Carry on and write Fanfiction

Sam couldn't bear to leave him in that barn. When Dean went silent, motionless, Sam gently pulled him from the rebar and carried him to the Impala. He was still there. It was his happy place. Sam would give him the hunter's funeral they had given so many others. Later. For now, Dean could sleep in the Impala one final time.

When Sam neared the door of the kitchen, his mind focused solely on retrieving the half-empty whiskey bottle Dean left behind, he paused. He could hear the soft sounds of someone pacing. Sam's heart thudded as he quietly pulled his gun from where it had been tucked in the back of his jeans. It had to be a threat. There was no one left. Cas was gone. Jack was gone. Dean was...

Sam crept around the doorway, lowered his gun and froze as he caught sight of the familiar trench-coated figure.

This cannot be happening.

Cas turned to face Sam with a nervous smile on his face that quickly fell when he observed Sam. Red eyes, blotchy cheeks, hunched posture, the epitome of despondency.

"Sam?" The question in his tone was clear.

Where's Dean?

"Cas," Sam choked out as tears he couldn't believe were left started to form and run down his face.

Cas walked slowly over to Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder. His face was full of concern but there was the tiniest glimmer of hope that would soon be extinguished.

"Where is he Sam?"

All Sam could do was shake his head as the tears started falling faster and his breathing became shallow.

And there it goes. The hope.

Cas dropped his arm and stepped back.

"No."

Sam closed his eyes. He couldn't watch this.

"NO!"

Sam flinched and peeled his eyes back open when he heard a thump. Cas was on his knees, shaking, with his face in his hands. He was silent for a few moments until the unmistakable sound of a sob escaped.

They wept together, Sam frozen on his feet and Cas slumped on his knees, for several minutes.

Slowly, Cas pulled his hands from his face and the look of despair he had was so visceral Sam wanted to look away. But he couldn't.

Cas opened and closed his mouth a few times as if trying to form words that he couldn't manage to choke out. Eventually, a barely audible sound trickled from his lips.

"I love him."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded.

"Oh I don't normally use AI, I just wanted it to plan my trip"

You lived on this planet for decades, you know what you like, there are hundreds of websites where you can type into any search engine " things to do in [area]" and have at least a hundred different options.

"Oh I only use it so I can figure out what to make during the week with what I have"

The most popular website as you type in "recipes" into google have sections where you click dinner- quick and easy and those usually rely on staples + 1 or 2 items. I found 30 recipes on chicken alone.

"I had a writing idea, so I typed a few sentences into Chat GPT and I was able to write 20 pages with it."

Their mother picked up after them. They were not required to take plates the kitchen or do the dishes or anything like that.

My mother, who would tell you she is for equality, came home one day, sighed at the mess of dirty dishes scattered about, and said, "Gayle, help me pick up."

"Those aren't my dishes," I said. "I picked up my dishes."

My mother sighed again. "Just help me pick up."

"No," I said again. "I didn't make that fucking mess."

She never approached my brothers and said, "Boys, in this house, you take your dishes to the kitchen." She did not tell our dad, "Hey, tell the boys they need to pick up after themselves."

It was, "Gayle, pick up the dishes."

And when I refused because it was not my fucking mess, I got lectured about being difficult.

See also: My brothers--in a classic dick-move of all siblings--figured out they could pop the lock on the bathroom door and throw it open, and I would freak out because I was in the shower and trying to get five fucking minutes of peace.

When I tell people this, they always, ALWAYS, assume I have sisters. They say shit like “oh I’d love to do that, but I have boys” and when I tell them I only have brothers, “oh you must have eaten a lot of burned dinners then!”

Like, no. To both of those statements. Sure we burned stuff when we were younger but we all learned to cook before 13, that was just the age where it became a scheduled chore. You know who did burn everything? My MOM. My Boomer dad did all the cooking because my mum didn’t want to and he was the one to help when we needed it, though my mum did help with prep/chopping things.

Fast forward to now, middle brother can make the best risotto I’ve ever had and my youngest brother is vegan and makes almost all his own meals because his partner isn’t and he doesn’t expect her to make two meals so he can eat.

The worst part of this social conditioning is how bullshit it is. I know this is not ingrained, I know people are teaching their sons to be assholes, and I look at my middle brother in his immaculate apartment with tasteful decor that he picked out himself and I look at my youngest brother who does all the clothes shopping for him and his partner because she struggles with it and it makes me want to just start biting people.

This is usually the stuff people try and say, “Yeah, I don’t get it, Edmund.” But if you go to a good Turkish confectioner (or just any of the bazillion stores that sell it in the Istanbul markets) you’ll see a second kind of Turkish delight, in a rolled shape:

torture getting reliable information out of people

knocking someone out to harmlessly incapacitate them for like an hour

jumping into water from staggering heights and surviving the fall completely intact

calling the police to deescalate a situation

rafting your way off a desert island

correctly profiling total strangers based on vibes

effectively operating every computer by typing and nothing else

ripping an IV out of your arm without consequences

1) I Didn’t Know My Cat Had PTSD and Has Gone Blind.

2) Your Cats Fight Because One of Them Doesn’t Know How to Speak Cat, and They’re Both Kinda Mad/Confused About It. 

3) Your Cat Sprays Everywhere? Get Them Fixed. Surprise Twist: They Were Fixed But It Was a Botched Operation.

4) We’re Going to Rescue 50+ Kittens, Take Them to Vegas, and Adopt Them All To Loving Homes.