PLEASE READ, THIS IS OF IMPORT: this story is inspired by/based off of/uses the fabulous lyrics of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "Once More With Feeling" and is somewhat a mix of wildly AU and crack!fic and I'm not quite sure where to put it. Needless to say it has Supernatural spoilers from seasons one to (I think?) six though it's set somewhere season five but don't quote me on that as the timeline for this is a little screwy but please, just deal with it. It IS slash, with semi-established Sabriel and getting-there Destiel. Don't like, well, that's a shame, but I won't force you to read it at gunpoint. That would be mighty Sarah Palin of me. Da-da da-da da-da, joke!

Anyway. Hello! I'm the newbie on the Supernatural bandwagon and just got positively tidal waved by Destiel feels and co-dependency issues and this baby sorta popped into my head and voila here we are! Please feel free to review/leave suggestions/comments/praise/hellfire/existential questions/fireflies/ and I'd be over-the-moon with levels of ridiculous happiness!

ALSO ALSO: to avoid confusion, lyrics will generally be grouped together and in italics. It also tends to rhyme. Review or PM with questions about understanding/suggestions on how to make this clearer if it's not. xx

Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the Gods at CW and Eric Kripke and the writers and a whole other bunch of people I don't know. And the basis of this plot-line belongs to the God Joss Whedon, amen. Most of the lyrics are also still his, with minor adjustments for context. I make no claim to owning anything, I just needed to get these songs outta my head.

And now, an unprecedented, and one time only event. The Powers That Be in headache-inducing association with Chuck Shirley bring you "Once More, With Supernatural Feeling." Starring the ever apocalypse-averting slash occasionally dying and all time sexy-fying Winchester brothers Sam and Dean. Special Guests include: an Angel in a Dirty Trench Coat, an Old Drunk, one resident Trickster Archangel, a King of Hell (whose not quite king yet but these are merely technicalities), various badass demons, ghosts, and other hob-knobs, and an Extra Special Mystery Guest in this perilous and heart warming roller-coaster of gut-wrenching, belly-clutching, terror-inducing, eyes-burning, cheeks-smarting train-wreck-waiting-to-happen that's probably not suitable for the whole family.


It was seven am when the curtains rose for the overture and consciousness descended upon the Winchester household. By consciousness, one of course means an abrupt transition from nightmare to wakefulness, often accompanied by a colourful symphony of curses from the eldest of the Winchesters. And by household one of course refers to the quintessential anonymous motel room that has since gained the (very common) title of Current Winchester Abode.

Both occupants of the room rose to consciousness in the strict manner that was of course fundamental to their person. For example, the younger Winchester, not to be mislead by his intimidating size, scrunched his nose, yawned, and stretched his gargantuan limbs. He was quite happy with himself this morning, which may or may not have had anything to do with having his dreams visited by one resident Trickster Archangel. Pulling aside the covers, he made for the bathroom, though not before tossing the quick and casual but thoroughly ingrained customary greeting to his brother.

"Morning jerk."

Said elder Winchester did not hesitate with the knee-jerk, "shut it, bitch." He did not, however, roll away from the door and face Sam in an attempt at hiding the ridiculously obvious post-nightmare expression currently plastered on his face. As was to be expected of one who had spent forty years in––

The continued sounds of Sammy and routine emanating from the bathroom helped shove those thoughts and don't go there's back in their designated boxes. Even with the occasional cognitive assistance of a particular blue-eyed someone who was low on the angel juice, the memories embedded in his mind refused to abandon their throne of self-loathing. He threw back the covers.

Measly showers were had; one gigantor had particular difficulty with the nozzle as it only reached his chest with all the force of a dripping faucet, teeth were brushed, hair was styled with fingers – "you still look like a moose!" – bags were packed, light banter was tossed across the room – "I'm curious, were your eyes closed when you shaved this morning Dean?" "Just because you don't have anything to shave, Samantha" – as the brothers packed their gear and hit the road to close their latest case.

Hours later, night had fallen and evil had risen as Dean Winchester made his way through the moonlit graveyard, strides long with phantom purpose. Sam was back with gorgeous blonde victim (GBV) number one at the old family home she had decided to purchase and protecting her from the murderous and (bleh, really?) cannibalistic family members currently haunting it. Thus Dean was given the assignment of ganking the bones and saving GBV's equally drop-dead (if one would pardon the rather unfortunate pun) sister who was presently tied to a tree in said graveyard as a sacrifice to a cannibalistic god. (They were very ambitious ghosts.)

Somehow, somewhere, music cued him in and before he knew it, Dean Winchester had opened his mouth and started singing.

(Audience, please refrain from gasping too loudly so as to avoid disrupting the flow.)

Every single night, the same arrangement,

I go out and fight the fight.

Still I always feel this strange estrangement,

Nothing here is real, nothing here is right.

Fugly Papa Ghost came out of nowhere but Dean was born ready. He pumped it full of salt with his sawn-off shotgun and moved on before it had even finished dissolving.

I've been making shows of trading blows,

Just hoping no one knows,

Dean made his way to the four already dug-up graves of the crazy-ass family members – he and Sam had been been rudely interrupted earlier by a sticky-beak rookie cop and all his good intentions. Not to mention the following distractions of GBV no.1 and no.2.

That I've been going through the motions,

Walking through the part,

Dean leaned over Fugly Papa's grave, shooting Mrs. Fugly, before continuing his salting and burning of Mr. Fugly. One down, three to go.

Nothing seems to penetrate my heart!

The flames illuminated Dean's face with an ironic mixture of demonic shadows and holy light.

I was always brave and kind of righteous,

Now I find I'm wavering.

Dean moved towards Mama Fugly's grave only to be blocked by said bitch and her daughter, Grudge Wannabe.

Crawl it out your grave you'll find this fight just,

Doesn't mean a thing.

He managed to blow the Mrs. away before Grudge Wannabe sent him flying to the hallowed earth with no air left in his lungs. He watched as her mouth twisted into some remnants of a smirk before she too joined in, he ain't got that swing.

Dean rolled his eyes, thanks for noticing.

Mama Fugly reappeared, joined by her son the Spoiled Brat from Hell, and together the three of them went full High School Musical.

He does pretty well with things from hell,

But lately we can tell,

That he's been going through the motions,

Faking it somehow,

Taking full advantage of this, Dean hauled himself up, brushed himself off, and proceeded to salt and burn Grudge Wannabe and Spoiled Brat from Hell, who departed with one final he's not even half the guy he… Ow as he burned up.

Will I stay this way forever?

Sleep walk through my life's endeavor?

Pulling a knife from his leather jacket, Dean severed the rope binding GBV no.2. She smiled, a full smile of Colgate pearly whites, and stepped forwards with a seductive swing of her hips, how can I repay…?

But Dean Winchester continued walking with a muttered, whatever towards the large stone monument above Mama Fugly's grave. GBV no.2 flounced off into the darkness.

Last one. I don't want to be,

He climbed up the stair-like ridges on the side of the monolith and clutched briefly at his chest with the words.

Going through the motions,

Losing all my drive.

Dean began pouring a healthy dose of salt and kero onto the bones.

I can't even see,

If this is really me,

At the last minute, Mama Fugly popped up, and with a snarl of rage reached with claw-like fingers for Dean's throat.

And I just want to be,

He dropped the match onto her bones…


And Mrs. Fugly burned up to smoke and ashes, her dying scream nothing more than an echo in the dark.


So what did we think? Yay/Nay? I have more up my sleeve so if you guys don't like, let me know and if you do DEFINITELY let me know. I await your verdicts!