#but anyway lucifer and dean are sitting across from each other at the table not talking to each other. they aren't really comfortable aroun

[quietwingsinthesky]

i can tie this into that one 'lucifer being rewritten' au actually. because the logical follow-up in that au from lucifer managing to get himself free of chuck rewriting his whole personality to be Worse in every way, is for Sam and Dean to manage to break free as well (with luci helping <3 obviously) but for them, it's more complicated. Lucifer was a complete rewrite, a slate wiped clean and a new story put in its place. Getting back to himself is just hitting the undo button. For them, no one can tell where they end and Chuck's tampering begins. I think that'd be interesting for Dean especially to deal with, you know?

Thinking to himself "here is what I did to my brother while God had control of my actions, but what did I do that I would have done anyway? who did I hurt that I would have wanted to hurt without being pushed to? will I ever know the difference between the damage Chuck caused and the damage I caused? how do I fix it? can I?"

[pastorpresent]

You're little brother doesn't tell you but he loves you so.

[ Set in like season 14, where via some freak witch/angel/demon shit Sam is replaced temporarily with his twenty year old stanford freshman self. Not quite post hunting shit, because he was never quite post hunting shit from the second he was born, but post the truly awful. Post Jess burning on the ceiling, Dean going to hell, dying in his brothers arms, the cage, john dying, bobby dying, being a vessel, lucifer... ]

[a/n: I'm not a huge fan of this but I can't seem to write anything lately so it'll do!]

[ wincest/samdean]

It takes a few minutes for Dean to process the version of Sam sitting in front of him. The kid - because he is one here - is scowling hard, and even if his face hadn't changed at all Dean would've immediately recognised the don't give a shit attitude Sam had adopted through most of his teen years and into his early twenties.

Twenty year old Sam is currently sat across from him with a spell book that Castiel had provided.

Dean's mind was all over the place. It was weird, because in a lot of ways he was annoyingly unfamiliar with this version of Sam. Most of their interactions at this stage had been pointed, tense phone calls made to ensure the other hadn't gotten killed. Sam had been adamant about leaving and living a life, and Dean had been adamant about hating him for it.

His mind was also helpfully pointing out that he hadn't touched this version of Sam like he had his own.

Those type of interactions prior to Sam leaving had been rushed. A brief kiss in the back of the impala while John was in the gas station a few yards away. A messy blow job in the back of some dark alley, because Dean had almost got ganked in front of him and now Sam needed to be as close as possible. A sloppy hand job under bedsheets with John only a bed away, his hand clamped over Sam's mouth to stop any moans which might've gave them away.

After Sam left for stanford, the brief interactions stopped. They weren't seeing each other in person much at all, and when they did neither were at ease enough to initiate anything close to their rushed missions of exploration.

Their interactions now were different. They had time, and privacy, and a shared bedroom. He knew his version of Sam down to every freckle.

It was making him downright frustrated that he couldn't say the same for the incarnation in front of him.

At least it seemed Sam was out of sorts almost as much as he was. Dean had caught his eyes lingering a few times, scanning over all that was visible of Dean above the table. Whenever Dean would catch his eye, he would go back to scowling at the book.

The silence and their odd staring contest stretched on, until Dean couldn't stand it any more. He hated being on bad terms with Sam anyway, but he was all too aware of how prolific younger Sam had been at the damn silent treatment.

"Want a beer?"

Sam looked up, eyeing him like it was a trick question.

"Technically, I'm underage," he said, in what sounded dangerously close to a joke.

"You forget who found you shotgunning beers at a party when you were fourteen?" Dean quipped back.

Sam snorted, and some of the tension was pulled out the room as Dean brought two beers over.

Sam took a drink almost immediately, a tell to his nervousness even if he was trying to keep it under wraps.

"So I guess I don't become a lawyer, then."

Dean almost winces. Almost.

"I don't really know how this Freaky Friday crap works, so I think keeping future events secret is the best way to go. Don't want a step on a bug, cause world war three kinda scenario."

He misses Sam. His Sam. But then again, he had spent years missing this Sam too. The one who was safe at college, even if Dean pretended to loathe him for it.

Sam shrugs, and he's picking at the label of his beer.

"Castiel seems nice. You two seem... close," Sam ventures anyways, and Dean chokes on a mouthful of beer.

"No. Nope. Absolutely not," he croaks through a now sore throat.

"There's someone, though. I heard Castiel say something about your soulmate," Sam pushed, looking a little on the smug side.

"I only live here with you," Dean says slowly, trying to keep his tone even, and Sam frowns.

"Shouldn't you live with your so called 'soulmate'? They probably think it's weird you're still roomates with your brother," Sam responds.

"I do live with him," Dean finally manages, and Sam freezes up. He can practically see his mind working in over drive, and Dean clears his throat in the awkwardness of the room.

"We're..." Sam trails off, but he doesn't look disgusted like Dean expected. Rather just... curious, a glint in his eye, and he supposes that's the best reaction he was ever going to get.

"Sort of. Depends how much weight you put on that stuff, but according to the divine forces that be, yeah we are."

Dean remembers quite vividly when Cas had initially explained it to them both. He didn't really process it at first, too busy glancing over at Sam to gauge his reaction. He was never quite certain what that reaction was, though. Sam had kept his expression impressively blank - and they never discussed it afterwards in any sort of depth.

This version of Sam was different. This version of Sam didn't know he was the vessel to Satan. He still prayed silently late at night. He didn't understand that, in the grand scheme of things, angels were hardly any morally better than the things they hunted. He believed in a God that was good, and that the universe had destiny and purpose.

In that way, it was a lot easier to get a reading on this Sam's reaction to the revelation.

His face went from visibly shocked to something almost... relieved, and it was palpable in the air as his shoulders slumped and he sunk further into the chair.

"Soulmates. So, I guess I'm not just a giant freak," Dean might not of been as intimately familiar with this version of Sam, but he still knew him enough to disect what he was implying.

It was said as a joke but Dean could hear the slight choked admittance beneath.

"Yeah. It's Gods fault, we're destined to screw," Dean tossed out with a smirk, testing the ground a little as he took another drink.

Sam laughed, that lightweight real laugh that Dean hadn't heard in so long, and he smiled despite himself.

Sam continues to pick at the label of his beer as his laugh dies away, then stares at the table like it's the most interesting thing in the world.

"Spit it out, Sammy," the brunette looks up, and winces a little at the nickname, and Dean curses himself for it.

"I miss you," he says quietly.

Dean wants to throw up. He wants to grab his past self and beat him senseless, because he was being selfish and stupid and he knows Sam needs him. It's the only thing he's ever knew for certain, and he knew it back then too.

"If it helps? That twenty five year old idiot misses you too. A lot. He just can't admit it."

Sam smiles a sad smile, and doesn't look convinced.

"He does. Look, I know there's... there's a lot, between you- us- both, back then. But he- I just have my head up my ass, and I was pissed and righteous and betrayed or whatever the hell else. I never stopped caring about you though, and that version of me would probably slap himself if he thought there was even a chance you thought that."

Sam sniffs, and finally looks up from the table.

"Thank you," he mumbles, but before he can continue Cas appears so suddenly Sam almost falls off his chair. Without explanation, Castiel reaches out and presses his fingers to Sam's forehead, and the brunette slumps onto the table.

"What the hell? Cas-"

"Quiet Dean. I'm trying to focus," Castiel snips, and Dean curses, moving to Sam's side and catching him before he falls to the floor.

"Can't I say goodbye first?"

Cas looks his way momentarily, brows furrowing for a second, before looking away entirely and shutting his eyes.

"No. He can't remain here any longer than necessary," Castiel says, and Dean wants to argue about it. He wants to fight back, but then the younger boy is dissapearing and being replaced by a much more familiar version.

Sam's head shoots up from the table, eyes searching and desperate, and Dean grips his shoulders and steers his eyeline to him.

"Dean?" Sam gasps out, and it's like he's still looking for something, and things click in Dean's head.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here," he confirms, and it seems to be the nickname that does it - because then he's got his arms full of baby brother as Sam clings to him.

Dean holds on a bit too tight in return, as if somehow it'll reach that twenty year old version of his brother who he did so wrong.

"He knows Dean. I- I know," Sam says softly, affirming, and that's what finally has Dean relaxing properly. He nods, eyes flickering to the beer left half full on the table.

[icefire149]

Fluff prompts. 51 + destiel :)

Heyyyy there <3 I'm so sorry how long this took to write. Between my own life throwing hurdles, THIS FIC.....this fic just kept throwing me in the trunk and taking control of the car. I'm so sorry it sprung a million miles away from fluff immediately. I don't know why when I mediated on the prompt my mind went this way and didn't stop. I hope you still enjoy what ended up happening anyways <333

#51 “I will love you forever and when ‘forever’ ends, I’ll love you some more.”

Dean’s heart stopped the moment they fell through the portal rift. His body hit the bunker floor with a loud thump, but so did Castiel’s. It wasn’t until a moment later when Cas wiggled to sit up, slamming the palm of his hand onto the floor as he gasped for air, that Sam felt his stomach drop.

“Dean?” Sam shouted, dropping to his knees at his brother’s side. He shook Dean’s shoulder with increasing roughness.

With wide eyes, Cas pushed forward searching Dean’s face for any sign of life. “He was…..Sam, he was just-”

“He’s not breathing.” Sam muttered in shock before surging forward to start pressing on his brother’s chest. “What did he do, Cas! A deal?”

“No!” His whole body started trembling. What he wanted was to lay his hands on Dean’s head and wake him up, but there was nothing he could do now. His fingers lightly grazed across the bandage Dean quickly taped on his neck. There wasn’t an ounce of grace left.

Squeezing his hands into fists, Cas glanced around the room. Besides the three of them and the bowl the brothers must have used for the spell, the room was bare. “Where’s Jack?”

Sam kept his eyes glued to his brother’s face. His jaw tightened. “A lot’s happened since you died. Jack’s God now so he left.”

“He’s what?” Furious, Cas pushed Sam’s hands aside and took over compressions. He slammed a single fist into Dean’s chest, rocking the man’s whole body from the impact. Still, Dean didn’t wake.

Cas leaned close, listening and feeling for breath against his skin. His mouth quivered as he sat up feeling for a pulse. “No,” his voice commanded.

He started compressions, pressing harder than Sam dared. Dean’s limbs convulsed. “You failed, to mention, that you let, our son, become God,” he growled in between beats, letting his eyes trail up to Dean’s face. “You promised, me, forever! You promised. You promised.”

“You’re….breaking his rib cage,” Sam’s voice broke. His eyes were wide with horror as he watched his brother’s chest concave more than he thought possible. “Cas?” Sam’s voice shook. He rested a shaky hand on the angel’s shoulder.

“You don’t, get to die,” Cas mumbled, ignoring Sam’s presence. His hands paused for a moment as he took a deep breath. The sound of his own heart racing was like a loud boom, pounding on his eardrums. “Jack Kline, you will come home right now.”

Cas resumed compressions. Again, and again. He blinked the beading tears away, but they quickly filled his eyes. His hands, the bunker, Dean….they all blurred away as he kept beating to the rhythm of his nightmare.

The tears ran hot down his cheeks while he blinked. He needed to keep Dean in his sight. Dean was his beacon home. Sniffling, Cas couldn’t stop.

Sam withdrew his hand. “Cas?” his voice was so small and afraid like several decades were suddenly torn away.

Then as Cas pressed, he finally turned to glance at Sam. His voice cracked, "We're gonna need an ambulance."

At that, Sam flew to his feet, feeling for his phone before spotting it on the nearby table. He was unlocking it when a blinding light filled the room.

"Castiel?"

“Fix him.” Cas didn’t look up. He kept pounding on Dean’s chest. His compressions had only lessened a fraction in strength.

But Jack didn’t move from where he stood on the other side of Dean. His gaze moved over to Sam, and the fear circling there twisted the hunter’s gut into knots. “But I…..” Slowly, he dropped down to a knee, and then the other. “Cas,” his voice cracked. “There’s a bigger picture that I’m apart of now. I promised to protect it. I promised not to interfere.”

“And I, promised, to protect you,” Cas answered, halting compressions. He remained hunched over Dean with his hands still pressed over his heart. The angel’s eyes squished shut as quiet sob tore through him.

New tears slid down his already soaked face, hugging his jaw. “I can’t do that without saving him one more time. He promised me forever.” His gaze slid up to meet his son’s with fiery determination. “Jack, it’s too soon to be his time.”

“Okay.” Jack laid his hands next to his father’s. He closed his eyes, and breathed.

Dean gasped awake with three sets of eyes staring at him from above. The angels withdrew their hands.

Sam fell back into the chair at his side. His whole body sagged with exhaustion. “Thank you.”

“What happened?” Dean’s stare bounced back and forth between everyone. He slowly sat up, and Jack collided into him first.

Pressing his chin into Dean’s shoulder, Jack collapsed into him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A few coughs tore through Dean’s body, but he kept a hand on the center of Jack’s back the whole time. When his breathing settled, Dean hugged him back. Also with his free hand, he laid a hand on Cas’ knee.

“I felt it….when I healed you. Everything,” Jack confessed quietly. “Your heart gave out.”

Dean snorted at that. “That’s not much of a surprise, kid.” His eyes met his brother’s. “Sammy’s been telling me for years the bacon was gonna get me.”

“No.” Jack hung on tighter. “It was grief. The loss of Cas…….me. It weakened your heart, but I knitted it all back together again.”

“Oh.” Dean’s grip on Cas’ leg tightened.

“I didn’t know you would miss me.” The words came out quiet enough that Dean wasn’t sure if Jack meant to speak them out loud. And then Jack started to let go, but Dean held on tighter.

“I’m an expert at messing up….heh, well, everything in my life, but yeah, of course Jack. Of course, I missed you.”

-

The rest of the day felt almost too good to be true. They all climbed into the impala -Dean drove much to Sam’s dismay- and they went out to their favorite diner closest to the bunker.

Over their favorite meals, Jack began going over his progress and plans for all of creation. There were several parts where his excitement was palpable, but he clearly was trying to be mature about the situation under Cas’ scrutinizing eye. Sam followed after, explaining in detail the spell work him and Rowena poured over crafting the past several months. Intermittently, Dean cut in to proudly point out where his research came in handy and how him and Eileen went about gathering the ingredients.

Afterwards, Jack looked up from his dessert with chocolate syrup smeared at the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrowed as he studied Dean closely. “Now that Castiel is free, what are you planning on doing now?”

Surprised, Dean leaned back in the booth. “That’s not my call.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’ shoulders. “Any ideas?”

“No more dying,” Cas answered firm, taking a long drink from his beer. His steely gaze slowly moved to each person at the table. “That goes for all of you.”

“And you too,” Jack pressed.

“Of course.” Cas shivered involuntarily. “I’m not planning on returning to the Empty any time soon.”

“You shouldn’t, ever,” Sam answered. “That was the push behind removing your grace. Without it the Empty shouldn’t have any claim over you.”

“Thank you,” Cas answered, picking at the label on his beer bottle.

“You’ll never go back.” The tone in Jack’s voice lifted Cas’ gaze to his. “When the time comes, you’ll have a place at my side. Forever.”

Smiling softly, the tension drained away from Cas’ body. “Thank you, Jack. That’s an honor.”

“You’ll all have an important place,” Jack continued happily. “Mary too. And my mother.”

-

That night had a difficult start. Jack reluctantly left for Heaven. He promised to return for the following weekend to discuss his duties further with Cas. And Cas, he held onto his son for so long that Jack in between his laughter had to appeal to Sam and Dean for help getting free.

It wasn’t long later that Sam got up from the library chairs they were all located at and rested a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re back. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight Sam,” Cas answered. He watched Sam cross over to Dean and punch his shoulder teasingly.

Once Sam was out of sight, Dean’s gaze landed on Cas. Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Today, uh, didn’t exactly go as planned, but….I’m glad it happened.”

Cas’ stare hardened. “Dean, you died.”

“And I got better.”

Sighing, Cas’ gaze fell to his lap. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. “I can’t do that again.”

“Well, I can’t watch you die for….what? The fourth? The fifth time?”

Wincing, Cas nodded. “You asked me earlier….or rather, Jack asked you, what we’re planning on doing next and-” He sat up straighter in his chair and held Dean’s stare. “I want us to retire from hunting.”

Gobsmacked, Dean blinked. “Retire?”

“Doing research. Providing assistance on the phones….that’s all still acceptable and I’m willing to compromise on that.”

Dean chuckled, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Cas repeated, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded with a grin. “I’ve been bugging Sam for a couple years now about retiring…..especially if Jack could make things better...like the future that you saw.”

“Oh.” Cas tilted his head a bit. “I didn’t realize that you took that to heart.”

“I didn’t at first,” he admitted. “You died, and I figured that it was all one huge manipulation. Gabriel’s illusions. Lucifer’s lies.” Cas nodded, and Dean continued. “But then, you came home and….it became hard not to see so much of...you in him.”

“He’s a good boy, but I’m afraid that you’re placing too much….credit? On my shoulders.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Jack’s good, because he has the best father to emulate. There’s nobody else that fights….and sacrifices...to do the right thing like you.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth curved. “And they’re probably better off for it….”

“Cas, come on.” Dean sighed. “Okay, you did your big speech about how you see me….well suck it up, because you need to learn to see yourself the way everyone else sees you.”

Cas rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Dean pressed. “Like yeah, things don’t always go as we planned. I sure as hell know Chuck didn’t plan on being fired and left in the dirt, but….the point is that, you’re probably the best guy in existence.”

That knocked the air out of Cas’ lungs and slapped a goofy smile on his face. “You’re biased.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong, and I’m not.”

Cas shook his head, but that smile was still firmly there. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Come on,” Dean said standing up. He reached a hand out towards the angel. “It’s time for bed.”

Without hesitation, Cas took his hand but he didn’t rise from his chair. He stared at the marvel that was Dean’s skin pressed against his. It was callused in a few places, but still softer than Castiel imagined.

His gaze lifted up to meet Dean’s and a pang of anxiety wrapped around his chest. The joy slipped from his face.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s grip tightened.

“What if I don’t wake up? Statistically, there’s a chance I’m still asleep in the Empty.”

Dean tugged Cas’ arm, and the angel let himself be pulled forward and engulfed in Dean’s arms. They clung onto each other tightly.

“You’re here,” Dean pressed. “This is real. I’ll remind you every day if I have to. I meant what I said when you woke up.”

“And then you almost didn’t get to fulfill that promise.”

“I would’ve,” Dean said, in a matter of fact. Pulling back, his eyes trailed over every inch of Cas’ face. He brought a hand up to cup the angel’s cheek, and then Dean leaned forward to press a kiss to Cas’ forehead. “Where ever my soul would've ended up, nothing was gonna change. I’d still love you.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “So you’re promising, forever-forever?”

Chuckling, Dean dropped his head so his forehead was on Cas’ shoulder. “Yeah,” he breathed, laughing still. “When forever ends, I’ll just love you some more.”

Other fics from this round of prompts

Previous round of prompts

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

endlessly

or, the one-shot that wouldn’t get out of my head where jack is a baby, cas is back, and he and dean have a talk. s13 :) this is a long one, so part of it is going under the cut! 

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

Things are strange. 

Of course, things are often strange in Castiel’s life, especially these days. For one, he just got brought back from the dead. For another, he rode in the passenger’s seat of the Impala on the way back to the bunker. Sam drove, because when Dean tried to drive, the baby in the backseat--Jack, that’s Jack--started crying, and Dean had to switch spots and let Jack’s tiny hand wrap around one of his fingers. Only then did Jack stop crying.

As soon as they got back to the bunker, Dean went to put Jack to bed, leaving Castiel in the kitchen with Sam. That’s where Castiel is now, watching Sam putter around, cleaning up things that don’t need to be cleaned. There’s clearly something on his mind.

“You and Dean should talk,” Sam finally says.

“We usually do talk,” Castiel replies, unsure of what, exactly, Sam means. 

“I mean, really talk. Look--” Sam stops, grabs two beers out of the fridge and slides one across the island to Castiel, before continuing. “Dean gets...things get bad for him when you’re gone. Without Jack to take care of, I think he would have...” Sam doesn’t finish the sentence, but Castiel has a feeling he knows where it was headed. 

“Is Jack always like that?” Castiel asks.

“Obsessed with Dean? Yeah. I mean, things are still kinda complicated with Mom, and I’m not great with kids, but Dean...” Sam sighs. “I mean, he had to take care of me constantly when I was a baby. He’s always been really good with kids, better at expressing himself. And he and Jack...I mean, if Dean’s not with him, Jack gets really upset.”

“Wow,” Castiel says. He remembers a few years ago, helping Claire out, and how quickly Claire and Dean cottoned onto each other. And stories he’s heard from before he knew the Winchesters (sometimes it’s hard to believe there was a time in his life before them) where kids had been involved on a hunt and Dean saved the day.

Perhaps it’s only natural.

“But yeah,” Sam takes a deep swig of his beer. “Go find him and talk. I bet Jack is asleep by now.”

“Right.”

Castiel still feels odd, wrong-footed, though. It should be easy to talk to Dean--Dean’s one of his best friends, someone he would do anything for, has done anything for. 

But he’s also Dean, someone who can be complicated and feels things deeply, and if he’s been feeling bad enough to contemplate--

Castiel doesn’t know what to say to that.

He finds Dean in his room, sprawled out on the bed with a sleeping Jack next to him. There are beer bottles and a couple of whiskey bottles littering Dean’s nightstand, an overflowing wastebasket in the corner.

Sam was right. Things haven’t been great. 

Dean’s eyes flutter open when he hears Cas enter and he sits up, saying softly, “I know sleeping with babies can be bad, cuz I read one of those books you got, but he just...” Dean turns his gaze to Jack. “He doesn’t go to sleep unless I do this.”

Castiel nods.

Dean carefully scoops Jack up and carries him over to the crib in the corner of the room. The whole scene is both painfully domestic and painfully Dean, and it causes something in Castiel’s chest to twinge. 

“But he’s out like a light now,” Dean says. “He’s already better at sleeping, it’s like he knows I don’t get much even without a crying baby.”

“Hm,” Castiel agrees. “Dean, can we talk?”

“Uh, sure? Let’s go somewhere else.” Dean takes one last look at Jack’s swaddled form and then leads Castiel out of his bedroom and to another room, which Cas has never been in before and is barren except for some armchairs and a foosball table.

“What’s this?” Cas asks as they settle into the armchairs.

“It’s...I dunno, a rec room or something. Thinking of putting a TV in here so we could watch movies. I’ve been calling it the Deancave and Sam has been getting annoyed with me.” Dean cracks a smile at a that. “Whaddya want to to talk about?”

“I, uh...” Castiel shrugs. “Sam just said I should talk to you.”

“Dirty traitor. Of course he did.” Dean frowns.

“We don’t have to if you don't want to, I just thought--”

“No, no, this’ll--I need to say this shit.” Dean swallows, before saying, “So, do you remember, about a year or so after we met, when we were trying to get the Colt back and gank Lucifer?”

“I do,” Castiel says, now completely unsure of where Dean is going with this.

“Well, I...I got zapped to the future. Or a future, I guess, by Zachariah. It was...2014 there, the world was overrun by this plague and zombies, Sam was...gone, he had said yes to Lucifer for good, and I met another version of myself who was...he wasn’t a great guy. Pretty cold and ruthless, willing to use people he cared about as bait or put them in harm’s way. He didn’t care about much anymore.” “I assume I wasn’t in this world?” Castiel asks.

“No, you were.” Now Dean looks genuinely pained. “You had lost almost all of your grace, and you spent your days...drinking and doing drugs and having sex. You had lost the trench coat and you were...different. You still thought I was pretty cool, though, and the other Dean, the Dean from that you’s time, he hated that.” 

“I see.” Something is coming into focus.

“You were Cas, but you weren’t my Cas,” Dean says, the emphasis on the my weighty.

“Was this the same night that you told me to never change?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “It was. Something that the other you said, it just...it hit me. And I couldn’t let that happen to you, and I couldn’t let myself be the guy that made it worse. He said that the only thing you and that Dean had left was each other, that if the other me said it was time to go, then you would follow him. And I tried to talk to the future me about it, ask him why he was willing to put you in harm’s way just because you would follow him. He...he didn’t have an answer.”

“I have changed, though, Dean,” Castiel says after a moment. “And not in a bad way.”

“Yeah, but you coulda become that guy.” Dean’s fidgeting now, uncomfortable. “Anyways, after that it was...yeah. You know how things went, you were there. A lot of shit went down, and I tried not to think about that future I saw.”

“I see.”

There’s a vast, empty silence in the room as Castiel contemplates what Dean has told him. He wants to ask follow-up questions, figure out what, exactly, Dean means by what he’s said, but it’s rare that Dean is so open and calm about it, and Castiel doesn’t want to break the spell. He wants Dean to, what’s the phrase? Level with him. 

“And then we went to purgatory,” Dean continues suddenly. “And I spent a year looking for you and found you all dirty and scruffy--you still had that trench coat but you looked like him. I was...starting to realize something, I guess? I mean, Benny helped me find you, and one night we were just hanging out, doing stuff, and he asked me what my deal was about you. I told him, I said you were one of my best friends, hell, just straight-up my best friend.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said I was full of shit, that no one spends a year in purgatory for a friend. I told him to shut the hell up, but he was right.”

This isn’t happening. This would never happen, because Castiel has heard that it won’t. The Empty’s words from when he was dead echo in his head.

I know who you hate. I know who you love. There is nothing for you back there.

But maybe there is.

“There isn’t any use in trying to hide it from you,” Dean says. “You saw all the bottles. Every time you leave...I tell myself it’s because you’re like family, and you are, but not quite--” 

Castiel is tired of waiting, tired of having a weight lodged in his chest, and he hates how agitated and small Dean looks, so before he can fully think out what he’s doing, he’s standing up and then leaning over Dean’s chair, his face inches from Dean’s.

He waits.

“There’s--there’s no way,” Dean says, breathless. 

“There is.” Castiel swallows, hopes he hasn’t miscalculated.

He determines a moment later when Dean seizes him by his collar and pulls him all the way down into a kiss that he did not, in fact, miscalculate. 

It’s clumsy and messy, because of the angle and the nerves and all of the waiting, but Castiel doesn’t particularly care, and he’s getting the impression that Dean doesn’t, either. 

“Please don’t leave again,” Dean whispers into Castiel’s neck when they finally separate.

“I won’t,” Castiel promises. “Although I still can’t promise to never change.”

“That’s a good thing,” Dean replies. “I know that. Now.” 

Castiel doesn’t sleep, but when Dean finally heads back to his room to check on Jack and then try and get his four hours, Dean grabs Castiel by the trench coat sleeve. He stays, takes the pair of pajamas Dean sheepishly offers, finds himself curled around Dean in the big bed that doesn’t seem so big anymore. Neither Dean or Jack wake up all night. 

Castiel may not sleep, but he does sink into a fairly deep meditative state in the quiet darkness of Dean’s room. He “comes to” an indeterminate amount of time later to see that the room is empty, save him, and that all the bottles and trash are gone.

He pads into the hallway, still in that pair of Dean’s pajamas, and hears voices coming from the kitchen. He follows them to find Sam sitting at the table, talking to Dean, who’s standing at the stove with Jack swaddled and wrapped to his chest. Castiel feels his face reddening as his chest expands, and he makes a beeline for the table and sits across from Sam.

“I see you had that talk,” Sam whispers, grinning. 

“We did.” Castiel can’t help but smile back.

“Anyone not want bacon?” Dean asks from the stove, and Castiel and Sam both shake their heads. 

Castiel could get used to this, and he hopes he gets the chance to. 

[writethelifeyouwant]

Sin

Created for: @ilysm-mybabybrother

Pairing: Dean x Reader / Sam x Reader / Dean x Sam 

Warnings: Dub-Con 

Additional tags: Cuckolding, Dirty talk, Praise kink 

Word count: 2,076

A/N: Written for my @spnsecretsantaficexchange set up by my bae @negans-lucille-tblr as a present for the lovely @ilysm-mybabybrother (who I’ve been a long time stalker of, nbd). They requested something smutty with dirty talk / praise kink / cuckolding / and the brothers touching each other - potentially with Demon!Dean or BoyKing!Sam - I’ve gone with Soulless!Sam - I hope that’s still okay! I think I managed to work all the other kinks in there... Anyways I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas 🎄

Dividers: @firefly-in-darkness 

Dean hadn’t let himself imagine this moment. 

When Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding shotgun, Dean made himself accept that. Bobby came back, Cas came back, but when Sam didn’t appear with them, he had to let him go. He promised he would let him go. 

He kept his promise. He found a job in a garage in Texas. He wooed a girl who brought in a car that sounded like his old neighbours in Hell were trapped under the hood. He picked her up in the Impala and dropped her off on her doorstep with a kiss and a promise to call; and he actually called her. They weren’t living together, but they spent most of their time at each other’s apartments. Dean taught her a bunch of ways to doctor up boxed mac’n’cheese, and Y/N taught Dean how to mix cocktails with cheap whiskey that actually made it taste nice. The earth was still turning. 

But now it had stopped, because Sam was standing in front of him, dripping in holy water and cut across his arm - not a monster or a demon, it was Sam. And Dean didn’t care that he got wet too when he pulled his little brother in for a bone crushing hug, because nothing could be wrong again now that Sam was back in his arms. At least, that’s what he’d thought two hours ago. Because now, as his wrists were getting rope burn and his ears were ringing with Y/N’s soft whimpers he knew something was wrong. Something was very wrong with Sam. 

“Wow, Dean,” Sam had exclaimed when he introduced him to Y/N, who had been cooking dinner when he showed up at Dean’s door. “He’s lucky he met you first, darling.” Sam’s eyes dragged up and down her body hungrily, and Dean was taken aback because that was not like Sam at all. Usually Dean was the horndog between the two of them but, I guess you would get pretty horny being dead for a year, Dean reasoned to himself. He remembered that feeling, after he got back from Hell, of wanting something to really make him feel alive again. It would just be nice if Sam didn’t use his girlfriend to feel that. 

But as the evening progressed, and dinner turned into drinks, and beer turned into liquor, Dean felt more and more like he might not get a say in the matter. Sam was all over Y/N, flirting harder than Dean had ever seen him flirt, and way better than Dean remembered him being at it, come to think of it. And Y/N wasn’t turning him away. She was laughing and smiling and getting him another drink, and being the perfect goddamn housewife all while Dean was sitting there watching the two of them. 

And then when Y/N brought him a refill on his whiskey she shot Dean a look that he’d only seen once before, when she’d asked if they could take home the cute waitress so Dean could watch. Back then, Dean had thought he had the best damn girlfriend ever. He essentially got a front row seat to one of his favourite pornos. But the thought of her sleeping with Sammy... Dean wasn’t wild about that one. Except he didn’t know how to say that to Y/N and Sam, so he just kept drinking and hoped it didn’t come up. He wasn’t so lucky. 

He tried to step in, when Sam put his hand on Y/N’s thigh and dug his fingers in - Dean gritted his teeth and choked out a cautious “Sam…” but the warning died in his throat when he looked into his little brother’s eyes and saw empty determination and cold hunger. He didn’t see his brother. “Y/N get away from him!” Dean shouted and reached for the knife stashed in the end table next to him, but Sam was faster, drawing his own and shoving it threateningly under Dean’s chin. 

“Whatcha doing there, Dean?” 

“What are you?” 

“I’m your brother,” Sam teased, lips curled in an ugly imitation of Sam’s warm smile. 

“What happened to you down there?” Dean demanded, because if this was Sam, something changed - something was different. 

“Oh so much, big brother,” Sam laughed but there was no emotion behind it. “Learned a few things too. How ‘bout I show ya?” And now Dean’s hands were tied above his head with his own goddamn rope on his own goddamn bed, while Y/N was laid out between his legs with her head on his stomach as his own goddamn brother went down on her. 

“Mm, you’ve got such a good little pussy, sweetheart,” Sam sighed, sucking on her clit and pulling a whine from her lips. Y/N’s breath ghosted over Dean’s naked cock, making it twitch despite his best efforts to be disgusted at what was happening right now. “Hope Dean’s been giving this cunt the attention it deserves.” 

Y/N whimpered a little, but didn’t answer, prompting Sam to slap between her legs. “My brother been treating you good? Giving you enough cock to keep a pretty thing like you happy?” 

“Yes,” Y/N gasped, clenching around the fingers Sam had just pushed inside her. “Yeah he’s good - mmh - so good to me,” she moaned. 

“Yeah?” Sam sneered, twisting his fingers to push against Y/N’s clit and make her writhe. “What’s he best at? I’ve always wondered when I heard the moans from the next room.” 

“Sam…” Dean complained, finding his impertinent big brother tone despite the situation he was in at the moment. 

“His mouth,” Y/N sighed, happy to answer despite Dean’s protest. “I love his mouth, it’s so soft… and when he kisses you, it can take your breath away.” 

“How romantic,” Sam smirked. “Always knew Dean was a bit of a softie deep down.” 

“Fuck you,” Dean growled, pulling uselessly against his restraints again.

“Ladies first,” Sam laughed, and pulled his fingers from Y/N and sucked them clean, eyes boring into Dean’s while he swallowed his girlfriend’s slick. “Turn around baby, get on Dean’s cock,” Sam directed, landing a slap on Y/N’s ass when she turned and crawled over Dean. She shivered when she pressed his cock against her entrance, pulsing down slowly, working him inside her bit by bit. 

“Oh look at you,” Sam cooed, brushing her hair off her shoulder so he could bite into her neck, pulling a moan from her chest. “Such a good girl teasing him like that, I didn’t even have to tell you to.” Y/N smiled to herself as she finally got Dean fully seated inside her, revelling in the stretch and fullness of it all. “How did Dean manage to find such a good little slut, huh?” 

Y/N giggled lightly but didn’t say anything, just rolled her hips, drawing a gasp from Dean, whose eyes were squeezed tight in pleasure. Y/N felt so good around his dick. And he hated to admit it but he was in fucking heaven right now. This was so, so wrong but it was so hot, every other thought was being pushed out of his mind for the moment. He just wanted Y/N to keep moving, and he wanted Sam to keep talking. 

Sam wrapped his fingers around the back of Y/N’s neck and shoved her forward, so she was lying chest to chest with Dean. “Give her a kiss Dean. It’s her favourite after all,” he teased. Dean wanted to find some retort to throw back at his brother, but Y/N’s lips were swallowing his before he got a chance, and he decided this was a better use of his breath anyways. 

They kissed and licked and moaned as they ground together, Sam watching on and stroking himself lazily. He reached one hand forward and drew lazy patterns on Y/N’s ass which was bouncing so nicely on Dean’s cock. Sam bet it felt amazing to be inside her. “Mm, you’re fucking him so good, Y/N,” Sam praised, petting his hand down her back. “Look so hot with a cock inside you.” He crawled forward and draped himself over the couple, bumping his hips into Y/N’s and grinding against her ass. She moaned happily and fucked back harder, trying to rub against Sam as much as she could without pulling off of Dean. 

A choked whine slipped through her lips when Sam’s cock caught between her cheeks and nudged at her other entrance. “Oh,” Sam grinned at her reaction and repeated his motion, pushing against the taut, puckered skin. “You have more in common with Dean than I thought.” 

“What?” Y/N panted, confused and distracted by all the sensations she was swimming under. 

“What, Dean never told you? Never asked you to fuck him up the ass?” 

Dean’s eyes shot open, horrified. How did Sam know? 

“You didn’t really think I didn’t know, did you, Dean?” Sam smirked, still rubbing himself against Y/N’s ass, but letting his fingers trail down further, skating over Dean’s inner thigh, making him jump. “You told me about Rhonda Hurley and the panties when I was sixteen, but I knew that wasn’t the whole story. I found the strap on after you picked me up from Stanford. How many girls you given it up to, big brother?” 

“Fuck you,” Dean ground out, mortified. 

“You know what, I just might,” Sam drew small circles with his fingertip the whole way across Dean’s skin until he reached his target. “What do you think, Y/N, should I give your boyfriend what he wants?” 

“God yes,” she gasped, riding Dean hard, head buried in his shoulder. 

Sam spit on his fingers and pressed them back against Dean’s ass, teasing his hole until it was nice and slick and he could slide a finger in without too much resistance. Dean was tense, trying to fight what Sam was doing, trying to fight wanting what Sam was doing, but he didn’t think he was strong enough. Sam’s finger twisting inside him actually felt amazing. It had been over a year since he’d let anyone fuck him and god, he had forgotten how fantastic it was, feeling this full, this whole. 

Sam felt Dean accept what was happening, felt him relax around him, and took that as his cue to add more spit and another finger. Then another. He pulled them out when he felt Dean was ready and tugged Y/N back so she was sitting up against his chest. “You ready to cum, darling?” He snarled in her ear. 

“Mmhmm,” Y/N whined, bouncing faster over Dean, but Sam hoisted her off his brother and sat her down between his legs where they’d started. 

“You’re gonna get my cock nice and wet, aren’t you baby? Gonna be good and cum all over my cock?” 

“Yes, fuck yes, please,” Y/N begged. Sam slammed in place inside her and didn’t hesitate before fucking her at a furious pace, rubbing his thumb over her clit and pulling scream after scream out of the girl writhing beneath him. He felt, with satisfaction, a surge of heat between her legs, and knew her cum was trickling out from between her thighs. 

“Good girl,” Sam huffed, cold smile firmly in place. He pulled out and looked down to see veins of white dripping over his skin. “Got me nice and wet for your boyfriend, good job, sweetheart.” Y/N rolled out of the way, sated and dazed, and anxiously watched Sam climb over Dean and rub his cock between his legs. 

Dean groaned, eyes pressed tight, trying to pretend he wasn’t about to let his little brother fuck him. Trying to pretend he didn’t desperately want his little brother to fuck him. But when Sam pushed in he couldn’t pretend that he didn’t love it. It felt so different to having a dildo in his ass, and it was so much better. It was warm, flesh and blood; his flesh and blood. When Dean clenched around him, Sam moaned and thrust harder into his brother. Dean loved how responsive he was, and did it again, earning himself another thrust. 

“Think you’re being cute?” Sam panted and glared down at Dean, who smirked up at his little brother with his last vestige of self-respect. 

“I think I’m adorable.” 

“And I think you’re gonna regret that.” 

[destielhasmedead]

this is the first part to a story i started - thoughts?

It had been two hours in the Impala for Cas to suddenly crack, he cleared his throat,

“Uh, Sam.”

“Yeah?” Sam turned around to see the angel. Cas made a head-nodding motion towards Dean and pointed to his ears.

“What y’all playing charades now? What is it Cas?” Dean laughed and took his eyes off the road for a minute to look at the two passengers,

“What…..”

“Dude, we’ve been listening to the same song for the past hour, and the same album for the past two, even Metallica isn’t that good,” Sam said.

“You watch your mouth Sammy, I'm the one driving here!” 

“Dean, I do too thoroughly enjoy the melody, but perhaps we could hear something else?” Cas piped in from the backseat nervously. Dean moved his attention to the rearview mirror, took a good look at Castiel, then back to his brother, and with a deep sigh begrudgingly agreed. Sam grabbed something from his feet,

“An aux cord? You have to be kidding me”.

“Dean, unlike you I enjoy living in the 21st century. You should try it, upgrade from your cassette tapes.” Sam scoffed, but let out a soft chuckle. 

“Fine let’s see what garbage you listen to.” Said Dean annoyed and skeptical. Cas moved eagerly towards the space between the two front seats to get a good look at all the commotion. Sam plugged the wire into his cell and proceeded to scroll through till he found the playlist he was looking for.

Sam had always been a soft rock, jazz, and even pop kind of guy. Though, he was sure to always have a playlist that wouldn’t get him kicked out onto the side of the road. Soon, Lodi by Creedence Clearwater Revival came on through the speakers. Dean's face fell flat but remained silent. They were on their way to the beach, so Sam knew he had some leeway and extra room to play with, and Dean was fully aware of the opportunities Sam had. It had been years, decades even since they had a proper visit to the beach. The only times they’ve been there was on a case. Sure, when the boys were younger John had let them stay a couple of days afterward from time to time, but even then it was stress-filled and tense. 

A few songs in, Cas reached, sitting up higher, and pointed out the sign that read of the hotel they had booked. Cas had all the windows of the Impala opened, his hair flopped about as the salty air flowed around him. The hotel was located on a quiet street, just a short walk from the shore. It was nicer than the places they typically stayed at. 

Sam helped his brother find a parking spot, and closed the doors almost simultaneously. Sam stayed back for a minute grabbing their bags, while Dean and Cas ventured inside. It was quaint, a typical beach hotel. Whiffs of sunblock, the squeaking of damp flip flops, bright lights, and inspirational signs filled their senses. 

“Hi, we have three rooms booked.” Dean leaned on the counter and put down a credit card that wasn’t his.

“I see only two on the reservation list..” the clerk said clicking on his computer. Dean looked at Cas nervously, searching for a response to give to the man. Sam strolled in with their bags.

“What’s going on?” Sam butted in on the conversation.

“You only booked two rooms,” Dean said, glaring at his brother. Sam shrugged and turned back to the desk for answers.

“I’m sorry there’s nothing I can do, there aren’t any extra rooms” 

“We could stay somewhere else..” Sam started to say but was interrupted.

“No! The reviews said this joint has great water pressure in the shower and I’m not giving that up!” Dean exclaimed passionately. Suddenly Cas cleared his throat,

“Well, I could um share a room with Dean. I don’t sleep anyway.” Cas’s face grew flushed and he shifted his weight on his feet. 

“Ok, that works for me. I’m sick of sharing with you anyway, you snore real loudly.” Sam commented about Dean. Though Dean didn’t respond. His eyes had glazed over, staring at the wall deep in thought. He felt his heart in his throat as if he had been chasing a vamp. He gulped it down and felt a soft palm on his shoulder that pulled him away from his thoughts. 

“Are you ok?” Cas looked him in the eyes.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine just thinking” Dean gave him a smile, and Cas’s head straightened once again out of its tilt. Both of the men were visibly flustered from the string of events that just occurred. Sam cleared his throat,

“Ok, wanna find our rooms and get some rest, I for one would appreciate getting more than four hours of sleep for once in my life.” The guys nodded, now aware of the time. Dean bunched up his sleeves till they reached his elbows, and looked at his watch. It was eleven pm, which in hindsight made sense since they had arrived when the sky was darkening. 

They started towards the elevator and to the 4th floor. Dean had been iffy about not getting their usual spot in the corner on the base level. But Sam just poked fun at him saying,

“Dude quit overreacting, we aren’t on a hunt, and we’ve saved the world like 12 times. We can survive two nights in a room that doesn’t look at a parking lot.” But Dean had just rolled his eyes. Soon, he found himself following Cas into their room, and Sam walked down the other end of the hallway to his.

“Have fun you two!” Sam teased. The new roommates' faces reddened. Cas swiped the key card over the black square and pushed the door open.

“You have to be kidding me,” Dean said under his breath, yet still audible for Cas to hear. He tossed his duffel bag a few feet away from him and rubbed his hands through his hair until his nails dug into his neck. Before them, they saw a couch, a TV, other typical Hotel amenities (bathroom, mini-fridge), and one queen-sized bed. But, looking back on it, the man at the front desk hadn’t said there would be a second bed in that room. 

“Dean, I don’t sleep much anyway, you have the bed and I can hang out on the couch.”

“You sure Cas?”, Cas nodded. Dean felt his eyes getting heavy, he tugged at his duffel and got out his Men Of Letters robe, Led Zeppelin T-Shirt, and his hotdog pajama pants. Meanwhile, Cas had found the TV remote and started channel surfing. He paused it on a show called Lucifer, which he had found very amusing. Dean walked back in to find Cas hunched over in front of the screen pointing at the different characters and saying how inaccurate they are.

“You having fun over there?” Dean said through a smirk as he drew the blanket toward him.

“Though it’s ridiculous, it’s also very comical!” Cas nodded to himself with a smile, maintaining his focus. 

“Alright, well you two have fun, just turn the volume down a bit so I can sleep? We’ll come up with a plan for tomorrow in the morning.” Dean kindly shook his head.

“Alright goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Buddy.”

--------

chapt 2 (not completed?)

It’s 9 am and Dean awakes to Castiel pulling the curtains open, letting the effulgent sunlight bounce around the room, filling Dean’s face with the brightness. He cups his hands by his eyebrows, grabbing at the covers while doing so. Once Dean’s eyes stopped ping-ponging and the static washed over, he grumbled “good mornin.'' and tossed around the clothes in his bag till he found what he called his “summer flannel” and shorts. Cas moved out from by the windows and shuffled over to Dean’s ill-made bed and began to meticulously tidy it up. 

“Alright, you ready? Sam’s meeting us downstairs for bacon. Well, he’ll probably have some fancy-schmancy healthy smoothie, but I’m having bacon.” Cas turned towards the bathroom doorway where Dean was still a few feet away from, nodded to Dean in agreement, and walked towards their room’s door.

“Wow wow wow there champ, you’re wearing that?” Dean held out his hand in a stop motion, running over to block the door from him.

“Y- Yes?” Cas replied, unsure of the question.

“Okay, I know it’s your outfit and stuff, but it's the beach! it’s hot outside!”

“But, you’re wearing your summer flannel, and this is all I have.” Cas gestured to Dean’s extra layer and then proceeded to look down at his overcoat.

“Well, that’s different.” Dean said, slightly defensive, and followed up with “We’ll ask Sam downstairs, but I for one am starving”. Dean swiveled, now facing the door holding onto the round silver knob, letting Cas walk through first.

Once the two arrive in the food court, they find Sam already set up with, as his brother had predicted, a bottled smoothie and eggs.

“Hey! Bacon’s over there, Dean.” Sam’s head tilted in the direction of the food. There were lifted metal container-looking platters lined up each with lids to keep what was inside warm. Excitedly, he grabbed a plate and piled on his food.

Castiel joined Sam at the circular table.

“So, how was last night?” Sam asked, showing genuine curiosity.

“It was fine. I did what Dean refers to as channel surfing, and I read all of the brochures on the table.”

“Oh yeah? Find anything interesting?”

“Not particularly, I saw a couple of different restaurants, there is an ice cream place down the street though.” Yes, Cas didn’t need to eat, but recently Rowena cast a spell for him so that he could at least taste it without feeling every single molecule. He hadn’t gotten around to trying Ice Cream yet though, he was still getting used to the sensations.

“What’d I miss? Oh, Sam! Cas refuses to change his clothes. The son of a bitch wouldn’t listen to me.” He had put emphasis on the word “refuses” to get his point across. Cas rolled his eyes at him, recalling the interaction and being fully aware that there hadn’t been anything he would refer to as a refusal.

“Cas only ever wears that trench coat though. And you on the other hand,” Sam turned to Dean,

“Are wearing your summer flannel which by the way does not exist.” Sam lightly laughed as Dean bites dramatically into his bacon.

“Well, this is a vacation, remember? So, if I even see your asses walking to the beach without wearing bathing suits, or at least not long sleeves, I swear I will shoot you.” He waved his fork in the air as he spoke. The men in question, who had been sitting next to each other, locked eyes. The two, without talking seemed to come to the consensus that Sam would in fact shoot them in the leg. Sam himself had been wearing dark purple swim trunks and a T-shirt. Having spent part of the night reading about the town, Cas mentioned a nearby store for him and Dean to walk down to. 

[clairenatural]

~900 words, destiel, reverse!verse. this is a continuation of my suptober reverse!verse here, with demon!dean and hunter!cas. It’s been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a month because I wanted to continue it but honestly I can’t figure out an overarching plot for these two so I figured I’d at least post this :)

Dean barely registers the motel door swinging open before a book is being thrown at his head. “Ow! Cas, what the fuck,” he growls, and prepares to retaliate, but Castiel has the look of pure fury on his face that always manages to render Dean motionless. 

They’ve only been on the road a few days, but Dean already hates it.

“You’re not a Knight,” Cas spits out, gesturing at the tome of lore that has just bounced off Dean’s skull. “The Knights are all dead. Cain killed them all.”

Dean rolls his eyes and bends to pick up the book, frowning down at the illustration of Cain slaughtering the rest of them. He remembers that day too well. “Yeah, well,” he mutters, snapping the book shut. “He didn’t kill me.”

“And why didn’t he?”

Dean sighs and tosses the offending tome onto the other bed, across from him. “You know we were all human once, right? All demons. Just souls who ended up in Hell, and I--well. I was there because of a deal.”

“A deal,” Castiel repeats, not following.

“Yeah, dumbass, a deal. Like one of those crossroads scams. But I made a deal with Lucifer himself--my eternal service for my baby brother’s life. Cain always kinda liked me for that, I think. He did the same thing, you know?”

Castiel stares at him, not buying it. “Cain murdered his brother.”

“Yeah, to save his soul.”

“The Bible says--”

Dean cuts him off with a scoff. “Come on, man.” He yanks open the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out the Bible stored there. “This?” he gestures with the book before giving it the same unceremonious toss as the one that had been thrown at him. As if on instinct, Castiel flinches. “First rule, Cas. Don’t believe everything you’ve read.”

The hunter is fidgeting with the cross hanging around his neck again--a nervous habit, Dean’s noticed. “So...” he starts, after a long moment. “What did happen?”

Dean shrugs. “Lucifer had a claim on Abel’s soul, Cain made a deal to replace him in Hell and let him go to Heaven, and the devil said yes, but only if Abel died by his brothers hand. You know the rest.” He says this as if it’s basic knowledge.

“And you---and your brother?”

Dean shakes his head. “No--God, no. Sammy was just a kid, you know? He deserved to live longer. That’s it.”

For the first time in the conversation, Castiel crosses the room to sit on the motel bed across from him. “And you didn’t?”

And also for the first time in the conversation, Dean is at a loss of what to say. He looks down, but he can feel Castiel still staring at him, and he hates it. He doesn’t know who this human thinks he is, staring into the very core of him like that. 

“Didn’t have much goin’ for me, up here,” he replies, finally, because anything else would be too raw and honest. “Figured I’d take my chances downstairs. And hey,” he looks back up at Castiel and grins, hoping the other man won’t be able to see through his regained composure. “For a while, it was fun as Hell.” He leans into the pun like a crutch.

Castiel seems undeterred. He frowns. “And after all that, Cain let you....walk away.”

Dean nods at him but has to look away again. There’s something about devout humans that always makes his skin crawl, but Castiel...his gaze burns like Holy water.  “As long I promised him I’d lay low. Stop the endless killing. So...I did.” He glances down at his hands. “Throwing your brother across the room was the most fun I’ve had in a while.” 

He looks back at Castiel, expecting to be chastised for calling it “fun,” but the human is staring at him with an expression of mild shock. Dean knows that look. It means he’s been underestimated. 

He both loves and hates it.

They hold eye contact until Castiel breaks it with a sigh, and suddenly he’s refusing to meet Dean’s eyes. “I did that, too,” he starts. “I took a deal to save my brother. My youngest brother.”

Dean smiles. “I know, Cas. Why do you think I chose you?”

And, well. Apparently Castiel doesn’t really have an answer to that, because they just sit there for a moment, staring at each other again, before he sucks in a breath and tears his eyes away. “He died anyway, though,” Castiel continues, quietly. Uneasy, Dean thinks. Or maybe just...unsure. “I sold my soul for Samandriel, and he was saved, but he died again, anyway. Three months later, And there was nothing I could do. I prayed, too, but--but nobody could help me.”

“I knew that, too.” Dean leans in, smirking again. He remembers hearing about it like Castiel was some goddamn celebrity. The demon who made the deal bragged about it. It was like getting a free soul, he said. It had almost made him blow his cover, just to teach the guy a lesson. "Doesn’t that just make you want to burn it all to the ground?” 

Castiel looks up and looks at him for another long minute. He leans in to mirror Dean. “Yes,” he finally replies, tone now completely even. “Yes, it does.”

[s11e17]

thesis 5 is THE sam fic i think about it all the time. 7 and 21 for that one?

WAHHH thank u anon!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 and thank u for the ask!!

7: Were there any ideas you had for [Thesis 5] that you couldn’t make work? What were they?

Thesis 5 was originally going to have a young!Sam pov conversation outside the bunker in addition to the conversation that's in the final fic, but I couldn't really make it work without being repetitive. I scrapped that conversation and took pieces of it to fit into young!Sam's inner monologue in the Castiel section of the fic or into the old!Sam pov conversation outside the bunker. Here are some excerpts that didn't make it into the final draft:

Christ. Sam heads out the garage door for some air. Fuck Kansas. Fuck Kansas and its shitty gray springtime skies. He drinks his coffee and looks out at the field next to the bunker and thinks about taking a bus. He misses public transit. He misses fucking going to a cafe and doing readings on his laptop. He misses his life. After all those years— after all those years of Dad pushing them around, and doing God knows what to Dean when he thought Sam wasn’t looking, and putting a gun in Sam’s hand and telling him where and when to shoot— he’d gotten out.

Sam drinks his coffee. The warmth doesn’t do a damn thing for him. Fuck. He thought he was free.

“Hey.” It’s the guy who’s supposed to be him in fifteen years. Sam turns around.

He’s not much taller than Sam, maybe only an inch or two. But he looks so different. His haircut’s shitty, first off. And he’s kinda— he’s broader than Sam is now. He looks like he put on a ton of muscle and then lost it, and it left him wiry and mean.

Sam… Sam hates him.

“Mornin’,” Sam mutters, turning back to the road.

The guy shifts in his peripheral, and then steps forward, closer to Sam’s line of sight. “How— how— how’re you, how’re you holdin’ up?”

His stupid fucking stutter. Sam doesn’t talk like that. He gets it, this guy’s probably been through some shit, but— fuck, Sam can’t fucking look at the guy. “Fine.” And then, ‘cause he’s not an asshole, “what about you?”

and the original ending (which was just sam and dean, no castiel) was a lot sadder than what came out in the final draft:

Dean finds him in the library when it’s finished. Sam doesn’t feel safe enough to go outside.

“Been lookin’ for the kid,” Dean says, “you see him?”

“He’s gone.” Sam looks at his brother. His brother who raised him, who told him to tie his shoes and who picked him up from the one ill-advised high school party he went to and who ruffled Sam’s hair with bruised knuckles. His brother, who held his hand over Sam’s mouth and put evil inside him because he didn’t know how to live with the hurt of Sam’s absence. Sam sees the long history of a Winchester’s fear in his brother, and he hates him and he loves him for it.

“Well.” Dean clears his throat. He blinks. “Jeez. I— I mean, if I had to pick, I’m—”

“I would’ve picked him.” Sam looks at him, and Dean looks back. They both know each other, now, after Hell. “If we could’ve picked. We both would’ve picked him.”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I’m— Jesus, you think I wanted you gone? You really think I’d rather have—”

“But it’s not about you, is it.”

Dean sighs. “Fuck.” He stands there for a second, deciding, and then he sits down across the table from Sam. “That was a mind fuck.”

Sam nods. He thinks about that kid. Thinks about him alone under the sky. He wouldn’t have lasted a day in this world, but he could’ve— he could’ve tried. That kid could’ve tried to put pieces of a life together, could’ve got a new name. He’d been hankering for one anyway. Could’ve split from his past and— he couldn’t have become a lawyer, but he could’ve done something good. Maybe.

“‘Smite with thine hand, and stamp with thy foot, and say, Alas for all the evil abominations of the house of Israel! for they shall fall by the sword, by the famine, and by the pestilence,’” Sam recites, thinking of it.

They both know their Bible, after all these years. Sam looks at him, and Dean frowns. “Ezekiel?”

“It seems fitting, doesn’t it?” Sam looks at his hands. “A prophet, who becomes the Lord’s watchman and sword. Eating of God and laying waste to his people.”

“Jesus.”

“I hadn’t read the Bible back then.” Sam laughs, suddenly. “I prayed every fucking day, and I hadn’t even read the fucking Bible. I didn’t realize that the first time I read it straight through was— was for the apocalypse. I guess I thought I’d already done it.”

Dean looks at him, confused. “When the hell would you have had time to do that?”

“I don’t know, I just— feels like it’s always, I’ve always been. You know.”

“Hm.” Dean tries, “You know, uh. Fuck, Sam. You— you know I’m glad you’re here.” Then he laughs. “But shit, he was a fuckin’ riot, sometimes. I’m sad he’s gone.”

That kid. That kid who looked at him strange and unpracticed, unused to being on display, as if Dean’s eyes scanning over him was the only touch he knew.

“Hope he’s okay, wherever he is,” Dean says.

Sam shrugs. “He wasn’t real,” he figures. In this world, less real than the Cage, even crueler than Sam’s old faithful, his truthteller, his lightbringer, his Lucifer, that kid was a dream. He never had a chance.

anyway yeah, those are some bits from the first draft which didn't end up working!!

21: If you were a character in [Thesis 5] where would you fit in?

Oh wrow what a question!! I think I would be Cas, or I would be the person who sold Dean a salmon sushirrito. Unless this question is asking where ME aka tumblr user s11e17 would fit into the fic, in which case unfortunately the fic would simply have to become a meta fic where sam learns he has spent his life on display being a puppet for others

[banshee1013]

Fic - Uninhibited

Written for the @profoundnet Discord Server Valentines Exchange - Reunion round, and specifically for @annethecatdetective :)

Title: Uninhibited Rating: Mature  Tags: Castiel/Dean, Canon compliant, S15 Spoilers, Witch Curses, Literally Sleeping Together, Fluff and Light Angst Word Count: 5787 Summary:  On what appeared to be a routine hunt, Dean gets zapped by a witch's curse - and suddenly he has no qualms expressing his undying love for Castiel. It's everything Castiel has hoped for and never thought he would have. When Sam discovers the counterspell, reversing the curse seems like a no-brainer - but will it cause Castiel to lose the love he never thought he would have?  AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29600769

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“Dean!”

Castiel runs and skids to a halt, falling to his knees in front of the prone form of his friend. Pressing two fingers to his forehead, he breathes a sigh of relief. Still alive.

His attention turns to the fleeing form of the witch. Raising a hand, he wills his Grace into it and clinches it into a fist. The witch freezes mid-stride, twisting against an invisible force holding him in place. With a jerk of his arm, Castiel propels the witch around and pins him against the nearest wall.

“What have you done to him?” 

The witch laughs. “I’ve given him a great gift. You’ll see.” He flicks his wrist, a bolt of purple flying out and striking Castiel. It doesn’t hurt him but distracts him enough to loosen his grip, and the witch disappears.

Castiel utters a string of Enochian curses that would make Lucifer himself flinch. Nothing for it, and he has more important concerns at the moment, his attention returning to the unconscious hunter.

Even unconscious, he’s beautiful, Cas thinks with a pang in his chest, maybe even more so, the usual lines of care and strife stripped from his face. Castiel places a palm on his forehead and exerts a sliver of Grace, but it bounces back against his hand, as though hitting an impenetrable barrier. 

But it must have done something, as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter open, his breath gasping as he regains consciousness. Seconds later, Castiel is hit by the full force of those green eyes as they meet his own, hazy and dull at first but sharpening quickly with recognition. 

“Cas?” Dean rises and reaches for him, Castiel grasping his shoulder to help steady him. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” 

Castiel blinks. Of all the names Dean has called him over the years they’ve known each other, this one had never been directed toward him. He dismisses it as an aftereffect of just having regained consciousness. “Yes, I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

Dean heaves a visible sigh of relief — then suddenly there’s a hand behind his neck and Dean’s lips are pressed against his. The shock of the contact is quickly overcome by a growing heat beneath his skin, an involuntary moan escaping around their fused lips.

After a measure of time that Castiel cannot name, Dean pulls back and presses his forehead against his own. “Feeling much better now,” he says softly, his breath ghosting against Castiel’s lips and sending a shiver down his spine. 

It’s everything Castiel has ever wanted and knew he would never have, and he desperately wants to relish the sudden reality of his desires coming to life before him, but the relevance of the witch’s last words rings in his ears. Castiel takes a deep breath and pulls back to catch Dean’s eyes. “Dean, tell me… what’s the last thing you remember?”

Dean frowns, his brows pinching together. “Uh… well, we followed the witch to this house. We’d split up to clear the rooms and…” He stops, eyes narrowing angrily as realization dawns. “Did that sonuvabitch get the drop on me?” 

Castiel nods somberly. “Yes. I heard a shout but by the time I found you, you were already unconscious. I was able to pin the witch briefly but they escaped.” He sighs and looks down, unable to meet Dean’s eyes in light of his failure. “Unfortunately, I do not know what spell or curse was laid upon you. I attempted to heal you, but somehow I am being blocked from doing so.” 

He is once again shocked when Dean places light fingers under his chin and lifts to look into his eyes. “Hey, it’s alright. Let’s go home and talk to Sam. We’ll figure it out.” Castiel’s breath stutters to a halt as Dean’s hand slides to his jaw, his thumb brushing his cheekbone before leaning in to kiss him again. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Dean says after he pulls back again, barely audible over the buzz in Castiel’s ears, then rises and offers a hand down to Castiel, pulling him to his feet.

“C’mon, babe. Let’s get outta here,” he says, smiling and squeezing Castiel’s hand, then guiding them to the door and out to the waiting Impala. Castiel glances down at their joined hands and wonders what he’s going to do now. 

~~~ *** ~~~

“Sam! We’re back!” Dean announces loudly as he enters the bunker. “Who’s gonna bring me a beer?”

“Get it yourself!” Sam’s voice echoes from behind the stacks in the Library. Castiel wonders if he’s examining the books there, looking for an answer to the nature of the curse the witch placed upon Dean; Castiel having texted him about it as soon as they were on the road again.

Dean grumbles but there’s no real heat in it. He pauses in the Library and turns to Castiel, his hand raising to grasp his upper arm. “Want anything while I’m in there, sweetheart?” 

Castiel, his throat dry and voice gone, shakes his head. Dean nods and smiles, his hand trailing down Castiel’s arm to his hand to give it a squeeze before pivoting on his heel and heading toward the kitchen. 

As soon as he rounds the corner and is out of sight, Sam’s head pops from behind one of the stacks, his eyes wide. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.” 

Castiel could only nod in agreement.

“So, what happened? Tell me everything,” Sam asks as he moves to sit at one of the tables in the Library, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. Castiel takes the seat across from him and recounts the events from earlier in hushed tones to prevent Dean from overhearing.

Not that it was an issue; Dean shouts from the kitchen that he’s starving and going to make burgers and did they want any. Sam looks to Castiel, questioning; he nods and Sam yells back in affirmation before turning back, gaze unfocused over Castiel’s shoulder and forehead furrowed in thought.

“Purple light,” Sam muses. “Last time I saw that was Rowena using magic from Book of the Damned.” The unfocused gaze sharpens and focuses back on Castiel. “But you said the witch was male, right?” Castiel nods, and Sam’s lips purse. “I have no idea what happened to the Book — it wasn’t among her magic journals and items we took from her apartment.” He sighs. “I hope it hasn’t been recovered and used by whoever this was,” he continues, “but I’ll do some digging on that assumption anyway.” Castiel nods again, but his inner turmoil must be written on his face as Sam’s eyebrows raise in question.

“Cas… is there... something else?”

Castiel looks down at his clenched hands, noticing he’s been subconsciously wringing them. “I...I’m not sure what to do about his advances.”

Sam’s expression grows serious. “Has he been making you uncomfortable? How bad has he been? He hasn’t… propositioned you or anything, has he?” Sam pauses to swallow uncomfortably. “Or worse?”

“All he’s done so far has been pet names and kisses. And no, he hasn’t been making me uncomfortable.” Castiel takes a deep breath and squirms a little in the chair. This is not a conversation he ever expected to have with Dean’s brother, and he’s quite unsure how to broach it tactfully. “Quite the opposite, in fact.” 

Sam’s expression is puzzled at first, eyebrows pinched in confusion — then Cas witnesses the metaphorical light bulb illuminating as his eyes grow wide. “Oh… OH!” His mouth spreads into a wide grin. “Well then, I guess this is your lucky day!” 

Castiel feels the heat of a blush flashing across the back of his neck and across his face, his embarrassment warring with a sense of outrage. “Sam, no!” he hisses. “Dean is not expressing affection of his own volition. He’s been compelled!” Castiel drops his gaze to his hands, surprised to find them clenching again. “It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of his condition, regardless of my feelings for him.” 

A snort from the other side of the table has Castiel glancing up from his hands to see a smirk on Sam’s face. “Believe me, Cas — those feelings are real.” The smirk dissolves as his jaw drops. “I wonder…” 

His musings are interrupted by Dean breezing into the library, a plate in each hand. He sets the plate with a single burger in front of Sam, then swings around the table to sit next to Castiel, sliding the second plate with two burgers in front of himself. He leans over to drop a kiss against Castiel’s cheek as he grabs a burger off the plate. “Dig in, babe,” he murmurs, his warm breath brushing over the shell of his ear causing an involuntary shiver to rattle down Castiel’s spine. 

Dean leans back and winks at him, grinning as he takes a big bite of his burger; and Castiel’s blush burns across his skin again. He grabs the remaining burger and takes a big bite in a vain attempt to distract himself from Dean’s uncharacteristically forward behavior. 

God help him, he’s enjoying this new flirty, attentive Dean.

“So, what were you guys talking about?” Dean asks between bites, and Castiel almost chokes on his mouthful. Sam covers wonderfully, though. 

“Just discussing the case,” he says. “Cas told me you took a hit. How’re you feeling?”

Dean’s grin widens. “Feelin’ pretty great, actually,” he says as he drops another wink at Castiel. “Cas says I was unconscious when he found me but I really feel fine now.”

Sam leans back in his chair and puts on an air of nonchalance. “So you don’t… feel any different? Anything strike you as being different at all?” He glances up at the ceiling. “Like, oh, I dunno, how you feel about Cas?” 

Castiel’s head whips from where he’d been staring at Dean to gauge his reactions to Sam’s questions to Sam himself, panic at his directness crawling up his throat and causing his heart to play hopscotch in his chest. Sam has the audacity to wink at him, but then he startles and whips back around when he feels Dean’s hand take his own, his eyes widening as Dean raises it to his lips and looks directly into his eyes.

“Nope, I’m still totally hung up on this guy,” he says softly, lowering his hand and giving it a squeeze, then raising his free hand to stifle a yawn. “But I am pretty worn out.” He stands, pulling Castiel to his feet and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close; Castiel’s heart feels like it’s going to beat its way right out of his chest wall. “Think I’ll turn in. Can you handle the dishes, Sammy?” he asks, nuzzling Castiel’s hair and humming in contentment.

Sam, the terrible person he’s suddenly become, nods gleefully. “You bet! You lovebirds should hit the sack.” He stands, gathers the dishes, and heads to the kitchen, throwing yet another wink over his shoulder as he turns the corner into the hallway leading to the kitchen.

Dean finally pulls away from him and turns, leading Castiel towards the living areas — and presumably, Dean’s room. Castiel feels panic creeping up as they walk down the steps into the war room. He knows he should stop this — tell Dean the truth, that the witch’s spell is compelling these feelings from him. But he finds he is unable — or rather, increasingly unwilling — to say anything, and the guilt gnaws at him.

But — this is everything he’s ever wanted and never thought he could have. And Dean is the happiest Castiel has ever seen him. Should he really deny Dean — or himself — this happiness? 

Haven’t they both suffered enough? Sacrificed enough?

The witch did say he had given Dean a great gift. Who was he to look this gift horse in the mouth?

But as they reach Dean’s door, the guilt forces him to at least say something.

“Dean.” Castiel pulls him to a halt and he turns to face him; Dean’s eyes, drooping with weariness, suddenly soften as he reaches a hand behind Castiel’s neck to pull their foreheads together, and closes his eyes.

“So, I know we haven’t really… y’know, slept together yet,” Dean says, his voice hesitant, uncertain, “and I know you don’t really sleep, but…” Then those green eyes open and meet Castiel’s, thumb stroking his cheekbone and taking his breath away again. “Could you… just stay with me? At least until I fall asleep?”

Just being with him, laying beside him, even if just to watch him sleep. It’s more than he’s ever had and ever thought he could. That wouldn’t be a violation, Castiel reasons, and nods.

“Of course, Dean.” 

~~~ *** ~~~

A thin stream of daylight streaks through the skylight over Dean’s bed and strikes his head, the red and gold highlights in his hair sparkling in the light. Castiel can’t help himself, reaching toward the pillow next to him to gently run his fingers through it — not enough to wake him but just to watch the light dance — and wonders if sleep had broken the spell. 

While Dean had only asked for Castiel to stay until he fell asleep, as soon as he’d laid nervously beside him — having stripped down to his boxers after Dean expressed confusion when he lay down on the bed fully clothed — Dean had turned into some form of human octopus, legs and arms curling around him and pulling him close, head on Castiel’s shoulder and nose buried in the crook of his neck. Dean was asleep moments later, Castiel reasoning that he must have been very tired indeed to have managed to do so over the jackhammer of Castiel’s heart. 

So all through the night, he lay there, Dean’s warmth pressed against his body, his soft snores against his neck, and he argued with himself. 

The spell is causing him to act like this — Dean would never want this, one voice in his head reasoned, while another argued, but Sam did not seem concerned — why? That was indeed a good question, and one he would need to address as soon as he could extricate himself without waking Dean. 

But when Dean finally rolled over, releasing him… Castiel found it impossible to leave him. The thought of Dean waking up without him there — would he be sad? Disappointed? The spell might exacerbate his fear of abandonment… perhaps even give him nightmares. No, he couldn’t do that to him, not in his current condition.  

Or so the voice in his head reasoned, the other voice moving down and settling uncomfortably in his stomach. He didn’t get up and seek out Sam — instead, he rolled over and curled against Dean’s back, pulling him close, and Dean sighed contentedly in his sleep and snuggled back against him. 

If this is so wrong… why does it feel so RIGHT?

But of course, the feeling in his gut wouldn’t let him alone. Would Dean wake up and wonder what Castiel was doing in his bed? Would he be angry? Or worse, disgusted? 

Castiel freezes as Dean’s eyes flicker open, the sunlight striking them and turning them verdant. His lips stretch into a soft, sleepy smile. 

“Hey, good morning sunshine.” 

Castiel releases the breath he’d been holding as Dean rises up on an elbow and leans to press that smile against his lips. The kiss was chaste but oh so sweet, and Dean sighs contentedly as he lays back down and stretches, the sunlight playing across his bare skin turning Castiel’s mouth dry. 

He swallows and manages to croak out, “Good morning, Dean.” The lingering guilt bubbles up and he asks, “How are you feeling?” 

“Like a million bucks.” Dean glances back over, his eyes wide. “Did you stay all night?” Castiel nods, timidly, worried over Dean’s reaction to the admission, but Dean’s eyes go soft. “I’m sorry, that must have been boring as hell.” 

“No, it was very enjoyable,” Castiel blurts out and only an act of extreme control prevents him from slapping a hand to his mouth, but it is rewarded by a bright smile from Dean. 

“Was it, now?” he teases, eyebrows waggling. “Do I have to worry about my chastity?” 

Castiel feels the hot flush darken his skin and Dean must see it as well, bursting into laughter and pulling Castiel against him. “Just teasing, sweetheart,” he says, but with a wicked grin, he whispers into Castiel’s ear, “but for future reference, I’m down with somnophilia if you are.”  

Castiel wonders if blood remains in any other part of his body, as it feels as though every drop has rushed to his face, and Dean laughs once more before kissing him again — not quite so chaste this time and leaving Castiel breathless when he pulls back, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s hair before settling on his jaw, thumb stroking his cheek.

“C’mon, sunshine, time to get up. I’m starving and in desperate need of coffee.” 

Castiel nods dumbly, and with a final peck on Castiel’s lips, Dean rolls out of bed, pulling on sweatpants and a t-shirt. After a moment to collect himself, Castiel follows suit, redressing in his suit and tie before pulling the trench coat back on, a feeling of resolve settling over him as he does so. He must talk to Sam as soon as he’s up today. 

He turns to find Dean looking him over and sighing. “One of these days, I’m gonna get you to wear something else — even if it’s just here in the bunker.” The wicked grin returns as he comes closer, his fingers settling around Castiel’s tie and using it to pull him near. “Although the tie does have its uses,” he says softly before pressing another kiss to his lips, the tip of his tongue sliding along the seam.

Castiel’s resolve slips and with a soft sigh, his lips part for Dean’s tongue. Dean groans against his lips, his hand sliding from the tie to Castiel’s jaw, tilting his head and kissing him harder; then Castiel is being pushed backward and up against the wall, Dean’s hand moving behind his head to protect it while the other grasps his waist to pull him in tighter. The unmistakable hard line of his erection presses against Castiel and he gasps against Dean’s mouth. Dean hums and breaks the kiss, lipping down to Castiel’s neck and rolling his hips, eliciting another gasp. 

Castiel pulls the final vestiges of his resolve together, managing to get his hands to Dean’s chest and weakly pushing him back. “Dean,” he pants, “we have to stop.” 

The hurt look on Dean’s face is almost enough for his resolve to slip again, but Castiel holds on to it desperately, like a drowning man grasping a floating bit of wreckage. “Please… I have to talk to Sam.” 

Dean’s face darkens. “Sam? It’s not like you have to ask his permission, Cas.” He steps back, arms crossed. “We’re both adults and it’s a free country. We can do what we want.”

Castiel sighs. “It’s not that, Dean.” He casts his eyes down so he doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Dean’s face. “It’s about the case yesterday.” Dean opens his mouth to protest and Castiel cuts him off. “Please, Dean. Just let me talk to Sam first.” 

“Fine.” Castiel glances back up as Dean pivots on a heel and heads for the door. “Do what you gotta do. I need coffee.” He storms out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he heads for the kitchen.

Castiel leans back against the wall, closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths to collect himself. Finally, he pushes away from the wall and goes in search of Sam. 

~~~ *** ~~~

He doesn’t have to go far as Sam almost runs him over in the hallway, walking briskly from the direction of the Library. “Cas! What happened?” He grasps Castiel’s arm, eyebrows pinched in concern. “Dean just came stomping through the library on the way to the kitchen.” 

“He, um…” Castiel searches for the words to explain that would invoke the least amount of embarrassment for them both. “He was very… amorous and I asked him to stop so I could talk to you before… well, anything untoward could happen.” 

Sam at least has the decency to look startled before bursting into a gale of laughter, and Castiel bitterly wonders if Sam’s soul really was returned intact. “Oh! Well, that’s better than what I thought had happened!” His laughter dies down to a chuckle but his eyes are still dancing merrily as he clasps a giant palm onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I thought maybe the spell had worn off and he lost his shit when he woke up to find you in bed with him!” 

Castiel’s ire diminishes and he nods. “That was my concern as well, but the exact opposite occurred.” His statement sends Sam into another round of chuckles, his hand dropping from Castiel’s shoulder as he bends over in his mirth, and Castiel sighs. “Sam, please. Can we focus on the issue now?”

Sobering, Sam straightens and nods, laughter still in his eyes but mercifully not on his lips. Clasping an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, Sam guides him back down the hallway to the Library. 

“I’ve actually been up for a while doing some research and I think I’ve discovered what the witch did to Dean,” Sam says as they cross the War Room and into the library. The table where they had been sitting the night before was now strewn with books. He releases Castiel’s shoulder and picks up a nearby notepad, covered with Sam’s neat script. “I think it’s an uninhibiting spell.”

Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “Uninhibiting spell?”

Sam takes a seat at the table and gestures to the one across from him. Castiel sits, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. “So, last night when I asked Dean how he was feeling and he said how great he felt — remember what else he said?” 

Castiel nods. “He said he was…” He pauses, feeling the blood rushing to his face again and amazed how the rest of his body continues to function with the continued lack of blood flow. “He said he was ‘still totally hung up’ on me.” His hands writhe together on the table in his embarrassment… but oddly, he feels a sense of lightness, a fluttering in his stomach as if a swarm of butterflies had taken up residence there.

Sam snaps his fingers and points. “Exactly!” 

Castiel sits back in his chair and glowers. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say, Sam.” 

“C’mon, Cas… think about it. When does Dean ever say he’s fine? Or admit his feelings for anyone, even me?” 

Castiel begins to see where Sam is coming from, but still… “I see your point. But Sam…” He stops, eyes dropping and the fluttering in his stomach souring. “Dean does not care for me in that way.” The words are like ash in his mouth, the memories from last night and this morning like white-hot blades to his heart. 

Sam snorts. “That is one hundred percent not true.”

Castiel’s head jerks up to shoot a glare in Sam’s direction, puzzled at his recent behavior. Sam is fully aware of his affections for Dean, and it is not like him to be callous or cruel, making light of other’s feelings, and yet… The look on Sam’s face gives him pause; his face is open and honest, and even… exasperated?

Could it be true? Is it possible Dean actually returns my feelings?

Just then, the stormcloud that is Dean rounds the corner of the hallway coming from the kitchen. “What’s not true?” he demands, setting his coffee cup roughly on the table before yanking out a chair and falling irritably onto it.

“That you’re not crazy in love with Cas.” 

An involuntary squeak leaps from Castiel’s mouth as his head snaps towards Sam, eyes wide in panic at his bluntness. He cringes when Dean loudly scoffs.

“Well, that’s absolutely not true.” He turns toward Castiel and then visibly deflates, all earlier ire dissolving like salt in water. “Although I can see why you think I don’t love you after how I’ve been acting.” He turns in his chair and reaches over to take Castiel’s hands. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he says softly, raising Castiel’s hands to press a kiss into each one, then glances up through his lashes, that wicked grin returning and Castiel braces. “But please, the next time you don’t wanna have sex, don’t use my brother as an excuse.” 

Sam, who had tipped back in his chair to watch the exchange, flails as he loses his balance and almost falls over backwards before recovering with a gasp, followed by a bellow of laughter — but Castiel barely notices, having completely forgotten the necessity of breathing. 

“Oh my God, Dean,” Sam wheezes in between guffaws, “We absolutely have to get this curse off you.” 

Dean’s eyes snap away from Castiel to Sam. “Curse? What curse?”

“The curse the witch placed on you, of course.” Sam sobers, shoving the notepad across the table, Dean snatching it up and reading as Sam continues. “You were zapped by a curse that removes your inhibitions…” He smirks. “Especially, it seems, the ones related to that river in Egypt you’re so fond of.” 

Castiel turns a puzzled glance at Sam. “What does the Nile River have to do with this situation?” He sighs in exasperation as both brothers burst into laughter. “I don’t understand that reference.” 

“I’ll explain it to you later, Cas,” Dean says, then sobering, turns his attention back to Sam. “So you’re saying this… curse… is making me love Cas?” 

Sam shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… finally… getting you to openly admit it and act on it.” 

“Huh.” Dean sits back in his chair, his expression thoughtful, then turning resolute. “Then I say we leave it be.” He turns to Castiel, taking his hands again. “I don’t want to go back to being afraid…” He swallows, and continues, “Or being in denial of loving you, Cas.” 

That metaphorical light bulb goes off in Castiel’s head. “De… Nile.” 

Sam snorts and Dean rolls his eyes.

Then the lightbulb grows brighter. “You mean…” He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, the fear of being rejected — mistaken — too much for him to bear.

But Dean must know what he was about to ask, sliding from his chair to kneel before him, his eyes earnest and filled with honesty. “Yes, Cas. I love you. One hundred percent. One thousand percent.” Dean turns to glare at Sam over the top of the table. “And I don’t want to lose this. Ever.”

“You don’t have to, Dean.” Sam leans forward across the table. “You can choose to be honest with your feelings even after we remove the curse.” 

Dean rises, pulling Castiel up with him and into a spine-popping hug. “I don’t want to lose this,” he whispers into Castiel’s ear. Then suddenly, and much to Castiel’s surprise, Dean pushes him back, hands clasping his shoulders. “Waitaminute.” His green eyes go wide, hope and disbelief at war in them. “D-do you… do you love me too?”

“Yes, of course. Hasn’t it been obvious?” Castiel’s eyes narrow in confusion. Is it possible Dean hasn’t been aware of his feelings? How absurd. 

Dean sighs, pulling Castiel back into a hug, to his delight. “I guess I was blind as well as stupid.” 

Castiel returns Dean’s hug, relishing the ability to finally do so without reservation. “Not stupid, Dean. Just stubborn.” 

Dean pulls away enough to press a light kiss to Castiel’s lips, breaking it to press his forehead to Castiel’s. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” 

Loud throat-clearing echoes in the room, and they snap out of their reverie, turning to Sam. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Castiel turns back to Dean. “It’s up to you, of course,” he says, staring into those amazing green eyes so full of love, but becomes aware of a gnawing fear growing in his stomach. 

If they reverse the spell, it’s entirely possible Dean will snap right back into his usual modus operandi — stubborn denial of his right to happiness, to love and to be loved in return. 

But on the other hand, while Castiel wants Dean’s love more than anything else in this world, he wants it honestly — not coerced or forced. 

“It’s up to you,” he repeats, “but I hope you choose to reverse the spell.” 

Dean nods, eyes downcast. “I don’t wanna be a puppet. I want…” He pauses and takes a deep breath, the eyes meeting Castiel’s full of determination. “I will do this — feel this — honestly.” Another quick kiss and he turns back to Sam. 

“Let’s do this.”

~~~ *** ~~~

Castiel paces the hallway outside the infirmary. 

He walks to one end, pauses, walks back. As he passes the door, he pauses briefly and listens; but only for a second, the fear taking hold and pushing him to move again, to the other end of the hallway. Turn, repeat.

Each time he pauses at the door, the fear that he’ll lose Dean forever grows, burning in him like hot ash. 

He had helped Sam gather the ingredients for the spell but could not bring himself to participate — asking Sam to question Dean after the spell was over and come to him personally to break the news to him gently rather than be there to witness it for himself.

It was cowardice, pure and simple. He admonishes himself for it — he should be there for Dean, come what may. But there are just some things he cannot bear, and having Dean reject him outright without a buffer is the greatest of them. 

He almost has a heart attack when he hears the door to the infirmary open behind him. He pauses in his march, the fear choking him, rooting his feet to the floor.

“Cas?” 

Dean’s voice, soft and almost timid, is the thing that finally loosens his feet; slowly, hesitantly he turns, his eyes rising slowly to see Dean at the doorway. 

He swallows past the lump of fear in his throat. “Hello, Dean.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his shoulders, steeling himself for the inevitable. “How are you feeling?”

Dean walks toward him, steps echoing in the hallway. Castiel freezes as Dean stops in front of him; waits and tries to push down the anxiety as Dean stands silent before him.

“I feel…” Dean starts, then hesitates. He takes a deep breath, starts again. “I feel… good.” He smiles, shy but with a hint of the determination from before. Castiel’s breath catches as Dean reaches to take his hands.

“Please, Cas… have patience with me,” Dean sighs softly, staring down at their joined hands. “I remember everything… everything I felt from, y’know, before…” He pauses again, the struggle to overcome his barriers evident and Castiel has never been more proud of him. “It’s still there, but… I have work to do.” Dean looks up to stare into his eyes and it’s all Castiel can do to keep from collapsing from relief and joy — Dean may be struggling to express his feelings, but his eyes are full of all the love he’s currently unable to say.

But Castiel has no problems with expressing himself. 

“I love you, Dean. I will wait for eternity for you to be ready, if that’s what it takes.”

Dean sighs in relief and leans forward to touch his forehead to Castiel’s. “It won’t take that long, I promise.” 

EPILOGUE:

Rowena’s eyes flutter, the cloudy grey dispersing and returning to their usual hazel green. She breathes a satisfied sigh.

“Was the spell successful, my Queen? Did I do well?” She glances down at the slight young man kneeling before the throne, the black eyes somehow conveying hope of receiving her praise… or perhaps it’s fear of being the recipient of her displeasure. Eh, either is good.

“We’ll see,” she says, her voice lilting in exaggerated nonchalance, but she takes pity on the young demon. “But it looks promising.” She waves her hand in dismissal and the demon scurries away happily — or as happily as a soul condemned to Hell can be, she supposes.

She steeples her fingers, tapping the tips to each other in contentment. Promising, indeed.

The stools in the throne room catch her eye and she can almost see them sitting there, tense and rigid in each other’s presence. “FIX IT!” she had admonished them then, and it seemed like maybe they might have on their own — but she has always been impatient, and knows all too well the price one pays when they’ve waited until it’s too late. 

She had been watching, and waiting, and growing more impatient with them but unable to act — even the Queen of Hell has her limits — until she encountered the young demon, a former witch fresh from the rack, and an idea blossomed. 

Taking the young demon as her personal servant, she had instructed him in the spell that would loosen Dean’s inhibitions, cultivating him until she was sure of success, then laying a trail for the boys to follow. The spell went off without a hitch — well, except for the little idiot almost being caught by a surprisingly powerful Castiel. Who knew seeing the love of his life unconscious on the floor would elicit such a powerful response? She smiles slyly to herself, thinking of other fun ways she might prod that response from the angel in the future. Could come in handy.

A surge of pride overcomes her — she had been counting on Samuel, her all-too-short protégé, to pick up on the nature of the spell and find a counterspell for it, and she was so very proud of him — followed by a momentary stab of sadness. Oh, the things she could have taught him if it wasn’t for that pesky little tyrant Chuck! 

A wicked, leering grin curls her lips. Of course, there was more to her plan than simply helping a hunter and an angel — both of whom at one time actively pursued her demise — find love and happiness. Fostering that love and devotion was the ultimate weapon for her revenge against Chuck. For she knew at some point in the near future, there would be a confrontation between him and the Winchesters — one didn’t need prescience to see it, it was clear as a bell to anyone with eyes — and an angel with an attachment to the elder Winchester even more profound than the original bond between them on their side would certainly seal Chuck’s doom.

Ahhh, but it is GOOD to be the Queen!

[deanswaywardgirl]

Having Faith

A/N: So, this is something I came up with in the shower. Don’t ask me how or why, but that seems to be where I conjure up my ideas. I call them my “Shower Fics”. Anyway, this could be just a part 1, y’all let me know what you think, and I think if there is a part 2 in the future, I think I’d like to do a collaboration, maybe even turn it into a mini-series or even longer. I’m letting Faith control this story. It’s her story, I just write it down. So, let me know. Enjoy!

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: angst, heartbroken Dean (face it, it's a warning. When Dean cries, everyone cries)

Faith paced back and forth in her room, the book of instructions on the Malek box, that Billie had given Dean, in her hand. "Dammit!" she growled, her eyes glowing blue as she threw the book, putting a large hole in the wall. She sank onto the edge of the bed, before standing and running her fingers through her hair again. She sat back down on the bed and held her head in her hands, going through any and all options in her head. But one option stood out above all others. She stared at her alarm clock, noting that it was almost three in the morning, her mind flashing back to the last words her and Dean had spoken to each other.

"The Malek Box is not an option, Dean, we're not going down that road," Faith said, dropping her duffel bag down on the map table. She moved towards the whiskey and took a large swig directly from the bottle, too pissed off to pour any into a glass. 

"Faith, Billie said--" "Dean, I don't give a crap what Billie said. Screw Billie and her damn rules. I care about you and Sam and what this means for you. Do you have any idea how severe this plan is, any idea what it means?" "Yes, it means Michael goes down for good. It means saving this world, and every other world that exists. It means saving my family: Sam, you, Cas, Mom, and everyone else." "And what about us, Dean? Even if we help you go through with this crap, do you really think we'll sleep better at night, knowing you're a thousand leagues under water fighting this douchebag archangel for all eternity?" Faith swallowed hard as she moved towards him, tears falling down her cheeks. "Dammit, Dean, he will never let you die. You will never have peace, you will never rest, you will never see the light of day ever again." "Do you think I don't know that, Faith? I am terrified when I think about this, but I have to do this. I have to save you and Sam, I have to save the world." "Not like this, you don't, and you're not. I won't let you." "You're not gonna let me?" "Hell no!" "How are you gonna stop me?" Dean asked, keeping his eyes on hers. Faith shook her head and bit her bottom lip, then punched him and stormed off down the hall to the room she'd claimed when she wanted to be alone.

The two hadn't spoken since, and that was two days before. Leaving her room, she headed toward Sam's room, each step of her plan falling into place in her head. It broke her heart to do it this way, but she had to save her boys, she had to save Dean. From Michael and from himself. Swallowing hard, she found Sam in the kitchen and stood there, watching him for a moment, memorizing everything about this man with a beautiful soul in front of her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of saying goodbye to the man that had become her best friend and her brother.

"Faith? You alright?" Sam asked, bringing her out of her reverie. Faith took a shaky breath and moved toward him, watching as he stood up. She moved directly into his arms and held on tightly, breathing in his scent. "You know I love you, right? You know I'd do anything for you and that you're my brother, right?" she asked, then glanced up at him. Sam glanced down at her and smiled softly, then kissed her forehead. "Of course I know that, Faith. I love you too. What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. Faith smiled softly and slid her hands into his. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that, okay? It's almost three in the morning, Moose, go to bed. You can look for a way to save your brother in the morning." "I know, I just feel like every minute counts. He's not backing down on this one," Sam said, sitting back down. "We gotta save him, Faith, I don't know what I'll do if he goes through with this plan of his." Faith nodded and smiled softly. "I'll save him, I promise, Sammy. Goodnight," she said and left the kitchen, headed to the library to get the mind machine that Tonie Bevill had used on Dean and Mary. 

She swallowed hard as she wheeled it to Dean's room and parked it just outside his door, then slowly poked her head in and noticed he was laid out in his bed, his arms over his chest. She took a shaky breath and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Dean?" she whispered, swallowing hard. The man opened one eye and closed it again. "Faith. Something on your mind?" he asked, then opened one eye in time to see tears fall down her face. "I'm sorry," she said, and watched as he moved closer and took her into his arms, holding her tightly. Faith cried into his shoulder and held on tightly, threading her fingers into his hair as she inhaled his scent. "I love you so damn much, Dean Winchester."

"Shh," Dean whispered and pulled back, cupping her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes as he held her tight in his arms.

"Dean, you mean everything to me, so I have to do this," she whispered and pulled back to look into his eyes, stroking his cheek. "Forgive me," she whispered and placed two fingers against his forehead, putting him to sleep. 

She placed her other hand on the back of his head and lowered him back down onto the bed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "I love you, Dean." She stood and adjusted him so he was comfortable, placing his legs on the bed. She moved to the door and pulled the mind meld machine into the room. She hooked Dean up to it, then herself and laid down beside him and took his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She closed her eyes and focused, and soon was back in Rocky's Bar, sitting across from Dean. 

"Hey," she said, smiling apologetically before standing and moving to the walk in freezer. "Faith, what are we doing back here? What are you doing?" Dean asked, attempting to stand. Faith turned back to him and pulled out the archangel blade from her jacket.

"I'm saving my family, Dean. I'm saving you," she said and moved toward him and knelt down. "I meant what I said. I love you, Dean, and I will save you from this son of a bitch." She stood up and kissed his forehead before moving to the freezer and pulling out the ice pick. She stood back and stood protectively in front of Dean, swallowing hard. "Come on out, you bastard. I know you're in there. I have an offer for you," she called, breathing shakily. 

Soon, Michael came out of the freezer, his eyes full of anger. Sensing his anger toward Dean, Faith held the archangel blade up, her own eyes glowing blue. "Hello, Father." "Faith, Faith, Faith," he said, smiling at her, taking a few steps forward. "I'm impressed. You went through all this trouble to break me out of this rat hole of angst and daddy issues." Faith snarled and clenched her jaw before tightening her grip.

"I came to make you an offer, Michael." "Faith, don't do this," Dean said. Faith closed her eyes and let a single tear fall before facing her father again. Michael smirked and clasped his hands together in front of him. "I'm listening," he told her, his expression impassive.

"Deal of the millenium. You leave Dean and you can have me instead. Take your real sword, me, and leave Dean in peace. He lives, you live, I live. Everyone goes home happy." 

The archangel laughed and moved to circle her, only to stop when she moved closer to Dean. "No, you're not coming anywhere near him. In fact, you make a move on him, you'll be dead before you hit the ground, you understand me?" she asked, swallowing hard. Michael's brow furrowed as he watched her. "What makes you think you're my sword and not him?" he asked. Faith gave him a cold smile. "Please. It's not like you love me. I'm a weapon, I was supposed to lead your piss poor angel army against Lucifer's, while you fought Lucifer. Love requires a heart, Michael, and using Dean's heart doesn't count." "Dammit, Faith, stop this," Dean growled behind her.

"No, Dean. This is the only way you stay alive, and Sam keeps his brother. You two need each other more than you'll ever need me. It's the right thing to do." She breathed deeply and licked her lips, turning her attention back to Michael. 

"So? Leave or die, Michael, it's up to you. It's the only offer you're gonna get in the next decade or so.” The archangel laughed and shook his head. "Faith...this family you seem to care so much about, these Winchesters. You really think they care about you? You really think Dean cares about you? You think he loves you? When you and I leave, he'll be relieved. You'll be one less weight around his neck, and another monster to hunt. And why? So you could be their hero? Their guardian angel?" Michael laughed and licked his lips. 

Tears fell down her cheeks as she blocked out the voice in her head that said he was right and blinked before forcing her eyes back to his. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, Michael. I'll lead whatever army you want me to lead, but you have to leave Dean and Sam alone forever. Or I will drive this knife into my heart, and you'll be short one real weapon." 

Michael turned his eyes to Dean and back to Faith. "You'll come with me willingly?" he asked, approaching her, now standing directly in front of her. "You'll obey my every order, my every command? As if they came from.." he smirked and flicked his eyes to Dean just behind her, "Dean himself. You have to admit, you'd do anything and everything for him. And he wouldn't even have to ask." Faith clenched her jaw, tears falling down her cheek. She swallowed thickly and turned her blue eyes up to Michael.

"Yes. Now, do we have a deal or not?" she asked. "Faith, no, I'm begging you not to do this," Dean growled. Faith closed her eyes as she swallowed hard, dropping her eyes.

"Fine. We have a deal," Michael said and smirked, turning his eyes to Dean. "Today's your lucky day, Dean. Guess you won't be needing that box after all." He winked at the hunter and moved toward the door before turning back and holding his hand out to Faith. "Find a different vessel, Michael, I'm gonna say goodbye to my boys and I'll meet you in an hour at the town line."

It wasn't long before Dean and Faith both awakened from their sleep. Faith looked around and met Dean's eyes. "What did you do?" Dean asked, standing up off the bed. "Dean--" "You made a deal with him, Faith, you made--"

"Dean, I did it for you. For you and Sam." She moved off the bed towards him and cupped his face in her hands. "Dean, I only have an hour, can I please say goodbye to you?" she asked. Dean bit his bottom lip as he looked down into her eyes, then pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "You don't have to go with him, Faith. We can protect you, we can keep you safe. I can. I can protect you," he told her, gripping her waist with his fingertips. "Dean, hey, look at me." Dean moved his eyes down to hers and he swallowed hard. "Listen to me. You and Sam, it was always you and Sam. It was never Dean and Faith, it was never Sam and Faith. I'm not important, I'm not....I'm not a Winchester," she said and cupped his face in her hands, stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. Tears fell down Dean's cheeks as he listened to her.

"Sweetheart, you underestimate how much we need you. How much I need you. You are more important to me than you will ever know," he told her. "I love you more than anything in this world, Faith, and I always will." The girl in his arms shook her head and leaned up, kissing him with every ounce of her heart, every inch of her soul. Dean lifted her up onto his waist and sat on the edge of the bed with her in his lap, then reached up and cupped her face in his hand, earning a moan from her. He moved his lips down her jaw to her neck, gripping her waist in his fingertips, longing to feel her and to feel her touch him. Faith gently pulled back and pressed her forehead against his. "Dean, I only have an hour, or he'll come looking for me," she whispered, tracing his lips with her thumb, memorizing the feel of them. Dean parted his lips and kissed her palm tenderly, holding her hand to his face and leaning into it, his eyes falling closed.

"I can't believe you did this," he said, the tears falling. "I couldn't let you take that box to the bottom of the ocean, Dean. I never would've forgiven myself. Sam wouldn't have either." Dean gazed into her eyes and gently pulled her against him, cupping her face in his hand. "I am so in love with you," he whispered. "Faith, I don't know if I can do this without you," he told her. Faith smiled sadly.

"Dean, baby, you got on just fine before I came along," she told him, "you can do that again. Besides, you still have Sam. You will be okay," she said and kissed his forehead. "I'll be...I'll be okay, knowing you're safe. Miles away from Michael. I'd prefer that to the bottom of the ocean. I'm sure if you asked Sam--" "Sweetheart, hey," Dean interceded, looking up into her eyes, "he's not the only one in my world that matters. You matter to me just as much as he does, Faith. Whether you want to or not," he said with a warm smile. Faith smiled softly and shook her head, then pressed her head against his, cupping his face in her hand. "I love you, Dean Winchester, remember that, okay? Never forget that. And I will always choose you over this world." Dean took a shaky breath and pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her head to his shoulder. Faith breathed him in, closing her eyes as she memorized the smell of the man she loved more than anything. "Goodbye, Dean. I love you," she whispered and planted a tender kiss to his neck before disappearing. The last bit of evidence that she'd ever been there being the sound of wings fluttering.

Sam glanced up when his brother entered the room, and closed his laptop, his brow furrowing as he stood up. "Dean?" A single tear fell down Dean's cheek as he approached his younger brother, swallowing hard. "What is it? What's wrong?" Sam asked, gently clutching onto Dean's shoulder. "She's gone. Faith..." Dean sank onto the floor and pulled his knees up to his chest. "What are you talking about?" Sam asked, his heart sinking in his chest. "She made a deal. Michael's gone...he's got her, Sam." Another tear fell down Dean's cheek as he met his brother's eyes. "She's gone, Sammy. She's gone," he said and swallowed hard, leaning his head back and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. Sam swallowed hard, but stayed beside his brother, also feeling the loss, the silence of the bunker falling down around them like a curtain.

@ellewritesfix05 @chevyharvelle @whispersandwhiskerburn @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior

[mattzerella-sticks]

Desperation, Baby! (coda to 15x19 “Inherit the Earth”, Dean & Lucifer, Dean/Cas, 2.3k, T)

ao3 link

Death took her sweet time parsing through Chuck's book, meaning Lucifer spent longer than he'd like surrounded by his former vessel, his brother, his son, and a man whose obvious longing made him want to vomit. Instead of returning with his prize, Chuck welcoming him back, he must waste his valuable time playing 'nice; with those he can't stand.

Not that it matters. They don't trust him, each member of this ragtag group of survivors watching Lucifer in shifts. Never leaving him alone.

It's Dean's turn now, and he's driving Lucifer up a wall by doing nothing at all save for broadcasting a never-ending supply of feeling. Can he cut the signal without showing his hand, or put Dean's heart to good use?

           It’s pathetic, truly. Lucifer huffs, deflating, sinking further into his seat. Weighed down by obscene amounts of longing that poured freely off Dean like a broken hydrant. Funneled into his awareness because its usual drain was cordoned forever. It flooded these now silent angelic air waves, Lucifer growing more annoyed with each, excruciating second. Until, finally, “Holy hell, can you please quit it?”

           Dean startles from where he stood, jaw tensing. Mouth flattening in a thin line as he glares, “What?”

           “Quit. It. Quitit!” He hisses, leaning forward. Stretches his arms across the table, reaching for Dean. Fingers twitching, Lucifer imagines Dean’s neck between them. “Seriously, you’re giving me a migraine with all your feelings.”

           “Good.” Dean surprises Lucifer with his response. No attempted denial, nor misdirection. His gaze unflinchingly pierced through Lucifer’s vessel, pride bolstering its blow. Lucifer cannot detect any shame that usually clings to his soul, none of that smell lingering. He’s grown since they’ve last seen each other. Stunning character development. “Deserve it, after that dick move you pulled earlier.”

           “You still upset about that?” Scoffing, Lucifer rises. Meanders across the room towards Dean, gaze never straying. Easy since it’s only them. “I thought my gift would have more than made up for that.” He grins, rocking on his heels. A breadth of space separates them now. “How else was I supposed to get in, anyway?” he continues, “Not like if I called as myself you’d’ve rolled out the welcome mat.”

           “But… Cas?” Lucifer savors the taste of his brother’s name, drenched in sadness. Ripped from Dean’s heart in a barely controlled sob.

           “Nasty habit,” he giggles, “Though the results speak for themselves. I mean – you know how easy it was smooth-talking little Sammy when I looked like his ol’ flame, Jess?” Dean doesn’t laugh, snarled lip suffocating Lucifer’s airy mirth. “You’re no fun.”

           “Sorry,” Dean growls, “why don’t you try later when the world’s not ending.”

           “It’s always ending. In one way or another.” Lucifer waves his hand and a chair drags itself over. He straddles it, gazing up at Dean. “If we waited for peace to enjoy life, there’d be no time. Better to… say what’s in your heart, even if it kills you.” He frowns, mockingly, “Or in Castiel’s case… did kill him.”

           Dean slams his fist against the wall. “You have no right –“

           “Timeout there,” Lucifer smirks, eyes glowing red. Reflection of Dean’s entire face, blood rapidly swelling his cheeks. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret…” He holds Dean there, frozen, waits until the other man seems calm. Dips his head, tries catching Dean’s gaze. “If I let you go, will you behave?” Dean remains silent, yet Lucifer hears him. Tunes into his frequency, actively sifting through his frenzied emotions. “Seriously,” he lets Dean go, hunter falling on his ass, “how are we supposed to work as a team if you’re not willing to cooperate?”

           “This… isn’t a team,” Dean spits, “you’re working… with the Empty.”

           “And the Empty’s trying to take Chuck out!” he argues, “So, enemy of my enemy is my friend or all that nonsense –“

           “Go to hell.”

           “I wish I could, but I’m kinda on a short leash.” Bored with Dean’s resistance, Lucifer threads his next few words with seriousness. “Listen, once Betty’s done with the book I’ll flit on out of here and one, two, three – humanity is saved from dear, ol’ dad! We can make this all painless if you’d just trust me, or we can keep doing what we’re doing. I, personally, am tired of this bullshit. Rather be napping back in the Empty, but no…”

           “You should be.”

           “Beg pardon?”

           Dean bares his teeth, roiling hatred knocking Lucifer back a few inches. “You should still be sleeping, back there,” he says, “if anyone were supposed to come back, it’d be Cas. Not… you…”

           “Ah, Castiel, yes…” Lucifer sighs, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Of course, he lacks my raw power and charm, but… yes, you’d trust anything that he said.” Hand on his throat, he affects his vocal cords. Mimicking the other angel’s gravelly tone again, “Dean, please go along with Lucifer’s wishes and help him –“

           “Enough!” Dean kicks at a chair leg, interrupting Lucifer. Tears threaten to pour, dangling from his lashes like morning dew. “If you really wanna play nice, you’d stop doing that.”

           “This is nice, buddy.” Lucifer pokes at Dean’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Why don’t you grow some thick skin, huh? Where’s the real Dean Winchester? That tough guy with endless bravado instead of this sad, sorry piece of shit that’s pining after some dead guy?”

           Dean turns, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That isn’t me. I… he never was.” An intimate confession whispered into ancient brickwork. Meaningful for a different crowd. Except Lucifer shows little care, sarcastic clapping shattering Dean’s moment.

           “Wow, Dean… really fantastic. Amazing!” He climbs off the chair, crouching closer. Tongue dragged over his lips, smile wide. “Your verbose diction astounds me… did you whip that together after my brother got dragged into super hell? Are you still workshopping it – okay if I give you a few notes?” Lucifer pinches Dean’s cheek, poking this rabid grizzly. “At least you’ve got that face. Clearly Cas didn’t fall for your emotional maturity, your observational prowess or timing…”

           He weakly bats Lucifer off him, “You don’t know anything…”

           “I think I know quite a lot,” Lucifer challenges him, “Between the both of us, only I managed to slip inside my tight-ass little brother. Probably why I knew all his little… perversions, although it was clear as day how he felt about you to everyone – well… almost everyone.” His hand settles on Dean’s chest, atop his heart. “Do you know amazing it was, when I slipped my blade through him? You were a buffet that night… fear, relief, hope… despair. I could’ve ended him in that other dimension, but I waited until he crossed back. Knew how much more painful it’d be.”

           “Monster,” Dean says, “Fucking psychopath.”

           “The old me, maybe.” Lucifer teleports, sitting on a nearby table. Legs absentmindedly pedaling, stirring confusion within Dean. “But I’ve been reborn on the right side, Dean. Nobler. I’ve got purpose.”

           “You’ve got a load of shit,” he accuses, standing on shaky legs, “that you’re trying to sell me. Us.”

           “Come on!” Lucifer groans, hands flying skyward, “Isn’t this supposed to be your eleventh hour? How can you be so stubborn? Here I come, with a Hail Mary, and you’re turning your nose up at me like some snob. Like you have better options waiting. All because you won’t work with the Empty –“

           “It’s not just that,” Dean corrects him, “I also don’t want to work with you.”

           He crosses his arms, pouting. “You’re gonna have to suck that up. So the Empty wouldn’t send your boytoy, do you blame them? For a broken, little thing he sure is popular. Who’s to say Cas’d come back once this all wraps up? At least the Empty trusts me.”

           “I guess something has to.”

           “You can, too, if you want.” Lucifer casts his reel wide, waiting. Eyebrows waggling like baited worms. “It’d be a hell lot easier than what you’re doing now. Come on…” he needles, “why is it so hard to believe in miracles?”

           “Please…” Dean says, hiding his face behind his knees. Arms circled around his legs, curled into a ball. “Stop talking.”

           He relents for the time being. Proud of what cracks in Dean’s armor he made. When Chuck sent him, he asked Lucifer to ruffle a few feathers. Mess with their heads, ensure this ragtag group of losers would stay down. Accept their fate, end this miserable experiment called humanity in sadness. “Don’t provoke them too much, though,” Chuck warned, fists curled along his jacket’s lapels, “Betrayals only work when the other side doesn’t expect them. Plot’s stretched thin as it is, bringing you back doesn’t really make sense –“

           “I love you too, dad.”

           “That’s why you need to lay it on thick,” he said, “steer them away from why, keep the action moving.”

           Lucifer stared down at his father, frowning. “Anything else you need?”

           “No,” Chuck clapped Lucifer’s shoulder, nodding. “Just be yourself.”

           Except none of them wanted him. Especially Dean. He wanted… Castiel.

           It’s a little off-script, but Lucifer bets Chuck will enjoy what he plans. Even if it’ll involve his least favorite character. Lucifer hops off the table, grace burning across his body. Razing this vessel’s form, stealing its characteristics and distinguishability. A tall mound of clay left that he molds into a new body. Darker hair, sturdier frame, and bluer eyes. “Dean,” he says, swallowing his laughter. “Dean…” He tries again, sounding exactly like him.

           Like Castiel.

           Dean tenses, “Cas?” Barely audible, Lucifer strained to hear his prayer. That hope, sweetness quickly bittering as Dean digests the scene. “No…” he sighs, mumbling into his legs. “Lucifer, thought I told you to quit it.”

           “Lucifer is gone, Dean,” he lies, kneeling. “I’m here… please, Dean, look at me.” Lucifer grabs at Dean’s head, thankful the other man lets him. Green finds masked-blue, their ‘reunion’ drawing a pained breath.

           “What?” Dean asks, a single tear slipping free. Trails along his cheek until it falls off his chin. “How – how is this happening?”

           “Because of you, Dean.” Lucifer’s hands shift, a thumb smearing that tearstain while he runs fingers through Dean’s hair. “You refused Lucifer’s help, even though what he said was true. The Empty saw and decided, if we were to truly end Chuck, the risk of sending me will be worth it.” Expression darkening, Lucifer leans into dramatics. Lips quivering as he recites his next line, “Though not without conditions, Dean – I… you know I can’t stay, right?”

           “You will,” he says, “Cas – we will… if this book really can end Chuck, and we take him out, what can the Empty do –“

           “Take you,” Lucifer cuts him off. “Take you… Sam, and Jack. I step even an inch out of line and we all get sucked into their being, with no hope of actually defeating my father.” He nearly breaks character, watching how the light in Dean’s eyes flickered before being snuffed. Lucifer regains composure, growling his next words. “You understand this, then? What it means?”

           Dean nods, snaking his hands across Lucifer’s wrists. “Means we don’t have long,” he barks, squeezing tight. “I have to set it right, right now.”

           “Dean –“

           “No, Cas,” Dean talks over him, guiding Lucifer’s hands off where they rested. Silences the disguised archangel by chaining him, making Lucifer a helpless victim. Awe real as he waits for Dean, cowed by longing powerful than his earlier annoyance. “I… I need to get through this because – well, the last time you didn’t let me get a word in edgewise and I, there was a lot left unsaid that I don’t want to stay that way. If we can’t have a future, then at least… at least we have here.” He laughs, choking on it. More tears dance their way down.

           “When you told me you loved me, I couldn’t believe it,” Dean confesses, “and then, when you told me why I – I was… I believed that less. I mean, you… you’ve listened to your heart more than I have. Even if a few of those times it was wrong, everything you did was for love. Knowing you was – that was my happiness. Having you, in whatever way you’d let me. Because there you were, this shining beacon, and for some reason you kept on letting me bask in your glow. I felt I… I didn’t deserve it. That I didn’t deserve you.”

           Dean brings Lucifer’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss along a patch of skin. The gesture disgusts him. “And you were right about how – I thought of myself so… so poorly, it kept me from saying and – and doing things I wish I’d done sooner. All my life I thought there were things I couldn’t have, rules I had to live by, and I never questioned them until you saved me from hell. Literal and figurative. Because of you, I wanted to be a better person. I wanted to be good. But I never believed I could. Then you tell me you loved me… because I was good. I already was the kind of person I thought seemed impossible. I couldn’t believe it. What’s stranger… I didn’t have to believe it, to know it’s true.” Dean smiles at him, Lucifer mirroring his gesture though it pained him. “I’m the person I always wished I could be, and even when you’re gone I’ll still be that person. I’ll miss you, Cas. Always. I’ll miss you, and I’ll love you. I’ll love you always.”

           It happens before Lucifer realizes. Distracted, nauseated by Dean’s powerful emotions, he missed how a hand snuck its way towards his neck. Pinched there, startling him. In that second, Dean forces Lucifer into an embrace. Lips crashing together, Lucifer stays frozen while Dean attacks his mouth. Mewling, whimpering.

           Disgusting.

           He pulls the curtains back, reverting to his previous form. Delights in how Dean senses the change, peeking with one eye as Castiel’s face vanishes. The other man violently hurls himself to the side, gaping at him. “Why Dean,” Lucifer grins, awkwardness heavy in his tone, “if I had known that’s how you felt about me…”

           Dean sobs, wiping at his lips. “How… what the –“

           “You really thought I was Cas, didn’t you?” Laughing, Lucifer towers over him. “I figured you’d catch on but… I underestimated you. And for that I’m sorry.” He devours these new emotions radiating from Dean, eagerly lapping them up. “I’m also sorry that you’ve convinced you deserve a happy ending,” he twists the knife further. Dean flinches, turning. Fleeing. Lucifer shouts at his retreating figure. “That’s not your story, Dean! Don’t ask for more, be happy with what you have!”

           Then, as he waits for his next babysitter, Lucifer’s eyes glow red. “Because soon enough… you won’t even have that.”

[smol-and-grumpy]

Something Just Like This - CH23

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: There’s angst and much fluff in this. I enjoyed writing it. And of course, NSFW

WC: 3963

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N has lived with him for almost a month now and ever since, he has made sure to come home every night. Suddenly, being home sounds more appealing than it ever did.  

Ellen is still grieving, closing the Roadhouse down for good until she’s ready. Which is understandable. The funeral was a small ceremony, with just her closest friend. Dean didn’t attend, even if he was invited too, he just didn’t feel like he had the right to.

Lucifer is a thing from the past by now. Turns out the Feds found the place where he keeps most of the girls and instead of giving himself up to his fate, Lucifer had rather put a bullet through his own skull. So that least that’s a thing less to worry about and Dean doesn’t need to lock Y/N up in a golden cage. Not that she wanted to be locked up anyway, she always found a way to sneak out while Lucifer was still alive, which gave him a couple of heart palpitations.

Dean put Y/N in charge of one of his bars. Had almost had to force her to do it because she refuses to accept help (in any form) from him. It’s always been like that and honestly, even if it’s great and all but he’s getting tired of it. Had to promise her that it’s just for her to have something to do until she can decide what she wants to do next and not because he wants to be the possessive boyfriend who wants to keep tabs on her. He thinks it has a lot to do with the stalker boyfriend she had before, because she absolutely hates to know that someone could watch her every move. 

On a rainy day a couple of days ago, they were lounging on the sofa when she asked him out of the blue, if it would be weird to sign up for art classes at the community college. She thinks that she’s too old but he encouraged her as best he could. The next day, he had cleared out a room for her to set up her art studio in.

She does a lot of portraits, a whole lot of her portraits are of him. Or Cuddles. Or him with Cuddles in bed because sometimes, she leaves the door open when she’s up before him, and the cat comes in to nestle against his body. Dean can be mad all he wants but she just doesn’t care and Cuddles seizes the opportunity every damn time.

There are also fights they have. Of course there are. It’s mostly because he’s doing something stupid that makes her blood boil. Like running late for a date night he promised that he could make, or staying in his office too long when he said that he’ll just be a minute taking the call. There’s also a lot of petty fights he could list off the top of his head. Most of the time she’d slam doors, but there were also times where she just took the car and was gone for hours. He absolutely hates it when she just up and leaves. He can live with slamming doors but her going away, that terrifies him the most. She always comes back though, and he’ll sit down, cheers her up as best he can, and in the end, he could always make her laugh. 

He had made it a habit not to let her go to sleep angry so they tend to talk things through when they are both lying in the dark, maybe it’s easier that way. Easier when you can’t see but can only feel. Apparently, he’s a talker now, too. 

***

He’s sitting on the sofa, his hands fidgeting with his phone while he waits for her to come home. She’d told him that she’ll go dress shopping for the fundraiser. But apparently, she met a male companion which he found out about when one of his men saw her sitting in a café with said guy.

“Hey,” she greets him as she walks in, dropping her shopping bag at the door and Dean stands up.

His heart is racing stupidly fast, he threads a hand through his hair. “Where were you?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did.

“What do you mean?” 

“Who’s the guy you were with?” Dean bites his tongue, closes his eyes because he really didn’t want to be that kind of boyfriend. He reminds himself that she trusts him so at least he should show her the courtesy of trusting her as much. There’s something nagging away at the inside of him, though. Maybe because someone else knew about it before she even told him.

“Are you spying on me?” She gets loud and there’s something in her eyes which Dean detects as disappointment.

Dean scratches at his scruff, “No, but one of my men saw you. It’s just a little weird that my men know more than I do.” There, he said it.

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about this!” 

“Well, maybe we don’t have to argue when you tell me who it was?”

“Did your man also tell you that there was another person at my table? That it was a regular from the Roadhouse and his wife? They were in town for a pregnancy scan and the woman pees so much that she rarely sits still for fucking ten minutes? They just asked if I wanted to get coffee with them and they were telling me their good news!”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes, he’s trying to come up with something. Something that would justify what he accused her of but his brain stays empty. To be fair, he didn’t really accuse her of anything but they both know where this would lead to, even if Dean really doesn’t want to admit it.

“I thought so.” She just says and turns around to leave.

He couldn’t even tell her to stay.

*

Dean tried his best, he really did. Told Bobby to bring around food, got out and bought some flowers and chocolate. Got her favorite wine out of the pantry and opened it. He then waits, and really hopes that she’ll come home tonight too. Like she always does.

As Dean predicted, she comes home not even five minutes after he finishes setting everything up. Walks in with her short legs and from the way she walks, he can tell that she’s still mad.

She stops when she sees the things he pulled out of his sleeves and breaks down crying. 

That went well, Dean thinks. He really didn’t want to make her cry. He’s halfway across the room to pick her up from the floor but she told him to stay where he is. 

She moves to lean her back against the wall, pulls her knees up and hugs them against her chest. “You know, every time I argue with you, I get into the car and drive. I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is that I want to get away from you and go to my best friend, tell them how stupid and ridiculous you are, how you get on my nerves, how you drive me fucking crazy!”

Dean walks over, sits on the floor across from her, his back resting against the kitchen counter. He doesn’t say anything, just listens.

“And then I realize that I have no best friend I can whine and complain about you. I have no one to tell what an idiot you’ve been. No one to tell how happy you make me, no one to tell that I think I might love you.”

He was not prepared to hear that. 

She goes on, “Then, after driving around for a while, I realize that I actually do have a best friend. And the friend is you. You’re the one I wanna talk to when I’m happy. You’re the one I wanna talk to when I’m sad. You get it, you know me. And that’s it, you’re my best friend and my boyfriend and then it hits me that this is not right. It’s not healthy!”

“What if it is?” Dean asks, and adds, “What if I can be both to you and you’re everything to me? Are we less of a couple because we turn to each other? Does that invalidate our relationship and friendship?”

“I don’t know,” She sighs, “I just know that I need my best friend to trash talk about you right now.”

Dean gets up to get two food containers, pours wine into two glasses and carries it all over to the floor. She just looks at him like he’s crazy. He let her take the glass and food container out of his hand before he sits down next to her. 

Y/N picks at her fries, pushes one of them into her mouth. 

He takes a bite out of his burger, talks while he chews, “Did you have a fight with your boyfriend?”

She snorts out a laugh, “Yeah, he’s being ridiculous. He was jealous because one of his men saw me drinking coffee with a guy.” She plays along, and air quotes the word ‘guy’.

“One of his men? Who the hell has men?”

“Yeah, he’s apparently a big bad guy that everyone fears but in reality he’s really a cinnamon roll.”

Dean snorts so loud the food almost drops out of his mouth. 

“Ugh. What an idiot,” Dean says. “Did he tell you that he was sorry?”

“He actually didn’t, but he showed me. Getting me flowers and all that shit.”

Dean takes a sip of wine to wash down the food with, “What a loser, doesn’t he know that you don’t even like flowers?” 

“Right? He probably thinks it’s cute.” She says.

“My advice as a best friend?” He says and tilts his head towards her, sees her raising an eyebrow. “It pains me to say this but maybe you should leave him.”

She chuckles, lowers her face and picks at her fries again. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I think I love him.”

That’s it. He can’t just sit still anymore, pushes his food container and glass out of reach, his hands grabbing her then, manhandling her onto his lap. Her fingers come up to play with the buttons of his shirt. 

“You do?” He asks, he’s sure she can feel his heart beating underneath the palm of her hands on his chest.

“Yeah,” Y/N’s head is lowered down, she’s avoiding his eyes.

He pushes his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up and waits until she focuses her eyes on his.

“I think he loves you too.”

There’s a smile on her face, and he thinks fucking finally because it’s real torture not to see that beautiful smile. 

He pulls her down by the back of her neck, kisses her soft and sweet. 

“You do?” She asks when they part.

Dean chuckles, “Always have. I fell in love the night I saw you and you smiled at me because I think you knew.”

***

Tonight, as soon as he walks through the door, he immediately has to pick up her jacket from the floor to hang it over the hook at the entrance. On his way to the bedroom, he finds her discarded pants. Dean picks that up too, carries it into the bedroom and places it on her side of the bed. Her top is on the floor to the entrance of the bathroom. He goes in, finds more things on the floor. Her bra, her socks, her panties which made a straight line to the bathtub. 

There’s bubbles everywhere as he came to stand before her. Y/N looks up at him, a grin on her face and bubbles on her nose. He purses his lips into a smile, trying not to think that she’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “You leaving your clothes lying around is not a good way to turn me on.”

“No?” She asks with that innocent look in her eyes. 

Strangely it works, even if they both know that she’s not innocent. Not at all. At least not when she begs for him to fuck her faster. Not at all innocent, when she wants him to spank her harder. 

“That’s not fair,” He breathes out, feels defeated.

“What?” She says but she knows because that grin on her face got cocky all of a sudden.

He starts to take off his suit jacket, pulls his shirt out of his pants and unbuttons it, slips it over his head because he can’t be bothered to unbutton them all the way. He looks at her before he unbuckles his belt and there’s a smile of a winner on her face. He hates it, wants to kiss it away. 

Dean drops his pants, takes off his socks and at last, frees his half hard cock. He can’t help it. Still gets hard immediately whenever he sees her. 

“I’m calling big spoon!” She says, moves back and pats the water in front of her to tell him where he has to be.

He rolls his eyes, “You don’t call big spoon.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Dean says, gets in — of course in front of her, and adds, “That’s not how it works!”

“Well, it works for me,” Y/N shrugs before hugging him around his upper body, places her chin on his shoulder. Her hands find the loofah she once bought for the bathtub, and rubs it along his chest and arms. Dean leans back a little more, closing his eyes. “Why is there blood at the back of your ear?”

Shit, he didn’t wash himself good enough at the bunker, was in too much of a hurry to get home.

“Deal gone wrong,” He says, doesn’t lie to her but also sparing her the details. 

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask more, only washes the blood away with the loofah. And Dean’s thankful for that, thankful that she never freaks out when she sees him coming home with blood stains, when he sometimes comes home when the sun’s already up. She’d be asking why but she never presses for more details. Details that Dean would give her if she really wants to know but he’s glad that she never asks.

“How do you feel?” She asks as she places little kisses on his neck and shoulders. 

Her hands skids down his abdomen along his hips, strokes his thighs with just the tip of her nails. It does something to him, he can’t lie.

“Better now.” He says and closes his eyes. “Feels go— holy shit!”

Y/N has one hand around his cock, one cradling his balls at the same time and she laughs into the back of his neck.

“Does this feel good too?” She licks at his throat, sucks at his pulse point.

“Super good.” He closes his eyes back again.

After a while Dean can’t help but fuck up into her fist. He turns his upper body around, seals his lips around hers and kisses her hungrily as she continues to jerk him off.

“Baby,” He’s breathing hard, pulls himself together, doesn’t want to come yet. “I really want to come in you.” 

He likes that the most. Coming inside of her so deep that she leaks him a day later. He loves the thought of her going about her day with his cum leaking out of her, feels a weird sense of pride.

“Come on,” He stands up and gets out of the tub, fishes her out of it and carries her over to the shower. He turns on the shower head and drops her down, helping her clean herself and him from excess bubbles.

Dean’s towels himself off and holds a towel ready for her, wraps her in it and carries her out to the bedroom.

Dropping her off onto the bed, he unwraps the towel around her body, feels like a kid unwrapping its present.

“How do you want me?” Y/N whispers in a playful seductive voice and honestly whenever she uses that voice, he’s ready to give her the world.

He rids himself from his towel, bends down to kiss her. “How do you want me?” Taking her question and throwing it right back at her. 

Dean’s really okay with everything she wants. She’s been experimenting more lately, and had told him that he’s awakened kinks in her she never knew she had. So far spanking and choking are still high on her list, and Dean’s perfectly fine with that. Sometimes she asks to choke him too, and god, he really doesn’t know how he deserves her.

She reads a lot of magazines, and decides that some kinks are really weird and she’s not gonna touch them with a 10-inch pole. However he was surprised that one day when she was sucking his dick, she wanted to go further down. Said she heard it was supposed to feel good for men, and she said it with that seductive playful tone in her voice that Dean couldn’t find it in his heart to deny her that, even if he would have tried. That was the story of how she rimmed his asshole. And to his surprise, he really really enjoyed it and came so hard, he thought he passed out.

“I want you to fuck me from behind.” She has her hand clasped over her face, still feels embarrassed to say things like that and it’s really cute.

“Then get up on all fours.”

He watches her climb up their bed, watch her position herself to face the mirror, because that’s how it is, he still wants to be able to see her and the only condition that he would fuck her from behind is if there’s a mirror somewhere. 

Dean follows her, walking closer on his knees. “On your elbows, sweetheart.” He says and places his hands on both her ass cheeks, spreading them, kneading them. “Christ, look at you, so fucking perfect.”

He brings his hand down, spanking her twice in successive strikes. The light from their bedside tables illuminates the room enough for him to see his hand-prints. He kneads at her flesh, red and pulsing. 

“Fuck,” He says it more to himself as he lowers his face, licks into her pussy, his nose buried in her ass-crack, while his hands spreads her wide open. 

Y/N whimpers and withers, grinding her ass against his face so much that Dean needs to remind her to stay still by spanking her twice more. “Babe, you gotta let me do this in my own time.”

“I want you to fuck me.” She whines, and then she even begs, “Please?”

He lifts his head from her cunt and whispers, “I barely prepped you,” 

“Don’t need prep, I’m ready, likes it when it hurts a little, please, Dean!”

He’s so fucking gone. He knows he should put his foot down, knows he should tell her that she’ll be sore if she won’t let him do this but he’s also fucking weak for her. How can he deny her this?

“I swear, if you’re sore tomorrow I’m not gonna take care of you.” He tries to sound annoyed, but he doesn’t think that it came across that way because who is he kidding? Of course he’s gonna sit down with her and massage her to make things better. 

Dean pushes in two fingers, feels that she’s plenty wet. That’s never been a problem with her anyway, but still.

He spits into the palm of his hands, strokes himself some more before he positions his dick at her entrance. Spreading her ass cheeks, he pushes in, watches as his dick disappears into her wet pussy, groans at how good it feels. 

“You feel so good.” He says, his voice a little broken.

She keens before him, “More. More, Dean. I want you deep.”

Jesus Christ!

He works his hips forward, only stops when he bottoms out. Has to still as not to fucking come but she’s having none of it, works herself forward and back, starts to fuck herself on him. 

“Baby, fuck,” Dean breathes hard, once, twice. Brings his hands down, spanks her once more, just because he can.

“Faster, Dean.”

He brings his hands down again, let them rest on her cheeks and uses it for leverage as he moves his hips faster, harder until he has to slow down because she’s wearing him out.

“On your chest, baby, ass up, stay on your knees.” He says, pushing her forward. “Just like that.”

She has her face on the mattress but her eyes still stare at him through the mirror. 

“Hands back here, spread your ass for me.”

Her hands come up to the back, hold her ass cheeks apart and Dean can see his dick stretching her pussy as it goes in and out. What a fucking beautiful sight.

“That’s it,” He whispers, has to keep himself from drooling. “Good girl,”

There’s a clench of her pussy. Happens every time he praises her. It became his weakness too. 

He sucks in his middle finger, makes it wet and works it along her rim before resting it against her asshole. He pushes in a little, feels it opening up to hug the tip of his finger. “Where’s my finger, baby?”

Y/N’s mumbling something incoherent at first and he has to ask again.

“In— in my ass.”

“In your ass, that’s right. Do you like it there?”

“Shit, yes!” The flush of her face spreads to her upper back. “You can go deeper, the pressure is so good.”

Dean chuckles, “You’re fucking amazing,” 

He starts to fuck her harder again as he works his middle finger in. Wonders if she would let him fuck that hole too, thinks that if she would he wouldn’t survive it because it’s so tight his dick would probably fall off.

When Dean can’t take it anymore, he pulls his finger out of her asshole, spanks her once, twice, before he works his hand around her hip, gripping her tight.

“I’m close. Go on, touch yourself.” 

She props herself back on her elbow, brings a hand to her mouth, licks at her fingers before she brings it between her legs to rub at her clit. 

Her face is all red, it has spread to her throat too and she’s close. He knows it because it got significantly tighter in there.

Dean fucks into her as deep he can, feels his balls drawing up, there’s a tingle in his spine.

“Oh god,” Y/N says, “You’re so deep, fuck.”

She comes then, collapsing onto her chest and buries her face into the mattress, if Dean had closed his eyes to come a second earlier, he would have missed seeing her face. 

He bottoms out, pushes as deep as his dick would go and comes inside of her before he collapses on her back, holds himself up a little as not to crush her. He kisses her shoulder, the nape of her neck.

“I think my soul just left my body.” He breathes and she laughs at that. 

Dean rolls down and away from her to give her some space and hears her whine because his dick slips out. She always hates that feeling. Dean doesn’t particularly love it either. 

He’s laying on his back and spreads his arm to let her nestle herself beside him. His fingers lazily strokes her back, up and down along her spine. “You’re so perfect it kills me.”

She places her chin on his chest, looks him in the eye. “La petite mort.”

And he thinks, yes, that’s fitting. 

CH24

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Made in Heaven

Read Chapter 5 on AO3 here.

“Alright, ladies and gents, let’s do this.” Pamela rubs her hands together. They’re all crowded around a table, having hauled Pamela’s magic crap in. She looks around at them like they’re all gathered around for a campfire ghost story. “So, rumor has it that you can crack into the Empty with an inter-realm spell. So… we need somebody from each of the ball fields: Heaven, Earth, Hell, Purgatory.” 

Charlie whistles. “Great. Well, we got the Heaven side covered. Earth is probably next easiest, right?” 

“Except we can’t run the risk of Chuck finding out what we’re up to. So, down low. Evasive measures.” 

Dean nods at Ash. “Sam’s got a handle on the Earth shit; he’s a little magic freak now. No offense.” he puts a hand on Pamela. She rolls her eyes. “But how do we get a message down to him without setting Chuck off? Not like we can send a halo-ed carrier pigeon.”

They all think on it for a second, till Pamela leans forward. “The veil. If we can contact a ghost, they can haunt Sam and get him the message.” 

Charlie raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t ghosts known for being kind of… crazy? Murderous?”

“Huge dicks?” Ash adds helpfully. 

Pamela shrugs. “We could find one that’s recently died; there’s the possibility they wouldn’t have turned yet. But we’d have to know who we’re contacting, we can’t just put out a classified.” 

Something pings in the back of Dean’s head and he slams his hand on the table. He apologizes quickly because damn near everyone jumps at the noise. “I got it. Kevin. Kevin Tran. He’s in the veil still, and he’s spent a fuckton of time down there, he’d know how to haunt somebody good.” 

“And is he going to want to help us?” 

Dean frowns at Pamela. “What does that mean?” 

“I mean, people don’t usually end well around you, Dean. Case in point,” she motions around the table at all of them. “It’s not your fault but… sometimes there are hard feelings.” 

Dean shakes his head. He deserves hard feelings from Kevin, that’s for sure, but the kid’s awesome. Hell, last time he’d seen them he’d been almost happy, even signing up to stay in the veil forever. “Nah, we can trust Kevin. He’s family.” 

“Alright. Fire her up then, Pam,” Ash is excited. Pamela shoots him a glare for impatience but she gets her shit together anyway. It’s already set up, all she has to do is ask Dean for a few personal details, chant a bit, and she gets through. “We’re asking for Kevin Tran. Kevin Tran, if you’re out there, Dean Winchester wants a word. Well, a few actually. Kevin, can you hear me?” 

The draft spigot turns on by itself, spewing beer onto the floor. “Hey Kev, want a beer?” Dean jumps up and grabs a glass, pumped at the prospect of seeing his friend again.” 

“That’s it, Kevin. You’re doing great. Keep trying, keep locking into that.” 

The candles on the table go out one by one: apparently, Kevin practicing. Dean holds his breath and shuts off the draft spigot, a glass of beer held out in front of him. “Can ghosts drink? Wait, are you even 21, Kevin?” 

“The kid’s dead and you’re gonna huff and puff over the legal age for a Pilsner?” Ash laughs. Dean hands it to him; he has a point. Maybe Jack’s made him a little overprotective of shit like that. 

Kevin appears in front of Dean then, hand outstretched to try and take the beer. His sudden appearance makes Dean spill half of it all over himself. “Son of a- hi Kevin!” he offers the beer out again, and this time Kevin takes it and pours it right through his ghostly figure. “Oh… shit.” 

Kevin deadpans at him. “Yeah, it sucks. Hi, Dean.” 

“How you doing, bud?” 

Kevin shrugs and sighs, looking down at himself. “Well, I’m dead. Still. Dean, you wanna explain what I’m doing here first?” 

Dean nods, grabbing the beer back from Kevin and setting it on the table. He motions for the kid to turn around toward the table set up with witchy shit. “Kevin, this is Ash, Charlie, and Pamela, the psychic who summoned you.” Pamela and Ash both give a flirty wink, which makes Dean turn about three shades of red in the face. 

“Heard a lot, kid.” Ash greets him.

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of any dead guy with such bad luck.” Pamela adds on. And she would know.

Kevin nods with a wry smile. “Yeah, well, that’s just me, I guess. Dead for years, in the veil most of it and hell for the rest.”

“Kev, I’m so sorry-” 

Kevin holds up a hand to stave off Dean’s apologies. “It’s not your fault, Dean. It’s Chuck’s. Tell me you got him.” 

“That’s what we’re here for, man.” 

“Yeah, apparently we’re the Kill God Team now.” Charlie grins and Kevin smiles back. 

“Hell fucking yeah. I can get on board with that. Whaddya need me to do?” 

They all sit down at the table and map it all out. “We need you to get the plan over to Sam, but we can’t have Chuck finding out about any of it.”

“Yeah, so you need to make sure he knows to keep a low profile.” Dean warns. The last fucking thing in the world they need is to lose the element of surprise. Plus, that would put Sam right in Chuck’s crosshairs, and Dean can’t be there to back him up. He curses himself again for dying. 

“What exactly do we mean by low profile?” Charlie asks. “Are we talking cabin in the middle of the woods off-grid kind of low profile or just a Meet the Robinson’s type deal?”

Dean sighs. “Sam needs to stay away from anything Chuck likes to watch.” God, it sounded grimy just saying it. “That means hunting, that means me, that means… Eileen too.” 

“Eileen?” 

“His girlfriend.” It hurts Dean to think about, but- “Chuck’s used them against each other before; he likes them together. So they gotta stay apart.”

“Shit.” Charlie exhales quietly, and Dean nods. It’s unfair. It sucks. It’s Chuck. 

“Tell him to live a normal life. Be as happy as he can. But don’t come looking for me and don’t get interesting. Or Chuck will just fuck with him some more, and if he does that… he’s gonna find out what we’re doing.” Kevin nods seriously. He never gets brought around for fun shit, does he? Dean feels a pang of regret at that. He immediately wants to change it. “But right now, whaddya say we have some fun, huh?” 

The table looks at him like he’s gone nutty. He shrugs and grins. “Come on guys, we’re dead. Don’t we all have a night to spare?” 

He sees Charlie come around first, slow grin spreading across her face. “Fuck yeah, let’s party, bitches!”

It doesn’t take the rest of them much convincing either. Dean has some good-ass friends. “Yo Kev, since you can’t get fucked up, you wanna play some pool?” Ash hitches his thumb at the table behind him. 

Dean laughs. “Ash, you are one cruel son of a bitch. Years of being a friggin’ ghost and you’re gonna whoop him in pool? That’s cold.” 

Ash shakes his head. “Nah man, I’ve spent way more time passed out on that table than playing on it. I’d say the kid’s got a fair shot.” Kevin smiles and shrugs at Dean.

“Hey, that’s more than I’ve ever gotten before; I’ll take my chances” 

They head off to play and Dean grabs a beer to watch, a good one this time. One with the label he and Sam used to buy, the kind that Cas said “didn’t taste as much like the vast expanse of space dust” as the others. Charlie and Pamela follow with their own. 

“So Dean,” Pamela says. “Ash tells me you gotta angel on your shoulder.” She sounds a little weary. Dean figures that’s fair, given her experience with the species. 

“Uh… yeah. Castiel.” He gestures to her eyes. “That one.” Pamela shrugs if off. 

“So make me like him. Charlie here says you’ve got quite the bond.” Dean blushes pink, but for once there isn’t any innuendo behind her voice. At least, none that is teasing. He looks to Charlie, who makes a ‘I didn’t say anything’ face at him and relaxes a bit. 

“Well, uh, he hasn’t burned anymore eyes out,” Dean starts, then reconsiders. “Well, none that didn’t deserve it.” Not really true either. “Well-” 

“He’s super cute.” Charlie cuts him off. Dean blushes deeper. “He gave a whole fuck-you to heaven to save Dean.” Dean blushes deeper still. Why does it sound so… intimate when she says it like that? Pamela just raises an eyebrow.

“Sounds like some ally.” 

“Cas?” Kevin sinks a ball. The kid’s not bad, actually. Ash was right; they are neck-and-neck. “Yeah, he’s awesome. I mean, weird, but cool.” Dean grins. Weird but cool was exactly Cas. 

“Someday, man, I gotta meet this guy.” Ash laments.

“Someday, dude, you will.” Dean vows. Somehow sitting around talking about him with all these guys, he felt confident it was true. “Once we bust him out, you better bet we’re throwing a party and meet-and-greeting everybody. 

“I’ll finally get to tease him for the eyes. You think it’d get him better without the fakes?” She pops her fake cloudy eyes out and waggles her eyebrows at Dean, empty eye sockets looking bizarre on such a cheerful face. Dean laughs. 

“You’re not gonna need to; he already feels shitty for that. He’ll probably offer to heal ‘em, matter of fact.” 

“Well, he won’t get far with that one,” Ash calls over. “Angels been trying to do it for years.” Pamela nods at Dean’s questioning glance.

“Wouldn’t be me without ‘em, now. Who needs sight anyway?” 

“Without eyes you won’t be able to see my pretty face!” Dean bullshits. 

“Yeah, or your brother’s tight ass. Second thought, remind me when Sam gets up here, won’t ya?” Dean makes a gagging noise and Pamela laughs. 

“So you said Chuck’s in your… kid?” Kevin asks skeptically. He misses a shot and Ash hollers. Dean cracks his neck and considers how to answer. 

“Kinda. I mean, yeah. Just not- he’s Lucifer and a human’s, technically.” He starts, realizing Kelly’s in heaven too. They’ve gotta let her in on this, but not now. Not now when Chuck!Jack is probably visiting her as her son; it’s too risky. With how sick he feels at the idea of Jack being Chuck’s meatsuit, well…

He sees Cas. Again. Just for a second, there he is standing outside the window, looking less wounded but more tired than before. He looks like he’s focused on something, like he’s scared, but he also looks transfixed, like he can’t look away. As Dean watches, Cas closes his eyes and mouths something. It looks like he’s counting. “One, two, three.” Dean blinks and he’s gone, and Dean’s left wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

“Dean?” 

“Yeah.” He smiles at Charlie to let her know he’s okay. Ish. “Sorry, uh, so he’s kind of devilspawn but he’s ours. Mine, Cas’s, Sam’s. Long story. But he’s a good kid.” He nods, knowing he oughta give more information, but not really knowing how.

“Who woulda thought, Dean Winchester, a dad.” Ash ribs with a grin. Dean laughs back and nods. His life hadn’t really screamed stability and mentorhood. His death still didn’t.

“Yeah, I… I haven’t exactly been a star father-figure…” Dean shakes his head. The conflict in his head that culminates in Jack is confusing as hell, but three things win him over. The first is Jack’s innocent, naive face looking up at him for any kind of approval or wisdom. A kid. Just a kid. The second is Cas’s face as he smiles at him that one night over a whiskey glass, the prideful joy as he tells Dean he always believed in Jack. The third is the pit in his gut of all the times he acted like his dad to Jack. And no matter what, Dean can’t leave those memories be. He can’t have Jack remember him like that, and he can’t look Cas in the eye knowing he didn’t do everything he could to make things right. “But that’s gonna change, if it fucking kills me. We gotta save him when we get Chuck, guys, we gotta.” 

“We will.” Kevin looks at him with an overly-confident smile. “We can’t lose. You’ve got me, now!”

The rest of them bust out laughing, and Kevin fakes offense. “You’re right, Kev. Don’t know what I’m so worried ‘bout.” 

Tag List (ask to be added or removed):

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus @damian-janus-pendragon

[wanderingcas]

5 times Dean had work to do, and the one time he actually enjoyed it.  pairing: dean/cas a commission for @jensenackhles <3 2k words

One 

Dean first heard the phrase a few weeks after his mom died.

John had checked them into a motel—one of the many that they had cycled through in the past few weeks. Sam was asleep in the crib, and John was on the opposite bed. Dean had woken up to a strange sound; he rolled over and saw John at the foot of the bed, head bowed, shoulders shaking.

Dean had never seen his dad cry before. Even right after the fire, when he was telling the detectives what happened at the police station: completely dry-eyed. So seeing his dad cry was… strange. Dean wanted to make it stop. 

He pushed back the sheets and hopped off the bed. Walking on unsteady, sleepy toddler legs to his dad, he put either hand on John’s knees, looking up at him. John was clutching a worn picture of Mary between his fingers.

“Are you okay, dad?” Dean asked.

John continued to stare at the picture of Mary’s smiling face. After a moment, he sniffed. Wiped his face that was striped with tears with the back of his hand. He ruffled Dean’s hair and said gruffly, “Yeah, kid. I’m fine. Get back to sleep, okay? We got work to do in the morning.”

And the next morning in the car, when Sam was crying in his carseat and kicking up a storm, Dean patted his head and said, “It’s okay, Sammy, shh. Stop crying. We got work to do, okay? So you can’t cry. We got to work.” 

Sam just stared at him with big teary and trusting eyes. Dean didn’t even know what he was really saying at the time; what he was getting them into.

Two 

He didn’t make it a habit to say the words out loud often. He said them more to himself, as a mantra to keep himself on track. But sometimes they would slip out, when he really needed to orient himself: when he really needed to kick his own ass into gear and push down the emotions.

The second time he remembers saying it was when he was 25. He was driving to a case with Danny, the son of one of John’s hunting friends. John was out of commission from a nasty encounter with a wendigo, so they were tag-teaming the ghoul hunt. 

Dean felt his phone buzz, wedged between the driver’s seat and his leg. He pulled it up, glancing at it, just in case it was important. His stomach immediately sank when he saw Sam’s number.

Got to Stanford okay, in case you were wondering. Too hot here. Miss you and Dad. 

The muscles in Dean’s jaw jumped as he clenched it tighter.

“Who’s that?” Danny asked, cocking his shotgun. “Somethin’ about the case?”

“No,” Dean said. He pulled into the driveway of the house where the hauntings were taking place. Eased the Impala into park. “Focus up,” he commanded, cocking his own gun aggressively. “We got work to do.” 

Three 

The seal to the gates of hell are open. Ruby tricked them, and Sam triggered the apocalypse. 

Dean doesn’t know what to say. 

History is repeated again, where Dean is sitting helplessly on one hotel bed, Sam crying on the other. He’s bent at the waist, shoulders hunched, tears silently streaming. 

Dean knows that he’ll blame himself forever. He knows that this might break him. 

He knows he needs to say something.

Getting up unsteadily, he walks over to the bed and sits down on the other side of his brother. The bed creaks from his weight. “C’mon, Sam,” he says into the silence. “We didn’t know, okay? We couldn’t have seen it coming.”

Sam remains silent, glaring at the ground.

A lead in his gut, Dean reaches out a hand, and places it on Sam’s shoulder. “We gotta keep going, okay? We just… we gotta keep fighting. We can’t just sit down and take it.” 

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sam asks. He shrugs off Dean’s shoulder and twists around to glare at him. “Why even try, if I keep fucking everything up? Huh?”

“Because people need us, Sam,” Dean snaps. “We need to finish what we started. We gotta make sure the world is safe, okay? There’s no time to sit around and feel sorry for our damn selves.”

Sam stares at his hands, stonily silent.

Dean stands. Holds out a hand to his younger brother. “C’mon. We got work to do.” 

Sam glares at Dean’s hand for a moment before sighing resignedly. He takes it, and stands.

Four 

When Dean met Cas, a lot changed.

His view on angels not so much: he still thinks they’re a bunch of dicks. But the way that things aren’t always so black and white. That people—angels—can change. That Dean can maybe be… loved. Saved. Worthy of it. 

At least Cas seems to think he’s worth it, anyway. 

He tucks all these feelings into his back pocket; doesn’t want them to see the light of day. Because if they did… well. Then he would have more than his brother to be worried about. And in his line of work, any attachments are frankly a terrible decision.

Except, it’s Cas, and Dean can’t keep his eyes off him. 

And he stares at Cas a lot. He knows he does; it’s almost like there’s a magnet that pulls his eyes to Cas’s face and stays there. Sam notices it; Cas notices it; everyone notices it. Dean just… can’t seem to help it.

Maybe it’s that otherworldly look that he always has on his face. Maybe it’s the perpetual five o’clock shadow that paints his sharp jaw. Maybe it’s because Cas is usually staring right back at him, all up in Dean’s personal space no matter how much Dean complains about it (even though he really doesn’t mind. Not at all. He’d love to have Cas even closer, actually). 

Maybe it’s just because Dean has a damn crush on an angel and he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

“So, you’re sweet on my brother, huh?” Gabriel asks Dean with a leering grin.

Dean snaps his eyes back into the room instead of watching Cas’s back leave the room. “What the fuck? No.” 

Across the room, Sam puts a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Dean wants to punch him so that he’ll finally respect his damn elders.

“Liar,” Gabriel says. 

“C’mon, that weirdo? In a trenchcoat? What are you smoking?”

“He has a… jeno se qua,” Gabriel says with a wave of his hand in the air. “A certain sexiness, if you will.” 

“I’m not sweet on him.” Dean can feel the blood rising in his cheeks, and he hates it. 

“Sure, Dean-o.” Gabriel winks. “Sure.” 

Cas walks back into the roomthen , looking adorably confused, and of course Dean’s blush increases. He tries to look casual as he leans against the wall with a glare, avoiding Cas’s eyes. 

Sam sputters as he tries not to laugh at Gabriel batting his eyelashes in Cas’s direction. 

“Okay, knock it off, you idiots,” Dean snaps. “We got work to do.” 

Cas tilts his head in that adorable way, asking, “What do you want me to knock off, Dean?”

“Your pants,” says Gabriel casually. 

Sam loses it then, bursting into laughter. 

Five 

The apocalypse is done. By some miracle, they all lived through it—Cas, Bobby, and even Sam, who managed to push Lucifer out before throwing him into the pit. 

There’s no imminent danger, no immediate threat—which is probably why Sam decides to bring it up.

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?” Sam asks. They’re sitting at Bobby’s table, each nursing a beer. Sam is still exhausted from his encounter with Lucifer, so he’s not getting out to hunt much these days; they normally spend their nights like this, just soaking in the quiet before the next inevitable storm.

Dean looks at his brother incredulously. “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Sam says. “I’m not an idiot, Dean. I see the way you look at him.” 

Dean grumbles, sipping at his beer. 

“Dean.” Sam sets his beer down. “The world is quiet. For once. The apocalypse is avoided, Michael and Lucifer are in the cage, just—there will be crap that comes up later. It can’t be avoided. But at least now, in this quiet moment, you can figure things out. With him.”

“Just leave it alone, Sam,” Dean sighs. He doesn’t even have the energy to argue with him anymore. Snatching his beer off the table, he says, “Think I’m gonna finish this outside.” 

He ignores Sam’s worried eyes that follow him out of the house. 

Leaning against the porch railing, he sips at his beer, glaring out into the salvage yard. Something familiar catches his eye: a figure wrapped in a trench coat, head tilted back and staring up at the stars. 

Dean takes a steadying pull of beer before stomping down the porch steps. He stands next to Cas, the neck of his beer bottle hanging loosely from his fingers. Cas gives him a nod of acknowledgement before looking back up at the twinkling stars above them. 

Clearing his throat, Dean says gruffly, “So, you thinkin’ of going back there?”

“Back there?” Cas asks.

“To, you know.” Dean waves his beer at the sky. “To Heaven.” 

“Heaven is not in the sky, Dean,” Cas chides.

“Okay, whatever. Just answer the damn question: are you going back?”

Cas lifts one shoulder in barely a shrug. He looks at Dean then, blue eyes sparkling in the night. “I might not go back—if I have a reason to stay.” 

“Well, you might have one,” Dean says. “There’s plenty more shit to take care of down here. Rumor has it Raphael is pissed about you rebelling against the apocalypse, so he’ll probably stir some shit up that you have to—”

“Dean.” Cas turns to him, suddenly very serious. “Do I have a reason to stay?”

Dean can feel his breath catch in his throat. He realizes that he could lie. Could laugh it off with a joke or a snarky comment, like he usually does. But he knows it’s now or never. Cas could leave. He’d do anything to stop that. 

“Dean,” Cas says again. There’s a filter of emotion that comes through to his eyes—it looks like hope. That makes Dean crack. 

“Maybe you do have a reason,” Dean says. “Maybe we want you to, I don’t know—stay.” He looks at the ground. “Maybe I want you to stay.” 

Cas takes Dean’s hand. Dean’s heart rate increases as Cas rubs his thumb against Dean’s calloused knuckles. “I want to stay, too.” 

“Good, that’s, uh.” Dean smiles wide. Steps closer to Cas so that their chests are nearly touching. “That’s good, Cas.” 

+1

Dean asks Cas to marry him six months later on the hood of the Impala, burgers and beers between them. 

He doesn’t see the point in waiting when he just…. knows. Cas seems to know too, since Dean can barely get out the question before Cas is tackling him to the hood and kissing him senseless, whispering Yes between each breath. 

Sam cries when they tell him. Of course. Bobby pretends not to get emotional, but Dean sees him wiping at his face a minute later. The angels are, of course, pissed—but Cas couldn’t care less. 

Apparently Cas had been planning to ask Dean from the beginning—he and Charlie had even been making a wedding scrapbook with Charlie in the past few months.

Cas pulls out the scrapbook to show Dean the next morning, both in their pajamas and sitting at Bobby’s kitchen table. His cheeks are stained from embarrassment, unsure how Dean will take it.

But Dean finds it the least embarrassing thing in the world—he just flips through the pages and pages of wedding decorations, tuxes, and rings, and gets increasingly choked up. He almost loses it when he sees the Enochian words for “Forever” inscribed on a ring that Charlie made in photoshop as a mock-up. 

Dean puts down his coffee, and kisses his fiance soundly. When he pulls back, Cas is smiling, bright as the rising sun. 

Shutting the book, Dean stands, and grabs Cas’s hand with a wink. “Well, Cas. Looks like we got work to do.”

[katehuntington]

Title: All I Want - part three Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester (Bobby Singer, Castiel Mary Winchester and many more mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part three: Still in shock after Y/N’s unexpected return, the Winchesters fill her in on what has happened in the past ten years. Learning about all the ones they have lost, is a little too much for her to take in. Warnings part three: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff. Swearing, alcoholism. Descriptions of flashbacks and memories. Mentions of character death, time in Hell, torture and nightmares. Anxiety, grieving over lost loved one. Confusion that comes with time travel. Word Count: 5377 words Author’s note: Part three of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage​, @winchest09​, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​, and @thinkwritexpress-official​​. Thank you all so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

     “So, long story short,” Y/N summarizes, “Sam jumped into the pit with Lucifer riding piggyback, Cas pulled him out but forgot his soul. There was a civil war in Heaven. Cas declared himself God and released the Leviathan and when those ugly suckers were defeated, our angel buddy and you--” she nods at Dean, “- got sucked into Purgatory, which is a place that actually exists, apparently.”

     They are in the kitchen, seated at the four-person table. The hunters raided the liquor cabinet, all in need of a drink after the rather unexpected and staggering turn of events.      Y/N takes a shot of whiskey and puts the tumbler down on the varnished wood with a bang, shoving it across and motioning the older Winchester for a refill.

     “Meanwhile, Sam hit a dog and you escaped Purgatory, but Cas didn’t. Then there was this whole deal with the tablets and the trials, which almost killed your brother. You let an angel - who actually turned out to be a different angel - possess Sam in order to save him. There’s a second civil war upstairs…” She knocks back her head, downing the glass in one go. “I mean, what is it with those halo idiots? Haven’t they learned anything from watching humanity slaughter each other for centuries?”      “Y/N, I know this is a lot, but you need to slow down a bit,” Dean advises, but she snatches the bottle from his hand and pours herself another.      “I’m nowhere near done. Where was I?” She looks up at the ceiling of the kitchen for a second while thinking, until it comes to her. “Oh, right! The angels fell, you took on the Mark of Cain, beat that Knight of Hell chick Abaddon, then got yourself killed. Again. But, oh wait, it gets better! You woke up a demon and had a fun summer with Crowley.”      Her voice pitches a little higher, a hint of panic audible now. Dean watches her process the information which is so clearly overwhelming her and eyes Sam, who is fixing her something quick to eat behind the kitchen counter. Their gazes lock on each other, both men wondering in silence if telling her the whole truth was a good idea.

     “Sam cured you, but you still carried the Mark. You killed Death.” She laughs, cynically. “I mean, c’mon! Death! It’s ironic to say the least. Anyway, the Darkness was released, which - I kid you not - is God’s sister. Oh, and God? Turns out that horrible tween girl novel writer Chuck is actually the almighty creator! Ha!”      “Why don’t you eat something? You’re probably hungry,” Sam suggests, putting down a plate in front of her.      But Y/N isn’t interested in the sandwich and instead picks up her crystal glass again, having another royal amount of the brown liquor. Holding the tumbler to her lips while letting the whiskey linger in her mouth, she points her index finger at the younger Winchester now, who sits down opposite of the woman from their past.

     “Your mom is back from the dead, the British Men of Letters turned out to be stuck up dicks. Lucifer was sprung from the cage, became President of the United States, and knocked up an intern. He had a son, his name is Jack. How am I doing so far?” she rants, setting down the empty glass in front of her.      Dean looks at her, a worried frown drawing lines on his forehead. He knows her well enough to sense she needs to blow off steam. Interrupting her might not be his best move, but that doesn’t stop him from growing concerned about her current state of mind.

     “There was a rift between our world and this - this Apocalypse world, you called it? And Mary and Lucifer ended up on the wrong side before it closed. Luci killed Cas, Dean was sad, Cas came back. You guys went on a rescue mission, Sam got killed. Again!” She sighs deeply, burying her face in her crossed arms on the table. “Seriously, the amount of times you two have died is giving me a fucking headache.”      “Yeah, sorry about that,” Sam says, shooting her a sheepish smile before she continues.

     “So Apocalypse!Michael possessed you in order to kill the Devil once and for all.” She looks up again, focusing on Dean. “But he didn’t check out like he promised - shocker, by the way. He wreaked havoc here, then out of the blue let you go. And now you guys live here in this Men of Letters bunker with a Nephilim, an angel and your undead mother.”      “That’s about right,” Dean confirms.      Y/N lets a breath slip from her lips and stares past him absently, the gears in her head still on overdrive.      “I need another drink,” she eventually mutters, not even bothering filling up her tumbler, but taking a swig directly from the bottle.      When she sets it back on the table top and lets her fingers slip from the glass, Sam is quick to get up and take the bottle back to the kitchen, putting it away in one of the cabinets; she has had enough for one day.      “And I died…”

     The younger Winchester turns around and leans over the counter while observing his friend, his knuckles white on the surface. He studies the breadcrumbs that litter the stainless steel surface after he cut her sandwich in two, having difficulty addressing that topic. When Lucifer flung her into that wall with such magnitude that it killed her instantly, Dean lost the woman he loved, but Sam lost his best friend. He didn’t realize how he felt about her demise until after he got his soul back, which somehow made it even worse. Like he didn’t do her justice, didn’t mourn like he should have. He doesn’t have to reply to her words, though, because Dean beats him to it.      “On May 10, 2010,” he states, averting his gaze and focusing on his folded hands in front of him, still wrapped around his own whiskey glass.      The date is forever etched in his memory. Her mirage haunts him on a regular basis, but on the 10th of May she’s all he can think about, like a fog that refuses to lift at daybreak. It’s one of the hardest days to get through, the day that he misses her the most. Dean’s jaw flexes and he tries to swallow down the pressure that’s gradually building in his chest.

     “That’s - that’s in a year and a half,” Y/N stammers, after quick calculation. “At least in whatever time I’m from.”      “Yeah, just before the big title fight between the Archangels,” Sam confirms.      Y/N glances up at him, then back at Dean, who still can’t force himself to look at her.      “Who killed me?”      “Lucifer,” Dean recalls, venom in his voice.      Her brow lifts up at the reveal. She was killed by the Devil himself? Well, at least that would make a cool inscription on her tombstone.      “You guys salted and burned me, right?” she double checks, even though she cannot imagine the Winchesters giving her anything but a hunter’s farewell.      Dean pulls at his lip with his teeth, the memory of the burning pyre flashing before his eyes. He remembers it as if it was yesterday. The funeral that made sure her death would be irreversible, permanent. The sight of her body set alight. In order to stop the Apocalypse from happening, he lost his brother and his girl. Sam was suffering endless and horrific torture in the pits of Hell while she was going up in flames before his eyes. God, he was a mess. His brother came home, but looking back now, deep down Dean knows he never really recovered from losing the woman who will forever have his heart.      “I did,” he confirms.      I did, he said. All of a sudden, Y/N realizes Sam was gone too at this point; Dean didn’t even have his brother to lean on. Pitiful she watches the hunter, who has endured so much already. He lost the two most important people in his life in a day’s time.      “Then… how am I back?” she wonders. “You said something about summoning me?”      “We found a magical artifact called the Pearl of Baozhu. It grants your biggest wish, basically,” Sam begins to explain. “Apparently, it’s so powerful it doesn’t need remains to resurrect someone.”      “And I am your biggest wish?” She chuckles. “What? Not winning the lottery? Peace on Earth?”      A small smirk pulls at the corner of Dean’s mouth; oh, he missed her wit.      “No, it’s you,” he states after a moment of quiet, finally meeting her gaze.

     Astonishment silences her as she stares at him, the pain of having to go through life without her still evident in his eyes. He looks so much wearier than she remembers the tough hunter, the soldier who always marched on and kept grinding. Even after he came back from Hell, the experience that tore open wounds which bled even worse than those inflicted the night the hellhounds took him. Honestly, there were plenty of times she thought he would never recover, whenever he woke up screaming from another nightmare and she had to hold him until he calmed. And yet, he didn’t seem as burdened as he does now, and that is saying something. It’s as if time broke him down bit by bit as he grew older, until there was nothing left but a ruin. 

     Dean said it’s 2019, which means he’s forty years old now. His frown lines lay deeper, so do the crow’s feet by the corner of his eyes. There’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there before, covered by his stubble. His hair is a little longer, but only by a quarter of an inch. Age has not done a number on him, because he’s still handsome, but trauma and loss surely have. Knowing that her own death had a substantial part in the neverending sorrow and guilt she knows the hunter carries breaks her heart, because if anything, she would never want to cause him such agony.

     “We were together,” she says, ending the silence. 

     It’s more a realization than it is a question, but Dean nods either way. Her jaw lowers slightly, her mouth opening, but she has no idea what to say. She was frightened when she heard she was on a collision course with death. But now she’s made aware that her future self and Dean are going to face evil as one hell of a power couple, that fear diminishes. She was a teenager when she first started developing feelings for the oldest Winchester brother. She never acted on it, the hunter’s life always getting in the way of their romance. But somehow, despite destiny, despite the horror show that is their reality, they found their way to each other. 

     Seeing just how much her departure wrecked him, she reaches out, moving her hand across the table to take his. She squeezes softly, running her thumb over his skin, rough from the many fights he’s faced. He visibly relaxes, cherishing the moment he never thought he’d have again.      Y/N forces herself to avert her eyes, aware they aren’t alone. She glances at Sam, who watches the two, smiling, but his content expression dissolves when she inadvertently turns the conversation in a harrowing direction.      “What about the others? How’s Bobby?” she wonders, oblivious to the painful reply that is to come.

     Dean’s face falls, closing his eyes in apprehension. Shit, he wishes he didn’t have to break the bad news to her. Bobby Singer was like a father to all of them, but Y/N spent the majority of her childhood under his wing. After her parents died, he took her in and raised her as his own, made sure she could go to school, that she could be a kid. Hell, he was her father, maybe not genetically, but he was the wise man who taught them that family doesn’t end in blood.

     Sam stares back at her, then swallows thickly, letting his head hang. Analyzing his stance, the smile on her lips dies down, frantically searching for an indication that says it isn’t so. When the tall hunter is unable to return her gaze, she fixates on Dean, tears already glazing over her eyes.      “Y/N...” He takes her hand in his now, trying to sooth her and cushion the blow, but he knows there’s nothing he can do that would take the pain away that is about to hit her like a freight train.      “No...” She shakes her head, unable to accept it. “No no no no...”      “I’m so sorry,” he says softly, his heart breaking as he breaks hers. 

     Her bottom lip begins to tremble, her face contorting as she fights the emotions that quickly overpower her. Shimmering pathways of anguish find their way down her cheeks, eventually falling to land on the wooden surface. Y/N wipes her cheeks dry, but it’s no use, new tears forming faster than she can erase. And so she brings her free hand up to cover her mouth, holding back a sob.      “W-when?” she stammers, her voice shaking. “How?”      “In 2012. He... he was shot,” Dean explains, trying to get the words across as gingerly as possible.

     She shuts her eyes now, her throat closing up and she bites her bottom lip, trying her hardest not to break down in front of the boys. She has so many questions of which the answers terrify her.      “Did he die alone?”      She barely dares to look up again, meeting Sam’s gaze this time. He shakes his head, offering her a comforting smile.      “No, we were right there with him,” he assures.      “He’s in Heaven,” Dean consoles, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the back of her hand. “Cas double checked.”

     Y/N nods slightly, sniffling as she digests the news. Knowing that he’s in a good place right now doesn’t stop the grief from tearing her apart, because she has no idea how to go through life without her mentor to council her, but at least he’s not suffering anymore. A shuddering breath escapes from her lungs as she collects herself.      “What killed him, is it--”      “- dead. Yeah, we made sure of that,” Dean guarantees.      “Good,” she says, her voice having gained some strength. “What about Rufus? Ellen & Jo?”      Sam sighs and looks down, painfully confronted with how many people they’ve lost over the years.      “They’re all gone,” he states, still leaning heavily on the countertop.      Shocked, Y/N stares at him, unable to believe how many have perished.      “So, of the original crew, you two are really the last ones standing, huh?”      “Yeah, I guess we are,” the younger brother confirms. “But we met some great people along the way, I’m sure they’ll be excited to meet you. We’re not fighting the good fight alone, by any means.”      “Glad to hear that. Just, not today? I’m not sure how much more I can take,” she almost pleads, her voice raspy from crying.

     Dean watches her closely, guilt constricting in his gut. Unknowingly, he has pulled her from a time where things weren’t all that bad. If she’s from October 2008, he has just returned from Hell. Bobby was alive, Sam was okay, so were the other people she considered family. They were growing closer, on the verge of giving in to the attraction they felt for each other. But now it’s just the three of them and a ten year gap between her lifetime and theirs. She must be feeling completely out of place, disorientated, exhausted.      “Why don’t we go pick out a room for you, so you can lay down for a bit?” Dean offers, squeezing her hand gently to get her attention.      She agrees and gets up from her seat without another word, mentally too tired to argue. The alcohol is coursing through her system, and although she doesn’t feel highly intoxicated, combined with the range of emotions she just went through, it’s doing a number on her. Honestly, she’s down for a nap, preferably one that lasts a day or two.      Dean lets her go up the two steps first, ready to catch her might her coordination fail her after all. He glances over his shoulder at his brother, who picks up the untouched sandwich and carries the plate to the sink.      “Go ahead, I’ll clean up,” Sam offers.      Thankful, the older Winchester forces a small smile before he leaves the kitchen. 

     Quietly, Y/N follows the broad shouldered hunter who leads the way, her arms crossed in front of her chest, the coolness from the stone walls chasing chills up and down her spine. It’s not just the cold, though, it’s everything. Too much information to process, too much heartbreak to endure. Her brain is overloaded, fatigue hitting her like a ton of bricks.      She watches Dean turn the corner and stroll into a long hallway with doors on either side, gold plated numbers below the Men Of Letters emblem. They stop in front of room 12.      “You can take this one,” he suggests, opening the door for her and flicking on the lights. “I’m right next door if you need anything. Sam’s in room 21.”

     Y/N steps inside, taking in her new accommodation. Despite the use of mostly brick and concrete and the lack of windows, the glow coming from the ceiling light and the lamp on the nightstand feels warm and welcoming. A large mahogany bed is situated against the far end, a matching desk on the left with an old typewriter and a radio sitting on top. Directly behind the door there’s a sink and a medicine cabinet with a mirror on the lid, and a wardrobe next to it.      “We can put a rug on the floor, if you want. I remember how you always had cold feet,” Dean suggests.      She turns in the middle of the room, a small smile on her lips; he’s not wrong.      “I’d like that,” she says, grateful.

     A little uneasy she lets her gaze linger over the still empty cabinets and bookshelves again, feeling foreign in this future that didn’t include her, before Dean wished she was. She realizes there’s nothing to fill them with, no clothes, no books, no picture frames.      “Could I maybe borrow a shirt and some sweats from you? I’m gonna have to buy some new clothes later today,” she asks, a little flustered.      “Sure, but actually, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck, the way he always does when he’s nervous. “I never threw away your stuff. It’s been in boxes in the storage room, so your clothes are probably gonna need to be washed--”      “- Wait, you… you saved my stuff?”

     She stares at him in awe. It’s been almost ten years since she died, and he still held on to all that she owned. Sure, it wasn’t much, since they were on the road most of the time, but still. They didn’t find this bunker until a couple of years later, which means Dean had stored it in a locker somewhere, or maybe at Bobby’s, and picked it up again when they found a permanent home. He had moved her things around for almost a decade, yet never threw them out, even though he knew there was no purpose left for the items that once belonged to her. Just painful reminders of what was and what was lost.      “Yeah, I - I couldn’t really bring myself to throw it out,” he claims, as if he was dodging a task that should have been done long ago.      He isn’t lying. Even though he knew she was never going to return to him, that her life was lost and his love was hopeless, he kept everything she held dear. Her books, her mixtapes, her photos, her jewelry. The clothes she wore, the guitar she played. The stack of coasters she collected, picking one up at every bar they ever had a drink at, from every town they ever crossed. The old school Polaroid camera she brought everywhere, snapping pictures of everything that caught her eye along the way. Sunsets, funny road signs, captivating landscapes, interesting people. There are a few of him, of the Winchesters together, some more portraying the three of them, all squeezed into the shot. She even caught Bobby on camera, ignoring his grumpy mutters when she had fulfilled her seemingly impossible mission.      There’s the music box she got from her mother when she was little, her parents’ wedding album. Lore books, weapons and crystals that Bobby gave her when she first started hunting. The enchanted good luck charm Dean gave her for her birthday. He held on to it all, because he couldn’t bear the thought of having to let her go completely.

     Sympathetically, Y/N observes him. His tough exterior only lets a hint of embarrassment over something so sentimental seep through. But she knows him, she has seen the knight without his armor. She knows how badly he’s hurting.      “Anyway, I’ll - uh, get you some clean clothes and dig up your stuff from storage.” He points his thumb over his shoulder a little awkwardly, excusing himself.      She nods. “Thanks.”

     With a faint smile on his lips he disappears, leaving the door ajar. Y/N breathes in deeply and allows the air to flow out, trying to calm herself down. It’s her first moment alone since she found herself in the year of 2019 and she cannot begin to comprehend what is happening to her. How she time-jumped a decade into the future, having history with Dean she cannot even recall. It feels like she’s in a bad daytime television show, where one of the characters has hit her head too hard and suffers from amnesia, not remembering her lover.      Rubbing her forehead she turns around, trying to massage away the headache. Her eyes glide through her new bedroom again. This is going to be her home now. After moving out of Bobby’s place, she never really had that kind of stability. The closest she came to a roof over her head was her minivan, her little house on wheels. 

     Fingertips grace the covers of her bed, the material soft under her touch, when she hears Dean’s boots echo in the hall. She turns around as he comes through the doorway, holding two boxes with a bundle of clothes laying on top of the stack in his arms. He lowers the neatly taped carton containers to the ground, her name written on them with black marker. Dean made sure to file on the label what’s inside them.      “There’s one more box, your clothes are in that one. I can put them in the washer now, so you’ll have something better to wear than my oversized stuff,” he offers.      “You don’t have to do that, Dean,” she objects, but he shrugs it off.      “It’s no problem.”      His voice is kind, but he’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer. It’s the first time he has moved her belongings without having to fight the tears, without having to pause in order to stop himself from breaking down. He wants to make sure she has something clean and fresh to wear when she wakes up later, finally being able to take care of her again. 

     Dean turns the corner and heads to the storage room, his heart finally calming with the simplicity of being able to do something as domestic as washing her clothes. After picking up the last big box, he exits the storage and pulls the door shut behind him, making his way to the dorm where the washers and dryers are situated. He sets the box down in front of one of the machines, pulls his pocket knife from his belt and cuts through the duct tape. The first item he pulls out, however, steals his breath; it’s the leather jacket she wore that night in Detroit.      Two days after they lost her, Dean wrapped her in linen before he laid her down on the pyre he and Bobby built, her lifeless body still in the jeans and band shirt she had on when she was killed. He took off her favorite black leather jacket, though, wanting to preserve it, even though it was a part of Y/N - or maybe because it was. Traces of faded crimson still stain the collar. Dean shakes his head, trying to ban the image from his mind. The image of the blood running from her nose and mouth as she hung from his arms, dead weight, the spark of life in her eyes long gone.

     After a deep breath, the hunter collects himself and lays the leather jacket aside, then begins to carefully pick out some of her clothes. He makes a selection that fits in the drum, adds a laundry pod and turns the machine on. He hopes the old thing does a better job at washing away the memory of her death than he’s doing.

     When he enters Y/N’s room again, she has changed into the black shirt and grey sweatpants he offered her. She spins when she hears him, an amused grin adorning her face.      “Nice socks,” she chuckles, showing off her novelty footwear with burgers and milkshakes on them.      “Shut up. Sammy gave them to me for Christmas,” he utters, a blush on his cheeks. “Your stuff’s in the washer.”      “Thank you,” she returns, grateful.

     A silence followers as Dean lingers in the doorway. This would be the moment to give her some space and retreat to his room, but somehow he can’t make himself step outside. He has spent too much time without her by his side already, he doesn’t want to waste a second not being with the woman he’s still unmistakingly in love with. She’s his girl, afterall. But that’s where it gets confusing, because he’s not sure how she feels about all this. Y/N was zapped from a time where they weren’t in a relationship yet, so where do they stand in this messed up mayhem?      “Y/N, about that kiss earlier…” he starts off hesitant. “I, uh - I didn’t know you were from a place where we weren’t… y’know, together.”

     The smile on her lips dies down as she watches the hunter, skilled in the field when fighting evil, but now stumbling over his own words. It’s only now that she realizes how surreal this must be for him. His mind probably has archives full of memories she has no clue of, simply because in her time, they didn’t happen yet.      “What I’m trying to say is…” Dean takes a breath, trying to get his message across. “If I came on too strong, or made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I’m sorry.”      He glances up now, watching how she slowly approaches. Gently, she takes his hand in hers, their fingers entwining. After studying their hold for a few seconds, she tilts her head and restores eye contact. The look she gives him is so warm and kind, it mends the broken man that he is.      “I’m not,” she responds, her voice soft.

     She leans in, tiptoeing, and presses her soft lips against his. For a good moment all his grief, the endless regret, the physical pain that became chronic, is forgotten. He closes his eyes and melts into the touch, returning the kiss without hesitation. The voices in his head are silenced, his anxiety calmed. After eight years, eight months and twenty eight days, he has found his missing piece. If her departure from his world didn’t make him realize how much he loves her, this moment surely does.

     The kiss lasts a few heavenly long seconds, but then Dean parts from her, resting his forehead against hers. He sighs deeply, the air leaving him with a shudder. Still high on the ecstasy that the undeniable connection induced, she opens her eyes, but his remain closed. Wondering why, Y/N squeezes his hand. When he does look back at her, the tears bring out his green irises, like holding an emerald gem against the light. Compassionate, she cups his face, tracing the lines of his jaw.      “You really missed me, didn’t you?” she perceives.      He huffs; she’s putting it mildly.      “You have no idea,” he breathes.

     Y/N does, though. Last thing she remembers is how Dean just returned from Hell. In the four months that he was gone, she was completely at a loss. Wildflowers blossomed on his grave from her tears alone. Knowing he was enduring unimaginable torment only made it worse. But when he returned and she was able to close him in her arms again, it magnified everything she had ever felt for the man who went to Hell and back. The rollercoaster he’s riding now is one she’s been on herself, but she doesn’t tell him that; it’s not about her right now.

     She kisses him again, shorter and more sweetly now, smiling at him afterwards until he returns her expression. His eyes are still shimmering, but it’s not sorrow she finds in the depth of his pupils, not anymore. It’s gratefulness, appreciation, love, for her, the girl he lost so many years ago.      “You should get some sleep. You had one hell of a morning,” he says after a quiet moment, unable to look away.      She scoffs. “Understatement of the week.”      He nods grinning, admitting she’s probably right.      “I’ll leave you to it.”      Dean is about to let go of her hand, when her grip on him grows a little stronger, causing him to glance up at her, questioning.      “Could you…” she pauses, not sure if she’s asking too much. “Could you lay with me, just for a while?”      He reads her carefully, pained to see the hint of fear; she doesn’t want to be alone.      “Sure,” he agrees, the single word soothing her.

     Y/N allows his hand to slip from hers now and circles the bed, folding back the covers as Dean sits down to take off his shoes. When he leans back into the pillow, his upper body still slightly elevated against the headboard, tiredness overwhelms him. He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, Michael always waiting in the shadows when he dares to close his eyes. But when Y/N crawls into his chest, filling the vacant place that has been cold for so long, he sighs content, letting the worry fall from his shoulders. Who knows, maybe with her by his side, he might actually be able to rest.

     She pulls the sheets to cover the both of them, feeling Dean’s sheltering arm wrap around her and pull her in. The kiss he presses to her hair has her bite back the tears yet again. She tries to hide it, not wanting to come across as weak or emotional. The man who has always cared for her, doesn’t fail to notice, though.      “Hey…” he says, softly. “You had a lot on your plate today, huh?”      She sniffles and nods, not brave enough to test her voice.      “It’s gonna be okay, we’ll figure this out,” he promises. “You got me, Y/N.”      “Yeah…” she whispers. “I got you.”

     Dean holds her close, giving her the security and the comfort she is desperately seeking, hoping she might forget about the world she’s in now and the one she was ripped from. Absently, he rubs his fingers up and down her arm, the slow, soothing rhythm lulling her to sleep. Within minutes she’s out, the warmth she radiates slowly melting away the tension in the hunter’s stiff muscles, tired and worn from endless battles with both monsters and himself. Exhausted, he lets his cheek rest against the top of her head, allowing his own eyes to flutter shut as well. The last thing that crosses his mind before he falls asleep is a promise. Past, present, or future, Dean will always be there for the woman who makes him believe in their little slice of apple pie life. A decade of time difference will not change his word of honor.

It took me long enough, didn’t it! Stay tuned for part four, I hope I have gained some momentum now and will able to finish this series sooner than later.

Anyway, thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

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[petrichoravellichor]

Written for Day 19 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: angels and demons).

Title: An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar

Characters: Gabriel & Meg

Rating: T

Warnings: mild alcohol consumption (by angel/demon standards, at least; no one drinks enough to get drunk)

Summary: After escaping from the Empty, Gabriel wanders into a bar, where it turns out he’s not the only one back from the dead.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Gabriel needed a drink.

A real one, not just something he could conjure up himself. It’d been a little under a week since he’d woken up in the middle of a field, dazed as all get-out and weaker than he’d ever been, but somehow alive. He’d done it. He’d actually gotten out of the Empty.

At first, Gabriel hadn’t known exactly how he’d managed it. He remembered dying—getting stabbed by an alternate version of your brother in a parallel universe wasn’t exactly a forgettable experience—and then he was waking up to some sort of explosion somewhere he’d quickly realized had to be the Empty, because hellooo, he was dead. There’d been a lot of commotion then, with Gabriel and literally thousands of other angels and demons clambering and fighting at once as a loud, pained voice screamed for them to BE QUIET, and the next thing he knew, he was lying face-down in a puddle of mud, alone except for a nearby cow. Gabriel had stumbled along until he’d found a small motel in the middle of nowhere, where he’d used what little power he could muster to charm a free room off the oblivious owner and then collapsed into bed the minute he’d locked the door behind him.

A few days later, he’d jolted awake when angel radio had all but exploded in his head. Word on the wire was that his nephew, Jack, had replaced Gabriel’s dad as Heaven’s new big kahuna, and apparently the entire world had been gone for a while but Gabriel had slept through it, and wait, Dean Winchester had finally pulled his head out of his repressed bisexual ass and was last seen kissing the shit out of Gabriel’s younger brother Castiel, who was also back from the Empty?! Whaaat???

Needless to say, it had been a lot to take in. Gabriel had spent the better part of the day listening intently and muttering “holy shit” as he caught himself up on all that had happened while he’d been out of the picture. When at last it seemed that there was no more new information, he’d dialed down the volume and decided that yeah, he was long overdue for a drink. He vaguely remembered seeing a bar on the other side of the motel parking lot, so he headed in that direction, opting to walk the short distance instead of flying—he was feeling much better after a few days of rest but still nowhere near full power, and there was no sense wasting energy.

As he drew near the bar, however, he noticed that although the lights were on and country music was drifting out into the night, the front window had been shattered; a few pieces of jagged glass were still hanging in place, but the rest was nothing but shining shards on the ground outside. Gabriel paused; then, feeling more curious than concerned, he crept up to the sill and peered inside.

The place looked pretty much like what Gabriel had been expecting, with bad lighting and wood-paneled walls and a couple of old pool tables off to one side. At first, he thought it was deserted; then he noticed a lone figure at the bar.

It was a demon, but not a particularly powerful-looking one. She was sitting on a barstool, a bottle of Jack in front of her and a glass in her hand as she gazed off into space, nursing her drink. Gabriel reached out with his mind, quickly scanning the premises for any potential friends the demon might have brought with her, but no, she was the only one of her kind anywhere in the area. If push came to shove, Gabriel had no doubts that even in his current state, he could still best her in combat; however, he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After all, it had been a hell of a day in a hell of a week, and he’d come wanting a drink, not a fight. He headed over to the door and walked inside.

The demon must have sensed his presence, because she looked up the moment he crossed the threshold. Her eyes flashed black momentarily before snapping back to her vessel’s natural brown; however, when she addressed Gabriel, she sounded more annoyed than afraid. “If you’re here to kill me,” she said, fixing him with a glare, “at least let me finish my drink first.”

Gabriel arched a brow: she might not have been more than a run-of-the-mill black-eyed demon, but she had spunk; he’d give her that. “Simmer down, kiddo,” he drawled, “I’m not here to kill you, just looking for a drink.” He gestured toward the bar. “Mind if I join you?”

The demon raised a brow of her own, apparently surprised by his response, but eventually, she shrugged and turned back to her whiskey. “Knock yourself out.”

“Thanks.” Gabriel headed behind the counter, rummaging around until he found a clean glass; he plopped in two ice cubes and poured himself a drink. “Where’s the bartender, anyway?”

The demon waved dismissively in the direction of the restrooms. “Knocked out and tied up. He’ll be fine.”

“Mm, and the front window?”

“There was a biker gang when I first got here. They got handsy and didn’t want to leave.” She smiled darkly, adding, “That is, until I threw the biggest one out the window. They got the hell out pretty fast after that.”

Gabriel snorted. “Nice.”

“‘Nice’?” the demon repeated, then scoffed. “Thought you were an angel.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers, manifesting a stool on his side of the bar; he sat down across from her, drink in hand. “I am. So?”

“So, last I checked, your kind and my kind didn’t exactly see eye to eye on what constitutes nice.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t see eye to eye with lots of people, especially not when they’re dicks. Sounds like the biker guys were, so yeah, nice. Besides,” he added, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, “I’ve done way worse.”

The demon regarded him, then smirked. “Nice.”

“So,” Gabriel said, taking a sip of his drink. “You got a name?”

“Meg. You?”

For a moment, Gabriel considered inventing an alias; after all, it was in his best interest to keep a low profile until he decided just how involved he wanted to be in this whole post-Dad Heaven business. Still, he wasn’t really in the mood for lying, and besides, he could always erase himself from Meg’s memory if he had second thoughts. “Gabriel.”

Meg narrowed her eyes. “As in the archangel?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me?” Gabriel said, flashing a grin; then, noting the wariness in Meg’s expression, he added, “Hey, I’m just here for a drink, remember? You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Easy for you to say: I can’t kill you just by thinking about it.”

Gabriel snorted. “No offense, kiddo, but if I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it before I even walked in. Suffice to say, I’m not thinking about it.” Then, seeing that she was still eying him suspiciously, he lowered his drink and looked at her frankly. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Would you?”

“Sure. I’m not one to stay where I’m not wanted, and last I checked, whiskey bottles are pretty portable. Just say the words, and I’ll get out of that pretty blonde hair of yours.” He smirked, adding, “That is, unless you’d rather throw me out the window.”

Meg was silent for a moment, apparently weighing her options; eventually, however, she shook her head. “Whatever. Like you said, if you were gonna kill me, I’d already be dead. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

"I mean that up until a few days ago, I’d been dead for years.”

Gabriel sat back on his stool. “No shit. You were there too?”

Meg gave him a confused look. “The hell do you mean?”

“In the Empty,” Gabriel clarified. “It’s where we go when we die. Whole bunch of black goo and eternal nothingness. That is, up till about a week ago, when the whole place went Chernobyl. Sound familiar?”

Slowly, Meg nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

“From what I’ve heard,” Gabriel continued, tapping his temple, “at least a couple of us got out, on your side and mine. Seems like the place stabilized eventually, though.”

“Any word on what caused it?”

Gabriel snorted; he reached for the whiskey and refilled both their glasses. “You ever hear of the Winchesters?”

********************

One hour and three-fourths of a bottle of whiskey later, and Gabriel had discovered that not only had Meg had close dealings with the Winchesters during the years leading up to her death, but she’d also apparently known his younger brother Castiel—and that, Gabriel gathered from the way Meg’s eyes softened when she asked about him, Castiel had been important to her, although she never explicitly said as much. Gabriel filled her in on everything she’d missed from the time Crowley had stabbed her up to the most recent updates he’d heard from angel radio, and by the time he was done, Meg was shaking her head in disbelief.

“Damn,” she said at last. “So, this Jack kid—Lucifer’s son—he’s the new God?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

“Tell me about it,” said Gabriel, swirling his drink. “Should be interesting, seeing as how he’s only three.”

“And Castiel.” Meg met Gabriel’s gaze. “He’s...with Dean now?”

“Yeah. Seems like it.”

Meg nodded, looking down at the bar. “Huh. And here I was thinking they’d just keep dancing around each other like a couple of idiots.” She let out a hollow sort of laugh and reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Serves me right for getting my hopes up.”

Gabriel studied her, the pieces clicking into place. “You had a thing for my brother.”

Meg’s jaw clenched, and she filled her glass all the way to the rim. “Not one I ever got to do much about,” she muttered, “thanks to Crowley.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel, a little surprised by just how much he meant it.

Meg shrugged him off. “Yeah, well,” she replied, not meeting Gabriel’s gaze. “It’s not like it was ever gonna work out between us. He was always so caught up in whatever Dean was involved in, it wasn’t even funny. Besides, the hell would an angel want with a demon, anway.”

Gabriel found himself frowning; damn if there wasn’t a part of him that wanted to kick Castiel’s ass right about now. “For what it’s worth,” he said, leaning forward onto his forearms, “my brother never was the brightest bulb in the lamp; and regarding Dean, I once killed him over a hundred times just for kicks.”

That got Meg’s attention. “Really.”

“Yep, time loop, back before the whole Apocalypse thing went down. Took Sam forever to figure out what was going on and get them both out of it.” Gabriel smirked, adding, “And in the meantime, I got to play quirky death bingo with his older bro. Oh, and a few years later, I zapped them into TV Land for a bit. They looked like absolute idiots; it was fun.”

Meg looked at him for a moment, then scoffed and shook her head. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Eh, I have my moments.”

And Meg, to his surprise, actually gave him a slight smile. “Apparently. So, feathers,” she said, raising her glass, “you going back to Heaven after this?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No way: too messy, and I’m not in the mood to help clean up. Figure I’ll keep lying low for a bit, then maybe see what things look like in a year or so. What about you? Hellward-bound?”

Meg scoffed. “Yeah, because I’m just dying to get stabbed the minute I walk in the door. No thanks. Thinking of just keeping to myself for now.”

Gabriel thought for a moment, then decided aw, the hell with it. “Need a place to stay?”

Meg shot him a look of what might have been amusement. “Why? You offering?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, yes I am." He nodded toward the front door. "I’ve got a good thing going on at that motel. If you want, I can set you up with a room while you figure out your next move.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. All I ask in return is that you keep the fact I’m alive to your smoking little self, because like I said, I’m looking to keep a low profile. So, what do you say?” Gabriel raised his drink as though to toast. “Deal?”

Meg studied him for a moment, then smiled. “Deal,” she said, and clinked their glasses together.