weeping-angel-in-a-trenchcoat:
AU idea: Dean and Cas are two world renouned serial killers, and begin a game of cat and mouse, leaving each other messages in their victims, winking/waving at each other on security cameras. Eventually, it’s going to come to a head when they both pick the same victim; Sam Winchester.
I NEED THIS, NOW
Ok, I don’t read a lot of fanfic because most of what I’ve seen is shippish, and I don’t ship…but this…I’d read this. Hm…
#i actually think that this is kind of a theme of the whole show#like when dean was in the hospital after the end of s1 #sam believed that john could find a way to fix things and that dean would be ok #when dean sold his soul for sam#sam believed that he could save dean from hell #when the seals started breaking#sam believed he could stop it #that kind of blind faith—that he could make things right in a way they never were for him—that he could make things right for his brother #sometimes they worked out #sometimes they didn’t #but when sam was the only one who really believed that he could save the world by saying yes to lucifer#by becoming the very thing that always terrified him the most #he overpowered the devil through his faith and love #and that is rooted right here in this s1 episode#and it’s beautiful #;akdjf;akdj i love sam winchester so fucking much
Texas had a big personality and was known to be a big talker, but since the war had officially ended he had little to say outside of grand standing and acting far more adamant than he felt. He wanted to look strong and defiant despite the internal realignments going on within which shook the Lone Star State to his core.
Texas knew what happened to rebellious underlings who failed to escape their nation. Though he had few encounters with Spain, he remembered the marks he had left on Mexico when the former colony rebelled only decades ago. He remembered Don Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla’s decapitated head hanging from the granary of Guanajuato as a warning to all the Mexican colonies to remember their place. Back then “Tejas” had been weak compared to his siblings and useless aside from running to Louisiana for illegal aid. Back then Tejas had wanted so badly to be strong enough to help Mexico, the nation he inevitably turned his back on not long after escaping from the Spanish Empire… The State of Texas was strong now. He knew he was strong, but apparently not strong enough.
How many would hang this time because he wasn’t able to defeat the Union? How many more would hang this time because he wasn’t strong enough to stop the factions warring for control of the so-called New South? Though the war had supposedly ended, blood continued to be shed in extreme outbursts of violent riots and raids which his militias either ignored or failed to contain. Even when he mustered the strength or will-power to try policing his territory, his own factionalism crippled his ability to stop his people from murdering each other. Truth be told—and he certainly did not want to deal with the truth—Texas hated the North only about as much as he hated himself.
No one had been left unscathed within the South regardless of their actual participation in the Confederacy. Not that it mattered; even Kentucky, Maryland and Delaware were treated no better than actual rebels and if they objected to the treatment then they were accused of sympathizing with the enemy. Texas couldn’t begin to imagine what they had been through during the course of the war anymore than he could imagine what Tennessee and Virginia felt as the states most heavily scared by battlefields. Perhaps he didn’t want to know and that might be why Texas was grateful that Tennessee didn’t seem terribly inclined to talk about it, either. Even so, he felt like it was his duty to ask and at least make himself available to his friend.
“Hey… You holdin’ up alright?” Texas asked softly as he finally looked up from his whiskey at the State of Tennessee who had practically made the stairs of the White House his home since returning to the Union.
“Fine,” Tennessee said and was silent for a moment before seeming to rethink being aloof from the friendly Texan. “… Just thinkin’ ‘bout Maryland’s new favorite song. I figure he’s got a few anger issues.” Texas almost choked on a laugh. God, he had practically forgotten how to laugh, but sometimes Tennessee said the darnedest things.
“Maryland, My Maryland, right? Shit, when I first saw that poem printed in New Orleans I had a feelin’ he’d like it,” Texas said with a chuckle. “If he’s so adamant Lincoln was a tyrant then I don’t see why he didn’t up an’ leave to join the rest of us.”
“Tyrants are pretty easy to find on either side of the Mason-Dixon Line,” Tennessee suddenly stated in a soft but firm voice and Texas quickly stopped himself from saying more. He watched as the Volunteer State’s hackles rose at the mention of tyrants and secession. It took a few moments of silence before the younger state seemed to realize Texas meant no harm and relaxed again. Even so, the Texan had to take a long sip of whiskey while mentally kicking himself for forgetting that Tennessee’s factionalism went way beyond his own and secession had almost literally split him in two. Though Texas convinced himself that sending the Confederate army to invade and occupy Tennessee’s eastern lands to prevent the split was in everyone’s best interest, he had a feeling that his old friend most likely didn’t see it that way.
“… How’re you doin’ anyhow?” Tennessee eventually asked.
“Fine… Fine, I guess,” Texas said and allowed another drawn out silence to extend far past the point of comfort. He squirmed and wished he had the capacity for silence that Tennessee did and finally turned to his friend with a frown. “Aw, you an’ I both know that’s horseshit! Neither of us are fine!” he growled in frustration before throwing himself on his back with a loud huff. “Nothin’ is fine and Maryland, My Maryland is evidence of that, ain’t it? We all got anger issues! I’m pissed an’ your pissed an’ we’re all pissed, but don’t know what to do ‘bout it except fight with no one to fight with no more aside from ourselves!”
Tennessee grunted out a sound which was neither an affirmative nor an objection to Texas’ analysis of their circumstances. There was something festering beneath the violence and paranoia that had gripped their region and it seemed like no one could come to terms with what to do about it. Fatalism had long since told the Tennessean that trying to change things usually made them worse, and this just proved it once again. Everyone had their own fate and there was nothing which could be done about that but try to suffering through the inevitable while making the best out of a bad hand. There was no sense getting bent out of shape over it. He just didn’t want to argue over any of it anymore and wanted the matter settled any way possible. Even if it took the blood of innocents to settle it that seemed like just a drop in the bucket at this point. Tennessee was so used to being up to his knees in the nasty business of death that cutting down a man, woman or child no longer held much meaning to him anymore.
“Texas… I think somethin’ bad is gonna come outta me,” he suddenly blurted out in a voice so calm and confident that Texas didn’t understand what he meant.
“Huh?”
“Something awful bad is happenin’ inside me. I can feel it… and I don’t know if I even care,” Tennessee explained. Texas felt the hairs raise on the back of his neck. He could feel it, too. He could feel the swirling vortex of anger, hate, fear, pain and hope all consolidating into something monstrous deep down in the pit of his being. What was worse was that he could see it in Tennessee. He could see it in the younger state’s eyes that at some point the mayhem of war had triggered something. Texas had heard rumors that the Volunteer State had a natural talent for violence and he had witnessed it first hand in Davy Crockett and Sam Houston. During the Mexican-American War the fury his friend had unleashed upon Mexico in their names had made even Texas cringe with pity for his former nation. There had always been an outside target for Tennessee to take that fury out on before, but what happened when it was targeted at his own people?
“Huh… Maybe Maryland’s song is a good way of dealin’ with his anger, don’t you guess?” Texas offered and the younger state frowned.
“My governor won’t give Nashville, Memphis or Knoxville back to me,” Tennessee said as his eyes flared with humiliation and bitterness at being separated for so long from his beloved instruments and cities. “Says he can’t trust no rebels.”
Texas frowned this time as he felt his heart start to beat nervously as he became increasingly aware of how dangerous Tennessee was at that moment. Though he appeared peaceful and quiet on the surface, he had no outlet through his music and no voice within his own government without some control over his primary cities. Then again, weren’t all of them like that right now? They wanted to reconstruct themselves and for some that meant creating a New South which would enable racial equality; for some that meant recreating a new version of the Old South; for some that simply meant trying to find any semblance of stability after years of war and the end of slavery unleashed an overwhelming wave of possibility over them. Texas himself felt so pulled in so many directions that a massive part of him wanted to reject it all and simply recoil back into old habits. He felt so unstable and he knew now that Tennessee sitting out on these steps and avoiding everyone while supposedly waiting on the others to return was evidence of his own instability.
“… You think things’ll get better when everyone returns?” Texas asked.
“Dunno,” Tennessee admitted as his dull orange-brown eyes stared long and hard down the road which surely one day his stubborn friends, neighbors and family would need to walk in order to rejoin the Union. He sighed softly as he leaned back against the stairs and closed his eyes.
”But I kinda doubt it. I just want ‘em back is all.”Texas only made a soft noise to confirm he heard and understood what Tennessee meant whether he agreed or not. Perhaps the only thing keeping them sane at the moment was the thought that their divided house might one day be haphazardly shoved back together again.
It is my personal belief that Lucifer did not abandon Nick to die in that building.
It is my personal belief that after Dean left, Nick woke up, in his home, all his injuries healed and his body healthy.
The baby is asleep in his/her room.
Sarah is downstairs making waffles.
Taped to his pillow is note.
I owe you so much. Take care of yourself
—L.
