Michael messes with Dean. Meanwhile, Sam’s not exactly holding it together.
There’s blood on the bunker’s stairs.
No. Nonononono.
Dean takes the stairs two steps at a time, his heart roaring in his ears. Michael’s last words still ring in his head– you kick me out, Dean, and you lose everything.
He comes across Jack first. He’s slumped across the map room table, the gash in his head leaking sluggishly across Asia, soaking towards Europe. Dean falls forward, like he’s in a dream Reaches for his pulse.
No.
His legs feel like lead as he staggers towards the door, following another trail. Mom, in the hallway, an angel blade still clutched in her fist. Her eyes are open, but the light behind them is dead. Dean swallows back vomit.
“Sammy!”
The library looks like a tornado blew through it. Dean closes his eyes, thinking of his brother’s painstaking filing, his card catalog. He’s slumped across it. If he could, Dean knows his brother would be bitching about the stains.
Instead, he just lays there, unmoving. This time, he throws up, hands on his knees, hands shaking.
Dean knows all too well what he’s going to see next. But it doesn’t stop him from running towards his room.
Tag: goodfemalecharacters
A Destiel AU
Chapter Nine: The Situation Room
When they reached the Situation Room, Arthur Ketch was waiting for them.
In Dean’s defense, he tried to keep his dislike of the man off of his face. He was a talented National Security Advisor, but in the few interactions Dean had had with him, he’d been incredibly condescending.
“Thank you, Ms. McLeod,” he said crisply. Then, turning to Dean, “Agent Winchester.”
Things had to be bad for Rowena to pat his shoulder as she turned away. Dean tried not to make his swallow so obvious as he followed Ketch into the room. It looked pretty much like it did in the movies. Were the darkened lights for the ambiance or for the projector?
Once he and Ketch got settled, they didn’t have much time before Roman walked through the door and everyone stood. To Roman’s credit, he had least had the grace to look a little disconcerted at such a welcome. It appeared that there were still things that took some time to get used to.
“Thank you. Mr. Ketch, proceed.”
Dean’s heart settled somewhere around his naval. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to listen to this.
“We received this video this morning.”
Ketch nodded to someone in the back, who clicked play. Dean had to grip the side of the table until his knuckles turned white in order to avoid shouting out loud when Jack’s face came into view.
He didn’t look hurt, but it didn’t feel like much of an upside. His eyes flickered nervously between the camera and what Dean assumed was the monster behind it. He looked far younger on the screen than he had in years.
“Tell them.”
If Dean had been expecting some sort of Hollywood villain drawl, something that sounded chilling and evil, he was disappointed. The man sounded like just that—a man. Dean closed his eyes as Jack responded.
“I’m not hurt.”
Dean listened hard for some kind of catch in his voice, a noise that would alert him to some hidden hurt to prove the sentence a lie, but it seemed like he was telling the truth.
“Go on.”
“And I’m gonna stay that way.”
At that, Jack’s eyes filled with tears. Despite himself, Dean’s did too out of sympathy and fear for the kid.
“For how long, Jack?”
(start from the beginning on ao3)
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A Destiel AU
Chapter Seven: The Oval Office
The day of the inauguration dawned bright and clear, despite Dean’s best mental attempts to chide the sky into storming. It took him a full three snooze cycles (and Sam smacking his bedroom door once he realized Dean wasn’t getting up) to drag himself out of bed.
Sam eyed him drowsily over his Cheerios as he stumbled into the kitchen, still blinking gummy sleep out of his eyes. He estimated that he’d gotten about two hours between all the tossing and turning and how long it had taken to get up the heart to leave Jack last night.
“You look like hell,” Sam observed.
Dean glared, best as he was able with his left eye still half shut against the flickering bulb of the light above them—someone really had to fix that, but that would require a free afternoon that neither he nor Sam would have for the foreseeable future.
“Nice observation. I can see they’re teaching journalists well these days. You’re sharper than ever.”
This was the sort of day that would normally be cause for some bacon, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to bother. Instead, he nabbed Sam’s Cheerios and ate them straight out of the box. It was a testament to the day that Sam didn’t cuss him out for it.
They ate in silence. Dean normally turned out the radio and he and Sam duked it out over Big 100 and NPR, but it didn’t seem like the right time for classic rock and it wasn’t like either of them wanted to hear the news. Dean ducked back into his room to change and emerged, still scowling.
“Is my tie straight?”
“As you are,” Sam said without missing a beat.
“Bitch.”
“Jerk.”
He still attempted to straighten out his tie.
(start from the beginning on ao3)
Karate, SPN Demonic Octopus Guardian 