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Butterflies and Hurricanes


Some little girls, when they are four years old, will be given a doll, and told to play house. Deanna Winchester was given her baby brother, and told to run our of the burning nursery.

Humor / Romance
Age Rating:

Part 1: Deanna PreS1-S5




Some little girls, when they are four years old, will be given a doll, and told to play house. Those little girls will giggle and smile, and pretend to be mothers.

Marisa Deanna Winchester (once called Miss Dee by her parents) was given her baby brother, and told to run our of the burning nursery. From that day forwards she was more of a mother than any of the other little girls with their dolls.

When Deanna was ten years old, she threw out her last threadbare pink T-shirt, donned a binder and flannel, and insisted that everyone call her Dean.

She spent the next seven years convincing everyone that she was male.

John didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s transformation, other than to gruffly nod in approval at her shaved head and sturdy boots.

Dean sometimes wondered if her lack of blonde curls was what allowed her father to look her in the eye again; a feat he had not performed since she had turned eight and started to display some features of her mother.

When Bobby discovered her secret, completely by accident thanks to Sammy being a loudmouth, he discreetly took her aside to ask if she had researched the options available to her.

Dean realized where this was going when the old hunter began uncomfortably hinting that he knew some reliable doctors who specialized in helping people through transitions.

She cut him off in the middle of his promises to support her emotionally the whole way.

“Woah, Bobby, I don’t want a dick!”

The hunter paused, flustered. “Well, then why are you costumed up like that, boy?”

She wobbled her shoulders (bulked out through hours of pushups, though not as much as she would like). “No one needs Deanna. She can’t scare off bullies from her brother, and Dad won’t let her go hunting.” She met the hunter’s eyes earnestly. “But Dean can.”

Bobby sighed, something crumbled and sad behind his grudging acceptance.

He still made sure that Deanna found her way to a discreet woman’s doctor located in South Dakota.


It wasn’t until Dean met Cassidy when she was seventeen that she was once again appreciative of her sex.

“Oh,” the teenage boy said, as they were entangled together in a broom closet and he noticed a few absent pieces of anatomy on his partner. “You’re trans?”

Dean hesitated for half a heartbeat, drawing back from his lips. “It’s easier to be a boy.”

Cassidy smiled. “That’s cool. I dated this guy once who didn’t like to mention anything about plumbing, since he was pre-op, and I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable if we got serious.”

They did get serious, and Deanna decided to exchange her binder for a sports bra.


The nomadic life of a hunter was difficult; infinitely more so for a young lady.

When Deanna realized she could make more money than simply hustling pool in a bar, she thought over it for the length of time it took to run out of pb&j. It wasn’t like it wasn’t something she would have done anyway.

So she packed a knife in her boot and a gun in her waistband, and made a point to steal the guy’s wallet afterwards. You know, when they deserved it.


When Sammy left for Stanford, Deanna drove him to the bus stop.

John disapproved, of course, but he had always treated his daughter with either military precision or ambivalence. Only once did John ever berate her for being too emotional. Deanna would have born the diatribe with silence, but Sam had shouted back in her defense that John shouldn’t yell at a lady during a hormonally trying part of the month.

Deanna had been mortified, especially since she wasn’t on her period, thank you. The stitches just freaking hurt without pain killers.

However, John had clamped his mouth shut, looking all kinds of uncomfortable.

Deanna had hissed at Sammy for being a sexist jerk, but her little brother had only grinned in an enigmatic self satisfied manner.

After that, John never commented about his daughter’s perceived weakness. In fact, he hardly ever seemed to see her at all.

It hurt, knowing her father couldn’t look her in the eye due to his own emotional hangups, but Deanna enjoyed the perks of being a woman too much to compromise her identity again. She needed Deanna now, and Sam did too.

So, just as her brother was about to step out of the Impala and her life forever, Deanna roughly grabbed him around the neck in equal parts choke hold and hug.

“You call me when you get there,” she growled gruffly. “And make sure you keep the damn windows salted.”

Sam, anger fraying in the face of his sister’s distress, patted her bicep. “I promise,” he wheezed.

He didn’t call of course, but Deanna knew that was more due to Sammy being Sammy, than him despising her.

Or at least, that was what she told herself.


Deanna liked Jess. In the five minutes she had met her, the girl had made Sam smile no less than three times. Therefore, Jess was golden in Deanna’s books.

So, when Sam broke down, trying to smother his sobs in the motel pillow, Deanna simply sat beside him, and carded her fingers through his hair.

She didn’t sing Hey Jude, that wasn’t what he needed.

They woke up late the next morning. Sam’s eyes were puffy from crying. Deanna had a crick in her neck from sitting upright, and her throat was sore from humming Kansas.


Hunting went as it always did. Monster of the week and a cold trail for their father.

Some stuck out more than others for being frightening, like the scarecrow or Bloody Mary. Others were memorable for just being odd.

Such as the swan diving professor case on that college campus. At the scene of the proverbial crime, the Winchester siblings interviewed their prime witness.

“Were you working that night,” Sam asked affably.

“I was the one who found him,” the blonde janitor smirked. “I just saw him come up here and...”

“What?” the taller man pressed.

“Well, he wasn’t alone.”

The Winchester’s shard a look.

“You ever see her before or around?” Sam pressed.

“Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but Mr. Morality brought a lot of girls up here.”

Deanna scowled. “Sounds like a real douche.”

The janitor wobbled his shoulders indiscriminately. “He got more ass than a toilet seat.”

She snorted. “Well, some guys are just full of shit.”

Gold eyes alighted on her consideringly, as the janitor chuckled. “You’re not the only one who thinks so. There was an inquiry a few months back where some poor girl ended up expelled. Her whole life up in flames.”

“Really?” Sam’s joviality gained an edge as he considered the possibility of a budding witch’s curse.

The janitor nodded. “Last I hear she moved to Alaska.”

“I hear the odds are good, but the goods are odd up there,” Deanna said.

The blonde winked. “I think it depends on which goods are keeping you warm at night.”

“I’ve always been flannel girl myself.”

The janitor laughed again, until his pocket beeped. He pulled out a cell phone and glanced at the screen. “Sorry, I’ve got to take this.” He apologized, before stepping out of the office.

Sam punched his sister in the shoulder. “Stop flirting with the suspects.”

Deanna scowled at him. “What, so I can’t even look at a janitor?”

“Not while I’m in the room.”


Later at the motel the siblings attempted to compile their notes, but kept running into roadblocks.

Sam screeched and slammed his laptop closed. “Dee! I thought I told you to stop looking up ‘Sexy Business Biweekly’ on my laptop!”

His sister poked her head out of the bathroom. “What? I didn’t!” her expression changed to thoughtful. “Or, at least, I cleared the history.”

“Yeah, well, now my laptop has a virus!” He grimaced. “And is full of dicks.”

“Oh, un-bunch your panties, Samantha.”

A sharp knock to the motel door stalled any further arguing. Deanna pulled on her flannel and answered it.

An inhumanly cheerful kid in a red bell boy’s suit smiled cheerfully at her. “Here’s a candy gram for you~”

Deanna blinked slowly as the singing delivery boy thrust a box of chocolates into her arms, before scampering off. She blinked again and looked down at the box. It contained the really expensive liquor filled chocolates imported from some non-English country which Deanna was sure she would never under no circumstances be able to afford normally.

Shrugging, she ripped the delicate wrapping open and stuffed a dark chocolate miracle into her mouth, nearly moaning as pleasure melted over her tongue. Then-

“Bleagh!” she spat out the candy into the trashcan. “Coconut!” She perused the box. “They’re all coconut!”

Sam laughed vindictively. “Serve you right.”

Then the slow dancing aliens made an appearance, and the Winchesters were left scratching their heads.

They called in Bobby, who upon arrival, promptly whacked the both of them on the back of their heads.

“Idjits,” he rumbled. “You’re dealing with a Trickster.”

Sam ran a hand over his face. “Right, so what do we do?”

A knock rapped against the motel door, interrupting the hunter’s planning.

“Here’s a candy gram for you~” sang out the red suited bell boy.

“Oh for the love of-” Deanna growled, rounding on the poor delivery boy.


Deanna walked down the theater steps to the slow applause of her prey.

“So, I guess you found me.”

“Looks that way,” she smirked. “Almost like just deserts for what you’ve done.”

“I don’t just pick people on a whim, you know,” the Trickster said, tracing his fingers over the amphitheater seat back. “My kind get called when people don’t have anything else to pray to. Don’t you think that college girl and her baby are happier knowing that daddy dearest won’t be putting any other girls in their position? The punishment always fits the crime.”

Deanna’s face morphed into a glower. “And I suppose the frat boy deserved getting abducted by aliens.”

The monster shrugged. “I never said I only answered big complaints.”

She sneered. “I bet you just get off on this.”

“Well,” he tilted his head to the side, eyes like liquid gold. “We can’t all be perfectly built like you, sweet cheeks.”

The sound of a gun cocking. “Don’t try anything.”

“You know, Sam was right,” the Trickster said, “You really shouldn’t have come alone.”

Deanna smiled as the theater door banged open. “I didn’t.”

Much, much later, she found a box of chocolates under her pillow. She didn’t tell Sam. They were caramel liquor.


Ted the reaper was nice, Deanna decided. Too bad she wouldn’t remember him when she woke up from her coma.


When Sam asked her what she saw in the Djynn’s dream, Deanna brushed the comment off.

She did not mention the dark haired man, who looked suspiciously like Dr. Sexy MD, nor the white picket fenced house.

She did not mention the auto body shop she owned, nor the taste of her mother’s apple pie.

Deanna couldn’t even bring herself to voice the three children, who crowded around her waist and called her mother.

After a while he stopped asking.

Only then did the hunter feel herself free to weep onto the Impala’s steering wheel.

Deanna pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. He was her brother; she practically raised the kid since she could walk.

How could she not give everything she had to save him?

Really, what was a soul compared to her brother?


Deanna would have liked the chance to get to know Ben better.

His father, the bendy yoga instructor Elijah, didn’t comment past a vague non-committal answer, when Deanna asked about Ben’s mother. She knew enough not to push, though she gathered that it hadn’t ended well.

The hunter entertained vague fantasies of living in the little picket fence neighborhood with her old flame. Elijah made one sexy single dad, but she caught the sidelong glances he cast at her, and would bet money he wouldn’t mind a feminine influence in his son’s life.

Then the changelings reared their creepy heads, and Deanna was reminded of the ugly truths of the world, and the paved road to hell creeping closer to her with every day.

So when Elijah asked her to stay, she looked into his dark eyes, held his face between her palms, and kissed him chastely.

“I can’t. It’s complicated, I’m sorry.”


Sam glowered through his fingers at the disgusting display of affection taking place across the diner table.

This was the, he paused to compute, the fifty second time they had made it to the Mystery Spot diner without incident. The handsome golden eyed waiter spilt a glass of water over Deanna’s shirt, as per schedule, prompting an exchanging of numbers, and increasingly transparent innuendo.

Sam contemplated just letting Deanna run off with the guy for the evening (she usually survived when out of his sight, ironically enough. Perhaps whatever was causing this wanted him to have to watch his sister’s demise) but decided against it.

“Sorry for spilling soda on your shirt miss,” the waiter was saying.

“Well, I suppose you could always apologize by helping me out of it-”

Sam’s thoughts ground to a halt. Wait- soda?

He lunged across the table, grabbing the waiter by the throat.

“Sammy!” Deanna squawked, still daubing at her shirt with napkins.

“Woah buddy! I wasn’t gonna actually-”

Sam didn’t listen as he hauled the man out of the restaurant and pinned him against the chain link fence. “You! Who are you?”

The waiter’s features morphed into a familiar Trickster’s.

Sam snarled, but the monster snapped its fingers. The next thing the hunter knew, he was snapping awake back in his motel room.

“Rise and shine, Sammy-kins!” his sister crowed from the bathroom, mouth dripping toothpaste. “We should head out, you know, since you assaulted that hot waiter yesterday, and I doubt they will let us back in the diner.”

He sighed, burying his face back in his pillow. It was Wednesday, finally. What could possibly go wrong now?




Digging oneself out of a buried coffin was decidedly not awesome.

Digging oneself out of a buried coffin, only to be stranded in the middle of nowhere in the epicenter of a circle of flattened dead trees was, decidedly more not awesome.

Deanna was simply glad her shirt was intact enough for her to walk without flashing anybody. Last she had checked, her cloths were coated in her own blood and viscera, as well as torn to ribbons by Lilith’s hell hounds. Perhaps the whatever which caused her to walk the earth once more also fixed her cloths.

Later, after a few exploding windows in the rest stop and being splashed in the face with holy water by no less than two paranoid people, Deanna considered asking the strange trench coated being calmly walking into the warded warehouse why it remembered to fix her shirt, but not unbury her.

Then she thought that was a silly idea, and promptly shot it.

Neither rock salt, bullets, nor magic knife slowed the creature’s ponderous stride.

“My name is Castiel, I am an angel of the Lord,” it said.

Deanna sneered. “Dude, the only angel I believe in is John Travolta.”

The alleged angel tilted his (for it looked male) head, expression baring the faintest furrowing of brows, as if he had only a passing footnote of a reference for which muscle groups were required to create expressions.

“We have work for you.”

The hunter internally sighed. Of course this was her life.


Deanna was a little bit in love with everyone she considered a friend. That was the reason why she considered her closest friends just as good as family. The huntress, of course, would deny any accusations illustrating this point (and had when Sam tried to talk about feelings).

The angels considered this level of emotion an understandable characteristic of the noble virtuous Righteous Human. They themselves are beings made of equal parts love and divine wrath, and think that this human is kin to their understanding of the importance of heaven’s will.

However, Castiel knows the moment he laid eyes on her that Deanna’s capacity for love was nothing like an angel’s.

Where in his siblings Castiel would see flickering flames, which beat in time with the stitching of creation, in Deanna he saw a spring overflowing from the core of her soul to refresh the hearts of those it reached.

Surely this was what it meant to be Righteous, this pure outpour of concern and devotion.

The angel could not understand how such a being insisted that it was not worthy of being saved.


All your hands can do is destroy, Allistairs voice hissed through her nightmares. Nothing but steel and blood for you, sweetie.

Deanna really hated Castiel.

Not just for his whole, “I dragged you out of Hell I can throw you back in,” speech.

Well, ok, maybe that was a small factor. Very small. Miniscule.

Anyway, she hated the stuck up angel.

She hated how indestructable he was; how he was essentially blackmailing her to do heaven’s will; how he looked at her brother in disgust- the list went on.

He wasn’t as bad as, say, Uriel, or the other legions of dicks in heaven. The little guy was miles better than them. However, while Deanna could excuse the behavior of other angels under the blanketing brush off of general distaste, something about Castiel could really get her buttons pushed in all the wrong ways.

Perhaps it was because he was the first angelic being she had ever encountered. Perhaps it was because he pulled her out of hell, and some part of the hunter couldn’t ignore the being which she owed big time for dragging her ass from the fire (never mind that the angel himself didn’t comprehend the need for any kind of gratitude for his task, having been acting on heaven’s will, or something).

Whatever the reason, Castiel was forever on Deanna’s black list, and nothing short of the apocalypse could get him off.


In 1973, Deanna takes a moment to observe the person her father was.

Handsome, soft in ways she never recalled forgetting, and flustered at having mistaken a strange woman in a diner for his fiance.

The hunter patted John on the shoulder, remarking how she just had one of those faces, and not to sweat it. In the same breath she convinced him to forgo the hippy van in favor of the perfection that was the Impala.

At least one good thing came out of the trip.

Well, that and finally getting to meet her namesake. Hwever, even the badass-ness of Grandma Deanna was overshadowed by the fact that she was murdered hours later, along with the rest of the Campbell clan.


Deanna had gone through her fair share of escapades as a younger woman, and occasionally still found herself in the mood to go gallavanting over the hill with rainbows and unicorns, and whatever other girly stuff Sam liked.

That being said, she found a strange sort of pride in bagging an angel. Anna, having access to millenea of angelic memories as the angel of romance, clearly knew what she wanted. Deanna was happy to oblige.

She also got a very smug sense of satisfaction when their merry little band confronted Castiel and Uriel. The two stuck up angels clearly knew what had been going down (and on whom).

Uriel looked disgusted. Castiel looked vaguely uncomfortable, like a deer in the headlights kind of way.

Deanna savored Anna’s last kiss. When the angels and demons started fighting, and Anna was forced to power up, she pressed the back of her hand to her lips for a moment.

Inevitably they all left. Such was her life.


Those old guy magicians were jerks, but the joke was on them in this case.

Deanna sipped her frilly pink cocktail, appreciatively judging the parade of bodies prance across the stage. She cheered along with the rest of the bar patrons when one of the performers made an increasingly impressive accrobatic move.

She flagged down the waiter for another purple nurple, making sure she could see how appreicative she was of the tight pants and leather uniform. The waitress cocked a hip and winked suggestively. Deanna grinned. Gay bars were awesome.


The siren, with its black hair and smoldering eyes, was undenyably her type, though it couldn’t seem to decide whether it was trying to be her lover or her brother.

The half familial half sexual vibes sent all the hunter’s bells ringing, placing the siren on a wary watch list.

Once the case was done, Deanna accosted the first dark haired man who expressed even the slightest interest in a bar. She hated being frustrated like that, and reveled the occasion to work off some excess stress.


Ted the reaper was just as she remembered him, once she remembered him. The hunter hoped Pamela would like the doe eyed being too.

She could just imagine the psychic sidling up into her death’s face, grinning leacherously with the promise of all kinds of possible debauchery.

Deanna wiped a hand across her lips, breath stuttering.

She really hoped Pamela was having fun, wherever she was.


“If you have me do this,” Deanna said, face masked in shadows, “You will not like the thing that comes back out.”

“For what it’s worth, I would give anything to not have you do this,” the angel replied.

The hunter tilted her head up, green eyes more like acid than emeralds. “Because you can’t, its not worth anything.” Her heart rate evened, pumping fiery composure through her corded muscles.

Castiel’s shoulders shifted, as if to abort a movement to reach out, or curl around himself in shame.

Deanna opened the door.

Allistair grinned bloodily. “Like I said, sweetie, nothing but steel and knives for you.”

She slashed him across the face. “Shut up.”


Deanna knew two things after her foray into the professional corporate world of business.

One, Zachariah was a massive douche.

Two, heels and pantyhose were awful.


Jimmy was not her type. He was nice, for the brief period of time Deanna had met him, but as a general rule, the huntress disliked neatly combed hair. His shoulders were constantly twitching like a rabbit waiting for a wolf, and his hands would ring themselves in a nervous tell.

Also, Deanna did not intrinsically like blue eyes. She much preferred the smoldering dark gaze of Dr. Sexy MD (that was half the reason she had gone for Elijah), and then there was that golden eyed stranger who Sam got pissy over whenever she mentioned him.

However, she liked Cas’s eyes, because they were his.

The moment he returned to his vessel, she knew by the immediate stiffening of his back, and the way his head tilted down, watching the feet of his opponents.

Her heart swelled with ashamed joy at the angel’s return (Jimmy had been through so much, and his poor daughter...).

Then Castiel had looked at her, empty of whatever quavering emotions he once held.

The swell crashed and shattered, leaving her emotions in ruins.

Deanna swore in the back of her mind. Of course, the moment she realized she liked the guy, he would be taken away from her.

Everyone she loved always left her.

And then Cas got exploded the devil rose.

Freaking typical.

Turns out the apocalypse was needed for the angel to become permanently fixed in her good books.




“So what are you planning to do for your last night on earth?”

“I thought I would just sit here quietly.”

Deanna tilted her head to the side, a pitying smile playing across her lips. “Well, it would be a waste for you to spend the night alone. How about I join you?”

Wide blue eyes watched her apprehensively as she sidled to the motel bed, slinking to a seat. She patted the comforter. “Come here.”

Mechanically, the angel rose to his feet and shuffled to the woman’s side.

Deanna chuckled, and placed a palm against Castiel’s cheek to turn his face to hers. “So, here’s how I want to spend our last night, and if you can manage to stay quiet, I’ll be impressed.”

The distance between their lips closed to nothing.

They didn’t get the deposit back on the room.


“Dude, I’m human, I need to sleep,” Deanna moaned piteously into her phone, face half pressed into the motel pillow. “You know, in a bed.”

There was a pause, then Castiel said, “Was that a ‘subtle hint’?”

She chuckled at his half questioning half pleased tone, at having unraveled another strange human custom. She could practically see the air quotes. “No, not tonight, I have a headache.”

“If you are unwell, I can fly by and-”

Deanna’s chuckle evolved into a weak laugh. “No Cas, what I mean is, I just need sleep.”

“Oh, ok. I’ll just wait here then.”

In the awful 2014 future that will not, cannot, and will never be allowed to be, that Deanna and Cas were together. If one could qualify unfeeling physicality and non-monogamy as ‘together.’

“How could you let him fall apart like that!” Deanna hissed to her older doppleganger. “Cas is our friend, and you treat him like a sex toy, in between letting him get stoned to death!”

The older woman sneered, rubbing an old scar which dug deep into her stomach. Her hair was shaved close, in a style Deanna had not worn since she was a teenager. “That’s how we’ve always treated him, so don’t think yourself any better than me, sister.”

When Deanna returns to her own time, she clutches the lapels of her angel’s stupid oversized trench coat, and presses her head against his chest.

They spend the night close together on the couch, silent save for the commentary Deanna spun to accompany the turner classic movie marathon scrolling across the motel TV screen.

As the human began to nod off, she leaned heavily against her friend, who remained unnaturally alert, as always.

“Cas,” she breathed with a chuckle, “don’t ever change.”

While clearing out a typical haunting in an abandoned house, Deanna ran straight into a nest of black widows.

Luckily, her very own pocket angel, while not up to fixing paraplegics, was still capable of boosting her owns bodies functions to flush out toxins.

Sitting on the motel bed, Deanna fidgeted. Her fever broke, but her healer was still standing close, one hand pressed against her head.

“What’s up doc?” she said.

Cas frowned. “You have a hormone imbalance which-”

“Dude!” Deanna cut him off. “Never talk about a girl’s hormones.”

The angel frowned, but nodded in acceptance as this being another ineffable human thing. “I shall correct the problem without troubling you in the future then.”

“Fine fine.” She waved him off, and tugged on his tie. “Now it’s time for your checkup.”

The angel obliged, falling beside her seated form.

“Hey,” Deanna sat up, much later, suddenly struck by a thought. “Is Jimmy still in there?”

Castiel shifted on the mattress. “A human soul can only occupy a body through a certain amount of damage. This vessel was ripped apart on an atomic level by an archangel. Jimmy is in heaven.”

“Oh, good,” she settled back. “Not good that he’s, well, but I didn’t want to make him..... he really loved his wife. I wouldn’t do that to them.”


The next time Sam wanted to talk to super powered monsters and ask for help, Deanna was going to ground him. Literally, burry him up to the neck in dirt so the idiot couldn’t run off and do something so monumentally stupid again.

“Freaking heels!” she snarled. “First the skimpy nurse getup when I got shot, now the freaking business suit and heels again! And I though the japanese shrimp girl was bad enough!”


“No Sam!” The hunter pulled off her sunglasses. “I hate procedural cop shows! They’re all the same, and there’s like a million of them on TV. Not only do they think women can run in designer heels, but they have everyone wear sunglasses at night! Do you know who does that Sam?”

“All right, I get it,” her brother tried to placate her.

“When I get my hands on that Trickster,” she growled.

“Let’s just focus on getting out of here.”

Deanna grumbled, but followed her brother to the scene of the crime.

Then, of course, it turned out to not be a Trickster.

“So, which one are you?”

Gold eyes bore straight past her bones to her soul. “Gabriel, ok. They call me Gabriel.”

Deanna scowled. “Mind telling me how an archangel makes everyone think he’s a Trickster?”

“My own private witness protection, sweetie.”

The hunter’s scowl only deepened as the angel’s motivations for starting the apocalypse tumbled out, as if the eons old being had been bundling its feelings so far down that it couldn’t disentangle one pained thought from another.

“So, you gonna let me out?”

“First you bring back Cas,” Deanna snarled.

The trickster snapped, and a bloodied figure in a trench coat appeared.

Immediately Castiel stalked to the hunter’s side, checking her over for injury.

“I’m fine,” she murmured, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. He calmed slightly, leaning into the touch.

“Oo, Castiel, watch out, she’s a feisty one!” Gabriel leered, his eyes sharp with something too heavy for Deanna to place as one emotion.

The angel of Thursday glared, and made to take a step towards the circle of fire, but Deanna laid a hand on his shoulder. Her cool gaze swept to pin the trapped archangel in place. Gold met green. “You know, I really liked you. Then I found out you were a dick. Guess that’s just my luck.” Her fist clenched and smashed into the fire alarm. “Now don’t say I never did anything for you.”


Deanna cursed whoever introduced the angels to the Terminator franchise, because all this time travel nonsense was just getting ridiculous.

That and the bad guys really liked to monologue.

“You are not an integral piece of apocalypse, Marisa Winchester.” Michael said, using the voice of a young John. “It will continue on, whether you cooperate with me or not. Without my true vessel, I will simply be limited in what powers I can access.”

“So you’re saying without me you’ll lose.”

“No, without you, more people will die.”

Deanna’s lips pressed white together. “Hate to break it to you, but I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

“You are my true vessel. Whether you like it or not, that will never change.” A gentle smile touched the archangel’s mouth. “But not my only one.”

The cupid looked between Deanna and Castiel, practically overflowing with bubbly glee.

“Oh my Father, you two are so cute together!”

In Deanna’s heaven, she saw her brother lit under fireworks at night.

She saw her mother baking pie.

She didn’t see a dark haired angel.

That irked her.

All Deanna wanted that night was pie, and maybe the number of that frighteningly attractive woman in the cafe. Then the seemingly benign building turned into the motel from hell, and a council (coven? pantheon? multitude? murder? yeah, definitely that last one) of gods wanted to use her family as poker chips in the apocalypse.

Freaking perfect.

Just when the hunters began to become achingly aware of how completely over their heads they were, the dining room door burst open.

“Oh, can’t we all just get along?”

“Ga-” Deanna felt soft fingers press against her lips to silence her, even as Sam clutched his throat, choking.

“It’s always wrong place worst time with you two, isn’t it?” the archangel said.

After being zapped back to their room, and a quick explanation of how exactly screwed they were by Kali’s binding spell, Deanna was close to panicking.

Luckily (luckily? again with that word) a prince in shining armor was stepping up to the plate.

“Guess it’s time for a little of the old black magic,” the Gabriel said, spraying his mouth with mint. “But first~”

The angel pulled Deanna’s wrist and swung her down into a movie worthy smooch. They broke apart gasping. Gold met green.

Deanna slapped him across the face, but the god only smirked. “We could have been great together kid,” he said, and dropped her on the floor, and vanishing.

The huntress scrambled to her feet livid. “No a word!” she snapped at her brother, who had a fist pressed against his mouth to contain his chuckles.

“I didn’t say anything,” he chortled.

“Yeah, well you were thinking it,” she growled.

Of course, Trickster charming failed in his attempted rescue. Between the gut wrenching terror, Deanna felt a moment of bemused candor at how she always seemed to be the one to rescue the princess, and briefly a half thought as to how the angel would look in a plastic crown.

Then Gabriel got stabbed by his ex. While Deanna could approve of the sentiment, she really did not think now was the best time to be whittling away allies.

Luckily her ability to fast talk could pull over even a multi national pantheon of gods. Well “luck”.

Deanna leaned her head against the roof of the Impala, trying to calm her heart and compartmentalize the racing thoughts in her mind.

Knuckles rapped on the glass, from the inside of the car.

The huntress pulled out a gun before her eyes could fully register what they were seeing.


The archangel gestured fervently. Deanna ran a hand over her lips, discreetly scanning the parking lot, before sliding into the Impala’s driver seat.

“You’re alive.” Her voice did not waiver.

Gabriel hunkered down lower in the back of the car. “Yep, and I would like to keep it that way.”

“How are you here?” She watched him from the corner of her eye.

The angel shifted his shoulders, as if to stretch extra limbs past the cramped metal walls. “Sword was a fake. Snapped it up from a can of orange squeeze.”

Deanna breathed deeply. “So all those gods in there have no chance, and they’re about to summon Lucifer.”

“What do you care?” Gabriel snorted. “The second you get our blood back from Kali, I’ll snap us out of here. Problem solved.”

The hunter glared.

“We could just drive away,” the archangel said. “You, me, the Sasquatch too I guess, and the open road.”

Deanna ran a thumb over the Impala’s steering wheel, rough nail gliding over leather. “No,” she said.

“Why?” Gabriel leaned over the seat back, arm just brushing her shoulder. “I’ve been under the radar for millennia, you think two humans would be hard to keep in lock down too? Please,” he huffed. “I’m the fifth most powerful being in creation.”

“Yeah? And then what? We hide on some beach in tahiti, and people die while we’re drinking cocktails.” She turned around fully to face the wide golden eyes. “No, I won’t let that happen!”

“Then what do you want me to do!” Gabriel cried. “I can’t kill my own brother!”

“Can’t or won’t?” Deanna growled.

The angel shifted back, staring through the being in front of him to some long forgotten idea, like a half remembered parent’s reprimand.

Deanna glowered at him in disgust, and pulled herself out of the car, before her self control to not strangle the blonde failed.

Of course, the hotel hell turned into a war zone five minutes after she stepped inside.

Crouching behind a woefully inadequate shelter, Deanna tried to think of how she and her brother would escape this mess in one piece.

Luckily prince charming didn’t drop the ball this time.

“Guard this with your life,” the archangel said, appearing at her side in a flutter of light, shoving a video tape into the dazed woman’s arms.

He hustled her, Sam and Kali out of the motel door, sword drawn to hold back the devil. Gabriel’s hand lingered on her arm for half a second, before the trio booked it to the Impala.

The goddess ordered the humans to stop the car let her out at a crossroads.

Kali eyed Deanna haughtily, a hot breeze stirring the twilight lit clouds. The huntress held the other woman’s gaze evenly, unwilling to lose the battle of wills.

She smirked, her head tilting coyly. “He always did like strong women.”

Deanna pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak as the goddess vanished in a whirl of fire.

Later, the siblings sat silently in the car, waiting till sunrise.

Sam glanced at his sister. “So what did Gabriel mean when he-”


“Well, for whatever reason, the guy liked you.”

“Quit it Sam.”

“Do you ever think he did what he did because-”

“No,” Deanna cut her brother off sharply. “I don’t.”

“So, how are we going to spend our last night on earth?” A tired smile tugged Deanna’s lips. “Again.”

Castiel enfolded the hunter in his arms, forehead brushing against hers. “I thought we could sit here quietly.”

She leaned against he shoulder, hands crossed over her stomach. “Sounds like a plan.”

Later, after losing another hotel deposit, the couple caught their breath together in the darkness.

Cas looked at her in wonder, his hand soft against her abdomen. A war took place behind the blue of his eyes; awe sliding to conditioned disgust, then panic, before settling on an overwhelming determination. He opened his mouth as if to speak, paused, then closed it again, before settling back against the bleach scented pillows.

Deanna didn’t see any of this, her human vision unable to pierce the darkness. However she did sigh contentedly when her angel’s arm snaked around her, pulling her close against a warm chest.

The next morning, the hunter stretched languorously, before heading to the restroom to make herself presentable. She crossed to what passed as a kitchenette and opened the mini-fridge.

Deanna reached for a beer, but the fallen angel crossed to her side and plucked it from her fingers. “Cas, what the hell?”

“You should not imbibe alcohol in your condition.”

The hunter choked. “My what?”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “You are with child.”

She blinked, askant. “What? No. I’m on the pill.”

“The what?”

Deanna waved her hand. “I controls my hormones making it so...” She trailed off in dawning comprehension. The hunter rounded on the angel, finger pointing accusingly. “Dude! You’ve been messing with my birth control!”

The angel tilted his head. “Your what?”

“It stops me from getting-” She gesticulated furiously at her abdomen. “Like this!”

“I do not understand. Why are you upset?”

“Why?” She ran a hand through her hair. “Why? Well, I’m me, and you’re, well, you-”

“Ah, I think I understand.” Castiel wrapped his arms around her. “I was too far fallen at the child’s conception for it to be a true nephilim,” the angel assured.

Deanna held up her hand and pulled away. “No, we’re not talking about this now. Devil back in the box first, then-” her breath caught. “No. Just, no.”

Deanna keened, arms wrapped around the former broken mess of her body. Her soul flickered in longing for her brother, her family, her friends, for the tiny life snuffed out before she had a chance to properly acknowledge its existence.

Castiel looked down at the weeping woman, brows furrowed. The angel did not crave the same things he did when he was sinking close to humanity, however his love for the human beside him would forever remain ingrained into the core of his being.

She wanted so little, how could he deny her that which he had the power to give?

Tenderly, he wrapped the weeping woman into his arms, and kissed away every tear which spilt from her hazel-green eyes.




I wanted to write a girl!Dean story that wasn’t revolving around the sexy times with Cas.

Deanna’s first name is Marisa, because John’s mother’s name was Missy. I see he and Mary splitting how to name their children; Mary picks the boys’s first names, John the girls’.

In cannon, Dean was raised to be very stoic by John. Here, he tried that once, and Sam capitalized on his father’s inability to deal with women and their problems in order to save his elder sister getting yelled at. John does not know how to handle raising a daughter. This causes him to balk at Deanna expressing femininity and default to treating her as he would a son, until he is uncomfortably reminded of her gender.

Sam is more protective of his older sister than he would be of his older brother in cannon. Also, Deanna is more allowing of ‘chick flick moments’ than her counterpart.

Also, yes, I totally am hinting Gabriel is flirting/has a crush on her. Why? Because it entertains me to do so.


In 1996 John Travolta stared as the angel Michael in a film by the same name, hence Deanna’s reference.


This didn’t work itself into the scene, but 2014! Deanna went back to acting and dressing in a masculine manner, due to her falling back into the thought pattern that no one needed Deanna, but they might need Dean.

Gabriel might have been a little bit in love with Deanna, but Deanna doesn’t like to think that’s why the archangel decided to save the world. She doesn’t consider herself worth that. In truth, she was only a part of the reason Gabriel decided to root for the human team.

Yes, Deanna lost the baby (come on, the stress plus getting the shit beat out of her will do that, especially to one so young). She was not ok for a long while, but after a few months, she and Cas got it on like bunnies, and well... next chapter.

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