#because how are they gonna know the difference between the new rogue killing someone angrily and still killing but it's chill

[glitter-stained]

Transmasc Jason Todd who never had his period before dying because malnutrition+ generally being a late bloomer, getting his period somewhen in Lost Days/UTRH, getting really intense PMS and assuming it's Pit Rage because nobody told him pms was a thing so he's like "ah yes the violent mood swings, fatigue and feeling like any slight frustration will get me unreasonably upset and might send me over the edge. Probably a sign that I am cursed by the waters of evil and that I came back wrong."

[starsinursa]

Long After You’re Gone

A/N: This is my fic submission for @wordstothewisereaders for her 300 follower celebration! Congrats, boo, you’re awesome! :) 

The prompt for this fic was the song Gone, Gone, Gone by Philip Phillips, and I ended up writing a coda-type thing for the season 12 finale (gooo figure, like this fic was gonna be about anything else with this song prompt. ;) )

Word count: approx 2,150 Pairing: implied/ pre-Destiel Warnings: cussing, angst, canon MCD, mention of alcohol abuse, spoilers for season 12

Most of the fic is under the cut, please click ‘Read More’.

I’ll shut down the city lights, I’ll lie, cheat, I’ll beg and bribe to make you well, to make you well

Four minutes.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean starts praying.

It takes him that long to surface from his shock, struggling out of it he’s fighting against a current, and do something other than kneel numbly in the dirt.

He’s still praying when Sam comes staggering out of the cabin, looking dazed and shell-shocked, and explains how the confrontation with Jack had gone south and how the nephilim had disappeared through another portal. He’s still praying when he stands with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching the flames of Castiel’s funeral pyre reflect against the surface of the lake. He’s still praying when he slides into the front seat of the Impala to begin the long drive home, running his hands over the wheel. He’s still praying when he thinks about how much work they have to do when they get back to the bunker - what with tracking down a rogue nephilim and finding a way to get Mary back - and he feels tired just thinking about it.

But he keeps praying.

There’s still not much difference between praying and begging, but fuck it, he’s begging then.

When the praying goes unanswered, he turns to threatening. He calls Chuck every name in the book, and then a few that he makes up. He reams Chuck up one end and down the other, because goddammit, Chuck owes him.

There’s no answer. He guesses he wasn’t really expecting one, if history has taught him any lessons, but it pisses him off all the same. Obviously Chuck has fucked off again to who-knows-where, and he’s turned off his prayer radio too. He’s probably reclining on a beach somewhere with his sister, catching up on gossip. Or hell, maybe she killed him as soon as they’d gotten out of sight. Not like Dean gives a fuck at the moment.

Not long after that, he gives up on praying. 

I love you long after you’re gone

Nine days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean wakes up in a cold sweat from the fading remnants of a dream suddenly turned nightmare. He remembers the familiar blue of Cas’ eyes, crinkled at the corners, and it had been a good dream until they had suddenly flared wide with blinding light -

He doesn’t go back to sleep.

When enemies are at your door I’ll carry you way from more If you need help, if you need help

Seventeen days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean decides to try the angels.

It’s the logical next step. If anyone is gonna know where angels go when they die, it’ll be another angel, right? Well, that’s the idea, anyway.

Except he has no fucking clue which angel to ask. Every angel he’s ever known who held any speck of regard for humanity and might deign to help him – hell, even the ones who hated humans and would probably refuse on principle – are all dead and gone, wings seared to ash.

As much as he hates to do it, as much as it makes his skin crawl with memories and guilt, he finally sends out a generic prayer to any angels who might be listening and happen to give a fuck, just like he’d done before Ezekiel – no, Gadreel – had shown up and caused them a whole new slew of problems for a little while.

He doesn’t mention it to Sam. 

Besides, it’s a different situation entirely -  there’s nobody to inhabit this time around, no vessels for an angel to dick around in. All he needs is information.

All he needs to know is, where do I start?

I love you long after you’re gone

Twenty-five days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean stumbles across a coffee mug in the kitchen that Cas had once used, long fingers wrapped around the cup as he smiled gratefully at Dean over the rim.

He smashes it against the wall.

Your hope dangling by a string I’ll share in your suffering to make you well, to make you well

Thirty-two days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finally gives up on waiting for an angel, any angel, to show up, and decides to try demons.

In a way, if he’s being totally honest with himself (and isn’t that a rarity), he almost prefers dealing with demons over angels anyways. Demons, at least, are up-front about their shitty nature. Angels… well, most of the angels he’s met are just as bad as demons, except that they hide their ulterior motives behind an obnoxious veneer of good intentions. 

Angels always tend to stab him in the back. Demons, at least, will stab you in the front.

He tries two different crossroads, pacing impatiently and getting progressively more pissed off when the hours pass by with no whiff of a demon, before he decides he’s done asking nicely and does a summoning.

The demon who appears is wearing a small, mousy-haired vessel – probably someone ironic like a kindergarten teacher – and is not impressed. The feeling is mutual.

“We’re all a little busy at the moment, Winchester,” the demon snaps. “Don’t you think there’s a reason no one showed up at your crossroads? In case you’ve forgotten, both Lucifer and Crowley fucked off in the same day, so there’s a reign of succession to figure out. It’s a cluster-fuck down there, Hell’s in an uproar.”

“I don’t give a shit about what kind of state Hell’s in,” Dean says. “All I need is information, and you’re going to tell me or things are going to get dicey. What do you know about where angels go when they die?”

The demon stares at him. He’s about to repeat the question, with a little added emphasis from the demon knife, when the demon actually starts laughing.

“Are you serious? Fuck, you’re dumber than you look. Why do you think demons would have any idea where angels go? I’ll give you a hint: it’s sure as hell not in Hell.”

He’s too tired to deal with the demon after that, anger draining out of him. He knew it had been a long shot, but still…it’d been a shot.

The insults and goading from the demon have lost their sting. It only takes a moment to dismiss it out of his sight.

I love you long after you’re gone 

Sixty-four days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean catches sight of a dark-haired man wearing a trenchcoat and grabs him around the arm, whipping the man around to face him.

It’s not Cas, of course - even before he sees the man’s face, he knows it can’t be Cas - but he still feels unbearably disappointed.

He mutters an apology to the guy, who’s standing confused and a little angry in the middle of the grocery store, and heads for the exit, desperate to get away from the pitying look in Sam’s eyes.

When you fall like a statue I’m gonna be there to catch you Put you on your feet, on your feet

Seventy-five days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam finally confronts him.

It’s the middle of the night when Sam finds him in the library, flipping through a book that must weight thirty pounds.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is rough with sleep. “Have you slept at all?“

Dean doesn’t answer, turning the page. The answer to that question is obvious anyways, considering Dean is still in his clothes from earlier that day and has a half-full cup of coffee in front of him, so Sam can figure it out for himself.

Coffee gets him through the nights, and beer gets him through the days.

“Dean…” Sam sighs, and Dean knows that sigh. That’s Sam’s we-need-to-talk sigh. “Dean, we’re supposed to be looking for Jack and a way to rescue Mom –“

“Spare me the lecture, okay, Sam?” Dean snaps, not looking up. “We spent all day together researching portals, so I know you know that I want to find Mom just as badly as you do.”

“I know you do, that’s not what I meant,” Sam back-peddles immediately. “It’s just that – we research all day, and then you’re up researching all night. You’re running on fumes. You need to rest too –“

“I’m fine, Sam. So just drop it.”

Sam’s silent for a moment, and Dean knows that silence too. That’s the silence of Sam bracing himself to say something that Dean isn’t going to like. 

He hunches his shoulders and steels himself.

“Dean…Cas is dead.”

Even though he’s expecting it, the words still feel like a slap in the face. 

He slams the book shut and pushes back from the table to face Sam.

“He’s not fucking dead, Sam. He’s just –“ He pauses, angrily searching for the words. ”- he’s just – gone.“

Sam rubs at his forehead. “You’re right. He’s gone. So maybe it’s time to focus on the problems we can solve. Like finding Jack, and finding Mom. Maybe it’s time to let Cas go. ”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean snaps. “For now, Sam, he’s gone for now. And you and I know better than anybody that nobody is ever really gone-gone, there’s always a way to find them, or bring them back, or - or -” He gestures expansively at the books on the table. 

“And you think that’s a good idea? You think Cas would be okay with that?”

“Really?” Dean is suddenly furious. He can’t believe Sam is thinking this shit, much less saying it out loud. “When has that ever stopped us? You’re gonna say that, after everything Cas has done for us? You’re just gonna give up on him like he doesn’t fucking matter?”

“That’s not fair, Dean.” Sam has gotten quieter, more tired. “You’re not the only one who misses him, y’know. He was my friend too. I cared about him too.”

“Bullshit,” Dean explodes, standing up so quickly that the chair topples backwards. “Bullshit. He wouldn’t even be gone if it wasn’t for you. I could have stopped him, Sam, I could have grabbed him and dragged him back through that damn portal with us. I had plenty of time to reach him and if you hadn’t stopped me –“

Dean feels like he’s looking at himself from a distance. He knows he’s not being fair, he knows he’s saying things that are designed to hurt. He can see the stricken look on Sam’s face, but he can’t stop -

Sam interrupts him. “You don’t think I’ve been blaming myself? Jesus, you don’t think I’ve thought about that every day for – for –“

“Seventy-five days,” Dean supplies harshly. “It’s been seventy-five days.”

I surrender honestly You’ve always done the same for me

Seventy-six days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam shows up with an armful of books and dumps them onto the table.

Dean glances up, and Sam gives him a small, wan smile.

“There was, uh… some more books in the library that I thought they might be useful. Didn’t look like you had found these yet.”

“…thanks,” Dean says cautiously. And then, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” 

There’s an awkward silence. Sam stands at the table, tapping his fingers on a book cover, shifting his weight. 

Then he pulls out a chair, sits down, and flips open the nearest book.

And if your well is empty Not a thing will prevent me Tell me what you need, what do you need

One hundred and nine days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean stumbles across the cassette tape of Led Zepplin songs that he’d given to him. He finds it wedged between the seats of the Impala, a little worse for wear and bent out of shape. It won’t play.

He spends the next day making tapes, trying to think of every last song Cas might like.

For you, for you Baby, I’m not moving on I love you long after you’re gone

One-hundred and sixty-one days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finally gets drunk enough to admit to himself some things that he’d never admitted to Cas.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

For you, for you You would never sleep alone I love you long after you’re gone

Two hundred and thirteen days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Sam comes running into the kitchen looking for him. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, holding a book and flipping through it so quickly that the pages are a blur. He reaches a certain page and shoves it under Dean’s nose.

Like a drum, my heart never stops beating for you

Three-hundred and eighty-eight days.

That’s how long Cas has been gone when Dean finds him again.

And long after you’re gone, gone, gone I love you long after you’re gone, gone, gone