#ambiguous avery

You gotta be kiddin’ me.

Dean shakes his head. Rolls his eyes in exageration as a swooning couple walks past him. He can only scoff at their newfound love that's radiating off of them in waves. Fingers tightly entangled, their free hands showing off a stone each as they hold it up into the sun - their sparkling colors mirroring their eyes’.

Who the hell even believes this crap?

Dean goes on with an internal monologue about this old movie and that song which all would’ve made the perfect snarky comment right now, if he wasn’t roaming the shores all by himself.

He’s momentarily thrown off when something shiny passes by his shoes.

He stops. Turns and bends down. Picks up the small rock when a jolt of energy passes through him.

For a split second, the entire universe seems to have come to a halt.

The next second, Dean scoffs and hurls it into the ocean.

It was almost as if he was taunting fate, laughing at her dumbfounded expression as if it was all a joke to him. Because it is. It's a joke, and he's not going to play along.

He turns and steps away from the shore, kicking the sand as if it's personally offending him, like it’s the culprit who lured him down here in the first place when out of nowhere – SMACK

He whips around. Facing the empty beach that stretches left and right.

“What the hell…” he mutters, eyes narrowed at the line of bubbles fading into the sand after the waves rolled across it. His free hand comes up to rub his throbbing back head from whatever had hit him. His eyes dart around until his focus shifts to his feet - and his hand freezes in mid motion.

“No friggin’way.”

Wet and shiny. The very same stone he had just tossed into the ocean.

The stone which glittered in ways that made him wonder whether it had stardust molded within it.

The stone which had sent a shiver down his spine the moment his fingers brushed its surface.

Tilted his inner world. Melted his believes as its sweet poison poured down over his soul, all within a blink of an eye. Made his mind cloudy and reeling at the same time. While something was pulsing within his heart – something hot and heavy and sticky; Emotions he couldn’t pin point, blurry thoughts and fractures of memories he didn’t recognize as his own. But the feeling like he should. Like he wants to know. Has to. Like his inner compass has just locked onto a target and won’t waver until he has found the missing piece which will finally complete him. Perhaps even-

Bullshit. He mentally punches himself. ‘Soulmates’ - What complete bullshit.

Dean’s face hardens. Twists into a scowl.

Bending down, he picks the damn thing up once again. Nose wrinkled and half-heartedly pinched between his fingertips as if it was a piece of hexed bunny droppings. His inner defences raised high as the stone begins to pester his mind once more. Good thing he’s Dean friggin’ Winchester who’s got walls higher than the damn wall of China, fighting off any mind-bending magic or whatever’s going on here.

Because one thing’s for sure. Soulmates don’t exist. Not in his world.

The sand gives in under his aggressive steps as he stomps back to the same spot as before.

“Hey, you bitch!” he shouts at the ocean in annoyance, “I’m not playing your stupid game-” he raises the stone high and waves it pointedly at the horizon “- so keep your crap to yourself!”

“Don’t like what the universe handed you?” a voice says next to him, “Or just fed up with your soulmate never showing up?”

Dean spins around, eyes wide in surprise.

“I – don’t believe in that crap,” he stammers but his voice dies down as your eyes lock.

Your breath hitches. His gets stuck in his throat.

The low sun on the horizon freckled his emerald eyes with golden speckles. The colors glint and flicker, mirroring the ones of the stone held in your hand.

At the same time Dean watches in stunned silence how your eyes reflect the pattern of his stone.

“No. Nope – nu-uh,” he sputters, averts his eyes as he violently shakes his head, “This is a joke – it can’t be – I can’t -”

“Have a soulmate?” you finish for him. His eyes snap up to meet yours and his stomach does a somersault.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah that,” he rasps out. You tilt your head, and damnit – the way you look at him, really look at him, it has his heart hammer against his ribs.

Your eyes are intense and soft at the same time, and he can’t help but feel utterly exposed. Deep down, it has him wonder how much you know of him. How much that damn stone revealed to you.

The thought has him go rigid. Hands balled into fists at his side.

My soulmate. He repeats to himself over and over. At first hesitant – no – fucking terrified.

But then his focus returns to yours and the panic induced adrenaline rush takes an unexpected turn.

Excitement.

“You sure took your time,” you smirk knowingly. Sweet. Cheeky. And everything Dean didn’t understand yet but swore to himself that very moment that he would spend the rest of his life to figure out.

“Yeah, I… I did,” he chuckles, then pulls his lips into that charming smirk of his as he holds out his hand for you, “Care for a beach walk?”

You giggle, then nod. And Dean suddenly feels like he has to physically hold himself back from scooping you up and never letting you go again...

My soulmate.

Dean Tag List:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005 @Ms-kayla-readinglover @youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort @lamentationsofalonelypotato @my-stories-vault

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny @sunnys-struggles @kimxwinchester @nesnejwritings @carliebear23 @alexxavicry @ladykitana90 @Magic-sprinkled-daydreams @woaheasytig3r

He wanted this. Dreamed of going to a beach like this for years, and now Cas’ got him opening up in more ways than one, on top of it, which, awesome. Two birds, one stone. Only, he somehow has to navigate his sorry sunburnt ass back to the house and into the safety of his room without Sammy catching on to what he’s doing.

There’s peeling and chafing from sand in places he didn’t know existed, and what a great start to their weekend? Dean dying of pain because he didn’t heed his little brother’s advice and put some sunblock on.

He stands. Stretches and—bad move. Soooo fucking bad. 

He looks to Cas through his whimper, but somehow feigns a grin. “You ready?” he says through it.

The angel nods. 

They just have to make it back to the room because there’s a shower there. A bathroom full of smelly crap the condo’s owner keeps in the ensuite, and something in that stash has to heal burns, right?

He takes a step, and fuck - the heat. The fire. He’d much rather Alistair rip his skin off inch by inch with a pair of rusty garden sheers than this. It’d hurt less than this. Anything will hurt less than this.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks. His brilliant blue eyes tilted, scrutinising. His face, the usual complexion, albeit less stoic, like the time he was Meg’s Clarence and discovered bees.

Dean shields the agony through a simple hum. “You kidding? After that?” He grabs Cas’ hand and tugs. Tears him away from the shore. Each step a new rip in the bandaid, holding his soul together, but he doesn’t stop. He’s gotta get back and find something for the burns. 

Across the sand, across the road, and to the door at the top of the stairs—he pauses. Eyes the lock and threatens the steel handle not to make a sound.

“Why are you—”

Dean holds his hand out, pulling the flambeed skin there, too. “Just,” he says with a hiss, fingers moving to grip the handle. Thank Chuck something’s cold.

But the door yanks open from the other side, and not only is his arm pulled from its socket, but the sting? Oh, the mother fucking sting. He’s like a teenager caught out on curfew, stoner friend to his right.

He lets out a sound he’s not proud of and shuts it back in the second he sees Sam’s face, staring at him with a judgmental brow.

“Dude—”

“Don’t,” Dean says with finality. At least they made use of the beach. The house they’re squatting in is nice, but the whole point is the sun, the surf, the sand between their toes, and that beach is beautiful.

Of course, Sam insists on being right. “I told you—”

“And I said don’t.” Dean’s mouth follows with a huff that would’ve made a smoke signal had they been somewhere less humid when he sliced his beet-red arm through the air again. The colour, far more obvious now they’re standing in some artificial light. 

He barges in, Cas hot on his heels, as he beelines to the kitchen. No point hiding it now. Sammy’s on the trail, not wincing because he doesn’t have “mineral particles from seashells” burrowing into the creases of his sack. 

At least the ceramic tiles are cool. The air conditioning, cool. The fridge, heaven with beer and colder things, and he stands there with his back to it. Hand bringing a bottle of the sweet amber liquid tentatively to his mouth until Cas pops in and saves the damn day.

“You’re dehydrated,” he says, and really? Now he steps in with a medical diagnosis? 

Couldn’t have insisted on sunblock back down on the sand? Told him to scooch under the shade more? He could’ve done without the melanoma on his shoulders. A hunter dying of skin cancer is, well, it’s tragic, and, “I’m thirsty,” he spits as Cas pries the bottle out of his hands with a stern pout. Who does he think he is?

“I thought you two took the umbrella?” Sam asks, but Dean is too busy glaring at the angel to answer. 

“We did.” He sets the beer down next to Sam and takes a glass tumbler from the dish rack, filling it with water.

“So how come he’s looking more and more like Patrick?” 

On that, Cas turns around. “The saint?” he says as Dean perks up with “Swayze?” and okay, odd comparison, but he’ll take it. 

Only Sam’s looking him up and down, and he’s soon doing the same when his brother’s brows raise at his stomach. “No, Star,” he says, and Dean’s seeing a whole new shade of red. 

Alright, so he’s a little pink? The shorts? Yeah, okay, he sees it, but though there’s pudge where there used to be taut muscle, it’s nothing like the starfish. 

He’s rocking these shorts, and even Cas approves. He taps his palm on his shoulder, giving him the glass and a slight curve to his pursed lips. His monotonous tone never faltering, even when he says, “The sun moves in the sky,” like he’s channelling National Geographic.

Of course, Sam crosses his arms. Shakes his legs and stands taller. “Right? So why didn’t you?” 

And there’s the kicker. Dean’s big moment. His payback. Sam wants to know what they were doing? Then he’ll tell him. No skin off his nose, only Cas throws him a sideways glance first. Gives his own up and down over Dean’s body, throwing a wink to rival any of his. 

“The sun wasn’t the only thing moving,” he deadpans, and while both Winchester’s drop their jaws, Sam’s is looking mighty red.

”You asked.” Dean smacks his shoulder, unable to mask either burn.

“I shouldn’t have.” Sam shakes his head and walks away.

And finally, if I may, the scene in Snickerdoodles & Special Sauce with Jack’s inner monologue over his and Dean’s “talk,” and Dean promising poor sweet gullible Jack that he and reader will behave 😂

I need to write for more SPN characters. Thinking about my answer had me reading scenes with Bobby and Rufus and Jack here. They’re so much fun!

Time to turn it back on ya, A if you’d indulge me?😘