justaboveyoursunrise

[justaboveyoursunrise]

paradigm: chapter 15

Dean sucks in a breath, looking at the tank. “So… he’s in there? Right now?” “Yup. Well, in a manner of speaking. His body’s there but his mind is, uh…” Garth taps at the computer screen. “Since Chuck unplugged the game server, so to speak, Cas is kind of in no-man’s land.”  “The hell does that mean?” Dean asks, coming up to stand next to Garth, squinting at the indecipherable green text on the screen.  “His mind is, uh…” Garth’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Well, without anything to attach to, it’s kind of… fading away.” 

|| read from the beginning ||

[justaboveyoursunrise]

@wanderingcas posted this wip challenge for people who need motivation to finish theirs, with a "encouraging anyone else" tagging system, so I'm joining with the beginning snippet of a sequel to an older fic of mine, like only a best friend could, which was a post-high school destiel au. I couldn't leave the ending so bittersweet, so I've been tinkering away at a "10 years later" happily ever after.

You Can't Go Home Again is shoved, a little too aptly, between the windshield and dashboard, a paperback copy that's showing its age and wear in the form of a wrinkled cover and rippling pages.

As the price on the gas pump climbs higher and higher, Cas sighs, letting his head fall back against the driver's side headrest, wondering, not for the first time, what he's doing here exactly. 28 is maybe too young to have a midlife crisis, but that's what it feels like.

The insomnia, the nerves he can't shake, the unmovable and constant dread that's settled inside of him like a tiny intruder drove stakes into Cas’s chest and set up camp—okay, maybe that's not a midlife crisis, maybe that's just anxiety. That's what Balthazar would tell him, anyway, and then he'd offer Cas a tantalizing concoction of pharmaceuticals to 'help' rid Cas of these 'ails.' Cas has taken him up on this only once, when they were newly getting to know one another through mutual friends. The ensuing trip could only be described as a hellish existential nightmare that Cas would like to never repeat.

Still. As he sits now, with his heart racing enough he can feel the pulse of it in his throat, he thinks he wouldn't mind an opportunity to dull the edge.

Going back home shouldn't be this hard. And, yet, he's struggling.

Maybe because there's nothing left of Sioux Falls for Cas to even call 'home.' Naomi—his mother—she passed away three years ago, the last time he returned. His aunt had arranged everything, so all Cas needed to do was attend the funeral service, watching as well-intentioned strangers described a loving, caring woman he himself never knew. The version he grew up with was strict and stern and unwavering in her faith, instilling in him a righteousness and fear of religious disloyalty he still sometimes finds himself defaulting to. In her way, she loved Cas, but it was exactly that—in her way, and only that. Finding out she had raised a man with a sexual preference her Bible group would accuse 'deviant'? It regularly tested the conditions of his mother's supposed unconditional love.

Besides, last time he was home, he was forced to confront more than just his familial trauma. There was also Dean.

"Heya, mopey," Gabe calls through the rolled down window of the passenger seat, cutting through Cas's thoughts like a lifted veil. "Perk up, yeesh. People are gonna think I'm trafficking you."

Cas sighs, "Gabriel," weary for a whole different reason now as Gabriel waggles his eyebrows and disappears from view to disconnect the nozzle. The hose is clicked back into place before Gabe reappears, obnoxiously pleased with himself.

"I'mma go take a whiz and grab a Kickstart. Want anything?"

"Coffee would be nice. Thank you.”

"Diabetic amounts of sugar?"

"You know I don't like—”

"I'm kidding. Black and bitter like your dead mom's soul?" he says instead, giving Cas a grin. Cas can't even argue against that—one, because it's kind of true, but also because Gabe's already spun off and strolling towards the gas station. He can hear his loud whistling as he goes.

Cas thunks his head against the seat again.

Maybe he won't make it to Sioux Falls after all. Maybe he'll Thelma-and-Louise them off the side of a road instead.

tagging, just in case there's something on the ol' hard drive: @cockymclaughlin @glamrockcas @dollsome-does-tumblr @milkshakemicrowave @pringlesaremydivision

[justaboveyoursunrise]

Sam is organising some of their archived items one day, and tries on the Holy Fire glasses just as Castiel walks into the room. He tries not to freak out because now he can see that Cas is surrounded by floating, glowing eyes.

Sam takes the glasses off. Normal regular Cas.

Puts them back on. Eyes everywhere.

Cas looks over and sees Sam's strange expression, not knowing the glasses he's wearing have been treated with Holy Fire, and asks if he's okay.

Sam fumbles his way through a "Yeah- I'm uh- I'm fine."

While they're talking Sam notices that actually, only a handful of the eyes floating around Cas are open, looking at him, while the rest are closed.

But then Dean walks into the room.

Instantly all of Cas's glowing eyes snap open and follow his movement through the room. "Hey Sam, hey Cas," Dean greets, unaware of the eyes watching him.

"Hello, Dean," Cas replies, all the eyes squinting closed like a happy cat.

Sam watches with interest. "Cas?" he says.

Cas's physical body turns to him, but only a few of the eyes leave Dean. "Yes, Sam?"

"Nothing."

The eyes all return to Dean before Cas even finishes saying, "If you're sure."

..........Sam is unsurprised.

[justaboveyoursunrise]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I wrote this little one-shot, and happened to come across it in my saved emails just this weekend. Considering the Chiefs just won the Superbowl, it felt serendipitous that I came across it. Pretty sure it was supposed to be a series I never continued. Anyway, here we go, enjoy this untitled Dean teaching newly-human Cas the joys of football (and buffalo chicken) and being bros short fic.

—————–

“Dean, I still don’t-”

“For the last time, Cas, we’re doing this.  Now shut your face and sit down.”

There is a long silence. Blue and green clash in defiance of one another, the soundless war that stretches between them. They have talked about this already. More importantly, Dean Winchester has planned this day. No amount of Castiel’s self-doubt or apathy is going to change these plans. Dean, exasperated with his friend and this argument, throws his arms out with impatience, brows raised with expectation, daring the man – the man – staring back at him to try and put up another challenge. Castiel instead drops his eyes and frowns in resignation, a muttered “fine” declaring his surrender. Dean, with a roll of his eyes, disappears, taking with him the plastic bags of Styrofoam containers full of aromatics; something special, he has promised Castiel.

Castiel sits as directed, frown still etched into the corners of his mouth as he regards the muted computer screen before him. An elaborate stage sees five men sitting behind an elongated desk, polished and lit up with all manner of colored lights. Most of the men are older, a few portly, and they all seem to be doing nothing more than engaging in heated debates as images appear on the screen in small boxes superimposed below them: a blue star, a golden ram’s horn, an oddly colored dolphin – albeit the most aggressive and cartoonish dolphin that Castiel has ever seen. Certainly they don’t believe porpoises really look that way, he thinks. More symbols as the men pantomime: a crimson cardinal, a blue buffalo, a horse snout and orange mane, which he will soon learn is really meant to be a Bronco.  In spite of himself, Castiel is intrigued. What are all these symbols and why do these men continue to argue over them? An eagle, a raven, a fleur de lis, a Norseman outlined in royal purple.

By the time Dean returns, Castiel finds himself brimming with far too many questions. “These experts seem unable to agree on anything,” he states, his blue eyes lighting upon Dean.

“That’s because they aren’t really experts,” Dean tells him, matter-of-fact. His hands are full with the Styrofoam containers from the bags, and as Dean sits, he sets one in front of each of them. “I hope you’re ready for this,” he says, clearly pleased, rubbing his hands together with what Castiel knows to be a sign of enthusiasm.

Pulling the top away, Castiel finds his container full of what seem to be pieces of meat covered in a bright orange sauce. Despite the questionable coloring, though, they smell like nothing Castiel has ever before known. There is a spice that reaches in through the aroma, stinging in his nose, causing an autonomic and undeniable reaction in his mouth. It is, in every literal sense of the word, watering. Each strange, alien impulse pushing through Castiel begs him to dig in, to grab a handful of these oddly shaped, oddly colored pieces of meat and simply shove them all into his mouth at once. Was this how humans felt about food all the time? Suddenly, it seemed no wonder that they enjoyed the act of dining so frequently. Even his experiments with peanut butter and jelly had never resulted in this overwhelming need to eat.

Beside him, Dean watches, green gold burning into Castiel, waiting for a reaction. There is an expectation here, a necessitation of response for the introduction of something brand new, and Castiel obliges. “This smells delicious. Though I’m afraid it does look somewhat… unappealing.”

Dean chuckles, pleasing Castiel that he has not seemed to overstep a boundary. “Looks ain’t everything, Cas.”

Keep reading

[justaboveyoursunrise]

🥰

[justaboveyoursunrise]

they are siblings but more importantly they are friends !!!

[justaboveyoursunrise]

i can never go home

he was 26, dude. 

[justaboveyoursunrise]

“Do you ever wish on shooting stars?” Dean asks Cas late one night when the tv’s on low and Cas is lightly dozing on his shoulder. He doesn’t know why he thought of it. Something on one of the shows they watched, maybe.

Or he just wants to know what Cas would wish for.

Cas rolls his head back, enough to look up at Dean with heavy blue eyes. “I used to. Not so much anymore.”

“No?”

“No.” Cas stifles a yawn, but the force of it has him sitting up straighter. He stretches out his arms, tilts his head side to side. “I don’t wish on my birthday either, when I blow out the candles.”

“Dude, no. Now you are just messing with tradition.”

Keep reading

[justaboveyoursunrise]

haven’t been able to get anything to look how i want lately but i also want to draw/post more regularly so here are some idiots

[justaboveyoursunrise]

did someone order destiel pining with a side of fries 

[justaboveyoursunrise]

wait . dean spreading cas’ ashes in a meadow in hopes that he will like it even in death. cas tearing down the walls in heaven and completely remaking it in hopes that dean will like it even in death

[justaboveyoursunrise]

In light of today's revelations: Tom Petty's "Wildflowers" 🎶

[justaboveyoursunrise]

as i turn around, as i say it out loud i choose to tell you i love you even if it means goodbye - e.s.

@whatladybird

[justaboveyoursunrise]

With the Chiefs back in the Superbowl this weekend, this felt appropriate to pull back out.

I really wanna get my shit together on the foozballs au I've been working on for...uh... years. Anyway. Here's this.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, I wrote this little one-shot, and happened to come across it in my saved emails just this weekend. Considering the Chiefs just won the Superbowl, it felt serendipitous that I came across it. Pretty sure it was supposed to be a series I never continued. Anyway, here we go, enjoy this untitled Dean teaching newly-human Cas the joys of football (and buffalo chicken) and being bros short fic.

—————–

“Dean, I still don’t-”

“For the last time, Cas, we’re doing this.  Now shut your face and sit down.”

There is a long silence. Blue and green clash in defiance of one another, the soundless war that stretches between them. They have talked about this already. More importantly, Dean Winchester has planned this day. No amount of Castiel’s self-doubt or apathy is going to change these plans. Dean, exasperated with his friend and this argument, throws his arms out with impatience, brows raised with expectation, daring the man – the man – staring back at him to try and put up another challenge. Castiel instead drops his eyes and frowns in resignation, a muttered “fine” declaring his surrender. Dean, with a roll of his eyes, disappears, taking with him the plastic bags of Styrofoam containers full of aromatics; something special, he has promised Castiel.

Castiel sits as directed, frown still etched into the corners of his mouth as he regards the muted computer screen before him. An elaborate stage sees five men sitting behind an elongated desk, polished and lit up with all manner of colored lights. Most of the men are older, a few portly, and they all seem to be doing nothing more than engaging in heated debates as images appear on the screen in small boxes superimposed below them: a blue star, a golden ram’s horn, an oddly colored dolphin – albeit the most aggressive and cartoonish dolphin that Castiel has ever seen. Certainly they don’t believe porpoises really look that way, he thinks. More symbols as the men pantomime: a crimson cardinal, a blue buffalo, a horse snout and orange mane, which he will soon learn is really meant to be a Bronco.  In spite of himself, Castiel is intrigued. What are all these symbols and why do these men continue to argue over them? An eagle, a raven, a fleur de lis, a Norseman outlined in royal purple.

By the time Dean returns, Castiel finds himself brimming with far too many questions. “These experts seem unable to agree on anything,” he states, his blue eyes lighting upon Dean.

“That’s because they aren’t really experts,” Dean tells him, matter-of-fact. His hands are full with the Styrofoam containers from the bags, and as Dean sits, he sets one in front of each of them. “I hope you’re ready for this,” he says, clearly pleased, rubbing his hands together with what Castiel knows to be a sign of enthusiasm.

Pulling the top away, Castiel finds his container full of what seem to be pieces of meat covered in a bright orange sauce. Despite the questionable coloring, though, they smell like nothing Castiel has ever before known. There is a spice that reaches in through the aroma, stinging in his nose, causing an autonomic and undeniable reaction in his mouth. It is, in every literal sense of the word, watering. Each strange, alien impulse pushing through Castiel begs him to dig in, to grab a handful of these oddly shaped, oddly colored pieces of meat and simply shove them all into his mouth at once. Was this how humans felt about food all the time? Suddenly, it seemed no wonder that they enjoyed the act of dining so frequently. Even his experiments with peanut butter and jelly had never resulted in this overwhelming need to eat.

Beside him, Dean watches, green gold burning into Castiel, waiting for a reaction. There is an expectation here, a necessitation of response for the introduction of something brand new, and Castiel obliges. “This smells delicious. Though I’m afraid it does look somewhat… unappealing.”

Dean chuckles, pleasing Castiel that he has not seemed to overstep a boundary. “Looks ain’t everything, Cas.”

Keep reading

[justaboveyoursunrise]

"It’s just you and me," Dean whispered, their too-big world narrowed down under the blanket to the things he longed for most.

Shelter. Home. Light.

[justaboveyoursunrise]

Bless everyone who leaves kudos and nice comments on fics. You brighten my day so much, every time.

[justaboveyoursunrise]

something about dean saying i do with a cross hovering behind him. something about him walking towards cas, choosing cas. something about dean welcoming cas home. not to a place but into his arms. something about dean breathing back life as he holds cas against his chest.