Category Archives: Writing

TAF, books, upcoming writing things, etc. Any/everything having to do with writing.

Stay That Way

This is this years’ Christmas/holiday fic.

On Dec. 14th I will be uploading a New Years fic, and then the last post of the year on the following Monday. (Dec. 17th) I will then take a two week vacation from posting, and will return in January! (I’ll explain more in the post on Dec. 17th)


Wee!Chesters

Words: 2,111


“… What are you doing?”

“Uhm…” Sammy’s eyes went to the ground, cheeks flaring, “nothing.”

“Nothing?” Bobbys’ eyebrows went up, “That’s an awfully loud nothing,” his eyes drifted to the lump under the covers on the bed, “a pretty big lump, too.”

The kid swallowed thickly, eyes darting to the lump before back to the father-figure standing in the doorway, “W-what lump?”

Bobby chuckled, holding up his hands, “Okay, okay. Well you just let me know if you need any help with that nothing.”

“… Okay.”

Bobby re-closed the bedroom door, shaking his head as he made his way down the stairs, what is that boy up to? He went out to the backyard, picking up the paint spray gun and mask, just down burn down the house.

 

 

Bobby awoke startled, hearing a loud crash from the kitchen, what in the hell…? He was out of his chair in an instant, stalking his way over to the kitchen doors, hand on his gun, mentally running through the salt-line check he’d done before falling asleep.

He opened the door and sighed in relief as he saw the five-year old jump up from the floor.

“Jesus, Boy, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he leaned himself against the door, eyes roaming over the flour-covered counter, “Whatcha doing, Sammy?”

The brunette swallowed thickly and ‘hid’ a cookie sheet behind his back, eyes threatening to spill over with tears, “… Nothing,” at the mans’ eyebrow raise he sighed in defeat, bottom lip poking out, “I-I’ll clean it up…”

“Clean up?” Bobby craned his neck a bit so he could see over the counter and noted the un-cooked cookies that littered the floor, “Now why would you do that?”

Sammy blinked in surprise as Bobby got an apron out of the closet, “… What?”

Bobby’s heart broke, John what the hell have you done to this boy? He took the cookie sheet from the child and placed it on the counter, before winking, grabbing the mixing bowl, “We can’t let you destroy the kitchen for nothing.”

 

 

“Wow,” Sammy was practically laying on the counter, watching the cookies cool on a wire rack.

Bobby chuckled as he washed the last of the dishes, “You’d think you’d never seen a cookie before.”

“I’ve seen cookies,” he rolled his eyes, “I just can’t believe I made these!”

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?”

“I know you helped but still…” he reached out to touch one, recoiling as it burnt his finger, “These look like real cookies. Like the ones you get at a store!” He turned to the older man, “I can’t believe we turned eggs and milk and all that stuff into these! It’s like magic!”

Bobby did his best to hold in his laughter, “Yeah, cooking is pretty cool.”

“Definitely,” he tilted his head a bit to the side, “… can making cookies be a job?”

“Yep,” Bobby leaned against the counter, taking a swig from his beer, “They’re called bakers.”

“Really?” his eyes went wide and he gave a thousand-watt smile, “That’s so cool! Do you think…” he bit his lip and averted his eyes, smile fading, “Do you think I could do that?”

“’Course.”

“But won’t Dad-”

“It doesn’t matter what John says,” he narrowly stopped himself from hitting the counter, “I mean,” he took a deep breath, “you should do whatever you want to do. Don’t worry if John doesn’t understand. Do what makes you happy.”

Sammy nodded before turning back to the cookies, “I want to make these every day!”

Bobby smiled, going over to ruffle his hair, “Then you do that.”

Just then, the boys heard a rumble from outside, the Impala.

Sammys’ face lit up again and he practically jumped off the counter, running to the front door, “They’re back!”

The brunette sped to the front hall before – much to Bobbys’ surprise – bee lining for the stairs, bedroom door slamming shut. Bobby looked after him for a moment before shaking his head as the front door opened, John bursting in, Dean in his arms.

That can’t be good, Bobby went to the kitchen, fetching the first aid kit, coming back as John placed Dean down on the couch. His face was set in a scowl, and he was covered head to toe in a mix of dirt and blood. Dean had a deep gash across his head that was oozing blood, glad Sammy decided to go upstairs.

“What happened?”

John shook his head, “He didn’t want to list-”

“John,” Bobby shot him a look as he pushed him away, kneeling down and beginning to clean the boys’ wound.

John let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he began pacing, eyes on the ground, “I told him not to go after it.”

“That’s great,” Bobby pushed the gauze harder against the wound, not liking that Dean didn’t even flinch, “What else?”

“What does it look like?” Johns’ hands balled into fists at his side, “The thing flung him halfway across the room, he only stopped cause he hit a wall. Head collided with the corner of a table on the way down.”

Bobby closed his eyes and grit his teeth, “He needs to go to the hospital.”

“No.”

“John-”

“I said no!”

“Do you want him to die?” Bobby stood, turning angry eyes on the other man, “Cause that’s what’s gonna happen if he stays here.”

John blinked in mild surprise, “You can’t stitch it?”

“He’s unconscious.”

John took a step toward him, getting close enough Bobby could smell the whisky on his breath, “Can. You. Stitch. It?”

Bobby used all the strength he had to not punch him in the face, “No.”

“Fuck,” John blew out a breath, eyeing his son, taking a small step back, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Go to the hospital.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m still wanted for that skin-walker job, remember?”

Bobby grit his teeth, closing his eyes for a moment to think, “Fine. I’ll take him, you stay here with Sammy.”

John paled a bit at the mention of his other son but nodded. He watched as Bobby picked Dean up off the couch, helping to load him into the truck. Bobby hopped in before giving John a death glare, “Do not tell him about this.”

 

 

“Seriously, Bobby, I’m fine,” Dean swatted at his arm as he was easing himself out of the truck.

“Oh yeah, you pass out from blood loss and get a concussion every day,” the older man gave him a pointed look and kept his arms out for support.

“Pfft, you know what hunting’s like,” Dean successfully stood on the ground, and blinked, swaying slightly on the spot, “It’s always dangerous.”

“You’re not your father, Dean,” Bobby shut the truck door and trailed behind the blonde as they made their way to the front door, “also, you’re nine.”

“Exactly,” He climbed the steps, leaning heavily against the banister, “Time for me to grow up.”

Bobby rolled his eyes and unlocked the door, holding it open for the blonde, not surprised to see John was no longer in the living room, big surprise.

“Dean!”

A mess of brown hair launched itself at the blonde, nearly knocking him over. He caught Sammy easily, plastering a smile on his face, but Bobby didn’t miss the flash of dizziness.

“Wha-? Who’s this?” he brushed some of the hair from his brothers’ eyes, “Oh, Sammy! There you are!”

The youngest giggled and Bobby was amazed at how quickly the elder could switch into Big Brother Mode. He began walking them over to the couch, “So, Sammy, what have you been up to?”

The youngest looked like he was going to explode, “I made you something!” his expression fell as he noticed the bandage on the blondes’ head, “What happened?”

“Eh,” Dean waved a dismissive hand, “I’m fine. What did you make me? Is it…” he looked around the room, pretending to think, “A Tickle Monster?” he then threw the five-year-old onto the couch before all but tackling him, tickling his stomach.

The youngest let out a loud squeal, doing his best to wiggle away. John came out of the kitchen at the yell, and Bobby was mildly surprised to see he had showered. He hung back as he saw what was happening. The eldest Winchester leaned against the doorway next to Bobby, small smile on his face.

Sammy began gasping for breath after a few minutes, face going red.

“Dean.”

At the sound of his fathers’ voice, Dean immediately stopped, smile fading and he practically jumped up from the couch, puffing his chest out. A soldier ready for duty. Sammys’ gasps had also died down, eyes going straight to the floor, as if he were ashamed.

“Sammy,” Bobby nodded toward the kitchen, “why don’t you go get what you made Dean?”

He nodded, smile reappearing before zooming back up the stairs.

Dean turned confused eyes to the other men, “What is it?”

Bobby shrugged, “Last time I saw it, it was a giant lump under the covers.”

A small smile graced Deans’ face, and his cheeks flushed.

They saw the youngest stop at the top of the stairs, whatever it was carefully hidden behind his back, “Close your eyes!”

Dean rolled his eyes before closing them, “Okay! They’re closed!”

“I don’t believe you!”

Dean huffed, before opening them, giving Bobby and his father a look, “Little help?”

Bobby smirked, giving him a pointed look, “Well?” the blonde re-closed his eyes, “They’re closed, Sammy!”

The men watched as the youngest did his best to walk down the stairs without holding onto the hand rail. Whatever he made was big enough it needed his two hands to carry. He got to the bottom and carefully walked himself over, bringing the gift – that was carefully wrapped in red and white Christmas paper – out from behind his back.

“Hold out your hands,” upon doing so he placed the present in them, and chuckled as Deans’ arms fell a few inches, pretending it was heavy, “Okay, open.”

The blonde opened his eyes and let out a whistle, “You wrapped this?”

“Mhm,” Sammy was beaming, bouncing slightly where he stood, “Open it! Open it! Open it!”

“Okay, okay, geez,” Dean made his way back over to the couch, placing the present down on the coffee table.

He began unwrapping it slowly, brows knit together wondering what could be so heavy, before revealing a cardboard box.

He turned to his brother, “Wow, Sammy, it’s uhm…”

The youngest rolled his eyes, giving his brother a slight push, “It’s in the box, Dean.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.”

The blonde took his switch blade off his belt to open the box, prying the top open and peering inside, before letting out a small gasp. He reached into the box carefully, pulling out what looked to be a Lego version of their fathers’ Impala.

He turned his eyes to his brother, “What…? How did you…?”

“I built it!” Sammy was bouncing up and down, “I took all the black Legos I had from my other sets and built it,” he flung his arms around his brother, “Now you have one, too!”

“I can’t believe this…” Deans’ eyes drifted back down to the present he was holding, face stunned, “This is… amazing, thank-you.”

“Is that what you were doing up in your room all week?”

The youngest gave Bobby a nod before turning back to his brother, “You like it?”

“I love it,” Dean held the car up to his face, inspecting it, “You even got the license plate right!”

“Good job, Sammy,” Bobby went to sit on the arm of the couch, “Now that kitchen mess makes more sense.”

“Oh!” Sammy smacked his head, before running into the kitchen, “I forgot the best part!”

Dean starred after him, “There’s more?”

Bobby winked, “I helped with this part.”

The youngest returned a moment later with the cookies he and Bobby had made, placing the plate down on the table next to the car.

Dean looked over the cookies and chuckled, “Are these supposed to be us?”

Sammy nodded his head excitedly before removing one of the door Legos from the side of the car, placing one of the cookies into the driver side, “Look! They fit inside, too!”

“Wow, Sammy, that’s so cool!” Dean wrapped his brother up in a bear hug, “You’re one smart kid, y’know that?”

“I know!”

“This is great, Sammy,” he turned his eyes to the plate of cookies, eyes widening slightly, “I just have one question.”

“What?”

His stomach grumbled then, as if on cue, “Does that mean I can’t eat the cookies?”


Like this fic? Check out more here!

Puppy Love

Prompt from Rebekah: (17.11.13): Dean ‘saves’ puppy from streets. Sam can’t believe it but it makes him happy – Sam ends up taking care – Dean cuddles and pictures

Sorry this took me forever (and that I veered off the prompt), but I hope you liked!

Gen. Sam/Dean.

Words: 1,075


“Hey, uh, Dean?”

“What?” The blonde came around the corner to see Sam standing with his back to the door, his hands on hips, “Jesus, Sam! You couldn’t have showered first?” Dean covered his nose with his shirt, almost gagging on the post-run Sam stench.

“What the hell is this?” The giant half turned to face the elder who’d stopped in the doorway.

“What’s-” The eldest cut himself off as he was knocked to the floor by a pile of fur and slobber, “Cassandra!” He chuckled as the dog continued her assault on his face.

After the warm welcome he received the dog sat down directly in front of him as he climbed back to his feet, tail making a dull thud, thud against the floor.

Sam cleared his throat and raised an eyebrow expectantly, “Well?”

“… It’s a dog,” Dean patted her head before moving to the couch, the dog following obediently, “I thought you were supposed to be the smart one?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I can see it’s a dog. I mean why is it here?”

“Oh… y’know…” The eldest rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, “She,” he sighed and shook his head, “she peed on my car.”

“… So you decided to bring her home?” Sam moved to follow his brother, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Look, I just…” he bit his lip and turned his eyes toward the furry being, starring up at him with her big eyes, “I tried shooing her away, but she didn’t listen. I opened the door and she just hopped right in like she owned the place. I figured, if I was gonna be stuck with her, I might as well feed her. She really needed it, too,” he pet her head softly, “You should’ve seen her, Sam, she was all skin and bone.”

Sam raised his eyebrow, “I thought you didn’t like dogs?”

Dean stood, hands balling into fists at his sides, “So what? You think I’d just let her starve to death?”

“Wha…? No, of course not! I was just surprised.” Sam eyed his brother, why are you being so defensive?

The blonde noticed the look on his brothers’ face and scoffed, before heading off into the other room, Cassandra following suit, “Leave it alone, Sam.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Good,” his brother stopped in the doorway, “Take a shower, will ya? We’re already gonna have to burn the couch!”

 

 

Sam stood under the spray of the water, gears in his head turning, why is he so obsessed with keeping the dog? He soaped up his body, turning so the water cascaded down his back, you’re using it – her- to fill something, I just don’t- his eyes widened as he made the connection, Cassandra! You’re using her to replace Cas!

“Well look who finally made the connection.”

The voice made him jump and rip the curtain open, eyes wild until he spotted the blonde perched on the toilet seat. Sam tilted his head to the side, allowing the water to wash the soap from his chest, leave me alone.

“C’mon, Sam. We never talk anymore,” the giant stiffened as he saw the devils’ shadow get up and make his way to the curtain, “we gotta make the most of our alone time.”

You’re not real, you’re not real… He pressed on the scar on his palm, squeezing his eyes shut. He opened them and sighed in relief as the devil was nowhere in sight. He finished his shower quickly and toweled off, swinging the bathroom door open, stopping in the doorway as he saw the dog a few feet away, just starring at him.

“What the hell?” He walked a few paces closer, hoping to get to his bedroom, when it started growling at him, “Uh… Dean?”

“What?”

The giant got closer to the dog, and it got up, before barring its’ teeth at him, beginning to growl. Sam stopped cold, halfway to his bedroom, what the hell? He held his one hand out, but dropped it back to his side when the dog began barking, “Dean?”

His brothers’ head poked out from around the corner, and immediately the dog ran over to him, demeanor changing completely. The blonde laughed and began petting her, while raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Sam stood there, shocked, “… Did you not just see how angry she was?”

“Angry?” His brother looked between the happy, tail-wagging dog and his brother for a moment, “…. This dog?”

“Yes, Dean, that one,” he took a step forward and the dog moved in front of Dean, beginning to growl again, “See?”

“Whoa, what did you do to her?”

Sams’ jaw dropped, he thinks I did something to her? “Nothing! I just came out of the shower and she was sitting there watching me.”

“Pfft,” Dean waved a dismissive hand, “She’s probably just protecting me.”

“Dean, I’m your brother,” he took another step toward the pair, ignoring the volume increase in the dogs’ growls, “she doesn’t need to protect you from me.”

Dean eyed him before disappearing around the corner, returning a moment later with a container of water, and a silver knife.

Sam snorted, “Dean, what…?”

His brother shrugged, handing the objects out to him, “Dogs are good at telling if a person is a threat.”

“Dud, c’mon, it’s me.

“She didn’t have a problem with my brother when he came back from his run.”

I’m your brother.”

“Prove it,” he wiggled the items in his hands.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, before grabbing the items, “Fine.” He took a swig from the holy water before pressing the silver knife against his forearm, raising an eyebrow at his brother, “Happy now? It’s still me.”

“Christo.”

Sam rolled his eyes before looking back to his brother expectantly.

“Okay, fine, you’re you.”

“Thank-you,” he went forward a few more steps and the dog began barking, “Dude, seriously?”

Dean shot her a look and she ran down the hall, stopping around what sounded like the front door. The blonde turned back to his brother with a smirk, “What can I say? Chicks dig me.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he made his way to his room, “Just train her.”

Dean gave a half-smile and shrugged, “Who woulda guessed?”

The giant stopped in his doorway, giving his brother a look.

Dean chuckled as he walked away, “Looks like your bad luck with women isn’t exclusive to humans.”


Like this fic? Check out more here!

Top 3 Tips to Running Your (New) Website

Running a website is hard as sh*t.

Especially if you choose to post… oh, I don’t know, let’s say roughly five times a month.

Before I had started my website, every article I read basically said the exact same thing: posting once a month is more then enough. Once a month? How am I supposed to build a following if I only post once a month?

I can see now that… well, not that I was wrong, but I was pretty naïve to think that I knew better then other professionals. My thought process was something akin to, ‘a month is a long time, I can definitely post every week and be fine.’ So that’s what I did at the very beginning.

Posting every single week got old/infuriating real fast. I felt like I was losing my mind, having to constantly be preparing the next post, worrying about how was I going to tackle the vastly different topics that interested me, and perhaps the worst of all – it didn’t leave me any time for continuing with my books.

Needless to say, that was not a good way to run my website, nor a good way to keep my sanity in check. It took me probably the better half of 2017 to get into a groove and set myself a schedule for what was to be posted when. I still struggle with the system I’ve put into place sometimes – we all know how life likes to ruin our plans – so while I haven’t quite perfected the art of managing my website – and it’s not even close to being everything I want it to be – I’ve definitely learned a lot in the process.

This article is to share 3 tips I wish I’d known when I was starting out.

 

  1. Start with One Idea

This is probably one of the hardest things I had to learn when I was starting out. I had been ‘planning’ all the different elements/topics I wanted my website to have, so when I finally went for it, I was all over the place. One week I’d post a TAF (short story), the next I’d post a recipe, and still another would be a product review. There was absolutely no structure, and it was driving me crazy flipping back and forth each week between different ideas.

One thing I wish I had read/or heard, was this: Your website will expand. It takes time to establish a website from nothing. You have to pick things like layout, theme, how you want it to look, and that’s all before you start adding content. Your best bet when you’re just starting out is to focus your energy and time on one thing – preferably the main thing you’d want the website to be about – and only post that.

You may feel like you’re limiting yourself, since you’re bursting with ideas about this and that, but trust me – focus on one thing, and get yourself to fall into the pattern of posting that one thing. Remember, you can always add more once you’re more established. Give yourself time to get used to having a website before you try to go whole hog.

 

2. Pick a Posting Schedule (That You Can Realistically Keep Up With)

Give yourself a posting schedule that you think you’ll be able to stick to. It doesn’t have to be just once a month, it could be more, or less then that. When you’re just starting out, I’m sorry to say but no one is looking at your website yet. Now is the time to experiment and find what works for you. Before you begin to build a following, and especially before people start expecting you to post in the schedule you’ve set.

Give yourself enough time between posts that you’ll be able to do the following three things:

  • Write the post that needs to be posted
  • Write the next post (or at least, have the idea)
  • Have a personal life (hang out with friends, be able to go to family functions [like holidays], have a few ‘off’ days, etc.)

Let’s say you tell yourself you’ll be able to post each week. Will you have enough time in one week to come up with an idea for next weeks’ post, while simultaneously writing this weeks post, and still be able to go to grandma’s birthday/Christmas, etc.? Also, if you’re too stressed, feel like you never have a day off, and are constantly wracking your brain for the next idea? You need to dial back your scheduling.

Remember, you can always add more things to post later. You don’t have to come out of the gate doing everything all at once.

You gotta walk before you can run.

 

3. Plan Your Posts

It sounds simple, and yet… it can be one of the hardest things to do. You don’t want to wake up on your posting day with an ‘oh shit, I don’t have an idea for what to post today!’

True, you could always just skip that day, and get yourself ready for the next one, but, you’ll want to get yourself into the habit of not skipping posting days. Since your website is still new, and you’re still getting used to having it, you’ll want to be able to schedule your time so you’re able to do your work and still have fun. Think of it like you’re forming a new habit – you gotta find ways to incorporate it into your already established routine, without disrupting the rest of your life.

I’m assuming you didn’t quit your day-job while you’re starting this website, so let’s pretend you just got in from work, perhaps you have kids who need to be fed/put to bed, or a pet that needs to be taken care of – next thing you know it’s 11pm, you’re just about to collapse into bed when you suddenly remember: you were supposed to post something to your website today. You begrudgingly drag yourself to your website, and double-check and it’s just as you thought: no posts were scheduled, and you don’t have any finished/ready to post.

Now you have to spend your precious sleeping time thinking/writing/editing and finally posting an article to your website.

Enter: Planning.

You have a schedule you want to stick to – awesome! Now it’s time to put it to good use, and start planning out the posts you want to put up on those days. For simplicity sake, we’ll just use my posting schedule for this example. Which is every two weeks, and the 13th of every month.

This past Friday (Nov. 2nd) I posted what I call a Throw Away Fic, (which is just a short story), and today (Nov. 5th) I posted this, which internally I just call an Article. Next thing I need to post this month is a Product Review, which I do on the 13th of each month.

After that, my next two posts are:

Nov. 16th: Another TAF

Nov. 19th: Another article

I try to alternate my article content between writing tips and veganism, as these are the prime two other things I post, excluding the Throw Away Fics. Back when I was first starting my website, I had sat myself down and wrote out a list of all the possible article topics I wanted to post, and saved them to my computer. Now, I go to that list and plan out my next few articles, usually till the end of the month.

Organization is key here. I know it’s not fun, and is probably one of the least fun parts of having your website, but this saves me from having those last-minute freak outs of not having content, and not having an idea for content, too. I try to schedule out my articles at least one month in advance.

My TAFs are a bit of a different story. Last time I’d counted, I had roughly 60-something short stories that I could finish and post. I schedule those, but sometimes, plans change. For example, if a holiday is coming up, I will write a new TAF specific for the holiday, and leave the scheduled one to be posted at a later time. I don’t always know exactly which story idea I’ll be posting – sometimes it’s one of the ones from The Vault, and sometimes it’s new stories I write on my commute – but I try to get it done/scheduled at least the week before it’s supposed to go up.

Planning out your posts can put your mind to ease and not make you feel like you’re scrabbling each week (or month) to get a post to your website. This will also allow you to actually schedule the posts in your website.

In WordPress, when you make a new post, it enables you to Post Now, or you can schedule the post for a later date. This is extremely helpful when life decides to get in the way, and you’re not able to make it to a computer to manually post your article on your scheduled day – you can set it to go up automatically.

It may seem like a small thing, but it can be a life saver, especially around the holidays, when you’re pre-occupied with holiday-related worries. This gives you one less thing to try to remember after you finish cooking/hosting/buying presents, etc.

And there you have it. My top three tips of website running help I wish somebody had told me when I was starting out. It will take some time for you to adjust your schedule no matter how much of your time you commit to your website, so if you hit a few bumps along the way, don’t get discouraged – that’s just part of doing something new.


Like this article? Check out more here!

Candy Coma

Words: 1,122

Wee!Chesters


“You can not where that.”

Sammys’ face fell, and he took the dollar store fangs out of his mouth, “B-but why?”

“Pfft, what do you mean why? Because we-” Dean caught himself. He took a moment, raking his brain for an acceptable excuse, and gestured vaguely at the costume, “It’s… y’know…”

The youngest frowned and looked down at himself, hands tightening into fists around the cape, “It’s the only costume we have.”

“Sorry, Sammy, it’s just…,” he strode a few paces to one of the beds, trying to swallow down the guilt he was feeling, “Dad would freak if he saw it.”

“Why?”

The blonde flopped himself down, starring at the ceiling while letting out a heavy sigh, “Cause, Sammy he just…” how am I supposed to explain this without telling him? “… doesn’t like Halloween.”

“But why?”

“Because he just doesn’t, okay?” Dean waved a dismissive hand toward his brother, “Now, go… do whatever it is you do.”

His brother cast his gaze to the floor, hands wrapping the cape tighter around himself, “But you said we could go Trick Or Treating.”

Dean ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it, damn it, “I don’t know if I want to go. I’m tired.”

“… You said we could finally go this year.”

“I know, and now I’m saying I don’t wanna,” he paused, lifting his head to look at his brother, “It’s not like the people here will have candy, anyway.”

“But… but,” the disappointment in his brothers’ voice pulled at his heart strings, “You promised!”

Dean shook his head, flopping it back against the pillow, “I know I promised, but things change,” he sat up, “Did you really think Dad was gonna let you go anyway?”

The youngests’ eyes were brimming with tears, bottom lip quivering. His brows creased in anger, hands falling away from his cape, before he stamped his foot, “Fine!” and made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Dean rolled his eyes and got off the bed, padding over to the bathroom, “C’mon, Sammy, don’t be like that.”

“Go away!”

“Sammy-”

“Leave me alone!”

Dean crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to the door, “What’s your plan here, exactly? Lock yourself in the bathroom and miss Halloween altogether?”

“… It doesn’t matter!”

The blonde closed his eyes and failed to swallow the lump in his throat at his brothers’ tone – it was obvious he was crying. He sighed before turning his eyes to the clock, 7:30pm, he knocked softly on the door, “Dude, if you don’t come out of there you are gonna miss it. It’s already seven-thirty.”

“I don’t care!”

Dean huffed in annoyance, “Fine! Stay in there all night, then! See if I care! But when Dad gets back, you’re gonna have to explain to him that I stayed behind and we didn’t end up going out!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!” The blonde stomped away from the bathroom, grabbing his coat off the bed, “If you’re just gonna stay in there all night,” he stomped to the motel door, hand on the knob, “then I’m gonna go out and have some fun! Alone!

 

 

Stupid Sammy, Dean kicked at a rock as he walked down the street, why does he have to be such a brat all the time? He crossed the street, taking out a cigarette, and lighting up, he should’ve known- Deans’ head whipped up as he heard the familiar rumble of the Impala, shit, he stamped out the cigarette as the car came into view.

He turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could back to the motel, praying to whoever was up there that he’d be able to beat his father home.

 

 

“Sammy?” Dean burst through the door, thanking his lucky stars his dad stopped at that convenience store, eyes immediately scanning the place for the mop of messy brown hair. “Sammy?” His heartbeat was in his throat as he searched the small room, not finding his brother. Shit-shit-shit-shit, where would he be? He knows better then to go out alone.

He surveyed the area, making sure his brother wasn’t there, before turning back to the door, surprised to hear a key in the lock. Damn, that was fast. What the hell am I supposed to tell Dad? He backed up a few steps, stealing himself against the giant as the door opened.

“Sammy?”

The brunette beamed at his brother, struggling with a large pillow case, that was practically overflowing with candy, “Look, Dean! I got so much!”

“That, uh, that’s great, Buddy,” Dean eyed the pillow case, eyebrows shooting up as he saw full-sized chocolates, “Where did you get these?”

His brother dumped the candy out over one of the beds, not looking up, “Here.”

“Here?” Dean was confused, he didn’t think people at the motel would’ve had candy.

Sammy shrugged without looking up, “Yeah, they felt bad because I had to go Trick or Treating alone… and since a lot of them didn’t think they’d get kids here, they had to give me candy out of the vending machine.”

You clever little… Dean whistled, impressed with his brother. He went over to the bed, looking over everything he’d got, “You’re one smart kid, you know that?”

Sammys’ grin widened as he climbed on the bed, beginning to sort out his candy, “I know.” Dean reached for one and was surprised when his brother slapped his hand away. At the look he gave him, the brunette shrugged, “You didn’t come with me, you don’t get any.”

“Wha-?” Dean eyed the pile, going to sit on the edge of the bed, “You can’t seriously- ”

Just then, John burst through the door, looking pissed. He was almost caked in mud from head to toe. He sighed heavily as he kicked the door closed, carefully taking his jacket off. He kicked off his boots before glancing at the boys, eyes widening as he saw his youngests’ spoils.

“Wow, Sammy, you did good tonight, huh?” John glanced at the other bed, pausing, “Dean… you didn’t get any candy?”

Dean shrugged, trying to calm his beating heart, “I’m too old for that, Dad.”

“Oh…” John gave a half smile before moving to the bathroom, turning the shower on.

“Can’t I just have one?” Dean leaned over the bed, doing his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Hmm,” his brother brought a hand to his chin, pretending to think, “Nope.”

“Dude, c’mon. There’s no way you can eat all that by yourself.”

Sammy picked up one of the bigger chocolate bars, not breaking eye contact with his brother as he took his time taking the wrapper off, bringing it to his lips, mischievous grin on his face, “Watch me.”


Like this fic? Check out more here!

The Tattoo Killer

This years’ Halloween fic, enjoy.

Words: 3,027


He wiped at the skin one final time, turning his tattoo needle off before inspecting his work. He nodded to himself, perfect. He placed the needle down, before wiping his hands with the rag, moving over toward the sink, half-turning to the girl in the chair, “Let’s get you prepped.”

 

 

“Where is he?” The detective burst through the door, eyes immediately going to the board.

Randy, his next in command, shook his head, eyes not meeting his boss’, “Had the right location , but it looked like we missed him by about an hour.”

“An hour?” The detective scrubbed a hand down his face, damn, “Do we have any leads on a connection?”

“Not yet, but Jims’ working on it.”

Frank nodded, “Good,” he turned from the board to face the other man, “Go get started on tracking down a back-up location. This guys’ on his way to becoming a serial killer, and I’d rather nab him before that.”

Randy nodded before rushing out the door. Frank eyed the board, you’re not getting the satisfaction, fucker.

 

 

“No, please!” The blonde thrashed against the straps pinning her to the chair.

“Sh, sh, sh,” his expression softened as he pet her hair, “Don’t worry, beautiful, I’m not gonna kill you.”

She stopped struggling and glared at him, “Then why am I tied to a chair?”

He tsk-ed before getting up, moving to the tray that held his tools, rearranging some of them, keeping his back to her, “I have something much more special planned for you.”

“Special?” She craned her neck, trying to get a look at the tray in front of him, “W-what are you gonna do to me?”

“Nothing…” he turned from the tray, opting to sit on the stool in the corner, “yet.”

 

 

How are you choosing them? Frank starred at the board, eyes roaming over the descriptions of the two vics – with the exception that they were both women, they couldn’t be more different – different eye colour, hair, height, weight, nationality, social status – everything. He brought his coffee cup up to his lips, why can’t I see it? he went to take a swig, looking surprised when he found it empty. He sighed as he got up, going over to the small kitchenette in the corner, they’re never actually random, there has to be something they have in common. He poured another cup, replacing the pot before heading back to the board, eyes catching as he passed one of the desks. Wait, he picked up a picture of one of his men, eyes instantly going to the tattoo that peaked out of the top of the shirt.

He immediately charged back to the board, eyes roaming over the autopsy photos, while he dug his phone out of his pocket.

“H’lo?”

“Tattoos.”

“… huh?” He heard Randy stifle a yawn, “What time is it?”

“I found the connection,” his eyes were glued to the two girls photos, “each vic had a tat – that’s how he’s choosing them.”

“What kind? A rose? Snake? Butterfly?”

“They’re different pictures,” he studied the photos carefully, “but something about them must bother him. That’s the only connection.”

He heard a sigh on the other end of the line, “Well, it’s not exactly like we can round up every woman who has a tattoo and bring her to the precinct.”

“Any chance Jim is still here?”

“At 3a.m.? I doubt it. But look, Frank, the guys’ not gonna-”

Frank pulled the phone away from his ear, groaning as he watched the low battery sign flash before the screen went black. Shoving it back into his pocket, he studied the pictures of the women, looking between the two tattoos, what am I missing?

 

 

She huffed out a tired sigh, why is he just sitting there? She tried moving again, not surprised when she was met with the binding force of the straps holding her down. I have to find a way out of here, she rested her head against the chair, starring at the ceiling, what am I supposed to- her eyes caught on a drip in the corner of the room, would that work? She turned her eyes back to him, would he buy it?

“E-excuse me, Sir?”

He didn’t bother to turn, rude, “I was just wondering… since we’re not doing anything… do you think I could go to the bathroom?”

“Bathroom?” His back straightened, hands stopping whatever they were doing.

She failed to swallow the lump forming in her throat, “Y-yeah. Y’know, a bathroom? Usually has a toilet and sink?”

He half turned, “Why would you need to go to a bathroom?”

She rolled her eyes, “Gee, I don’t know,” he swerved his stool around to face her, eyes dark, her heart skipped a beat, “I-I need to pee.”

His eyebrows went up, as if he’d never considered that before, this guy kidnaps people and straps them to a chair but doesn’t know what to do if they need to pee? He nodded to himself before getting up, coming over to where she was bound. He grabbed a pair of handcuffs off the tray, before beginning to undo the straps. I can’t believe he’s actually buying this, her heart sped up, beating harder against her chest, now all I have to do is time this right… She chewed her lip as he undid the straps, carefully placing a knee on her as they fell.

“Hold up your hands.”

She complied, getting her good first look at the room as he clicked the cuffs around her wrists. Her eyes immediately went to the tray, hoping for a weapon, but finding small bottles of paint and a needle, is that… tattoo supplies? Her eyes went to the table against the opposite wall, it was littered with drawings, was he… gonna tattoo me? What the fuck?

He roughly grabbed her by the elbow, hoisting her off the chair before pulling her toward the door. They entered a hallway, and she instantly felt the temperature drop, wind, she looked to her left and saw a ladder resting against the far wall, please let that be a door. He shoved her into a small bathroom, standing at the entrance before looking at her expectantly.

She reached for the door, but was stopped by a hand on her wrist, his expression stern, “The door stays open.”

“I can’t pee if you’re watching.”

He rolled his eyes before turning around, so he was facing out into the hall, “Better?”

“Hardly.”

“If you don’t want to pee I’ll just-”

“No! No, it’s fine,” she went over to the toilet, sitting on it, “Just… don’t look, okay?”

“I promise.”

She kept her eyes on him, as she gathered her hair on the top of her head, wrapping it up in a secure bun. Now the hard part, she turned on the seat, carefully lifting the lid to the toilet tank up, don’t drop it, don’t drop it, she got it into her lap and sighed in relief. Okay, she got up, steeling herself against what she was about to do. She could swear she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Doing her best to keep her breathing even, she got up from the seat slowly, tiptoeing back up to the man, thanking her lucky stars that she had decided on flats that morning.

“I don’t hear any-”

She swung the tank lid at his head, meeting it with a sickening crack. He stumbled forward, hands instantly going to his head. She side-stepped him, hitting him again as he blindly tried to grab for her before she tore off down the hallway, aiming for the ladder. Keep going, keep going, she was panting as she went, practically leaping up the first few steps of the ladder. She climbed up as fast as she could, thankful when she saw it did lead to a hatch door.

She turned the handle and pushed, boulder dropping into her stomach as it didn’t budge. No… c’mon! She turned the handle again, pushing harder against the hatch. No! She began pushing on it with all her strength, hearing the footsteps of him behind her, c’mon, please! Open you stupid thing! Tears began streaming down her face as her chance of escape vanished.

Hearing footsteps approaching, she began getting desperate, slapping and punching the metal of the hatch, willing it to open with every fiber in her being.

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?”

She felt his hand wrap around her ankle, as she wrapped her hands around the handle, white-knuckling it. He chuckled before yanking her foot away from the ladder, her other foot blindly kicking out at him.

She kept her eyes glued to the hatch, “Help! Help me! Please!”

He pulled her downward again, this time her grip on the hatch loosening, sending her falling down the ladder. No! She began kicking and punching at him, as he pulled her back to the floor, tears streaming down her face.

“Sh, sh,” He wrapped her up, pulling her into his chest from behind, keeping his voice low, “Don’t cry, Doll,” he began rocking her gently from side to side.

She could feel the blood dripping off his face begin to soak into her shirt as he held her, unable to do anything but cry.

“Aw, Babe…,” he reached one hand up to pet her hair as he lifted her, walking them back toward the room she’d woken up in, “Did you really think it was gonna be that easy?”

 

 

“Theresa Mack, 23, found this morning.”

Frank watched as Randy pinned the newest victims’ picture up to the board, knuckles white around the edge of his desk.

“EMTs found a tattoo of Pinocchio sitting on a toilet on her palm.”

“That’s an interesting choice of ink,” Jim chuckled.

Randy turned to Frank, “It was fresh.”

Franks’ eyebrows raised, “What do you mean it was fresh?”

“EMTs estimate the tat was done after death.”

“There goes our theory of him targeting women with tats,” Jim sighed, throwing a file down onto his desk.

Franks’ eyebrows disappeared into his hair, why would you tattoo them after?

“Daddy!”

Frank turned, seeing his daughter run toward him, wife hesitating in the doorway, “Hi, Princess.”

She gave him a toothy grin and all but flung herself at him, squealing in excitement as he picked her up.

“Jim, can you take her to get some food?”

“Uh, sure,” he stood, walking a few steps toward the kitchenette, “C’mon, Kiddo.”

“Pocho!” She grabbed the picture of the third victims’ tat off her fathers’ desk.

“No, Sweety, that’s not,-”

“Bad!” She waggled her finger at him, before bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Sorry,” Jim took her by the hand and led her away.

Frank rubbed his chin, I wonder… “Pinocchios’ nose grows when he lies, right?”

Randys’ brows knit together in confusion, “Yeah, why?”

“What if…,” Frank rubbed his chin, “What if he’s tattooing why he killed them?” At the blank stare he kept going, “Pinocchio could be a symbol for lying, so maybe he killed the third vic because she lied to him about something. What were the other vic’s tats?”

“Uh,” Randy flipped through the file, “First vic had a broken lock over her heart, second was a clock on her wrist.”

“Hmm, so what if the first vic broke his trust somehow?”

“That’d be one hell of a ballsy move, tattooing why he killed them… do you think he’d be that brash?”

“Sir!” Tim burst into the room, looking excited, “We just cracked the first two vics’ phones, they used the same dating app.”

Frank and Randy exchanged a look, “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Tim took a breath as he handed over the file, “Jane just confirmed it.”

“What do you wanna bet Theresa used the same one?”

Frank tried to hide his smile, “Get Jane to set up a fake account, so we can finally catch this fucker.”

 

 

“Are you sure about this?”

“We’ll be with you the whole time,” Franks’ voice came out of her earpiece as she looked around the restaurant.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

“Time to earn your stripes, newbie.”

Jane turned to see a tall man, blonde hair, blue eyes, standing by her table, “Are you Jane?”

She nodded, standing to shake his hand, “And you are…?”

“Lucas,” he pulled her into a hug, inhaling deeply before letting go to sit down.

He’s already creepy, she plastered a smile on her face and flipped open the menu, “What looks good?”

“Hmm,” he opened his own, eyes skimming the pages, “Perhaps the lobster?”

Jane laughed, “On a first date? Isn’t that kind of,” she paused at the look he gave, “… expensive?”

He raised an eyebrow before reaching into his breast pocket, throwing down a gold credit card, faint smile on his face, “Moneys’ not a problem.”

Jane glanced at the card, keeping her expression as calm as she could, “… Are you married?”

“Of course not,” he narrowed his eyes at her a bit, “why would you ask that?”

Abigail Lawrence,” she picked the card off the table, “That is a womans’ name, no?”

He blinked in surprise, before breaking out into a smile, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck in attempted embarrassment, “Okay, you caught me. It’s not mine.”

“So…,” she placed it back down on the table, “You’re not rich?”

Lucas shook his head, not meeting her eyes, “I was just trying to impress you. To be honest,” he looked around the restaurant at all the other people wearing evening wear, squirming a bit, “All this high class stuff makes me uncomfortable.” He eyed her for a moment, before reaching across the table to take her hand, “Do you wanna get out of here? I know a great pizza place a few blocks away.”

She felt her heartbeat quicken as she nodded, “Sure.”

They left the restaurant, and she shivered. He immediately slid his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders, leaving his hands on her as they walked.

“So,” she took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her voice, “what do you actually do?”

“I’m a tattoo artist.”

“Really? Wow, that must be nice. Creating art.”

“Eh,” he kicked at a rock, eyes on the sidewalk, “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m not that good.”

“Every artist I know thinks they suck, I’m sure you’re work isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah?” He gave her a sideways glance, “I actually don’t live that far from here. Would you maybe wanna… see some of my work?”

“Oh, uh,” she pretended to fix her earring, as she adjusted her earpiece, “I’m not sure.”

“Do it. We’ll be outside the whole time.”

“I understand,” he frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets looking disappointed.

“Actually?” She placed a hand on his arm and did her best to keep her skin from crawling, “I’d love to.”

His expression lit up like a kid on Christmas, giant grin splitting his face, “Great, it’s just over this way,” he pulled her into an ally.

“Whoa, what uh,” she lightly pushed against his chest, “What’re you doing?”

“You think I can’t tell?” His expression changed, growing dark as he reached for her earpiece.

“What? No, that’s not what you-”

“Shut up!” He back-handed her, throwing the earpiece on the ground before stomping on it. He wrapped his one hand around her neck, getting impossibly close, evil smile twisting his features, “Now I’m really excited to show you my work.”

 

 

Jane came to, head pounding. She tried to get up but was barely able to get an inch off the chair before she felt the confines of the straps. She rolled her head to the side, seeing Lucas hunched over a table against the farthest wall, back to her.

“… Is this the part where you kill me?”

He swiveled around on his stool, brows’ knit together in confusion, “Kill you? Why would I kill you?”

She surveyed the small part of the room she could see, raising an eyebrow, “Is this not the room where you killed the others?”

“Yes but,” He huffed, turning back around, “They didn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“They couldn’t see that-” he cut himself off before turning back, small smile on his face, “Ooohhh, you’re a bad girl. Trying to get me to open up?” He got up from the stool, closing the distance between them, petting her hair, “Your tricks aren’t going to work on me.”

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” she looked down at her body, “since it doesn’t look like I’ll be doing much for a while.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he raked his eyes across her body, “We’ll be busy soon enough.”

A loud bang from above made them both jump, cloud of dust coming out from the ceiling.

“What the hell was that?”

Lucas poked his head out the door, eyes going wide before locking it closed, rushing over to the chair, undoing the straps that bound her.

Her heart leaped into her throat, “W-what are you doing? What’s happening?”

“Sh,” he grabbed her roughly, pulling her off the chair, leading her towards the back wall. He pulled her to his chest, grabbing a knife off the shelf before spinning around to face the door, holding the knife to her throat, “If you scream, you die. Understand?”

She swallowed thickly, nodding while blinking back tears. Frank burst through the door in the next instant, gun drawn.

His eyes swept the room before they landed on the pair, gun pointing at the maniacs’ head, “Drop the knife!”

“Drop your gun.”

Frank went to take a few more steps into the room, stopping when Lucas shook his head, pressing the knife against her throat harder, “Ah-ah. Come any closer, and she dies.”

Frank furrowed his brows in concentration, knuckles white around the base of his gun, “Let her go.”

“Aaaww, but this one is sooo pretty,” Lucas eyed the detective, before pressing a kiss to her cheek, “You sure I can’t keep her?”

“Drop. The. Knife.”

“C’mon! Where’s your sense of-”

Bang!


Like this story? Check out more here!

Chicken

Written: 18.09.28-18.10.05

Words: 1,486

Gen., Human!Cas


“You have to have pie!” Cas grabbed the cashier by the collar, nearly pulling him over the counter.

“I-I’m sorry, Sir,” the cashiers’ voice shook, “This close to Thanksgiving nobody has any left.”

“I need pie!” Cas’ grip tightened around the collar, cashiers’ eyes going wide in fright.

The teen swallowed thickly, eyes darting around, “Y-You could always make one.”

Make one? Cas thought for a moment, could I make one? He turned narrowed eyes back to the teen, “How?”

“There’s pie filling in Aisle Two,” at the continued stare, the cashier pointed behind them, “I-I’m not sure if we still have pie shells, though.”

Cas’ grip tightened more, “I can’t just serve them pie filling!” he hesitated for a moment, “… Could I?”

“If you wanted to.”

The raven-haired man dropped the cashier against the desk, breathlessly, bee-lining for the aforementioned aisle. Pie filling… pie filling… where is-ah! Cas’ eyes widened at all the different cans, blueberry, cherry, pumpkin, apple? Why are there so many?

He turned angry eyes to the cashier, “Why are there so many?”

The cahsiers’ eyebrows knit together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Cas huffed in annoyance, “Which one do I pick?”

The cashier shrugged, taking a few steps toward the backroom, “Whichever flavour you like.”

I don’t know which flavour’s his favourite… he glanced at the clock on the back wall, and I’m running out of time! He swiped his arm across the shelf, knocking all the cans into his basket, I’ll just get all of them.

Okay, he threw the grocery bag down on the counter with a huff, starring into it with a mounting panic, what do I make first? He eyed the pie filling and the pie crusts, does pie take longer? He began lining all the cans out on the counter, starring over the flavours, I’ll start with these so I have time to perfect them for Dean. He grabbed one of the cans, placing it inside one of the shells, looking confused, that’s not how the picture looks… He picked the can up to inspect it. Upon shaking it, he heard a squishing, cheeks going red at his embarrassment even though he was alone, of course… it’s inside the can! He pulled a knife from a drawer, stabbing the top of the can – frowning when it didn’t open. He tapped the knife on the lid of the can again, sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air, how the hell…?

His eyes drifted slightly downward, toward the paper on the middle, he smirked as he turned the can on its’ side, taking the knife to the paper. The paper fell away from the can in a few slices, only to reveal more metal underneath, much to Cas’ dismay. The whole can is metal?

Huffing in rage, he grasped the can firmly in one hand and began sawing into it with the knife, using all the strength he could muster, “I… don’t…have…time…for…this.”

The Winchester brothers’ made their way through the bunker door, ears perking at the struggling noises coming from inside. Dean wiped blood from his eye as he nodded to his brother, the pair separating with their guns drawn, preparing to sweep the bunker. Fresh from a hunt, they were both still on high alert for any threats – even on Thanksgiving they didn’t get a break.

They moved into the hallway, where the grunting noises were getting louder. They stopped on either side of the kitchen doorway. Sam looked to his brother, holding his breath. At his brothers’ nod, they entered the room, raising their guns and startling the ex-angel.

“Cas?”

They lowered their weapons as they saw the kitchen island, full of food. There were about ten pies lining the kitchen island, used as a make-shift boarder around different dishes holding vegetables, and a giant hole, assumed to be the place for the bird in the ex-angels’ arms.

Cas put the roasting pan on the table, giant smile splitting his face, what’s on his face? before he threw his hands up in the air like an over-excited five year old, “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Cas,” Deans’ voice was careful, hand out like he wasn’t sure what to expect, “What uh, what is all this?”

“I made you Thanksgiving dinner!” The raven-haired man took the oven-mitts off and untied his apron, gesturing to the stools set at the island.

The brothers’ shared a look as they approached the island cautiously. Sam took a stool, eyes roaming over the holiday spread, “Why uh… what made you decide to cook?”

“I thought you could use a good holiday memory,” he smiled as he handed each of them a beer, “y’know, instead of having somebody die.”

Dean snorted, taking a seat only when the youngest shot him a look, “Well it, uh, smells… great.”

Sams’ stomach grumbled almost as if on cue, cheeks going red as he looked over the table with a small smile, “What would you recommend we start with?”

Cas gestured to the bird in the middle of the table, “The main event, of course.”

Dean looked skeptical – it’s still pink for Christ sake –  but made his way around the other side of the island to grab the carving knife. He tilted his head to one side as he eyed it, “This looks pretty small for a turkey… how many pounds was it?”

“It didn’t say.” At the brothers’ look, he went to the garbage, pulling the container out, “See?”

Dean snorted again, shaking his head as he read the container, “Cas… this is a chicken not a turkey.”

“… Oh.”

“I’m sure it still tastes great,” Sam raised an eyebrow at his brother, who was clearly trying to keep his laughter in.

“Yeah, I bet-” Dean cut himself off as he pushed the knife into the bird, being met with semi-frozen resistance, it’s not even cooked.

Dean looked up at the two men from the bird, boulder of guilt settling into his stomach as he took in the ex-angels’ fallen face, he looks like someone kicked his puppy.

“Dean?”

Not usually one to spare someones’ feelings, Dean shook his head, “Nothing, I’m sure it’s great.”

He used as much force as he could to dig into the semi-frozen bird, doing his best to keep a straight face as he placed the piece onto a plate.

“Here ya go, Sammy. First piece,” he handed the plate to his brother, praying he didn’t need to cut another.

Sam eyed his brother but accepted the plate. He took his knife to it, instantly realizing it was frozen, he opened his mouth before catching the look his brother was giving him. Reluctantly, Sam popped a piece of frozen bird into his mouth.

Cas’ face lit up slightly, “How is it?”

Sam moaned around the piece, nodding his head, “So…” he turned away slightly, doing his best to not spit it out, “so, good,” he gestured to Dean, “You should try it.”

“Nice try Sammy,” the blonde pushed the roasting pan slightly away from him, pulling over one of the pies, “You know I like my dessert first.”

Deans’ eyes caught the paintbrush sitting on the edge of the island, he… painted the pies? He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, as he starred at the pie he pulled over, why would you paint it? Sighing, he plunged his fork into the middle, suppressing his cringe as the crust bent easily under the force, didn’t we show you how to use the oven?

“So, Cas,” Sam thankfully piped up, “Why did you make so many pies, anyway?”

The raven-haired mans’ cheeks flared red, and he adverted his eyes to the ground, “Well… I didn’t know which would be your favourite… so I bought all of them.”

Of course you did, Dean closed his eyes, boulder in his stomach growing. He slightly shook his head as he tried to cut raw dough with his fork, doing his best to make it look like he wasn’t struggling.

“Wow, Cas that’s… that’s really nice, thank-you.”

“Of course, you’re family.”

Damn it, Dean felt a tug at his heart strings, finally ripping the dough enough with his fork to get a piece, “Yeah, Cas, that’s… not necessary.”

He popped it into his mouth, fighting off his gag reflex. He chewed it, teeth clenching at the doughy texture, I can’t believe he actually ruined pie… The blonde swallowed it down, body shuddering as it made it’s way down.

“I can’t wait till next year!”

Dean nearly choked on his pie.

Cas’ face lit up with an ear-splitting grin, looking between the brothers’, “Yeah! I can cook while you two are out hunting.”

The brothers’ exchanged a look, before Dean shook his head, “I don’t think so, buddy.”

Cas’ face fell slightly, “But… why?”

“Cause next year?” Dean took another forkful of pie, slingshotting it at the ex-angel, “I’m cooking.”


Like this fic? Check out more here!

Friggin’ Siblings

Wee!Chesters

Words: 851


Sammy shrieked and pulled his t-shirt down over his privates as his brother burst into the bathroom, “Dean!”

“Sorry Sammy, but I just ran a whole mile and need to shower,” the blonde hopped around the small room in front of the tub, struggling to get his pants off.

“But I’m already in here!”

“I have to shower before Dad gets back, I get to help him on a hunt today,” he threw his pants behind him as he jumped in the tub.

Sammy growled as they landed on his head, this isn’t fair. He got off the toilet and washed his hands, before leaving the bathroom. Stupid Dean, he climbed up on his bed and took out a book, ‘I get to help on hunt’ ugh. He couldn’t of waited five more seconds? He begrudgingly started reading. He heard his brother start singing at the top of his lungs. He made a face, before struggling off the bed, padding over to pound on the wall.

“Dean!”

His brother just started singing louder, dang it. Sam huffed, before going back to the bed, are all brothers’ this annoying? Or did I get a special one? He starred at the wall, trying to think of a way he could get even with his brother.

Just then, their dad came in, he strode over to the first bed, gruffly throwing his duffle down, while sliding another out from under it.

“Where’s your brother?” He threw a few different things back and forth between bags, not bothering to look up.”

“H-he’s in the shower,” Sammy watched his father in part fascination, part worry.

John zipped one of the bags closed before tossing the other one back to the floor, kicking it back under the bed.

“Is everything okay?” Sammy couldn’t tell if his dad was scared or pissed.

The eldest wretched the door open, pausing a moment to finally look at his son, “I leave in five minutes.”

With that, he was gone. Sammy blinked, did he want me to tell him? His eyes drifted back to the bathroom door, Dean did want to go… Sammy sat on the bed, torn. On the one hand, Dean seemed really excited to go on a hunt, on the other, hunting was dangerous. Sammy had seen how badly some hunts could go, and it was more often then not that they both had to play nurse to John afterward. He didn’t even say what he was hunting… His eyes flicked up to the clock on the wall. He sighed before getting back off the bed, knocking on the door.

“Don’t tell me you have to go again already!”

“No, Dean, I-”

“You really need to get that looked at!”

“Dean, stop, I’m-”

“Maybe when dad gets back he can take you to the doctor. That is not natural!”

Sammys’ hands balled into fists at his sides, “Dean!

He stormed back into the bathroom, giving the shower curtain a death-glare.

“Sammy, what the hell?” A bottle of shampoo came flying out from behind the curtain, “Get out!”

“No! I-” The youngest cut himself off as the shampoo landed in the toilet, giving him an idea.

I know how to get him out. His face twisted into an evil smile and he tried to hold back his laughter.

“Seriously, dude, what the hell?”

“Sorry Dean,” he did his best to hide the giggles he felt, his fingers sliding down to the toilet handle, “I just forgot something.”

“Forgot something?” The blonde poked his head out from behind the curtain, taking in his brother and where his hand was placed, eyes going wide, “Don’t you dare!”

“Oops!” Sammy pushed as hard as he could down on the handle, before walking back out to the room with his chest puffed, grinning ear to ear at hearing his brothers’ scream.

“I’m so gonna get you for that!”

Sammy climbed back up on the bed, sliding his book back into his lap as he heard the water turn off. A second later, his brother came storming out, towel wrapped around his waist, eyes nearly slits. He looked up from his book as if nothing happened, “Oh, hi Dean.”

The blonde grit his teeth and started toward him, when John came back through the door. He gave his eldest a once over before rolling his eyes, “Going on your first hunt in that?

“Uh, no, Sir, I uh…” Deans’ eyes darted around the room and his cheeks flared.

“You have two minutes,” John all but slammed the door behind him.

Dean ran over to the bed Sammy was on, yanking his duffle out from underneath it, throwing clothes out behind him like a madman.

“Where is it? Where is it?” He dug through the duffle for a moment longer before pulling out a plain black t-shirt – that looked exactly the same as the other four that were on the floor behind him.

He dressed quickly, hopping around as he pulled on his shoes. He went over to the door, pausing in the doorway as he noticed his brother was still giggling.

“This isn’t over.”


Like this story? Check out more here!

Top 5 Pros/Cons of Working From Home

You don’t have to get up early every morning, deal with rush hour, you’re your own boss, you get to work on your schedule. What could be better, right?

Wrong.

It’s not all sunshine and good times. Working from home is actually a giant pain in the ass. It’s one of those things you love-hate. On the one hand it can get pretty stressful/hectic, especially because you’re trying to do everything, but on the other there is no way in hell you would trade the stress for a ‘regular’ 9-5. I’m not saying it can’t be great, but there is much more to it then what meets the eye.

Below are my Top 5 pro’s/con’s of working from home:

#1: You’re Your Own Boss

This is absolutely the number one best and worst thing about working from home. Being your own boss means you don’t have anybody to answer to. Sure, this means that if you forget a deadline you won’t get yelled at, and you have the freedom to move said deadline to whatever you want. But the flipside is: you have no one to answer to.

Nobody’s going to hold you accountable for missing a post, not writing an article, skipping a day because you’re bored/lazy/just don’t want to. There’s nobody else writing articles for you, scheduling your social media – basically nobody’s there to save your ass. If you aren’t doing it it’s not getting done. No matter how much you wish it would do it by itself, you have to dedicate a bit of time to everything in order to keep things running. And, trust me, when you really sit down and start trying to plan all the things you want to accomplish, things can get stressful very fast. I’m not saying it’ll all fall apart and all your readers will leave if you miss one post, but they’ll at least be disappointed if it doesn’t come.

Think that doesn’t apply because you’re just starting out and don’t have anyone looking at your stuff? Not quite. If you’re just starting out, sure it can be tempting to not post if you don’t feel like it because nobody’s watching, but if you want to grow and get people to start looking at your stuff, you’re gonna have to post at least somewhat consistently.

#2: It’s Hard To Detach

Another big con is that since you’re already home, it might take you longer to get out of Work Mode. Also, since you work from home, even when you do decide to relax/shut it down for the night/take a day off, the temptation is always there, and you might find yourself feeling guilty during your days off for ‘slacking off’. It’s tempting to say, ‘my laptop/notebook, etc is just upstairs/in the other room, I should be working, not wasting time doing nothing.’This is something I’m certainly guilty of.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m a writer or what, but I always feel like I’m ‘on’ anyway, whether it’s scanning crowds of people for character descriptions, accidentally listening a bit too hard to that conversation on the subway for a funny line I could put in a story, or running over whatever plot-line I’ve been stuck on when I’m supposed to be not thinking about work – I feel like writers/singers/artists are in a weird state of limbo between working and not working that ‘regular people’ just don’t understand. Our jobs while amazing, make it hard to truly turn off Work Mode.

We’re constantly scanning our life for inspiration, which makes it hard to truly be done at 5pm like most other jobs. Most other jobs you go to the office, work on whatever and then punch out at a certain time. For artists that’s not really an option. It also makes it hard to find the line between ‘I’ve worked enough today’ and ‘I should be cramming as much work as I possibly can into each day because I work from home’.

Is there any fix for this? Not really. It’s always gonna be hard to detach from work, but one thing that might help is trying to put some sort of organization/structure to your work.

For example, I post on my website every two weeks, on Fridays and Mondays, so I try to break up my weeks like this:

Week 1 (Non-Post Week)

  • Search for/work on freelance work
  • Begin new articles/stories for next week
  • Finish at least 2 (other) short stories/articles (to throw in The Vault [so their ready for other weeks])
  • Work on upcoming novel/books
  • Think/Begin new designs for merch
  • Schedule posts for social media (usually done on weekends)

Week 2 (Post Week)

  • Make sure article/short story for this week are done
  • Schedule posts for respective days
  • Finish merch design/s from previous week and add to store
  • Keep working on/finish other short stories/articles from last week
  • Schedule social media posts

If you give yourself some sort of structure like this, it should help ease your guilt when you decide to call it a day, because then you can at least say you ticked off everything you wanted to get done. If you organize everything you need/want to get done, it can also help manage your stress, instead of trying to do everything at once, once you write it all out, you can sort it into whatever you feel are your top priorities and work on those first.

And, this of course you should make sure to schedule days off for yourself as well. I like to keep it simple, and stick with having the weekends ‘off’. (I do ‘easy’ stuff on these days, like photoshop) You can’t constantly be working all day every day – seriously, look it up, it’s bad for your health. Make sure to cut yourself a break every once in a while. You’re the boss, you’re allowed. (Just don’t give yourself too many days off)

#3: Ignoring The People Around You

In this same line of reasoning, with it being hard to detach, it’s not just hard on you. The people around you can feel jaded when you’re constantly blowing them off to work, or, if they work all day, come in and you’re still working. It can feel like you’re actively ignoring them in favour of work. While that might not be your intention, it can (and will) start to wear on those around you if you can’t find a dedicated ‘stopping time’.

I personally have had conversations with the people in my life about this issue. Now that it’s been brought to my attention, I try not to do that, but it’s not always that simple. Sometimes it’s hard to stick to my self-imposed ‘quitting time’, especially if I’m on a writing roll, or, if it’s someone’s day off. That’s when I feel really guilty.

Also, I feel like sometimes they assume since you work from home and you can do it whenever, (especially when you’re just starting out) and they might not see why it’s so important this thing gets done on a certain day. Stick to your guns on this. Sit them down and explain why this is important, and what you need from them first.

While it’s tempting to give in, it’s also important you talk to the people around you so they understand exactly why you have to do things the way you say, and why it’s important you don’t skip the work days.

#4: You Can Focus On What You Want

A giant plus of being your own boss? You get to push your blog/business in whatever direction you want. You want to write about why puppies aren’t really that cute? You can. Why ‘not all men’ say ___? Go for it. You don’t really like cake? Sure, that works too.

One of the biggest pro’s is that you don’t have to write/focus/dedicate your time to someone else’s vision/dream – it’s all you all the time. Whether or not you’re 100% sure of where you’re going doesn’t matter, as long as you’re pushing forward.

Nobody likes writing about a topic they don’t like (or worse, have the opposite view-point on) and working from home gives you the freedom to write what you want, how you want.

#5: You Can Work In Your PJ’s

Definitely one of my favourite things in life is getting to get up and not have to wear any uncomfortable ‘work’ clothes to get my sh*t done. Nobody sees me so if I don’t wanna get dressed? No problem, I can type in just about anything, pj’s included.

I don’t recommend doing this all the time, but every once in a while it’s nice to literally roll out of bed and then get to work. I usually do this once every few Fridays, since it’s the end of the week, it’s kind of like my version of Casual Fridays. It also helps to get some of the stress of the rest of the week out of my head. Pj’s are comfy, so they fit perfectly with the ‘do some work’ vibe I get on Fridays, instead of the ‘try to do everything in the universe’ of the rest of the week.


Like this article? Check out my other Writing Tips!

Project: Soak

Written: 18.09.06

Words: 1,207

Gen.


“Cas, duck!” Dean spun around, firing off a shot in the space the angels’ head had just occupied.

The blonde dropped to his knees behind the rock, reloading, man, they are relentless!

Cas crouch-ran over to where the hunter was, “We’re surrounded!”

“You think I don’t know that?” Dean craned his neck to look around the rock, pulling back as a shot was fired in his direction, he scanned the half of the park that was behind them, why are parks always so open?

He saw a lone tree a few feet away from them, is it big enough to hide both of us? He turned to Cas, who was hiding completely behind the rock, head between his knees, gun laying on the ground next to him.

Why do I bother? The blonde shook his head and tapped him, pointing, “See that tree? We’re gonna run to it. Think you can manage?”

Cas starred blankly at the tree for a second before nodding, “We’ll fit there.”

In the next instant, the two men were behind the tree. Dean blinked, head spinning from the sudden movement before turning to Cas, bewildered and slightly queasy, “You can still teleport?”

The angel looked at the hunter like he was stupid, “Of course.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Do you know how useful that would’ve been-” he cut himself off, shaking his head, “You know what? It doesn’t matter.”

Dean peered around the trunk, noting the two men were still heading toward the rock they were just behind. Good, maybe now we’ll have a bit of time to- “Cas!” Dean knocked the gun from the angels’ hand, “What the hells’ wrong with you?”

“What?” Cas frowned, looking like a child, “You gave me the gun!”

“You weren’t supposed to shoot from here. You just gave away our position,” The blonde checked around the trunk again and, of fucking course, the two men were running full speed toward them.

“Can you teleport us out of here?”

At the lack of response the blonde turned to the man on his right, you’ve gotten be kidding, “A butterfly? Really, Cas?”

The angel held up his finger in triumph, “They’re endangered, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know they’re-” Dean huffed, chancing another look around tree, mentally cursing as the two men were nowhere in sight. He turned back to the angel, “Can you teleport us out of here?”

The angel turned surprised eyes to the hunter, did he forget I was here? He sighed before gently blowing the butterfly off his finger, “Wouldn’t that be cheating? You said not to use my powers.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Now you listen? Okay, look,” he checked around the tree, men still nowhere in sight, “it’s not cheating if we don’t have any other options. And since we’re cornered-” a shot hit the tree, nearly hitting Dean in the head. He let out a whistle and shot back, “anytime you’re ready, Princess.”

Cas’ brows furrowed for a moment before he sighed, placing his hand on the hunters’ shoulder.

Deans’ knees buckled against the ground as they landed. He looked around, no longer hearing the sounds of the park, home? He sighed and turned to the angel, “Damn it, Cas!”

“You’re welcome,” the angel slipped his trench-coat off on his way to the kitchen.

“Cas,” Dean rolled his eyes, following suit, “You weren’t supposed to take us out of the park – just out from behind that tree. To a better vantage point,” Dean went over to the fridge, inspecting its contents, “You just made us lose.”

The angel let out a sigh, “I don’t understand that game.”

Dean shook his head as he began pulling things from the fridge, of course you don’t, “Me and Sammy used to play all the time when we were kids. We finally had a day off, I figured we could both use something distracting.”

“But…” the angel chewed his lip a second, tilting his head to the side slightly, “you shoot to kill all the time, how would play shooting your brother be a distraction?”

“It was fun, Cas,” He closed the fridge and moved to the island where the angel was sitting, “Y’know, fun? You’ve had to of heard of it in all the hundreds of years you’ve been around humans.”

“…It wasn’t fun,” He picked at a chip in the table, “You were being mean.”

Dean sighed, exacerbated, “I wouldn’t of been so mean if you’d just-”

“You guys left mid game so you could cook?” Gabriels’ voice made both parties jump and turn to the doorway.

“We left because we wanted to leave you two with some of your dignity,” Dean began chopping vegetables, “I mean, you were losing against Cas.”

“Pfft, please,” Sam plopped down at the island next to the angel, “We were kicking your asses.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, Sammy,” the blonde turned to the stove, grabbing a pot and throwing the veggies in.

The giant rolled his eyes before running them over the ingredients displayed on the counter, “You’re making Pasgetti?”

Dean twirled back around to the island, nodding proudly, “Best meal after any hunt.”

Cas looked between the two, obviously confused, “But you weren’t-”

“Just go with it, Cas,” Gabriel took the last seat at the island, “It’s good.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at the other angel, “How would you know?”

“Pfft, please, who do you think taught her the recipe?”

The Winchesters’ jaws dropped and they both turned to the angel in unison, “What?”

Gabriel smirked, “Oh yeah, me and your mom go way back.”

“You son of a bitch, if you ever-”

“Relax, Dean-o, I don’t mean that. We were friends for a long time. Tried teaching her all kinds of recipes, but, well…,” he looked between the two humans before shrugging, “Some people just can’t cook.”

Dean eyed the angel, “You’re lying.”

Gabriel held up his hands in mock defence, “Believe me or don’t, either way, I’m the reason you two exist at all so…”

“Okay, now I know you’re definitely lying,” Dean turned back to the stove, angrily stirring the pot.

“Oh c’mon, you two already know your parents’ being together was part of heavens’ Almighty Showdown. Who do you think convinced Mary to go on a second date with the Neanderthal mechanic?”

“He’s right,” Cas didn’t bother to look up from the chip he was digging at, “Dad made sure an archangel was sent to watch over them, since it was such an important task, and we all know Michael and Lucifer couldn’t be trusted…”

The brothers’ shared a disbelieving look before Dean smirked, “You taught Mom the recipe?”

Gabriel nodded proudly, “Yep. I must’ve made it with her over a hundred times. She couldn’t quite match the awesomeness of the original, obviously.”

Dean nodded, “Okay, so… you wouldn’t want any of this then, since it’s not as good?”

Gabriel stopped himself mid-mod, mouth opening slightly in shock, “W-well, I-” his eyes narrowed at the hunters’ smirk, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh no?” Dean half-turned from the pot.

“Of course not,” Gabriel touched a finger to the pack of spaghetti on the island, winking at the other two men as it disappeared, “Kicking your ass really works up an appetite.”


Like the story? Check out more here!

Face to Face

Inspired by the lyric: He’s not the only one who had a secret to hide – left the secret at the grave (Carrie Underwood – Two Black Cadillacs)

Words: 988

Started: 17.07.20

Finished: 18.08.22

Sabriel, Destiel


“Oh my God.”

“I had to,” Cas’ voice came from somewhere behind him.

Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from the burnt remains of wings that were spread across the floor, what did you do?

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t know what else to do.”

The blonde closed his eyes and took in a breath, his heart breaking at the pain in the angel’s voice, “It-it’s okay, Cas.”

“He didn’t give me a choice.”

“Cas, it’s okay,” Dean swallowed thickly as his eyes landed on the face of the body, “You don’t have to explain.”

“I didn’t-”

“Cas,” he turned to face the angel, hoping he was doing a better job of masking how freaked out he was than he felt, “let’s just get you home.”

“But Dean-”

“Cas, it’s fine,” he closed the small distance between them and pressed a kiss to his lips, “Trust me, okay?”

Cas gave a sheepish nod before allowing himself to be pulled towards the exit, “What are we gonna do?”

Dean let out a breath as he held the door open, “I have no friggin’ idea.”

“Hey, what took you guys-” Sam’s question died on his lips as he took in the expression on Cas’ face, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” Dean came through the door, keeping a guiding hand on Cas’ back as he stood there, eyes not leaving the ground.

“Are you sure?”

Dean held up a hand and shook his head. Sam nodded and shut up, confused eyes not leaving his brother.

Dean rubbed the raven-haired man’s shoulder a bit, “why don’t you go lay down for a while? I’ll come in to check on you in a bit, okay?”

The angel nodded meekly and headed off to his room, eyes not leaving the ground as he passed the younger hunter. Dean starred after him until he heard the door to his bedroom close, then he returned his gaze to his brother.

“Dean, what the hell happened?”

Dean gave his brother a once over, feeling a boulder settle into his stomach, how in the hell am I supposed to tell you?

Sam took a step closer, noticing the look in his brothers’ eye, “are you okay? Did something happen?”

You’d never forgive him…

“Dean?”

“He…” the blonde swallowed thickly, feeling the boulder grow, maybe you don’t have to know all of it, “he killed an angel.”

Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair, “he what? How did… what do you – What happened?”

The elder let out a sigh and made his way to the couch, “I don’t know.”

“What?” he followed his brother, “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” he flopped down on the couch and closed his eyes, “I walked in after whatever happened, happened and just saw him standing there.” Over his body.

“He didn’t say anything to you?”

“No, Sam, he just stood there looking guilty as hell.”

The younger brother – thankfully – went quiet for a moment. He pulled a stool over to sit in front of the couch, running a hand through his hair. Dean sighed in slight relief, no more questions, please.

“A-are you sure it was an angel?”

Dean held back a snort, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Well, maybe… Maybe it wasn’t. It could’ve been someone else.”

“It was an angel, Sammy,” Dean ran a hand down his face, leave it alone, Sam.

“How do you know?”

“Just…” He got up, how the hell am I supposed to tell you? “trust me, I know what a dead angel looks like.”

“It could’ve just been a vessel, or maybe-”

“It was one we knew! Alright?” Dean blinked as the words left his mouth, eyes going wide, shit-shit-shit-shit.

“One we knew?” Sams’ eyebrows knit together, “Who was it?”

“Sam…”

“Dean.”

The blonde rubbed a hand at the back of his neck in nervousness, swallowing thickly, forgive me.

Sam let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair, “Fine, if you won’t tell me who… can you at least tell me why?”

“All he said was that he had to do it.”

“I just…,” Sams’ eyes focused on the hall where Cas disappeared, “I can’t believe he killed an angel and wouldn’t tell us what happened.”

“Yeah, well, he probably,” Dean got up, “he probably just doesn’t know how to explain it. We both know what it’s like to kill someone we didn’t want. It’s messy.” He watched the gears in his brothers’ head turning, don’t over think it. “I should go check on him.”

Sam nodded, still clearly distracted trying to work out what happened, “Yeah, okay.”

Dean eyed his brother, “Maybe you outta head home?”

Sam blinked, coming out of whatever scenario he was imagining and finally looked at his brother, “What?”

“Look man, I’m not gonna lie, you look like shit,” at the snort he continued, “That hunt wiped both of us out. I was just gonna crash anyway, no point in you sticking around if we’re both sleeping.” Please, take the hint and leave.

Sam stood, stretching his back out a bit and stifling a yawn, “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He checked his watch, eyes widening, “2:30am? Gabriels’ gotta be worried sick.” Sam started toward the front door, turning around in the doorway, “You’re sure you won’t need me?”

Dean nodded, leaning against the door, “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t wanna take care of two babies tonight.”

Sam chuckled and nodded, “Alright, fine. Night.”

“Night,” the blonde closed the door, leaning against it while he breathed out a sigh, shit. He slid down the door, resting his head against it, I’m sorry, Sammy.

“Dean?”

His head whipped up in the direction of the bedroom, “Y-yeah, Cas,” he cleared his throat, “I’ll be right there.”

He got up and headed for the hall, scrubbing a hand down his face as he switched gears, he’ll piece it together when he gets home.


Like this story? Check out more here!