#cas writings

[mischieviem]

Lesbeams

[strawlessandbraless]

Possessive Castiel with a marking kink makes me feral

[lovealwayssay]

I would pay an ungodly amount of money for a Supernatural finale where Dean rescues Cas from the Empty and tells him he loves him too, Eileen comes back to be with Sam, and Jack chooses to live with the four of them in the bunker as a happy family.

[clairenatural]

okay but you see sam has ALSO fallen for dean's act. sam also believes dean to be the macho, daddy's soldier, beer boobs cars guy he presents himself as. this is why sam makes fun of dean whenever he even lightly steps out of that mold and thinks it's harmless banter instead of attacking an insecurity. it's why he laughs when john talks down to dean in the early seasons and it's why he seems surprised when dean is more comfortable with himself in the later seasons. it's why he just scoffs but doesn't push it when dean puts up a front and refuses to talk about his emotions and just accepts whatever excuse he makes at face value. it's why he offers dean a strip club to make him feel better when cas dies. and this isn't his fault!! dean has spent a very long time perfecting this image in front of everyone and ESPECIALLY to sam because along with it comes safety and security and stability and the only person. who has consistently been able to see through it. is castiel

[cas-dyke]

“we’ve lost everything. and now you’re gonna bring him back.”

he’s lost EVERYTHING. he needs HIM back.

he?????? is EVERYTHING??????????!?!!!?

he begged!!!!!! he begged god!!!!!!!!!! he fucking said please.

[fulltimesapphic]

[casdeans-pie]

The first time Castiel heard the phrase to 'kiss something better' he thought it sounded like a ridiculous notion.

How could a kiss heal a wound? Kisses held no magic. No power.

But Castiel found the phrase drifting back to him while he looked at Dean, hissing with pain as he wiped blood away from his grazed skin.

(Dean insisted on wearing jeans with useless intentional rips on the knees, so it felt inevitable that he would eventually scuff the skin there.) (Castiel had even told him so.) (Dean had told him to stop being such a nag.)

Strange how Castiel knew that there were no mystical properties to a kiss, and yet now it was all he could think about. He could sink to his knees and place his lips directly over the wound, letting his grace knit the flesh below. Or... he could grab a fistful of Dean's flannel and crush his lips to Castiel's own, walking them backwards until they hit the wall, bodies lined up, grace pouring in through their joined lips to thread down Dean's body to the injury and-

"Hey, Cas? You okay there, buddy?" Dean said, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts. His lips pulled up into a playful grin that actively grew as Castiel huffed and narrowed his eyes. "Y'kinda giving me a look like you might smite me or eat me."

"Your jeans are impractical," Castiel snapped in a deep rumble. He prodded Dean in the forehead with two fingertips - felt his grace seal the injury instantly - and disappeared with a hard flap of wings.

[bloodydeanwinchester]

soooooo incheresting. i just watched a video that counted all the times dean said cas and castiel through out the series and it kept a count of the castiel's separate. he said castiel a total of 16 times throughout the whole series and SIX of those times were in season 6!!!! and every single one of those in season 6 was dean praying to him. which notably none of the other castiel's were part of a prayer. god dean is just like....pining for cas so hard in season 6 and after they stopped the apocalypse it's like castiel just drifted so far away from him and he got all powerful again and dean KNOWS that something is going on with him but cas is just keeping him at such a distance (because he's trying to protect him from everything going on with heaven's civil war). so suddenly when dean's praying even when he's making a joke of it (which is often) he's saying castiel instead of cas.

[babygirlwolverine]

the thing is, dean thought it would be hard… he agonized over it for years. he wanted it… wanted it badly. couldn’t stop himself from staring, licking his lips and staring at cas’ mouth; imagining how it would feel to slot their lips together and kiss the angel until their was no air left in his lungs. if he leaned over just slightly, he could feel those lips against his… but kissing cas always sounded easier in theory then actually doing it.

except, it turned out, kissing cas was the easiest thing dean had ever done in his life.

sitting at the kitchen table, cas had just taste-tested the batter for a cake dean was making for jack’s birthday. cas was smiling at him in that fond way that lit up his eyes and lowered his eyebrows; so tender and soft. settling into the seat next to cas, dean moved to slide his hand gently across cas’ jaw; cupping his cheek. cas’ eyes darted down to dean’s palm, calculated for a second, and melted into an even softer expression as he moved to rest his own hand on dean’s wrist.

dean softly stroked his thumb over cas’ cheekbone… and that was it. leaning in the rest of the way to brush his lips against cas’ was like coming home. cas let out this soft little hum and then he was kissing dean back, so earth-shatteringly good as their lips melded together. and when dean broke the kiss, drawing in fast shaky breaths as his lungs burned and his lips ached to chase cas’ mouth again for another taste, cas brushed his nose against dean’s and rested their foreheads against each other. “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” cas murmured.

dean’s heart lurched in his chest, and he cupped cas’ other cheek and pulled him back in for another kiss. “best not make you wait any longer then,” dean said against cas’ mouth as he kissed cas again and again… and again.

[91whiskey]

tbh one of my favorite flavor of destiel is when cas doesn't come back.

they defeat chuck. its a close call, but dean doesn’t die in a barn.

and cas doesn't come back.

for the entire first year and a half, dean is in a manic state doing everything to bring him back. making deals, ancient black magic, blackmailing the queen of hell, the whole nine yards. reads every single book in the MOL library three times over. he doesn't sleep. doesn't eat. when sam marries eileen, dean can't wait for the tiny ceremony to be over so he can go back to the summoning ritual he's preparing. this time, it has to work.

and then reality hits. he has tried everything at least twice with no avail. and he's not coming back. there's nothing more to try. the next two years, he spends in a depressive haze. when he doesn't drink, he sleeps. sometimes he's angry. smashes his fists against the dungeon wall that once took everything from him. once it was covered in black, now it's covered in red. but most of the time, he doesn't feel anything at all.

on the four year anniversary, dean makes up his mind.

he needs to live. he doesn't want to. not without cas. but cas the sonofabitch sacrificed himself for dean, so no matter how much he wants to put a round through his brains, he can't. because then it all would be for nothing. cas sentenced him to life by dying for him. so dean patiently picks the shattered pieces of himself up and does his best to glue them back together. he moves out of the bunker. he gets a cat, or maybe it's the cat that got him, he's still not sure how it happened. and a job. when his coworkers asks, he tells them he's a widow. he doesn't explain further.

in the end, he's actually living the life he's always longed for. and he's pretty content. but the most important puzzle piece is still missing. and will always do.

[shanastoryteller]

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’d not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[violetheart77]

You know, I’m something of a Lost Media Hunter myself 😏💙💚

[witchyam]

To put it in the simplest words Castiel’s rebellion in regard to Dean was never about replacing heaven and God with Dean. It was about how now Cas belongs to Dean. Castiel’s role in heaven was as a soldier, his only purpose to serve. Being associated to Dean Castiel got what heaven never offered, unconditionality. Castiel doesn’t simply rebel from Dean. Dean chooses to remain with Castiel as an ally, a friend, as family. Castiel being off path or fishy wouldn’t lead to Dean lobotomizing Cas. It is made clear in Season 7 Episode 23 when Dean says, “I’d rather have you, cursed or not.” The dialogue has its own layers of interpretations, but one and perhaps one of the most positive ones can be, I know you fucked up and I know you are messed up in the head but you still belong with us. Interestingly the nickname Castiel earned from Dean in his most early episodes is Cas. Castiel is a Hebrew name roughly translating into “Shield of God”. Dean removed the suffix -tiel meaning “of god” from Castiel. Even unknowingly in the act of giving a little nickname, Dean literally removed God and heavens possession of him.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

Castiel comes to Sam for advice about his crush on Dean but he obfuscates who he's talking about successfully because Sam doesn't know just how much he and Dean hang out without him.

Dean, obliquely trying to come out to Sam during a conversation about settling down: besides who would even want to date me long term. Cas is the closest thing I've had to a girlfriend in years.

Sam, casual and oblivious: I think Cas has a boyfriend.

Dean:...What????

Sam: yeah he told me about him. He's like a drummer or something, travels cross country a lot. I thought you knew? It's pretty serious, they've been together like 8 years I think?

Dean, seething with jealousy and horror: What's he like? Have you met him? What the fuck??

Sam, delighted to have more info on Cas than Dean does for once: Cas really didn't tell you? Well I guess that makes sense. I've always thought he and I share a more profound bond.

Dean: Sam.

Sam: Okay, okay. I haven't met him but from what Cas says, he's like, a real dork. Won't let anyone touch his CD collection, always brings up movie references no one has ever heard of- although it is Cas, who knows what his scale of normal movies is. He's good with kids, apparently.

Dean: sounds annoying.

Sam: ha! That's funny. I said he sounded like you, and Cas gave me a death stare. Yeah just like that one.

Dean: what does Cas want with a normie guy like that? And why didn't he tell me? There's gotta be something going on with this dude. This whole thing stinks. And - wait. Hold the phone. Cas is gay????

Sam: dude, you've met Cas, right?

Dean: shut up!!!! Keep talking. Where can I find this sonofabitch and how can we find out his intentions

Sam: well according to Cas he intends to be [cas impression] 'adorable and infuriating at the same time and succeeds on both counts'. Cas seems pretty happy with the guy, I think we should just be happy for him.

Dean, heartbroken and hiding it gruffly: yeah. I'm fucking ecststic.

[littlealienproducts]

Pottering Cat stamp stickers by SomedaySomeplace

[agendercryptidlev]

Turns out this famously transandrophobic book is what lead to the CAS report

This is what happens when you let TERFs dominate the narrative around trans men instead of uplifting trans masculine voices