#DeanCas fic

[redroses07]

destiel my babies

[thevioletcaptain]

today dean fucked up 😪

[ohsc]

destiel, 1.1k words, nsfw 18+, kind of somno, handjob, spitting, kissing

There was a hand against his abdomen and the touch made him sigh, eyelids fluttering. The weight pressed up against his back was nice, too, steady and firm and warm.

The shifting of covers, soft breath on his ear, and the hands dipped lower.

Still caught in the clutches of sleep, Dean only grunted and nuzzled further into his pillow, his breathing started to even out again. It wasn’t often he got to sleep in, and since all they had to do that day was just drive back home, he was grabbing the opportunity with both hands. He didn’t even register what was going on until the fingers dipped beneath his waistband and there was a hand taking ahold of his cock and that’s when his eyes snapped open, inhaling sharply through his nose.

A sound hadn’t even escaped him and a hand was clasping over his mouth, skin warm against his face.

“Shh, it’s just me,” the breath that tickled his ear was warm, too, in fact all of him was warm, prickling with a familiar heat as the fingers tightened around his cock, encouraging a groan into the palm over his mouth. “Dean, Sam is next door.”

If he could, he would have told his angel that the predicament was entirely not his fault, and Cas was the one who had shoved his hand down his pants, but his fucking hand was over his mouth and all he could do was nod shakily as he took sharp breaths through his nose.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been woken up like this, sometimes with Castiel’s hand and sometimes with his mouth, but usually they were shut away in the privacy of their room in the bunker where Dean had the freedom to be as loud as he wanted to be. Not with Sam one room over, with all that was between them being the shitty motel walls probably thinner than cardboard.

His hand shifted and Dean’s jaw clenched shut as another sound rumbled up and out of his chest, fingers grasping tight to the covers still around him that didn’t help with the overwhelming heat of the moment. Jesus Christ he was a mess.

A whine left his throat as Cas’ hand let go of him, though it was only brought up in front of his face as his other hand released its grip on his face. “Spit,” his voice came from behind him, chest rumbled against Dean’s back with the deep cadence, and the command was enough for him to exhale shakily as he spat into the palm cupped beneath his face. “Good.”

The other hand returned to cover his mouth and he was back to the sharp breathing through his nose, a little thankful that he was being kept quiet when his hand went back to his dick, slick enough with his spit to stroke him smoothly, and the groan that left his chest was filthy.

They hadn’t even been doing this for long. This being the kissing and the sex and the fact that Dean couldn’t be in the same room with Cas for too long without his heart almost giving out on him. One thing he had learned in that short stretch of time was that Cas was fucking horny, horny a lot of the time. Angel of the lord his ass.

Castiel’s hand shucked forwards again and he fucking whimpered, his hand releasing from the white-knuckled grip on the sheets to reach back and cling to the angel’s thigh, instead, breathing sharp and hard with each pump of his cock. And Christ his head was spinning, eyes squeezed shut and panting and he wasn’t even sure if he was thinking of anything outside of bright blue eyes and the strong hand wrapped around his cock.

His nails dug into Cas’ thigh and all it earned him was a warm mouth on the back of his neck, nipping and sucking another mark he’d have to hide from Sam since he wasn’t entirely fucking sure how to even explain all of this to his brother.

His thumb swiped over the head of his cock and he whimpered again, hips jerking forwards towards the hand working magic on him, and all it took was a few more pumps and he came with a moan, brain fuzzing like tv static and body going all tingly. Castiel kept stroking him until he was groaning at the sensitivity and went all twitchy, and only then did the two hands let go of him. His boxers were now wet and he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to breathe properly anymore, but fuck did he feel good.

Finally able to, Dean rolled onto his side to look up at the other, still panting and hot all over, and he was met with a smirk.

“Good morning, Dean.”

His jaw dropped open, actually physically just fell, and for a moment he just stared. Did he have any sort of idea what he did to him? Did to his head? His heart?

Dean wasn’t keen on figuring it out right then, though, so instead he lifted his hand to cup the back of his neck and brought him down to kiss him with a groan, all tongue and teeth and want. That’s all that had been between them for weeks, this deep-rooted all consuming want that burned and sizzled beneath his skin whenever his angel was near.

What was happening to him?

His hand unconsciously searched for Cas’ belt, only aware he’d even moved when a hand clamped down around his wrist and pulled his hand away.

“But you—” Dean’s breath stuttered a little pathetically. God, he was pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that right then. That kind of thinking was for when he was behind the wheel of his Baby and had time to spiral over these things. “Cas, you—”

“I’ll be fine,” he was still smirking, fucker, a hand lifting to stroke Dean’s cheek. “You should get cleaned up and dressed, I’m sure Sam will want to leave soon.”

Dean was still panting when Castiel got up and off of the bed with one last kiss and murmur of, “I will meet you out by the car to prevent any distractions.”

The door shut behind him and Dean exhaled hard as his head fell back down on the pillow. He still felt all tingly and hot and he still hadn’t quite gotten his breathing back to normal yet, all he knew and that whatever this was, they were deep in it.

Hands fell over his face and he groaned. “Son of a bitch.”

[deancaspinefest]

Registration for the 2025 round is now open!

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[casblackfeathers]

So Maybe You're My Fairytale

written by @casblackfeathers

When his dad goes missing, Dean follows a trail that leads to a small town seemingly plagued by monsters in the nearby woodland. Motivated by the growing count of missing persons and tales surrounding a terrifying beast, Dean embarks on a hunt to investigate the mysterious forest. The last thing he is expecting to find is an enchanted castle with talking furniture and cutlery. It's straight out of one of those Disney movies Sammy used to make Dean watch when they were kids. But Dean’s life has never been a fairytale, not since that dreadful night when he was four. Now trapped within the fortress’s walls and with no way to contact the outside world, Dean turns his attention to finding a way to break the curse and free himself and the castle's inhabitants. Dean is certain this Beast, Castiel, is the source of the mess they’re all in. But he can’t shake the feeling there’s something more in those too-blue eyes and ferocious demeanor. Instead, Dean finds himself pulled to him, wondering if he could ever learn to love a beast.

Genre: Beauty and the Beast au, au, canon divergence, fairytale, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, romance, soft!dean, grumpy!castiel Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Explicit Word count: 80k

READ ON AO3

subscribe on ao3 || follow on twitter

[angelsdean]

THE RESURRECTION OF DEAN WINCHESTER

Another body was placed before him on the rack. A fresh one. Soul unbroken. They wept, dripping light onto the blood-soaked dungeon floor.

The knife in his hand stung, hellfire shot down his throat, turned his insides to ash. He could not speak, had not spoken in a decade. Not since he finally uttered that broken, "Yes."

A clammy hand slithered over his shoulder. Hot, putrid breath against his cheek.

"Go on, boy. Make me proud."

He lifted his knife. His caged heart sobbed. Rattled. Squeezed itself, vice-like.

It beat outside his body. Or, his chest had been gouged open long ago. A gory window in, putting it right there for all to see. Alastair just laughed. He loved this part. Seeing Dean tear himself in two.

"What's the matter, Dean?" he cooed, pressing up close. "You know you love it." Alastair lifted Dean's chin with a finger. "Got a freshie, just for you. They always scream so pretty, no?"

Dean shuttered his eyes. It did nothing to change the scene. Please, he cried, inside. Please, end this torture. Someone, please.

He'd been begging for an eternity. Salvation never came. Still, he prayed, small and childlike. Four years old, asking for his mother. Forty years in Hell, asking for this fire to stop burning.

"Do you need me to break you a little?" Alastair continued in that same false sweetness. "Will that get you going?" His hands were all over. More hands growing and groping. Dean shook as knives were plunged into him. Twisting hooks. Two hands 'round his neck. One finger probing at his caged heart.

Dean sobbed, screamed out. His own light leaked onto the floor, out of the dark void that had come to mask his soul.

He couldn't hurt another soul. He couldn't stand it. He let the knife fall. Clattering like a thunderclap. Light continued to spill out, filling the room. Alastair increased his onslaught, displeased by Dean's disobedience.

"I will put you back on the rack," he roared. "I will take you apart piece by piece. You will never be whole again. Deep down. You know it. You are rotten to the core." His hand shot through Dean's guts, scooping him clean, leaving him empty.

A ringing filled his ears. Dean couldn't hear himself anymore. Even Alastair's voice faded away. The room continued to fill with light. Different now. Blue-white mingling with the gold of Dean's soul.

Opening his eyes against the brilliance he caught glimpses of massive wings and shifting heads, changing colors and claws. Millions of eyes looked at him. Dean shut his own eyes once more, and the image he'd seen fizzled away, incomprehensible to his mind.

Then the being gripped him. His shoulder burned at the point of contact, but it was a pleasant burn.

The searing sensation zipped through him. Warm and cool all at once. The cage around his heart fell away.

He was pulled upwards, like a fish on a hook, shooting through the water up towards the light.

For the first time in forty years, he felt no pain. Breaking the surface, he drank his first breath from the being that enveloped him.

Then, deep and clear as a bell, a voice proclaimed: DEAN WINCHESTER IS SAVED.

➥ supernatural september prompts: rotten, reanimated, between heaven and hell, trueform

[gwendolynnnrose]

Rewatching 8x17 "goodbye stranger" and holy shit guys the amount of Dean's it took before Castiel could completely detach and just kill him. Wow don't touch me I'm sick.

[valleydean]

Final Chapter: Chapter 19 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Winchester v Webb: Heavyweight Title Fight Set for Early May

That had been the newspaper headline all across America that morning.

May gave Dean four months to get his eyes on the prize. Cas and Bobby made training schedules; Benny bought bleacher tickets to Lee’s first bout post-recovery in February, to recon how Lee’s fighting style might have changed after his surgery; Rufus kept his ear to the ground, listening for any rumors about ways Luc might try to fix the fight; Sam spent a full two weeks going through the bout’s contract with a fine-tooth comb.

Dean let them deal with the details. He focused on getting his head in the game. It was like stretching a muscle he’d let weaken after much time of disuse. He’d thought he’d been ready for a title bout for at least a year now, but maybe a part of him had expected Cas to pull the rug out from under him after all, because it finally felt real now. For the first time in years, Dean had a shot at being the champion. He wasn’t about to miss it.

Apparently, Cas wasn’t going to let him do that either.

Today was Cas’ first official-unofficial day as part of Team Winchester, and he’d started the training before Dean even woke up. The son of a bitch got out of bed at the crack of dawn, stole Dean’s car keys, and left a note saying he and Sam took the Superior to drop off Jack at school and they’d see you at the gym at 8. He’d also stolen Dean’s wallet so that Dean couldn’t take a taxi to the gym. Dean had to start his morning off with a run.

When he got in a little after 8 AM, Cas made him warm up on the jump rope, which was pretty standard. But then he told Dean to run again—that time, up and down the stairs twenty times.

Dean looked at Bobby for help, but Bobby only grumbled, “You asked for this.” Sam laughed and laughed at Dean’s expense.

Finally, Dean was able to freestyle on a bag as the rest of the boxers trickled in for the morning session. Victor was the first to arrive. He took one look at the way Dean had already sweated through his sweat suit and gave a leering grin. “Had enough already, Winchester?” he teased, and Dean would have flipped him off if he hadn’t been wearing his gloves, so he did it with his arms instead. It didn’t have as much of an effect, but he was pretty sure Victor would have laughed at him either way.

By midday, the gym was filled with all the usual faces. They all hung off the ropes, watching Dean and Cas on the mitts inside the ring.

Dean had known that Cas was faster with the mitts than Rufus was, but he must have been trying to pick up the pace at certain points, because he was merciless. Dean’s breath was tight in his chest and there was a dry, burning stitch in his sides. Cas hadn’t even broken a sweat. No one would have ever been able to tell that he’d been laid up in the hospital only a month ago.

It was annoying—not to mention pretty distracting.

Dean followed the way Cas was angling and moving the mitts. He jabbed and crossed, jabbed and crossed again. Cas thrust his arm forward, and Dean slipped to the front, the mitt glancing off his shoulder. He shoveled a front uppercut into the mitt when Cas angled it downward. Cas moved forward, making Dean step back and throw a cross at the same time. Dean moved forward again and threw a rear uppercut.

Cas pivoted to the side and swung the mitt, making Dean roll under it and step around Cas to keep them toe-to-toe. A hook and another uppercut. Cas held up the mitts so Dean could throw a few fast ones and twos until Bobby called time.

A few members of their little audience started whistling and clapping—but probably not for Dean, even though he was the one doing all the hard work. Aside from the newbies, nobody ever gawked at him when he was training. Cas was the one who had their attention. Maybe a month ago, that would have pissed Dean off. Now, he was just glad Cas was around for people to swoon over at all.

Dean stretched his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake the fatigue from them. Sweat dripped down from the ends of his hair and got into his eyes. His throat was dry from panting so hard.

He’d asked Cas to help him get faster, and Cas was definitely delivering.

“Alright, show’s over. Get back to it or get out,” Bobby barked at the boxers. Slowly, everyone started trickling away, headed to the weight benches or various bags. Rufus followed a few of the palookas to the speed bags to show them how it was done.

Cas pulled off his mitts and shoved them under his armpit before drifting closer to Dean. “Good work,” he complimented sincerely.

Dean tried not to blush. He didn’t even know why he felt one coming on. He wasn’t exactly a mitt practice virgin.

He cleared his throat and muttered, “Thanks.”

He glanced over to where his water and sweat towel were waiting for him on a stool in the corner of the ring. Sam and Bobby were just on the other side of the ropes, Sam with his hands casually on his hips while he and Bobby spoke. He looked like a natural in the gym, like he fit in there as well as Dean did. Secretly, Dean hoped it took Sam a damn long time to find a new job. He liked having him there—and something told him Sam was enjoying it, too. Maybe Sam had just needed to get out from under their father’s thumb for him to realize he belonged here.

“Can I get a water break,” Dean gasped out, “or do you have some new way to torture me?”

Cas’ eyes lit up in a humored smile. He tipped his head toward the corner. “Go.”

Dean knocked his shoulder playfully against Cas’ before heading for the water. As he went, he undid the knots of his gloves with his teeth and pulled them off, then put them on the stool and snatched up the water bottle.

Cas followed closely behind him and leaned back against the ropes, resting his elbows over the top.

“Lookin’ good,” Sam told Dean. He reached inside the ring and picked up Dean’s gloves.

Dean chugged his water until he ran out of oxygen. It dribbled down his chin and neck, but he wasn’t mad about it because it cooled him down. Through ragged breaths, he said, “Thanks. Don’t have much of a choice with this one—” he nodded toward Cas. “It’s either keep up or risk getting punched.”

Cas scoffed in amusement. “Now you know how I felt when we first met.”

Dean gave him a crooked grin. “I think it worked out for you.”

“Okay, enough flirting,” Bobby scolded, exasperated. “Dean, go do some core work and cool down. We’ll pick this up again after lunch.” He looked at Cas. “Maybe you can get him to actually touch the reaction bag.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’ve used it plenty’a times.” So what if it wasn’t his favorite thing to do? He didn’t like getting a face full of leather if he happened to be too slow, and he especially didn’t like it when Benny saw it happen—as he somehow always seemed to do—and started laughing at him.

“I’ll see that he does it,” Cas promised Bobby. He turned his blue eyes on Dean. “After he gets his energy back.”

Dean was pretty excited for the prospect of food and a nap. The hunger gnawing at his gut was starting to turn ravenous, but he’d rather drive home to eat instead of picking something up around the gym. It’d be easier to snooze for an hour afterward.

He walked up to Cas and placed his wrapped hands on Cas’ sides. “I’ll be quick cooling off. Wanna head home after that?”

Cas nodded gently, his eyes scanning Dean up and down with appreciation and affection. Dean’s lips buzzed to kiss him, but he settled for planting one on Cas’ temple.

“Would you two cut it out? I want you keeping it vertical in my ring, got it?” Bobby snapped. Next to him, Sam pulled a grossed-out face.

“Little late for that,” Dean murmured into Cas’ ear. He pulled away and saw the way Cas dipped his head to hide his smile. Dean let his hands slide off Cas’ ribs and headed for the stairs on the other side of the ring, then for the mats near the weights.

[infinitecakes]

We're Back with a BANG!

Infinite Cakes is now back, but in Bang format! Over the next few weeks, we would love to get your prompt ideas, and the very best ones will be chosen to inspire our bang authors and artists. You can find the form to submit your ideas here!

While we do have plans to run a multi-ship version later next year, the first iteration of this new bang will be focused on our favourite angel and his hunter. Check out our rules here Check out our schedule here

[folkbloodbaths]

While the warm wind blows through the Eastern Halls, the Angel tends to the Dead. 

Dean / Cas Horrorfest presents: 

The Forgotten Halls

Art by @thestarsmakemedream-art Story by allthismusic 

Rated: T  Word count: 9k

Tags/Warnings: Inspired by Piranesi by Susannah Clarke, post-canon, the Empty, amnesia, non-euclidean space

Summary: A long time from now — maybe decades, maybe centuries — there are only the Halls, and the Entity, and the Angel. They exist in harmony, mostly. When an outsider changes their routine, a routine so long-standing that the Angel remembers nothing that had come before it, the disturbance will threaten the fabric of their entire universe.

Coming this October to @deancashorrorfest 

Preview: 

“You could be like them,” the Entity says when it comes upon the Angel gently moving the remains of a boy in red clothing so that he does not get washed away by the next tide. The Angel looks up from his task to greet his visitor. “Still, you do not rest,” the Entity says. Its face is familiar to the Angel in a way that reminds him of his own, but there’s something about it, something behind it that seems to shift and change and somehow makes the Angel feel as though he is looking through the Entity rather than at it.  “They need me,” the Angel explains. “And you have asked me to observe the Halls.”  “Your selflessness knows no bounds,” the Entity says dryly. The Angel does not understand why this does not sound like a compliment. “But yes. If you cannot find it in yourself to diminish, then it is very useful for you to expand our knowledge of these… Halls.”  The Angel follows the Entity’s gaze around the Halls, with its dark recesses and its gothic arches. There are three statues in the chamber where the Red-Clothing Boy rests: a sweet-looking cherub, a lion’s-head bust, and an intricately carved bird that the Angel thinks might be a phoenix. It is one of the most interesting chambers of the Halls, but the Entity’s eyes seem to slide past its elaborate statues and its intriguing nooks and crannies. “Have you seen anyone else here?” the Entity asks. Its tone is carefully calm, but there is a metallic scrape to its words that betrays a sense of intensity.  “Yes, of course,” the Angel says, and the Entity looks taken aback. But when he starts reminding his visitor of the other Dead, like the Red-Clothing Boy, who dwell stilly and silently within the Halls, it quickly becomes clear that the Angel’s charges are not who the Entity is asking about.  “There are Others who seek to find this place,” the Entity explains gravely. “There may be as many as three, but I think only one will come. The Hunter.”  “What is he hunting?” the Angel asks.  “You,” the Entity says, and though a hint of threat is present in its answer, the Angel feels unexpectedly hopeful. “Me,” the Entity continues. “These Halls… if the Hunter finds his way here, the very architecture of this place is in danger, along with all its inhabitants. If you see him, you must tell me immediately, and you must not speak to him.”

[shineforthee]

ghost, zero, suitcase, and the moon

Author: @shineforthee | Artist: @witchy-worm

Rating: Mature Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Grief & Loss, Ambiguous Ending, Derealization, Apocalypse, Suicidal Ideation Summary: Dean has always known it was ending. The world, that is. He knew it when he was three, awake and screaming in the middle of the night with the image of fire leaving an afterburn behind his eyelids. He knew it while he learned to ride a bike, while he went to his first school dance, had his first kiss, tipped back his first beer with his dad. He knew it when dad left, too. When Sammy died. When it all began to crumble.

He has always known it was ending. Now he's alone in a cabin somewhere so far north and so far west that he thinks half the continent never knew it existed in the first place, and he's got the same damn nightmares, the same burn behind his eyes, and the sense that ending is a verb that goes on and on into eternity and outside of time.

Excerpt:

There are only five things:

The sky, vibrant violet, swirling clouds like eyes staring, blinking down at him.

Clarity, sharp and unbidden. He wakes as if he’s slept a thousand years, as if he’s never slept before this one singular moment.

With that clarity, pain. Sharp. Unbidden.

Screaming. God there’s screaming and it’s coming from inside him. It’s trying to get out so badly. Ripping from his throat. He didn’t know fish could scream. Didn’t know worms could scream. Didn’t know bones could scream.

The hard rock knuckles are gone from behind and beneath him and whatever has replaced them is palm-soft. He cannot remember the last time something was soft.

Coming to @deancashorrorfest this October

[milquetoast-er]

Hey y’all! I’ve never promoted my fic on here but I thought I’d give it a shot. This is my first SPN work and first completed long fic, and my pride and joy 🥹 Full of hijinks, husbandism, angst/bickering, cuddling and making up, Cas being a flirty bitchy bastard, Dadstiel, Dad!Dean, and healing. I included an excerpt so you can get a feel for the formatting and see if you like it!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54793849/chapters/138880636

(If you liked Kenopsia (Talk Some Sense to Me) by ImYourHoneyBee you might like the vibes of this one, but I swear I read that AFTER I wrote 80% of this 😭😭 PLEASE READ THAT IT IS A FANDOM MUST)

[thevioletcaptain]

🤠🎶🌬️

Thanks for the prompt, anon! I hope you enjoy, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to fill. You can also read here on Ao3 💚

Deus Ex Caschina

Dean/Cas | 2k words | Mature When Dean and Sam get into a bad situation on an impromptu hunt near the Cuevas Ranch in New Mexico, Dean calls on Cas for help.

There’s something whistling out in the desert; a shrill, two-note call that starts high and ends low and makes all the hairs on Dean’s forearms stand on end.

Even knowing that whistling back is the worst possible thing he could do, he feels the impulse ricocheting through his body. He tamps it down. Hard. Presses his lips together and waits for the compulsion to pass.

Beside him, Sam has gone stock-still, eyes sharp and jaw tense as he scans the dark for some sign of the — well. Whatever it is.

Why he thinks he’s going to be able to see a damn thing beyond the fire-lit edges of their camp is a mystery, but Dean doesn’t bother to mention it. More likely than not, he’s not even thinking that far. A lot of the time, Dean knows, it’s less about having any real hope of success and more about the need to feel as though you’re at least doing something. Anything at all.

Because really, when it comes down to the cold hard facts? They’re helpless out here.

Sitting ducks, waiting for whichever desert-dwelling monster has been picking off the local horses — and most recently, an extremely unfortunate veterinarian — to stop toying with them like a cat batting a mouse from one side of a room to the other.

They’d found the case entirely by accident. Had been passing through New Mexico on their way back to the bunker when Dean had heard a familiar voice while waiting for his order at the Watrous Coffee House. He’d glanced toward the door, scanning faces, and found Cesar Cuevas talking with an older guy in dusty flannel.

Within the hour, he and Sam had been sitting in the kitchen of Jesse and Cesar’s ranch house going over the scant clues the retired hunters had managed to pull together in the days since a local vet — a well-liked guy named Petey — had been found on the edge of the neighboring acreage with his insides on the outside.

It’s not a lot.

Like the three horses which had suffered similar fates in the week before Petey died, there wasn’t any sign of a fight. No scuff marks in the ground to suggest he’d been dragged there after.

The local cops determined pretty quickly that the remains were in line with those left behind by a mountain lion and closed the case.

"Because of the missing spinal columns," Cesar had explained, his nose crinkling up in disgust. "Cougars tend to go for that first, and Petey and the horses were all… well. You get the idea."

"So what makes you think they're wrong?" Sam asked.

"Besides the fact that they're cops?" Jesse had snarked back, and Dean snorted. "No bite or claw marks, no paw prints, no scat, for starters."

"And this," Cesar added, handing over a long chunk of glittering stone. It only took Dean a moment to realize why it seemed familiar.

"Fulgurite?" he'd asked, handing it off to his brother, and Jesse and Cesar had nodded. "Any lightning storms lately?

"Not in months. And we found these at every site."

"Any idea what it means?"

"No clue."

"And that's all you've got so far?" Sam had asked, and the pair had nodded.

"Yup," Jesse said. "That's all."

That was six days ago, now, and though they've found a little more evidence, they're still stumped. Hence the camp out. Dean wasn't keen on it — camping isn't his bag on a good day, let alone when there's something eviscerating everything it can get it's hands on in the area — but after days of dead ends, and two more dead horses, they're beyond the point of putting it off.

Staring out past the creosote and cactus that edge their campsite, and knowing full well that he'd have just as much luck with his eyes closed, Dean listens for some other sound that might tell him what they're dealing with. Where it is.

Nothing. Just the distant pop of a car backfiring, and the tiny blinking lights of a plane flying east to west overhead. He's ready to give up when the whistle comes again.

Hiiiiiiiigh-low.

Shrill and sharp. It seems to come from somewhere straight ahead, and Dean strains to see. Strains and strains until his eyes start to sting.

He needs to blink.

…why the fuck can't he blink?

He tries to tell Sam, but his jaw feels wired shut. His tongue heaves against nothing, unmoving in his mouth as if pressed flat by some invisible force. He can’t speak. Can’t move.

He has the brief, panicked thought that he might not be able to breathe, but it passes. His lungs expand. Deflate. Expand.

Whatever is doing this, it doesn't want him dead.

Yet, he thinks, and the panic sets back in, dialed to eleven. It doesn't want me dead yet.

Thanks to the way they're standing, he's only peripherally aware of the side of Sam’s face, but it seems that he is experiencing the same problem. Great. Awesome.

Another whistle. Dean's skin prickles head-to-toe. Itches, like he's brushed up against fiberglass. His vision blurs as his eyes water with the agony of it, of being so goddamn itchy that he can't think, but utterly incapable of doing anything about it.

Another whistle.

Closer, now, but this time it's behind them. A little to the right.

Suddenly, the fact that there was never any evidence of a struggle makes a lot more sense. It's not that the thing is fast, or even particularly sneaky. It’s just been doing this. Rendering its victims incapable of fighting, moving, making a sound.

If they were anyone else, they’d be screwed right now.

If they were anyone else.

Cas, he prays, grateful beyond words for the angel on his shoulder and his freshly-reinstated wings. We’re in a bit of a situation here, buddy.

Another whistle.

Closer, still.

Another.

Then;

SNAP.

A wet crunch and a sound like a hose unravelling.

Cas, I really fucking hope that's you, Dean prays again, trying not to let himself imagine that a spinal column might make that sound if it were being yanked out of a living creature.

A whistle. Distressed gurgling.

THUD.

Footsteps crunching closer, and—

"Dean," Cas strides into his view, concern etched into his brow, his face spattered with blood. The wet droplets reflect the crackling fire, making him glitter in a way that should not be hot, but somehow really is. "That creature was about to kill you. Why didn't you call me sooner?"

You said you wanted to spend the week with Jack, Dean prays. I didn't want to interrupt Heaven stuff.

Cas frowns. Reaches out to touch Dean's jaw. His body floods with warmth as Cas' grace works whatever paralytic agent he'd been afflicted with from his system, and though he's been able to breathe the entire time, he sucks in a breath. Relaxes his muscles that feel as though he's been tensing them for a solid hour.

Fuck, he's gonna need a massage tomorrow. He can already tell he's gonna be feeling it in about three hours.

"'Heaven stuff' can wait. And Jack is God. He has plenty to occupy himself when I'm on Earth."

"Yeah, I know. I just… I feel like I've been monopolizing your time since you got back, that's all."

"It's not monopolizing my time when you're the person I wish to spend my time with," Cas reminds him. "Besides, I thought we agreed that if I was taking time off from hunting, you would too? You were supposed to be driving straight back to the bunker. I would have stayed to make the drive with you if I'd known you'd be putting yourself in danger."

"We were driving back. But then we ran into Jesse and Cesar, and they told us about this thing that had been— look, it's a long story, okay? And hey, you saved the day. So, y'know. All's well that ends well."

Cas huffs and crosses his arms. Unfortunately for him, Dean thinks the display is more cute than it is imposing.

"I'd prefer you didn't need saving in the first place."

"Well, yeah, obviously," Dean tells him. He glances over his shoulder. "What was it, anyway? Thing had a killer freeze ray."

"I'm not entirely sure," Cas admits, and Dean steps forward, pulling his sleeve down over his hand and wiping the dark blood off of Cas' cheek.

"But you killed it," he says.

"I did. It was projecting its intentions rather strongly. It was going to eat your spine, and then most of your organs. I couldn't allow it to live."

"My hero," Dean tells him, then, a brainwave; "Deus ex Caschina."

He grins wide, and Cas rolls his eyes. Waves a hand to zap the rest of the blood away. Dean takes that as his cue to properly express his appreciation.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he says.

Try as he might, Cas can't keep the displeased frown on his face when Dean pushes into his space and kisses him. He does still manage to sound huffy when he says you're welcome, Dean, but the tilt of his mouth softens the bite.

"So, is Jack expecting you back upstairs tonight?" Dean asks, nipping lightly at his lip. "I'd kinda like to repay you for the assist. Get on my knees, say a prayer of thanks, maybe get my mouth on your—"

"Sam!" Cas blurts out, and Dean leans back, making a disgusted face, before he realizes what Cas is saying. Unwinding his arms from around Cas' shoulders, he turns to look at his brother as Cas makes his way over to him. He's still stock-still, eyes wide and pleading as he stares into the middle distance somewhere beyond Dean's shoulder.

"Oops," Dean grimaces. "Forgot we weren't alone."

"He started praying," Cas says by way of explanation, and boops Sam in the middle of his forehead. "My apologies for the delay, Sam. I was… momentarily distracted."

Stretching out his jaw, Sam shakes his long limbs as if to make sure they're all still functional.

"It's fine," he tells Cas, nice as pie, before turning a glare on Dean. "Maybe next time make sure everyone is alive and functional before you start macking on your boyfriend."

"We actually decided on 'partner'," Dean corrects him, mostly just to be annoying, and Sam narrows his eyes.

"Really?" he says flatly.

Dean knows he's just pissy about the whole left-in-a-frozen-state situation, but Cas — wonderful, badass, occasionally too literal for his own good Cas — moves back to stand at Dean's side, and Dean knows, immediately, that he's about to tell Sam why they settled on the term. He wishes he were filming the reaction, but there's no way he'd be able to get his phone unlocked in time.

"Yes," Cas says proudly. "Partners. Like cowboys, but married."

"You're not married," Sam says, incapable of well-actuallying no matter the circumstance, and— here comes the kicker, Dean thinks.

"We got married in 2013," Cas says. Matter of fact. Like Sam's forgotten something everyone knows. Sam's eyebrows rise high enough that they somehow seem to clear his forehead.

"What?"

"Admittedly, we weren't in a romantic or sexual relationship yet, and it was mostly to ensure that if I were to wind up in hospital as a human, Dean would be able to visit me without any difficulty. Though obviously now we can both acknowledge that we were very much in love with one another at the time."

"What?"

Dean whistles. High-low. It does the trick, snapping Sam out of his stupor, and after his snap-reaction of fear dissipates, Dean clears his throat. Points toward their campsite.

"Hey, uh… maybe we should pack all this up, head back to the ranch before it gets too late? I know the uh… the thing is gone, but the insects are not. So…"

"I can't believe you got married without telling me," Sam says.

"Oh my god, it was over a decade ago, get over it," Dean says.

Sam does not laugh.

"Dean."

Groaning, Dean throws his head back.

"Listen, when we do it for real, or like… renew our vows or whatever? You'll be the first to know."

"We can do that?" Cas asks.

"Yeah, I mean. People do it all the time. Why, d'you— do you want to?"

"I'd like to," Cas tells him.

"Okay. Let's do it. Maybe Cesar and Jesse will let us do it on the ranch."

"Are you two serious?" Sam asks.

"What?"

"Just like that, you're engaged now?"

"We're already married, Sam," Cas tells him, squinting. "Did you not understand what I said earlier?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, Sam pushes out a hard breath, and shakes his head, and seems to let it go.

"Congrats," he says finally.

"If you're wondering what to get us for a present," Dean says, pulling Cas alongside him toward the camp, "I hear waffle irons are always a good choice."

[written for this prompt game] [posted here on ao3 as imogenbynight 💚]

[ohsc]

a story where dean opens up about his childhood to cas would be amazing 💙💙

destiel, 1.5k, established relationship, hurt-comfort, angst, anxiety attack, mentions of abuse and childhood trauma not in complete detail

Cas didn’t need to sleep.

Before he and Dean started dating, Cas would spend his nights out in the library, on his own, and Dean always hated it. He hated knowing that Cas would be out there on his own, waiting for somebody to wake up to keep him company. It used to keep Dean up some nights, when he was hopelessly in love with the angel but too scared to do anything about it, and all he could picture was Cas sat on his own in the dark, waiting.

So when they did get together, Dean urged Cas to spend his nights with him. And at first, it had been a way to keep him company even when Dean was asleep. He’d fall asleep with Cas beside him, and wake up with him in the same position, tangled up in Dean’s limbs that had soothed him through the lonely night. Dean would kiss him Goodnight and kiss him good morning, and they’d get up and leave the bedroom together.

But sometimes, Cas being in bed with Dean was more for Dean’s benefit than the angel’s.

Dean could feel the warmth of him pressed up against his back through the thin material of his sleep shirt. Cas had his body draped along the length of Dean’s back, an arm hooked over his waist, a leg between his — practically every part of Cas was touching him, and it kept him grounded. He needed the contact to keep himself sane.

“Another one,” Castiel’s breath fanned over the back of his neck as his voice came out in a low rumble. “Breathe, Dean.”

It had happened more times than he’d like to admit, that Cas helped him breathe. Dean didn’t get panic attacks, he didn’t have anxiety or depression, he was fine. But… there had been occasions where he thought too hard and it felt like he’d been winded, or his vision blurred and his chest ached. And before Cas, he’d forced himself through it. He clenched his jaw and sat stiffened until it passed, or at least until it got marginally better, and he carried on with whatever he was doing. If Sam asked, he got told the same thing every time, that he was fine.

But Dean couldn’t lie to Cas. The first time it had happened in front of the angel he’d tried to shrug him off, but Cas had seen right through him, and just forced him to sit down and eased him through it.

Cas has been easing him through it for almost six hours by that point.

The case that he and Cas had worked had left Dean with a nauseous swirl in his gut instead of the usual relief. He’d grit his teeth through the drive home and only hadn’t crashed because of his partner’s hand on his leg. He got food and didn’t choke because of the warmth of the angel sat by his side. When they got back to the bunker the only reason Dean hadn’t sat and drank an entire bottle of whiskey was because Cas had led him to their bedroom before he had the chance to pour a third glass.

When he’d been doing things, it was easier to try and ignore the feeling. But when he just laid there with nothing to do but stare at the wall, he thought. And when he thought about the case too much, it physically took his breath away.

“That’s better,” Cas had one hand against Dean’s chest and rubbed his sternum with the heel of his palm, and his other arm was underneath the pillow Dean laid on. “Another one.”

Dean forced the breaths until the ache in his chest subsided and his vision stopped swimming. When the wall finally stopped looking blurry, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he tipped his head back until he was flush against Cas. “Thanks.” His voice was a little rough and a little shaky.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas sounded so concerned that it made Dean’s heart ache. To be fair, he didn’t even know what was wrong, why the case had fucked him up so much. Dean hadn’t been able to tell him at the time without compromising the case by sending himself into a spiral.

“Peachy,” Dean continued to stare at the wall. “M’fine, Cas.”

Though he was breathing fine, the palm that rubbed against his chest hadn’t stopped. It was nice, it kept him at least somewhat relaxed.

“Would you like to tell me what happened?” There was a pause behind him, before, “If you want to. You don’t have to.”

Dean hesitated, swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat.

The case they’d worked was at the house of a mother and her young son who kept getting unexplainable bruises, and it turned out that they were being haunted by the ghost of the boy’s deceased father. They spoke to the mother and found out all about her dead husband — the ex-military, violent, angry man — and they’d spoken to the son, and it just hit a bit too close to home. It made Dean think too much about it.

He’d never told Cas much about his dad. He knew the basics, knew that there had been some issues, but Dean had never gone into too much detail. That shit was in the past, he had forced himself to forgive and forget his father’s actions. He supposed it was why when he was forced to remember it all, it threw him through the fucking loop. Because he’d forced himself to pack it all away years ago.

“Dean,” Cas prompted softly when he hadn’t replied, and rubbed the heel of his palm over his sternum again. “With me?”

Dean cleared his throat and nodded, and forced himself to focus on the angel’s touch, the warmth of his body, the breath on his neck. “Yeah, um…” he took in a shuddering breath and exhaled before he spoke again. “The case just got me thinkin’.”

There was silence behind him. Cas just pressed his palm to his chest again, as if to say go on.

“That… fuck, that kid,” Dean hated the way his voice wavered, he wanted to choke down the feeling and shove it back into the box that he’d kept locked up for years, that he hadn’t touched in god knows how long. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No, he didn’t,” Castiel agreed solemnly. “He was just a boy.”

Dean’s throat constricted. “It wasn’t fair, it was his dad, he was supposed to… to keep him safe, not to… to take his anger out on him.”

Cas was silent for a moment, continued the ministrations against Dean’s chest. “There’s no complacency in a man that angry,” there was silence, before, “That… boy, he didn’t deserve it. Any of it.”

Dean’s eyes stung and he squeezed them shut. He knew that they weren’t talking about the boy. “He’s been dead for years.”

“So?” Castiel also knew that they weren’t talking about the boy. “He was also alive for years. Time makes no difference to the extent of the damage that was done.”

It was the gentleness of Cas’ tone that broke the barrier, and Dean felt as the first tears slipped past his eyelashes, over the curve of his nose. He took a few moments of silence, breathed through his mouth and focused on the pressure on his chest, before he spoke again.

“It scares me, sometimes. The… the anger he left me with. I don’t… I don’t want to hurt Sam, or… or you.”

Again, Castiel didn’t reply straight away. His hand lifted from Dean’s chest and pressed to his shoulder, pulled him until he laid flat on his back, looking up at the angel. His expression was so loving that Dean’s throat clenched again.

“Dean,” there was a certain sincerity to Castiel’s voice, a hard seriousness that he felt in his bones. “You are nothing like your father.”

It felt like getting winded. Dean had to remember to breathe back in as he absorbed the statement, eyes flickered around the angel’s face for any crack in the sincerity. He couldn’t find one. The tears fell a little faster.

A warm hand cupped Dean’s cheek before Cas’ head dipped down, and their mouths met with a tenderness that sucked most of the aches out of Dean’s bones. It was soft and warm and felt like safety.

“You’re not,” Cas promised again as soon as the kiss had broken, like he couldn’t bare the thought of Dean doubting him. “You are good, Dean. You are who you are in spite of him, not because of him.”

The lump in his throat just grew larger. Dean tried to swallow around it but couldn’t, so he blinked away the tears and nodded, and just leaned up to kiss Cas again.

He hoped that in every press of his lips, stroke of his tongue, in every breath that they shared, that he could convey the I love you that he wasn’t able to say in that moment.

[deancaspinefest]

Congratulations to all of the incredible artists and authors who participated in the eighth round of the Dean/Cas Pinefest!

Over the past month, 34 authors and 23 artists teamed up to share a collective 1,420,869 words of pine-filled fic and 117 works of art. The talent and artistry of this fandom absolutely floors us every year, and we're so happy that you're all still here sharing your wonderful creations with us 🌲 

With that in mind, we'll definitely be back for more! An official announcement for the 2025 Pinefest -- our ninth year -- will come sometime in July. Follow us here on Tumblr to make sure you don’t miss out on any details!

Under the cut, you’ll find links to every fic & art masterpost from the 2024 round, and you can also check out the collection on Ao3. Make sure to let the authors and artists know how much you enjoyed their creations with a like, kudos, or best of all, a reblog, rec, or comment!

following the light

One Drop, when What You Need is the Ocean

Of Dust, Gunpowder and Holy Water

Books, Pies, and Roommates

A Fairy Tale Cliche!

All in Honesty

Another Kind of Memory

Not our kind of thing

Different Currencies

In The Dog Days

Whatever Makes You Happy

Significant severe

all that we intend

Something Happening Somewhen

Two Princes

Broken (The Worst Is Over Now)

Well, I Never Been To Heaven

The Reel Deal

A Fabulous Evening's Apocalypse

Foxfire

Super Double Bus

Suddenly I See

Lavender Fireflies

Heartland Flyer

Something Blue

Wouldn't It Be Nice

If Only You Return to Me

all out to sea

Dear Father

Opposites Distract

Faking It?

Given to Fly

Take The Long Way Home

A Glacial Pace

All caught up on this year’s crop of pine? There are 694 more works of art and 219 more fics to be found in the previous seven Pinefest rounds -- and if you're into numbers, you can find a full breakdown of this and past year’s stats here!

Until next time… happy pining!

[casblackfeathers]

The Stars Will Remember

fic by @casblackfeathers & art by @diminuel

Being a hunter was all Dean knew ever since his mother had been killed by a demon when he was four. Hunting, offing monsters, and then jumping to the next case was his life. Then he met the most alluring and breathtaking omega he had ever seen and spent the next five years loving the hell out of Cas, their life together filled with the domestic lovey-dovey stuff Dean had never thought he would dig so much. When a simple salt-and-burn goes sideways, it ends up with Cas’ memories stolen from him. Dean is left to pick up the pieces of the life they built together, his ‘make it up as he goes’ strategy to prove to his mate that Dean’s still worth a damn, his only chance at getting Cas back. He’s done a shitty-ass job at keeping Cas safe before, but he will pull out all the stops now to woo his mate again and stir the memories Dean knows are still there buried deep inside Cas’ mind.

Genre: amnesia, established relationship, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, alpha!dean, omega!castiel, hurt!castiel, protective!dean, romance, case fic Pairing: Dean/Castiel Rating: Explicit Word count: 60k

READ ON AO3