#15x03 coda

[rauko-creates]

The Black and White

Is this a really late destiel coda for 15x03? Yes, yes it is. I wrote this first part back when the episode aired, but I had more I wanted to do with it and my heart couldn’t handle having another unfinished wip floating around out there, so I waited until I had the other 3 parts mapped out and largely written. 

Anyway, uh, there’s pain. Lots of angst. But I promise it ends well ;)

Part 1: Dead

Call it what you need,

But don't blame yourself for me

Don't blame yourself for me

‘Cause I spaced myself from you

‘Cause I got tired of hurting you

But now I'm hurting too

Castiel had never missed his wings more than in this moment. They were Dead. They were all Dead. Mary was Dead. The hunters who had come from the apocalypse dimension were Dead. Rowena was Dead. Ketch was Dead. Nearly everyone who had ever associated with Castiel or the Winchesters: Dead. Jack…

Even Castiel, although breathing, was apparently Dead along with the others.

“The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong. You know this: something always goes wrong.” 

“Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?”

Ah...pain.

“You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me.

Dean finally looked at him. It wasn’t better.

“My powers are failing, and- and I've tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don't want to hear it. You don't care.”

No response.

“I'm dead to you.”

He didn’t take it back.

“You still blame me for Mary.”

He does.

“Well, I don't think there's anything left to say.”

There is. There’s so much to say. But no point.

“Where you going? 

Castiel paused. “Jack's dead. Chuck's gone. You and Sam have each other.” But Castiel was not part of that apparently. “I think it’s time for me to move on.”

Nothing.

Castiel waited.

Nothing.

Castiel turned.

Nothing.

Castiel took his time walking up the stairs. Please. Please, Dean, say something. Say anything. Ask me to turn around. It’s all I want to do. But I need you to want it too. Dean, please…

Nothing.

Now, Castiel was running. He ached for his wings. He ached for the feeling of air and space moving around them. He ached for the ability to blink and be somewhere so very far away from here, somewhere where maybe he was wanted, a place where he couldn’t feel Dean’s hatred and resentment radiating out at him where the longing used to reside, somewhere where he couldn’t still feel Dean’s gravity pulling him right back. 

He wanted to stay. He needed to leave.

How had it come to this? They had both made so many mistakes before, but they had always gotten through it before.

Castiel had made so many mistakes. He knew he had. He had abandoned Dean for Heaven when Dean had needed him. He had lied to Dean to work with Crowley. He had hurt Sam by shattering his wall that protected him from his trauma in the cage. Castiel had ignored Dean’s warnings and attempts to help him as he ravaged Heaven and Earth as some deranged god, filled with the eroding power of Purgatory’s souls. 

But he had always fixed it. Dean had always given him the chance to fix it.

Castiel had turned his back on Heaven to choose Dean and Sam when it came down to it. He’d come clean about working with Crowley when Dean confronted him. He’d taken Sam’s pain from him and made it his own. He had put the souls back into Purgatory when he finally understood he’d gone too far. 

This time...Dean wasn’t giving him the chance...and Castiel hadn’t even chosen wrong.

Sure, horrible things had happened and Castiel’s actions and choices had contributed to those things...but he had made the best choices he could with the information he’d had. Hindsight is always twenty/twenty. Castiel had not abandoned them. He had not been deceitful or intentionally hidden anything. He had been there...doing his best.

Apparently, even Castiel’s best wasn’t good enough.

Edit: part 2 is here

[wikiangela-fanfics]

“Don’t” - destiel 15x03 coda?

So... evermore. Yeah, I was listening to it for the second time and I got inspired. This ficlet has little to do with the actual song, but in ‘tis the damn season there was the line:  “I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay” and it inspired this fic, because I thought: but what if he had asked Cas to stay

Idk evermore is just... ugh so destiel XD - I might write more ficlets based on other songs haha (but of course she released it during the mid-term season so that’s just fantastic :D)

It’s probably stupid and ooc (bc it’s my fic so, duh) but here you go XD (also, I’m not sure why it’s Dean’s pov, because now I think it should be Cas’ and I’m trying not to switch so much idk)

Also on Ao3 because why not 

*******

I think it’s time for me to move on. The words echoed in his head as Cas was walking up the stairs. He wanted to apologize. As soon as the words were out his mouth. But he didn’t have it in him. He felt angry, all the time. And now he pushed Cas away. Cas was leaving. But he couldn't let him, right?

“Don’t.” a small whisper broke out of his lips. It was so quiet Dean wasn’t even sure if Cas heard him. But then Cas stopped with one hand on the door handle. 

“Don’t what, Dean?” he didn’t turn around. None of them moved. 

“Just… just don’t, Cas.” Dean closed his eyes, squeezing the glass in his hand. He heard Cas turn around. 

“You don’t need me.” Cas’ voice was soft and quiet, and there was a hint of hurt there. And Dean hated himself even more than usual. “You don’t trust me. And you don’t care.” he repeated, now the hurt really evident in his voice. “There’s no place for me here anymore.”

“Please.” Dean said this time, his voice breaking. He was about to lose control and start crying or breaking stuff, and that terrified him. He didn’t want to cry over Cas with him right there. And he didn't want to have a fucking tantrum either. The hurt and anger were bubbling inside of him and sooner or later one would explode. 

“Either ask me exactly what you want to ask me, or let me go, Dean.” he sounded tired. And he probably was. Tired of Dean’s shit and of Dean in general. The hunter took a deep breath. He needed to stay calm, or he would just push Cas away for good.

“Please, don’t leave.” he whispered, his eyes still closed, afraid to open them, his voice shaky. “I do need you. And I want you here.” he wanted to say more, but he was physically incapable of expressing emotions. 

“I thought I was dead to you.” Cas scoffed. Okay, he had a right to be mad about this, and Dean was a complete asshole to say it. To be fair, he was always an asshole. 

“I didn’t- You can never-” he felt a tear running down his cheek. He dropped the glass, and it shattered on the floor. Neither of them even flinched. “I was angry when I said that. Hell, I still am. I’m so angry, Cas.” he opened his eyes. Cas was at the entrance to the library again, in front of Dean. He didn’t even hear him walk down the stairs. “I’m so angry it scares me sometimes,” he admitted. “But I can’t lose you, too.”

“Dean-”

“No, listen.” Dean interrupted him, while he still had the strength and courage to talk. “We have our issues, and I can’t promise you that everything will go back to normal anytime soon. But we won’t be able to work it out if you leave. And I- I am sorry.” he said, lowering his gaze. “Just please. Stay.” he whispered, barely audibly. 

“Of course I’ll stay.” Cas said, sighing again. He sounded defeated. As if he just couldn’t answer differently. As if he couldn’t say no to Dean. 

“Good.” Dean answered.

And they both knew that the conversation, and the argument, was far from over. In fact, they were already preparing themselves mentally for seeing each other every day and not talking. Or arguing over everything. Or for Dean being overly angry at everything and everyone. And for Cas not putting up with Dean’s behavior anymore. They knew they had a long way to go.

But at least they were both there. He asked Cas to stay. And Cas didn’t abandon him. Maybe they will figure out a way to actually communicate and he will stop hurting Cas. He needed to find a way. He could not bear to lose him again.

*********

Just a small addition of other lines that reminded me of destiel in this song:  “I escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave But if it's okay with you, it's okay with me” or “There's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me” and kinda this one: “And the road not taken looks real good now And it always leads to you and my hometown”

[shining-castiel]

15x03 coda for the one year anniversary!

cas heard the dull thud of the heavy bunker door behind him and took a deep breath. he really thought that dean would stop him after all these years, after all he’d been through, all they’d been through he thought he’d ask him to stay.

 ‘we’re family’ dean had said all those years ago ‘we need you, i need you’, his words echoed in his mind as he stood there outside the bunker, half expecting to see dean push the door open and apologise, to tell him that he wanted him to stay but it never happened. it was time to move on he thought as he stepped through the gravel and towards his car. he was right, he thought dimly to himself feeling the unfamiliar sting of tears forming in his eyes, there wasn’t anything left for him here, not anymore anymore. he really was just a tool that would be discarded when it wasn’t needed. he just thought this was going to be different. 

the car door slammed and the engine sputtered as he drove off and didn’t look back. ‘it’s better this way’ he repeated to himself over and over, like a mantra, during his journey into the unknown

notes under the cut :)

ok i have no idea what this is and i haven’t proofread it enough but i wanted to get something out for the anniversary slkfdjal, it’s really clunky (?) at some parts but oh well-

[profound-boning]

15x03 coda aka the Big Destiel Break Up, <1k, hastily written and served with a box of tissues

——————————————————————————

Dean stares at that spot on the floor so hard that his eyes start to water.

The door creaks open and then slams shut with a finality that rattled his bones.

His fingers grip the edge of the table in order to keep himself upright. The tension causes his limbs to shake. His eyes continue to water but it’s definitely the strain, the lack of sleep, it’s—

With a roar, he throws his bottle of beer against the wall. He turns around to grab another object but suddenly, he can’t see. Why can’t he see? Why is his face so hot?

It’s the anger. He’s full of it. Rowena. Jack. Mary. There’s no such thing as free will. He never had a fucking chance, not with God playing him like a fiddle.

Every sacrifice he ever made. All the shit he had to do to stay alive, to put food in Sam’s belly, to avoid too much trouble, keep Sam alive, not to mention keeping dad happy. Every time he had to make a tough call, to go without, anytime they lost somebody, an innocent. None of it ever fucking mattered.

Kevin. Eileen. Charlie. Ellen and Jo and Ash. He could do this all day, list out all the people he loved and lost and it was for nothing.

He fumbles with his doorknob, sucking in air like it’s going to make his head stop spinning.

Exhaustion settles in, plucking all the strength from his body. He falls into his bed and curls, his limbs instinctively twisting and pulling himself in. Trying to hold it together and trying to breathe, Dean grabs his pillow and grasps the blankets.

“Cas.”

He whispers the name that changed his whole life. He tries to speak again, to say the words he couldn’t say in the library, to allow his feelings to be heard and stupidly hoping he’s not the only one listening, but he can’t. He can’t do it.

It wouldn’t matter anyway. The angel’s powers are failing. He’d thought about it over the last couple of weeks and promptly shelved the thought, wanting to avoid having another goddamned crisis on his hands. Now, it’s too late.

It’s too late for everything. He wasted a fucking decade hiding who he really is and treating Castiel like dirt, especially recently. It was too close. They were too close. He couldn’t risk— he couldn’t—

And now he’ll never know. He’s squandered his chance at the apple pie life, at the happily ever after, or whatever fucking version of a fairytale ending two old hunters can have. What they’d had was already more than he could have ever hoped for, unlovable and destructive as he is. That’s more true than ever, now.

He’s afraid to face Sam in the morning. Sam, who just lost Rowena and now he’s lost Cas, too, he just doesn’t know it yet. Fuck.

He’s never gotten it all right in his whole life so it was never going to start now, was it? He was only ever lying to himself. Never had his own free will. Never made his choices. Never mattered.

He never mattered and without Cas, he’s sure he never will.

*****

Walking is slower than driving but Cas couldn’t possibly walk through the library, through the Bunker, to the garage, pick up his keys and go. He couldn’t walk the halls of the only home he’s ever known and then leave it.

He already regrets not getting a chance to say goodbye to Sam. And by the way his “radio” perks, he’s not the only one with regrets.

The entire time he walks toward town, Cas listens to Dean’s regrets. His sadness. Cas feels the echo of it in his own chest. All of his fears about his place in the Winchesters’ home are confirmed. Moving on is the only thing left to do, despite the pain.

His only solace is that at least this way he’ll avoid the creature of the Empty forever.

[dothwrites]

15.03 coda--grief like a marathon

I crawled into the side of the bed that I knew no one had been--Your grief always like a marathon to the rest of the world’s sprint. --Ivy, Andrea Gibson

The door closes gently. The sound still manages to echo around the empty war room, echo around the emptiness in his chest. Dean almost wishes that he’d slammed the door. At least then, he’d have a reason why he couldn’t get the sound out of his head. 

He can’t breathe. The door closed, and the hollow click echoes in his head, and Dean, he can’t...He can’t breathe. 

He’s had his lungs torn apart, he’s had fingers reach into his chest and curl around his heart, but now, standing alone in the war room, his fingers curled around the chair like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright...And he can’t breathe. 

Heat prickles at the back of his eyes and nose and Dean swallows it down. He pushes it into that pit inside of him, the one where everything eventually goes. He swallows, and he swallows, and he swallows, but the pain keeps on coming, keeps sneaking around every barrier that he throws up. Footsteps on the stairs, the door closing, agony clawing its way up his chest, and Dean...He can’t breathe. 

He hadn’t actually thought that Cas would leave. 

Eleven years and...

He really thought that Cas wouldn’t leave. 

He’d thought it was a bluff, that somehow, Cas would change his mind. That a few minutes later, Cas would come slinking back in, tail between his legs, and lurk around the edges of his favor. He’d really, honestly thought that Cas would be with him until the end, whatever that looked like. 

He should have known better. Everyone leaves in the end. Everyone. Maybe they don’t want to, maybe they’re forced to, but in the end...Dad, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Kevin, Charlie, Mom, Jack, even fucking Rowena, and Crowley, and Ketch...everyone leaves. He’d just thought that Cas would be the exception that proved the rule. 

For years, Dean has built his foundations based upon two supports: Sam on one side, and Castiel on the other and now...He can’t breathe. 

He wishes that Cas had yelled at him. He wishes that Cas’ eyes had flashed blue, that Cas had torn the library apart with the force of his rage. Dean could have understood that, could have fought against that. The hollow clang of his steps on the stairs, the defeated click of the door shutting? Dean can’t understand that. His brain runs in circles and scrabbles at loose ends, tries to find a way that Cas hasn’t left him--Cas always comes back, Cas was trapped in Purgatory and still found a way back to him, Cas died and still managed to drag himself back--but there was something so final, so damning about his last words. 

Time for me to move on. 

Like this was a pit stop for him. 

Dean knows that he’s being unfair. That’s the worst part really, is the knowledge that this was preventable. The red flags, waved in front of him with a matador’s precision, all of them saying Stop now, this is a dangerous road to tread. But Dean threw himself down that road, wholeheartedly. He’d taken some kind of pleasure in watching Cas flinch at every small cruelty thrown his way, targeted every weak spot in Cas’ armor with a sadist’s glee, because he’d known that at the end of it, Cas would still be standing there beside him. Maybe a little more bruised, maybe a little chipped around the edges, but Cas would still be there. 

Except...that door, those steps, time for me to move on, and Dean can’t breathe. Cas is gone, the kind of gone that’s done deliberately, the kind of gone that doesn’t come back.  

Dean can’t breathe. 

He stays in the war room for hours, staring at the door, waiting for Cas to come back. Waiting for that door to open again, waiting for something. He stays until he can feel the shift in his rhythm that tells him that the sun is rising, he stays until his legs tremble from exhaustion. He stays, and he waits, and the door doesn’t open, and Cas stays gone, and Dean still can’t breathe. 

---

The next day, he runs into Sam in the kitchen. He meets his brother’s red-rimmed eyes head on and says nothing, until Sam asks, in a hoarse, shredded voice, “Where’s Cas?”

“He’s gone,” Dean says, brusque. Final. 

Sam’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Where’d he need to go?” Like Cas just needed to pop to the store. 

“Cas is gone,” Dean says. He puts steel and ice into his voice, dips down into that part of himself that’s hard, that part of himself that pushed Cas away until he finally left, proving Dean’s theory right: Everyone always leaves. No one ever stays. 

“He’s gone, Sammy,” Dean repeats. The words echo in the kitchen, and Dean hears them the same way he hears Time for me to move on, the same way he hears the footsteps walking away, the same way he hears the door close--

Three hours I stared at the window, loving you, then turned towards your ear and whispered that I had to go. You uncurled from a dream and said Okay Honey. And I went to wherever the ivy goes in the winter, and for the same reasons.--Ivy, Andrea Gibson

[drsilverfish]

15x03 Coda - Castiel in the Desert

Cas drives through the night and into the pale morning.

He has the things Sam thrust into his hands; fake IDs, credit cards, a change of clothes, a bag of weapons.

His own few possessions, the things from his life in Lebanon, Kansas, that he’d treasured: a “Welcome Home” card with a bee on it from Claire Novak, sent after he got resurrected from the Empty; the music tape Dean made him; a polaroid of Jack, leaning on the bonnet of the Impala, smiling; the T-shirt Sam printed for him which read (in Enochian) “It’s funnier in Enochian” - these, he’d left behind, a small pile on the bed in the room that had, sometimes, been his.

Sedona, Arizona, a place of red rocks and juniper trees. He doesn’t want to think too hard about why he picked this town. But, he can’t lie to himself. Some of the Westerns he watched with Dean, back when Dean seemed eager to be in his company, were filmed around Sedona. Angel and the Badman, starring John Wayne, he remembers particularly, because Dean had looked at him before they pressed “play” and said “That’s kinda you and me, huh?”.

He figures a semi ex-angel who still has some healing powers can get lost here, amongst the spiritual seekers and ley-line tourists.

It’s fall, and the yellow-greens of the oaks, the reds of the maples, against a blue sky heading into noon, are almost psychedelic in their bright potency, as he drives along the road into Oak Creek Canyon.  

Being “Steve” back in Rexburg, Idaho, after the great angel-fall, had given Cas some life-skills outside of hunting. He plans to head to the library in Oak Creek Village to create a resume. There are coffee houses, and artists’ galleries and crystal shops in this part of the world. He’s pretty sure he can find work.

He promised Sam he’d keep his phone, but its silence feels like a lead weight in his pocket. He stops the car by the creek, watching a cascade of leaves fall onto the hood, and takes off the trench coat and tie, bundling them into the back seat.

“And what visage are you in now, huh? Holy tax accountant?” he hears Dean’s voice, from long ago.

I don’t know what I am, he thinks, but not this anymore, not Heaven’s soldier and not the Winchesters’ angel - just... Cas, whoever that may be.

...........

A week later, Cas has settled on Flagstaff, thirty miles north of Sedona. His shifts at Coffee and Bagels on the NAU Flagstaff Mountain Campus don’t make rent, but he has begun to establish a lucrative side-line in tarot card readings. Although his powers crap out at odd moments, he finds he can still look into a person’s soul. He remembers his lesson, from the brothel that night before he and Dean trapped Raphael in a ring of holy oil; no sudden mentions of absent fathers. Dean’s laugh from ten years ago echoes in his memory, as if a moth has become trapped in his chest.

He still doesn’t need much sleep, so Cas’ solace becomes night-hiking in the surrounding Coconino forest and the San Francisco peaks.

The first time he decides to walk through the night, he heads for the highest point on the mountains, Humphrey’s Peak. Beneath his feet are dark roots. The pines and aspens shiver in the night air. Cas can taste the copper of the fallen leaves, hear the worms blind and joyous in the mulch underfoot, brush the sleep of Calliope hummingbirds, resting under cover of darkness on their winter migration south to Mexico.

As he reaches the treeline, there is snow and basalt underfoot, and finally, the gasp of stars he is searching for. The Milky Way, that glittering stairway to Heaven, casting her fishing net across the shoals of light in the pitch sky.

There, as the canopy of the world arches over his head he finds, heretic that he is, a voice for prayer.

He prays to his dead son, once so golden and eager in Kelly Kline’s womb.

“I’m sorry, for all the things in this world I never got to show you; roses of Jericho like desert sculptures in Judea; dancing revellers in red pvc at Battle Hymn in New York, golden monkeys with blue faces in the forests of southwestern China.”

Cas prays, not to Chuck, whom indeed he has cursed bitterly, over and over. But, as if otherwise they will shake him apart, rather, he hurls his prayers into the black holes of God’s expanding universe.

“If it is blasphemy, to have gravitated to the particular calluses of one pair of human hands; if it is blasphemy, to have carved my name onto bright bone, remade in Hell; if it is blasphemy, that no thousand-year command of garrisons in Heaven could ever compete with a single year’s savage nights in Purgatory; if it is blasphemy, I have been no more, and no less, a blasphemer.”

“And yet,” he whispers, into the cold solitude of the mountain, “if many waters cannot quench it, and neither can the floods drown it, is it not, also, holy?”

Cas stays there with his question, like some modern Prometheus, a piece of quantum infinity on the edge of finite time, until the rocks bleed out in the dawn.     

[legendary-destiel]

What happened to us?

[A Destiel-Poem for SPN 15x03]

AO3

A/N: My dear friends, we have to suffer a lot at the moment, right... My heart tried to deal with the recent episode 15x03 “the rupture”, and this poem came out. Of course, it deals with the break-up scene. I start with Cas’ POV, then Dean’s POV and the last lines are somehow a mixture of both.

The songs I listen in infinite loop these days are “You mean the world to me” by Freya Ridings and “Every breaking wave” by U2. The second one used to be my T&S trigger (and for that it was exiled from my playlist LOL)... now it feels more fitting to the canon situation that we have here. *sigh* Well, enjoy (or not... I’m still crying).

What happened to Don’t ever change? Because I can see us moving on too fast Or maybe we are taking some steps back Stumbling into the mess of your deeds I barely know what’s right or wrong As my faith in you has clearly blurred my vision

What happened to I’d rather have you, cursed or not? Because I still feel way too lost Turning from one failure to another Steadily like ocean waves, breaking on the shore Although predictable for you Obviously veiled before my eyes

Where did I go wrong? Of all the fateful paths I’ve chosen Everyone lead straight to you I really thought it would be my destiny But now I see, maybe you are right Maybe, we had no other choice

Where did I failed the test My father imposed on me What if I just tried a little harder Not to be torn apart that easy Too long trapped in the belief That one day, you could be saved for good

Now things have changed, and so did I Still cursed and broken, battle weary Yet a little wiser So before I vent my wrath on you I had to draw the line Not a second longer I can look you in the eye

You don’t need me anymore And my faith in you is lost Just like I am dead to you This time we really went too far But… Is this really what we are?

***

What happened to ‘It’s good to have you back’ Because my heart still hurts too much When I don’t feel your presence next to me I’m not a saint, never have been, never will In an act of painful helplessness I blame you for everything, pushed it to the limit

What happened to ‘I need you’ Because I feel those words have been a lie Over and over, since years, pretending That this is the most significant line When things got tight, unbearable But it never came out right Like all the other countless prayers

Where did I go wrong? I can’t retrace my oh-so-smart decisions The ones that where alright And so much more turned out to be so wrong There is no silver lining for my shipwrecked soul So I have to deal with it, the turning of the tide

Where did I failed the test My father cursed upon me Saving people, every day, it changed me Doesn’t feel like a damn win Because you turned your back on me And this time, I fucked it up completely

The wounds I have, can not be healed Not by you, not anyone See, told ya all along The scars have been engraved On my heart and in my soul No way I ever could be really saved

Yeah, I wasted it again Like every godforsaken thing Never felt so dead inside

This time we really went too far But… Is this really what we are?

***

What happened to Those words we never said The ones that were clearly washed away Because you and me We’re just too broken to reset

What happened to Those glances we used to share so naturally The ones that beamed us to another damn dimension Because you and me We were surely meant to be

And the more we try it To deny it This, our story, shattered into a million pieces From profound bound to this rupture The more we need to believe That we went this way Because we chose it on our own

Corrupted by the weight upon our hearts It makes it so much harder But look back now, turn back time Can’t you hear those pounding hearts Yes – they were really ours And it doesn’t matter how many scars we have How many deaths we had to die

Don’t you turn away this time

Because…

Dammit,

There is something left to say The only words that ever counted

Ever to be true

Castiel, I love you.

***

Thank you so much for reading!! <3

If you wanna be added to my taglist, just drop me a line.

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Where Do We Go From Here?

a 15x03 coda

implied destiel

references canon character deaths

~800 words

Closing the door feels too big, like rolling a stone in front of a tomb. Cas knows leaving is right, but right has never been the same as easy, and this is no exception. So he doesn’t hesitate.

The click of the latch booms in his ears.

He stands outside, a breeze in his face. The air smells surprisingly fresh and clean. At first he looks around, mystified, but then he remembers--the world didn’t end for everyone a few minutes ago. Just for him.

“I don’t even have a car,” he says to no one. He does, but it’s still in town; they’d all been shellshocked by the loss of Rowena so he’d ridden home in the back of the Impala.

Home. Right.

He starts walking because he has nothing else to do. At first walking feels good--his muscles stretch, warm, ache. But after awhile it all seems pointless, so when he sees a fallen tree not far off the road he stops and sits.

He does not think about the demon wearing Jack’s face--using Jack’s voice--turning to ash in his hands.

He does not think about Rowena, a parody of Crowley’s words on her lips, falling into hell.

He does not think about Dean…letting him go.

He has nothing now, so he does not think.

At all.

**

Sam washes his hands.

Part of him knows Rowena’s blood is gone, that he washed it away hours ago. But still he scrubs, trying to wash away the horror, the ache, the guilt.

Sacrifice. She’d been a sacrifice, but less willingly given than forcefully taken. And what utter shit that this family be asked to sacrifice anything more.

The list of those lost starts to march through his head, but he stops it before it gets too far. Thinking about Mom and Dad, about Jack… He turns off the tap, runs wet fingers through his hair, trying to steady himself.

Inexplicably, he finds himself wishing he’d been able to build a pyre for Rowena. She’d become a hunter, in a sideways sort of way. She’d deserved the honor. She doesn’t deserve the horrors of hell.

She didn’t deserve a knife in her gut either, a voice in his head says.

“She made me!” he chokes, but he knows it’s a lie. She had asked, he had said yes. Not because of any prophecy, but because it had been the only way to save the world.

“I had to,” he whispers, and this, at least, is closer to the truth.

But there is blood on his hands. He turns the water on, he’s got to scrub the blood off.

**

Dean leans against the edge of the table, watching Cas go. For a moment he thinks about saying something--good luck, have a nice life, don’t let the door hit you on the ass--but he somehow manages to hold his tongue. He’s mad, but he’s not mean. Is he?

Whatever. Right now he doesn’t care.

He gets a beer from the fridge, hesitates, then puts it back. Not today.

On the way to his room the last few minutes replay in his mind, a never ending loop of stinging accusation and aching frustration. Words he wishes he could unhear and others he wishes he could unsay.

And why is it that “something” always seems to be you?

Now you can barely look at me.

I think it’s time for me to move on.

He’s sitting at his desk, unsure how or when he got here. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could just wipe everything from his mind. The smile that grows on his lips is cold. “Wish granted,” he says to himself, reaching into his desk drawer for the bottle of whisky he’s got stashed there for just such occasions.

He ignores the glasses on his shelf, drinks straight from the bottle.

A few drinks later (or nine or ten, who’s counting?) Dean starts talking to the empty room.

“You left. Again. It’s what you always do when things get tough. You leave. I always thought it was just you being scared, or maybe it was just an angel thing, or maybe you just didn’t want to be too close to me anymore…” He stops and shakes his head, like an idea is stuck somewhere and he’s trying to shake it loose. “But it wasn’t!” He slams the bottle onto the desk, hard enough that a book falls off the corner and a framed picture falls face down, shattering the glass. Dean barely notices. “Everytime you left it was because Chuck was bored and wanted to stir things up. And me being worried about you, missing you…”

He covers his face with his hands. His last words are barely a whisper.

“Did that mean anything?”

**

Where do we go from here?

Where do we go from here?

The battle’s done,

And we kinda won.

So we sound our vict’ry cheer.

Where do we go from here?

--Joss Whedon, Once More, with Feeling (Buffy the Vampire Slayer 6x07)

[woulddieforgabriel]

Working on a 15x03 fic (that will probably end up at 50k+ words bc what's a ficlet amirite)

Castiel has relied on the Winchesters since his fall from grace, and, for the longest time, he thought they felt the same way about him. He realized too late that he was just a convenience for him, a tool to use and then put away until they needed him again. 

They weren't family. 

They never were. 

And that's why he had to leave. 

Ten years isn't long to an angel. He existed long before the human race was even a thought in God's mind. Ten years is barely a fraction of his existence, passing by in the blink of an eye. But these last ten years have been monumental, more important than the millenia that preceded them. He still can't believe what he managed to build in just a single decade. 

And he can't believe it fell apart in an instant. 

[fangirlingtodeath513]

Paper Hearts | a 15x03 coda

“Would you have done it? If you were in my place and it was Cas that had to sacrifice himself, would you have killed him?” Sam’s voice barely cutting through the air as he says it. Dean almost doesn’t hear it, but his stupid heart clenches in his chest and he knows the answer immediately. No sense in lying now, not after everything that's happened.

“No,” he answers without hesitation, clearing his throat when his voice cracks. “No,” he repeats a little more forcefully, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Then don’t you dare stand there and go on about how we won. This isn’t a win, this is so far from a win, Dean.” Sam puts his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers through his hair. “Once again, Chuck’s stupid prophecy comes true. We were—it wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I was never going to kill her,” he mutters, gripping his hair loosely in his hands.

Dean thinks about leaving, but this is his little brother, he can’t leave Sam alone like this. He crosses the room in two steps, sitting next to Sam on the bed and pulling him into a tight hug. Sam resists but only for a moment before he grabs at Dean’s shirt and breaks down. He soaks Dean’s shoulder with tears and Dean’s breathing in more hair than oxygen, but it doesn’t matter. Sam just had to watch the woman he loves die, he can deal with a little discomfort if it means his brother gets to grieve properly.

“I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s not a win at all. Never seems to be, with us. We always manage to avert the crisis, but usually by sacrificing someone we love. Our ourselves.”

Sam nods once, sucking in a deep, shaky breath. He clutches Dean for another couple of minutes before he pulls away and dries his face off on the arm of his flannel, eyes downcast. “Thanks. That helped a little, actually.”

Dean’s mouth quirks in a smile as he squeezes Sam’s shoulder. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll be in the library.”

X

Sam finds him in the gym three hours later when he goes in search of food. Everything’s destroyed—there are dents in the walls from where the weights had been bashed into the concrete, the punching bag is hanging limply on one of the two chains it normally hangs on, benches are overturned and mats are strewn haphazardly around the room. Dean’s sitting in the middle of all the chaos, head in his hands and shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Sam frowns, hesitating in the doorway. There’s no way Dean’s this upset about Rowena, he hadn’t even really liked her. He tended to only tolerate her because she was helpful to have around. Maybe this is Dean finally reacting to what Chuck’s done, it would make sense. None of them have really had the opportunity to digest what’s going on now, with God entirely against them and hell-bent on ending the world and resetting his story.

After several minutes lingering in the doorway, Sam decides to brave whatever Dean’s about to throw at him and take a few steps into the room. Dean doesn’t look up, not even when Sam comes to a stop in front of him.

“Dean?” Sam says softly, crouching down with a frown. “You okay? What happened?”

Dean swipes under his eyes angrily, running a hand through his hair. “Cas left. I was gonna come down here and work out some anger, but…” he waves a hand around the room, sniffing quietly. “Guess you see how well that worked.”

Sam’s brows furrow and he takes a seat in front of Dean. “What do you mean Cas left?”

“He left. Said Jack was gone and you an’ I had each other, so maybe it was time for him to move on.” Dean’s voice is bitter as he says it and his eyes stay locked on a patch of floor in front of him. Sam can’t tell if he embarrassed or still angry, or maybe both. Regardless, Dean had let him grieve before, and while Cas may not be dead, it’s still a loss.

“That’s what he said? There had to have been more of a reason than that.”

Dean stays silent this time, jaw twitching as he does his best to avoid Sam’s question. Right, so that’s a question for another time, then. Sam clears his throat, pushing himself to his feet. “I was getting kind of hungry, you want to go grab a bite to eat? Get some burgers or something? I’m craving some greasy diner food.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. His eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed. He’s obviously been crying for a while, which hurts Sam to the core. He’s never actually seen Dean this upset before, not even after Charlie, not even after Mary. “You want greasy food? Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Sam snorts. “It’s the end of the world, Dean. Might as well give up the healthy food and live a little before God smites us all.”

Dean gazes curiously at him for a moment before nodding once. “Yeah, diner food sounds good right about now. I’m gonna go change and stuff, I’ll meet you at the car.”

Dean doesn’t spare him a second glance as he rises to his feet and disappears down the hallway. Sam sighs, pulling out his phone as he heads for the garage.

Cas, you know you’re welcome here, right? Jack or no Jack, you’re family. Dean’s a wreck, just let me know you’re okay?

He doesn’t expect an answer as he unlocks the Impala and slides into the passenger’s seat but almost as soon as he touches the leather, his phone chimes.

I’m okay, Sam. I  think it’s best if I stay away. Call me if you need anything, though I don’t know how much longer I’ll be useful. My powers are fading.

Sam frowns and begins to type out an answer as Dean appears in the garage. Apparently, Dean and Cas aren’t in the best spot right now, so Sam tucks his phone away and smiles at his brother as he gets in the car. “Greasy diner food?”

“Greasy diner food,” Dean confirms, tapping the button that opens the garage door and pulling the Impala onto the road.

[papersniffer]

I think when Dean said Cass could go to hell because he'd been there before…Cass should have said something snarky about having gone there to save Dean. Sooo I made something lol :P Here is what Cass was really thinking in that moment lol :P 

[dw-poet]

the rupture

It’s over.

All of it.

Ghostpocalypse—

lamest apocalypse ever.

It’s done.

And what do we have left?

Not Rowena, not Ketch

not Cas.

I’ve always trusted him

given him the benefit of the doubt.

He hasn’t seen how I still look at him

and he wonders why I can’t bear

 to listen to what he has to say.

The pieces of my heart are adrift

and his words only make them spin

 off into the dark—

then

he’s gone.

Well 

fuck him.

He wants to walk out on his family, 

on his home?

Fine.

It doesn’t matter

none of this is real

just Chuck's sick game.

except…

Sam walks into the library

slumped with sadness

weighed down by loss.

Where’s Cas? he asks.

Gone.

Gone where?

I look up at him

and crumble.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

It feels

real.

[zaffrefic]

I Know

Cas.

I...uh, hey Cas.

…I don’t know if you can still hear me. You said your powers were fading and maybe that includes this too. But, it’s been weeks, and I thought some time would help me feel less…but it hasn’t. It really hasn’t.

You turned off your phone. That or something’s wrong with it because my calls have gone straight to voicemail. Guess you’ve really moved on, huh. Or maybe you’re screening my calls. I suppose I deserve it if you are. I haven’t exactly treated you – I guess I haven’t been very understanding lately.

Thing is, I ain’t mad at you. I’m scared.

Well, maybe a little mad. Cuz I know, Cas. I know what you did. Your deal with the Empty. Jack told me a couple months ago. Kid was upset about something one night and I finally pried it out of him, and hell, I don’t even know. What can I even say? What the hell were you thinking?! You made another deal without talking it over with the rest of us. We’re supposed to have each other’s backs, work as a team. And yet there you go again, making stupid decisions that affect all of us on your own. And then you kept it a secret from us. How could you do that to us? ...To me?

I'm scared, Cas. Scared that if we somehow make it through this, you'll be with us one moment and gone the next because you’ll let yourself be happy that we’re finally free. God, Cas. What a fucking stupid thing to agree to. All for that kid. That kid who…who…

You know what, I am mad. I’m mad that this deal you made effectively takes away the future I imagined for all of us. Why can’t you just, for once, stop being such a self-sacrificing son of a bitch?! 

And now...now I don’t know. You left. You left us. Sam says I drove you away. And he might be right, but it doesn’t change the fact that you made that choice. You walked away. How could you? I thought we were…I thought you were gonna be there with me at the end of everything. Instead, you were spouting shit about me having Sam and that being enough. But it’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time.

I should probably apologize. For saying that you’re dead to me. For saying that you’re the thing that always seems to go wrong. For blaming you for…

Truth is, I’ve got this lump in my throat. Have had it since the moment Jack told me what you did. And do you know why? Because…because you’re gonna leave. Permanently, this time. We’ve weaseled our way out of so many situations, sometimes because you do something boneheaded, but I have this bad feeling that our luck’s run out now that Chuck is got it out for us. That this deal can’t be broken. And you’re trapped and I won’t be able to say that I–

…

Just, come back, Cas. Please. Please come back. I need you.

 --

Miles and miles away, Cas closes his eyes and sighs. If only he could come back. But Dean has one thing right – their luck’s run out.

So he opens his eyes and carries on alone. Because that’s all he can do anymore.

---

A/N: Thought of this one today while I was pondering what Dean will confess to Cas in episode 9 about why he’s been acting the way he has. Thanks so much for reading! Also, many thanks to @super-powerful-queen-slayyna and @captainoftheussphasethefuckers for the quick beta! You both totally rock. :D

[rosesforcastiel]

15x03 Coda Fic

So I know we’re all excited over the stuff revealed at DC but I wrote an angsty little coda fic for 15x03 and wanted to promote it here, even though I don’t have many followers: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21303251

[krislmart]

Fix It

He had lost track of how much he had drank. All Dean knew was the bottle in front of him was empty and that was not okay. Pushing himself to his feet, he staggered to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a fresh bottle of whiskey, not caring what the label said. As he turned around to make his way back to the war room table, his feet got tangled up in each other.

The next thing Dean knew he was on the floor with Sam hovering over him.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam half-yelled. Blearily, Dean noticed a white and red rag in his hand. Not a red rag, his brain prompted. A white rag covered in blood. His blood.

“What happened?” Dean said, struggling to sit up.

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders, steadying him. His eyebrows were knitted together in concern. “I heard a crash and came out here to you laying on the floor, half on top of a broken liquor bottle. You managed to cut your arm pretty badly and you have some small cuts on your face too. The arm will need stitches once we can stop it bleeding. Maybe Cas can help. Where is he?”

Sam noticed how Dean’s body immediately stiffened and the color drained from his face.

“Where is Cas, Dean?” Sam repeated.

Continue reading on AO3

[dothwrites]

15.03 coda--weights on my ankles

You will find that it necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy. So let them go, let go of them. I tie no weights to my ankles.--C Joybell C

Castiel drives for eight hours before the truck runs out of gas. He leaves its carcass abandoned on the side of a dusty highway and starts walking towards the dim horizon. At his back, the sun struggles to break free of the clinging fog of night, but Castiel keeps his eyes on the darkness ahead of him. 

After two hours of walking, his body starts to feel the beginnings of fatigue. His feet throb, his head spins, and his muscles scream in protest with every step he takes. Still, he keeps walking. He can’t stop. If he stops, then he’ll think, then he’ll feel the loss of the past days crash down like the weight of centuries on his shoulders--

Castiel keeps walking. 

The sun beats down on the back of his neck. A trickle of sweat slides down the back of his neck and underneath his shirt collar. His coat is stifling. Castiel tugs at the collar, trying to readjust it before he stops. 

Why does it seem like that thing’s always you? 

Dean’s words are a still seeping wound, one that he won’t recover from. 

With thoughtless motions, Castiel shrugs out of his coat. He leaves it on the side of the road, a crumpled mess. Let someone else find it. Let the small animals, the hares and possums, the deer and foxes, use it for shelter, for warmth. 

Castiel keeps walking. 

He comes to a small town on the Montana state line. He finds a motel which says Vacancy on the outside and walks into the office. His white shirt has turned a light brown from the dust and sweat. His shoes are covered in a fine patina of dirt. He still has a split lip. 

The cashier barely glances up at him. He asks her for one room. When asked how long his stay will be, he thinks. “One week,” he finally decides. After a moment’s thought, she rattles off a number. Castiel fishes into his wallet and hands her a wad of bills without counting. He takes the proffered key and walks away. 

Underneath the shower spray, Castiel finally allows himself to stop. 

He’d thought that Dean would stop him. 

He plays it out in his mind, there in the shower--Dean running after him, a hand on his shoulder, tugging him around. Dean’s eyes, snapping fierce on his. Dean, demanding an explanation, Dean demanding that he stay. 

Castiel doesn’t know if he would have, but it would have been nice to have been offered the choice. 

Instead, Dean had watched him go, wordless, soundless, careless. Beautiful. Cruel. Human. Castiel had dashed himself to pieces on the jagged edges of Dean Winchester until finally, there were no more pieces to pick up. 

Heat prickles behind his eyes. Water, not from the shower, falls down his face. 

Angels don’t cry. 

---

He sleeps that night. 

He hadn’t been lying when he said his powers were failing. He can still feel his grace, but it’s weak and erratic. He doesn’t have enough to heal the split in his lip and so he keeps tonguing it as he drifts off, just so he can feel the bright pulse of pain. 

He dreams, when he sleeps. He dreams of happier times, of meals spent in the bunker, of Jack’s laughter echoing from the walls. He dreams of the times after hunts when Dean would turn to him, the hope in his eyes hidden almost but not quite and say You wanna come and have a beer real quick? And Castiel, to keep up appearances, would pretend to think and consider, and say I suppose that I can, and then Dean would smile, bright and sunny. 

He dreams of his hand against Jack’s forehead, of pouring his grace into that body until it shriveled into nothingness before his eyes. Of his boy’s voice, tiny and afraid, saying Cas please, of Jack in the graveyard, I want to love you but I can’t, of Dean biting out You’re dead to me, of the charred skeleton he left in Hell. 

Castiel wakes, shivering, shaking. He doesn’t recognize the feeling in his stomach until bile pours out of his mouth, hot and sour. It dribbles down his chin and onto the blankets. The stench surrounds him and the taste fills his mouth. He swallows to try and chase it away, but it remains, vile and so very, very mortal. 

He brings a shaking hand to his forehead to try and wipe away the clammy sweat gathered there, then he remembers how his hand looked splayed out over Jack’s head and he retches again. 

---

It takes Sam three days to call. 

In that time Castiel found a small shopping center where he used the last of his cash to purchase new clothes. Gone is the last vestiges of Jimmy’s suit. In its place he has several pairs of jeans, sensible boots, and a few sensible shirts. In the store, he’d seen several plaid shirts and he’d gravitated towards them, out of a need for the familiar. His fingers had brushed the sleeve of one--soft, warm. The feel of Dean’s arm against the back of his neck. 

Castiel jerked away like he’d been burned. 

His phone rings, shrill in his pocket. Castiel pulls it out and answers, already knowing who is on the other end. 

“Cas.” There’s relief in Sam’s voice, but it’s only a shred. The rest is carefully blank. Any nuance is lost over miles of phone lines. “For a second I thought you weren’t going to answer.” 

Castiel doesn’t reply. He listens for a few moments to the quiet sounds of Sam breathing. There’s a hollowness on the other end of the line which tells him that Sam is in the bunker. He wonders where Dean is--in his room? At the shooting range? At a bar? A surge of hot something curls through Castiel’s stomach, and he dismisses it. 

Finally realizing that Castiel has no intention of speaking, Sam sighs. “Look, I guess you know why I’m calling.” Again, he pauses, inviting Castiel into the conversation. Again, Castiel remains silent. He’d meant it when he’d said that there wasn’t anything else to say. 

“Cas,” Sam says again, this time quieter. Honest. “Look, I know that you said that you were leaving but...” 

“Are you asking me to come back?” Castiel finally asks. He doesn’t know whether or not he’s angry at Sam. While Sam exhibited none of Dean’s petty cruelties, he certainly didn’t restrain his brother. 

“I don’t...Are you ok?” There’s something bleak and hopeless in Sam’s voice. He lost Rowena. Castiel understands. 

“I’m fine.” Castiel looks out over the small park. Children play in the grass while adults jog around the path. Several geese root through the grass. It’s all so beautiful. 

“I just...I’m sorry, all right? I know that Dean and you...I know what he said, he told me--” 

“That all your problems have been my fault?” 

Castiel can’t help the snap in his voice, mostly because in some part, it’s true. If he hadn’t opened Purgatory, if he hadn’t released the Leviathan...how many tragedies could have been averted? If he’d managed to see through Metatron’s lies, how many of his brothers and sisters would still be alive? If he hadn’t said yes to Lucifer, how many lives might have been spared? 

“Cas, you know...” Sam sighs. The sound is defeated. “You know he didn’t mean that, right?”

Yes he did. Castiel might not have the full force of his grace, but he has enough, enough to see the surface of Dean’s soul. He meant every word. 

“What’s done is done,” Castiel says instead. Whatever faith Sam has left in his brother, Castiel doesn’t want to destroy it. “The apocalypse is over. You and Dean have no more need of me.” 

A small, frustrated noise winds its way through the phone. “Cas, you know that we...It’s not about what we need.” 

Isn’t it though, Cas wants to ask. Isn’t it about what he can do for the Winchesters, how he can help them. The few times that he’s asked for their help, they came begrudgingly or not at all. Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters. 

Castiel has bled. Castiel has died. And even that wasn’t enough. 

“Sam. You know that I value our time together.” Castiel doesn’t say friendship. There’s too much hurt on his side and too little emotion on Sam’s side for that word to come through. Though Sam never said anything, Castiel senses--Sam blames him as well. He might be better at hiding it than Dean, but deep down, deep enough that maybe Sam doesn’t even know it’s there...he blames Castiel. 

“But it’s time for me to...” Castiel trails off. He doesn’t know what it is exactly, that he wants to do. All he knows is that whatever it is, it can’t happen with Sam and Dean. 

“You know that if you ever need anything, you just have to call right?” 

“Of course,” Castiel murmurs. 

“Right.” Sam’s voice sounds dissatisfied, but he doesn’t try to stop Castiel, doesn’t beg him to come back. “Ok. Um...Good luck. I guess.” 

“Goodbye Sam,” Castiel says. 

After hanging up the phone, he stares at the small piece of plastic and metal in his hands. He thumbs through his contact list. The list of names is pitifully small. Worse when he considers how few of those he can actually call. 

Rowena is dead. Ketch is dead. Jack is...Jack is...Sam is better off without him. And Dean. 

With one movement, Castiel breaks the phone in half. Tiny glass shards embed themselves in the pad of his thumb, but he ignores the pain as he tosses the two halves in the trash can, before walking away from the park. 

---

Read the rest on ao3!