#because. to castiel? he is millions of thousands of years old. to him the years he spent with dean and sam and jack

[castielsprostate]

the confession scene but it starts with castiel saying, "i'm out of minutes, dean,"

[profoundbondfanfic]

Do you have any recs for Reallyyy long fics? Like 200-300k+ words? That isn't 91W... avoiding that one because I feel like it will hurt me... preferably fix-its? Oh and no a/b/o pls :) thanksss

Here are a few:

Angel's Wild by riseofthefallenone (Explicit, 389k words)

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels. Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right? That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.

Bitch Better Have My Money by Duckyboos (Explicit, 256k words)

How Dean Winchester - mechanic, shitty cook, single father - became the power behind the throne in one of the biggest crime syndicates in the Midwest.

Computer Safety Verse by followthattardis (Explicit, 232k words)

On the day of his 29th birthday, Dean receives an email from his old nemesis: Michael Milton, the guy who got him kicked out of college and stole his girlfriend. The email contains encoded images with top secret CIA/NSA intelligence – and now their only copy is in Dean’s brain. Both agencies send their best operatives – Castiel Novak and Victor Henriksen respectively – to handle their accidental asset and protect the invaluable data in his head. To justify their sudden appearance in Dean’s life, they adopt covers: Victor as Dean’s new co-worker and neighbor, Cas as his new boyfriend. Needless to say, Dean’s brother and his girlfriend are thrilled to see him in a relationship they believe to be real. Clearly, there’s no way this could go wrong.

Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost (Explicit, 228k words)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

Light me up by tricia_16 (Explicit, 218k words)

Five years after participating in a life-changing threesome with his then-girlfriend and her friend Cas, Dean's single, comfortably bisexual, and has everything he's ever wanted except for that special someone to share his life with. When tragedy strikes, he and Cas are reunited in an unexpected way, and a split-second decision entangles their lives in ways neither of them could have predicted…

Not Part of the Plan by Annie D (scaramouche) (Explicit, 337k words)

Castiel's spent most of his adult life keeping his head down and staying out of trouble. This is a deliberate choice on his part, because as a cousin of the King, he'd rather stay unimportant and forgotten. This changes abruptly when King Michael decides that he has a better use for Castiel: he is to be wed to a noble member of the neighboring Republic, as part of an agreement between their two nations. Castiel knows he has to obey, but that doesn't mean he won't rebel in what small ways he can. Unexpectedly, his actions end up having far-reaching consequences.

one million fires burning by dothraki_shieldmaiden (Explicit, 248k words)

Dean Winchester teaches three classes a day, tutors after school, and chairs the English Department for Lawrence High School. He does enough. Unfortunately, his boss doesn't feel the same and informs him that he has a new job: co-coaching the school's trivia team. His co-coach? None other than the school's golden boy, Castiel Milton. Who Dean can't stand, for various reasons, all of which are valid, thank you very much. And the fact that Dean can't stop talking about the stick up Cas's, sorry, Milton's ass? Completely irrelevant.

Redux by emmbrancsxx0 (Explicit, 386k words)

Dean Winchester is dead. For decades, he, along with Castiel and Sam, has led a peaceful afterlife in heaven. He has everything he’s ever wanted: a home, his family and friends surrounding him, and a relationship with Cas—and he’s bored as hell. Until, one day, Chuck escapes heaven’s lock up and begins capturing souls to regain power. To stop him, Jack sends Dean, Cas, and Sam back to Earth. After so long away from hunting, will they be able to once again find their place in the family business?

Talk Some Sense To Me (Kenopsia) by ImYourHoneyBee (Explicit, 244k words)

Scrambling to his knees Castiel hugs back, burying his face in Dean’s neck, breath coming in fast little pants against his skin. Dean closes his eyes and just breathes him in, barely able to believe that this is real. At any other time in his life, closing his eyes against a threat like Death would be an inexcusable lapse in his hunter’s judgement. Right now, he doesn’t give a single fuck. Death can reap him for all he cares, he’ll die knowing Cas is going to be ok. Alive. “I will see you soon, Dean,” Death tells him, that deliberate voice of his soft enough not to intrude on the intimacy of the moment, “Raincheck on that grilled cheese.” “Thank you,” Dean croaks, propping his chin up on Cas’s shoulder, unmindful of the tears trickling down his cheeks, “Thank you.”

The Closest Thing We Have To Magic by EllenOfOz, TrenchcoatBaby (Explicit, 221k words)

Dean Winchester is a graduate student at Stanford University’s School of the Occult. A naturally-talented mage but a lazy professor and student, he figures he’ll coast through his final year the way he always has: with charisma, charm, and a natural aptitude for magic. All that changes when his thesis advisor, Dr. Castiel Novak, turns out to be the strictest and most challenging educator on-campus. Unfortunately for Dean, the uptight professor is nearly his age and infuriatingly gorgeous. But Castiel is keeping a secret, a powerful talent that’s more a curse than a blessing when he’s targeted by seditious parts of magical society. Can Dean and Cas put aside their animosity—and undeniable chemistry—long enough to instill real change in the magical community? Or will sinister plots and hidden agendas keep them apart?

To Build a Home by intothesilentland (Mature, 383k words)

Twenty-three years of head-over-heels, devastating devotion and love, love, love for the man with bright eyes and dark hair. Fourteen years of friends, best friends, of always together. One moment of rejection. Nine years of apart. Nine years of heartbreak, nine years of continents away, of not speaking, of no acknowledgement, no interaction, no closure, no peace. No happiness. Nine years of Dean’s life entering motions, going through them, constant, cold and mechanic, like clockwork. Nine years of alone. God. Nine years. A lot has changed. And yet Dean still loves Cas just the same. Even if his heart hurts all kinds of different.

Under The Midnight Sun by NorthernSparrow (Explicit, 232k words)

Dean Winchester’s been camp manager of a science research station on the Alaskan tundra for thirteen years. Dean likes his job; fixing the camp trucks, troubleshooting the generators, keeping clueless undergrads and NSF bigwigs from walking into grizzly bears or getting lost in snowstorms — it’s all in a day’s work. It keeps him pretty busy, and this year his brother Sam's visiting too, so he's even busier. So it’s really not any of Dean’s business when some weirdo antisocial ornithologist sets up a tent a few miles away, a dark-haired blue-eyed guy who’s doing a “very long-term" study on birds or wings or something, and who never, ever takes off his big lumpy backpack. But then the new guy starts dropping by camp for coffee and… well, he’s not officially part of camp; he's not Dean’s responsibility; he’s really not Dean’s problem at all, but when a strange blizzard comes sweeping in, Dean gets worried and goes to check. Thing is, Dean's spent years in the sweeping vistas of the Arctic. He knows all about the midnight sun and the northern lights, the ice caves and avalanches, the rough-and-ready Haul Road truckers and the even rougher-and-readier wild animals. But even so, what he finds is much more than he bargained for.

With Interest by everandanon (Explicit, 296k words)

Eighteen, bored, and not quite able to turn down the money, Cas agrees to an ill-advised bet, and Dean's heart isn't the only one that gets broken. Eleven years later, grieving his twin brother and struggling to take care of his niece, Cas finally returns home — only to meet Dean again and discover that the boy he left behind has grown up a lot. And now, Dean seems to have every intention of getting him back — with interest.

You can also check our >100k tag for all the longer fics we rec.

[crowley-the-1-true-king-of-hell]

Screaming with excitement right now

Crowley in season 8x07 was willing to knife fight Castiel. That was when he assumed Cas’ was too weak to use the full smite of his angel powers

I love it, because Crowley does not underestimate Cas in anyway. Crowley has always had a healthy appreciation for Cas’ abilities, so Crowley is more than aware of how BAMF Cas is at knife to knife fighting. Yet Crowley believed he had a chance, which shows that Crowley is pretty BAMF himself

I won’t lie, I think Cas would win in a “fight until one is knocked out” type situation. Cas is millions of years old and a soldier, it is highly unlikely Crowley would be better than him, and I just “yeah sure lol” whenever Dean is made to be more skilled than Cas? like what are the directors smoking? Dean is skilled but he doesn’t have millions of years of experience. Or if Cas only began fighting when humans were created, then thousands of years

But do I think Crowley could have put up a good enough fight, with his cunning, to stun Cas for just long enough to teleport away with Kevin and the tablet?

The answer is yes. It takes 7 milliseconds to snap your fingers. He needs to use cunning long enough to have that 7 milliseconds. Don’t get me wrong Cas would absolutely kick Crowley’s arse in any fight, even a non power fight where it’s just melee vs melee but I do think Crowley has enough skill to buy himself 7 milliseconds and that is an incredible feat, because Cas has way more experience even if he didn’t have powers, which he did

So why didn’t Crowley teleport with Kevin and the tablet while Cas was doing his light show? We know from 7x23 that Crowley doesn’t need to touch an item or people to teleport them

The answer I believe is this:

originally Crowley thought Cas didn’t have enough powers. The light show made him think okay maybe I was wrong. Originally he thought he just needed to stun Cas long enough to get him, the tablet and Kevin out and Cas wouldn’t be able to follow because he wasn’t in good shape

Cas was able to bluff well enough to make Crowley believe he was fine and if we remember from 5x10 Cas can follow Crowley’s teleportation energy like how he followed Crowley to his house, even though Crowley teleported before him 

So if you already know the angel can follow your teleportation signature, and you guess that they still have some power left in them to follow you, what would be the point? Fold your cards and try again. You can risk teleporting away, but if the angel follows you they might not give you an advantage of warning you with a light show next time

[shelikestv]

Jensen's take that Dean doesn't understand Cas' feelings bc he's an angel makes so much sense and it's killing me.

6x20: The man who would be king, Dean begs Cas to lean on him to fix things, to which he replies they "aren't broken."

Same ep: "You can't (stop me) Dean. You're just a man. I'm an angel."

6x22: God!cas juiced up on purgatory souls: "You're not my family, Dean. I have no family." (As opposed to them both calling each other family in prev. episodes.)

Cas dies, Dean calling him a "child," in response. The angels just don't understand, and Dean knows it.

7x17: Finally gets Cas back and is reminded of the rift between them: "You're not a machine, Dean. You're human." (As opposed to the angels? A parallel to rigid obedience and machine-like loyalty?)

7x21 gets its own section, because there is SO MUCH in this episode:

Dean canonically knows that angels aren't "junkless," but keeps calling them that anyway. Particularly noticable since this is the same episode where Crazy!cas wakes up.

We also get Dean clearly talking about Cas to Kevin:

Cause the angels – they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just... breaks them apart.

A few Interesting things Cas says to/in front of Dean:

"I don't fight, I watch the bees"

Tells Dean he was rooting for the neaderthals before the homosapiens.

He says to Meg that watching over humans for thousands of years was often boring and repetitive.

Hester then comes in with: "Castiel, you have fallen in every way imaginable." and "The very touch of you corrupts (Dean). When Castiel first laid a hand on you in hell he was lost! You wanted free will? Now I'm making the choices."

ANGEL VS HUMAN shoved in Dean's face over and over.

The kind of effect love and free will has on the angels is not always pretty. Most of the examples Dean sees of angels and humans falling for each other is unhealthy and twisted. Just look at Lily Sunder and the way that the two of them BROKE each other, (or it probably seemed that way to Dean).

After the crypt scene, Cas chooses Dean over Naomi's mind control. Dean calls him family and what happens AGAIN? Cas LEAVES. He takes the angel tablet saying he had to protect it even from Dean.

No matter how much Dean tries to draw Cas in to his world with mixtapes, movies, and game nights, the angel world keeps pointing out how "other" Cas is. He's not human, and that makes things really really complicated.

It's like, for every step they take to get on the same page, there's a step back. Yeah, Cas may have chosen you over an angel army, Dean, but he's also dying because he's losing his grace.

Is it any wonder Dean is confused that Cas could love him back like THAT? He loves Cas, but not understanding AN ANGEL could love him in the same way makes all the sense in the world. After all, Cas is a million year old celestial wavelength of intent, and Dean keeps being reminded of that.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

after the credits

to thirteen years of cas and of the greatest love story ever told...an empty rescue fic for y’all :) 2.3k,  read on ao3 here

--------------

After a while, Castiel gets tired of watching. He’s practically dreaming all the time, but he’s so tired.

Eternal sleep is not restful.

He can’t leave the Empty, but he manages to mold it, with his mind, into a theater. He went to one once, with Dean, and there are probably nicer theaters, like those for plays and operas, but this movie theater is right for him. If he concentrates, he can almost smell burnt, buttery popcorn and spilled soda and old carpet, and Dean right next to him, aftershave and car oil and whiskey.

Almost.

The scenes unfold in a memorable order, because they’re Cas’s own memories. At first, he tried to jump in, alter the scene, but he’s powerless. So, like clockwork, he watches. He’s saving Dean in hell. He’s being stabbed in the chest by the same man he raised. He’s asking Dean to get answers from Alastair and then almost getting the grace pressed out of him. He’s slamming his palm onto a bloody sigil. He’s--

Everything, all of his twelve years on earth, pass by, over and over and over again.

Right now, it’s an early scene, not far into the cycle. It’s not one of his favorites, because he can see the expression on his face, remembers exactly how he felt. Remembers that he he was feeling at all.

“That was a pretty awkward kiss, huh?”

Cas turns sharply at the sound of Dean’s voice. Of course, Dean does talk in this scene, before he kisses Anna. But this Dean is sitting next to him, frowning at the screen.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Cas says.

“I know.”

Chances are this is just the Empty trying to mess with him. Last week a random trashcan showed up in his theater. Or maybe it was last year, or a millenia ago, or five minutes from now. Time is weird.

They keep watching in silence. On the screen, in the memory, Cas’s head jerks away from the sight of Dean and Anna kissing. The scene flips then, to a park at night, Anna right in front of Cas, no Dean in sight.

“For the first time, I feel...” Memory-Cas says.

“It gets worse,” Anna warns.

“So your first feeling….” Dean starts.

“It was something.” Cas can’t look at him. The scene on-screen changes.

Dean, to his merit, doesn’t press.

The memories progress through the year they spent trying to stop the apocalypse, the year that ended with Sam diving into the pit and Dean going off to Lisa’s. Then through Cas starting to work with Crowley, a conversation that happened right behind Dean without his knowledge.

On-screen, Cas is watching Dean rake leaves. The expression on his face is nearly mournful. After a moment, Crowley steps into view.

“Ah, Castiel. Angel of Thursday. Just not your day, is it?” Crowley says.

“What are you doing here?” Memory-Cas asks.

“I want you to help me help ourselves.”

“Speak plain.”

Crowley smirks. “I want to discuss a simple business transaction. That’s all.”

“You want to make a deal? With me? I’m an Angel, you ass. ”

The scene flips again.

“Is there a way to pause this?” Dean asks.

Cas shakes his head. “It just does this, on a loop. I can’t sleep. The Empty won’t let me.” He puts a hand on the armrest between them. “I forced the theater up, to make it better.”

“It looks a lot like that theater we went to once.”

“I know.” Cas stares at Dean for a moment, looks away.

Many of these scenes are things Dean knows of. Cas works with Crowley, gets locked in a ring of fire, feels his chest seize up as Dean looks back for a moment. Watches the Leviathans lead him to a lake. They meet again on porch steps, Cas unable to remember who he is but still able to figure out that Dean is important. Cas gets his memories back, takes on Sam’s hell trauma. They go to Purgatory, Cas stays behind. It’s like clockwork.

Until.

“I don’t remember that,” Dean says slowly, watching himself die on the screen. “You never--you’ve never killed me.”

“Yes and no.” Cas knows what’s coming next--he’s going to kill Dean thousands of times. Each one is the same, with Cas in tears as these copies, mock-ups of Dean struggle, beg and plead, tell him not to. Each time, Naomi makes him do it again.

Until, finally, he doesn’t hesitate.

And she says he’s ready.

As they watch that scene in the crypt unfold, with the real Dean at Cas’s mercy, Dean leans forward, putting his elbows on his thighs and propping his chin in his hands. “You lied.”

“Hm?”

“You said you didn’t know what broke the connection.” Dean twists his head to look at Cas. “But you did.”

“I did,” Cas assents.

They watch Cas ride cross-country on a bus, pulling out his phone and almost calling Dean over and over again.

“Is there a way that we can see some of my memories?” Dean asks.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”.

Dean shrugs. “Well, I am here, and you figured out how to make a friggin movie theater, so I think I can do it.”

The image on the screen shudders, coalesces, breaks into a million pieces and then reforms. Dean is standing on the edge of a lake, picking up Cas’s coat, still covered in Leviathan goo. “You dumb son of a bitch,” Memory-Dean mutters, wrapping up the coat in his arms.

The scene flickers again--the coat in those same hands, moving from car to car to car, and then being passed to Cas. “I always knew you’d come back ,” Memory-Dean says. It’s a soft scene, almost, but then it flips to Dean seizing a monster’s collar in purgatory. He’s covered in blood and grime as he shoves the monster up against a tree, practically growling, “Where’s the angel?”

Even after the monster answers, Dean guts him.

It’s a cycle. The memory blurs through sleepless nights, through Dean stepping into streams to pray, prayers Cas knows well. It pushes past Cas letting go of Dean’s arm in the portal, and here’s something else new: Dean sees Cas on the side of the road, sees him outside the window while it pours down rain, sitting bolt upright at the phantom sight of Cas’s face.

“Why are you here?” Cas finally asks. This must really be Dean, after all. The Empty wouldn’t know these things, wouldn’t be able to dream them up. They’re too good, too honest.

“To bring you home.” Dean kicks the back of the seat in front of him, leans back in his own chair.

“I can’t go home.”

“You should.” The scene on screen rapidly changes--it’s Dean as he looks now, carrying a little boy on his back. The little boy is blonde, round-faced, holding onto Dean’s neck for dear life, laughing as Dean swings around.

“Is that--” No, it can’t be.

“Yep. He’s four, you know.” Dean clears his throat. “He misses you.”

“I wish I could have gotten to say good-bye.” Cas trails off.

“Come home. Then you never have to say it.”

Cas shakes his head. On the screen, Dean is reading to Jack, Jack following the words with a chubby finger. “It would be...awkward.”

“How?” Dean raises an eyebrow. “We’re family, dude. Jack misses you, Sam misses you, and Eileen’s been hanging around, and me…” Dean clamps his mouth shut.

That’s why.

“Things aren’t going to be the same. Not after…” Cas takes a deep breath. “What I said. We won’t be able to ignore it.”

“Then we won’t.”

“Dean--”

“You don’t know?” Dean’s eyebrows furrow. “You don’t know. Okay. I, uh…” The screen turns black.

“You what?” Cas is almost afraid to know.

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

The blackness unfurls into Billie’s library, Dean standing in front of her. They’re clearly in the middle of a conversation.

“What do you want me to say?” Memory-Dean asks. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. ”

“Don’t you?” Billie replies.

“I couldn’t save Mom. I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.”

“Dean--” Cas starts, but Dean just looks at the floor, like he’s trying to avoid this.

“You really believe that,” Billie says. “You wanna die.”

“When was this?” Cas asks, speaking over the rest of Billie’s statement.

“It was...right before we, uh, got the call from you. That you were back.” Dean leans his head all the way up, looks at what would be the movie theater’s ceiling, if it wasn’t in the void. “I had a bad time. I…I would show it to you. But I don’t want you to see me like that. I held it together enough to wrap your body and burn it…”

“Hunter’s funeral.”

“Only kind I know how to do.” Dean swallows, audibly. “I’m doing what I can now. Having Jack to take care of, and Eileen around, too, helps. But it’s…” He finally looks at Cas again. “Please let me take you home. Please come home with me.”

Cas would do anything for Dean Winchester. He has done anything for him before. So he will grant him this, at least the illusion, because Cas knows he can’t leave the Empty. He’s trapped here for eternity.

He takes Dean’s hand.

-----------------------------------------

There is a little boy crawling on him.

“Daddy,” the boy says, poking his face, “I know you’re awake.”

“Jack,” Dean says, from somewhere up above, “Cas is still sleeping.”

Cas blinks rapidly. “‘M not.”

“Shouldn’t’ve said that.” Dean releases Jack, and Jack fully clambers onto Cas.

“I missed you,” Jack says.

“I missed you too.” Cas holds onto him, tight. He’s so small, like he’s supposed to be. A kid. Safe.

Cas thinks he might be in Dean’s bed.

The bunker, he discovers, looks much the same. He was gone for four months, in which time Dean and Sam took care of Chuck, Jack became a kid, and Eileen became a permanent fixture. When Dean and Sam aren’t looking, she signs to Cas, “He already looks better.”

“Who, Dean?” Cas signs back.

Eileen nods. “He had a pretty bad time.”

Dean turns around then, and Eileen presses a finger to her lips.

There’s not a quiet moment for the rest of the day. Sam explains what happened--”You might be human now,” he says, and Cas replies, “I’m not tired yet.”--and Jack wants Cas to read to him and play Barbies and racecars and puppets (apparently Dean built Jack’s little puppet theater, which--).

After dinner (spaghetti and meatballs, and Dean has a Coke instead of beer, Cas notices), everyone goes off to bed, and Cas realizes he is tired, which is something to think about.

He starts to head to the room he typically stays in, but Dean seizes the top of his arm. “Nope, you’re coming with me.” Dean drags Cas down the hall towards his room.

Cas hadn’t gotten a good luck at it earlier, what with Jack climbing all over him, but he sees it now. Dean’s bed unmade, scraps of random paper littered across the dresser, a picture Cas recognizes because he and Dean are wearing cowboy hats, and now he knows how Dean was really doing right before that case in Dodge City--

There’s also a dent in the wall. That’s new.

Dean follows Cas’s gaze. “I chucked a whiskey bottle at it. Sam took the rest of my stash the next day.” Dean steps over, brushing the drywall’s cracks with his fingers. “I didn’t fix it up so I wouldn’t forget.”

I couldn’t save Cas. I can’t even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I’m not going to beg. Okay, if it’s my time, it’s my time.

“Dean,” Cas says, “Tell me in words.”

“What?” Dean turns away from the wall. “Tell you what?”

“You know.”

Dean swallows, licks his lips. “I’d say don’t ever do that again on the whole dying thing, but I said that to you once and you didn’t listen. And maybe if I say it the right way now, you’ll stay, but…” Dean slumps, sits on the bed. “You can’t leave again.”

Cas touches the wall himself before sitting next to Dean on the bed. “I’m not going to.” He isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch Dean.

Dean touches him instead, leaning into Cas, finding one of Cas’s hands, holding it tight. He’s crying, Cas realizes. “I love you,” Dean says into their joined hands, then his chest wracks with a sob. “I was always so sure that if--” another sob, “If I said it, you’d leave. Get taken away from me.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Cas repeats.

He isn’t sure how long they sit like that, but Dean finally straightens up, lets go of Cas’s hand, wipes his eyes with the back of his own. “Pajamas,” Dean says, standing and crossing to the dresser. “We gotta get you some of your own, but…” He digs a pair of sweats out of the drawer and tosses them to Cas. “These’ll do for tonight.”

Cas doesn’t ask if he can stay. Dean doesn’t ask him to leave.

With the lights out, it’s pitch black, almost as inky as the Empty, but Cas can hear Dean breathing, so close to him. The bed is almost too small for both of them, so they’re nearly chest-to-chest. Hardly ever have they been this close. Never did Cas dare to dream it.

In the dark, under the covers, the world outside of this room, Dean kisses him. It’s flat, soft, a brush of lips, the barest ghost, but it’s enough. More than enough.

Cas is home.

[deans-haunted-baby]

Okay I see there are those who are confused as to why most of us are pissed about 15x19 I will gladly explain in depth:

Let’s start off with our boys Adam Milligan & Michael. These characters have not been seen for 10 fucking years. During that time there were Adam stans like myself campaigning like mad to have him and the infamous archangel return for some much needed closure. We had to content ourselves with headcanons, fanfictions and metas based on what we briefly knew of Adam and Michael as people while they unfairly sat in Hell. You might have seen the “Adam’s Still in Hell” memes that circulated. WE WAITED OVER A DECADE FOR THIS. And finally SPN answers our prayers and returns these boys back into the story for the final season. None of us anticipated what their arc and dynamic would look like. Before we could only imagine who these two characters were/are after having been trapped in a cage so long; what their personalities would be like and if they’d be antagonistic to TFW. 15x08 was a surprise because not only were Adam and Michael likable right out of the gate but the writing for them and their dynamic was damn near flawless! And Jake fucking stole the show he killed it as these two. It’s a crime they were not featured in more episodes because the chemistry between these characters is amazing and they’re played by the same dude.

We were given so much background into both Adam and Michael’s psyches in just a short period of time. Their motivations, interests and how they viewed those that wronged them (like the Winchesters); how Hell affected/changed them both and how they viewed their families. We got to see them banter, cooperate with one another and most importantly their different personalities. With Jake Abel appearing in only a handful of SPN episodes, he still fleshed out Michael and Adam beautifully; giving them layers and complexities that most side-characters (who’ve appeared more times than they have) didn’t. The way Jake played Adam’s anger and resentment towards his brothers was brilliant because it’s more under the surface compared to his angsty teenage self in 5x18. He’d become somewhat restrained, laid-back, gentler and wiser which works because Adam displays traits similar to Sam and Dean. He’s kinder and has a sense of humor but none of that distracts from rational thought as he’s quick to analyze and dissect situations. Man, he would’ve made a great hunter/Men of Letters recruit. We know right off the bat Adam’s pissed at his brothers for abandoning him in a thousand-year-prison-sentence and didn’t lift a finger BUT that ironically doesn’t compromise his willingness to help them unlike his past self in 5x18. Jake gets the point across with this character without saying much and that’s what made him so compelling to watch in this episode.

Now Michael was even more of a mystery onion since he wasn’t onscreen as much as Adam had been in past episodes so Jake got to really build on top of this character. Going from the uptight, cold-blooded merciless celestial warrior/dutiful son of God we saw in 5x22 to someone whom despite his arrogance and regal princely demeanor was very human, intelligent, fair, mindful and compassionate. He trusted Adam and respected his opinions even if he didn’t agree 100%. Whereas most angels take over the vessel completely from their original occupant; Michael chooses to share his vessel with Adam as a mutual agreement which says a lot about who he is. He’s fascinated with humanity and wanted to explore it instead of returning to his throne in the clouds. We know that Michael was created specifically to be Humanity’s protector and guardian of Heaven and Earth so these quirks he’d demonstrated in 15x08 aren’t too far off. He holds a lot of pain inside from his abandonment issues with his father whom he loves to a fault and grief over the death of his brothers. On the surface there’s very much an abused child syndrome thing going on with him though he masks it with a domineering presence. And above all this we saw that he was capable of forgiveness. Whether or not Michael always had these traits inside to begin with, its very evident that his friendship with Adam influenced the person he became post-Hell. And that was someone who, like Castiel, chose to rebel for the sake of free will by aligning himself with the Winchesters after witnessing the evil his father had committed. He actually cared about saving the world. This is what we call character development.

What does 15x19 do? It shits all over that. We don’t get to see Adam and Michael’s dynamic at all; and this was perhaps one of (if not the first) most healthy portrayal of a relationship between an angel and its original vessel occupant in the history of Supernatural. Adam is just killed off-screen Thanos style without so much as one last word and Michael barely reacts like he gives a crap. It was just established to us in 15x08 that he’d developed an emotional bond with Adam through years of inhabiting the same body. He protected Adam while they were trapped together in Hell. They were each other’s only friend and source of comfort. They’d developed a certain co-dependency on each other while respecting one another’s space. They’d both made peace with their joint situation. All they had was each other and the writing in 15x19 basically tells us their relationship meant absolutely NOTHING to Michael based on his OOC actions in this episode. He shows up much darker and shadier now that Adam is gone and its like all those years of friendship, things like that independence, newfound strength and humility he’d gained from living with a human for so long are erased. Michael just reverts back to Chuck’s 5x22 bitchboy persona in the most ridiculous 180 shift I’ve ever seen in my whole damn life. And all because his little brother called him mean names. Pitiful. Just when he lectures Lucifer about standing up for what’s right; he betrays his own words, his allies and the rest of humanity in T-minus 2 minutes. That is total character assassination. Nothing about this motivation makes any sense.

There’s no build up to it, no foreshadowing in 15x08 or throughout 15x19 until they get to the lake. He’s completely deconstructed as a character in this episode and rendered weak. It’s like 15x08 never happened. Stripped of all his development for lousy shock value. Instead utilizing all of what he’d learned through Adam and sticking it to Lucifer by proving he could be more than what Chuck tried to mold him into; Michael becomes just another NPC in the story forfeiting the hero he was. And his reasons for siding with Chuck are never specified. Was it about about saving Adam? Was it about proving something to Lucifer (whom he’d already killed in anti-climatic fashion)? Was it all an act that he was in on with the Winchesters; cause there’s absolutely NO FUCKING WAY they could’ve predicted he’d flip on them like that for their magical plan to work. Not after everything Chuck’s done, killing Adam and Jack and leaving Michael to rot in Hell for eternity. And why would he suddenly go along with destroying the Earth when defeating Chuck would probably get Adam back (if that was his goal) which IT DID not to mention its his sworn duty to freaking protect humanity, hello? So his betrayal meant jack shit in the end as it got him killed by his fucking dad!! He’s brought back into the show only to be ruined forever and killed off in the stupidest fashion.

Moving on.

Jack Kline & Castiel. This iron-clad relationship has been in development for 4 in 1/2 years since before Jack was even born. And next to Adam & Michael its the other most healthy relationship on the show. Castiel, a million year old celestial being, spent the first 9 years of his arc on Supernatural following around the Winchesters, being torn between his loyalty to them and to Heaven. He rebelled when he was supposed to be a straight-by-the-book warrior of God. And he defied every rule in the process even when the odds were stacked against him. There was an endless rinse and repeat cycle of love, loss, betrayal and redemption when it came to his relationship with Sam and Dean. It made his character complex, interesting and layered but it still didn’t give him an arc that was his own. Castiel started out moreso being written as just the Winchester’s angel BFF/side-kick. Until Lucifer got Kelly Kline pregnant in 12x08 then things really took off. Before this, Castiel was a lost soul. His faith was broken, he was depressed, lonely, battered and rundown from years of being conflicted over the other angels and Sam & Dean. He felt he’d lost a sense of self and meaning in his life. And didn’t have a mission. Once he turned on Heaven’s orders, Castiel was a rebel angel without a cause so to speak. But like I said this changes the moment he meets Kelly.

Originally Castiel was suppose to kill Kelly in 12x19 because she was carrying the child of the devil and Nephilim are considered forbidden abominations. Told that if Lucifer’s kid was born he could unleash even more evil into the world. But instead of doing what he thought he should, Castiel decides to runaway with her. Choosing to protect her from all threats (Lucifer, demons, other angels, princes of Hell); this especially included the Winchesters. During this short time-frame the angel develops a strong, emotional bond with Kelly and her unborn son that stretches all the way to the S12 finale; to the point where it actually gave him a power-boost. From the womb, Jack appoints Castiel to be his father and protector and he’s given a glimpse into the child’s destiny that he’ll bring paradise to the world. A prophecy that the writers establish head on. This is an unusual circumstance because right here is where Castiel’s solo arc apart from the Sam & Dean takes shape. The journey of becoming a first time parent and guardian. Its a new kind of independence that for the first time has nothing to do with his friends or his family members/colleagues in the sky. Its his own personal mission that he willingly accepts, the second he connects with Jack from inside Kelly. Castiel immediately falls in love with him, before they even see each other; and adopts the boy devoting himself to keeping him safe. Making a promise to Kelly that would later become a vital plot-point in the seasons to come.  

Castiel literally risks everything (Heaven and Earth) to ensure Jack’s birth and ends up dead by 12x23′s startling conclusion. Leaving the newborn infant Nephilim alone in the care of the Winchesters going into season 13; scared, confused and aged into a seemingly 18 year old boy for his own protection. And Alexander Calvert who is a fantastic addition to the cast really brings something wonderful to this role; he’s like a breath of fresh air and a bright light in the middle of a dark room. Jack’s naïve, innocent and curious about his surroundings but also as Castiel once put it “remarkably intuitive”. Right when he’s introduced his arc is intentionally paralleled with Castiel’s. Their alien-fish-out-of-water beginning is practically identical as is their adorable stoic facial expressions. Like father like son. And this helps because while the angel is currently dead in the beginning of season 13, there’s an empty void he’s left behind. So Jack is kind of his temporary stand-in. Odd enough this type of switcharoo would’ve been considered very controversial but it’s handled quite well. Alex is so likable and charming I almost wish Supernatural had introduced him sooner. I mean I really thought I was looking at Castiel’s actual mini-me and not the son of Satan. But I digress Jack’s story in the first half of this season is pretty much about discovery and reuniting with Castiel. He’s a baby so everything is new to him but he’s also one of the most powerful beings in the universe destined for greatness which makes the Winchesters very nervous.

Jack remembers choosing Castiel as his dad which is why he already feels strongly connected to him. Its a bond so powerful that it actually resurrects Castiel out of the Empty the first time. Something Chuck himself was unable to do (that was until the mess that is 15x19). When they’re finally reunited the payoff comes so naturally. Misha and Alex have such a phenomenal onscreen chemistry starting with that first hug; they really play off one another so well that it doesn’t feel like two angels interacting but a genuine father and son duo. So much of what makes Jack and Castiel’s relationship so relatable, deep and endearing is because of what the actors bring to it. But they’re not just a fascinating relationship, they’re compelling on their own too. Both trying to find their way in the world and within the Winchesters’ lives. Death is no stranger to either of them (tragic being that Jack is only a toddler). They’ve each experienced their own personal pain, traumas, life lessons, mistakes and decisions. The biggest for Castiel would be his deal with the Empty to save Jack in 14x08. While for Jack it was the consequences of said deal that would lose his soul causing him to accidently kill Sam and Dean’s mom in 14x18 as a result (something that Jack struggles with immensely to the brink of depression from so much guilt and regret that he’d rather die). Repercussions that would follow into the shows final season. What’s interesting about this deal though is that Castiel made it on parental instinct alone not as a promise to Kelly. He chose to sacrifice himself for the sake of his son as a selfless act of love and kept it a secret from Sam & Dean until his death in 15x18. That’s the extent how much this child meant to him. The other great thing about their family dynamic is that it parallels nicely with the Winchesters. Castiel and Jack share this unconditional love that can never be broken. its even greater than their ties to the Winchesters themselves just as Sam & Dean’s love for each other is greater than any of their other relationships. They would do anything for each other. Castiel would go to the ends of the earth for the little nougat baby because that’s his son.  

Each time these characters were faced with danger or died, Castiel and Jack were overcome with extreme devastation and distress. That said its not just pain that binds these two its happiness. Jack is the best thing that ever happened to Castiel. Literally becoming a father to that child saved him. It brought him back to life, restored his faith and gave him a sense of self-worth and hope he’d long since abandoned. And for Jack, Castiel is the best dad he’ll ever have! He gave this baby comfort, wisdom, nurturing, strength. Was always there when he needed him whether it was to talk or to have his back. No other person in Jack’s life has ever made such an important impact nor made him feel more safe and loved than Castiel. Even when Jack had done such a horrible thing to Mary alienating himself from his family; it was Castiel’s unyielding devotion to Jack that ended up being his salvation. This was huge because once again he’d chosen over the Winchesters proving that no matter what (whether it be the world ending) his son comes first. So when Castiel’s pact with the Empty finally comes due in 15x18 you’d think it’d have an earth-shattering affect on Jack in 15x19. I mean for the first bit it does...until he becomes God. Then its like to hell with that relationship. Castiel is a complete afterthought to Jack and the rest of TFW in this episode. JACK DOESN’T EVEN GET TO GRIEVE HIM PROPERLY. And he just lost his dad because of a deal he’d made a year ago for him. A DEAL JACK HAS BEEN FUCKING DREADING WHILE HE WAS SOULLESS MIND YOU. And when he finally has the power to bring him back, he doesn’t? Jack just walks around with a conceited smirk on his face, bids Sam and Dean adieu and fucks off. I mean who gives a shit right, its only your dad that you love more than anything. This was extremely OOC given that time in 14x14 Jack nearly lost his shit when Castiel got infected with gorgon poison; the anti-venom wasn’t working so Jack resorts to using his powers putting his soul at risk.

I mean if he was so limited to helping Castiel in the Empty AT LEAST FREAKING CLARIFIY THIS TO THE AUDIENCE. This is not about shipping a certain pairing btw. Jack becoming God is not the issue its his characterization after the fact. His first instinct would’ve been to save his dad above getting in touch with the Earth. Yes we knew this transformation was coming it was foreshowed way back in Season 12. Does that justify bad writing or character assassination?? HELL NO.

This is what I’m talking about, episode 15x19 deliberately butchers these characters and their relationships. It shat all over them. No one is behaving like themselves. The pacing is wonky and inconstant. The script feels like it underwent several rewrites and I swear there were scenes cut out. The acting is off too and maybe the pandemic could be blamed for these things but it ultimately falls on the writer. Buckleming screwed up by showing us they don’t know who the hell these characters are, their motivations nor do they give a rat’s ass. And its noticeable on screen. I’ve known better fanfiction writers for SPN than these guys. It’s like they all came back to work but just didn’t care to put the effort into it. That’s why people like me are upset and we have every freaking right to be. Some of us have been with this series for the entire 15 year run. I at least expect these characters to be handled better and for things to make sense. 15x19 doesn’t and its not satisfying its just a cruel joke. The writers and Dabb should be embarrassed to have put this out there thinking we’d just swallow it and shut up. But far as I’m concerned the only thing this episode serves is to disrespect and ruin everybody while angering long-time fans.

MICHAEL. ADAM MILLIGAN. JACK KLINE AND CASTIEL DESERVED BETTER. And that’s the tea.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Queen of the Night

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: Loki takes you to the rooftop greenhouse to show you his favorite flower, the queen of the night. Your evening ends with a confession of love. Warnings: the tiniest bit of angst but also excessively fluffy A/N: The reader is gender neutral; queen in the title refers only to the flower. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02​​ @frostedgiant​​​​ @lunarmoon8​​​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​​​ @lokistan​​​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​​​ @gaitwae​​​ @whatafuckingdumbass​​​ @castiels-majestic-wings​​​ @kozkaboi​​​ @cozy-the-overlord​​​

Disclaimer! Gif not mine

You looked up from your game of solitaire as Loki flopped down on the sofa next to you. He looked exhausted, even more so than he usually did after a training session with Thor. Loki sighed, and you set your cards aside, turning your body to give him your full attention.

“Are you ok?” you asked as he shook his head no. You hugged his head to your chest and scratched his back lightly. He was practically purring at your gentle touch. “Want to talk about it?”

“Yes, darling, I do,” he began. “Thor uses brute strength, and not to mention Mjolnir, when we train. Yet I am unable to use my magic, for it is against the rules that he set for our sessions. Just like back home. He doesn’t even seem to have a strategy; just punch. It is so unfair!”

“Extremely so,” you agreed. “Have you tried talking to him? Or not training with him anymore.”

“I have, but he just makes those pathetic puppy-dog eyes. Says it reminds him of Asgard. I, on the other hand, was hoping this would be one of the things I could escape by moving to Midgard, these wretched training sessions.” He sighed again. “It makes me think I preferred my cell.”

“You don’t mean that!” you said in a panic. It broke your heart to hear him say such a thing.

“You are right, I do not,” he calmed you. He pulled back from your embrace a little so he could cup your cheeks. “It is just very frustrating.”

“Well, if you ever need to rant, I’m here.”

“I know, darling. Thank you.”

He leaned in as if he was going to kiss you. You tried not to get your hopes up. Heaven knows how many times you’d been in this same situation, one of you leaning in towards the other before thinking better of it. Everyone else in the Tower seemed to be over the unspoken thing between you and Loki. Quite frankly, you were pretty exasperated with it, too. Still, that voice in your mind kept wondering if maybe you were wrong, if there was no unspoken thing. Then you’d look like an absolute fool, and maybe even lose your best friend. Or, at very least, make things uncomfortable between you for a while. Regardless, the pattern continued, and he broke away.

“Darling?” he said after a minute of silence spent sitting in such a close proximity without actually doing anything, that it was bordering more on awkward than adorable. “I was wondering if you would like to join me tonight in the greenhouse on the roof? There is something I wish to show you.”

“I would love to, Loki,” you replied with a shy smile.

“Well then,” he grinned, placing a small kiss to your knuckles, “I shall see you there, 8 pm sharp.”

As he left you on the couch, smiling and giggling to yourself, a simultaneously thrilling and terrifying idea suddenly raced through your mind. Wait, you thought. Did he just ask me out on a date? You supposed there was nothing left to do but wait and see.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You found yourself wishing you’d worn a heavier coat as you stepped out onto the roof in the cold night air, shivering in your lightweight clothes. You chose to wear your favorite top, which just so happened to be the same shade of green that Loki had claimed as his own over a millennium ago. It was purely coincidental, you told yourself; it definitely hadn’t become your favorite top when you noticed the way he looked at you when you wore it. That was preposterous, of course.

As you stepped into the greenhouse, you found that your choice of clothes wasn’t so terrible, after all. The glass room was temperature controlled and dimly lit. It was so warm, in fact, you wondered if you might have to take your hoodie off. You wouldn’t mind, of course. You’d be able to show off your shirt even more. You quickly shook your head before you got started on that train of thought again. It’s not like he specifically said it was a date, so you shouldn’t get too far ahead of yourself. Though, if anything was going to convince you this was one, it would be the romantic atmosphere, and the way Loki was sitting on a blanket with a picnic basket, pillows and fallen petals surrounding him.

“Darling,” he said upon spotting you. “There you are. Right on time.”

“Yup. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. But, uh, what exactly is this?”

“The Epiphyllum oxypetalum.”

“I’m sorry, what?” you asked, looking at him like he had six heads. You had been hoping his answer would be more along the lines of ‘this is a date’ or ‘we’re just hanging out’. But nope, he’s speaking Latin or something.  

“Epiphyllum oxypetalum. More commonly known as the queen of the night,” he explained, patting the spot next to him on the blanket. “It is my favorite flower.”

You hesitated a second before going to sit beside him. “May I ask why?”

“You may, indeed,” he replied, eyes lighting up. “See, when I was younger—one hundred, maybe two hundred years old—my mother grew this flower in her garden, but I could never see it bloom. I would watch it all day, but then when I went to sleep and came back in the morning, I just found out more had wilted without ever having bloomed! It was infuriating. Well, I went to my mother about it, and she explained that it only bloomed once. At night. So, we stayed up all night to watch them. It was, in a word, magical. Something about the way they will only bare themselves to those patient enough to wait, to look carefully. I can not explain it, but it is wonderful.”

“I think I can explain it.” You looked at him with a soft gaze and took his hand, swiping your thumb over his knuckles. “The flower and you are kind of one and the same, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“Like the way you let yourself be true to who you are around me,” you continued. “It’s like the blooming thing. I think it’s sweet.”

“Well, of course you would. Somehow you seem to think I have never done any wrong,” he said, a nearly imperceptible tear rolling down his cheek. Nearly. You leaned in and kissed the wet drop away. He looked startled as you pulled back, and he held you an arms length away. “Darling.”

“Sorry,” you said, silently cursing yourself. “I hope that was alright. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I can go, if you want.”

“No, please do not mistake this as me wanting you to leave,” he quickly pleaded. “I want you closer, even. It is just that you compare me to this flower, though it is beautiful. But me? I am a monster.”

“Hey, it’s ok. You’re not. Look at me? Please?” you asked, cupping his cheek as he stared at the ground. “You are not, I repeat, are not a monster. Loki, you are good, kind. Those who have hurt you do not dictate who you are. I love you, Loki, and I don’t think I could love a monster.”

His face said nothing, but a million thoughts flashed behind his eyes. You? Love him? By all accounts, it made no sense. Could he be dreaming? He must be.

“You should not love me. I do not deserve it. What if I hurt you?”

“Well, I’m surprisingly resilient,” you joked, trying to cheer him up. “But that doesn’t matter because you’re not going to hurt me. So whether I should or should not—and really, who’s to say?—I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you a thousand times, to the moon and back. With all my heart, every fiber of my being. I love you.”

Loki didn’t even think, he just kissed you. He kissed you so deeply, so passionately, you forgot everything else you ever knew. It was just him now, in this moment. His scent, his touch, his lips. Him. Perfect and loving and gentle and tender. Neither of you moved, besides to wrap your arms around each other, to hold each other even closer, to deepen the kiss even more. Other than that, you just sat there, lips locked, affirming everything your words said and didn’t say. Nothing else mattered. Just him, king of the night. King of your heart.

“I love you, too, darling,” he said. He had pulled away just enough to speak what was on his mind, and his lips brushed yours as he spoke. “I am still dangerous. I still fear I will hurt you, ruin you. But I cannot go on without you. If I am to allow myself one thing, it must be this. Oh darling, I love you as I never have anything or anyone before. No throne could compare, no crown could better. All the gold and riches in the Nine Realms could not even dream of competing with your kiss, your embrace. I love you so wholly and completely, I do not know how I ever lived without you.”

“Loki,” you whispered. He was looking in your eyes so intently it made goosebumps erupt on your skin. “You’re more beautiful than every flower, more precious than their delicate petals. I don’t think words will ever be enough to tell you how I feel.”

“I agree, words will never suffice.”

He kissed you again, trying to express everything he didn’t know how to say, everything he didn’t understand about how this could be real. And you responded, reassuring him that it was real, that he did deserve it. That what you felt for him in this moment would never go away. It would only get more intense, more powerful. Loki wasn’t sure what magic you were working exactly, but he started to believe. He supposed that was just the power of love.

Eventually, you broke apart and laid down next to each other. You chatted a little, but fell into periods where you just held each other. The picnic basket he’d brought was filled with your favorite foods, and you snacked on them a bit, holding small bites to the other’s lips. You watched the flowers, too. A few of them bloomed as you looked on, and it brought a smile to your lips. The smile that bloomed on Loki’s face was even more breathtaking than the opening petals, in your opinion.

“Loki,” you said, and he turned to look at you, gently caressing your cheek. “Thank you so much for sharing this with me.”

“Of course, darling. It is like I said,” he replied, a light, happy sound in the tone of his voice. “I love you. I am glad you like it.”

“And like I said, I love you, too. I really do like it. It’s beautiful, just like you.”

Again, the two of you met in a kiss. Whether or not he had intended for this to be a date, it had sure turned into one. And something more, too. A new beginning, a perfect start to something that would last long beyond just one night. You’d planted the flower of your love, and you knew its petals wouldn’t wilt in the light of day; they’d last forever.

[nicollekidman]

genuinely hysterical to me that the reaction to this by people who don’t watch the show has been “ewwwww homophobic way to be canon” when the situation at hand is: 

- god/the author is the ultimate villain of this narrative, and considers castiel to be his ultimate failure, the one who rolled off the line with a crack in his chassy, who never followed orders, who decided to make up the story as he went. castiel is set up in direct opposition to the main antagonistic force in this universe by being the ultimate example of Free Will 

- castiel is a millions of years old ANGEL OF THE LORD who endured hundreds (possibly thousands) of lobotomies at the hands of his family who were attempting to reset him back into an obedient solider who would follow orders. and they never took, canonically, because of his love for one man. castiel retained his sense of self purely because of Love and was able to keep changing and evolving bc of that. 

- cas was always going to end up in the empty (NOT hell). while the mythos is confusing bc the show doesn’t care, the empty is where all angels/demons go when they die. no matter what happened he was always going to end up exactly where he went, even if he remained in heaven and never met dean. 

- but he DID meet dean. and his last moments were devoted to taking back his own personal happiness and experiencing pure contentment and deep honesty for the first time in his millennia of existence, by saving his family and the man he loved, and saying i love you. 

- the whole entire fucking point of this show is that every single choice you make matters, even when you’re going up against a God who wishes you harm. and the most powerful thing you can do in the face of sure and utter destruction is to chose love, to chose honesty, and to chose your own path and that no matter what is expected of you or what your preordained role is or what other people decide for you, you ALWAYS have a choice. and the most real things in this universe and the people who you love and who love you and that’s worth everything. and they chose an angel who fell in love with a man. to make this point. 

[sinnabonka]

The real question is why did writers kill Cas before the end of story though. If they wanted him dead and confess without following up on it, wouldn't it make sense to kill him in episode 20? Until they were aiming to raise viewership with confession, hoping for high views for last episodes because of ppl not believing they actually killed the most loved character, and waiting for cd to the confession.

Hey, hon!

I want to say killing him in ep 18 makes no sense, but it so absolutely does.

If we forget about everything happening before the confession scene in regard to Dean and Cas’ story, and look just at Cas’, it definitely looks like a proud ending, as well as something logical and valuable.

If we look at Dean’s arc, the angel’s death doesn’t go in vain, it serves its purpose - it’s the final push to help Dean overcome his anger and finally forget his old ways. It’s a moving force, which allows the growth of Dean happen. Without Cas’ confession and sacrifice, there’s just not enough fuel, not enough motivation for Dean to reconsider his choices.

In “Despair” (before the confession) he blames himself for the situation they found themselves in, he is angry, he is still feeding off his hatred. He’s even pissed at Cas at some point during his confession, because that’s a natural thing for old Dean to do - to meet everything that makes him uncomfortable with resistance.

If we forget all the context prebuilds of the past seasons, Castiel dying in episode “Despair” makes the most sense of any other possible way and time.

Him dying in the final, on other hand, is just cruel. For years Castiel has been the third main character of the show, not just a guest star, and killing him off in the final would be considered an ultimate slap in the face of the whole fandom.

“Good things do happen, guys, but only to Winchesters”. Just imagining and writing it down pisses me off.

For over a decade the show’s been teaching us that death is not the end, that there’s hope, that if you try hard enough, there’s always a way. So, I’m not buying Cas dying for good this time. Like, c’mon, has been to empty, bounced back twice, why not for the third time?

As you can see, I don’t believe the confession scene is the last time we see Castiel. I choose not to believe, because we have years of context and one season of the text screaming in our face that Dean and Cas’ story is important. We have episode 19 screaming that Dean is not done with Cas, he won’t simply let go, there are things unsaid, issues not addressed, and he won’t rest his head until it’s done.

“Cas, you got to bring him back.” Chuck won’t, Jack, too, but you, Dean-o, can.

I do believe we are getting Castiel back in the final, there’s like a million metas circling my dash these days proving it, thousands of specs on how and when exactly. The story needs him back, because it just makes no sense not to.

I’ve already addressed the issue once today, but it looks for me like Empty is the Big Bad this season, not Chuck.

See? Why put the black goo there, if it’s not the main storyline? Also, Dabb is taking care of the final (creator of Empty, as far as I know) and I believe he’s taking us back to the issue of “You make it loud”. And if Empty is back, how Cas not be?

Of course I can be wrong.

And god is my witness, I will be brokenhearted if Castiel is gone for good.

I will be pissed and I will probably never talk of Supernatural ever again, if they use the faith of fandom to keep their ratings high for another week (instead of choosing Destiel endgame which will write them into history) and ignore the perfect opportunity of sending the best possible message in the world - love always wins.

So, I cling to the only thing that makes sense to me, and I invite you to join me here, because -

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

The In-Between

I have become enamored with the time in between-- after they drove off into the sunset in 15x19, but before they awoke in the bunker at the start of 15x20; because there were some days there, and in those days, something changed in Dean. So it got me thinking ... what if ...

“Finally free.”

Dean had said the words— and he had meant them, but they didn’t bring the joy he thought they would. They didn’t leave him feeling as free as he wanted to be; because for the last ten years, he never dreamed of a freedom without Castiel.

It was supposed to be him, Sammy and Cas in the end.

They were Team Free-Will.

The three of them.

But now, it’s just him and Sam and a whole world that looks all too much the same for all they’ve lost... for what’s been sacrificed to save it.

Dean presses the gas pedal, and Baby roars down the road, eating up the miles like the beautiful monster she is. He looks over, and Sam is smiling, but there’s an emptiness to it—and Dean knows that his baby brother is hurting too. He still hasn’t heard from Eileen, so he still doesn’t know if Jack brought her back with everyone else; or … if he just took her to Heaven because, she technically should have been there all along.

And it seems like some kind of sick joke. Some punchline Chuck had built into the universe, and Dean and Sam were always destined to be the ones getting punched.

They were free, yes; but they aren’t happy.

The Winchesters saved the world but they lost so much more.

 They stop for gas somewhere outside of Sante Fe, where the fields stretch out forever and Dean thinks that if he just tracks the horizon long enough with his eyes, he can maybe fall right off the edge of the earth.

The pump clicks, and he caps Baby back up, giving her a pat on the trunk—knowing that both her and Sam would suffer if he was gone, so he blinks goodbye to the sun’s bed and climbs back behind the wheel, ready to continue on to nowhere, or somewhere. Right now, they’re just driving because they can and not because they have something to kill or someone to save, and that’s perhaps the nicest part about their new life so far.

“Holy crap” Sam says, looking wide eyed out the windshield.

“What?” Dean asks, following his brother’s gaze through the glass and out to the gravel driveway of the station.

And there, all shaggy and panting—is Miracle.

“No way!” Dean gasps, immediately jumping out of the car again to crouch and side step towards the mangy dog as quick as he can. “Hey—hey, boy! Is that really you?” He says, laughing and smiling, and the dog wags his tail a little, sitting still as Dean kneels down in front of him. “I thought we lost you, buddy” Dean says, looking into those brown eyes as they look into his. “I thought we lost you like we lost—” he starts to choke up, “like … we lost …” he leans over and pats Miracle on the head, “like I lost—” he bends down and hugs the dog close, crying into his fur; and Miracle whines, scoots in closer, nestles his chin onto Dean’s shoulder—and let’s the man hold him as he completely breaks.

“Dean …” Sam says softly, touching Dean’s arm as he squats beside his older brother and the dog. “C’mon … I’ll drive.”

Deans nods, wiping at his eyes before he stands back up, picking up Miracle with him and carrying him to the car. “We’re going home, buddy” he whispers, kissing the top of the dog’s head, breathing him in, breathing in the life of him, clutching his fur and losing himself in the solidity of him.

The dog is here, he is present.

He’s come back to Dean.

Some things can come back.

 Miracle settles quickly, and Dean settles into having something to take care of, because Sam is too grown and too stubborn to let Dean take care of him anymore; and lord know—Dean won’t take care of himself, so the dog will have to do.

Plus, he’s cute … and he follows Dean everywhere, and when he’s confused, he tilts his head to the side … just like —

Dean cries in the shower, knowing it’s the only place where he won’t be heard.

He cries with the memories, wishing that he could make them stop—stop the silence of them.

The loud memories— the memories where Billie is still banging on the door in his mind, the memories where he’s still begging Castiel not to go, not to do this, and even the memories of the Empty ripping through that wall, he’d take every one of those as trade over the gut-wrenching silence that followed.

The loneliness that followed.

The dog that follows him around like a four-legged cork in the powder keg that he’s become.

Dean cries as the shower’s hot water runs out; but when he turns it off—he knows he’s still not out of tears. He will just have to turn those off too, because he can be heard now.

The sun passes overheard without him knowing, and it’s not until Sam says he’s going to bed that Dean realizes how late it’s gotten. He’s just been sitting here, cleaning his weapons over and over again, trying to wash away even the smallest molecule of blood, because it was something to do. Something he could do without thinking; because thinking is more dangerous than any gun in his hand.

Miracle follows him into his room and curls up onto the pile of old blankets that Dean put down for him.

Dean shuts the door, locks it, and then looks around—noting the mess, noting the disarray. He never used to let his room get like this, but he can’t bare to move anything now, because it all is as it was when Cas was alive.

He might’ve touched something in here.

He might have left a small trace of himself on a book, or on one of Dean’s shirts, and if Dean can just hold in it in the right way, maybe, just maybe—he’ll unlock a memory, something he’s forgotten that won’t make the angel feel so far off, so permanently gone.

But—he knows that’s not how these things work. He’s lost enough people in his life to understand … that’s not how any of this works; yet, the books stay half open on the table. The clothes stay piled on the chair.

And Dean stays, buried alive in the middle of his mess of hope and discarded despair.

 He sits down at his desk to finish the paperwork he got from the auto shop in town. They were looking for a part-time mechanic, and Dean was inside the manager’s office and shaking the man’s hand before he even knew what he was doing.

He just needed something, anything that didn’t remind him of the hell he’s been living in all his life, and a normal 9-5 job seemed just crazy enough to work.

Dean’s eyes scan down the page—social security number, birthday, last employer … and he doesn’t know what to write. He doesn’t know if he can even put down the truth anymore. The world might still think Dean Winchester is dead, or a mass-murder, or a psycho or whatever.

Can he even be himself anymore?

Was he ever himself to begin with?

“Just be honest, Dean.”

Dean lifts his head slow but turns quick, looking up at Castiel as he smiles down at him. “Cas?”

The angel’s smile brightens. “More or less.”

Dean’s heart stops. “Wh-what does that mean?” He stands up from his chair cautiously, and he begins to notice how the light from the lamp in the corner of the room is shining through Castiel’s skin, as if he’s not fully whole … as if he’s not fully here. “Am … am I dreaming?” Dean asks, breathless, already starting to cry, because it doesn’t even matter what the answer is, he’s just so happy to see his friend again.

“That is how you’ll remember this, yes. However, Jack has assured me that you’ll know this was real.” Castiel looks down at Miracle, sleeping by his feet. “I see you’ve adopted a dog. That’s good. I always felt this place was one species short.”

Dean’s breaks into a teary laugh, reaching out to hug Castiel—and to his surprise, he can. He holds him. He holds him tighter than he’s ever held anyone, and shuts his eyes tight, wanting to put all of this away in his mind, every inch of feeling, every breath, every smell, every single second that passes so that when he wakes up and Castiel is gone again, he’ll remember.

He needs to remember.

Castiel’s arms come up to hug Dean back, and they stay there for as long as Dean stays—and it feels like hours before they finally pull apart again.

“How are you here?” Dean asks, shaky and quiet, once he can no longer simply stare at his friend in silence anymore.

“Jack” Castiel says, and Dean raises his eyebrows—gesturing for Cas to elaborate. The angel smiles, and he looks over Dean’s face the way he always used to, only, now … Dean knows exactly what that look means. “Jack saved me from the Empty and he brought me to heaven; however, my vessel … it was lost when the Empty took me. So, Jack fashioned this body; but since it was never of the earth, it cannot stand upon it and be known.”

Dean furrows his brow, opening his mouth to say something—closing it again once he realizes...he has no clue what he could say to that.

Castiel’s smile softens. “I wanted to come back to you, Dean … but I wanted to come back as myself. The me that you’ve always known, because you—you knowing me, that’s the only way I discovered who I truly was.”

“So … why didn’t you? Why didn’t you come back?”

“Like I said before, Dean … my vessel was destroyed, and Jack couldn’t recreate it exactly, not without disrupting the forces of nature. This was the best he could do, therefore … this dream is the best I can do at reaching out to you again. I am here, although—not really. I am solid, although, not really. I am as present as you wish me to be, and the very fact that we can touch …” Castiel reaches out and touches Dean’s hand, closing his eyes a moment as he loses himself in the feel of it, “means that you have been wishing for this almost as much as I have.”

Dean laughs in spite of the new wave of tears that has washed over him. “Almost?”

Castiel’s face sterns. “I’m in love with you, Dean. Obviously, my feelings are stronger.”

“Cas …” Dean scoffs, stepping closer to hold the angel’s hand fully, “if you can live for thousands of years—”

“Millions” Cas corrects.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever. If you can live for millions of years, die a dozen times, become a God, become human, become—whatever the hell else you’ve morphed into, if you can still do all that, see all that … know as much as you know, but still not know how I feel about you standing in front of me right here, right now, then—I hate it break it to you, buddy … but you don’t know half as much as you think you do.”

“Dean, what are you—”

Dean shuts him up the only way he knows how … or more, the only way he wants to.

Miracle’s head perks up as the two beings kiss above him.

And they kiss, and they kiss—and they hold each other until the sun laps the world again and begins to breach the other ends of those fields; but Dean no longer wants to fall off their edge. He just wants to stay in his room, stuck between his two miracles, holding onto this happiness, holding on to this life.

“I want you to be happy, Dean” Castiel whispers, face buried into the collar of Dean’s shirt.

“Then stay” Dean says back, breathing in the smell of the angel’s hair – and it smells like clouds. He knows that’s the smell, even though he’s never been high enough to experience it.

“Dean …” Castiel pulls away again. “I need to go soon. I need to go back to Heaven—I need to go back to Jack and the other angels; and I need you to live your life. Start that job, start a family of your own, and be happy … your happiness is what I died for.”

“No” Dean is shaking his head hard, gripping onto the angel’s side and digging in his nails. “No, you couldn’t have died for that … because the second you were gone,my happiness was gone too. Don’t you get it, man? I’m no good without you.”

“You’re everything good, Dean. When will you learn that?”

“Cas, stop —  I’m saying that I don’t want to do this without you!”

“Dean” Castiel whispers, kissing Dean’s red, wet eyes, “you will never be without me. That’s what my being here is supposed to prove to you. As long as you exist … wherever you exist, I will be right there with you.”

Dean nods against Castiel’s cheek, pulling him closer, holding on for dear life, because it is dear … he sees that now. He knows it to be true. “You promise?”

“Of course, Dean.”

“But ... when will I be able to see you again?”

Castiel kisses his temple, his lips, blessing every freckle, praying to every tear that falls from Dean’s eyes. “When your time on earth is done.”

“That long?”

Blue eyes hold him steady, hold him to the earth, ground Dean in a way that’s never failed him … not since Castiel first pulled him from Hell. “It won’t be long enough. The world deserves your gifts, Dean Winchester; and I will be ready and waiting—as long as it takes. Just promise me you’ll be happy, you’ll live and love the world you’ve saved. The world that I save for you. And when you do finally make it up to heaven, know that I’ll be there waiting for you and loving you still.”

Dean’s eyes open. The room is quiet—the faint scent of clouds and rain, and promise still hang in the air.

Miracle hops onto the bed to greet him, and Dean welcomes him with open arms.

And when Sam says he’s been thinking about Cas—about Jack, Dean knows that the only thing he can say is what Castiel told him as they held one another the night before; whether it had been a dream, or something more, it was all still real, and it all settled Dean’s heart to a steady pace—one that it would beat to until its very last.

“If we don’t keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing.”

And when he sits beside Bobby in Heaven and hears him say Castiel’s name—Dean knows that the angel will kick his ass for coming by so soon, but he quickly smiles to himself, because... he told the guy before:

He didn’t want to do this without him.

[clairenatural]

this is a repost because the first one was deleted 😔

You have fallen in every way imaginable, a sister had said, long ago. She was right then, and she is right now.

Sometimes, the full force of how far Castiel has fallen still hits him. Sometimes, it means he can’t breathe. Sometimes, he swears he can still feel his wings, like metaphysical phantom limbs. He spends hours contorting himself in the mirror, staring at the smooth expanse of his back, searching for the scars that he knows are there on some plane his now-human eyes can’t see.

Sometimes, he’s convinced the wounds are still bleeding.

More than sometimes, he has nightmares. He dreams about all the faces that had been his (or the ones he had claimed, not thinking about who else’s they may have been), the damage he’d done over millennia, a soldier with armor made of grace and celestial intent. Once, he wakes up screaming, and Dean has his gun out and cocked before he can realize the only danger is inside Castiel’s head. He puts down the weapon in exchange for soft touches and soothing words until Castiel falls back asleep.

On the nights his body fights sleep, still desperately pretending like it doesn’t need it, Castiel dreams of watching the Grand Canyon form with an older brother. He dreams of ancient forests, of empires rising and falling, of a tiny fish hauling itself onto new land. Those nights he wakes up crying. Sometimes, he’s not sure if that’s better.

He only cries when Dean’s asleep. One night, it’s during a nature documentary that Dean thought would make him feel better. You like bees, he’d said. He hadn’t known that Castiel likes the bee because it was the first creature that his Father let him hold, in his young grace, before breathing life into it and freeing it into the world. That was millions of years ago. Now, watching the bees on the screen—nearly unrecognizable from what they began as—a tear slips down his cheek. Dean isn’t asleep, like he thought, and he moves from Castiel’s shoulder to wipe the tear away with his thumb. Castiel leans into him, and Dean doesn’t say anything but he kisses the tears that come next and sometimes, that’s enough.

Sometimes, though, Castiel ends up on the roof of the bunker, staring at the night sky, greeting the stars like old, lost friends—and he aches with his whole being. He remembers what it was like to be among them. What it was like to be them. Thousands of years spent as starlight, watching the Earth with the wonder and curiosity of a child, wanting to reach for it but being held back because even then Heaven knew that once he touched it, it would keep him.

Sometimes Dean is there with him, squeezing his hand, an anchor, and Castiel looks at him and remembers why being down here is worth it. The stars don’t have Dean. He connects Dean’s freckles to replace the constellations he left behind and decides he likes these better. He remembers every single time he has chosen Dean Winchester, every choice stripping him of more grace—and although he longs for what he left behind, he never regrets a single one of them.

Sometimes he forgets about the phantom wings, about the hole where his grace was, what it was like to be a Seraph, because Dean looks at him with the love and devotion most angels—most Gods—dream of, and Castiel thinks that there is nothing in the universe more holy.

[poopunderstander]

i am probably the 5000th person to write Dean teaching Cas to drive but i did it anyway and i'm here to make it your problem

"Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous."

2.4k words, destiel, PG/teen&up, no warnings except for a lot of geology talk at the start

link on ao3

Approximately 550 million years before what Castiel currently knows as the present day, two enormous sheets of earth collided in a dying ocean. The continent of Laurentia met with an arc of volcanic islands, and, finding itself unequal to their fury, folded downward beneath the sapping crust of the Iapetus Ocean. Over millennia, as Heaven watched, the earth and water consumed each other, leaving a thick scar of mountains, to be worn away in turn by new millennia of wind and ice and fire.

That was the Age of Fishes. Later, much later, humans climbed into the valleys in between the hills, to fish and hunt and build, and when they buried their dead they painted the graves with red earth, infinitesimal new scars over the old tectonic suture.

Castiel remembers all this—can feel it in the ground under his vessel’s feet, here in what Dean Winchester calls central Maine. They’re standing on glacial till deposited in the last ice age, and below them are the grains of sand from the Iapetus Ocean that became mudstone and siltstone, then pelite and shale and Silurodevonian granite. Twenty-five miles beneath Castiel lies a layer of Precambrian gneiss, a sheet of ancient dust pressed into solid stone nearly four billion years ago, when the ocean was wide and God himself wasn’t that old. That stone, Castiel knows, is Earth’s oldest shield: the last solid barrier between humanity and the planet’s molten core. He thinks about this as he watches Dean load guns into the trunk of his car, his boots planted in soft red earth carried here 10,000 years ago by a river of ice.

“Ready?” Dean says, turning back to face Cas.

Castiel thinks about the God who watched the continents form, who watched the planet eat itself a thousand times and heal a thousand more, the God who Castiel knows once wasn’t dead. He looks at Dean, who knows none of this and came with him anyway to trap an archangel on earth, and thinks: How could I be?

“Yes,” he says.

<>

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

They’re sitting in the empty parking lot of an ice cream shop, across the road from St. Peter’s Hospital. Dean drove them here after they left the house of prostitution, to wait for the sun to rise and the meeting with Raphael to “go down.” Castiel, still caught up in the pangs of regret and panic he brought away from the bar, has spent his last hours on earth contemplating the profound and mundane limits of his earthly knowledge.

“I thought she would appreciate the information,” he told Dean, trying to create in words a world in which he didn’t ruin Dean’s terrifying act of kindness, and Dean laughed and said, “Oh, dude, big mistake.”

“I don’t think I understand women,” Castiel said then, and Dean threw back his head and laughed, and Castiel felt a portion of the darkness inside him evaporate.

Dean started quizzing him after that, asking about things he’s done, talking about something he calls a “bucket list.” Castiel doesn’t know what the bucket is for, but Dean’s apparently contains people and places and food: a musician named Springsteen in Concert, the Chevrolet Hall of Fame in Decatur, the 1,800 pound burger at Mallie’s Sports. He asks Castiel if he’s ever been to the Grand Canyon, and Castiel tells him he witnessed its creation. Dean says okay, but did you ever hike it, and Castiel has to shake his head.

It’s in this way that Dean learns that Castiel has never driven a car—a fact which Cas thinks shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. They’re sitting on the hood of the car together, gazing out across Highwood Avenue at the glowing windows of the hospital, and Dean twists his whole body around to face Cas, telegraphing his shock.

“Why would I,” Cas points out. “I’ve never had the need.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but—dude, what if somebody, like, zaps your wings? What’re you gonna do, huh, take a bus?”

Cas shrugs. “Probably. I think it’s far more likely that Raphael will kill me outright.”

He sees a flicker of pain cross Dean’s face; this conversation made him uncomfortable before. Castiel wonders about that. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “I just meant—hypothetically. In a hypothetical world where you get your angel mojo un-mojoed, or whatever, you’d just—buy a bus ticket?”

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s admitting to, here. He thought bus travel was common. “I suppose.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, turning back to face the hospital. “That’s just wrong.”

They’re silent for a moment, spinning in their own private worlds. The lights are off inside the ice cream shop—it’s nearly dawn, and nobody buys ice cream at dawn—but the lamps above the Dairy Queen sign are blazing, and Castiel is watching the yellow light flow over Dean’s head and shoulders as he leans back on the hood of his car, still warm from the engine’s labor. Even now, looking at Dean’s body is like looking at a miracle. Castiel wonders if he’s aware that he’s the only thing in Waterville, Maine born entirely of God’s will.

“Listen,” Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s gonna be like in there. I know you said—well, I know what you said. But I think,” he says, puffing up with that bizarre confidence he always seems to pull from nowhere, “I think we’re gonna make it. And if I’m right, if we do—” He turns to look at Cas again, a grin dawning across his face. “If we do, I’m gonna teach an angel of the lord to drive stick.”

Castiel has no idea why—he’s not quite sure what those words in that order mean—but this thought seems to give Dean hope. Castiel doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t have a human soul, that thing that seems to trap hope so unfailingly it feels like a flaw in the design.

The sun is feet from the eastern horizon.

“Okay,” he tells Dean.

<>

Twenty-five miles north of Waterville is a town called Canaan. When colonists first settled on the banks of the Kennebec, they used the native word for the place they built: Wesserunsett. Not long after, though, deciding that that long name was not worth the labor of speaking or writing it, they looked at the bright green fields laid all around their stolen home, imagined a similarly verdant place of rest waiting for them at life’s end, and named the new town after the Promised Land.

Canaan, of course, looks nothing like Heaven, really. Heaven is vast and multidimensional; Canaan is a ten-room motel, two grocery stores, and two churches along the length of US Highway 2. But outside Canaan, between the highway and the lake, is a wide field of grass and purple violets, which Dean pronounces “perfect.” He pulls off the road into the field, and Castiel feels the solid, assuring weight of asphalt give way to the uncertainty of earth.

“Okay,” Dean says. He gets out of the car, and motions for Castiel to do the same. Cas does, turning cautiously to scan the field around them.

“There’s no road here,” he points out. He’s never tried it before, but he always assumed that a road was essential to driving.

“That’s the point,” Dean says. “You can’t start on the road, you’re gonna get yourself killed. Gotta start where there’s nothing to run into.” He gestures at the expanse around them. “Like so. That’s how my dad taught me.”

Dean doesn’t talk about his father. Castiel has noticed. He’s never seen John Winchester; tries to imagine Dean as a child, standing in a field like this with the man who withstood one hundred years of Hell. He can’t picture it. But then, imagination has never come easily to him.

“Come on,” Dean says, waving a hand for Cas to come around the car. Castiel obeys, walking around to the open driver’s seat as Dean circles to where Cas just was. They both sit down inside, pulling the doors shut, and Dean says, “Okay. So. Let’s start at the beginning.”

He talks Cas through the controls of the car, laying his hand on the dashboard as he talks, identifying the levers and pedals and dials with gentle, nearly reverent touches, watching Castiel’s face to make sure that he’s taking it all in. Castiel tries to concentrate, thinks he understands what he’s being told, but he has no place to anchor this information. That’s the clutch, Dean says, and Castiel nods and thinks, clutch, and thinks about gripping Dean tight. The clutch.

“You got it?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t feel he has anything.

“Of course.”

Dean beams. Cas can’t find it in himself to regret the lie.

“Go ahead and put your hands on the wheel,” Dean says. This turns out to be more complicated than Castiel anticipated. He does it wrong, apparently, the first time, because Dean frowns and says, “No, you gotta—ten o’clock and two o’clock, Cas,” and when Cas asks what that means Dean says to picture a clock, and Castiel doesn’t see what relevance that has to driving a car. In the end, Dean takes Castiel’s hands in both of his, and puts them onto the steering wheel in the right position. He sits back in satisfaction, nodding.

“Okay. Okay.” Castiel’s heart is pounding like a hummingbird’s. It’s not the same fear he felt last night. He doesn’t know what it is. Dean tells him where to put his feet, says okay, clutch first, keep it in neutral, and Cas pushes down with what was once Jimmy Novak’s left foot and then his right, feels the engine rumble to life, and lets go when Dean says okay, now.

He breaks the car. Or, that’s what it feels like at first: a heavy, surely cataclysmic crash of machinery that throws both of them back against the seat. He sees Dean grimace and gets ready to apologize, but Dean just says, “Okay, kind of rough start, but that’s fine—try it again.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Cas says. It sounded like the engine cracked. He thinks Dean may have underestimated his ignorance here. But Dean says no, try again, so Cas puts his feet back on the pedals and focuses every particle of his celestial consciousness on easing the pressure on and off in perfect unison the way Dean tells him, hands rigid at ten and two on the clock-wheel, and the four thousand pounds of steel beneath them roll approximately ten inches over the grass before Castiel’s focus falters, and the engine grinds to another explosive, neck-wrenching halt.

“You suck at this,” Dean says. His patience as an instructor, apparently, has been exhausted.

“Of course I suck at this,” Cas says, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I’m an angel.”

He expects the lesson to be over then—clearly, he isn’t going to learn this—but Dean just chuckles instead, caught up in another burst of unearned optimism, and says, “Try it again, little slower this time.”

For half an hour, Cas jolts the car in short, violent circles around the field, struggling to follow Dean’s directions and feeling sweat build up on his palms and the back of his shirt. The longest he’s able to drive in one smooth line lasts about one minute and forty-five seconds, long enough for Dean to lose his look of consternation and break out in a grin, raising his hands in celebration just as Cas accidentally pushes down on the wrong pedal and sends them screeching to a halt.

“Hey,” Dean says, once he’s recovered from the physical shock, “at least you’re getting better.”

“I’m not,” Cas tells him. He can feel an odd, nauseous constriction at the back of his throat; he wonders if it’s possible for a being that doesn’t eat or digest to vomit. “I’m not good at this, Dean. I won’t be good at this.”

“Listen,” Dean says, “if Sam could learn, so can you.”

“Sam’s very intelligent.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sam’s human.”

“Since when does that matter?” Dean asks.

Cas stares at him. Of course it matters. It’s always mattered. “I don’t know how,” he says. His hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Dean says, “hey.” He reaches over and lays his hand over Castiel’s, still on the steering wheel. His skin is warm and callused. Castiel feels the blood vessels in his cheeks and neck dilating.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Dean. He knows, without quite understanding, that what they’re doing is important to Dean, somehow, and he’s fucked it up. He did the same last night, with the woman whose name wasn’t Chastity, whose father loved her in the same unknowable way that Dean’s father loved him. He didn’t want to do it again. Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“You can do this, Cas,” Dean says. “Look, I get you’re, like, superpowered, or whatever, I know you don’t need to. But did you ever think—maybe it’s just been a really long time since you learned something new?” He pauses, frowning, searching for the right words. “I don’t care if you can’t drive, man,” he says finally. “But I know you can learn. Right? I believe in you, Cas.”

Twelve hours ago, Dean stood side by side with Cas in the light of Raphael’s wings and heard him say that God died centuries ago. Dean heard it, and told Cas to go looking anyway.

Cas looks at him, at the freckles scattered over his nose, the serious little pinch between his brows, the soft ghost of a smile on his face even though Cas has surely damaged his car by now, even though God is dead and his neck must hurt and Sam’s taking a vacation from being Dean’s brother, the other half of his world. Dean looks back at him, raises his eyebrows, and grins.

“One more time?”

[thebloggerbloggerfun]

Watched

AO3

Dean was being watched. 

That was impossible, of course, because Sam and Eileen were out for the night on a date, Castiel was on his weekly therapeutic grocery shopping trip, and Dean was by himself in the bunker’s laundry room. 

And yet -

He paused after tossing a ball of wadded up flannel into the washer and looked over his shoulder into the empty space around him. 

Dean huffed out a breath and shook his head.

He was just getting paranoid. 

-

It was two in the morning and Dean was humming to himself in his boxers and robe as he cooked a spontaneous omelette that his stomach had demanded - he was but a servant to its nightly whims. 

And then he felt it again. 

Something was watching him.

Dean froze when the sensation washed over him, familiar in a foreign way but not familiar enough to bring him any kind of comfort. 

In one smooth motion that years of hunting had ingrained in him, Dean grabbed a knife from his fancy knife block that he’d splurged on during a different late night and whipped around, only catching a glimpse of a tan trench coat as it left the door frame. 

Letting out a relieved breath, Dean poked his head out the door and frowned when the only thing that greeted him was a dark hallway. 

“Cas?” He called, lowering his knife. 

The hallway didn’t answer. 

-

“So, are you doing like a voyeurism thing now, or what?”

Castiel looked up from the fantasy novel he’d been reading, glanced both to his left and right like there was a possibility that Dean could possibly be talking to someone else in the middle of the bunker’s library where only the two of them had been for the past couple of hours. 

“What?” 

“You heard me,” Dean gestured towards him with a book in one hand, “It’s fucking creepy, dude. You have my full permission to stare longingly at this mug whenever you want but you’re gonna get another knife in the chest if you keep up trying to be sneaky about it. I’ve got hunter instincts, man.” 

Castiel blinked. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said after a moment’s pause. 

“I’ve seen you.” Dean said with an eye-roll. “The jig is up.”

“Dean, I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to.” Castiel said with a frown. “I’ve never spied on you.”

Castiel seemed to take a moment to reevaluate something. 

“In recent years.” He amended.

“Ha!”

“Dean -”

“Alright, well, if it’s not you, who is it?”

Castiel shrugged his shoulders once. 

“I haven’t detected anyone entering the bunker that isn’t supposed to be here.” Castiel said, his eyes flicking back down to his reading. “Maybe you have a ghost.” 

Dean squinted at Castiel, looking for any sign that he was being messed with, and sat back down in his chair.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

-

The cashiers in the liquor store nearest to the bunker knew Dean by name - in fact they’d picked it up easily in the first month he and Sam had moved in. 

Dean gestured towards the empty row of booze that held his favorite whiskey as he groaned loudly and dramatically.

“Nathalie! Who cleaned you out?”

His favorite of the cashiers leaned over from the next aisle and raised an eyebrow. 

“You did, Dean. Like four days ago. We only restock once a week.” 

Dean made another loud groaning sound. 

“I’m my own worst enemy.”

Nathalie began to blow a large bubble with gum the same bright color of her hair and stared at him as it popped. 

“Aren’t we all.”

She ducked back down into the aisle. 

Dean grumbled some more as he grabbed some of his less-than-favorable second choices of whiskey and set the last bottle into his cart just as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. 

Again. 

He didn’t move, just stared down at the final bottle as he tried to focus on the corners of his vision. 

Tan coat, dark hair, blue tie. 

Dean let out a breath and turned to confront him, but the figure had ducked back out of view. 

Shopping cart abandoned, Dean strode forward quickly, looking down the aisle, ready to catch him red-handed, but only saw Nathalie taking stock. 

“Hey, did you see - uh -”

“That guy you’re with sometimes?” Nathalie, jerked a thumb behind herself. “Yeah, he went -” 

She frowned as she glanced in the direction she’d pointed out. 

“Well he was there.” 

And now there was nothing. 

-

“Dean, I am telling you. I don’t know what it is you’re seeing but it’s not me.” Castiel set the bags down on the kitchen table as he began putting the food he’d just purchased into the fridge. 

“Look, if you’re trying to get me back for beating you at Uno this is a really fucking weird way -”

“It’s not me. I don’t know how many times I have to say it.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.  

“Then what’s fucking happening? Am I going nuts in my old age?”

“You’re in your forties.”

“In hunter-years I’m decrepit.”

Castiel set the milk on the table with a little bit more force than Dean thought was necessary. 

“Dean. Listen to me. I have no need to spy on you. I get to look at you all I want, whenever I want, and I also gain the benefit of having you look back.” For a moment, Castiel almost looked fond. “I’m very lucky to have that in life, and it’s something I don’t take for granted. So, whatever is happening to you, it’s not -”

Castiel stopped mid-sentence and Dean felt Castiel’s gaze go slack, like he was no longer staring at him, but somehow staring through him. 

“What?” Dean asked. 

“Uh,” Castiel shook his head, coming back to himself, “Nothing. I just… had a thought.”

Dean waited. 

“Care to share with the class?”

“You should. . .  try talking. . . to whatever it is.” Castiel said finally, turning to place the milk in the fridge. “You never know.”

“Talking to it.”

Castiel nodded.

“I swear to god, if this some sort of prank -” 

Castiel turned around, and Dean shut up.

That wasn’t a look he saw on Castiel often. 

“Come on. Help me put everything else away.”

-

The feeling came again at night. 

Dean rubbed at his eyes as he walked down the hallway, his bladder now blissfully emptier than it had been when he’d been woken up by it. 

The hair on his neck began to prickle as he shuffled past doorways and connecting halls in his slippers and robe, and out of the corner of one eye he saw the figure. 

Standing in the hallway to his right. 

Dean stopped. 

“Don’t go.” He said, not daring to turn his head yet. 

The figure shifted ever so slightly, but didn’t completely disappear.

“I know you’ve been watching me.” Dean’s voice was just above a whisper. “You’ve been doing it a lot. What do you want?” 

The figure didn’t move. 

Dean took a risk, turned his head, and there, in the middle of the hallway, was Castiel. 

“You said -” Dean started, then stopped himself as he looked at the figure in front of him. 

It wasn’t Castiel. 

Not really. 

He had the same clothes, the same vessel, the same everything - but this was not a Castiel that Dean was familiar with. He held himself like he was either being weighed down by the weight of the sky or was slowly being coaxed towards whatever lay beneath the surface of the earth. Maybe both. 

His eyes were the most off-putting. 

They were sunken and dark, staring back at him with equal parts joy and misery all tied up together in a neat little bow of fear. 

It was Castiel, but it wasn’t Castiel. 

It reminded him of a Castiel he’d seen only once before.

“Dean.” 

The voice cracked - like a dam that was on the verge of collapse.

“Cas -” Dean swallowed, trying to put this all together in his head. 

The Castiel in front of him sagged visibly, and half a sob caught in his throat as he took a step backward. 

“I’m sorry -” Castiel stammered, “I shouldn’t have come -”

“Wait.” Dean took a step forward to make up what he’d lost. “Cas.”

Castiel stood miserably still. 

“. . . When are you from?” 

Castiel said nothing for a long few moments, just stood silently and stared down at the floor. 

When he looked up again, he’d managed to regain a small semblance of composure.

“Two thousand and ninety four.” He said softly.

Dean let out a breath that was half out of disbelief. 

“Wow.” He scratched at the back of his head. “And uh... how is it?”

More silence. 

“I miss you.” Castiel whispered, and whatever composure he’d managed to regain was lost again as the dam finally broke. “I miss you so much, Dean. I can’t - I’m sorry, I can’t do this -” 

“Hey, hey,” Dean stepped forward when Castiel started to hyperventilate - something he hadn’t been aware could even happen to an angel - “Cas. Hey, I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes, you are.” Castiel managed, and Dean’s suspicions were confirmed. 

Of course they were - he’d probably been long dead.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know I promised, but I miss you. I had to - I had to see you again -”

“Cas. . .” Dean said, his heart wrenching at the sight of him like this. “Look, don’t - don’t fucking do this to yourself. Please. Time jumps take so much out of you and you’ve been doing this a lot. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“I know.” Castiel reached a hand out slowly, eyes on Dean’s own hand. “I know.”

It took everything Dean had to pull back. 

“What’s dead should stay dead.” Dean said, trying to sound firm. “You know that.”

Castiel turned his gaze back up to Dean - and for the first time - he looked soft.

“You and I were always an exception to the rule.” 

Dean couldn’t argue that, instead, he ignored the alarms blaring in his head as he stepped forward and pulled Castiel into a hug, and Castiel clung to him like a lifeline, breathing into his neck and gripping at his robe. 

“I love you,” Dean said, and felt Castiel’s grip tighten, “But you’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself. If Sam and I. . . if we aren’t around, then humanity needs you, man. You’ve gotta be there for them.”

He felt Castiel nod into his neck and his grip began to weaken. 

He let go. 

“Alright.” Castiel said, voice lower and huskier than usual. “Thank you... Dean. For indulging my selfishness.”

“S’not selfish.” Dean swallowed. “And I’m - I’m so sorry. For what it’s worth I - he - never wanted to leave you. Never in a million years.”

Castiel’s hand lingered in Dean’s, and then it fell away. 

“I know. I know all of this. I didn’t see anything that I didn’t already know I just -” Castiel swallowed. “I just missed you.”

Castiel took a breath and wiped at his eyes, like he was already distancing himself from the Dean in front of him. 

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Cas -” 

Castiel looked up. 

“. . . Get a cat.” Dean said with a shrug. “Smelly, dirty, bitey, knocks things over - it’ll be basically the same thing. And you’ll have a cat.” 

A small smile twitched at the corner of Castiel’s mouth. 

“Hold him tight for me.” Castiel said.

And the hallway was empty again. 

-

Dean stepped back into the bedroom and climbed into bed, curling himself around Castiel and pressed his forehead against his neck.

“A long bathroom break.” Castiel murmured, entwining his fingers with Dean’s. “Everything alright?”

Dean only hummed in affirmation, and inhaled deeply. 

“You know. . . maybe we should get a cat.”

Castiel shifted to crane his neck at Dean. 

“A cat?”

“Yeah.”

“That must have been quite a visit to the bathroom.”

“Yeah.” 

Dean held him tight. 

[sylvanfreckles]

Just Dudes Being Bros

I’m not even sorry for this. Not even a little.

I started this around the same time I wrote “Taking It Slow”, but left it half-finished and abandoned in my hard drive until now. After the crazy day I had, though, I just had to do something.

Summary: All in all, Sam was really glad that Dean had a best friend like Castiel. They were happy, he was happy...as long as everyone was happy, what was there to worry about? (Five times Sam appreciate Dean and Cas’s friendship...and one time he finally got the hint.)

* * *

(1)

They didn't often go shopping together, partly because Dean usually had meticulous list of what he needed while Sam made more of a vague plan and they drove each other crazy. But Cas wanted to go shopping and Sam needed to pick up some things for himself...so Dean decided it was time for a family outing.

That was strange. Normally Dean would have just handed Cas his list and told him to stick to it, then disappeared deeper into the bunker to beat his frustrations out on a boxing dummy. Though Sam didn't know why Dean would be frustrated that Sam and Cas were going shopping together. He could have come along any time.

He was glad that the former angel had talked Dean around to this trip, though. It turned out to be fun to go together, even if Dean and Cas spent most of the time whispering to each other and holding hands while Sam pushed the cart.

Man, he hadn't held hands with a best friend in a long time. First grade maybe? It must be nice to be that close to someone, to have a best friend who would hold your hand out in public no matter how old you were. Dean was over forty, and Cas was literally thousands of years old (if not millions—but by best guess Jimmy Novak would have been forty-three, so they went with that usually), but their friendship was just so deep they didn't care who saw them holding hands.

Sam made eye contact with an older woman who was watching his brother and his brother's best friend walking down the aisle. She was smiling fondly, so he gave her a friendly nod. “Aren't best friends the best?” he asked.

He never really understood why she gave him such a funny look.

(2)

They'd obviously gone way, way off the list at the store, but for once Dean didn't seem to mind. Cas had talked him in to buying some exotic ingredients, listing out recipes he'd been wanting to try ever since he became human.

It was adorable. Sam remembered having a best friend he could share hobbies with. Granted, it had only been for a few weeks before Dad dragged them to another city, but it was a good few weeks. Dean always loved cooking so much, at least he had someone he could share that with now.

Sam settled down in a chair in the kitchen, not wanting to lose the warm, familial atmosphere from their shopping excursion. Dean was carefully tying an apron on Cas, smoothing it down over his chest and adjusting the neck strap behind his collar. It was probably Cas's first time wearing an apron like this, so it was so sweet of Dean to make sure his best friend was wearing it properly.

Then two of them bent their heads together over a battered cookbook they'd found at a second-hand bookstore. From what Sam could hear they were going to attempt to make breaded chicken cutlets, and as he watched Dean carefully talk Cas through each ingredient he started to appreciate the effort his brother put into cooking a little more.

They had to pound the chicken breasts flat, and apparently Cas was wielding the meat tenderizer wrong as Dean stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around the former angel to guide his hands. From his perch at the table Sam could see how Dean had his hands around Cas's wrists and murmured instructions into his ears as they pounded the chicken together.

That was nice. Dean was stepping out of his comfort zone, leaving his personal space behind to teach his best friend how to prepare a chicken cutlet for breading. Sam was pretty sure Dean could have taught Cas without standing so close to him, but maybe there was a secret technique that required that much physical contact.

He rested his chin in his hand and sighed. If only he had a best friend like that.

(3)

Another thing Sam could appreciate about Dean and Cas's friendship was the way the former angel was opening his brother's mind to different kinds of music. Not that Sam had much of a grudge about the copious amounts of mullet rock Dean kept in his car, but it was nice to listen to some classic jazz or new age or something like that.

Cas had found a huge stash of vinyl records in one of the storage rooms and was slowly working through them while the three of them researched or worked around the bunker or just hung out together. Sam had heard Cas humming along and swaying with the music, and when he glanced at his brother he usually saw Dean watching Cas with a fond smile on his face.

Man. It must be great to watch your best friend discover the world like that. Hearing music with human ears for the first time, discovering the sounds he liked best...Sam started to wonder if he should find new music to introduce Cas to, so the former angel didn't feel like Sam cared about him less than Dean did.

They had been researching some Native legends about the mounds near Medicine Creek when Cas abruptly pushed himself to his feet, holding one hand out to Dean. Sam watched in amusement as his brother took the offered hand and was pulled into a dance. Arms twined around each other, swaying to the music, Cas softly singing in Dean's ear (though a little out of tune, but that was okay).

As Sam watched Cas lifted his hand and spun Dean around, then pulled him into a ballroom-style dip that had Dean crinkling up his eyes with laughter.

Man. Sam had danced with his best friend once before, when Dad had actually stayed around long enough for them to go to one of the school's dances. He'd been tutoring Chelsea in geometry and they went to the dance as part of their friend group, and she'd tugged him out on the floor to dance. He still remembered stepping on her feet.

Dean and Cas weren't stepping on each other's feet as they continued the dance. Maybe that was just because they were such good friends.

(4)

Sam couldn't believe it. Dean and Cas were having a movie night to watch Akeelah and the Bee. He was so used to the Dean Cave being filled with the sounds of gunshots and horses and explosions he almost didn't recognize it.

Cas invited him to join, though Dean looked a little disgruntled. Sam didn't understand why, it wasn't like he was going to take up too much space—not with Dean and Cas sharing the love seat like that. That left the big, comfy arm chair all for Sam, and he felt so bad he offered to swap with Cas so the oldest member of their family could have the most comfortable spot...but the look Dean shot him made him change his mind.

After all, the former angel was still relatively new to experiences like watching a movie together. He probably just wanted to sit with his best friend for something like this—maybe Dean was going to comfort him through any intense scenes.

Sam was so entranced by the story of a young girl from South Los Angeles trying to make it to the National Spelling Bee he didn’t really notice that Dean and Cas weren’t really paying attention. They seemed to be discussing something, judging by how close their faces are.

Dean's probably explaining spelling bees to Cas. Man. Sam had this best friend once, when he was in sixth grade, who tried to get him to participate in the school's spelling bee. Sam had refused, knowing his father would be pulling them out of the school all too quickly to head off to the next hunt.

He wished he had a best friend who encouraged his interests in academic competition, the way Akeelah had Dylan and Javier. Or the way Dean had Cas, as Sam had once seen the former angel reciting poetry to Dean, obviously trying to awaken the older Winchester's literary interests.

Funny. Sam hadn't recognized the poem. Maybe Cas had written it himself, and was trying to encourage Dean to try new outlets for creativity.

He didn't know why Cas would be reciting a love poem for Dean, anyway. That was a weird thing to do with your best friend.

(5)

The cooking lessons, so far, had been a success—so Sam was a little disappointed when he learned Dean and Cas wanted to go out and have dinner by themselves.

It made sense, he supposed. Sometimes you wanted to do something with your best friend without your brother. He remembered plenty of times he hadn't wanted Dean hanging around...okay, maybe a couple of times. Dean was ditching Sam more often than not, though that was usually to hang out with a girl. Not a best friend. But times changed, and they all got older, and the two of them had always had that whole “profound bond” thing going.

Man. He supposed the two of them had earned it. Sam remembered all the times Dean and Cas had let something get in the way of their friendship and how miserable his brother was during those times. It was almost weird, almost more like the time Sam had to leave his first girlfriend rather than all the times he'd gotten pulled away from his best friend.

But as Dean and Cas prepared to leave—Dean wearing a new, light-blue button-up that matched Cas's eyes and Cas wearing those dark jeans that always made Dean swallow and look away (Sam didn't understand why his brother was so bothered by the former angel wearing tight jeans)—Sam tried to wave them off with a smile.

It was just one night a week, he rationalized. A man had to have private time with his best friend once a week, right? And as long as Dean didn't drag Cas around to dive bars or teach him to hustle pool or try to dine-and-dash or anything like that, Sam couldn't see the harm in it.

He didn't understand why Dean glared at him when he tried to give Cas advice on hooking up at the bar.

(+1)

Sam wandered into the library, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He'd been up researching way too late and hadn't heard Dean and Cas get back from their weekly guys' night out. He hadn't heard them leave either, but they always went out on Wednesdays. He supposed it was some kind of best friends' trivia night somewhere.

To his surprise, they were actually in the library. He was about to open his mouth to greet them when he finally registered something strange about their behavior.

They were wearing pajamas, which wasn't strange in and of itself, but the pajamas were mismatched. Cas's shirt obviously went with Dean's pants, and Dean was just wearing an athletic undershirt that showed off his biceps and collarbone. But even that...that wasn't they weirdest thing.

Cas was sitting in Dean's lap. He was straddling it, actually, with his arms around Dean's neck.

They were kissing. And not the way best friends sometimes did, when you swore to your younger brother that it was just practice and didn't really count. Not the kind he gave you ten bucks to forget about before Dad came home. This was the real kind, the kind you saw from two people who maybe loved each other more than just as best friends.

Sam's jaw fell open as finally...finally...the pieces fell into place.

“Oh my god! You guys are gay!”

(There would later be a discussion that actually as a former interdimensional being Cas was Pan, and Dean was Bi, but at least Sam was finally on the right track. Man. He wished he had a best friend to fall in love with and live happily ever after.)

[mainpopgirldeans]

fic: devotional

‘but still beautiful. still dean winchester’ really snapped something inside me...

title: devotional pairing: dean/cas summary: I’m not here to perch, Castiel had said, once upon a time. Laughable, now. (ambiguously set in season 5. gen, 1k. you can also read at ao3.)

Delight thyself also in the Lord: and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Psalm 37:4

It’s snowing when they finally pull into the motel’s half-empty lot, the vacancy sign flickering. Castiel sits wordlessly in the passenger seat and watches, patient, as Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath. Around the steering wheel, his grip tightens and loosens reflexively, rhythmically. There’s blood dried under his fingernails, in his cuticles and the creases of his knuckles, visible even in the darkness of the car.

“Dean,” says Castiel, keeping his hands loose, open on his thighs. Waiting.

It takes a moment. Finally, Dean squints one bleary eye over at the passenger seat and exhales. “Yeah.” Quiet, vacant. “You staying?” Toneless. Couldn’t care either way, or at least careful to keep his preference to himself, even as he watches Castiel sidelong.

Castiel says, “For a while.” If you want, he doesn’t say. Hedging his bet. There’s something about it that settles strangely within him — walking on eggshells around the Michael’s sword. Heaven’s most powerful weapon. This body that he pieced together sinew by sinew, this soul that he writ from dust, entirely anew, that he’d recognize even on the other side of this galaxy and the next. That he knows intimately enough to know what not to say because he — hundreds of millions of years old, a soldier of God — doesn’t want to upset Dean. He wants to give Dean what Dean wants. I’m not here to perch, Castiel had said, once upon a time. Laughable, now.

Dean nods, expressionless. “Okay,” he says. “Good.”

Castiel waits near the front bumper of the Impala, hands in the pockets of his coat, as Dean goes to get a room. A handful of minutes, and then there’s the crunch of Dean’s boots in the snow. He holds the key aloft, giving it a waggle as he says, “117.” Castiel turns and then there’s the pressure of Dean’s hand in the center of his back, propelling him needlessly along. “Here,” Dean says when they come to the door. “Home sweet home.”

The room is small and dark, its shape familiar and unfamiliar in equal measure. Another motel in a line of thousands. There’s the smell of dust hanging in the air, mildewed curtains, two full-sized beds, matching floral comforters. A table, chairs. Through the window, the moonlight is shallow and pale, painting the room in shades of blues and grays.

Dean tosses down his duffel near the wall, toes off his shoes, and then sits heavily at the edge of the bed closest to the door. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, checks its screen. Tosses it toward his pillow with a snort, and then subsides, slump-shouldered, weary-eyed. There’s something wounded, almost childish in his expression. He looks lost, Castiel thinks. Still — despite himself, despite all he’s experienced — shocked at the cruelties of the world. This is Dean with his defenses down. Strings cut. Unable to muster the strength to pretend. And, even still, so beautiful, like a statue, a creature of old. His face, always otherworldly, divine, even in a rictus of exhaustion.

Castiel lingers by the door. He is still unaccustomed to feeling uncertain. He watches as Dean scrubs at his face with his palms, fingers pressing into his eye sockets. This feeling, Castiel thinks — familiar. Remembers Dean in the hospital, after Alastair, ripping apart at the seams. There’s that strange pull of new emotion. Staring at the defeated line of Dean’s shoulders, he wants to do something. Can think of nothing to do. It will be okay, he wants to say, except that would be untruthful, and foolish besides. “Dean,” he starts, over-loud in the silent room. Dean doesn’t move. Another aberrant frisson of  — something, deep inside Castiel. He takes a bracing breath and finally moves.

A few short strides, and he finds himself standing right there, in front of Dean, looking down at his bent head, the sweat-dark strands of hair at the crown of his skull. The toes of his shoes between Dean’s vulnerable, bare feet. There are holes in his socks. Dean keeps his gaze down. Worrying at the charm hanging from his necklace.

“Dean,” Castiel says again. Thinks about touching him, and then — doesn’t think at all. Goes to his knees. It’s nothing to fold himself down to the floor, the carpet gritty and rough through the thin fabric of his pants. Almost surprising to look up and find himself staring into Dean’s wide, uncomprehending eyes, at his parted lips, mouth hanging open like he wants to speak but can’t find the words to say.

His face is — well. Dean is always radiant; has always been radiant. Even knee-deep in the pit, mired in the murk of hell. Every moment of the arduous ascent and every moment after. Up close like this, he’s almost difficult to look at. Castiel has to resist the urge to avert his eyes; to bow his head. He wants to put his hands on Dean. Lifts one before thinking better of it, stops just shy of his denim-clad leg. Feels the heat rising off of Dean’s knee against the palm of his hand.

“Cas — ” Dean stutters, just barely audible. “What — ” Gaping down at him. “What is this? What are you — ” Plaintive. Almost a wail, before he snaps his mouth shut, abortive. Castiel can hear the unvoiced questions anyway: what are you doing? What do you want from me? Dean, who is always needed. Who has always been required to give and give and give. So accustomed to opening himself up and handing pieces over. All bluster even as he shatters.

“Nothing,” Castiel says. Plain. Watches Dean’s expression shift, disbelieving. He forestalls the recrimination burbling up with the lightest touch against the socked toe of Dean’s warm foot. “I just want to help.”

The look on Dean’s face: too startled, too tired, to hide the confusion, the anguish. The relief. Dean doesn’t understand, Castiel knows. But it’s all Castiel wants. Palms open and willing, to take whatever Dean hands him. To — be here, kneeling, at Dean’s feet. Until Dean has no need for him. And even then, Castiel wants to sit at his shoulder, at his hip. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that Dean will hear or understand or want to accept. He settles for dropping his gaze, letting his fingers close, gently, around Dean’s ankle. Just holding, careful.

Above his head, he hears Dean take a deep, shaky breath, and then another. Feels it rustle the tips of his hair. “Cas,” Dean says. Just a murmur. For a long moment, Castiel expects to be sent away. But Dean doesn’t speak again. There’s a shift, a rustle of the comforter, and then — a featherlight touch settles against the nape of his neck, and, head bowed, Castiel has to squeeze his eyes shut against an unfamiliar rush of a feeling entirely unknown.

[russian-romanova]

reunion

title: reunion

pairing: jack kline

word count: 2K

warnings: major spoilers for 15x11, adult language, mentions of major character death

notes: this is just a short little thing i wanted to get out there. i’m so happy he’s back, guys. 

summary: after what seems like a hundred eons, he’s back. your jack kline is back. 

+         +          +

When Castiel had come into your room with news of a case, your heart had dropped at the details. He had knocked politely on the doorframe and walked inside, cautious to even tell you. That’s when you knew something was wrong, and your mind first went to Sam and Dean on whatever hunt in Alaska. They had been pretty quiet for the last few weeks, you realized in the seconds of silence. Fuck, what if Sam and Dean were…?

“There’s a case,” Castiel began, and your beating heart steadied a little. “Since Dean and Sam are gone, I thought you might want to help.” 

You nodded without even thinking. “Yeah, sure. What details do we have so far?”

Cas took a breath in. “Seemingly normal humans are being murdered and their hearts are being eaten.” 

You paused. It sounded disturbing, but it wasn’t nothing you couldn’t handle. “Wow, okay. Um, werewolf?”

“I don’t think it’s a werewolf, Y/N,” Castiel looked at you for a moment before adding. “The person killing these men, it’s… It’s Jack.” 

The words floated between you for a moment. You felt like you were going to throw up, and you attempted to swallow the urge. “Jack?” The name came out small and quiet. “Our Jack? How? What?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, his eyebrows turned up ever so slightly. “At least he looks like him.”

“Oh,” You whispered. “Shifter? Or-or something like that? I don’t...” 

“It’s possible,” Cas answered your question, but his focus remained on you and the shock you were absorbing. 

In the handful of years before Jack had died, the two of you had grown undeniably close. He had learned many things from the movies the two of you constantly gushed over, and one of those things was the array of more in-depth, vivid emotions. Jealousy, greed, boredom, love. 

After a little more than a year, you and Jack began thinking of each other as more than friends. You were both learning, really, but it hadn’t felt like that. It had felt like you were floating on a million clouds, holding onto stars for support and watching the moon float in your backyard. 

Love.

You hadn’t called it that then; you had been too scared. You had been a coward, and then you had been too late and Jack died. After that, you had been a bit of a wreck. You had watched Sam and Dean -- the latter especially -- push down their emotions of sadness, anger, and regret so many times before but never understood why. Now, you sorrowfully did. 

“What if it’s him?” You whispered to Castiel, who looked back up at you. He held your gaze for a moment, thinking over his next words. 

“Maybe it is,” He said slowly. “If it is, we need to help him.” 

You nodded. “Of course. I- Do you have any more information?”

“The local sheriff called me, and he sent me some security camera footage. I told him I would call him back, but I wanted to tell you first.” 

“Thank you,” You smiled slightly at Cas. “I’ll be right out.” 

The footage had confirmed your fears. Clear as day, Jack Kline walked into the office, got the attention of the doctor, and killed him before eating his heart. No eye shine to suggest a shifter, and all of his mannerisms screamed Jack. Either it really was the Nephilim, or it was a damn good impression of him. 

So Cas and you had driven down in your suits, ready to investigate. After meeting with the sheriff, you found out that someone else had spotted Jack more recently, going after what Cas had suggested to be a Grigori. You had followed the clues to an abandoned factory, where nothing was left of the two but a small splattering of blood. No Jack, no Grigori, just the worrying sign of liquid red. 

So Castiel and you had split up. The sheriff had listed off abandoned buildings, and two -- an old church and a farmhouse -- caught your attention. After a quick discussion, you managed to convince Cas that you could handle yourself on your own and would go look at the farmhouse while he took a peek at the church. 

You had taken the car, and the drive was somber. You remembered when your Grandfather had died when you were six or seven, and you had all piled into your dad’s truck and driven in the funeral procession. No one had felt like talking about the funeral you had just left, or the burial you were going to. The radio had been turned down, and even the bustling of the city seemed to fade into nothingness. It had been almost disturbingly silent, as it was now, except this time you had hope along with you. 

Much to your disappointment, however, the farmhouse had been empty. No sign of anyone there, nor any sign that there had been anyone recently besides some teenagers getting high and a couple of small animals. You had shot Cas a text (Hope you’re having better luck than me. I’ll see you at the church) and drove to where you remembered having seen the abandoned church.  

Before walking in, you had paused at the door of the car to gather yourself. Whatever you saw in there, you had to keep it together. Whether it be Jack himself, or a shifter, or nothing... As ready as you would ever be, you drew your gun and pushed open the double doors. 

The first thing you noticed upon arriving was the literal dead body lying there. For a split second, you panicked, seeing dark hair and thinking it was Castiel in the dim light. Then your eyes processed the image, and some creature -- you assumed the Grigori -- was before you, and he was dead. Cas was calmly sitting in one of the church pews, right next to the aisle. He looked tired but seemingly unscathed, which was enough to calm your nerves. It didn’t take long for you to realize that he wasn’t alone in that pew, that someone was sitting next to him. Tufts of light brown hair caught your attention, and within seconds you stopped breathing. 

Castiel looked up and noticed you. “Y/N,” He said your name, which caught the attention of the person next to him.

When you had driven down here, you spent hours thinking about what you were so afraid of. For the longest time, you were sure you were the most terrified of seeing Jack but it not really being him, tasting the idea of him but never getting close. After some thought, however, you realized that you were afraid the most of seeing him and it really being Jack, because what the hell would you say? 

You didn’t have to say anything, you realized now. 

Castiel stood up and moved out of the pew, allowing Jack Kline to usher himself out as well. You pushed the gun, which had long since been lowered, back into your jeans. “Jack,” You murmured, and you felt tears push at your eyes. He looked tired too, but his eyes were underlined with shame. At that moment, you didn’t care. It was really Jack, he was standing before you. It was really him, you felt it, and with Jack, there was a chance that everything would be okay. 

You stepped forward and he met you the rest of the way. The two of you collided in a hug at first, sweet and soft. You had tears falling down your cheeks down, falling on your smile like light raindrops. You had shared many hugs before: hugs with your parents before everything in your life went to shit, hugs with Sam and Dean after risky hunts, hugs with Mary when you looked like you needed a motherly figure, hugs with Cas when he was relieved you were alright, even dozens of spontaneous hugs with Jack. They all paled in comparison to now, you clutching onto Jack’s back and him bundling your hunting jacket in his fists. You both had faces buried in the other’s shoulders, Jack’s arms having landed above you in the sheer eagerness to hold you. 

After what felt like hours of hugging, you pushed yourself back to get a better look at him. Still, no words were exchanged but a smile spread across your face as you looked at him. You kissed him once, quick and sweet before looking at him once more. A slight smile was spreading along his cheeks now, but you could tell he was too tired to give more than that. God, you didn’t care that he didn’t smile back. He was here, holding onto your arms as you held onto his, looking between your eyes.

You kissed him once more, eagerly this time. You had missed him, you had missed this. The way you both felt so natural at love and adoration at moments like this, kissing each other after a thousand years apart. It was a reunion you thought would never come. 

You pull away for a final time, and Jack is blushing. “I missed you,” You gush quietly, just for him to hear. 

Jack smiled back, exhausted but overjoyed beyond words. “I missed you, too.” You didn’t plan on kissing him again, but those words turn your body into jello and you can’t help but love Jack Kline madly at this moment. 

You had lots of time to think about Jack in the time since he died. You had thought of the two of you, and what you had been and where you might have been going. You thought of the time you spent together, and the time you spent apart. You thought about feelings, as cheesy as that sounds, and you came to the clear notion that you loved Jack. 

The words bounced in your head for a moment, unsure how to get out or if they should come out at all. If Cas had spoken or stepped forward, you would have surely pushed the words back in. But the angel remained quiet, watching with proud eyes and a happy smile. 

“God, I love you,” You blurted out. “I love you.” 

Jack looked at you for a moment, and he looked as young and carefree as he had been when you had first met, when Sam and Dean had brought him back to the bunker with little information on the guy and too many worries. It was going to be okay, you realized as you had earlier. 

Jack smiled, a real smile this time. “I love you, too, Y/N. I’m sorry I was gone.” His voice came out in a whisper. 

You laughed. “No, Jack, I don’t care. It’s not your fault.” His hands were cold in yours, which only made you grasp them tighter. “You’re back now, and I love you and you love me, and Cas is here and you’ll get to see Sam and Dean. We’re going to all be together again, and that’s all that matters.” 

He smiled at you, one of his classic, ear to ear Jack smiles that accompanied a sugary treat or a proud remark from Dean. “Let’s go home,” He whispered. You looked to Cas, all three of you standing in the empty church with a dead body nearby and smiling like idiots. 

“Yes,” Castiel repeated, stepping forward to lead the way. You took Jack’s hand, which he gave a single squeeze. “Let’s go home.”