#also i spent hours scrolling through my biases tags and burned my eyes out

[rap-liine]

↝bias tag

tagged by: the lovely @sonqmingi 💞

rules: post your biases and see if your followers can tell your type ✨

tagging: @ultvisual @forhyunsuk @cuteez @byoungggon @parkseonghwa @ateezsbitch @ateeztiny @kjmar @jinhopetual @nervousatthenightclub @fellateez and ofc anyone who wants to!

[hannahindie]

Signs

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jack Kline, Castiel Word Count: 4,089 Warnings: Destiel, language, some angst, but then no angst! So there you go. A/N: So, I have newly embraced the idea of Destiel, and I had actually posted this on a side blog that was going to be where that stuff went until both @pinknerdpanda and I decided that was silly. She was the sweet angel that beta’d this for me, and I’m super proud of how it turned out. It’s an interesting concept that I wish would have really happened...but then again, I suppose I’m a little biased. lol Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

I will only be tagging those that have specifically shown interest in Destiel things. If you’d like to be added, then please let me know.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

It had been awhile since those words echoed in Dean’s mind, but lately, it was the one thing that kept coming back to him in the dark, the memory of electric eyes and shadowy wings spread across the abandoned hangar still vivid despite the long passage of time.

But that's all he had left, wasn't it? Memories...of Cas, of his mom. Both of them gone, taken away from him by Lucifer. As if they hadn't lost enough because of him, he lost his mom and his best friend in the blink of an eye. What they had left was a broken family and a kid that didn't know up from down, left from right.

It had been weeks since Cas had fallen, the sand marred by the tattered remains of his wings, and Dean couldn't understand why this was different. He always blamed himself, always felt a deep anguish for things that were inevitably his fault, but Cas’ death had torn something from him and, though he was almost ashamed to admit this, it was far worse than losing Mary. The only time he'd felt remotely like he currently was was when he'd left Lisa and Ben behind, and even that paled in comparison. The image of the angel blade piercing Cas’ chest, the slow crumple as he fell, the bright blue light that shot from him as his grace flickered out...it was like someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart.

He attributed it to Cas being his best friend, the closest person to him other than Sam. Hell, Cas had saved him, literally pulling him out of the fire. Dean had done what Dean had always done in these kinds of situations; he'd hit on every waitress, bartender, and witness that he could, and slept with half as many as he would have liked. It wasn't a great way to deal with things, but it usually worked as a temporary distraction. This time, however, it only seemed to make it worse. Sam kept asking him what was wrong, but how could he answer a question he didn't know the answer to? So instead, he stayed grouchy and irritable, and threatened to kill the nephilim every chance he got.

That was, until this morning. He had been sleeping; not well, chasing nightmares he couldn't quite grasp, but he'd finally fallen into a fitful sleep. Suddenly, he was awakened by a sudden fire, a flame running up his arm and coalescing in his tricep, and he sat up as he grasped at the burning flesh, a strangled scream caught in his throat.

“Dean?! What's wrong?” The light clicked on abruptly and Dean squinted at the sudden brightness.

“Jesus, Sam, it’s fine. It was just a dream.” His hand lingered over the spot, his fingers slipping under his sleeve and finding rough skin where it once was smooth. “Go back to sleep.” Dean reached over and clicked the light back off and waited as Sam rolled over and pulled the blankets over himself. He quickly fell back into a deep slumber and Dean shifted, hanging his legs over the edge of the bed as he ran a hand over his face. Though the initial excruciating burn was gone, he could feel a tingle just below the surface, a reminder that whatever he'd thought he'd dreamed was real. He quietly stood and walked to the bathroom, checking to make sure Jack was also still asleep as he walked into the darkened room. He shut the door behind him with a muted click before flipping on the light. A bedraggled mess looked back at him; hair sticking up every which way, a five day beard that was slowly obscuring his face, and tired eyes that could use at least eight more hours of sleep.

His eyes traveled down to his arm, and he squinted at the slightly puckered, pink skin peeking out from below his sleeve. There's no way. The thought echoed in his mind, a denial that he knew he couldn't keep up. And then another thought, the first thing he'd ever heard Cas say.

“I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

His hand moved on its own, gripping the soft edge of his t-shirt sleeve, and pulled. He stared wide eyed at the mark that, just a few moments before, hadn't been there. The mark that hadn't been there for almost a decade, the one that had disappeared over the years of death and resurrection.

The hand print that had saved him from a millennia of pain and torture, and the undoing of his very self. Cas’ hand, burned into him like a brand, a reminder of who he was and what was expected of him. There it was, plain as day, and there was absolutely no explanation for it.

He looked back up in the mirror, the exhaustion replaced by confusion and, if he was being honest, a little fear.

“What the hell?”

The car was silent other than the low rumble of the engine and the quiet rock music Dean had put on for background noise. Sam had spent the majority of the afternoon scrolling through his phone, and Jack had sat in the back, quietly flipping through a magazine Sam had grabbed for him at the last gas station. Dean rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension that had settled deep into his muscles while he ignored the dull ache in his upper arm.

“You okay?” He glanced over to see Sam staring at him, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Yea, why?”

“You seem...tense.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “This is kind of a tense time, Sam. Mom is gone, probably dead, Cas is dead, we’re stuck with…” he looked up in the rearview to see Jack looking at him and sighed. “We’re not exactly living the dream.” His eyes returned to the road, and he tried to ignore his brother’s concerned gaze.

“What about last night?”

“What about it? I had a bad dream, it woke me up. I think we both are well versed in those.”

“I heard you talking to yourself.” Jack’s voice chimed in from the backseat, and Dean glared at him through the rear view.

“You didn't hear shit. You were asleep.”

“I don't really need sleep-”

“I said, you didn't hear shit.” Dean fell silent again and once again the only sounds in the car were the deep rumble of the engine and the low din of Metallica pulsing through the speakers.

Dean tried to ignore the pulsing in his arm, an insistent beat like a drum, set to its own rhythm.

What the hell was going on?

Dean sighed, the breeze cool against his face as he sat in the sun, his legs stretched out lazily in front of him. The worn handle of the fishing rod fit easily against his palm, almost as if it had spent countless hours resting in the same spot. The lake he was sitting in front of was a pristine blue, surrounded by mountains and green trees as far as the eye could see.

It was perfect.

Despite the seemingly calm perfection, he had a nagging thought in the back of his mind, the familiarity of the scene egging it on. But what was it? A tug on his line distracted him from the question, his hand automatically shifting from the handle to the reel, and slowly began turning.

"Dean." The low, gravelly voice startled him out of his idyllic moment, and he turned to see Cas standing next to him, looking out over the lake but standing close enough that they could touch if Dean just put his hand out. Instead, he returned his gaze to the water, and began slowly reeling in his line. "What are you doing here?" "You should ask yourself that. It is your dream." Dean rolled his eyes, "Yea, but I was perfectly content just fishing. I didn't want to see my dead best friend, alright? Not my idea of a dream.” He cast out his line again, and watched as it clung to the surface of the water before breaking the tension and sinking into the darkness.

“It is important that we talk, Dean.”

“How important can it be to talk to a dead guy? What else can we possibly talk about other than the fact that you’re gone, and Sam and I are on our own?”

“You have been on your own before.”

Dean gripped the rod tighter, his knuckles turning white as he forced himself to stay calm. “Just because I’ve been on my own doesn’t mean…” He took a deep breath, then continued, “It’s not the same, Cas. I...we...were on our own. And then we weren’t, okay? A person gets used to it, and it’s not like we have much family left. I’m tired of losing people.”

“I do not think you are as alone as it seems. It is only a matter of time before you will see.”

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes even more blue than he remembered as he looked down at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He was surprised Cas could even hear his question, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Wait for the sign.” Cas dropped his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s chest tightened at the touch. He closed his eyes as he reached up, his fingers just grazing Cas’. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he moved his hand upwards, his palm covering rough knuckles.

Suddenly, his arm was on fire again, an intense burn that moved from his fingertips all the way to his shoulder, stopping just below where Cas’ hand was resting.

“Wait for the sign.”

Dean sat up with a jerk, and hastily wiped away the tear that was still rolling down his cheek. The dream was already fading into a mostly forgotten memory, except for a pair of exceptionally blue eyes standing out in the darkness. He heard someone clearing their throat and looked up to see Sam staring at him. “What?” he asked roughly, throwing back the blanket and shuffling to the bathroom before the younger Winchester could answer. He avoided looking in the mirror; he knew whatever he saw there would be rough; no need to dwell on it.

“What was that about?” Sam asked as Dean reappeared from the bathroom, and despite his obvious effort to mask it, Dean could hear the concern in his voice.

“It was just a dream.”

“A dream about Cas isn’t ‘just a dream’,” he air quoted annoyingly.

Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, reaching for the jeans that were hanging on the end of it, “How’d you know it was about Cas?”

“You repeating his name over and over again kind of gave it away.” He paused, then tilted his head as he caught a glimpse of Dean’s arm as the sleeve shifted. “What happened to your arm?”

Dean grabbed his shirt from the chair and pulled it on, “Nothin’. Bruise from the last hunt, nothing to be concerned about.”

Sam left his spot at the small kitchenette table and walked over to the bed, “Lemme see it.”

Dean glared at him as he pulled on one of his boots, “Why would I do that? It’s not a big deal, I already told you it was a bruise from the last hunt. Let it go, Elsa.”

“Come on, let me see.” Sam went to grab his arm and Dean dodged it as he pushed him away.

“Back the hell up, man. I said it was nothing.” Although a majority of the burning was gone, it was still tender to the touch, and it took everything Dean had not to grimace as the flannel rubbed against the mark. Sam looked at him for a moment as if contemplating his next move, then suddenly moved towards Dean, one hand going for the edge of shirt, the other coming down on where he thought the mark was.

Sam’s aim, despite not knowing exactly what he was looking for, was true, and he landed directly on the hand print. Pain shot down Dean’s arm and back up, and he shoved Sam as hard as he could away from him. Sam hit the ground with a resounding thud, and he looked up at Dean from the floor in surprise.

“Goddammit Sam, that hurt!”

“I barely touched you! What the hell was that?!”

“He has a brand.” Both Winchesters spun around to see Jack sitting quietly on the couch, watching the television with the sound all the way down.

“The fuck did you say?” Dean growled, taking a step toward the nephilim.

“I said, you have a brand. It's Cas’ handprint.”

“Is he right, Dean? Is it?”

Dean ripped his flannel off and threw it angrily to the side, then grabbed his shirt sleeve and yanked it upwards, displaying the newly burned mark.

“Fine, yes, are you happy?!”

“I don't know that happy is the word I would use. Confused, yes. Happy, I'm not really sure. When the hell did that show up?” Sam pulled himself out of the floor and resumed his place at the table.

“I dunno, couple nights ago. I just...woke up and it was there.” Sam narrowed his eyes, “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Why the hell did I need to? Cas is gone, Sam, he's gone. This changes nothing, and,” he threw a hateful glare towards Jack, “we have bigger concerns on our hands.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Did it ever occur to you that this might mean Cas isn't...gone gone? That maybe it's some sort of sign that he's still here, somewhere?”

“What kind of sign? A reminder that we failed yet again? Sign, my ass.” Dean tried to ignore the obvious use of the word, images from his dream resurfacing as he tried to ignore it. He didn’t need any signs; his best friend was gone.

“Not a sign of failure, more like a sign of your…” Sam trailed off, afraid of pointing out the thing they’d all pretty much been ignoring.

“My what, Sam?”

Sam sighed, “Your connection to Cas. We both know it’s much stronger between the two of you than Cas and I. You guys...you have a bond.”

“What does that mean…bond?”

Dean glared at Jack but remained silent, shifting his gaze to Sam.

“It's just that Cas saved Dean, and he's always...I mean, he cares very much about-”

“Alright, that's enough of that. I'm leaving.” Dean grabbed the keys from the table and stormed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

He threw the door open, then turned back to Sam, “For a drive. Don't wait up.” He slammed the door shut, then went straight to the Impala. He needed air, a chance to think. Sam had no idea what he was talking about...did he?

Dean pulled into the overgrown field and put the car into park, his mind racing with thoughts of Cas and his dream, what Sam had said, and the now constantly aching hand print on his shoulder. He got out and slammed the door shut, pacing back and forth as he mumbled to himself.

“Bond...he doesn't have a damn clue what he's talking about. He's my best friend, obviously there's a...a bond.” He stopped walking and sat on the hood of the Impala and leaned back, his hands behind his head as he stared up into the sky. He hadn't prayed for awhile, not since Cas had been killed, and he didn't really see what good it would do now.

He sighed; it couldn't hurt either. “Cas...if you've got your ears on, I...we could really use you down here. Everything's gone to hell, I don't know what to do with Jack...and I don't understand why your handprint is back. Sam says it's because of our bond, but that sounds like bullshit. We’re family, of course there's a bond.” He reached up and put his hand over the print, matching his fingers with Cas’, and sighed. The warmth flooded from it, moving from his fingertips all the way up to his shoulder, then downward, until it buried itself deep within his gut.

It was a familiar feeling, one he'd felt hundreds of times when he'd go home with whatever piece of ass he could get his hands on. Crass, and not exactly the same, but it was as close as he could get to describing the sudden tightening in his stomach. For a moment, it almost felt like the fingers he'd aligned with his own were shifting, filling in the empty spaces and curling around his hand. His eyes flew open, but just like that, the feeling was gone.

He looked down at his arm, the scar a deeper shade than before, and sighed. He didn't understand any of this; why the mark had returned, this feeling of longing usually only reserved for those that caught his attention at the bar, and the ever present denial of there being something more between the two of them than anyone else.

“Cas...please come back. We need you to come home. I need you to come home.” After a moment of silence, he sat up with a sigh and slid off the hood. “Figures…” he mumbled to himself as he reached for the door handle. Suddenly, the fire in his shoulder returned, and he collapsed into the closed door, nearly biting his tongue to keep in the pained yell. As quick as it began, it stopped. No fading away, no slowly relinquishing tingling like before; just a hard stop, as if he had imagined it.

He reached down, his fingers tracing along the edge of his shirt sleeve before slowly raising it to find smooth, freckled skin. No hand print.

“What the hell?” He swiped his hand across where the print had been just moments before, but not only was it gone, so was the feeling it gave, the feeling that Cas was there. Whatever it was was gone, and Dean felt his stomach drop. Cas was gone. Truly gone. Whatever hope Dean had of Sam being right...well, it had disappeared with it.

Then his phone rang.

Dean had always overlooked traffic laws and speed limits while traveling back roads; in the rare instances that he did get pulled over, he simply would flash a smile and charm his way out of it. Sam was always impressed by it, and though he'd never admit it, a little jealous. But tonight, nothing would stop Dean. He ignored yield signs and stop lights, flew through intersections, blasted through a railroad crossing as the bar came down, and narrowly avoided being caught by a state trooper who, by sheer luck, had already pulled someone else over for weaving back and forth over the center line.

Always the one to use a map rather than GPS, Dean had also broken that rule; his eyes constantly drifted over to look at the phone in Sam’s hand, the estimated time of arrival dropping as he pressed the gas harder.

Seventy five miles.

Fifty miles.

Twenty-five miles.

You have arrived at your destination.

Dean abruptly stopped as he caught sight of the shadowy figure hovering at the phone booth, the shadow from the grimy streetlight obscuring most of the details. He didn't need details; the tight feeling in his gut as he stared at the figure was answer enough. If it hadn't been, the fluttering edge of a trench coat in the sudden breeze certainly was.

“Dean.”

His breath caught at the sound; deep and gravelly, the voice almost didn't go with the owner.

He had arrived at his destination. Although, if he really was honest with himself, he'd arrived as his destination way earlier and had taken his time actually getting there.

He climbed out of the car and walked towards Cas. Jack began to follow and Sam held out an arm to stop him. Jack looked at him in confusion, unsure as to why he couldn't go to his father, the man who was supposed to keep him safe, but obeyed Sam’s silent request to stay put. Dean stopped just short of Cas, his hands still at his sides.

“How?” It came out a whisper, and Cas’ gaze darted over his shoulder towards Jack, then back to Dean.

“I am unsure, though I believe it deals with the child.”

Dean took another step forward, “Where were you?”

Cas shook his head, “I...I do not know. I was somewhere and nowhere. There was darkness...nothingness. It was...disconcerting.”

Another step, then another, until Dean was standing toe to toe with him. Cas’ eyes narrowed, locked with Dean’s, and Dean wondered how he'd missed how blue they were. Without thinking or thought to anyone else standing around, he threw his arms around him and gripped him tightly.

“You can't leave me again. You hear me? You can't leave me like that again,” he whispered fiercely in Cas’ ear, his voice breaking as Cas’ arms found their way around his waist.

“I am sorry, Dean. I did not realize-”

“Don't...don't apologize. Just...don't ever do that again.” He pulled back and stared at Cas, taking in everything he could. It occurred to him that their arms were still around each other and for a moment, he considered moving away. Instead of doing that, however, he leaned his forehead against Cas’ and closed his eyes. The feeling was back; only this time, it was his entire body that felt like it was on fire. Every part that touched Cas tingled, spreading warmth through him until he thought he couldn't take it anymore.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“I would very much like to kiss you. Is that okay?” Dean opened his eyes, and for a moment didn't know how to answer. He took in Cas’ wrinkled brow, furrowed in concern, his messy hair, and crooked tie. Kissing Cas had never really occurred to him, not until he was gone and Dean realized there was more to them than just the angel and the hunter, but now that Cas was back...should they? Cas’ arm began to loosen around his waist and Dean panicked; he had waited too long to answer. So, instead of answering, Dean did the thing he knew he was better at than talking.

He pressed a palm on each of Cas’ cheeks and moved in, his lips pressing gently, almost chastely, against his. They were chapped, just like always, but Dean was surprised to find that they were even softer than most girls he'd been with, warm and plump. His tongue darted out as he decided to push his luck and explore, and not surprisingly, his lips tasted of honey. He jumped a little as Cas’ tongue joined his, but quickly recovered and let his lips part so that Cas could do his own exploring.

Then it was over. Dean took a deep breath and let his hands drop, staring at Cas as if he'd disappear any second. “Whoa.”

Cas gave him a rare smile, “I believe that is a good response. Can I tell you something?”

Dean nodded, “Of course you can.”

“While I was gone...in the empty, as the entity I met there  called it, all I wanted was to go home. And after being there for awhile, it felt like millennia, it occurred to me that when I thought of home, I was not thinking of Heaven. I was thinking of you. I held onto that, and though I believe it was Jack’s powers that pulled me physically from that place, I never would have made it out whole without the thought of you.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open, unprepared for the eloquent and touching speech. “I...I don't know what to say, Cas.”

“You do not need to say anything. You are here, that is enough.” He nodded over Dean’s shoulder, “I believe we should probably discuss this more in depth later, as we have an audience. And also things to take care of.”

Dean looked back in time to see Sam forcibly turn Jack around and pretend that neither of them saw anything. “Yea, let's go,” he chuckled as they walked back to the car.

As he slid into the front seat, he smiled to himself. Next time, he would believe in all the signs.

Destiel Tags: @pinknerdpanda @mrswhozeewhatsis @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @jeweldancerwrites <--I feel like I tagged the wrong person...please tell me if I did. lol