It Takes Two To Have Hardcore Sex

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Name's Dean Winchester.
I'm an Aquarius; I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky men and women. I also have an erotically codependent relationship with my younger brother, Sam, and an angel of the lord.
Have a hunt for us? Feel free to leave details for us so Sam doesn't have to spend hours researching nearby 'freaky accidents', even if he does like that kind of stuff.

Saving People, Hunting Things
{ The Family Business }

A Hunting Carol and Christmas Morning

(Link to the Beginning and Masterpost)

(The Ghost of Christmas Past is a Son of a Bitch)

(Death is Going To Gank Dean Over Chocolate)

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Reblogged from alvara

alvara:

An Angel They Were Made For is a Supernatural RP verse created by Sam and Dean. Our verse is written as fanfiction and takes hunts and questions from both of our asks and blends them into the story. If low on asks, Sam and I will typically come up with a hunt on our own, even though we love a full ask box.

Our verse supports Wincestiel as an overall theme, but we are a ship friendly zone. 

The current characters we have are only Sam and Dean claimed though we do use other characters currently for story purposes. We don’t mind if you drop a ask as another character. We might actually love it.

Come roleplay with us. We don’t bite. Although, Dean might try to get in your pants. Ouch, I was joking, Sammy!

Dean Winchester◘       ◘Sam Winchester

Death is Going To Gank Dean Over Chocolate (Part Three)

(Link to the Beginning and Masterpost)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

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"Hey! You can’t just leave me there, damn it! Where’s Sam?!"

"You don’t have to shout." Dean blinked the darkness slipping away and leaving them in Bobby’s living room once again, their feet landing exactly where Death had taken him in the first place. "I ended his suffering as quickly as I could then he refused to go with Tessa. Apparently, Sam in 2014 would rather turn into a vengeful spirit and stay with his brother than die peacefully. He said, oh, what was it now, ‘Dean would blow his brains out without me and I can’t let him do that’. How touching. He usually comes with us, after a little protest, of course. It’s never easy to reap you Winchesters."

"So what? You really didn’t give me any time to figure out the damn moral lesson or some crap you wanted to teach me!" Dean nearly growls, the only thing stopping him being the fact that Death could strike him down at any moment he pleases.

"I have other matters to attend to. Unlike you, I don’t have countless hours to wander about in other timelines." Death straightened himself before moving closer to the couch, leaning casually on his cane and looking as if he was anxiously waiting for someone to arrive. "My friend should be back with Sam soon. He should be unharmed…or at least I told her to leave him unharmed. Tends to have a mind of her own, that one."

"He better be." Dean breathes, letting his shoulders sag a bit now that he had more space between him and the horseman. He swallowed, letting his nerves of the entire situation settle at the muted sound of Bobby still snoring upstairs. "So…what was the lesson?" Dean asked, shaking his head slightly at how the only thing he really saw was how shit the future was going to be if he didn’t do anything about it.

"My, you really are blind." Dean’s brow furrowed at the insult, "So many have pointed it out and yet you still ignore it. You," Death raised his cane to point directly at Dean before setting it back in its place beside him and sighing dramatically, "are far, far too dependent on those around you. Your brother, the older hunter upstairs, your little angel friend. Take it from me when I say it is going to kill you in the end. It’s starting to be an annoying little pattern no matter the timeline. You are always the last to greet me for the last time and I do so hate having to find all the shattered pieces to reap."

"Why do you care what I do with my life?!" Dean moved forward, attempting to intimidate Death being one of his more idiotic ideas but he was getting sick of being talked down to.

"I don’t." The horseman leveled him with an intense stare, freezing him in his steps. "You are nothing but a bacteria to me. Irritating and persistent, but a bacteria no less. I am doing this to ease the future burdens you inflict on me. Honestly, I’ve never met a brat so attached to his family since Lucifer."

Dean gaped at the comparison before his gaze twisted into a glare. He opened his mouth, about to rip Death a new one when a large bright flare of light invaded the room, a small giggle following it while Dean covered his eyes in an effort not to be blinded. He blinked back the spots on his vision, trying to see through the light just as a surge of darkness echoed beside it.

"And with that, I must take my leave. I promised Cinnamon a trip to the 1920’s and she gets so impatient when I make her wait."

"Oi, watch it, grumpy."

Dean took a step back as the mixture of darkness and brightness flared out again before vanishing with the pair of voices, leaving him standing in Bobby’s living room, trying to blink his vision back to normal after the ache of staring into the opposites of the light spectrum at the same time. He shook his head from the forming headache behind his eyes, finally glancing around the room to make sure he really was back in his time.

The log in the fire place was still nearly coals and the lack of light outside the windows meant that it hadn’t been nearly as long as it felt. The added comfort of Bobby’s snoring upstairs and Sam sleeping on the couch put him more at ease.

Dean did a double take at the couch, his heart leaping up into his throat at the sight of Sam back and unharmed on the couch as he quickly moved over to run a hand through the long mess of brunet hair on his brother’s head, ignoring how much relief swept through him that Sam was alive. He sighed softly before pulling his hand away reluctantly and moving towards the kitchen, feeling like Bobby would understand if he broke out another bottle of liquor from the older hunter’s stash. He enjoyed the burn of the rum he cracked open, figuring he could get away with another few shots as he let Sammy sleep off whatever that blinding light had done to him. If only so he could sit and watch his brother for a while, remind himself that he wasn’t the Dean trapped in 2014 who had lost so much.

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(The Ghost of Christmas Past is a Son of a Bitch)

Death is Going To Gank Dean Over Chocolate (Part Two)

(Link to the Beginning and Masterpost)

(Part One)

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"Dean! We have to go!" One of the men now sitting in the passenger’s seat of the jeep yelled out, the rest of the group already loaded and waiting for him, well, future him. "We can’t risk wasting gas!"

"I know!" The black clad Dean shouted back, not moving his aim from his target, "Head back to base, I’ve got clean up."

"But what about-?" The future him turned his head a bit, still keeping his eyes locked unmoving from him and his trigger finger ready.

"We can’t help him. Just get back to the damn base! Make sure you aren’t followed."

A moment of hesitation stretched before the jeep roared to life again and sped down the road, ignoring the Dean pressed up against the side of the deli as it reared around a corner and in the direction of where Dean had arrived. The cock of the gun echoed in Dean’s ears again before he turned back to himself, tensing nervously as he walked up the broken street until he was only a few feet away and backing Dean into the corner with his gun.

"Glad I caught one of you. I was hoping to have a little chat." Dean swallowed as he recognized that tone and the look in his eyes from when he was in a more of a mood to torture and kill than figure out why there was a copy of him walking around.

"Look, I know who was in the back of that jeep and I know I wouldn’t be in my right head right now, but I have no idea why the hell I’m pointing a gun at myself." Dean said, raising his hands up in surrender as his older self only glared at him sharper.

"He just fucking died because of you! I highly doubt mentioning him will gain you any brownie points with me!" Dean saw the tension increase in his own shoulders, his trigger finger twitching with the urge to shoot as his eyes cut into his own. He pressed himself back into the wall, honestly wondering if he really had enough issues to shoot a past version of himself.

"Dude, if you shoot me, you’re gone. I’m you, you idiot!"

"Yeah? I see a lot of me nowadays." He paused, glancing to the side for a moment before shrugging a bit. "I admit that sounded better in my head." His future self adjusted his grip on the m16, noticing Dean’s eyes watching the gun warily. "You’re the first Leviathan scared of a gun I’ve run across. Not going to rip out my guts like you did Sam."

"It really was him?" Dean felt his chest clench again, watching as his older self mirrored the hurt he felt before his expression hardened again. "Damn, what happened?" The sound of a gunshot and a bullet piercing through the wall beside him shocked him as he watched the m16 adjust to aim straight for his chest. "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! I’m not a whatever-athan, alright! And I know it’s a touchy subject. I know!" Dean nearly sighed in relief when his trigger finger relaxed just a tick. "Death brought me here and won’t let me leave until I do some damn thing here. I was hoping getting shot wasn’t going to be one of them."

He watched himself pause for a moment, eying him from head to toe before letting go of the gun with one bandaged hand slowly and reaching towards his belt. His older self drew a knife from the mess of ammo packs and survival gear attached to his belt, tossing it to Dean’s feet before returning his grip to his gun. He nodded downward at the knife, watching Dean with sharp eyes as he slowly bent down and picked up the rusted knife before raising his hands back in surrender to his future self.

"Cut your palm and show it to me." The older Dean ordered, watching as Dean looked at him sceptically for a moment before placing the sharp edge of the rusted knife in the same place the bandage on his left hand was on his future self. He winced as the ridged edge bit into his hand, knowing that there was a large chance of the now bleeding cut getting infected from the unclean blade. Dean let the blood pool for a second before lifting it up for himself to see, the red liquid flowing down his wrist easily. The m16 dropped to his side, an exhale leaving both their lips as they relaxed finally.

"So Death’s teaching ‘lessons’ now, huh?" Future Dean glanced across the bridge cautiously before moving to sit down on a pile of rubble about waist high beside himself. "Good to know this might change." He raised his eyebrows shortly as if slightly surprised at the twist in events before lifting a hand up to rub across his brow. "No offense, but now’s not a great time to sit down and talk about how the world’s gone to shit."

"I can see that…What happened over there?" Dean motioned over to the bridge with his head, keeping his eyes trained on how he looked a lot more worn out and older here than he expected now that he wasn’t aiming a gun at something.

"Got jumped. Jackson was long gone when I told him we were heading through a hot zone. Tried to get to Dick and find some way to end this." Dean leaned against the deli, resting his shoulder against the brick as he stared across the bridge instead of his past self. "Lost sight of Sam in the chaos then everything went quiet so I knew something was wrong. He was probably…dead when we found him. James helped me drag him back." Dean bit the inside of his cheek, opening his mouth before closing it and opening it again. The clench in his chest still refused to ease as he swallowed around the tightness in his throat.

"What about Cas? Couldn’t you call him down to bring Sam back or something? He’s an angel. They do crap like that everyday." He looked up from the ground to met his own eyes, shocked at the amount of grief that was in them as he watched himself stand up from sitting like the world was weighing heavy on exhausted shoulders. He pulled the heavy bag hanging from his back forward, resting the m16 on the rubble as he zipped it open and fished inside it, watching the worsening grief on his own face as he pulled a bundled up fold of cloth and threw it at Dean’s chest. Dean caught it, the worn fabric feeling familiar as he lifted it up and noticed the faded shade of beige.

"Dude, please, just shut up. You have no idea what I’ve gone through these past years and I hope you never do."

"But…" Dean couldn’t wrap his head around it all, forcing the coat back into his older self’s hands like it would burn him if he held it any longer. It was taking all he could to lash out instead of crumbling at the thought of Sam and Castiel being gone in the future. "But we stopped the damn apocalypse. This shouldn’t have happened!"

"We stopped the apocalypse, yeah, I get it! You don’t think I’ve been telling myself that for the past three years. Saying it doesn’t change anything. Cas’s gone! Bobby’s dead! And I just loaded up my brother’s corpse into the back of that fucking jeep! You don’t think I know?!" His older self yelled loudly, suddenly throwing the beige coat he tightly held onto the ground, the wet pavement making a distressed slash before Dean watched his own face fall as if he had just shot someone who didn’t deserve it. "Damn it." He whispered softly dropping down to the ground and carefully pulling the cloth from the thick puddle below them, swallowing the lump that was clearly stuck in his throat as he observed the polluted water that now stained the collar. Dean swallowed as well, really hoping that he wouldn’t understand the sorrow and guilt behind the mirror of his green eyes.

"You kept it. Why’d you keep it?" He asked, grasping for anything he could, for a reason he couldn’t pin.

"You wouldn’t?" Dean watched himself snort in disgust as his future self stood from kneeling on the ground, calloused hands gripping the now wet trench coat with the soft regret of tarnishing its worn surface.

"I would, but there has to be a reason why we kept it. And you know I’m not one for all that mourning sentimental crap." His older self snorted softly in amusement, fondly turning the fabric around in his hands as he slowly squeezed the water out of it.

"Maybe because I always hoped he would come back." He watched himself look away from the trench coat, knowing he was hiding his face for a reason. "And stay back."

"That seems like a long enough trip, don’t you think?" Dean watched his future self’s eyes widen while looking behind him, a hand suddenly grabbing his shoulder and yanking him backward. He stumbled again, the unending blackness swallowing away 2014 as he shouted in the darkness.

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(Part Three)

Death is Going To Gank Dean Over Chocolate (Part One)

(Link to the Beginning and Masterpost)

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Dean stumbled through the darkness that had suddenly engulfed him, grimacing when he finally found solid but wet ground. He lifted his leg from the large puddle suddenly at his feet, the bottom of his jeans soaked through up to the middle of his calf as the darkness slowly receded into a dank alley way. The sky was thick with polluted clouds over head, not a star visible in the darkness of night. Dean glanced around as the blackness dissipated entirely, a lump forming in his throat at the familiarity of the ruined buildings around him.

"No, no, no, no, no…" He glanced around the buildings around him, the city looking like it had been bombed out and deserted just like it had when Zachariah took him here the first time. There was just as much graffiti and rubble if not more and the air was stale and sickly in his lungs, making him cough violently on his first few deep breaths of it.

"Surprised that the apocalypse following through isn’t the only way this future is possible?" Dean turned around, Death standing a few feet away from him admiring the torched apartment building next to them with faux interest before casually turning his gaze to Dean as if the world hadn’t just become hell in a hand basket in the time span of a minute.

"This shouldn’t still be here." Dean shook his head desperately, running his eyes over the post apocalyptic surroundings again like if he stared hard enough it would all melt away like a sick joke. "We changed this. What the-What year is it?"

"2014. Same as the last future you passed by. And honestly, it’s surprising even to me that it’s still in this condition. I was expecting far worse." Death lifted his cane, pointing in the direction behind Dean before setting it back down and giving the hunter a deadpan look. "Now hurry up and get going. I haven’t got all night. I would take a side trip to Belgium while I wait, but the country was obliterated in the Leviathans’ release of the last remnants of the Croatian virus." Death gave him a pointed stare, giving Dean the feeling that if he wasn’t on Death’s somewhat-okay-maybe-not-quite-good side, he wouldn’t be breathing right now, "I blame you entirely for my lack of Holiday chocolates."

"What’s a…" Dean swallowed, wondering if he was pushing his luck now that he had indirectly annoyed Death himself, "What’s a Leviathan?"

"You’ll see. Just watch your friend’s head when the time comes." Death lifted a finger up, tapping at his temple calmly for a moment before letting it drop. "Now, get moving. I have the feeling someone might need me to reap them here soon. You wouldn’t like that." Dean blinked before realizing that he was now alone in the alley, nothing but the rubble of the fallen city around him.

"Wait!" He shouted into the stale air, taking a few large steps forward and scanning the entire alley for the horseman before swearing under his breath. "Son of a bitch. Why does everyone do that?!"

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Dean ignored his frustration at being left alone in the hellish nightmare of 2014 once again after taking out his rage by yelling at the spot Death had stood in the alley for a minute. After, he decided to take a look deeper into the city in the direction Death had pointed him, knowing that if he ever wanted to get back to his own time and kick the ass of whatever took Sammy away, he was going to have to play along with this future. Then again, with the way things were turning out, that damn knocker could have trapped him here for who knows how long. He walked blindly through the city, trying to stay in the direction Death had pointed him toward as the streets only grew more war torn the closer he came to downtown.

A sudden rain of gunfire echoed a block away from him, making him tense and remember Death’s words about feeling the need to reap someone soon. Dean took a breath and ignored the urge to cough immediately after before changing his course to where a bent street sign said was the Missouri river. A few more shots were fired as he moved closer, catching sight of a few men and women crowded around an old jeep. A woman was crouched in the driver’s seat, attempting to hotwire the car and get it in motion as the other three provided cover fire for two men carrying someone over the bridge while under gunfire themselves. Dean stayed back, half hidden by the rubble of a deli as he watched them regroup, a woman helping the men load up someone that he swore had their guts held in by duct tape. The woman crawled into the back of the jeep, obviously the more medical savvy of the team as she checked examined the large wound before checking for a pulse. Dean felt something clench in his chest when he noticed a mop of eerily familiar brown hair on the injured man, the knot forming there twisting tighter as he recognized the clothes and the long lanky legs clad in blood drenched jeans.

He jumped when he heard a loud bang accompanied with a crack of glass, looking over to see that someone had just slammed their fist into the side window of the jeep. The man pointed at the injured man again, Dean just hearing the end of a shout that he guessed was ‘check again’. The woman did but just shook her head again as Dean’s throat clenched shut, watching as the man swore loudly and cocked the m16 in his hand before moving out of cover and shooting an entire clip angrily at the other side of the bridge. He loaded another in, being stopped by one of the men gripping his gun and pointing it down at the concrete, shouting that ‘they ceased fire’.

It was silent for a moment, who ever had been shooting across the bridge gone from sight now. The woman behind the wheel yelled excitedly, the jeep roaring to life under her hands before one of the men called for them to move out. The man who had broken the jeep’s window raked a hand through familiar brunette short hair, nodding and moving back to the jeep to close the back door reluctantly and hide the dead man lying in the back from view. Dean shifted against the wall of the deli, jumping when one of the loose bricks fell from the crumbling building and smashed against the sidewalk loudly. He looked up from it to see the m16 trained on him now, his eyes widening at the familiar face that mirrored his own looking down the sight.

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(Part Two)

A Hunting Carol

The sky outside was pitch black, dark clouds blocking out the stars as the South Dakota weather took a turn for the worst. Blistering snow storms and cold northern winds left the Impala’s engine stalling, making Dean raise a fuss over leaving his baby out in the snow the night before. Bobby had been nice enough to let them stay, probably wanting the company over Christmas even though the boys had another hunt to get to on Christmas day. Still, that left tonight, Christmas eve in Bobby’s living room with the fireplace heating the air around them into a lazy evening.
Sam was passed out on the couch from the last few shots of eggnog Dean mixed, one fourth eggnog and three fourths rum might have been a bit of an unbalanced ratio but no one ever seemed to complain, out loud at least. He was breathing heavily from sleep, making Dean smile warmly as he clicked off the rerun of a Christmas special they were halfheartedly watching, standing from his chair to grab a blanket from the back of the couch and toss it over his sleeping brother.
He took a long sip from his own glass of eggnog, licking the flavor of the rum and spice as he wandered over to the fireplace to toss another log into the dwindling flames. The cool wood crackled loudly as it met the heat of the fire, cracking and popping loudly before the edges caught a blase, lighting the dim room brighter in a warm glow.
Dean was about to join Sam back on the couch to catch a few hours of sleep as it started to fade into early morning already, until another bright glow caught his eye, this time from the shelf to the left of the fireplace. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam, the younger hunter not noticing the subtle change in the rooms lighting from the warm glow of the fire to the ethereal green glow coming from a small jar sitting eye level on the shelf.
Dean recalled Bobby mentioning it, something about a job near Pierre and coming across an old relic. He didn’t know what it looked like until now, the bright green glow burning away the blessed priest’s ashes it was buried in, revealing a lion shaped stone knocker with rough black engravings across it’s smooth surface in an unknown language Dean couldn’t even begin to recognize. Bobby hadn’t mentioned it being dangerous, the books he found just describing how to seal it in a priest’s ashes to prevent some strange poltergeist work that ties itself to the stone. They assumed it was a cursed object if anything, following the scripted ritual to seal it but apparently that hadn’t been enough.
Dean walked towards it, too tired to search for the hole they missed in the ritual at this hour. Instead, he grabbed a bottle of holy water from a drawer in Bobby’s desk, unscrewing the lid before dumping the entire thing into the eerie glow. He smirked as the glow flared out before swallowing itself back into the stone, resting in a thin pool of holy water at the bottom of the now empty jar. Smug that he had effectively shut off the annoying glow, Dean turned back to put the bottle of holy water away, forcefully stopping himself from colliding with the solid chest of the black and white clad figure standing directly behind him.
"Another night of your company. You seem to be making a pestering habit of this, Dean."
Dean froze, eyes going wide before he took a step back to give the horseman more space, nearly stumbling into the bookcase behind him.
"Death? Wha-?"
"Relax, Dean. I’m not here to reap anyone." Death merely blinked at him, seeming just as pleased as Dean was with being there. He glanced around Bobby’s living room, ignoring Dean’s confusion and panic as he picked up the cup of rum and eggnog. "It seems I have been tethered to you yet again. There goes my pleasant evening." He sniffed the contents of the glass, looking it over with slightly disdainful eyes before setting it down and meeting Dean’s wide eyes for the first time since his arrival. "Well, shall we? I would rather be in Belgium than here, trust me, but I might as well get this tedious task out of the way."
"Whoa whoa, wait! What task? What the hell is going here?" Dean pressed his back against the bookshelf, hearing the books shift and one fall from the top shelf as he moved away from Death’s raised hand. "I’m not going anywhere without-" Dean glanced over at the couch, distracted by a flicker of what could have been someone dressed in white before he blinked and the room was empty save for him and Death. "Sam?!"
Dean tensed as he tried to push past Death to get a better view of the room, a cold hand grabbing his arm and yanking him to the side before the entire room went black to him.
The fire in the fireplace burned low in its embers, no one in the living room to tend it as the only sound other than its soft popping was that of Bobby’s snoring upstairs.

(The Ghost of Christmas Past is a Son of a Bitch)

(Death is Going To Gank Dean Over Chocolate)

The name’s Dean Winchester.

I’m an Aquarius; I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky men and women. I also have an erotically codependent relationship with my younger brother, Sam, and an angel of the lord.

We’re here to save people from the things that hide in the dark. You know, all those little things your mom and dad used to tell you weren’t under your bed or in your closet, well, sorry to be a downer, but they’re real. My brother and I hunt them and during the process, we usually save people like you from a rather gruesome death.

Sometimes we get a little ‘heavenly’ help along the way, but Cas hasn’t been answering us for a while…

Anyway, If you need some help or, hell, if you want to help us, feel free to contact us.