my stories

The problem, of course, is that when he thinks about guys, he's not really thinking about guys so much as he's thinking about Dean.

"Layla Rourke, are you flirting with me?" "If you have to ask, maybe you're not as bright as I thought."

Growing up sucks.

"You mean, we need to behave like adults and take responsibility for our actions and their consequences?"

River longs for things she didn't know she wanted, and doesn't know how to have.

Sam wakes up one morning, and it's as if he's living the life he'd always dreamed of having. There's just one small problem.

"Out of all the passengers Kaylee could've signed on, why'd she gotta pick nuns? Ain't it bad enough she saddled me with a shepherd?"

"You're definitely one of mine, Dean Winchester. In ways you don't even realize yet."

He tells himself that the line he's crossing can be redrawn, slightly over the edge into fucked up, and isn't that where they've been living anyway since Mom died?

This we were, this is how we tried to love, / and these are the forces we had ranged within us / within us and against us, against us and within us.

Sam keeps him talking, as if he needs to hear Dean's voice as much as Dean needs to hear his.

She's a hundred miles south of Duluth, heading someplace warm, when the phone rings.

Tyra had been a towheaded little tagalong with a sassy mouth and a nose for trouble. Given the circumstances, it looked like that much hadn't changed.

He'd like to blame the whiskey, but he thinks it's more than that, this whatever-it-is between them that's been there for years.

Dean's never been one to ignore reality, especially when it's hitting him in the face like a sledgehammer.

The more she thinks about it, the more she knows she can't just pretend she doesn't know.

Sam's been dealing with Dean his whole life, has known how to change no into maybe into yes since before he could talk.

It's enough that she's there, that she smells clean and holds his hand even when his palm's all sweaty and disgusting.

In which Dean and Faith fuck, and Sam has an existential crisis.

Tyra's the only one who doesn't want anything from him.

Megan doesn't cry when she gets the news.

He's needy and desperate and angry about it, as if he can fuck them both back to life.

In which there is beer drinking, carol singing, and references to nun debauching.

For years, Danny had gotten away with being somewhere in between.

"Happy birthday," he says, leaning in so he can be heard over the music. "It's my birthday, too."

She wonders what he'd say if she told him she knows who he is.

"I gotta tell you, sweetheart, despite having Miss Cleo here as a sidekick, I'm not really a big believer in destiny."

"Don't you have family, Sam?"

Dean gets the uneasy feeling he could be looking at himself in twenty years.

"I know you only want me for my car." "She's a beauty, all right."