lost a year and I don't think we'll be able to get it back.I haven't talked to him about it, but he must know it's going to happen. Couple of times I've tried to talk to school administrators about double-promoting him, but then they want to see test scores, gifted enrollments, that kind of thing. I don't have any of that. What I do have is a borderline-genius kid who's going to be nineteen when he graduates high school.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for fourteen years.

1998

Jan. 24
Dean's nineteenth. I was coming home from Vietnam right after my nineteenth. Dean's war isn't going to end like that.Had a dream last night that I found Mary's murderer, and knew that I would have to die to take him out. That's all right if it protects the boys.

May 2
Sammy is ﬁfteen today. He'll start high school this fall. Next spring he'll have a driver's license. Can't wait to have the boys fighting over the Impala. It's a little easier with Sammy lately.He seems more committed. Maybe that's because he's able to have more control over being in school, having a friend here and there. I try not to tell him what I really think, which is that he's shirking sometimes. Winchesters don't quit. I don't think he's quitting, but he gets stubborn, and then he won't listen to anything I say. He and Dean don't get along as well as they used to. Could be Sammy's getting tired of being the little brother, and always having Dean take the lead.
Could be it's time for Sammy to go out on his ﬁrst solo. I should look around for something simple, like I did for Dean.Don't know why I'm so worried, really. Sammy's never hesitated when push came to shove.

May 17
This would have been our twentieth anniversary. China. Maryand I never had china. We barely had Corningware. Twenty:four ﬁves. Number of digits on the human body.

Aug. 4
Back from Orlando with Sammy. Dean gave me some shuck and jive about how he blazed through ﬁve states while we were gone, but the Impala's odometer has barely budged. I'm guessing a girl is involved.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for ﬁfteen years. I feel like I'm getting closer. Every year I learn a little more. Every supernatural being I put away teaches me something. Every hunter I talk toﬁlls in another gap.

1999

Jan. 24
Dean turns twenty today. He's in Ohio somewhere, hasn't called in a couple of days. Tracking a possible poltergeist. He's supposed to call in every night. Mission discipline is critical.

May 2
Sammy is sixteen years old today. God knows he's got plenty of torments. Now he's got a driver's license, too. Doesn't make much difference. He's known how to drive since he was nine.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-ﬁrst anniversary. Mary, I've been doing this for almost sixteen years, and sometimes I feel like I'm not any closer to an answer than I was when I watched the house burn in 1983. What am I doing? I've thrown every-thing away for this, too in an underground tribe of hunters and spend my nights watching exorcisms and killing spirits... and what have I done to the boys? They don't have friends,not the way I did. I lived in the same town the whole time I was growing up. Now they're almost grown, and they've seen every back road and abandoned farmhouse in the country, but they don't have roots. We've never been back to Lawrence.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for sixteen years. The century's ending, by popular reckoning. Wonder what's waiting on the other side.

2000

Jan. 1
Y2K didn't end the world. New Year's Eve almost did Dean in, though. He's upstairs, immobile. I don't feel good myself.

Jan. 24
Dean turns twenty-one today. I'd buy him a beer if I thought it would be something new. He's also old enough to buy his own guns now. I tried to raise him right, and looks like I did.He's a scam artist, a ladies' man, and an absolutely loyal son.He knows what's right and doesn't hesitate to do it. I'm proud of him. Now that he's hunting on his own I don't see as much of him, but I know he's out there. When I call him in on a job,he's right there every time. I've spent the last sixteen years afraid that I was going to screw him up somehow. Maybe now I can forget about that.

May 2
Sammy is seventeen years old today. I'm going to guess that he's the only sophomore in the United States who has read the Clavicula Solomonis and made parts of it work. Bought him a new computer. He's a zealot about having a Macintosh. Also he's a walking dictionary of the occult and esoteric. There's a lot of his mother in Sammy. God, I wish he had some way to know that other than me telling him.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-second anniversary. Every year, the more I learn about communicating with the dead,the harder it gets not to talk to you, Mary.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for seventeen years. She's watching. Time doesn't pass in heaven.
Or in Hell?

2001

Jan. 24
Happy 22, Dean. Hope you're enjoying Arkansas.

May 2
Sammy is eighteen years old today. Surprised he didn't take off. We're not getting along too well. He hunts when we need him to, but he's never committed himself the way Dean did.Dean's never known any other way to live, or if he has, he doesn't act like it. He's playing the role he was born to play.Sammy's the younger brother. He doesn't know what his role is, even though I can tell him until I'm blue in the face and we're both ready to kill each other. He's got one more year of school and then I'm drafting him full-time into the family business. I've given him more slack than I ever gave Dean,more than I would have ever gotten from my dad. He needed it. Now he's a grown man, or almost. Time for him to step into what's expected of him. Dean never even thought about college. We used to joke about it once in a while. But Sammy still believes he can have a normal life, but they're both more useful to the world as hunters than... what, lawyers? Dentists? Sammy's convinced himself that smart kids have to go to college. Part of my job is to convince him that college would be a waste of his smarts. And I gotta hand it to him on the brains front: there's nothing he can't ﬁnd on the computer. I still dig around in actual books, libraries, newspapers. It's all keystrokes and search words for Sammy. He's done a good job hiding our trail on all the credit cards.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-third anniversary. Now the new century is really here, and I'm still on the hunt. Getting closer?

Sept. 11
Shaken. 11 is the number of sin, between the perfection of 10—digits on the ﬁngers—and the holiness of 12—Zodiac signs, apostles, hours of day and night... I can't believe that a handful of religious nuts with boxcutters could do something like this. There must be more to it. Have been on the phone with every hunter I know today, and it's unanimous. Everyone's talking demons, nobody has any details but nobody thinks that what's on the surface is all there is. I'm going to New York to look around. Meeting a couple of other guys there.

Nov. 2
Eighteen years.

2002

Jan. 24
Dean turns twenty-three today. It's a good age, twenty-three.You're starting not to be a kid anymore, and you're still young enough that you feel invincible physically. Forty-eight doesn't feel like that at all.

March 8
Sam told me and Dean today that he is going to Stanford. I told him that if he goes, he better stay gone. I think Dean would have taken a swing at him if I hadn't kept my cool. Barely.Trying to work out what to do about this. We can't tolerate any of us quitting. We're better as a team. I've protected Sammy his whole life, and so has Dean. Could be I've gone too easy on him. Dean always responded to discipline because he believed in the mission. I thought that by giving Sammy more room,I'd let him ﬁnd his own way to dedication like Dean's. Doesn't look like that worked out. Now he's a straight-A student, computer whiz... I think he's gone a little soft. How many tight spots have we been in since he was a baby? And now he's going to college? He can go to hell, is where he can go.

March 29
Got a call from Missouri. Stull Church was torn down last night by persons unknown. The building was rickety as hell, but still I can't help wonder if it's related somehow... but if it is, why now? There's nothing about the date, nothing else going on in the area that I've heard about.

May 2
Sammy is nineteen today. He's got some decisions to make.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-fourth anniversary. Funny how after twenty years, there's a ﬁve- or ten-year gap between special gift years. What would I have given you, Mary? A clock, for 24hours in the day? A Tanakh, which has 24 books? A piece of 24-karat pure gold jewelry? Gold doesn't come until 50 years,though. Getting a little too drunk to keep coming up with ideas.

June 13
Sam graduated. He didn't go to the ceremony. I think he's still carrying a grudge that it took him an extra year. What do you want me to do, Sammy? Should we have stayed in Lawrence while whatever killed your mother came back for you? Should we have sat around fat, dumb, and happy even though war had been declared? How long would we have lasted that way?

Aug. 31
Sam left. I told him that if he was going, it was permanent. I meant it.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for nineteen years. I haven't kept the family together, Mary. I'm sorry. Sam's gone because he's headstrong and because I couldn't make him understand how important this is to all of us. Now Dean tells me he's cut off contact with Sam, and it's killing me. I can't stand the idea of the boys separated. It's one thing for me to take a stand. I'm the father, I have to lay down the law for the family. Maybe that's the Marine in me talking, and maybe it's not the right thing to do all the time, but it's gotten us this far. Now I'm questioning myself. Brothers have to stick together.

2003

Jan. 24
Dean turns twenty-four today. I was twenty-four when I married his mother. Sorry, kid. Every boy has to cut the apron strings sometime, and for you it's not going to be until we kill off a supernatural entity that seriously needs killing. Then we'll all be free of your mother's ghost. We'll be able to live normal lives. But maybe not. Maybe we've all been hunters too long now.

May 2
Sam's twentieth birthday. He's in California. Dean and I are packing up to get the hell out of Athens, Ohio, which as of this morning is free and clear of haunted sorority houses. I heard Dean talking about Sam on the phone earlier, but he didn't say anything about the conversation to me. I can't bring it up to Dean, either, especially not the mood he's been in. Usually after a hunt he's on ﬁre, like the killing is a buzz. Today you can't talk to him. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was be-cause of a girl, but we've only been here a couple of weeks. It's not like Dean to fall hard for a girl that fast. He was spending a lot of time with a reporter—think she was a reporter. A looker.Could be anything, though. Hard to tell how he's reacting to Sam going AWOL. Dean's like me. He doesn't talk. He acts. We act.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-ﬁfth anniversary. That's silver.

June 13
Dean heard about a succubus in Brooklyn from Richie. He lit out after it like he bore it a personal grudge. I'm getting more and more sure that he had some kind of girl trouble in Ohio,and every female spirit and demon in North America's going to suffer for it. Just hope he keeps his head.

Oct. 9
In Kittanning, Pennsylvania. Poltergeist in a playground built on an old cemetery. Of all the stupid places to put a playground.Sixth or seventh time I've dealt with a poltergeist, enough to know that the psychokinetic theory about girls and puberty is a load of crap. Usually I don't do this, but I've kind of gotten friendly with one of the locals, Jerry Panowski. One of his kids has been targeted a couple of times. For some reason he's easy to talk to. Most of the civilians you meet either don't want to know about the supernatural or blame you for bringing it into their lives once you tell them about it. Jerry's not like that. He understands, I think. Maybe he understands better than I do. Still feel conﬂicted about Sam. I don't think I did the wrong thing, but I also don't want him out there alone and vulnerable. I've been through Palo Alto half a dozen times in the past year, just to make sure he's okay. I look around, see if there's any sign of anything happening that shouldn't be. He's my son. I can't abandon him. But I also can't go back on what I said. You don't stop loving a kid, but you also can't let love blind you to what's right.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for twenty years. Spent the anniversary at the Winchester Mystery House. After some looking around, I found a distant family connection. Some great-great-uncle, parallel descent. Genealogy isn't my strong suit.

2004

Jan. 24
Dean turns twenty-ﬁve today. There was a report on CNN this morning, of a vampire, strigoi, dug up and its heart burned, in Romania less than a month ago.

May 2
Sammy is twenty-one years old today. May he go and get hammered like the college student he is. Was there again last week to keep an eye on him, and he's got a new girlfriend.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-sixth anniversary. Two days ago, like some awful kind of early present, I got a call from Bobby. It was a long conversation, and by the end of it, I was a conﬁrmed believer in demons, because after twenty-one years,we might just have a real lead on what happened to Mary. All the things I've seen, and I wrote them off to other kinds of phenomena... Goddamnit. I should have been listening all this time. How much closer would I be? Years of lost time to make up for. For a while I thought it might have been Lilith, but now I know better.
I haven't told Dean yet. Can't take the chance that he'd try something he's not ready to do. I've already lost Mary, and Sam. I can't lose Dean too.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for twenty-one years. At last I'm getting closer. If it was a demon that killed her, and I think it was, I'm going to nail down which one. Then I'm going to make it suffer.

Nov. 23
Still tracking the Colt. It's out there somewhere. Word is that a hunter has it, but nobody I know will say who. Someone's hiding it. Why? If I had it, all I'd need is one bullet. A gun that can kill anything... one bullet, for the demon that killed Mary. Then I could put down all my guns, and rest.

2005

Jan. 1
I'm ﬁfty years old, and Mary has been dead for twenty-two of those years. I only knew her for seven. Every year those two numbers get farther apart, because only one of them can change. This year I will ﬁnd who killed her. This year I will end this and let it all go. Dean turns twenty-six in three weeks.When I was twenty-six, I'd spent two years as a soldier. Dean's been a soldier his whole life. When I was twenty-six, I'd been married for two years and had a toddler. Dean's never been with a woman for more than a couple of weeks at a time. I've prevented him from being a father.
By the time Sammy turns twenty-six, I swear this will be over.

Jan. 24
Dean turns 26 today. When I was 26, he was a baby. Generations pass. Not handing off the family business to him anytime soon, though. He's got his piece of it, and we're both pulling toward the big goal. I'm starting to tell him more about the demon problem. He doesn't have the head for esoterica that Sam does, but what Dean wants to learn, he learns.

May 2
Sammy is twenty-two today. Saw in a Colorado paper that a couple of hikers have gone missing at a place called Blackwater Ridge. Twenty years ago, maybe, eight people were killed up there. Cops called it grizzly attacks.

May 17
This would have been our twenty-seventh anniversary.

July 20
Bingo. California, New Jersey, Arizona. House ﬁres. In each case, a mother killed and one of the survivors a six-month-old baby. Need to go back and see if there were others on 11/2/83. Either way, this is a hard lead. Looking at locations, survivors, other associated phenomena. Unusual weather, spikes in violence or crime. Any of those things can signify demonic involvement. But the ﬁres are enough. Six of them, within a couple of days, each with a six-month-old involved. You gave yourself away, you bastard.
Almost twenty-two years I've been after you. It's not going to be twenty-three. I'm going to look into your yellow eyes and watch you die.
I want to tell the boys, but won't just yet. Dean might go off half-cocked, and Sammy... I was about to write that he wouldn't care. Maybe that's not true. But he might not care enough, and I don't think I could stand knowing that.

Sept. 19
Autumnal equinox might be the next big breakthrough. Will know in 48 hours. Haven't slept in more than 24 already. Re-member old battleﬁeld advice. Eat when you can, sleep when you can, because you never know when the next time will come. Should sleep. Not hungry.

Oct. 6
Too much news about exorcists, exorcism lately. It must mean something. Something's on the move, something big.

Oct. 28
Got a phone call from the roadhouse, and the last piece fell into place. I'm on the trail. Twenty-two years, and I've ﬁnally found the son of a bitch. Now I'm going to take him down.

Perspective

likemichael — Wed, 07 Nov 2012 23:35:17 GMT

The familiar rumble outside brought a crease to Adam's brow. He knew that engine anywhere. Some days, it was a blessing, other days it was a curse. Something in Adam never could deny the fact that either way it felt right. After all, he had Winchester blood in him, even if he barely knew John, and that made them his family.

He hadn't felt that way to begin with. He was insistent that his mom was his family and these two guys that he'd been thrown at were just some weirdos with gun fetishes. Then, of course, everything had been Hell. Literally. He remembered Zachariah toying with him, he remembered the screaming noise as Michael came down to take him, and he remembered watching, disjointed from his own mind, as Sam - Lucifer - Sam dragged them into that hole. He was terrified, and though for a short time he had Sam with him, soon his half brother was raised from perdition and he was left there, in agony, to rot with Lucifer and Michael.

But those days were gone. He had been cleansed of it, though the memories still lingered and the pain was still there, but he coped now. Sometimes he drank a bit, sometimes he called a whole day off just to lie in bed and hold a pillow over his head until the smell of blood and Hellfire went away, but most days he was okay.

Adam set down his pen, in the middle of the pages of his text book, closing the book on it for later. He knew why they were here. Something they called "family time" but something he thought was more of a duty visit. Adam didn't mind. He liked their stories, and he knew they were all he had left.

The knock at the door was what made him get out of his seat, flicking on the hallway light as he headed for the front door. It was late, maybe eleven, he hadn't checked, but he was pretty sure these guys never really did get the concept of normal sleeping patterns.

Pulling open the door, he was met with something familiar.

Dean was bloody, Sam was too, and both of them wore the smiles of men who had seen too much. Dean's hand was instantly on his shoulder, and Adam grimaced a little as he was yanked into a hug, blood transferring onto his shirt. Somehow, it seemed right, like he needed to be blood soaked to be within their presence, be it his own, theirs, or that of something they mauled.

Sam always offered a handshake first, and that always evolved into a hug. Sam didn't try to break his ribs with the hug, like Dean would, but they all knew Dean's hugs were furious while Sam's hugs were gentle, full of understanding.

He didn't know if he could ever quite grasp what a hug meant to a Winchester. He'd hugged plenty of people; friends, family, that one girl at that one party who had insisted she needed a hug and he was the only one around to give her it. These two, their hugs had a meaning, and Adam wasn't sure he would ever get used to the fact he had brothers who loved him.

Adam wiped his hands on his jeans as he led the way back into his apartment. Dean slumped into the couch, wincing at some unseen injury, and Sam settled beside him, the taller of the two sighing tiredly and resting back with a weariness to him that Adam had seen growing.

It had been a year since he'd gotten out, but every visit - twice a month like clockwork - proved Sam more and more weary, while it showed Dean more and more twisted.

Conversations were routine. How've you been? Fine. How's school? It's okay. You got yourself a girlfriend, yet? No, not yet. It was like they were fussy parents, and sometimes he wondered if that's what John and Mary Winchester would have been like with their boys, although then he wouldn't have been born and... well, maybe that would have been a good thing. Maybe then he wouldn't have seen the Cage and-- it was best not to over think it.

Letting them use the shower each, and change, that was routine too, and it was only after those tasks were done that he saw the people his brothers were. Gentle at heart, just toughened to be warriors, with odd senses of humour and the most ridiculous things to bicker about, but they were good men, and he was... perhaps a little proud to be a little bit Winchester.

The laughter came next, when stories were swapped and drinks came and friendly insults were flung around. It was these moments that Adam cherished most about his brothers. Sure, they were absent in his life most of the time, but he preferred it that way. They wouldn't ever really stop hunting, even Sam who got out a couple of times, and insisted he still wanted out. Adam wasn't stupid and he wasn't blind. He knew that his brothers needed each other.

He needed them too.

Some days he just called them to say hello, to make sure they were still alive.

Other days he wished he'd never met them, or his mom had never met John Winchester.

Most days, Adam loved his half brothers, and he knew one day he'd get a call from Sam - it would always be Sam who calls - and he'd know that he was one brother less that day, that Dean got killed on a hunt, and then Sam would get out again, Sam would quit, and run, and drink, and find a girl. Sam would be normal, and Sam would be alone.

Adam didn't want to think about that day, so instead he just smiled, laughed along with his brothers, and thanked God that they found a way to rescue him.

He had a new chance at life, new perspective, and brothers who were, sure, a little strange and distant, but with them out there he knew the world was going to be a safer place.

Burning In The Midday Sun

likemichael — Sun, 28 Oct 2012 20:23:50 GMT

The instance of being brought back to life hadn't sank in with John.

He had been somewhere -- Heaven? Yes, it was Heaven -- and then he was here, alive, breathing, and sorely alone.

He knew his boys had burned his body. They were smart boys and they knew the rules. Despite everything, however, there he was, in the middle of God knew where, surrounded by trees and the crisp smell of winter filling his senses. It felt weird, breathing, being alive, and while he knew in the back of his mind that Mary wasn't here with him, it didn't spark anything like rage or sorrow. She was safe. She was in Heaven, he knew that, and the demon (Azazel -- he could still feel that bastard's taint in his head, like a fingerprint) was dead from the bullet his eldest put in his head.

John walked, it felt like for the first time, but he walked. He walked and walked until finally he found a town.

Tracking down the nearest library shed more light on the last few years he'd missed than he would have ever liked to have seen, especially about his sons.

These boys, his boys, were known criminals country-wide. Mass murder, arson, theft, grave desecration, credit card fraud... the list was endless and the pictures online (God, he hated using the internet at libraries) were more than what he ever wanted to see.

The articles written about them were biased. None of the articles said a damn thing about how broken up inside his eldest had been when they'd lost Mary, none of them said how his youngest had lost his girlfriend the same way, but almost all of them implied that their father, "the deceased John Winchester", had been partly at fault for the way they were raised.

They weren't wrong.

The articles also all said they were dead, that they had been presumed dead in 2008, in Monument, Colorado. An explosion that took out a police station as well as everyone inside, including several FBI agents, but then, in 2012, they'd turned up in several places:

Jericho, California
Black Water Ridge, Colorado
St. Louis, Missouri
and finally Ankeny, Iowa

At each of these places, they committed enormous mass murders, and were finally cut down in Ankeny. John was no fool, he had tracked his sons from the moment they left Palo Alto, after Jessica Moore's death, and he knew each of those places had been where his boys had worked cases, in exact order, even down to the one he'd sent them on in Black Water Ridge.

It sent bile burning at the back of his throat and John closes his eyes to the words written out on the screen.

This wasn't what he wanted from his boys, and he didn't believe it for one second. He knew his boys better than anyone did (although they knew each other better than he could ever hope to know either of them) and he knew they weren't murderers. Nothing would make them snap that way. Not after everything they'd seen and been through. Nothing could turn those boys that sick. Could it?

John took the chance, while he had it, to read more than just that. It was years since his death in 2006. It was now 2013 and he was damn certain that seven years of news was a lot to take in, and he'd keep poking when he had more time.

Wars, sickness, all of it was the same old crap he avoided looking too hard at back in his last lifetime -- if he looked too hard, he saw demons everywhere, monsters and demons that were at fault for everything -- but he took in a few current affairs, poked around for a while, then gave up on this bullshit. It was just circumstance. It was just daily drivel he didn't care about, and he knew what he was doing.

Stalling. He was stalling, because he wasn't sure he was ready to face the thoughts running through his mind.

Did something happen to them?

Are they dead?

Did my boys really turn out that screwed up? Did I do that to them?

Are they possessed?

Who brought me back, anyway? Woulda been nice to have a heads up.

He could run those questions through his head a thousand times and it would make no difference. John was an expert, a god damn professional, he knew when there was a problem and you had no answers, you went looking for leads to where you could eventually get your answers.

Finding them was now his prime task.

---

It took more work than he ever could have thought possible to find any traces of Dean Winchester. Dean was his first target because if either of his boys were still hunters it would be Dean. Sam always wanted out, even if he and Dean had pushed and pushed, each in their own way, to get him to stop thinking he was normal and start realising they were far from that and never could have been normal even after Mary's death was avenged.

John's first port of call was Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

One Robert Singer.

Of course, what he didn't expect to find were the charred remains of what once had been Bobby's house. It made his stomach turn as he pulled up at the wreck and he knew it had been burned some time ago, at least a year, maybe two. He swore under his breath as he got out of the car he'd borrowed.

"Aw, Bobby, no..." John breathed out, heading up the short walk from his car to the blackened front steps. Pressing his foot gingerly to one and then pushing down on it to assure it would hold his weight, John took the risk and jogged up the steps. He was in his fifties but, dammit all, he felt like he was pushing ninety already. This was too much.

Investigating the ruins did nothing. There wasn't smoke or embers, just an empty shell. Even the panic room Bobby had built was half melted down and the contents of the room were burned, broken, or simply ashes. Looking did nothing, but John had to, because until he'd let his fear get the better of him, and he'd lashed out at Bobby, the man had been as good as a brother to him. He'd been family.

And now he's dead. Son of a bitch is dead and he didn't even bring his whiskey-soaked ass to come meet me and Mary in Heaven.

Oh, yes, he remembered Heaven vividly. He and Mary had their nice little corner of it that they shared, where no one else had ever come to bother them. Sweet memories and freedom and peace and he would give anything to have it back, but he knew whoever dragged his sorry ass back here had a reason for doing it.

As far as John was concerned, that reason was to find his boys and help them however he damn well had to.

So, with a sigh of resignation and an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, growling alongside his hunger, John headed back to the dark blue '10 Chevrolet Malibu LT he'd acquired and started the engine up.

He had to find his boys.

And, Christ, he could do with a sandwich.

---

After gassing up the car, and finishing his store-bought sandwich (he found cash in the glove compartment and, well, waste not want not), John continued on his trail. All of the boys' aliases were drawing up blanks, and all of their numbers were disconnected. Even his own phone, which he knew Dean kept charged up, wasn't connecting and he sighed to himself as he tried to drag himself through his list of contacts and hope just one of them had some kind of idea where his sons were. After calling around a few numbers he could recall, he decided trying to remember the dozens and dozens of numbers each individual hunter had was going to make his head explode -- he already had a killer headache -- so he had a new plan forming before he even hung up on dialling the last number he could really recall.

One state south of Bobby's husk of a home.

Nebraska. Harvelle's Roadhouse.

As much as John really didn't want to do it, he had to see Ellen. Maybe she had some inkling about where his children were. Maybe she'd taken them under her wing after what had happened at the Devil's Gate in Wyoming. Sure he'd been a ghost and sure he'd been focused on Azazel and his sons, but he'd seen her and Bobby there. She knew his sons, so maybe she knew they needed a good, strong woman in their lives.

She was also right not to trust them simply based on the fact they were Winchesters.

Pulling up to where the Roadhouse stood, John let out a breath and closed his eyes with his hands still on the wheel of his car. He didn't believe it for a second. First Bobby's house, and now this place. Burned to the ground and there was even less of this place. Ashes were gone from the harsh Nebraska winter, and the state of the remains told him that it was years since the whole Roadhouse went up in smoke. It made him sick to his stomach, and John just spun the wheel and peeled out of there like the flames were still crackling and he was being chased away by them.

Bobby, Ellen, both of them were likely dead. He didn't think this was coincidence. There was no way fate was just this sickly humoured, he couldn't stand the idea of that. Everyone that ever mattered was burning up in front of his eyes, and he was sure the prickling feeling on the back of his neck was a very bad sign for the safety of his sons.

He had to find them, and he had to make sure they were alive.

---

It took weeks. Five, to be precise. Every time John came up on what he thought was a lead, he was just a step behind his kids. Sometimes three steps behind, and it was on those days that he was fast starting to want to give up, but he didn't get to where he was by giving up.

Stealing was never something he liked to do. Credit fraud was something different; actually stealing from people, picking pockets, snatching wallets, that was low. He had always told his boys they only took what they needed, and sometimes he had worried that it'd send a worse message than what he was trying to convey. Despite all that, he'd stolen to pay for food and gas, to pay for a crappy motel for a night here or there, but most of the time he was on the road or he was researching.

Or hunting.

He couldn't help himself. It had been easy enough to ignore the first handful of signs for a few cases, especially when it seemed they had been wrapped up once he'd looked into them later on, but the fact people were hurt or dying was too much for John to ignore.

So, he searched for his sons, and in between he took on hunts throughout the country, always chasing the tails of two wild boys, two thirty-somethings that hadn't gotten married, that hadn't settled down and found their own lives. Two grown men who, as far as John knew, still clung to each other in the way he'd drummed into them. He knew Dean wouldn't leave Sam unprotected and, after the way Sam changed from Jessica's death, he didn't think for one second that Sam would leave Dean unsafe either.

The big break came in a sleepy college town that had seen a spate of werewolf attacks.

They didn't know it was werewolves, of course, but John could spot the symbols a mile off. It was definitely a pure blood, they were out of synch with the lunar cycle, but werewolf is werewolf does and John had headed there to take care of business.

What he didn't expect was to find the Impala parked outside the house he'd traced the monsters back to.

What John really didn't expect to see was his youngest the size of a small building himself.

Sam had always been tall but the boy was made of muscle and with hair down to his shoulders now. He looked tired; more than just that kind of "business as usual" tired, Sam looked worn to the very core. He looked ready to give up on everything, as he took those few steps down from the front door without a single spring in his step.

It turned John's stomach. Was Sammy hunting alone?

Was he alone because Dean was--

Don't even go there, John.

It wasn't his voice, this time, it was Mary's, and he shut that thought off before it could even leave the station properly. It was eased a second later, anyway, when Dean followed Sam out of the house and ran a hand down his face. John didn't know what to think, at first, and while every fibre of his being told him to get out of his god damn car and go over to his boys, he didn't.

Instead, he watched them.

---

"Sammy, you wanna head back to the motel for another night, or we movin' on?"

Dean leaned his arms on the top of the car as he watched his little brother. He didn't know how he felt. Kate hadn't chose what she was, and he was hopeful she could make a go of it, but at the same time he wanted so badly to just stop her before she could hurt anyone. Despite that, Benny's stupid Southern drawl was thick in his head and he reminded himself that not all monsters were bad.

"Let's stay one more night. We don't have any leads on Kevin and it's not like you slept last night." Sam had heard Dean shuffling about most of the night, and he was sure it was because of Purgatory, but Dean wasn't talking about it and Sam wasn't pushing. It was like Hell all over again, but in a very different way. Dean was a different guy now.

Dean clicked his tongue against his teeth in a tutting sound at his brother's tone and just got into the driver's seat, starting the engine up and pulling off the second he could, entirely unaware of the dark blue car stalking theirs.

---

Another no-name motel. It could have been anywhere, it didn't matter what it was called, because John didn't even look at the sign as he pulled into the parking lot. Dean's car (once his) was parked up near a room far from the front office -- corner room, nearest the fire escape -- and he smirked lightly at how typical it was of his boys to choose that room.

He took a slow breath to calm his nerves (why the Hell was he so nervous, anyway?) and finally got himself out of the car. He had no jacket with which there were pockets to shove his hands into, just a black t-shirt and a dark grey flannel over-shirt, so he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets as he made his way along the walkway that ran the expanse of the doors to the rooms.

He didn't pause, he knew the nerves would beat him if he did, and John knocked hard on the door; three firm knocks that would make damn sure he was heard but wouldn't seem urgent or out of place.

---

Sam was drying off while Dean showered up. He rolled his eyes at his brother crooning the lyrics to Bad Company's Ready For Love. It was moments like this that made Sam forget about being normal because this was normal. His brother being loud and obnoxious while they both did perfectly mundane tasks. It was this that made him wish he could convince Dean to hang up the hunter's mantle for good and come and find normality with him.

While he rubbed at his wet hair with his towel, only dressed in boxer shorts, Dean was already out of the shower, towel around his waist, and fumbling his way into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. Sam wished he could knock sense into the stupid jerk. Maybe if he went crawling back to Amelia on hands and knees, begging for her to take him back, and toting along his insufferably appealing big brother, he'd win both of them over in one foul swoop. Maybe she'd take him back, maybe Dean would agree to stay with them. Maybe he could have his brother alive and safe while he got to have his normal life too.

One glance at Dean, however, stopped all of those thoughts dead in their tracks.

Dean had found himself with one of those many, many choices he didn't like to think about. It was simple, yet again, "which dinner he wanted", but that seemed so complex to Dean. Sam had brought back a few meals, after his run out to the nearest place. They had the spare cash and he wanted Dean to eat something besides freakin' burgers for once. He'd gotten KFC -- a bucket of chicken and some sauces -- and he'd brought back spare ribs and tacos as well. Sam would go for the tacos, but he'd brought enough for Dean too, if he wanted them.

Dean couldn't choose, and he'd zoned out in a way that Sam hadn't liked to see. Dean was remembering something from Purgatory and Sam would be hard pressed to ever find out what. Dean never explained, but Sam could always see that vacant stare in his eyes, and then Dean did stupid things, like he did with the guy in the interrogation room when they were searching for the tablet. Sam never asked, pretended he didn't notice, but he did. He noticed.

They were both shaken from their staring (Sam at Dean, Dean at the table full of food) by a loud succession of knocks to the door and Dean looked to Sam before anything else. Instantly, the older of the two was into that protective mode.

Protect Sammy, make sure Sammy is safe first.

It was silly, Sam thought, because they'd done this so long that a knock on the door shouldn't bother either of them, but he wouldn't ever stop Dean even if he tried. He didn't try anymore.

Sam let Dean get the door and, for the life of him, he wished he hadn't.

Dean's eyes were wide as he saw the ghost staring back at him. It had to be a ghost. John Winchester was dead, Dean was the one at fault for that, he knew that himself. It was him that John had sold his soul for, and Dean didn't hesitate for a second as he snatched up the nearest object (a fucking cat shaped door stop, are you kidding me?) and quickly smacked John in the face with it, knocking him out cold.

---

John blinked slowly, groaning a little bit at the throbbing pain in his head, and when he finally found his vision clearing up, he was met with the sight of his sons. It wasn't at all what he was expecting, and entirely what he was expecting.

Sam was stood a step behind Dean, a shotgun pointed at him with a dark glare in his eyes that John couldn't help but feel was at least partly meant for him and not just whatever they thought he was. Dean, on the other hand, was the more terrifying sight. His eldest had a blade in his hand, smooth along one edge and serrated down the other, some fancy carving along it, but it wasn't the knife that unsettled John. It was the killer stare in Dean's eyes. It was the empty, monstrous look that made his son all that more terrifying than anything John had ever faced, even more frightening than that bastard, Alastair, that had tortured him for one hundred years in Hell.

"Dean, Samm--"

"Shut up," Dean hissed before he could finish the name, and John let out a breath at the sharpness to that tone. Dean wasn't normal. He was a changed man, a savage, and John was winded with the revelation of how his boy was no longer a boy. Neither of them were.

"So, we tried holy water, silver, borax... Hell, we even tried a few back-water hoodoo chants to see just what the fuck you are, and none of it worked," Dean growled, pacing around, his boots scuffing the carpet. John only then clicked that his sons had been turning in for the night when he'd arrived and had forced themselves back into their clothes, forced their weapons back into their hands, and taken on their masks of "Hunters" because of him.

They were frightened, John could see it in their eyes, behind the horror in them, and more than that they were angry. To them, some unbeatable, unreadable creature was impersonating their father and trying to muscle his way back into their lives.

"So why is that? What are you?"

"Dean, I'm me. I swear it, boy, it's me, your father."

"Bull!"

"Dean," Sam cut in, and John's gaze found his youngest. The gun was still aimed at him, of course it was, but Sam's eyes were on his older brother and there was an unknown moment passed between them that John couldn't have grasped the understanding of if he climbed into one of their heads and sorted his way through all of their codes and hidden meanings and secrets.

"Sammy, no, this isn't Dad. It can't be." John heard the strain in Dean's voice, the raw emotion under all the savagery, and he felt sick to his stomach.

"Yes, it could be, Dean." Rational as ever, Sam finally lowered the gun, only just so the barrel wasn't pointed at John's face, and the hazel eyes of his youngest studied his face. "When's my birthday?"

"May 2nd," John answered quickly.

"Dean's?"

"January 24th," he replied just as fast.

"What's November 2nd?"

The flicker of pain on John's face sealed the deal for Sam before words even came and the gun was lowered to Sam's side, but Dean... well, Dean paced. Like a caged animal, prowling, just behind Sam, ready to lash out if John made a wrong move.

"That's the date your mother died." And Jessica Moore too, but John didn't add that.

Sam turned to his brother, catching hold of his arm quickly enough and giving him a severe look as he pulled him further from the bed they'd dumped John on. "I think it's really him, Dean." It was spoken softly, in a way that John was sure was likely meant for him not to hear, considering they were over by the door and he was way across the room.

"Sammy, it just... can't be. Why would it be? Who would bring him back?" The way Dean studied Sam's face as they spoke broke John up inside. Like a child searching for something from yet another child, and neither of them looked more than eight and four years old, both of them holding onto each other -- Sam gripping Dean's biceps, Dean gripping the front of Sam's shirt -- in that way that grounded them both when they were frightened.

John didn't interrupt, he just watched.

"Angels," Sam answered with a shrug. "Not Cas, obviously, but... there are others. Samandriel? He seemed like he wasn't one of the dick angels," he offered, trying to come up with any ideas they had left in their small little circle of possible suspects for this act.

"Why him? Why not Mom too?" Dean's eyes flicked to John and Sam frowned a little bit.

"Since when would things ever be that good for us, Dean?"

The stab of pain in John's chest at that made him get to his feet, and both boys turned his way, lowering their hands from where they clung to each other. He didn't like it, he didn't want to have to think of his boys without their mother and just him again, but here he was.

"Alright, Dad, time for a talk," Dean sighed out.

---

Angels.

The conclusion was angels.

The explanation of the last few years was enough to send John reeling, and once he'd come down from it all, and asked countless questions (Is Bobby dead? Is Ellen? What about that little girl of hers? Jo?) he was finally caught up. It was insane, all of it was, but somehow it just made sense in the way that their world always did, once you found all the pieces.

It was well past 4am when John finally had enough of story time.

Sam was half asleep in the chair he was slumped in, Dean had his head propped up on his hand, elbow digging hard into the table (the table that was scattered with empty food containers) as he held himself up, and John could just see them as little boys for a moment longer.

"Purgatory, huh?"

He eyed Dean for a moment, and shook his head a bit. Dean had thirty years of torture in Hell, ten of torturing others in Hell, they both had the apocalypse, Sam spending even longer than Dean in Hell, with Lucifer himself, and then Leviathans. A year apart, with Dean stuck in Purgatory, and now they were here, trying to close the Gates to Hell forever.

"Yeeep," Dean drawled, half asleep, half sharp as a blade.

Sam made a noise in response, arms crossed lazily over his chest.

John eyed him for a long moment, then frowned a little bit at him. "What were you doing while your brother was in Purgatory?"

"Sammy? Oh, Sammy hit a dog, then there was a girl."

"Yeah, and then there wasn't, so drop it," Sam snapped sleepily, and John could tell they'd had this conversation before. He didn't like his boys bickering, but he damn sure didn't like the feeling this gave him in the pit of his stomach.

"Did you look for Dean?"

Sam went silent and Dean tilted his head up on his hand to look at Sam more clearly. With both his brother and his father watching him, Sam crumbled a little bit inside, and pushed himself from his seat. "Can we just. Just stop, for tonight? I mean, Dad shows up out of nowhere, back from the dead, and now suddenly I'm the one being grilled?"

"He didn't look," Dean cut in, and Sam sighed, going to sit on the edge of a bed. "It's alright, whatever, I made him swear not to, anyway."

John's stomach clenched again and he watched his sons before sighing again and getting to his feet. "I've heard enough. We've all done enough talking tonight, and I haven't had a hug from either of m'boys."

Sam's gaze flicked up at that but he didn't move to go first. Dean always went first for this, it was like an unspoken rule between them. Dean pushed himself to his feet with a sleepy sway and grinned at his father. With arms around him in an instant, Dean bit down on the inside of his lip to keep the tears back. Dammit all, he wasn't going to cry now, but the wetness in his eyes was noticed and promptly not mentioned by John as they pulled back and he gave his eldest a good shake.

"Sam," John rasped, giving him another look, and then all 6'4" of his youngest was draped down over him and John laughed a bit. "You got big, boy."

"Yes, sir," Sam laughed back, and behind him he heard Dean chuckle.

---

Working alongside his boys again wasn't the same as it had been before.

They damn well didn't want to hear a single order out of him, and he was expected to follow Dean's lead. It was a little more than just jarring, and John had to figure out the new dynamic between his sons quickly if he didn't want to just get left behind.

Sam and Dean worked in tandem as one unit. They weren't two people, they were two halves of one thing, Sam'n'Dean, and John was almost stunned by them. There were silent commands, glances, gestures, and he honestly had never felt so out of the loop, at first.

Picking up on Dean's code was simple enough once they'd gone through it a couple of times, and hunting with them without the overbearing loom of revenge made him feel young again, but then there were those other moments, the ones where Dean and Sam didn't fall into step with each other, the ones where Sam would look like he would rather be anywhere else in the world, and Dean would be so frightening with their monster of the week that he almost didn't want to call him his son.

It was when they were driving through rural Kentucky that things sparked off yet again. He could see the two of them picking at each other for a good half an hour, as he tailed the Impala in his Malibu (freshly kitted out with a whole new arsenal in the trunk, neater kept than Dean's of course).

When the Impala's turning signal came on, on a straight road, John sighed a weary sigh as he pulled over behind the older car and got out of his own, watching his boys with his hands clasped on the roof of the Malibu.

"You know what, I'm tired of your bull, so just shut up for two freakin' minutes," Dean snapped at his little brother.

"No, I'm not just going to shut up about this, Dean."

"Yes, you are."

"Boys," John cut in, and the two of them looked over like hadn't been driving behind them for the past three hours. God, this was why he didn't go in the Impala with them. If they weren't brothers, and his sons, he would have sworn they were an angry old married couple, with how they bickered. "When you're done being little girls about whatever it is that's tickin' you both off this time, we've got a wendigo to deal with."

"Yeah, Sam, we've got a wendigo to deal with. So, you gonna just drop the ball on this one too?"

"Screw you!" Sam's hurt tone was obvious a mile away, though, and Dean came up short on his neck jab, his green eyes wide as he looked up at his little brother.

"Sorry." He breathed it out and John knew he meant it, so did Sam, but Dean kept it going. "I just... I've had enough of this stuff about you leaving, so just drop it for now, okay? We've gotta find Kevin."

"Alright, I'm sorry, too," Sam murmured, and with that they were back on the road.

---

The next big revelation came when he overheard a call. A call to someone called Benny.

It had sounded like Dean was talking to someone he knew well, and that didn't click with John. Sam was the one with the girlfriend he'd ditched (or been dumped by, he never explained much), and all the friends that his sons had made were dead.

Tracing Dean's call had been simple enough and John had told his boys he was heading out on a hunt he could handle alone, while they kept working on the "Kevin Problem".

What John expected to find was another hunter, or maybe some guy Dean had drank with a few times that didn't get the message that his son Wasn't Interested.

What John got instead was a vampire. A southern, smarmy, vampire who never saw him coming.

"Winchester, you said?" Benny's drawl was thick and his suspicion was even thicker. John gave a short, curt nod and sipped his beer. Drinking beer with a vampire. This was new. And the vamp even paid John set his glass down as Benny continued. "John Winchester? And you say you're related to Dean?"

"Distantly," John quipped.

"How distant?"

"I'm his father."

Benny's stunned look wasn't hidden at all and John crossed his arms on the table in front of him. He hadn't expected a vampire, that was for sure, but he supposed his son wasn't all that far from a monster himself these days. "How do you know my boy, anyway?"

"We're old war friends," Benny answered back, fingers drumming against his own glass. "How much did he tell you about the past year, Papa Bear?"

John snorted faintly at the name and shook his head. "He told me about Purgatory, if that's what you're asking."

"It is." Benny took a long drink from his glass and then eyed John. "How is he?"

"You don't know?"

"Dean and I don't share much in the way of details in our... little chats." Benny shrugged.

The amusement is gone from John, though, and the oldest Winchester sighed. "He's... not himself anymore. He's like an animal. Like a--"

"A monster?"

Benny's arched brow and the near amusement on his face made John want to punch him right there, but he didn't. Instead he shrugged, then nodded. "About right, yeah."

"Purgatory changes a man, Johnny. It makes even the nicest of souls razor sharp, and Dean's no exception. You wanna help your boy, you just keep an eye on him. You don't go leaving him behind, like that little brother of his wants to do." Okay, so maybe Benny had checked up on Dean without Dean's knowledge, and maybe he'd overheard a few conversations.

John nodded a bit, then, and settled back down with his drink.

---

After shaking hands with this Benny, once they'd finished their drinks, John had sworn he couldn't have clocked this man as anything but human if Benny hadn't been spooked and expected an impromptu beheading the second they met.

Still, he'd keep a close watch on this one, too.

For now, he had to head back. Dean and Sam would know he was gone for too long, soon, and he had a few things he needed to straighten out.

The agony in his chest when the thought of how crazed Dean was made John feel dizzy at times. The sorrow at the thought of Sam wanting a normal life again, and getting it for a year before Dean came back, made him feel sick to his stomach. His boys never could catch a break, it seemed, and while he was angry at Dean for letting himself become the thing he was now, and he was angry at Sam for being so ready to leave when Dean was in this poor shape, he only had himself to be angry with.

He should have been here, but he wasn't. Now? Well, now he'd been granted a chance from Heaven to fix things, and damn right he would.

Like Bobby's house and the Roadhouse, like Mary on the ceiling, and Jess too, his boys were both burning up in front of him and John had to do something to stop it.

The angels brought him back for a purpose.

As far as John Winchester was concerned, helping his sons was that purpose, and Heaven be damned if they dared to tell him otherwise.

Excerpts from John Winchester's Journal: Part 1

likemichael — Fri, 26 Oct 2012 16:04:48 GMT

Below are specific excerpts from the John Winchester's Journal. These sections specifically pertain to the familial situations, including birthdays and main events, although some world events are mentioned as well. The full version, which includes more information concerning John's history, and all the monster lore it holds in canon, can be read here but I strongly suggest buying it as well.

1983 | 1984 | 1985 | 1986 | 1987 | 1988 | 1989 | 1990 | 1991 | 1992 | 1993 | 1994

1983

Nov. 16
I went to Missouri, and learned the truth.

Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side--or from his brother. Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he's trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Nov. 20
I killed a man in cold blood tonight.
No, I killed a shape-shifting monster tonight to protect all of the people who don't know things like that exist. But it would have looked like a man to any of those people. And Dean saw it happen.

And then tonight, Dean walked out of the roadhouse right when I put the final bullet into the shape-shifter's head. And he said, Why'd you kill him, Dad?
How am I supposed to answer that? Because he wasn't a man, he was a monster who looked like a man? My boy walked out the door and saw me shoot someone in the head. Maybe I'm the monster who looks like a man.

Nov. 21
Here's what I wish I could say to Dean--Your brother's too young to understand any of this, but you're beginning to. And that scares me. Since your mother died, I've seen unspeakable things, and now you've seen them and that's my fault. I feel the darkness of the road I'm traveling on now. It's not a place for you. One day you'll see--I had to leave you today... but when I'm done, I promise you: the day will come when I never have to leave you again. Until then, I can only pray that you're strong enough to look after Sam. One of us has to be.

Dec. 11
Sammy has finally started sleeping through the night, and now that Dean shares a bed with him, he's out like a light too.

Dec. 25
Mary will never see Dean hit a home tun. She'll never see Sammy walk, or hear him say his first words. She won't take Dean to his first day at school, or stay up all night with me worrying the first night he takes the car out. It's not right that she's not here, and that's all I could think about today. I'm so angry I can barely see straight--I want my wife back.
The police have officially declared our case closed. What a Christmas present, huh?

Dec. 29
Dean hasn't been the same since he saw me kill that shape-shifter. I don't know how to talk to him about it. He's not even ﬁve years old. Most kids his age don't even have a clear idea what death is, and he's seen it up close and personal. What do I say to him? How old does he have to be before I tell him the truth?

1984

Jan. 24
Dean turns ﬁve today. I was thinking about where we're going to be in the fall, because he should start school. Then I realized that I can't leave him in a school. Anything could happen.Maybe a place that has half-day kindergarten. Maybe that I could do. I know I should. I know he should be able to run around with other kids, who don't know how to ﬁeld-strip the Browning. Well, Dean doesn't either, yet. But he's learning.He's got a talent for guns. I can see it already. And he'll need it.

May 2
Sammy is a year old. We spent his birthday in the mountains, because I had to meet a guy named Daniel Elkins. The hunter culture is weird about how it breaks in new blood. Everyone you meet says you should go meet someone else, and learn some-thing else, and every time you meet someone else they take you out to hunt their favorite kind of monster. This guy Elkins lives in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere in Colorado, and according to him, he's the greatest vampire hunter alive.

May 17
This would have been our sixth anniversary. Six is iron. Sammy took his first steps yesterday. He walked toward Dean, then fell flat on his face and started crying. Life is tough, kid. Do I sound like a proud dad? I am.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for a year. I'm never going to be over it,and I wouldn't want to be. But I've spent the last year getting better at revenge.

1985

Jan. 1
New Year's Day. Mary, I promised last year that I would avenge you. I promise again. I'll promise it every year until it happens. I'll never forget.

Jan. 24
Dean's sixth birthday. It's been more than a year since he saw me kill a shape-shifter. He doesn't ask about it anymore. And he stopped asking when he's going to go to school. I tried to do it last fall, but I couldn't. I just couldn't risk it. Maybe this year, now that he's a little older, now that he knows a little more about things. I've been teaching him. Not the worst stuff, but enough so he knows that there are things that go bump in the night.

May 2
Sammy is two today. Two years in a row we've spent his birth-day in Colorado, where I had to stop by Daniel's.

May 17
This would have been our seventh anniversary. Wool and copper.

Sept. 7
Today was Dean's ﬁrst day of school. I put him straight intoﬁrst grade. He's almost seven, and I just told the school that he'd been in kindergarten back in Kansas. They didn't press too hard when I told them that the kids had lost their mother,and we'd been moving around. I think we'll stay here for awhile. Or try, anyway. I felt normal again while I was taking Dean to school. He asked on the way in whether kids in school learned the same stuff he'd been learning. I had to tell him that maybe it wasn't a good idea for him to talk about Dad's job on the playground.
He came home on top of the world, and he brought me worksheets with the names of the different parts of a ﬁsh, different numbers of apples and oranges added together... this is what it should be like. Why can't it?
Sammy wants to be in school too. I can't even imagine staying in one place for long enough that he'll start here. Three years seems like forever.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for two years. I've been on the road for three days, cleaning up a haunted building in San Francisco.Already these are starting to seem like an everyday chore tome. You get the story, you ﬁnd the remains, you burn them and salt them. End of story. These were two girls, and the whole ride back to the roadhouse I was thinking that I'll never have girls. Dean saw something on my face, or maybe it was just that he knew what day it is. When I got here, he came up to me and asked if I'd had a tough hunt. I couldn't talk for a minute.

Nov. 14
Took Dean shooting. If he's big enough to try to comfort me, he's big enough to start learning the tools of the trade. I only let him ﬁre the .22, but he is a dead eye marksman. My drill sergeant would have taken him over me in a second. Times like this, I sure am proud of my boy. I have a feeling it'll be different with Sammy. Maybe he's just too young to show it, but I don't think he's got the same kind of killer instinct.

1986

Jan. 1
Happy New Year. This year, Mary, I will ﬁnd out what killed you.

Jan. 24
For his seventh birthday, I took Dean shooting again. He wanted to ﬁre one of the big guns—that's what he called them. I let him shoot the Browning, but I steadied his hands. Sammy wanted me to help him make Dean a card. It was like a normal day, like we were a normal family with a mom who was off shopping or at work or something. Instead of dead. That illusion never lasts. I can't afford to let it.

May 2
Tahlequah, OK. Sammy is three years old today. We celebrated with an ice-cream cake. He was still wearing most of it when he fell asleep. Dean's sleeping too, the two of them in the bed.The room only has one bed. I'll sleep on the ﬂoor, if I sleep at all. Some nights it's enough to watch them sleep, and know that if they start to have a nightmare I'll be right there to stop it.

May 17
This would have been our eighth anniversary. Eight is bronze.

Sept. 5
Dean started second grade. I watch him like a hawk. He makes me swear that I'll take good care of Sammy before he'll go to school. God, I love that kid. I have the days with Sammy while Dean is learning whatever kids learn in second grade. Sammy's a very different kid. He hasn't taken to the idea of hunting bad guys, and he's still too young to really under-stand what it means to avenge his mother. To him, her death just means she's not here, and he doesn't remember her. For him, Mary is a word. A mother, to him, is something he never had—but he's still supposed to be sad that she died. I don't think he gets it. How could he, really?

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for three years. She doesn't know that Sammy has learned the alphabet, and likes to catch bugs. She doesn't know that Dean watches his little brother like a hawk every minute, with an expression on his face that says he's willing to die to keep Sammy safe. She doesn't know how it tears me up inside to see that expression, and to know that it's there because I have drilled it into Dean that Sammy is his responsibility. He's eight years old, and I've told him his brother's life is in his hands. Mary, I didn't have any right to do that. But what else could I do?

1987

Jan. 1
Another New Year. Another promise. I will ﬁnd it, Mary. And kill it.

Jan. 24
Dean turns eight today. Second grade is treating him well. I hope we can stay. He's at school, and they're going to have a little party for him. Then when he gets home, we're going to do the family thing. We're going to Chuck E. Cheese's, and we'll eat pizza and play video games until the kids go nuts.

May 2
Sammy is four today. And sure enough, we're in Colorado. That's three out of four birthdays we've been visiting Daniel.The mountains are a good place to spend early May. Maybe we should make a tradition of it—but I have a feeling that we're not in any place to start traditions. I had to pull Dean out of school when I got a note from Ellen that someone passing through the roadhouse had just exorcised a demon that knew where we were.
I think hunters call something a demon when they don't know what it is. The word is easy to throw around. But what-ever it was, if the Winchesters were on its mind, it's the enemy.So we're moving for two reasons. One, the enemy knows where we are. Two, I'm going to go after him where he is... as soon as I ﬁgure that out. So we're in Colorado, on our way to Texas. Dean understands.
Sammy gets Daniel's books down from the shelves and pretends to read them. He can pick out some words, but what he's really after is the pictures. Like any kid his age.

May 17
This would have been our ninth anniversary. Pottery. How is six years iron and nine pottery? I wonder if we would have had more children. Mary talked about a girl sometimes. I would have liked having a daughter.
It's summer, we're on the move. Already I'm trying toﬁgure out what to do about school in the fall. I'm starting to ﬁgure out that you can move a kid from school to school every month, and the schools deal with it because they have to. A part of me wonders how the kid deals with it.
But sons have to be soldiers. And soldiers adapt.

July 13
From the mouths of babes... we were in Portland, Maine, because I'd heard of a Miqmaq shaman named David Fowler who lived there. I told him some of my story, and he agreed to raise a manitou and let me ask it some questions. We went down into the basement of his house and he started getting the divination ready. I'm the only white man who's ever seen it, he said, and he was only doing it for me as a favor to the other hunters he knew. He burned sacred tobacco, and some other herbs I didn't recognize. The room got more smoky than it seems like it should have. The manitou appeared, and I got right to the point. I asked it who or what killed Mary. And then things went wrong.
I still don't know whether Fowler made a mistake, or whether a different spirit rode up into our world along with the manitou. But whatever happened, it turned into something physical and real. Like a bear, kind of. And before I could stop it, it killed Fowler. It almost killed me too, but I fought it. I don't know if I would have won, because the spirit let go of its form, animated Fowler's body, and went out through the basement window. I got the hell out of there and picked up the boys. We were almost to the New Hampshire state line and I'd told Dean a little about what had happened, because I was so frustrated and ashamed that I had to talk to someone. Sammy was asleep the whole time.
Then Dean asked me one of those killer questions that little kids come up with. “Dad,” he says. “Won't the manitou go after other people now?”
That's a hard thing to face. Not that he asked the question,or that he was right, but that he had a better sense of right and wrong than I did. We were back at Fowler's house an hour later, and that night I tracked him down and killed him. He was prowling around the edges of a Cub Scout camp out in a place called Bradbury Mountain. God knows what would have happened if Dean hadn't spoken up.
I came this close to going completely off the rails. I almost let this quest overwhelm what I know is right, and a bunch of kids almost died because of it. A hunter never passes up a hunt, and a hunter never bails out on a hunt. That will never happen again. Never. I will not fail Mary's memory, and I will not fail the boys.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for four years. Dean asked me today what she looked like. He never talks about her on any other day but this one. I couldn't even show him a picture, so I told him what you tell a boy who asks about his dead mother. I told him that she was beautiful and kind and she loved him and Sammy more than anything in the world.

1988

Jan. 24
Dean turns nine today. We're on the move, so he might notﬁnish third grade. He calls himself the New Kid all the time.He's been in three schools already this year. Who knows how many more?

May 2
Sammy is ﬁve today. Thank God. He almost didn't make it.
I could blame Dean, but it's my fault. There's enough blame to go around. I missed the kill, and I left Dean watching Sam, and he couldn't pull the trigger when he needed to. I haven't taught him well enough. If he is weak like that again,my boys will die... but what kind of father am I to put a nine-year-old boy in a situation where he might have to kill to protect his brother?
I'm the kind of father I have to be. I'm the kind of father who teaches his boys that no man or monster can kill their mother and get away with it. I'm the kind of father who shows them that when it comes to family, you go to the ends of the earth to put things right.

May 17
This would have been our tenth anniversary. Tin.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for ﬁve years. We were married for ﬁve years. I feel like I'm serving a sentence sometimes, and the only way to get out of this prison is to ﬁnd whoever or whatever took her away from me.

Dec. 5
Dean's teacher called to tell me that he got a subscription to the Weekly World News, and had it delivered to school. How is he paying for it? I could ask him, but he's already too sharp to give me a straight answer. And I could force him to, but there's no point. If that makes him feel more at home in his world...

1989

Jan. 24
Dean turns ten today. Reagan out of ofﬁce. A crazy hunter told me a couple of years ago that Reagan was an avatar of the Antichrist because each of his names has six letters: Ronald Wilson Reagan. Reagan also lived at 666 St. Cloud Road.

May 2
Sammy is six years old today. He'll start kindergarten in the fall. Wherever we are. He's such a different kid than Dean.Quiet, watchful. He's learned that there are things to fear in the world, but where Dean wants to ﬁght them, you get the sense that Sammy watches, learns. He's ﬁguring something out. But when Sammy does ask a question, it's a good one.

May 17
This would have been our eleventh anniversary. Steel.

July 4
This is how you spend your holiday weekends when you're a hunter.
I got Sammy and Dean into a day camp not too far from Blue Earth, so I could consult with Pastor Jim about a few things while the boys got to be regular kids for a while. Should have known that not even summer camp could be normal for the Winchesters. On the ﬁfth day of the camp, Dean was canoeing through an easy rapids on the Blue Earth River. Things went bad. Dean swore to me when he came back that he'd seen something—only he said “someone”—capsize the canoe. I didn't think about it too much... until the next week, when another canoe went over and the counselor paddling it died. I spent a couple of days looking into it, and ran across a Cree legend about humanoid tricksters called mannegishi. They live in river rapids and like to tip canoes, but they usually don't get malevolent unless the locals do something to make them angry. So what was it?
Turns out the camp is expanding, and part of the work involved blasting some riverside rock formations that used to have pictographs showing the Cree's reverence for the little bastards. The mannegishi didn't like having those gone, and started to take it out on the campers.
I'd have killed every one of them for coming after Dean, but the truth is they had a right to be mad. So I kept my head and got Jim to put me in touch with a Cree medicine man who lived over in South Dakota. I complained about the distance, and Jim told me to shut up and be happy I didn't have to go to Montana or Saskatchewan, where most of the Cree live now. The medicine man called himself Joey Tall Pine, which I figure is a moniker he took on for the tourists, but after the last six years, I'm the last guy in the world who gets to complain about someone using an alias. I gave him a ride back to Blue Earth and we went down to the rapids that night (now two days ago). He talked things over with the mannegishi, and they struck a bargain. They'd stop going after kids at the camp if Joey redid some of the pictographs somewhere and guaranteed that they wouldn't be destroyed. Jim stepped in and said, hey, I don't have nearly enough aquatic tricksters in the creek behind my house. Presto—mannegishi in Jim's creek, and Joey Tall Pine got to exercise his pictographic talent.
Part of me still wants to kill them, because of what happened to Dean, but when I take a minute to cool off I realize that it's the camp's fault. Some day camp, wrecking pictographs so they can expand their boat launch. The boys are going some place else next week, for as long as we can stay.
Anyway, it's over now. Fireworks going off, I've got a couple of beers in me, the boys are asleep in a tent out in Jim's backyard. For the moment, the battle pauses. Mary, I can'tﬁght every minute.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for six years. Today I overheard the boys talking about her, about her death. Sammy's old enough now to be asking hard questions, and I think that's making Dean think about some things that he'd put away until now. He's a tough little kid, Dean. Like me. But he's also like me in the way he holds things in. Now his little brother is asking him things and he's got to ﬁgure out a way to protect Sammy while Sammy's questions put him through the emotional wringer all over again. And what do I do? They were talking to each other.If I butt in, they'll clam up. They've got the kid bond, the kind that keeps adults out. They'd tell me what I wanted to hear, but the truth is I can't get at the real way they feel about their mother, because I can't let them get at my feelings. It kills me every day. There's no way to tell them that. We have to go on and ﬁnd whatever killed their mother, my wife. Mary. For the boys' sake, I'm going to try to stay in one place for longer. Keep the hunting trips to a few hours' drive. At least until I have a ﬁrmer lead on what killed Mary. Then all bets are off.

1990

Jan. 24
Dean turns eleven today. He asked for his own gun, and I got him one. A Seecamp LWS .32 automatic, the smallest gun I could ﬁnd that offered any kind of stopping power. Dean and I poured silver slugs for it ourselves, and we loaded it with alternating silver and Winchester hollow-points. He's got it in his pocket now.

May 2
Sammy is seven today. I think we're going to get him through the ﬁrst grade this year. He's a smart little kid, but we've moved around so much that he's a little behind in school. And I haven't been doing the stuff I need to do with him on that front. I need to be better about reading to him—stuff other than ﬁeld manuals and weird newspaper headlines. He's okay at math, and he knows some scientific stuff, because he's seen people doing some weird experiments at the roadhouse and Pastor Jim's, but he needs your basic little kid school stuff. I'd ask Dean to do it, but there's only so much you can pile on a kid. Having Sammy's life in his hands is enough for Dean; he can't be responsible for home-schooling Sammy too. God. This is one more time I'm reminded how much we need Mary.

May 17
This would have been our twelfth anniversary. Silk.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for seven years.

Dec. 25
Battled a nasty little bugger today. Kicked the beast back to wherever it came from. But as I looked into that stinking mouth, I wondered for the hundredth time: when's my time gonna come? And if something happens to me, who'll take care of the boys? Dean tries to be the big man a lot, but he's not even twelve. And Sam's just seven. Just trying to do this without you is hard enough, Mary... Mary...
Mary...

1991

Jan. 24
Dean turns twelve today. School has started again, but we're going to move on. Next week, the Winchesters are going to be residents of Albuquerque. Dean's going to be a normal sixth grader for at least the next couple of months. He even talked about wanting to play baseball this spring, but I'm not sure he's serious. I think he's taking his cues from me, talking about everyday stuff when I try to keep us in one place. Then when we're on the road again, all he can talk about is hunting.

March 17
In the last wee, Sammy has played a sunbeam in the school play and I killed a demon inhabiting the body of an old woman. It knew something about the succubi, I think. We're being fol-lowed. Or are we? Am I getting paranoid? I have every reason to be, but it's something I have to guard against. The boys are doing well. Sammy's talking about doing a science project to enter in the fair next month. He's really taken to his teacher,Ms. Lyle, and she's encouraging him. Smart kid, Sammy. It was warm today, and the boys kicked a soccer ball around.That's one of the nice things about Albuquerque. I picked up a job working construction. Feels good to be punching a clock again, actually. The regular rhythm of it. Part of me needs that.I thought about going back to turning wrenches, but it didn't feel right. I think a lot of things died in Lawrence, and that dream was one of them.

April 1
Monday, I walked away from another job, and my younger son almost was kidnapped by some kind of demon. Sammy qualified for the New Mexico Science Fair, and his teacher, Ms. Lyle, said she'd take him. Only she started to take him somewhere else. I don't know where, but I caught up to her at a crossroads.She would have killed me, and taken Sammy, but Dean came through. I don't have any words for how proud I am of him. His brother's under some kind of spell, there's a giant monster made out of train parts coming after me, and he has the presence of mind to ﬁnd this journal and read the exorcism out of it. I almost lost both of my boys today. Ms. Lyle, or the thing calling itself Ms. Lyle, wanted Sammy for something. It reminds me of the variant stories about succubi lamiae taking children, or killing children. And if I'm honest with myself, I have to take that train of thought all the way: the stories also say that succubi come to claim the children that have been fathered by incubi, which is ridiculous.
I still don't know what Ms. Lyle wanted. She just said Sam was special.
We're on the road again. How am I going to explain to Sammy that we're not going back to school? How am I going to explain Ms. Lyle?To top it all off, I had to give Sammy a sharp lecture on not talking to strangers. While I was on the phone with Bobby,he just got out of the car and went up to a black Seville. I read him the riot act—Dean too, since he let it happen and it's his job to watch Sammy. All Sammy would say about it was that the guy wanted to know where we were going.

April 7
In Sioux Falls to meet Bobby, boys along since it's not safe for them to be in Albuquerque anymore.

April 18
Went to see Silas last night. He's an old friend of Bobby's,some kind of soothsayer who sells tires. I went to his place and his daughter told me he's been in a coma... since last November 2, the seventh anniversary of Mary's death. When I went to see him at the hospital, he snapped out of it long enough to tell me a couple of things I didn't want to hear.
One, he thinks that Sammy's special somehow.
Two, Dean and I need to be ready “for what's to come.”
Then he was gone again, out cold. What the hell does it mean? Why Sammy? What does he have to do with any of this? And what is coming? Silas either couldn't say anything else, or wouldn't. He said I brought him out of his coma, and then he was gone back into it.
Tomorrow I'm going to leave Sammy with Bobby so I can take Dean deer hunting. It's out of season, but the Dakotas are lousy with deer and Dean needs to pull a trigger to sharpen him up. Also I need to think about Sammy. Why was Ms. Lyle so interested in him?

April 19
The hunting trip was nearly a disaster. Dean missed his shot.I sent him after the buck, a beautiful twelve-pointer, and he dropped the gun when he tripped on the trail. Then out of no-where comes Sammy, who picks up the gun and lays that big boy out. A seven-year-old... well, almost eight.
Then he tells me that he thought the deer had taken Dean's gun, and that Sammy had to protect him.
It's moments like those that kill me. I taught him that,Dean too. I taught them that everything should be seen as a threat. And now Sammy sees a deer and thinks it's trying to hurt his brother.
God.
Things got worse from there because Sammy told me he'd gotten up, wanting to come after me and Dean, and found the man in the black Seville outside Bobby's house. He rode in the Seville to the trail head, and found us from there. I don't even know how to get my head around that. I feel like I should punish him somehow, but the truth is I should be punishing myself.
We get home, and Bobby tells me to go see Silas again. I didn't want to do it, but when I got to his house, there he was,awake and standing in his front door like he'd never been sick in his life. I don't know how to explain it. He said again that Sammy was special, and he wanted some time to talk to Sam and understand what was happening. So Dean and I left for an hour, and on the way back I saw the Seville.
When we got to Silas' place, there was Sammy, sitting on the porch. He said he and Silas talked for a while. I went inside, left Dean out with his brother to catch up. Inside . . .I've never seen anything like it. Or if I have, it was after an artillery strike in 'Nam. Silas was just in pieces, little bits of him stuck to the walls and the ﬂoor. Scrawled in blood on the kitchen cabinets, the words KILL HIM.
Now I've got to ﬁnd the son of a bitch that killed Silas, too.

April 20
Been on the run, running harder even than usual. The driver of the Seville called himself Anderson, said he was a hunter . . . and he was hunting Sam. He said Sam had killed Silas, but there's no way that can be true. No little boy could have done what I saw in there. But Anderson wouldn't listen, and now in the last twenty-four hours I've committed kidnapping, grand theft auto (well, semi), and murder. That's ﬁve hunters I've killed, if you count H—but who really knows what he was? And I don't know that Anderson was what he said he was, either. He passed up two chances to take Sammy out. I didn't give him a third.And I didn't give any of three Dowry brothers a chance at all.
It was Dean who killed Anderson. My oldest son is blooded. All I ever write about is death. Because all I ever see is death, and you know what? I did that to myself. It's got to end, but it can't end until I settle what happened to Mary.

May 2
Sammy is eight years old today. Happy birthday, kiddo. No matter what the demons and soothsayers and lunatic albinos say, you're special to me just because you're my son. And I'm never going to let anything happen to you.
Ms. Lyle was after Sammy because he has something she wants. She said he was special. So did Silas. What's different about him? He's just a boy. My boy.

May 17
This would have been our thirteenth anniversary. Lace. Eleven is steel, twelve and thirteen are silk and lace? Feels like it should be the other way around, that steel should come later.Or maybe once you've proven you've got the steel to keep a marriage going, then you get to enjoy the silk and lace.
I'll never know.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for eight years. I've been learning about reapers.

Dec. 25
Sometimes I think Sammy's been reading this journal.
But he's not going to read it tonight, because here we are,Christmas night, and there's two hundred miles of scrub prairie and desert between me and them. No Christmas tree, no carrots and milk for Santa and the reindeer. A couple of days ago I handed them presents, and they gave me a set of night-vision goggles that Dean must have pinched from a gun show we passed through in Amarillo a couple of months ago. They're growing up without me. And they're both starting to act out a little, because we're apart so much. Sam gets resentful and has some trouble handling his temper. Dean tries to ﬁx everything and keep us together as a team. Neither of them should have to do those things.
After this year ... the succubi and Ms. Lyle (Lilith?), Silas... this has been a rough one. They came after my boys. We made it, but they're going to keep coming. This enemy doesn't quit until they're dead, and I don't even know who's sending them. How do I ﬁght them?
And how do I avoid this question: Would the boys be better off somewhere else, with someone else, living normal lives?
No. I'm their father. They belong with me.
Merry Christmas, everyone.

1992

Jan. 24
Dean turns thirteen today. For his birthday we went out to dinner at a greasy spoon called Mama Janer's, in Flint, Michigan.

March 30
I thought the lesson was learned back in Wisconsin, but the same thing almost happened again. I left the boys next at the beach in Two Lakes State Park and went looking for a skin-walker, and then it was Ichi all over again. Only this time the skinwalker took on the appearance of a park ranger it had killed, and nearly got the boys to come with it because they trusted the uniform. I still can't completely trust them on a hunt. I took it down, and lit into the two of them. Especially Dean. I have to be hard on him because one of these days I'm not going to be around, and he's the one who's going to have to look out for his brother. He's a badass, though. I thought I was tough when I was thirteen, but Dean would have kicked my ass six ways to Sunday.

May 2
Sammy is nine years old today. Last year on his birthday we were getting the hell out of Albuquerque. This year I nearly lost the boys because of the skinwalker. They're both learning, but they've got a lot still to learn.

May 17
This would have been our fourteenth anniversary. Ivory.

June 21
Last night, Sammy woke up in the middle of the night telling me he was afraid of the thing in the closet. I went and looked.There was nothing in the closet, but I've seen too much not to believe that there could be. So I handed Sammy the .45 and told him the next time he saw the thing in the closet, he knew what to do. I don't think I'll win any awards from parenting organizations, but ﬁve nights running now Sammy has slept without nightmares. Sometimes a .45 under your pillow is all you need.

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for nine years. Nine years I've been on this quest, and I've accumulated so much stuff I needed to rent a storage space for it.

1993

Jan. 24
Dean turns fourteen today. He took off to the movies with a girlfriend. I think her name is Katie. Quite the lady killer, that kid. Like I was at his age. Hell-raising, foul-mouthed, full of piss and vinegar. Silas had it right: he's like me. If I'm not careful with him, by the time he's twenty he'll have left a trail of kids and arrest warrants all over the country.

May 2
Sammy is ten years old today. It was a lousy day, for him and me. He's on a soccer team, and he's pretty good, and today was a game day. But it's only a game, and on Saturdays we always do some kind of shooting now that they're both big enough. Today it was bowhunting. Nothing's in season, so we were just going target shooting, but it's important. They need to know everything, every way to kill the enemy that's out there. For Christ's sake, there are demons after Sammy. He needs to know how to ﬁght them, and Dean needs to know how to protect him. Sammy's a kid, though, and he wants to play soccer. He's even more stubborn than I am when he really decides to dig in his heels. But I'm their father, and we went out with the bows. I can't blame him for wanting a normal life, but I wouldn't be much of a dad if I didn't prepare them for the world they're living in. Doing what's right for your kids doesn't always mean doing what they want. Especially in my case.

May 17
This would have been our ﬁfteenth anniversary. Crystal. Crystal balls, divination, prisms... I want to talk to her so bad.Mary, why don't I dream about you anymore?

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for ten years. Ten years. Been thinking about urban legends all year, and about how what happened a tour house ten years ago might already be an urban legend in Lawrence, to go with Stull Church and the Eldridge Hotel.

Dec. 25
Christmas in Joplin, Missouri. The boys got me a book that they must have stolen from a shop while I was rooting around in the esoteric shelves. Some other version of me, out there ina world where schoolteachers don't turn into demons, might have been able to raise the boys without turning them into thieves. But for us, it's a necessary evil. I try to discourage them from taking things we don't need. Anyway, it's an old book on theosophy. All the hunters I know are convinced that Blavatsky was a fraud, but I'll take a look at it. You never know where you're going to ﬁnd a clue.

1994

Jan. 24
Dean turns ﬁfteen today. A week ago he helped me take out a spirit haunting a grocery owned by an Indian family in Erie, Pennsylvania.

May 2
Sammy is eleven years old today. When Dean turned eleven, he wanted a gun of his own. Sammy asked me for a computer. That right there tells you all you need to know about the differences between them. I got him his computer, too. A Macintosh Performa. It's in the trunk right now, but every time we spend a night under a roof he's going to want it plugged in, I can tell. He was telling me about the Internet today. I'm not sure I understand what he's talking about, but according to Sammy, everything you could ever want to know is on the Internet somewhere, and if you have a computer you can ﬁnd it. Looks like Team Winchester just took a big leap ahead when it comes to gathering information. Every army needs intelligence. We subscribed to Prodigy, which, according to Sammy, is the best way to get to the World Wide Web. I used one of the credit cards Bobby helped me get.

May 17
This would have been our sixteenth anniversary. No traditional gift, or substance. Except in England, it's tungsten. Tungsten?How is that romantic?

Nov. 2
Mary has been dead for eleven years.

Part 2: 1995 - 2005

There's Nothing Like The Smell of Death

likemichael — Sun, 21 Oct 2012 18:51:50 GMT

It was the smell that hit him before anything else. Dean knew it well, and had he the chance to think for a second he would have seriously assessed his life for the fact he knew the scent of rotting flesh before he knew the scent of the vanilla coming from the candles Sam was lighting.

"It's kind of this thing we do, she likes vanilla," Sam explained before Dean could say anything about it-- not that he was going to, given the smell that was so considerably stronger. He almost wanted to throw up, and that took a lot, especially after the crap he saw in Purgatory. Sam was smiling though, like he was so excited to show off this part of his world to him, and Dean wanted to smack his overgrown little brother for being like an adorable six year old even at this age. Dean wanted to ask, but Sam was as hyperactive as a six year old too, buzzing about, putting things away that he'd brought, groceries and some fruit he put in a bowl, after tossing away the rotten fruit that had been sat in the bowl first.

"She'll be down in a second," Sam murmured, looking at Dean from under a curtain of brown hair, and Dean nodded a bit, forcing a quick smile and looking at Sam with what he already knew was a distraught expression in his eyes. He didn't like this one bit and he knew what was going on before he could even let himself think about it. It made his skin crawl; something was so wrong here that it hurt him down to his bones in a way that nothing short of losing his family ever had before.

It was a minute or so that Dean stood in the doorway, trying to take a deep breath, but the air was cloying and the smell was so pungent that he could taste it on his tongue as he breathed. Christ, he thought Purgatory stank of death, but this house held the scent like it was bathed in it, like it was Hell itself, and Dean had to grip the door-frame to stop himself for a moment, to ground himself. It wasn't the smell. That wasn't the problem. It was that Sam didn't seem to notice, that Sam wasn't all there anymore, and Dean didn't know what to even do.

Search. Find the source of it all. It was best to act like he was working whenever he smelled the thick scent, at least then he didn't need to pretend that it was a normal thing or something so far out of his scale of normal that he needed to panic, but even at that he couldn't quite calm down the nervous twitching throughout him.

"Uh, hey, Sammy you got a bathroom I can use?"

"First door on the left, upstairs." Sam gave him a boyish grin he hadn't worn in years and Dean nodded, giving his brother a pat on the back as he moved by him for the stairs that he'd walked by in the hallway.

The smell got thicker and Dean would have joked about it if it didn't screw with his fucking head in a way that never had before. No, it definitely wasn't the smell making him sick, but he wasn't able to go there in his head, not yet, he couldn't reach that point, and he knew his grip was too rough on the rails as he made his way up. His heart pounded in a way that he could feel it in his throat, in his ears, making his eyes ache and his skin prickle. It wasn't fear, or maybe it was, it was something that was making him want to run. He felt like he was a child too, all of a sudden, and the one thing he wanted most in that second was to run and hide behind his dad, because dad could fix anything and that was a thought he hadn't had in quite a few years.

It was his job to protect Sammy, it was his job to stop him from going off the deep end. It was his job to make sure he was safe and sane and, here he was, damn certain Sam was anything but that. It wasn't until he reached the top of the stairs in this house that Sam and Amelia had shared in their year of life together that Dean had finally gotten a grip on himself. He needed to be strong, because he was supposed to be the tough older brother that Sam could rely on.

He glanced to the door on the left and ignored it after noting it as the bathroom. He needed to find the source of the rotting, gory stench. Downstairs stank of grime; everything was layered in dust, the food there was rotten, but there was that bloody, filthy stink that he knew anywhere was rotting flesh and the more he let the thought settle in the more he couldn't bring himself admit it was actually happening.

It's a job, pretend it's a job. There's nothin' wrong with Sammy, there's probably a totally logical explanation for it... Yeah. Right.

Dean pushed open a door, a hall closet, and he let out a sharp breath he hadn't realised he'd taken in at all. He didn't take another then, he held it until he opened another door. A spare bedroom. Nothing here. Then his eyes fell on the last door and Dean reached for the gun tucked in his waistband.

He could smell it before he could see it, like the vile stink was a curtain over the doorway, but once he saw what was on the bed, he recoiled, his heart hitting his throat again. The heavy footsteps behind him didn't register until after Sam was already pushing past him to get into the bedroom. He awaited the initial grief, he awaited Sam breaking down at the sight of it, but none of that came and that made it infinitely worse.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for a gored, rotting hand, his touch gentle and tender, like he was coddling living flesh, and Dean pursed his lips to keep from retching. He'd seen so much death and blood, guts and gore, he'd seen Hell and everything it had to offer, but this was a whole new level of wrong. He'd take another forty years in Hell and another year in Purgatory if it meant this wasn't real, if he could just wake up from this nightmare. If Sam was okay and normal and, God, he would give anything for Sam to have really had a normal life he wanted to go back to if it just meant this sight wasn't true.

"Amelia, I want you to meet someone. This is my big brother, Dean. Dean, this is," Sam's flushed face and the little breathy grin that came broke Dean's heart, "this is Amelia."

Dean's eyes stung with the tears he wasn't sure were just from the smell, and he hung his head as he choked them back down. The dog on the end of the bed was the icing on the psychotic cake and Dean nodded a bit, licking his suddenly dry lips to try to be able to talk.

"It's uh... shit..." He let out another rough breath and Sam's quizzical look made him break inside all over again. "It's nice to meet you, Amelia."

Dean's hands shook a little as he gripped the doorknob and his gun, and as his eyes raked over the human corpse and the canine one at her feet, the blood, filth, flesh, all of it, he could easily tell she'd been dead well before he got back from Purgatory. It shook him to his core in a way that Alastair and Hell and Purgatory never could have, and Dean finally took a deep breath of the clotted air and stepped into the room, reaching for his little brother, his hands reaching up to his face, to get Sam to look at him.

"Dean?"

"Sammy, come on, you--" He almost swallowed his tongue at the feeling of revulsion and Dean gripped the front of Sam's shirt, hauling him to his feet and out of the room with a force that he rarely showed with Sam, not unless he was furious or trying his damnedest to protect the kid.

Sam fought the motion, arguing with him in that way he always did, but Dean got him out of the room and up the wall. The door was slammed shut if only because Dean couldn't look at that mess anymore, and he took a chance to yank Sam a few inches from the wall only to slam him up it again. "What the Hell is wrong with you, man?!"

"Dean, what the Hell? You're being an ass--"

Dean cut him off with another slam up the wall and he bit hard into his lip to keep himself from crying. This was no time to go getting emotional at the kid, not when he was in this kind of state. "We're leavin', now, or I swear I'll knock you out so fast and just drag your gigantor self out to the car."

Sam argued being dragged down the hall and it was a sudden motion that followed as Dean's fist collided with Sam's jaw. The younger brother was knocked on his ass -- of course he was, Dean was the only one who could really do that to him now -- and Dean followed through with another punch to knock him out.

It was mechanical as Dean carried (dragged) Sam out to the car, and he hoisted him into the back with what little energy he had left in him to keep going at all. For the briefest second he remembered what he'd said in the voicemail to Bobby when the house burned down -- "I'm going to strap my Beautiful Mind brother into the car and I'm gonna drive us off the pier." -- and he wanted to do it, so badly, because it was always one thing after another and he didn't want there to be this time, he wanted it to be done with, but the warrior in him that he found in Purgatory, he was something stronger than Dean had been in the last few years and he wouldn't just give up on Sammy like that.

Sitting behind the wheel, Dean's hands shook as he drove. He could hear Sam breathing and he could still smell the gore on them, it stank out the car so bad he had to roll the windows down, but he'd make things okay because he was Dean Fucking Winchester and he wasn't going to let anything break him or his brother again.

He needed to get rid of that place, though, and Dean knew he needed to stop Sam from ever having anything to go back to, because it was a bloody, filthy mess there. His fingers shook worse still as he found his phone and his instinct told him to call Bobby.

Bobby's dead, you idiot, who else you got left now?

No one, that's who. You're all alone and Sammy's broken again and you can't fix him.

You've got no one that can help you on this one, not even Cas, no o--

Dean pressed "dial" on Benny's name and he just hoped for a minute the vampire would pick up just as much as he hoped for a briefer second that he would let the call drop. He didn't know what he'd even say. Benny knew he had a brother, Dean had said as much, but this was too much to drag the guy into. There was Purgatory and there was now and they'd agreed not to let the two things collide, but with no one else left and only one person in the world he trusted besides Sam, he had to do it.

"I thought you said what's done is done and not to call unless I got into trouble;" Benny's Southern drawl made Dean feel a wash of relief for just a second.

"Yeah, about that--" Dean's voice was hoarse and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"What's wrong?" Benny didn't need a reason to call Dean, he'd have done it just because he liked the human, but Dean damn sure needed a reason to call Benny and the vampire was certain in that second that something was very, very wrong.

Dean hesitated, because the only person he would have asked for help like this besides Bobby would have been Cas. Cas was gone, though, and Dean let out a breath of resignation at everything. "I need a favour. Something's wrong with my brother, and I gotta destroy some... some evidence, but I can't do it myself. You any good with fire?"

"Gimme some gasoline and a match and I'm as good as anyone else. What needs to go?"

Dean reeled off the address and Benny assured him he'd gut the place for him, and the second the vampire started asking him what was really wrong, Dean hung up. The relationship he had with Benny was not part of the bond he had with Sam, and as much as he cared about Benny he just couldn't bring himself to open himself and Sam up that way again, not yet, maybe if things got worse, but for now Dean would take Sam somewhere, maybe a few states away, and he'd fix him. God knew how, but he'd do it.

Battle For The Sun

likemichael — Thu, 04 Oct 2012 05:41:04 GMT

Scraping off the brains of something -- he's sure it was a ghoul -- that coated his makeshift weapon, Dean took a breath and looked over his shoulder at the blood curdling wail of something in it's dying moments. Benny finished it off easily, smirking over at Dean like they'd just won the war, when really, the war never ended. Every day it was the same, the blood and the violence and the running, screaming, shouting, fighting, the dirt and sweat and sometimes the laughter, that out of place, twisted laughter that broke through the air like a jagged blade.

Benny circled Dean, it was just a habit to do so, and he was sure Dean still expected him to turn on him. Maybe one day one of them would turn on the other, but for now, they had a reason to be allies and that was all they needed. It was getting dark, they'd need to hole up somewhere before they got themselves slaughtered in the night. Benny led at first, but these days Dean knew his way around Purgatory just as well as he did.

Green eyes flicked in every direction and Dean thought about everything that wasn't Castiel or where he was, everything that wasn't Sam and how he'd left him alone out there. Purgatory was purity, clarity, and it gave him a year to change. He'd had to cope with the shock of coming to Purgatory, of having no liquid crutch, of a billion other things, and he'd found a place in his mind where his existence was simple: he was a hunter.

They'd set up a makeshift camp, they knew how to protect each other and themselves, and Castiel was put to the back of Dean's mind because he'd let guilt overtake him if he thought about him and there was no place for guilt in him right then. Slumping down against a tree, Dean didn't realise he always kept his back against something; a tree, a rock, Benny's back. It was instinct.

"You're almost one of us, brother," Benny drawled out with a grin as he settled down next to Dean and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Only almost?" Dean's own smirk was nearly feral, but it still held the humanity that the creatures here didn't have. He didn't want to be a monster, then again maybe he'd been one long before Purgatory. It didn't matter now. "We got a Hell of a way to go yet, huh?"

Benny responded with a noise in his throat, listening to the pulsing of Dean's blood through his body. It was weird, in a way, because he was just a dead vamp, nothing but a soul, and yet he still felt that pulling when he smelled Dean. He still felt that thundering through his veins at the thought of it. His gaze often found Dean's throat but he knew Dean didn't even acknowledge it now. It was just every day life for them, and that was so damn funny and so damn sad.

"You eaten yet, kid?" Benny's eyes raked over Dean and the hunter shrugged, stretching a bit. Dean didn't want food, and he knew if Sam was around he'd be getting that Are you sick? look from him, but Benny never knew him when he was Sam's Big Brother, he knew him as The Human and then as his friend, his brother in arms. He didn't know Dean still wanted to get Castiel out. He didn't know Dean had dreams about burgers and a '67 Impala and an overgrown little brother he was sure was going crazy right about now.

"You're no use to me if you don't eat, Dean."

"Who're you, my mom?" Dean scowled at Benny but they both laughed and the vampire gave Dean's shoulder a nudge with his own. "Adrenaline's too high to eat, anyway." It was hard to eat when you were buzzing from killing. Benny could appreciate that and he smirked to himself as he tilted his head nearer to Dean's, tempted to bite his ear with his retractable teeth just to spark off a tussle.

"You need to work off that steam, brother, or you're gonna be shaking for hours." His voice was thick and low, and Dean turned his head only just enough to watch Benny from the corner of his eye, giving him a glare of warning that didn't even half concern the vampire. Reaching a large hand to curl against the side of Dean's neck, he settled his mouth against the side nearest, feeling, hearing, smelling the blood pounding behind dirty flesh. He bit him, not hard enough to break the skin but certainly enough to get a rise out of the human. Dean jerked back, eyes wide, and Benny laughed at him, bracing and sharp, foreign in a world like this. "Don't tell me you've never worked it out like this."

"Not with a vampire!" And he felt the need to tack on "Or a guy!" though he didn't actually say that out loud. Benny snorted and shook his head. "That's racist, Dean, I thought we'd talked about this." Dean scowled at him again and Benny ignored it, going for his throat again, sucking a mark against his skin, something red and garish, to go along with the blue and green and purple and yellow that mottled Dean's skin in places hidden by his blood soaked clothes.

Dean couldn't deny the need he felt. It had been a very, very long time and who else was there but Benny? He hissed a little, his head thudding back against the tree behind him as he felt that large hand cup him through his jeans, pawing at him like a starved animal. That's all they were-- starved, vicious, frightened animals.

Solid fingers were curled around his dick before he could think about it and Dean jerked his hips into it, letting Benny loom over him in a way that should have felt intimidating but instead felt protective. If there was anything he wanted to put between himself and Purgatory, it was this badass vampire that saved his ass more times than he wanted to recall.

He was hard, hot, the flesh reddened and more sensitive than he remembered. Maybe it was the length of time he'd gone without it, maybe it was the adrenaline, but each stroke of Benny's hand against his cock made him flinch like he was electrified. His thumb slid over the tip just as he bit into the muscle of Dean's shoulder and Benny considered dragging Dean's hand down his own pants, getting his own from Dean, but for now he wouldn't force the kid. He was already spooked enough. What he didn't expect was for Dean to just do it anyway. His own breath hitched and he dug his knees into the ground. Their hands moved with stuttered motions, rough against too sensitive flesh, and Dean panted against Benny's shoulder, eyes shut tight as he gripped a handful of the back of the vamp's coat.

Neither of them stopped for even a second, hands tugging and stroking, eyes closed, just breathing and feeling, seeking more purity to bathe themselves in. Dean felt like he was high and wouldn't come down, but a building tension told him otherwise and it was only as he came, hot and wet over Benny's hand, that he was able to feel human and entirely inhuman all at once, muscles twitching as he furiously tried to get Benny to his end too.

The vampire grasped around the back of Dean's hand, pumping himself with that warm palm only three more times before he was done. His large frame shuddered once and he rested his head against the tree, jagged, sharp teeth clenched together as he tried not to just savage Dean. He wouldn't go there.

Neither of them said a word as they backed off, cleaned up as best they could in a mess like Purgatory, and Dean was already falling asleep. Benny would keep an eye on him, keep them both safe. After all, he had one way out of this box and it was sleeping on the ground beside him.

And I'd Do Anything To Make You Stay

likemichael — Sun, 30 Sep 2012 07:13:04 GMT

The alcohol was always a great addition to their nights, not that they didn't drink almost constantly. Dean rarely drank anything besides whiskey or beer these days, he was sure his tongue permanently tasted of it, but it was just something of a character flaw. Sam drank too, of course, but he didn't use it like a crutch. He'd been there with something far worse.

The last of a bottle of vodka was being passed back and forth, and Sam finished it off with two large gulps, dropping the bottle on the floor with a thud and eyeing his older brother across the small gap they'd left between each other on the couch.

Bobby's house was quiet with just the two of them living there. Dean would never admit to getting so bored while he was injured and while Sam was in his wheelchair that he'd gone around and cleaned up for sometime to do, but he had, and now things didn't really have a layer of dust, but it wouldn't be long before it was back, once they got into hunting again.

"You're starin'," Dean slurred out, raking a hand down his face and pulling himself to his feet, having to push himself up with a hand on Sam's knee. The younger of the two snagged hold of his wrist, nearly knocking Dean off balance. Sam followed suit, standing up and reaching both hands to hold onto Dean's shoulders, though both wandered quickly, thumbs sliding harshly over cheekbones.

The large time difference weighed on them both, at times. Dean looked a bit more worn, held a bit less faith in the world, and still needed Sam, because Sam was all he had. In turn, Sam was gearing up for what he knew would happen, now he'd been told everything. Hell, with Lucifer, Michael, and Adam. Having no soul, then the Leviathans. Neither of them could catch a break, and even when Dean tried to be normal, with Lisa, it hadn't worked out. Sam didn't know if he'd ever get that normal life he wanted either, maybe one day, but for now here they were. Him, holding Dean by the face, watching his big brother's green eyes searching him for what the problem was.

"Sammy?"

Dean curled his left hand around one of Sam's wrists, his broken arm hanging at his side with a dull pain throbbing through it. He tried to pull back, because it was unsettling to be stared at at the best of times but even worse when he was actually drunk-- something of a rare occurrence now.

He didn't get far. Sam's lips pressed to his and Dean wondered, in the split second it took for him to respond, if tonight would be the night he would call an end to what was between them. He wanted Sam to be happy but he knew that if Sam had that normal life then he'd leave the hunter life, and Dean didn't know if he was prepared for that, even now, after everything, so he clung, he gasped, and he told himself not this time, not tonight.

The kiss was quick and rough, the harsh press of lips, Sam's teeth tugging on Dean's full bottom lip, his hands slipping down to fist in the tuxedo jacket Dean still wore, and every moment of it sent sparks through both of them. It wasn't normal, they both knew that, but it was what it was. They didn't need to talk about it. Sam's aggressive desire was obvious, Dean's need for it was as blatant, and that was all they had to think about for now. Normal could come later.

Dean broke the kiss with and grunt and just curled his hand in the front of Sam's shirt, tugging him along and towards the stairs. He and Sam had stayed here countless times, there was a bed upstairs they'd both used, separately and together as children, and he wasn't about to let Sam screw him on Bobby's couch or in Bobby's bed. He still had some class about where his incestual encounters took place, thank you very much.

Sam was all hands as Dean pulled him along. He ran his strong fingers over Dean's hips, his mouth trying to find Dean's neck, but the older of the two was determined to get them upstairs first. The second they were off the top step, Sam had Dean against the wall. Dean's head thudded against it and he could have sworn he heard the whole house rattle just a bit, but the sharp teeth on his throat and the imposing, hard wall Sam made had him distracted quickly.

A short gasp came and Dean curled his fingers in Sam's hair. It was shorter than he was used to, even if it was still ridiculous and long. He couldn't help thinking that the six years age gap might be a bit much this time but Sam still knew him, knew what he liked, what he absolutely hated, and he hissed as Sam pressed his thigh against Dean's hardening cock, rocking their bodies together steadily, like the alcohol hadn't had even a bit of an effect on him.

Sam's mind always raced when he and Dean were doing these kinds of things. He could remember every tell and every noise like he could recite an exorcism in Latin as simply as breathing, but he couldn't ever get it out of his head that Dean had those reservations of his. That he wasn't protecting Sam if he let him fall into something this far off the reservation. Despite that, he found a peacefulness when he was this close to Dean. He had no one else and being so intimate with Dean made them seem that bit more invincible.

"Sam;" Dean's tone held warning, a breathiness that threatened to become a growl if they didn't get off the damn wall. Dean's neck was marred with bruises, something he could pass off as war wounds on a regular day, and Sam sucked another mark into his skin just for good measure, earning a low moan from his older brother.

Kisses were easy to fall into and Sam's tongue slid against Dean's as he staggered them into the spare room upstairs, kicked the door shut on instinct, and hefted his older sibling onto the bed, leaving Dean sprawled, flushed, and scowling at Sam with his suit a mess and his desperation obvious. Sam's grin was playful as he stripped his jacket off, dropping it on the floor and crawling over Dean's body, finding his place easily between his older brother's thighs.

He knew Dean didn't do this with other guys. He didn't either. Neither of them really swung that way, but each other was a different situation entirely. This wasn't about sex, not entirely at least, and it wasn't about them casting off the last of the social norms they'd never really followed. It was about need and love and desperation and fear. It was about the fire and mom, it was about 4th of July 1996; it was about the faith healer in Nebraska, it was about the car accident in 2006 and dad's death; it was about the psychic children showdown in Cold Oak, it was about Sam dying, Dean's deal and Hell. It was about Ruby and the demon blood. It was about Castiel raising Dean from perdition. It was about the apocalypse and being dragged around by destiny and angels, about God abandoning them and all the things Sam hadn't seen yet that Dean wanted to keep him safe from. It was about the Impala.

It was about those words -- "Take your brother outside as fast as you can - don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!" -- and how Sam was Dean's to protect and how somehow Dean had become Sam's to protect too.

Sam's tie was unfastened easily by Dean's quick fingers and he groaned into the kiss when his little brother ground down against him, his skin prickling with heat. The tie was tossed aside and Dean's hands were up the back of Sam's shirt just as quickly as the shirt was untucked. He raked at his skin, knowing Sam liked to be rough and willing to give him what he wanted. Sam was a predator, even if he repeatedly tried to be a regular person, and Dean was willing prey when he was like this. Sam had control over it all, but above that, Dean had his grip on the situation and kept them both grounded through it.

Sam didn't take his time to undress Dean like he usually did. He undid the bow tie, still amused at it, and the jacket was still left on. His shirt was shoved up and Sam found immense enjoyment in leaving more marks, biting and kissing and licking over wounds left from Dean being tortured by that demon bastard, someone he'd rip to shreds if he got near-- demon smiting powers or not, no one fucked with his big brother.

There wasn't any lubricant for this at hand, both of them knew that, but Dean took pain like a professional. Sam already had Dean's pants worked open and down his thighs. A large hand was circled around Dean's cock and he ran his fingertips against every sensitive inch, feeling his brother's pulse against his palm, watching him writhe. Dean was vocal, Sam had learned, and he took pleasure in making Dean choke on every breath he took. His fingers were slick with precome, easing the glide of his hand over the engorged flesh, and he smirked a bit at how Dean clutched at his sides, fingers pressing into his ribs.

"Sam, quit it-- just get on with it," he hissed out, the pupils of green eyes blown so wide he very nearly looked possessed. Sam laughed against Dean's jaw, his hands coming away to free his own dick from his suit pants. Dean's precome and a little of his own, as well as some spit, were all the lube that Sam could care to get for them and he slicked himself up, pushing at Dean without so much as a thought for preparation. He liked the tightness, he likes the way Dean's body fought him on the issue, and neither of them wanted to stop and wait for more foreplay.

"Fuck... Dean--" Sam's breath hitched and he hung his head, eyes shielded by the long hair framing his face. He didn't think to wait and Dean's ragged noises were both incredible and heart-wrenching. His hips snapped hard against Dean, both of them shaking at how damn uncomfortable the position was, how their bodies protested movement, and how they were both so desperate for each other. Dean kept his cast arm against Sam's back, the other hand burying in his hair, tangled amongst strands of it, tugging it and cradling his head at the very same moment. They were contradictions, the two of them. Sam was quiet and kind by day and near savage when he had his hands on someone like this. Dean, on the other hand, was loud and abrasive but could gladly go for ages in drawn out foreplay and hard and slow sex. He could torture Sam, some days, with how meticulous he was.

Pressure rose between them, shirts sticking to sweat soaked skin, Sam's hair damp, Dean's eyes shut tight, and every breath was rough and wild, Sam's hips slamming into Dean, his cock making Dean feel so full and so pained, but he didn't tell him to stop even once. It was what he liked about it; the raw pain it brought to the surface, the vulnerability. He could cry in front of Sam for a week and never feel as exposed and honest with him as he felt right now.

Tongues sliding against straining flesh, hands clawing and clinging, Dean found his way to Sam's mouth and kissed him in reverence, he kissed him with apology. He could only ever apologise for this, for everything, for keeping him and needing him, and he'd never quite understand Sam's need to be normal the same as Sam would never really understand Dean's reluctance to give up hunting once he could, but they knew each other better than they knew anyone else or anyone else knew them and that made it all okay.

Everything was okay.

Dean's breath hitched and Sam knew he'd found that moment, that place, and he didn't stop, couldn't if he tried. Every thrust had Dean almost mad with pleasure, a sharp noise coming at every push, and Sam's heart thundered against his chest as he felt himself throbbing all over, every bit of him aching and screaming internally. It was seconds, minutes maybe, and Dean was first to go running head first off the brink of his sanity, a wretched noise torn from his hoarse throat. Sam followed mere moments later, every inch of Dean claimed as his, and he breathed hard against his brother's neck, feeling Dean's fingers lazily petting his hair. He'd move, soon enough, but for now they needed to simply breathe, exist, and follow one another's lead, find the equality and peace resonate between them as they fell into stillness.

Weiss' Apology Note

likemichael — Mon, 17 Sep 2012 05:25:22 GMT

likemichael — Sun, 09 Sep 2012 14:25:40 GMT

Singer Auto Salvage

Singer Auto Salvage is a salvage yard for motor vehicles. It can be found just off the Business District, between the main Mandalus Junkyard and the Business District Proper. Look for the sign. Services offered include:

Vehicle repair
Tune-ups
MOT
Spare parts for sale
Old cars bought for reasonable prices

The owner of the business is Dean Winchester. Singer Auto Salvage is currently not hiring. All business arrangements can be done in person or over the phone. Business hours are between 9am - 6pm, Monday to Thursday. Emergency calls can be made directly to Dean. ~~If Dean cannot be reached contact Sam Winchester.~~

NOTE: Anyone on the premises before or after business hours without permission will be escorted off. Anyone caught trespassing on the property will be dealt with accordingly. Anyone found breaking and entering the house will be met with severe consequences.

Mandalus CR Chart

likemichael — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 06:11:39 GMT

relationship chart;

SUPERNATURAL

MANDALUS

FOR RENT

chart key;
☒ enemies. ⊗ unsure. ○ acquaintances. ✤ complicated.	● friends. ●● good friends. ●●● best friends. ♂ bromance. ♠ curious.	∞ family. ❤ crush. ❤ love. † soulmate.

Supernatural; carry on my wayward son

Sam Winchester
Supernatural
†|∞|●●●|♂

Castiel
Supernatural
∞|●●●|♂|✤

Jo Harvelle
Supernatural
●●|✤

Gabriel
Supernatural
●|✤|♠

Death
Supernatural
⊗|○|✤|♠

Mandalus; We're on the highway to hell

Raven Darkholme
Marvel Cinematic Universe
●●|✤|♠

Darcy Lewis
Marvel Cinematic Universe
●●|✤|♠

Helen Magnus
Sanctuary
●|⊗|♠

Tony Stark (Iron Man)
Marvel Cinematic Universe
●|♂|♠

Kate Freelander
Sanctuary
○|♠

Hanasaki Tsubomi
Heartcatch Pretty Cure
●|♠

Jane Foster
Marvel Cinematic Universe
○

Selina Kyle
The Dark Knight Trilogy
●●|♠

Teddy Altman (Hulkling)
Marvel Comics
●●

Elizabeth Tudor
Elizabeth (1998)
●●|♂|♠

Sam Flynn
Tron
●

Kai Leng
Mass Effect
●|☒|⊗|✤|♠

Kaylee Frye
Firefly
●|♠

Jake Jensen
The Losers
○|♠

Rabbit
Steam Powered Giraffe
●●|♂|♠

Mega Man X
Mega Man X
○

Desmond Miles
Assassin's Creed
○|⊗|♠

Arthur Pendragon
Merlin
○|♠

Gene Hunt
Life On Mars & Ashes to Ashes
●|♂|♠

Alex Drake
Life On Mars & Ashes to Ashes
○|⊗|♠

Mr. Gold (Rumpelstiltskin)
Once Upon a Time
○|⊗|♠

Belle
Once Upon a Time
○|♠

The Spine
Steam Powered Giraffe
○|♠

Clay Kaczmarek
Assassin's Creed
○|♠

Kaidan Alenko
Mass Effect
○|✤

Updated November 27th 2012

Permissions Post

likemichael — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 06:19:44 GMT

Please fill out the form below so I know what I can and cannot do when it comes to your character and the permissions I need for interacting with them! Thank you! ♥

Things Dean could fourth wall about:
- Well known movies
- Comics
- Well known television shows

Mandalus Application

likemichael — Sat, 11 Aug 2012 06:08:39 GMT

→ PLAYER INFORMATION;
Name: Cupcake
Personal Journal: ageofdragons
Contact: AIM/Plurk - cupcakeenigma
Timezone: GMT

Current Characters:

→ CHARACTER INFORMATION;
Character Name: Dean Winchester
Character Journal: likemichael
Canon: Supernatural
Canon Point: Season 7, Episode 2, just as he and Sam arrive at Bobby's burned down home.
Canon Building: The 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

History: The Life and Times of Dean Winchester.

Personality: "Frightened little boy, the secret life of Dean." There are many ways to describe Dean Winchester but a frightened little boy is the most accurate. While he is brave, confident, loving, strong, powerful, and determined, more than anything Dean is a scared child. Fighting monsters on a nearly daily basis should be enough to call him a fearless man but Dean is terrified of many things. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to go to Hell again, he doesn't want the blind happiness Heaven offers, he simply wants to live out his life and have his brother with him for the whole journey. He fears being abandoned but at the same time he fears being a failure in his main purpose in life, the thing that makes him who he is: Sam's protector.

Described best by Dean himself; "Watching out for you is my job. More than that, it's who I am." From the moment four year old Dean was handed six month old Sam, told to run outside and don't look back, Dean has been the primary carer for his brother. Even with their father around, Dean played the roles of father, mother, and older brother to his sibling, as well as taking care of his grieving parent and, before her death, comforting his mother Mary when she was unhappy with his father, John. Dean is a natural born caregiver, making sure everyone is safe and happy before his own needs, even when he wanted to be upset and angry, choosing to take charge of things and ensure their lives ran as smoothly as life could for a family of hunters. Even despite that ingrained caring depth, Dean covers it perfectly with enough bravado and confidence that most outsiders assume he is a regular guy who has a very close bond with his brother and a taste for scotch and women. While these are all parts of what make Dean who he is, above all, watching out for Sam is who he is.

Dean has considerable issues where family is concerned, however. While he barely knew his mother, her death coming when he was only four, he finds the thought of her presence as something consistently comforting, even going so far as to repeatedly try to stop her death from happening when dragged into the past by angels. A deep rooted wish of his being that she had never died, a Djinn (evil genie) takes advantage of this in order to kill Dean, leaving him mentally locked up in a dream world of what would have happened if she hadn't died, and although this life seems nearly perfect, Dean rejects it purely on the basis of how his relationship with Sam is not how it is in the real world. Despite not being able to have her back, Dean still cares deeply, although his affection for his mother is somewhat dislocated, given he can easily admit to finding her attractive, saying "Mom's a babe. And I'm going to Hell. Again."

Where his father is concerned, Dean has a lot of difficulty, at first, accepting that his father isn't the golden hero he makes him out to be. Growing up, Dean modelled himself on his father; the music he listens to, the bravado he struts around with, the way he dresses, everything is to mimic his father, and eventually Dean makes the whole ensemble his own. He becomes his own version of John Winchester, hoping to become a better version, somehow. He has deep rooted desperation to prove himself to John because, no matter how he tried to be like him, Sam was always that much more like John, while Dean was always just like Mary. Needing a paternal figure in his life, Dean often lets older men he knows slip into that role, but none more so than Bobby Singer. The old hunter is more of a father than John ever was for both Sam and Dean, and Dean considers him that himself, while Bobby even chastises him for trying to behave like John. Bobby is who Dean turns to when things are too much and he can't go to Sam, showing Dean's need to rely on those around him.

Family plays an integral role in Dean's life, making him do things he never thought he'd do, simply because familial bonds are in place, but this doesn't always mean a blood bond. Again, needing a surrogate parent, Dean latches on to Ellen Harvelle, a widowed bar owner whose husband was killed on a hunting trip with John. Easily putting her into the place of a mother, Ellen returns the bond with both Dean and Sam, and once again Dean's deep rooted need for parental figures is sated by a surrogate. Additionally, Ellen brings with her a daughter, Jo, a possible sister-figure to Dean, someone more for him to care about and worry over. Easily accepting Jo into this role, Dean doesn't do so as easily when his half-brother Adam is discovered. Jealous of the fact John spent time treating Adam as a child should be treated, and unwilling to consider him of Sam's importance, Dean is somewhat cold to him, even despite not wanting him to get hurt and wanting to keep him out of the hunter lifestyle to protect him, simply because they're blood. Blood doesn't always mean everything to Dean, however, because even the discovery of his grandfather coming back to life and having cousins, Dean is reluctant to simply trust any of them, eluding to Dean's inability to trust anyone as much as he trusts the small safety net of people he has woven himself into.

Castiel, an angel of The Lord, is like a brother to Dean, but doesn't quite reach the level that his own sibling reaches in Dean's list of priorities, as evident by Dean's insistence that Castiel help them find Sam's soul, even despite how Heaven is in a civil war and Castiel is in the middle of it. Eternally grateful to Castiel for pulling him out of Hell, Dean has a deep fondness for him that almost rivals the affection he shows Sam. Castiel and Dean share a "profound bond", something they rely heavily upon between them, and something Castiel lost everything for, giving cause to a lot of guilt Dean carries. Even when Castiel starts to work with Crowley, a demon, Dean insists he should listen to him and avoid the dealings he's doing, and when Castiel is twisted enough by the power trip he is on, Dean cannot help but try to insist he is family and doesn't want to lose him, again reiterating Dean's desperation to keep his family close, both those blood related and not.

Then there is Sam. Dean's relationship with Sam has been described as many things. The two most accurate quotes to describe their bond would be "the most unhealthy, tangled up, crazy thing", said by Dean's own girlfriend Lisa, and “You know Sam and Dean Winchester are psychotically, irrationally, erotically co-dependent on each other, right?” said by the angel Zachariah to their brother, Adam. While both of these statements are firm and harsh, they are for the most part true. Dean is ruthless when it comes to Sam. Having raised his brother himself, Dean is protective over his brother to the point that it is unhealthy and dangerous. His core purpose for living, once everything has fallen apart, is to be with Sam. When the likelihood arises that Sam will succumb to the Croatoan virus, something that will make him as good as a murderous zombie, Dean seals himself in a room with Sam in order to die with him. He simply cannot live if his brother is not alive. Later, when Sam is in fact murdered, Dean goes so far as to sell his soul to a demon in order to bring Sam back to life, despite merely getting one year left to live with Sam at his side. Ultimately, Dean has no sense of self-preservation where Sam's safety comes into play. He will gladly walk into Hell to keep him safe.

Jealousy, possessiveness, and a controlling nature rear their ugly heads where Sam is concerned. Dean is protective of Sam to the point of obsessive and violent, despite knowing that they are each other's biggest weakness and, at the same time, they keep each other human. He feels the need to warn Sam of things and make demands and orders of him, even going as far as feeling thoroughly betrayed when Sam chooses to side with Ruby, a demon, over him. Following the revelation of who they are and what they're destined for, Dean becomes quite literally hell bent on saving Sam from becoming Lucifer's vessel. Trying everything he can, fighting angels and demons, and destiny itself, Dean shows his determination but also his fear of being lost and left alone by what he knows is the only way to end the apocalypse.

In the end, Dean's existence revolves around Sam. Never giving himself a chance at the "apple pie life", Dean only pursues such a lifestyle after promising Sam he would once he was dead, and even then he continually seeks a way to bring his brother back, without knowing he is already alive and despite promising to not do so, admitting later on he was in "misery" without his brother, and that he didn't want a family, he wanted Sam. Dean will go against his morals and everything that makes him who he is as long as it will protect the boy he raised and loves more than anyone else, even going as far as working for Death himself and damning Adam to eternity in Hell to retrieve Sam's soul. Dean himself admits he is afraid of the lengths he will go to in order to keep Sam close to him. Regardless of all the bad, however, Dean and Sam are quite literally soulmates, explaining why they are able to share each other's Heavens, even if their versions of Heaven are very different.

Beyond all the issues and his main purpose in life, Dean is his own man. A natural flirt, even with people he considers family, he tends to be rather promiscuous until he comes to live with Lisa after Sam is lost to Lucifer's Cage. After that, while he is still cheeky and a flirt, he rarely sleeps around and focuses instead on getting Sam his soul back. Always quick to bring a rude comment into things, Dean is mischievous and playful, as well as arrogant and cocky, all bravado and talk. He knows he is good at what he does and isn't ashamed to say so. He is sweet, loving, and surprisingly gentle, somewhat the polar opposite of his brother who, while sweet and loving also, can be something more of a rough and furious person, more rebellious than Dean could ever hope to be. Michael's vessel, Dean is at least rebellious against becoming, for the most part, and yet still agrees to it before he is taken just as Michael is about to arrive. He is tired, he wants everything to be over and done with, but will do what it takes to protect the world and his brother. A heavy drinker with a lot of guilt and agony, plagued with nightmares over the things he did and had done to him in Hell, the apocalypse, and a great many other things, Dean blames himself for a lot of things and considers himself a failure in most other things, but he is still determined to keep going and keep hunting.

Imported Character History: N/A

Powers/Abilities: Dean is mostly normal, in terms of powers and abilities. He knows an incredible amount concerning mythology and lore on monsters, gods, angels, demons and most supernatural creatures. He is skilled with firearms of all kinds, melee weapons, and bare-handed combat. He can also see Fairies due to being taken to their realm and sent back. Additionally, Dean has a tattoo on his chest that stops him from being possessed and Enochian (angelic) sigils on his ribs that hide him from all angels. On top of that, Dean has knowledge of Heaven and Hell from being within both places.

→ SAMPLES;
First Person Sample: video

[Deciding a video is an easy way to spot who is a monster and who isn't, Dean opts to make his arrival a video rather than simply trekking to his supposed apartment and fussing to himself there about the shit storm he was in the middle of. Quick on his feet as always, an alias and story comes to mind instantly.]

The name's Dean Young. I'm looking for my partner, he's about 6'4", big built-- he's gigantor with girly hair. [He rubs at the back of his neck, glancing around himself. He'll opt to leave out the fact he might be randomly shooting at thin air. Poor, poor, crazy little brother.] If anyone's seen him, I'd like directions to find his sorry ass.

[A faint sigh follows and Dean drops his hand, chewing his bottom lip for a moment.] And anything anyone can tell me about this supposed "war to end all wars", that'd be great too.

[Dean pauses for a brief second, flashes a grin, and shuts off the recording.]

Third Person Sample: This place was just one more heap of crap on top of the Hell of an ice cream sundae his life was. Dean sighed as he sat down on the bed of the apartment he'd been supplied with. He knew there was probably a lot he should do, and there was no way he should trust staying in an apartment provided for him by their dear captors, but he was tired. Everything in the past near-decade had been building up and up, and now Cas was dead, or maybe he was, and everything was stupid. Sam having his soul back was a good thing, sure, and the apocalypse was averted, great, but now he was stuck here, in this weird world full of Heaven knew what, and he had nothing. He didn't even have Sammy there to be an over-sized constant. Not to mention how Sam had gone all Beautiful Mind and had no idea what was real and what wasn't until just before they got to the burnt husk of Bobby's house. Was Bobby even alive?

Letting out one more sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and got to his feet. Firstly, he needed guns. Then salt and holy water. Silver and iron. What the Hell else, he didn't care, his head was pounding too hard to go beyond the basics, but he at least gathered what he had. His hand gun was still on him, that was good enough, and he grabbed salt from the kitchen to make lines around the windows and that one door into the apartment. It was a quick and easy job, and Dean thought about the situation while he was at it. This wasn't Heaven, he knew that much, but being forced into situations and being told "deal with this for us" was something he was kind of used to. That didn't mean he believed that was all there was to it, no way in Hell, but he could at least assume there likely was something to hunt here. Maybe this was all bullshit from the Leviathan, maybe they were that powerful. He had no idea.

Chewing on his bottom lip as he slumped down at the kitchen table, he went through the phone and read everything he could. Hours upon hours of research left his eyes tired and his head aching, because there were so many things here he didn't want to have to deal with and he knew he'd do it anyway. He just never could say no to a good old fashioned hunt.

First of all, he needed a story. If he was going to be living here, he needed to have a whole heap of bullshit to fall back on. He'd tried calling for Castiel, that was an idiotic idea to begin with, but it hadn't worked anyway. Cas really was dead. In the end, he had to suffer this ordeal and then he'd deal with everything when he got home. It'd probably only be a matter of hours in his own time anyway. It always worked like that. It'd just be nice to have back up, even in the form of Baby, the Impala he lived in. Either way, he was on his own and screwed for now, so he had to make the best of it.