#deans hesitation when he gets to cas’ name makes me SICK

[dearest-marv]

rewatching s4e20 and thought abt this

their names are jimmy novak and dean winchester and they have families ):

[sortasirius]

“Unity” and the Broken Boys

BOY Y’ALL BETTER SIT DOWN BECAUSE THIS IS AS LONG AS CAN BE AND I TOOK OFF WORK TOMORROW SO I’VE GOT TIME

This is....one of the best episodes in the show.  Yeah, in all 325 of them, this is hands down one of the best.

First of all, stan Amara for clear skin.

That silent treatment babey, right out the gate with the Angst.  Tbh Dean deserves it.

“Like I said, killing Amara, Jack dying...that’s the only way.”

“The only way.  Our one shot.  Our Last chance.  You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

“We don’t have to like it, alright?  But you and me, we gotta get it done.”

Amara is such a welcome energy in this whole episode.  She’s warm and understanding, whip-smart and probably more powerful than Chuck.  I love her.

Sam is a wonderful, understanding, loving dad.  I love him eternally.  He loves Jack so much, he’s trying so desperately to do what’s right for Jack but also what’s right for the world.  Jack made this choice, but he can’t live with it.  How do you support your child when their life is at stake?

“Come on man.  Blindly following orders, lying to Amara, sending her to her death. Does any of this feel right to you??”

“It doesn’t matter how we feel!  You know what?  Stay.  Stay.  Someone has to be the grown up here.”

“Yeah well someone has to keep fighting for Jack!”

“He knows what he signed up for!”

“Last I checked, we don’t give up on family.”

“Jack’s not family.”

Y’all should have heard the noise I made.  What a fucking line.

“I know how you feel about the kid, I care for him too, I do, but he’s not like you.  He’s not like Cas.  He’s just not.”

“I’m- I’m ready.”

You can see the regret, the heartbreak in Dean’s eyes.  You can see how he wants to take those words back the moment he said them, and for Jack to hear them?  It’s unthinkable.

Sam and Cas I’m just so fucking emo dude.

“Sam, you stayed behind to find another way huh?  I woulda done the same.”

AMARA

First of all, LOVE this structure.

Amara and Chuck have such a fascinating dynamic.  Rob and Emily do a great job (as they have all along) by clearly being siblings but...heightened.  You can just tell they both exude power, and the other is the only one they consider an equal.

“You and Dean had that whole weird...thing.”

“That wasn’t you writing?”

“Ugh, not that part.  Gross.”

What I took away from this is what I’ve suspected all along.  They HAVE free will, just not total free will.  Dean and Amara’s connection wasn’t Chuck, there are parts of the story he didn’t write.  Obviously, this comes into play later. 

I also have a hunch that Chuck doesn’t write romance.  I also think that in particular will come into play.

“Balance.  Something we’ve never tried before.  Creation and destruction, light and dark, brother and sister united again, but on behalf of one world, this world.  True balance.  The way it was always meant to be.  But you can’t.  You only care about your pleasure, your story.  Well, I guess that makes you the villain.”

“Villains get all the best lines.”

We see again and again this season, Chuck is irredeemable.  He doesn’t care about the angels, he doesn’t care about the world, he doesn’t care about anything.  He is a petulant toddler who has broken his toys. And when he realizes he’s trapped, he gets angry, he shouts and screams, completely at odds with Amara’s peace.

“You can’t hold me here forever.”

“I can hold you long enough.”

DEAN

Pain is the name of the game in this section homies.  Because not only are we dealing with Dean’s pain, we’re also dealing with Jack’s.  Jack says he understands why Cas and Sam mean more to Dean, but Dean clearly doesn’t, he, once again, wants to say more, but is stopped, still stopped by his fear: his fear of not beating Chuck.

Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals.  Let’s talk about Adam and Seraphina.

Adam.  The first man.  And Seraphina.  The angel.

“My old lady.  She’s the only one who could put up with me all these years.”

Yeah okay.  Volume at 100 I get it lmao.

But also: Adam wants God dead not because he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but because he went after their sons.  The theme of protecting the children strikes again.

“Killing God is your plan?”

“Yeah, Billie’s been giving us a hand but Sera and me, this is our baby.”

This juxtaposed directly with Dean’s own pain at what he has to do to kill Chuck, to gain his free will: the cost of his child.

Adam’s rib.

And who else might get his ribs hurt, only to be likely healed by an angel?

It’s fine, that’s fine.  I’m fine with that.

“Jack, I don’t know how to explain it but, when I found out about Chuck, it’s like I wasn’t alive.  Not really.  You know like my whole life I’ve never been free, but like really free.  But now?  Now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life, without all this crap on our backs.  And that’s, that’s because of you.  So, I want to say, I need to say...thank you, Jack.  Thank you.”

I’m gonna have to do a separate post about just Dean in this episode, because there is so fucking much to talk about, but there are a couple of things that I think are important:  Dean realizes how wrong he was, to say what he said.  He knows that it’s not true, this is the way he’s always coped with loss, by pushing the person to be lost away, but for Jack to hear it?  He can’t stand for that.

And:

Dean has finally pushed through the barrier.  He won’t be quiet in the face of his doubts anymore.  This is a breakthrough for him, and, of course, there are more to come.

SAM

Sam and Cas, my chaos duo.

The box, the inscription, the door.

Death’s library, filled with dead reapers.

And there it is.  The Empty.

It tells Sam the plan, the plan for Billie to take God’s place.  For everything to go back to the way it’s “supposed to be.”

This has always been the game, since season 13.  This is the longest of long games.

Sam fuckin Winchester, lying his way out of a confrontation with the Empty like the legend that he is.

He comes back with a new purpose: to stop Billie’s plan, and here’s where we get to the heart of the episode and maybe the heart of the season.

“You hear that?  Dean, brought to the edge of doubt.  His sense of duty, his rage winning out in the end.  And poor Sam, always gotta know everything.  Can’t leave well enough alone.  This is my ending, my real ending.”

The gun comes out, pointed at Sam.

Hmm...what did I say during 15x05?  Oh yeah, this.

And:

Dean would never survive killing Sam, but he’s willing to do anything, anything to earn his freedom.  His ending, where one brother kills the other and then kill himself.

Why, you might ask, did Sam not mention that the angels would be sent back to Heaven, why does he not mention Cas?  I’ll tell you why, or rather, Becky will.

Plus, Dean looks back at Cas IMMEDIATELY when Sam says that, when he mentions Eileen, and THAT’S the first time he hesitates.  He can’t lose Cas.  But at the same time, he’s willing to do anything to have his freedom.

“Sam we don’t have a choice, Jack’s about to blow!”

“We always have a choice!”

You know me, just sitting here thinking about choice, the ability to choose, and how that translates to their free will.

And Sam...I don’t think there will ever be characters I love as much as these.

“I don’t care if Billie gets what she wants!  I don’t man, I’d trade it all, I’d trade em all for Chuck.  In a heartbeat!”

“What about me?”

“You’d trade me?”

“Chuck has to die.  He has to!  Otherwise he’ll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can’t live like that man, I can’t live like that, I won’t!”

“I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do, but you gotta trust me.  My entire life, you’ve protected me.  From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything.  I didn’t always like it, you know?  But it’s the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that was true.  So please, put the gun away.  Just put it away.  We’ll figure it out, Dean, we’ll find another way, you and me.  We always do.”

Okay I feel like this is going to be one of those scenes that I cry watching for years to come.  Because fuck.  After fifteen years they finally admit that not only did Dean protect Sam from Lucifer, but he protected him from John.  John.  On a par with Lucifer.

Dean and Sam have, for so many years, sacrificed themselves for the other.  Dean’s demon deal, Sam and the trials, every season they have fought to see who can die the quickest for the other.  But this?  This is them fighting to stop the violence, to stop from killing the big bad.  This is them growing, in our eyes, in real time.  Sam has always been able to get through to Dean when no one else had a prayer, but for Dean to listen, for Dean to take his words to heart, to stop the hunt for Sam, for their family, that’s how you know they do have free will.

(Btw Chuck’s eye effect when he dusted Amara was sick as fuck but I’m emo for my boys so.)

Chuck knows it’s a loss, he knows that his story has, once again, been thwarted by the boys making their own choices.  And he’s pissed, but in his anger, we get a bomb dropped on us.

“Spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday.  You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from perdition”?  They did what they were told.  But not you.  Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Also, just worth bringing up this one as well:

Every Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell.  Every one told him the same thing.  And yet, immediately, with this Cas and this Dean, something was different.  Because what has everyone seen about Cas, from the moment he met Dean?

And there’s our endgame people.  Laid out on the line.

But we ain’t done yet, fam.

We’ve talked about the handprint, but you know:

So there you have it, our prep into the “monumental” 15x18.  I have spec on that, of course, but I think a novel is long enough for this.

What to take away: Dean’s rage was always Chuck’s plan, they do have free will, their love for each other, for their family, is what will stop Chuck’s control, Death is about to come back with a vengeance, Cas’ deal is at play, and, most importantly, Castiel and Dean Winchester are a blind spot for Chuck, something he has never, not once, controlled.

[bisexuallittlefreaks]

mother i may (be different than you remember)

HAPPY NATIONAL COMING OUT DAY

Have a trans!Dean fic set in s12 when Mary comes back. Also on AO3.

********

Dean stares at the woman--his mother--something between horror and excitement boiling in his chest. “Are you... really… real?” He approaches when she doesn’t answer, reaching out to touch her; make sure she isn’t a ghost. Mary grabs him by the arm, twists, and throws him to the ground. Dean goes down heavily and grunts when Mary slams a foot on his neck.

“Where am I?” she demands. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm – I'm Dean,” he says, knowing what’s about to happen and dreading it. “Winchester. I'm your son.”

Mary is silent for a moment. “I have a son named Sam and a daughter named Deanna. Get your facts straight. Besides, Deanna is four years old.”

“I was when you died,” Dean says tightly. Mary lets go with a small gasp, and Dean pushes himself back up to his feet, wincing at the twinge in his knee.

“Mom. Listen to me. Your name – your name is Mary Sandra Campbell, okay? You were born December 5, 1954, to Samuel and Deanna Campbell. Your father, he bounced around a lot for, uh, work, and you bounced right along with him, and you ended up in Lawrence, Kansas.”

Mary eyes him suspiciously, seemingly recovered from whatever had just happened. “How do you know all that?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Dad told me. March 23, 1972, you walked out of a movie theater – Slaughterhouse-Five. You loved it, and you bumped into a big Marine and you knocked him flat on his ass. You were embarrassed, and he laughed it off, said you could make it up to him with a cup of coffee. So, you went to, uh, Mulroney's and you talked and he was cute and he knew the words to every Zeppelin song, so when he asked you for your number, you gave it to him, even though you knew your dad would be pissed. That was the night that–that you met–”

“John Winchester,” Mary finishes. Dean nods.

“August 19, 1975, you were married... in Reno. Your idea. A few years later, I came along, then Sammy.”

“And then I burned.” She stares around at the clearing they’re in like she’s stunned at how it looks. “How long have I been gone?”

“Thirty-three years,” Dean says gently. Mary stares at him again, the suspicious look returning to her eyes.

“You don’t look like a transvestite.”

It hits him like a bullet to the chest, and his mouth actually drops open. “Mom, that’s--” He runs a hand down his face. “Jesus, please don’t use that word.”

Mary looks genuinely confused. “What word should I use?”

“Transgender. And there have been some serious medical advances so people don’t necessarily look trans anymore,” Dean explains. It’s been ages since he’s had to go through this with anyone. He’d forgotten how much he hates it. “I was on hormone therapy for years. I got top surgery, even.”

“And John was okay with this?” The way she says it it’s not meant to be mean, but it still makes Dean sick to his stomach. His lips quirk up in a sardonic half-smile.

“No. He was not. But he’s been dead for a decade.” He pauses and looks at her quizzically. “I know it’s a lot to take in, Mom, but… Holy shit, it’s good to see you.” Dean moves forward and wraps her in a hug. After a beat, she returns the hug.

“Deanna…”

“Dean?”

Dean looks up from where he’s sprawled on his bed watching television to see Cas in the doorway, looking alarmingly concerned for what--as far as Dean knows--is a typical Saturday afternoon. He sits up, frowning.

“What’s wrong, Cas?”

Cas hesitates for a moment, then steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. Dean raises an eyebrow. It’s not an unusual move for Cas--it is their room after all--but the manner that he does it is off somehow.

“Your mother,” Cas starts haltingly. “Why does she… Why does she keep calling you Deanna? It seems like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”

Dean sighs heavily and stands up. “You know that was what my parents named me when I was born.”

Cas nods, still looking concerned and confused. Dean looks at Cas, a feeling of astonishment growing inside of him, so strong he can feel it in the tips of his fingers.

“Cas, you know I’m trans, right?”

Cas blinks once, and then looks supremely annoyed. “Yes, of course I do. I was the one who remade your body when I pulled you from Hell, remember?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, I remember, that’s why I don’t understand where you’re lost here.”

“Your name is no longer Deanna,” Cas says with increasing irritation. “I understand that is what your mother named you, but you are now Dean. Why does she not just call you by your name?”

Dean sighs. “I think she’s having trouble adjusting to the change, is all.”

“It is not even that big of a change!” Cas bursts, and Dean flinches a little at the sudden anger. “It is a difference of two letters! Two syllables! Lady Gaga was once known as Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta!”

Dean stares at Cas, a smile slowly growing on his lips. “Okay, first of all, why in god’s name do you know that about Lady Gaga?”

Cas frowns, and Dean knows he’s about to ask what the hell that has to do with anything, so Dean steamrolls forward, waving a hand dismissively. “Second. My mom… is from a different generation. You’re right, it shouldn’t be that hard, but she’s from an era that didn’t understand gender and sexuality and shit. And she’s been suddenly shoved from that era into… this.”

“She needs to be better,” Cas says grumpily. Dean steps closer to the angel, reaching out to run his hands through the black hair and ending by cupping his jaw on either side.

“I know. I’ll be better at correcting her.”

Cas’s eyes squint at him. “That’s not your responsibility.”

Dean chuckles, resting his forehead on Cas’s. “I know. But someone has to do it.”

Cas pulls back, eyeing Dean seriously. “Then I’ll do it.”

Dean presses a small kiss on Cas’s lips. “Okay. Thank you.”

[expectingtofly]

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007  @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

[angelfishofthelord]

i am covered in skin

based on this cursed idea and thanks to @kellykline for asking and for the suggestions by @jackklinemybeloved.

set post-canon, post-s15 (one-shot, 5k)

Cas comes back from the Empty, and he’s fine, in a papier-mâché  version of the word. He’s fine in that he’s there with them, alive, voice speaking their names, body wrapped in their arms, smiles being passed around like party entrées.

He’s fine. But he’s also not. There are a million little creases in him, none of them are large enough to pinpoint, to point a finger at, to diagnose. So Sam and Dean don’t say anything. Not even to each other. They exchange glances from time to time, wondering if the other has also noticed the way Cas holds himself differently; the way he lingers at the dinner table after the dishes are cleared; his hesitation before crossing any door’s thresh hold.

His silence.

Cas was never an effusive conversationalist, Dean reasons to himself, but his quietness was never as deliberate as it is now.

Whenever Sam or Dean or Jack talk to him he’ll answer, but outside of that Cas doesn’t initiate any conversations, the way he used to with Sam about some translation particularity, or with Jack about his latest tv shows, or with Dean about how he needs to start eating healthier.

"Are you sure he’s okay,” Sam finally asks his brother one night while putting the dishes away.

“Yeah, he just needs time to adjust.” Dean throws the wet towel aside and dries his hands on his pants. “I mean, he’s basically back from a personalized angel-version of Hell. We needed a lot of time when we came from Hell, too.”

“True, but--” Sam reaches over to snag the errant towel “--it helped when we actually talked about what happened. When we didn’t, it just made things worse.”

“We did try--we both tried-- to talk to him when he first came back..”

“Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about it then,” Sam persists. “Maybe he is now.“

“You’re welcome to try, Sammy, but I don’t think he’ll just open up to you like that. Not unless someone makes him.”

+

Later, when a witch forces Cas to reveal the truth, Sam has to admit Dean was right.

It’s nothing as outright as a spell or truth potion or possessing spirit. It starts off innocuous enough, or as innocuous as getting burned by the last blast of the witch’s exploding powers is. Cas jumped in front of Jack to take the brunt of the force, and the force of the blast left him unconscious and in the Bunker’s infirmary being tended to by all three of them. Jack worked to heal the blistering the burns on his face while Dean cut off the charred remains of his pants legs.

It’s when Sam is rolling up the coat sleeve to check for more burns that he sees it. “Dean?” he frowns, tracing his thumb over the white-ish blue lines under Cas' skin. "What is this, is it writing?" 

Dean leans over to look. "It looks like numbers? That's a three for sure, and that--" he points to the last marking "is a four."

Jack crowds his head in catch a glimpse, too. “Let me--” he presses two fingers to the spot and the ghostly tendrils only brighten. Four numbers appear sharply against Cas' pallid skin. "It feels like his grace, but it's not a wound, it's like..." he wrinkles his nose. "A scar."

“She damaged his grace? I’ve never heard of witches being able to do that.” Sam is already on his feet, phone in hand. “I’m going to call Rowena and check some books. Make sure to tell me if anything happens when he wakes up.”

Dean stares at the digits seared onto his friend’s skin and feels sick with fury

+

When Cas wakes up, however, he dismisses all their concerns and waves away the half-prepared spell that Sam is working on.  “It’s not from the witch,” he sighs. In one fluid motion he rolls down his sleeve and swings his legs over the side of the bed like he’s ready to bolt.

“We don’t know that,” Sam reminds him. “This spell should reveal the intention of any cursed marking so we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Just sit still, Cas,” Dean holds out a hand. “We’re going to figure out what she did and get rid of it, okay?”

Cas sighs again, louder, irritably. “It’s not from her. It’s from the Empty.”

Sam pauses mid-snapping sticks of dried rhubarb. The roll of gauze falls out of Dean’s hand with a soft thunk.

“The Empty?” Sam repeats, incredulous.

“And you’ve had that all this time?” Dean makes a weak attempt to keep the anger out of his voice. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Jack reaches out again, gold sparks hanging off his fingertips like tinsel. “Maybe I can read it to see if there’s any--”

Cas recoils faster than they can blink and moves rapidly towards the door like he’s been chased by hounds. “I said it’s harmless. Don’t worry about it.”

+

All Sam and Dean and Jack do for the next week is worry about it.

They wisely don’t say anything else to Cas about it, but they keep researching and asking every supernatural ally in their contacts list for hints as to what it might be. “Why would the Empty--he didn’t have that the first time he came back from there,” Dean says one night while he and Sam are searching through a stack of books. They’ve set up base in his room, instead of the library where Cas might figure out what they’re doing. “Do you think it tagged him or something? So it can pull him back?”

keep reading

[cacophony-of-notions]

My feelings on a common misconception interpretation of Sam in “Slice Girls”: 

TL;DR Sam did not kill Emma as “revenge” and Dean was not ethically inconsistent in his actions with Emma versus Amy.

I have seen many times people claim that Sam killed Emma as “revenge” for Amy. I have seen both his antis and his hardcore stans say this (the latter as a means of “justifying” a decision Sam made that they traditionally wouldn’t stand behind… regardless of the fact that killing a kid to get revenge on his brother would paint him in a far worse light than taking the situation at face-value). 

In the same way that Dean killed Amy because he legitimately thought it was the right call, Sam killed Emma because he legitimately thought it was the right call. That’s it. Hate both of their decisions, agree with one but not the other, agree with neither… no matter what, I don’t think wanting “revenge” and taking that out on a child had anything to do with Sam’s actions. There are a few reasons why.

First, looking at the context of the season as a whole, Sam has been worried about Dean’s mental state for most of the season in much the same way that Dean has been worried about his, and accordingly, they didn't trust each other’s judgment fully. 

Dean killing Amy was to some extent, about not trusting Sam’s judgement due to his attachment to Amy and the metal state Sam had been in that season. Sam had been hallucinating and had also lied about it. So on top of not being sure if Sam could accurately grasp reality at any given time, him hiding it also made it very difficult for Dean to trust Sam to be honest if he was hallucinating, needed help, or needed to take a step back.

Sam’s decision to kill Emma was, likewise, to some extent, about not trusting Dean’s judgement due to his natural attachment to Emma as a father and Dean’s mental state that season. We see, on several occasions in season 7, Sam noting that Dean is drinking more alcohol than usual (which is saying something). Several times in the season, Sam expresses concern over this, to Bobby as well as to Dean directly. Sam’s lack of confidence in Dean is actually enough that, when Dean begins to notice things moving from where he left them and starts to suspect that Bobby is haunting them, Sam repeatedly and flippantly dismisses his observations and chalks all of it up to Dean drinking too much and grieving too hard and being an unreliable witness. 

Second, Sam and Dean came to an understanding about Amy in “The Mentalist”, and Sam ended up saying at the end of the episode that Dean’s actions made sense, and that he was right that Sam’s judgement couldn’t be trusted because he was too close to the situation emotionally. 

Season 7’s “The Mentalist” covers the confrontation between Sam and Dean over Amy, and Sam’s decision to work side by side with Dean again. There are two scenes—the initial blow up from Sam and Dean’s rebuttal, and then the resolution at the end of the episode. 

First the initial blow up and Dean’s rebuttal: 

Dean: We agreed to work the case. We didn’t agree for you to be a dick the whole time. 

Sam: What?

Dean: You’re pissed. Okay? And you’ve got a right. 

Sam: Yeah, damn straight. 

Dean: But enough’s enough. 

Sam: Says who? Look, I’ll work this damn case, but you lied to me, and you killed my friend. 

Dean:  No, I put down a monster who killed four people, and if you didn’t know her, you’d have done the same thing. 

Sam: I did know her, Dean.

Dean: Yeah, which is why you couldn’t do it. Look, I get it. There are certain people in this world, no matter how dangerous they are, you just can’t. 

Sam: Don’t pull that card! That’s bull! Look, if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that if something feels wrong, it probably is!

Dean: Usually, yeah. But killing Amy was not wrong. You couldn’t do it, so I did. That’s what family does—the dirty work. And I would have told you eventually, once I knew that this whole “waving a gun at Satan” thing was a one-time show. I think it’s reasonable to want to know that you’re off the friggin’ high dive, Sam. You almost got us both killed. So you can be pissed all you want, but quite being a bitch. 

Then there was the resolution at the end of the episode: 

Sam: Look, you know what... you were right—about Amy. If she was just any monster, I’m not sure I could have let her walk away. I dunno. I mean, I’ll never know. 

Dean: What are you saying?

Sam: What I’m saying is… I get why you did it. You were just trying to make sure no one else got hurt. But here’s the thing: you can’t just look me in the face and tell me you’re fine. I mean, you’re not sleeping, you drink for the record-

Dean: Oh here we go…

Sam: Look, whatever. Last one to preach. I know. But… just be honest with me. How are those the actions of someone who knows they did the right thing?

Dean: You want me to be honest?

Sam: Yeah.

Dean: I went with my gut. And that felt right. I didn’t trust her, Sam. Of course, ever since Cas, I’m having trouble trusting anybody. And as far as how I’ve been acting… I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t like lying to you. You know, it doesn’t feel right. So yeah, you got me there. I’ve been climbing the walls. 

Third, in context, when Sam brings up Amy in the car, it is to say Dean choked with Emma in the same way that Sam choked with Amy and it could have gotten him killed—not that killing Emma was somehow vengeance for Amy. See the conversation at the end of “Slice Girls”:

Sam: What did you say to me... when I was the one who choked? What did you say about Amy? “You said you kill the monster”!

Dean: I was going to!

Sam: Oh, like hell you were! You think I’m an idiot? 

Dean: What you think I am?!

Sam: Dean, you were gonna let her walk! 

Dean: No I wasn’t. That’s ridiculous! 

Sam: Look, man, she was not yours. Not really. 

Dean: Actually, she, uh, she was, really. She just also happened to be a crazy man-killing monster. But uh, hey-

Sam: You know what? Bobby was right. Your head’s not in it, man. When Cas died, you were wobbly, but now... 

Dean: Now what? Oh what, you’re dealing with it so perfect? Yeah, news flash, pal. You’re just as screwed up as I am! You’re just... bigger. 

Sam: What?!

Dean: I don't know!

Sam: Look... Dean, the thing is, tonight... it almost got you killed. Now, I don’t care how you deal. I really, really don’t. But just don’t...  don’t get killed. 

In no way does Sam suggest here that Dean “deserved” to have his kid shot in front of him as some kind of “payback”. In fact, that doesn't really make sense 

In the context of the conversation in “The Mentalist, where Sam said he understood why Dean felt the way he did about Amy. 

It also doesn’t make sense in the context fo Sam’s comment that Emma “wasn’t really yours”. If he did it to hurt Dean, he would have pressed into that relationship, not dismissed it. 

He lectured Dean because he was scared Dean wouldn't have been able to pull the trigger and would have gotten himself killed. It’s the same “are you off the high-dive?” lecture Dean gave him, it’s the same “I did the dirty work for you because you couldn’t”. The shot Sam took wasn’t hesitant, but it also wasn’t emotional. It was calculated and ruthless. It was a choice Sam made, that Emma could not be trusted. He made that call. And maybe he was right—maybe the brainwashing went too deep, and Emma would have come after Dean again if they let her go (which is probably what Sam was really worried about—that she would have gone after Dean again and gotten the drop on him or he wouldn’t have shot her), or maybe she would have come after someone else. Maybe Sam was wrong, and Emma could have been persuaded away from life in a cult. We can say the same about Dean killing Amy. All they had was her word that she wouldn't kill again. And yet, if her son got sick again, it seems reasonable to assume she’d go on another killing spree. Maybe Dean was right to kill her, maybe he was wrong.

Other notes: 

[1] Sam misses a certain detail when he compares Dean’s actions with Emma to his own situation with Amy. Sam only compares the two situation by virtue of him or Dean choking due to an attachment to the “monster” in question. However, there’s a distinction between the two kills that is important within Dean’s personal ethical framework, while it’s not necessarily important within Sam’s... to the point that Sam doesn't really see this distinction at all (in fact, he may not know about it). Namely, Emma had never killed anyone before while Amy had killed four people. Dean’s actions in both situations are actually ethically consistent—which is another misconception in fandom. From Dean’s framework, Emma and Amy are not the same. Emma and Amy’s son are the same. We see the distinction Dean draws between Amy and her son in “The Girl Next Door”: Dean kills Amy but lets her son go because he’s never killed anyone. He doesn’t rescind that even after Amy’s son tells Dean he’s going to come after him eventually and kill him. Dean treats Emma in the exact same way. He tells her he would let her walk away because she’s never killed anyone, and he doesn’t rescind the offer even if it seems like she still might try to come after him again. This is also consistent with how Dean treated Bobby John in Season 6 “Two and a Half Men”, Jack in Season 4 “Metamorphosis”, and Madison in Season 2 “Heart”. 

[2] When he kills Amy, Dean is notedly dealing with trust issues that he himself acknowledges, after what happened with Cas. He trusted Cas implicitly even when Bobby and Sam doubted him, and he got burned, and it shook his ability to trust in anyone (see Sam’s “wobbly” talk above”). Killing Amy is a part of that, according to Dean’s own perceptions. 

[3] To a certain extent, it might even be said that Sam and Dean aren't just wary of trusting each other’s judgement, but also wary of trusting themselves. For example, “You kill the monster” is a hardline stance that’s unusual for Sam and that is rejected by both brothers as early as Season 2 “Bloodlust”. But because Sam doesn’t trust himself at that point in time, and also does not trust Dean’s judgement either, he does what he thinks is “safe” when his own mind is half shredded and he has a depressed and alcoholic brother who he’s afraid is going to let a monster kid murder him one day (be it Emma or Amy’s son). If he were to let Emma go and worse came to worse, Sam doesn’t feel he can rely on Dean to defend himself from her, and he doesn’t know what his own mind state is going to be like in the future. So he does what’s “safe” for them both. In the same way, Dean’s actions with Amy could be viewed as him choosing what’s “safe”.

[killianmesmalls]

Claire would have had such a problem with Jack at first. A case comes up and Sam, Dean, Jody, and Donna can't help out, so she hesitates as she calls Cas. A small part of her still hates him, hates what he did to her and her family, hates how much he looks like her dad and how much she just wants to see him again....

Rambling meta turns mostly fic under the cut.

Cas thinks the case is perfect for some practice runs with Jack when he's powered down but still so eager to hunt. She's heard of Jack in passing and is mildly aware of his place in that odd group of Old Spice-smelling, flannel-wearing, beer-drinking men and that angel that still brings comfort and grief all at once. It isn't until she lays eyes on him and hears the first stern but, somehow, still soft order from Cas to the nephilim that something rises in her.

There isn't quite jealousy, though she knows that's twisted in there too. A coldness develops and she regrets making that damn phone call. She could have handled this on her own. Hell, waiting for someone else would have been better than seeing this...being. She can't summon up the idea of calling him a man, since she at least knows Jack is a toddler in a teenage body, but calling him a boy or assigning anything other than just plain "him" feels wrong.

And, damn it, he looks just like...

She's gruff with Jack and rolls her eyes at Cas. Jack annoyingly remains polite and, as her rebukes become more and more volatile, his shyness increases but she loathes so much how kind he stays. Can he just not? Can he just not have manners, not be so understanding and so saccharine sweet? He even pulls out a candybar at a point, half for comfort she registers, and she wants to just take it and throw it at him.

To make matters worse, they're assigned together on the case at Cas's firm insistence. Claire had figured she could be the lead on this since she could still pass as a high school student, at least a senior, and a rise in suspicious deaths at a local Catholic school had seemed perfect for her special skills mixed with her appearance. Except, instead of taking the lead with one of the adults that didn't look so damn like her not-father, she's forced to work with him.

And he's terrible.

She'd been suspended more times than she could count back when she went to public school. Her detention record, she was sure, still had yet to be beaten. Still, she knew what she was doing. Keep your head down and lay low on a hunt. Drawing suspicion only made matters so much worse.

So why the hell did this idiot get three detentions in a day? She'd be entertained if she weren't so damn pissed off. Moron is on a case with a fake name and a fake history and thinks it's okay to correct his teachers on religious texts and history? Her tirade home was one for the books. On top of that, Cas lays into him about the same things which almost has her feeling bad for Jack if it weren't for Cas also lecturing in such a dad way.

Later that night, she hears him whispering to Cas. "She hates me." "She doesn't want our help." "She's just like—"

Only she doesn't hear who she's just like. Her feet carry her to the next room before she can register she's moving at all and all her emotions she felt, doesn't feel, doesn't even know how to feel come up all at once.

"Of course I don't want your help!" And she's angry, they can tell, but Cas senses something else. Something so very buried that's rising quick and dangerous, like the dead in those silly horror films Jack is so obsessed with.

Jack looks like he's concerned about whether he should apologize or grab something to protect himself. The air in the room is so tense, Cas isn't even sure an angel blade could cut, but Clare keeps going.

"It's not fair! It's not fair that you get to have someone who looks just like my dad, who took my dad, and you even look more like him than I ever did! It's not fair that you get to play a family while I—"

All at once she catches herself. Whether it was the tears on her face that cooled her cheeks and brought her back or something else, no one was sure. She pauses, takes a deep breath, and pushes herself back into the other room and out the door entirely.

How dare he? How dare he even look so much like him? So very much like him? That was supposed to belong to her. Those moments of affection to someone who looked like her dad? Those were supposed to be hers. And, damn it, even the affection from Cas who she had felt in her head in his stubborn soldier glory then saw later in his new-found "doof" ways? She wanted them to be hers. She didn't want them to be hers. God, she didn't even know what she wanted, and it was all their fault she couldn't make sense of it.

She had debated on storming off entirely and ditching the hunt. Hell, she had debated on going to a bar and drowning her sorrows in a whiskey line-up, but she sat on the stairs of their trashy motel and finished shedding the tears she didn't know she still had in her. Then, another deep breath, and she took out her phone to stare at her contacts list, thinking about venting to Jody or Donna. Maybe even Alex. Someone.

But, this wasn't on them. And, as Alex would tell her, she'd had her own experiences of being the unwelcome younger sibling in an all-too-complicated setup.

She makes sure once then once again that it definitely doesn't look like she had been crying. Then, with all the courage she'd summoned on her early hunts, she picks herself back up and wanders back into the room.

Cas is sitting at the small dining table and he looks every bit of his billions of years. Claire somewhat resents how much she feels the urge to apologize and hug him. Before she can even fathom the second wave of new emotions rising in her, she sees a folder in front of him.

"What's this?"

"Uh, Jack grabbed it. Apparently in one of his trips to the principal's office, he was able to obtain some insightful student records that may shed light on the case."

She turns to see Jack sitting on the bed, stiff as a board and, she now realizes with a pang, terrified. Guilty? Something.

Something he had no control over.

Something she caused.

Something they'd need to talk about. All of them.

Not now. Not tonight. She just nods and grabs the file before throwing a quick, "Good work."

His gaze jolts up and for the first time since seeing those eyes that match her dad's so damn much, she doesn't hate him looking back at her. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. How about, since you're suspended and I feel a sick day coming on for tomorrow, we'll go over it then?" She then turns her focus on Cas and adds a gentle, "All of us."

Though he still looks exhausted, Cas smiles and nods. "How about we discuss what's been found, order a pizza, and either talk or not talk?"

"Pizza sounds good. No talking for today, though. Tomorrow. Let's talk tomorrow. Promise."

[huntertales]

Part Three: There’s Some Things You Can’t Fix. (Heaven Can’t Wait S09E06)

Episode Summary: When Dean gets a call from Castiel about a possible case dealing with spontaneous human combustion, the older Winchester decides to investigate–on his own. The reader decides to tag along. She doesn’t take no for an answer when Dean shares his odd hesitations on letting her work on a hunt with Castiel. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,502.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Cas watched from the passenger side window as Nora’s house slowly pulled up into view. The knot in the pit of his stomach began to tighten at how time was slipping by quicker than he anticipated to the big moment. His very first date. At first he was unsure of the proper reason why his palms felt so sweaty and his stomach started to feel strange. It wasn’t quite queasy like the time he ate some bad food when he was homeless and was forced to survive off of scraps he found in the dumpster. But he didn’t quite feel up to his normal self. When he told you and Dean about his sudden symptoms, your shared reactions weren’t ones he was expected. The man rolled his eyes in a dramatic fashion while you laughed it off. 

He didn’t understand what was so funny about what he said. Cas was genuinely worried there was something wrong with him, maybe he caught something from a customer and he only began to notice it now. He thought it was enough concern to cancel his date, in fear he might get Nora sick as well. She never missed a day of work since he started there. Humans were infamously notorious for catching all sorts of viruses and diseases. What he was feeling wasn't a stomach bug, it was something vastly different. Cas should've learned by now that emotions can change how a person feels psychically. 

"It's like butterflies in your stomach. You're excited, but you feel like you're about to pass out from nervousness." You explained almost perfectly about how Cas was feeling at the moment. "It's how I used to feel whenever Dean was around before we got together. When you're finding your feelings for someone, it gets...complicated.”

"But I'm not in love with Nora." Cas said. He started to grow even more confused at how truly complicated it was to be a human. There were so many more things than keeping after yourself. Not that relationships and emotions were strange territory, there was just so much more out there he never experienced before. He realized he was only just beginning to learn what it was all like. "At least, I don't think so." 

"It's most likely just last minute nerves. Maybe even a little crush. No need to go on proposing to her during dessert." You reassured the man. "Just go in there and be yourself."

"Okay." Cas inhaled a deep breath to try and calm his nerves before placing a hand on the passenger side door. "Thanks, Dean."

"Cas, wait. I can't let you do this." Dean managed to stop the other man before he made a grave himself. Cas sat with his foot standing on the pavement and the car door opened a few inches. The poor guy thought Dean was going to try and stop him from meeting up with Nora, thinking it was a bad idea after all. But that wasn't the cause of concern for Dean. He was looking out for his friend. His attention was focused on the tacky blue vest Cas was still wearing. "You're gonna wear that on a date?"

Cas put his foot back into the car and shut the door again, having a feeling there was something Dean was hinting around. First impressions were everything. Cas wanted to make the very best. He glanced down at his clothes to see what the problem might be. He always kept a tidy appearance. There was not a single stain on his outfit, maybe a piece of lint he overlooked. He didn't understand what the problem was, or how he could fix it. 

“This is all I have, Dean.” Cas confessed. 

"You know, Dean is right. Uh...we don't have time for you to change." You thought to yourself for a moment about what Cas could do to try and spruce up his appearance a bit better. You should've forced Dean to let Cas borrow some of his clothes. But you would just have to work with what you had. You tilted your head to the side and bit your lip for a brief second to try and think. "Okay. Lose the vest."

“What are you—” 

"Lose the vest. Come on. Fork it over." You stopped Cas from trying to put up a fight about the stupid article of clothing. Thankfully he complied and handed over the bulk of fabric over to you from the front seat. "That's a little better. And now your buttons—why don't you unbutton it?”

Sometimes Cas took things a little too literal. The man started to undo the first two buttons of his shirt like you suggested, but kept going with a third one and almost undid another before Dean stopped him. "That's far enough, Tony Manero. Save the strip tease for Nora." 

"All right. Let me take a look." You leaned forward in your seat to try and get a better look at Cas with his slightly new appearance. You took a few seconds before you deemed him good enough to head off on his date. "Yeah. Good.” 

"Listen to me. There's a few things you need to know." Dean felt the need to give the man some advice if he wasn't to make a fool of himself, more than he probably already would. "Always open the door for her, okay? Ask a lot of questions. They like that. And...oh, if she's happy to go dutch, she's lying."

"Okay, that's enough." You interrupted the man before he could give anymore unsolicited information that might hurt Cas more than help. You lightly slapped a hand on Cas' shoulder and offered a supportive smile. "Go get 'em, tiger." 

Cas inhaled a deep breath to try and calm his racing heart before finally gathering the courage to open up the passenger side door again and step out. You and Dean watched as he finally made his way to Nora's front door, finding this situation sort of like dropping off your kid on their first date. There was a sort of innocence and adorable factor that made you smile. Dean offered a supportive thumbs up when Cas stopped at the closed front gate and looked over his shoulder to see the both of you were still there. Cas returned the gesture before opening up the gate and continued heading toward the house. 

You smiled to yourself when Cas managed to make it to the front door without backing out. He adjusted his appearance one more time to make sure he looked presentable and reached a fist up to knock on the door. However he stopped when he realized something. Wasn't it customary to bring dates flowers as a romantic token? What if she was expecting them? Before he could begin to panic, luck seemed to have been on his side tonight. 

Cas spotted a blooming rose bush conveniently right next to the porch. He remembered Nora saying about how she liked gardening in her free time. Red roses were also a symbol of love. He found a pair of clippers and snipped himself a single rose, Nora wouldn't know the difference. Dean snickered to himself when Cas’ small touch he added on his own caused the poor man to prick his fingers when he cut the single flower off. It seemed Cas might not be doomed after all. 

"I think it's our cue to leave." You said. You slipped out from the backseat and back into the passenger side when you saw Cas waving you off, wanting you both to get out of here before Nora realized he was here. You smiled at the sight. "Our boy's all grown up."

You waved back at Cas as Dean turned the engine back on before either one of you could embarrass your friend in front of his date. However before Dean could pull away from the curb, he swiftly put his foot on the brake when he saw a truck start backing up when it seemed to have come out of nowhere. Dean slowly started to grow frustrated when the car started to get dangerously close to the Impala. Before there could be an accident, he managed to get the driver's attention. You waved one final time at Cas before the Impala drove off down the street and into the night, all before disappearing from sight.

+ + +

A few minutes into driving after dropping off Cas on his date, the silence that fell over the car was interrupted by your phone going off. Your brows furrowed in confusion as to who might be trying to get in contact with you. You partially hoped it wasn't Cas. Things couldn't have gone south that quickly. When you spotted the name on the I.D. of the sheriff you had been working on the case with together, you answered it after the third ring.

"Now, here's a wrinkle. Our first crime scene, the married couple? Full analysis of the spray came in from the lab." The sheriff got a strange lead that he thought you might want to hear about that benefited both parties. And it cut down on the list of suspects to just one possible lead. "Turns out it only contains the wife's DNA."

"The husband's still out there." You mumbled, connecting the dots on your own. You thanked the sheriff for the tip before ending the call. You turned your gaze over to Dean, who had been trying to split his attention from you and the road. "We got to go by the police station. I think I know who’s behind all of this.” 

+ + +

Figuring out the face to the angel who was causing all of these deaths was only part of the puzzle you needed to solve in order to wrap up this hunt before someone else could get hurt. You and Dean stopped by the station to have a talk with the sheriff to hear out what else he had found out from the new lead. You looked through the documents of the wife's death certificate and the typed up police file about the actual reported crime, hoping to find something that might help pinpoint a direction to help you solve this hunt once and for all. 

"He was already a bit screwy, but then he found religion. She was a hard-line atheist, no peach herself. When he got himself obsessed with this Buddy Boyle whack job, an already bad marriage got worse." The sheriff went on about the couple that landed with the wife dead, and the husband still missing. You scoffed ever so quietly to yourself at the familiar sounding name. It all was starting to make sense now of how this mess came to be. "Kept telling her to 'let God in.'" 

"Buddy Boyle." Dean repeated the name of a preacher he heard before. You glanced up from the documents and rolled your eyes from the trouble he was causing you lately on an already crappy situation that was spiraling out of control."That explains it."

“Explains what?” The sheriff asked, feeling out of the loop from what the man was talking about. 

"Nevermind. Uh, let's see." You focused your attention back to the documents as you shuffled around the papers to try and find something actually useful. You stumbled upon a photograph that made you do a double take of the happy couple. You pointed a finger to the vehicle in the background. "Is that his truck?"

"Yep." The sheriff casually answered. 

You remembered where you saw the truck before, right when you were leaving Nora's house, the one that nearly backed into the Impala. You and Dean shared the same worried expression, coming to the possible conclusion to the worst possible outcome. Cas was in danger. If you and Dean weren't quick enough to get back to him, he might be next. 

+ + +

Trying to understand how a human deals with the influx of emotions was a complicated and difficult thing without experiencing what it was like to be one first hand, and even then it was still confusing. The smallest and kindest gesture can make someone burst with happiness, while a slight inconvenience can ruin one’s day. Cas learned slowly over time that he was just like everyone else on this planet. Nothing special without his grace, living day to day just trying to survive. And while it might seem depressing and bleak at times, it wasn't always like that. Cas learned that life wasn’t so bad being a measly human. But his brother didn’t want to see past the pain. 

His brother wanted to fix these humans and make the world a better place like he did in heaven, the place that was no longer. All the angel could feel was the endless sorrow in the world. An endless melody that called out to him, begging for relief. Cas was calling to him the loudest. The man might have been warded from all angels, but his pain was like a beacon shining down on him. It made him stick out like a sore thumb for his brother to find him and put the poor human out of his misery once and for all. But Cas wasn’t a feeble creature. He might have been without his grace to protect himself, he still had some tricks up his sleeve to keep himself alive long enough for his friends to come to his aid. 

The backdoor to Nora’s house burst open without warning, causing the conversation between Cas and his brother about his life choices to be mometairly paused, the angel wondering who was trying to ruin a special moment. It seemed you and Dean figured out on your own who was to blame for the recent deaths around town. The both of you came charging in with your angel blade in hand swinging up in the air, but you were no match against the more powerful being who easily flung you across the room. 

Dean landed roughly against the wall and into some of the baby's things, none of which broke his fall. You slid across the floor and into a dining room chair that caused you to hit your head against the wood. The blow was enough for you to forget for a moment about the blade. You tried brushing off the pain and placed the hand that had been holding the weapon to your now throbbing head. When the pain subsided enough for you to open up your eyes and figure out where the angel might have gone, you noticed his attention drifted away from Cas and to you for some reason. A bad feeling settled into your stomach at the way he was just staring...observing you. 

“What happened to you?” The angel whispered to only felt himself. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you stared up at the angel, wondering what kind of pain you must be giving off. Your life has been filled with nothing but misery and pain. But it was a pain that you couldn't see yourself. "The sorrow you're going through, it's strong. Stronger than I've felt with most. The guilt is the worst of all, isn’t it?”

Your expression shifted into a hardened expression at the things he was saying. You tried to play dumb, hoping you might be able to buy yourself some time while you figured out how to get out of this. "What the hell are you talking about?”

“You humans try so hard to hide the pain, but I can see it so clearly. You’re suffering. All of you are.” The angel went on without going into proper details about the sort of pain you were feeling at the moment. The kind that you buried deep underneath the surface for no one to see, not even yourself. A sort of sympathetic smile crossed his face at the trauma he felt off of you. "You're denying yourself the truth.” 

Dean used the angel’s distraction as a way to get the upper hand and finish this before anyone else died at the hands of unwanted mercy, or to spill any secrets that needed to remain buried deep down. He slid the blade across the floor and over to Cas, who swiftly grabbed the weapon and did what needed to be done. Killing any of his siblings never got any easier. Whenever he was forced to kill one of his siblings, it never got any easier when the numbers of their kind dwindled over the years from war and tragedy. But he couldn’t let his brother keep going on this path, there would be no end to his mercy. You quickly shielded your eyes from the sudden burst of white light when Cas plunged the blade into the angel’s chest, ending his brother's mercy killing with one of his own. 

+ + +

Turns out Cas’ evening plans turned into an accidental miscommunication between Nora and himself. She was going on a date—just not with him. Cas spent the night with Tanya, Nora’s infant daughter who was now peacefully sleeping after the commotion that went down in the kitchen not too far from her nursery. While Dean took a call from his brother outside, you helped Cas tidy things up and take care of the baby’s fever that was starting to worry him. With his grace gone, Cas couldn’t fix humans anymore with a simple touch to the forehead. Luckily for him, you had a few tricks up your sleeve to help. 

“It’s probably because she’s teething. An easy fix.” You explained to him. You spotted a few teeth poking through the baby’s gums when she let out a yawn at how she was being kept up past her bedtime. “Why don’t you go to the medicine cabinet and see if there’s any baby aspirin? That should do the trick.” 

You took Tanya out of Cas’ arms without an ounce of hesitation and began to slowly rock her back and forth when she started to grow fussy. You occupied the baby while Cas departed to the bathroom to hunt down the medicine you told him to get. He came back a minute later to see you softly cooing at the baby with smiling praises of how adorable she was. Despite never having had a child of your own, and the loss of one, you fell into the motherly figure naturally. You were a caregiver to him and the boys, even to strangers you never met before. The sight of you holding Tanya made his heart break. 

When you saw the man was back with the medicine, you grabbed the medicine and proceeded to read the instructions that would bring the fever right down.  Cas continued to watch as you handled Tanya with ease, acting naturally as she was your own. He realized that this was both of yours first moment alone together since everything happened unfolded and him leaving the bunker. There was so much he wanted to say to you. 

“You’re very good with her.” Cas wasn’t sure if what he said was the right thing. It had only been a short time ago since everything unfolded. Wounds such you had dealt with might still be sore. And what his brother had said about you burying it deep down was something you would most likely do. Sometimes that wasn’t healthy. Humans need to talk about their problems, or at least give people who they loved reassurance they weren’t dealing with these problems alone. A small smile crossed your face at the compliment. “I...I also wanted to apologize to you.” 

Your face scrunched up slightly in confusion at the sudden shift in conversation topic. “What for?”

“For not being there for you when you needed me the most. If I learned anything about being a human from you and the Winchesters, it’s that you’re there for the people you care about in crisis.” Cas said. “Dean called me from the hospital and told me what happened after you stopped doing the trials. It’s...I wish I was there.” 

You fell silent for a moment as your expression shifted into one that made Cas suddenly regret bringing it up in the first place. You put Tanya down back into her crib and turned back to him. A heavy sigh fell from your lips at what you were about to admit.

“Don’t tell Dean, but...I guess there was some truth to what the angel said back there. I’ve been beating myself up about it for weeks now about what happened. Sometimes I lie in bed and think about what it might be like if things turned a bit differently.” You said. You turned your attention to the sleeping Tanya and smiled to yourself for a brief second about how adorable she looked. “But feeling guilty over it won’t change the past. We can’t change anything about what we did. That’s something you’re going to learn pretty quickly about being human. All we can do is keep moving forward and make best with what we got, not what we lost.” 

Cas listened to your words of advice and nodded his head. He was starting to understand that no matter who he was, angel or human, no one was perfect. Mistakes were going to be made. It was just the nature of living. “You know, you don’t make such a bad human, after all.” Your compliment to the man made him chuckle for the first time tonight. 

You made your way to the door when Tanya's quiet snores came from the crib. Cas felt the need to return your compliment with one of his own. "If you ever are given the chance to be a mother, I think you would be perfect." He said. "You're a kind person, Y/N. You deserve the happiness that you seek. It might not come soon...but hopefully one day."

“Thanks, Cas.” You mumbled. You didn't know why, but the thought of becoming a mother made you suddenly grow a little bit sad at the prospect you might not have all of this. You talked about how you thought you never would or want to have a child, but deep down, you were lying to yourself. It was a bitter sadness that you buried deep down. You looked over at the crib and let out a quiet sigh. "That means a lot."

Back outside with Dean, his conversation with his brother was turning out to be less comforting than the one you had with Cas. He leaned against the hood of the Impala and listened to the night he had with Kevin and Crowley, hoping there might have been some good news sprinkled in there somewhere. It turned out to be the worst outcome Dean could think of. He took the truth Crowley gave his brother with a grain of salt. The demon had been less helpful to them in the past without getting something out of them. Dean highly doubted the self isolation treatment the demon was being given softened him up. Sam was confident Crowley was telling the truth. 

"No, Dean, not this time." Sam told his brother the hard truth all of you were going to have to come to terms with. "Look, Metatron built the spell to withstand any attempt to reverse it. There is no putting the angels back in heaven. It's done.”

The older Winchester let out a heavy sigh from what this news meant for someone. He finished up the call with his brother the exact moment you accidentally spooked him when you placed a hand on his arm. You smiled at his reaction before it slowly faltered at the sight of his face. Dean told you the same news Sam had given him over the phone about the mess that seemed to be unfixable. Your mind immediately went to the one person who was going to handle it the hardest, and who it affected the most. "Are you gonna tell Cas?"

The poor guy already was beating himself up badly about the situation that he caused, and all he wanted to do was undo his mistakes. But it seemed there was no way of putting things back together the way it once was. There were just some problems you couldn't fix. Out of anyone, you understood that the most.

+ + +

Every part of you wanted to keep Cas around and offer him a chance to have a proper place to call his home back at the bunker. But there were circumstances you would eventually learn that kept him from doing so. For now you remained in the dark about the reason why, thinking it was Cas’ personal choice to do as such. Cas had made a life of his own in this little town and seemed to be enjoying himself. It was just how it was going to be for now until things got better. if that was even possible anymore. 

The final stop for Cas was back at the convenience store before his shift started. You conveniently excused yourself for a quick pit stop to the restroom before you and Dean headed back on the road to the bunker. It gave Dean a perfect chance to have a conversation with his friend about how things had to be. 

"Listen, Cas, back at the bunker, I'm sorry I told you to go." Dean started off with an apology that felt like it needed to be said. "I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Somehow you're adapting. I know Y/N's been worried about you, but it makes her happy seeing you do good. And, honestly, I'm proud of you."

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas said. Hearing words of encouragement from his friends brought a small ounce of happiness to him, but it only lasted for a short while, something else was weighing heavy on his mind that felt he needed to discuss. He glanced out the window before back to the hunter. "But there's something Ephraim said. The angels--they need help. Can I really sit this one out? Shouldn't I be searching for a way to get them home?"

"Don't worry. Me, Y/N and Sam, we'll take care of the angels." Dean reassured his friend, releasing him of the burden. "You're human now. It's not your problem anymore."

Dean never got around to telling Cas the information Sam told him. He should've. It was probably the right thing to do. But he couldn't get himself to do that, not to the poor guy who was already feeling down. He didn't lie, he just glossed over the truth. Refrained from giving all of the truth. It was becoming a habit lately with him—not telling the whole truth. Dean kept telling himself it was for the best. 

He forgot that the truth will always come out. There was no lie or feeling that a person can bury deep enough to keep it from seeing the light. Eventually it was going to come back and haunt him. 

Rewrite Taglist:

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[milfjensenackles]

to purgatory and back: chapter 1

2k words | read it on ao3

Dean had been trapped in Purgatory for at least a month now. He could barely keep track of time at this point. It’s not like it mattered. The world felt muted here, the sky grey and lackluster. Dean subsisted on whatever food he could find, whether that be a fish he miraculously found in a nearby water source or the flesh of a large beetle (that had been a terrible day, one he wishes he could forget). He was miserable. He wanted to get back to his brother and start hunting again. Every day was the same here. Every action he took was only what was necessary to stay alive. Kill monsters, look for Cas, sleep, repeat.

He hadn’t seen Cas since the day Dick exploded and sent their asses here in the first place. He just up and disappeared, leaving Dean to mutilate Leviathans and various other monsters on his own. Dean didn’t even know why he fought for so hard for so long. He didn’t know if Cas was alive. He didn’t know if they could escape, even if Cas did survive the last month alone against the unforgiving terrain that was Purgatory. All he knew was that he had to try to find Cas as soon as possible.

And then he met Benny.

Benny was an… interesting character, to say the least. He was snarky, reckless, and honestly? He could be pretty annoying sometimes. No wonder they got along so well. Dean ran into Benny during what was now a routine Leviathan attack that might have been Dean’s last. The Leviathan had Dean restrained in the air, holding on by the collar of his t-shirt. Something managed to knife the thing before Dean had a chance to get near his own weapon.

“I had that under control,” Dean mumbled from the ground, attempting to brush some debris off his jeans until he realized that, based on the amount of grime currently covering his person, there was no point in trying.

A large, scruffy-looking man looked down at him and smiled before winking at Dean, intentionally flashing his sharp fangs. “Sure you did.”

Dean gaped at him and immediately pointed his knife at the man’s neck. “You’re a vampire.”

“No shit. Really?”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why did you help me? So you can drink me dry?”

“Nah, I’m not that kind of vamp. Human blood doesn’t do it for me. Seemed like you were in a bit of a pickle there, so a ‘thank you’ would be nice,” he said, looking Dean up and down with a smirk and a look in his eyes that Dean couldn’t quite pinpoint. The vampire stretched out his hand to shake Dean’s. Dean looked at it for a brief moment, hesitating to align himself with someone he would have killed without a second thought as a hunter. Normally, Dean wouldn’t even consider trusting him, but what choice did he have? It was either work with a vampire or die at the hands of a different one. The vampire seemed to sense his hesitation but leaned his head forward and moved his arm even closer to Dean’s. Dean rolled his eyes, lowered his weapon, and clapped their hands together. “Nice to meet ya. I’m Benny. I can help you get out of here.”

So Dean and Benny continued forward into the endless cycle of fighting monsters and waiting for something dangerous to find them. Dean could feel himself warming up to the vampire, against every fiber of his being that warned him against it. Dean told Benny the story of how he and Cas were sent to Purgatory, and Benny told Dean the story of his death. Benny tried to convince Dean to move on without Cas, but Dean refused each time he tried. Dean wasn’t leaving this terrible place without Cas, even if it meant he had to stay forever.

“So, are you in love with this angel or what?” Benny asked as they warmed themselves by the small fire Dean built. It was dark, and Purgatory got cold at night. Dean was lucky he and Sam taught themselves how to make a fire when they were kids, otherwise he’d more than likely have frozen to death by now.

Dean spluttered out a noise that was a mix of the words “What?” and “No!” while aggressively shaking his head.

Benny laughed. “It’s just that all I’ve heard about him from you is that he has the most dreamy eyes ever and he’s so strong and smart. Not to mention all the ‘where’s the angel’ crap I’ve had to listen to every time we try to gank somethin’.”

Dean stared into the flames before quietly saying, “First of all, I never said his eyes were dreamy. And second of all, I ain’t into dudes.”

“You coulda had me fooled,” Benny mumbled under his breath. Dean heard it and chose not to respond.

Dean and Cas had a complicated relationship. It didn’t help that one of them was always dying. Dean wasn’t in love with him, though. Benny was just being antagonistic as usual. Cas was his brother. His family. That’s why he was so desperate to find him. You don’t leave family behind.

Every night, Dean and Benny slept on the ground as close as possible to the fire, waiting until it inevitably fizzled out and they had to depend on their thin jackets to keep them warm. Dean learned to block out the noise of screeching and wailing that came from deep in the trees over time, allowing him to get a few hours of sleep after their light source disappeared for the day. He found comfort in praying to Cas. He had no idea if Cas was listening, but it made him feel safer as he laid there, everything surrounding him engulfed by the dark Purgatory sky, rocks pressing into his back.

“Cas, if you’re out there… I hope you’re still out there. I don’t even know if angel radio works in Purgatory. I’m going to find you. We’re going to get out of here. I just… I miss you, Cas. You’re my best friend. You’re family. I’m not leaving without you. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Dean felt a tear slide down his cheek as he finished the prayer, hands clasped together and eyes squeezed tight in an attempt to make his effort feel more sincere. He’d never been one to pray, but he would try anything to get into contact with Castiel. Dean took a few deep breaths and slipped into a fitful sleep.

He dreamt of Cas most nights. Cas dying at the hands of some monster and Dean can only watch, can’t move to save him. Cas leaving him, choosing not to come home from Purgatory. Dean would wake with a start, the vision of Cas drifting away slowly, only to find himself an empty clearing with Benny fast asleep nearby. Sometimes, though… he had good dreams about Cas. Cas grazing his fingertips across Dean’s lips. Cas ghosting his mouth along Dean’s jawline. Cas pressing into Dean until all he can do is gasp Castiel’s name…

Those dreams terrified him just as much as the nightmares.

Dean was a wreck the next morning, having barely slept. He pushed himself off the ground, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. God, did he miss coffee. He missed having breakfast with Sam and Cas after a long hunt. He missed normal food, like bacon and pancakes. He missed Cas. Dean was beginning to wonder if it was worth it. Maybe his nightmares were trying to tell him something… Maybe Cas didn’t want to be found.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Benny asked after a few hours of wandering through the forest.

If Benny noticed, Dean was being more obvious with his moping than he had originally thought. He sighed before responding, “I’m sick of it here. I want to shower. I want to see my brother. I want to find Cas. And I want this stupid beard off my face.” Dean rubbed at his chin, which was now layered with thick stubble. Normally, he would shave at least every few days, but that obviously wasn’t possible here.

Benny snickered. “I think it suits you.”

Dean grimaced. Benny held up a finger to him, indicating that he should stop whining for a moment. He searched through his pockets and eventually presented Dean with a pocketknife. “I can use this to shave you. If you’d like.”

Dean looked at the knife, and then at Benny. “You sure that’s a good idea? What if you cut me and you can’t control yourself?”

“I think I can handle it. I want to make you feel better.”

While Dean wasn’t ecstatic about the idea of a vampire and a knife all up in his face, he did really hate the scratchy feeling that came with excess facial hair. Dean eventually resigned himself to the fact that this was happening and settled on a tree stump near the water’s edge. Benny kneeled in front of him and pushed his knees apart to get close enough. Dean watched as Benny wet the knife in the river before pressing it against Dean’s jawline, scraping away the thick hair that had grown uncontrollably over the past few months. As Benny concentrated on Dean’s beard, Dean was watching Benny’s face. He wasn’t bad looking by any means. Dean’s eyes flicked from the top of Benny’s head to his eyes, and then down to his lips. Benny happened to look away from shaving Dean at that exact moment, catching Dean openly staring. Benny inhaled quickly, and shakily whispered, “Like what you see?”

Dean screwed his eyes shut and swallowed heavily. He was lonely and had nothing to lose at this point.  It was just a friend comforting another friend. Nothing wrong with that. Cas was probably dead, anyway. Why was he thinking about Cas right now? Dean watched as Benny leaned in, slowly, waiting for Dean to confirm that he was okay with this. Dean gave a small nod and Benny’s lips crashed into his.

***

The morning after… whatever happened between Dean and Benny wasn’t as awkward as Dean expected. Dean didn’t want to think about it. Benny was acting normal, so he could act normal too. Just guys bein’ dudes. Relieving some tension. He had been stressed, and it felt good to enjoy himself for once. It felt good to do something normal. Dean couldn’t help but wonder though… if this meant that he was actually ‘into men’, like Benny suggested so long ago. He really didn’t have time for a sexuality crisis right now. They still had to find Cas. Dean pushed the thought to the back of his head, making it a problem for his future self to deal with.

“Hey, Dean. I see something over by the river.”

Dean’s eyes followed where Benny was pointing. There was something… someone, maybe… crouching down on the rocks. It looked like they were desperate for water, like they hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. As Dean got closer, the shape became clearer and the tan color of a familiar trenchcoat came into view.  

Cas.

Dean felt himself move toward Cas and wrap him in a hug. A grin stretched across his face, threatening to break him apart by the seams. They found each other. His thoughts became a repetitive cycle of telling himself that Cas is alive, Cas is safe, Cas is okay.

They had never hugged before. He didn’t want it to end. After months of searching for him, all he wanted to do was sink into his best friend’s warm embrace for as long as Cas would let him. Dean pressed his face into Cas’ shoulder, breathing him in. He felt Cas relax against him, and they stood there for what felt like an eternity, as though each of them was making sure the other person was real. As he pulled away slightly, his eyes roamed over Cas’ face with abandon. His bright blue eyes, his cheeks smeared with dirt, and his plush lips parted in a way that made Dean feel insane. Cas was looking at him, head tilted, a small smile growing on his face. Dean’s heart was going to beat out of his chest. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt more relieved, more peaceful, more… full of love.

Oh, shit.

He’s in love with Cas.

[dothwrites]

part v of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

---

Dean’s never been so happy to see Sam in his entire life. 

His gangly little brother sits behind the wheel of the Impala, face drawn tight with worry. He relaxes in stages as he sees Dean, sees the blood on his clothes, then sees that little of it belongs to him. 

“Where’s Gabriel?” Sam demands as he rushes to open the backseat for Dean. His eyes widen as he takes in the ruin of Castiel, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts Cas’ unconscious body into the backseat. “Get his legs.” 

Between the two of them, they get Cas into the backseat, though not as gently as Dean could hope for. If a few extra bruises are the price which Cas has to pay for his freedom, then Dean’s willing to fork that payment over. 

He collapses against the Impala’s sturdy frame, chest heaving. Carrying Cas wasn’t easy; despite all his jabs about Cas being a nerdy little dude, Cas is solid, and carrying his deadweight through the halls of the Novak mansion counts as a workout. Sweat dapples the back of his neck, cooling unpleasantly as Dean waits. 

Once again, he’s in the garage of the Novak mansion. He tries to keep his eyes away from the spot where he last saw Cas, though he can’t stop his morbid fascination with the place. He wonders if there’s a bloodstain there. 

“Where the fuck is Gabriel?” Dean growls, when his body temperature changes from overheated to clammy. “We can’t risk sticking around here too much longer.” 

As if in response to his prayers, Gabriel comes tearing down the staircase. He races towards them at a dead sprint, tossing a few flashbangs behind him. “Get in the car, get in the car!” he shouts, heaving himself in the passenger seat. Dean doesn’t wait for another invitation, but gets into the backseat, arranging Cas’ head on his lap. Sam spares him one shocked look before he gets behind the wheel. 

Sam slams on the gas too hard, causing the Impala’s wheels to squeal and smoke against the concrete of the floor, but when he eases off a little, she jumps forward, as eager for freedom as the rest of them. Dean doesn’t breathe until they crash through the gates and the outline of the mansion disappears in the rearview. 

After weeks, they’re all finally free. 

---

Only when the mansion vanishes completely does Dean dare to look at Castiel. 

Once he does, he regrets it. 

He got a few glimpses when he first saw Cas, but he hadn’t been too interested at cataloging injuries. At that moment, escape was the only thought in his mind and Cas’ injuries were only obstacles to be overcome. 

They have time now, or at least a lack of pursuit. In their world, it amounts to same thing. Dean flicks aside the tattered remains of Cas’ shirt and looks down at the bleeding ruin of his chest. His gorge rises as he looks at the wounds littered over Cas’ torso. Some of them are still bleeding.

Bruises spread over his skin in varying shades of purple, yellow, and green. There are several puncture wounds that Dean recognizes as belonging to a taser. Rage clouds up high and sour in his throat as he considers the varying stages of healing of the wounds. They’ve been hurting Cas from the first day they had him. 

Rage and nausea rise in Dean until he thinks he might choke on them. The bastards turned Cas into a canvas.

“Son of a bitch.” He looks up to see Gabriel leaning over the front seat. Thin white lines of fury etch along his mouth and eyes. 

In the past few weeks, he and Gabriel have come to understand each other as partners and allies, pushing aside their prejudices in favor of a common goal. Dean trusts him as much as he trusts anyone other than Sam, but for the first time since he began working with Gabriel, a little tendril of fear pokes at him. 

“He’s alive,” Dean says, the barest form of comfort he can offer while being truthful. “He’ll be ok. He’s strong.” 

A muscle twitches in the corner of Gabriel’s jaw as he stretches out his hand to brush through Cas’ hair. A soft noise caught between contentment and distress escapes through Cas’ lips and Gabriel withdraws his touch. 

“Just get us home,” Dean tells Sam. 

---

In hindsight, he should have expected the nightmares. 

They made it back to their safehouse without anyone following, which makes Dean stupidly think that they’re out of the woods. Sure, they probably have both the Novak and Winchester families gunning for them, but he, Sam, Gabriel, and Cas are all under one roof. Together they’ve got enough brains, skills, and ruthlessness to take down any threat. 

Dean thinks that right up until the first scream splits the peace of the night. 

He bolts upright, gun already in hand, eyes darting wildly around in search of the potential threat. When he finds none in the immediate vicinity, he runs out of the room, already calling for Sam. 

Sam’s head pokes out of his room, hair sleep tousled and eyes heavy with interrupted slumber, but he looks confused instead of terrified. The fear on his face is directed outward instead of for himself. “Dean? What’s going on?”

Another scream rips through the night. This time Dean recognizes the voice underneath the terror. 

“Cas,” he murmurs, thundering down the hallway. 

The door opens under his touch into a horror show. Cas writhes in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled around his body. His back bends into a rigid, impossible arch as his fingers claw at the mattress. Tendons in his neck bulge as he forces a scream out through clenched teeth. His feet kick uselessly, forcing Gabriel to try and dodge his inadvertent blows. Blood trickles down Cas’ bare chest as his wounds reopen. 

“Cas, you’re ok, you’re all right, come on Cas.” Gabriel’s voice is frantic as he tries to pin Cas’ flailing body. “Easy Cas, easy!” 

Cas screams again. The raw sound tears through the quiet night like a knife blade. The safehouse is removed from civilization, but not so far away as to be isolated, and Cas’ shrieks are loud enough to break glass. 

“Sam, go get my bag,” Dean says. His heart is pounding so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t fainted. His gun is heavy in his hand, pulling his whole arm down to the ground. “There’s a sedative in there; it should be enough to knock him out.” 

“No!” 

Gabriel’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping Sam in his tracks. “What the hell?” A ragged, tortured sound rips out of Cas’ throat. It seems impossible that a single person could hold that much tension in their body without snapping in half. 

Wild eyes and bared teeth are all Dean sees of Gabriel. “You are not putting anymore drugs into him!” 

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ arm, to the series of haphazard bruises blossoming along the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm. An awful, terrible picture paints itself in Dean’s mind, one which explains Cas’ state of mind, his hazy eyes and wandering train of thought. It’s not real, none of this is real...in my head, there are things, there are people, and they lie--

Dean thinks he might be sick.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean finds himself moving forward. At first, he means to do nothing more than to help Gabriel restrain Cas from hurting himself, but then he finds himself murmuring soft reassurances, things that his father would have slapped out of his mouth if he could. 

“Hey Cas, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re ok, I’ve got you, me and Gabe are here, you’re ok now--” 

He runs his hand over Cas’ forehead, wiping sweat away from his skin. “You’re safe, you’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you, I’ve got you.” 

He’s aware of the weight of Sam and Gabriel’s eyes, but he keeps his eyes focused on Cas. One last, thin wail rips from his throat and then, like a puppet cut from his strings, Cas collapses bonelessly onto the mattress. He shudders once and is still. 

Dean holds his breath for ten seconds. Then, when Cas sleeps peacefully on, he lets it out in one long whoosh. His knees buckle, threatening to send him crashing onto the mattress right beside Cas. 

“Go back to bed, Sam.” A few hesitant protests come from Sam, but they’re swiftly silenced with a sharp bark of his name. 

“Call me if anything changes,” Sam shoots off as a parting salvo, but Dean doesn’t think it’ll be necessary. If Cas has another screaming fit, Sam will know.

Sam’s door closes and Dean takes a few steps backward. His shaky legs give out just as his back hits the wall, and he slides down until his ass hits the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes. He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to allow Gabriel this view of his weakness. “God, oh god.” 

For thirty seconds, he allows his horror, and anger free reign. Then, with effort, he pulls himself back together, stitching together reason and rationality until he’s able to think. He looks up at the bed, where Gabriel’s head is bowed low over the mattress. 

“Drugs?” Dean finally asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. 

Gabriel’s head rises like it’s moving on rusty hinges. His golden eyes are bleak. 

“I recognize the handiwork. It’s from Naomi, one of Dad’s pets. She likes to experiment. Pump them full of hallucinogens, tear them apart, and see what falls out. By the end, they’re reprogrammed into something else they wouldn’t even recognize. Stands to reason they’d set her loose on Cas.” 

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. Cas is brilliant, his mind sharper than a steel trap. Behind blue eyes, thousands of gears are constantly turning. To think of someone rummaging around in that machine, upsetting the delicate balances and systems...It’s perverse, an upsetting of the natural order. Dean doesn’t believe in God, never has, but the idea of Cas losing his reason due to outside influences is as close to blasphemy as anything else. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay with him.” 

Gabriel’s scoff isn’t as strong as it could be. Instead, he just looks weary and defeated. “You know, when I first thought of a Winchester taking my place, I thought I was going to kill you myself. And now...” He shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. “I’m going to get a few hours worth of sleep. I’ll come get you then.” 

For a moment, Dean thinks Gabriel might go so far as to pat him on the shoulder. His hand hovers awkwardly in mid-air before it drops to his side. Gabriel shuffles towards the door, each step taking an eternity to accomplish. He waves at Dean, a limp gesture, before he heads down the hallway to his bedroom. It shuts behind him, leaving Dean alone with Cas. 

It takes almost all of Dean’s energy to make his way to the opposite side of the room. He collapses into the armchair, still warm from Gabriel’s ass. 

Blood dries tacky on Cas’ chest. None of the wounds he ripped open were deep enough to really hurt him, but seeing the reminders of his treatment torn stark red on Cas’ chest is still like getting a punch to the gut. 

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to see Cas brought low. He knows Cas wouldn’t want to be seen like this. When he wakes up, Cas will probably either punch him or shoot him, and that’ll be fine. It’ll be worth it to see Cas’ eyes open and shine with lucidity. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. The very air molecules bristle with disapproval. It’s nothing compared to the contempt which Dean feels for himself. 

“If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have been caught up in this. For whatever reason, you looked at me and you saw someone worth saving. I don’t know why you thought that. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I was ever worth this.” 

Dean’s fingers crawl across the mattress to take Cas’ hand in his. Cas’ fingers are cold and limp. Blood is caked into his cuticles. In his sleep, Cas murmurs. Whether it’s a sound of distress or happiness, Dean doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know. 

The first time he saw Cas was at the exchange. The Novaks were lined up on one side of the hotel and the Winchesters on the other. Dean had barely been able to swallow his rage at being sold off like a pawn, all so his father could swagger around the city like he owned something. He’d focused that rage on the family who, up until a few weeks ago, it was his purpose to thwart in any way possible, death not excluded. Now he was expected to join them, with nary a word spoken otherwise. 

He recognized Michael Novak and he’d gotten intimately familiar with Gabriel Novak’s file. Neither of those Novaks were as interesting as the Novak who stood at the back of the room. 

Even without knowing his name or anything else about him, Castiel was the Novak who caught his attention. He moved through the rest of them like a panther moving through wolves, all coiled grace and tightly bound intent. Where the other Novaks were stiff, he was fluid, where they were cold, he burned hot. Dean looked at him and saw the proverbial diamond in the rough, one jewel amidst a sea of imposters. 

And now here he is, shattered into a thousand pieces, a sacrifice laid in front of the altar of Dean Winchester. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice croaks on the last syllable. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” His instincts tell him to crush Cas’ hand in his, to bring him back with nothing more than sheer force of will, but he already knows that’s not an option. He needs to learn how to hold things without destroying them, how to love something without smothering it. 

“I wasn’t worth it. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t worth this.” Heat prickles behind Dean’s eyes and works its way up his throat. “I’m so sorry Cas.” 

Misery forces his head low and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ knuckles. Cas’ hand is so cold. The rise and fall of his chest is subtle, worryingly so. Dean doesn’t know how it feels to fall asleep without the taste of fear thick and sour on his tongue. 

He falls asleep with his lips still shaping the word sorry. 

---

Dean drags himself up from the pit of sleep, roused by a stimulus so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It’s still enough to pull him out of a troubled slumber, heart pounding. 

It takes his pupils a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. When they do, they immediately find Cas. He lies, flat on his back, but his hand reaches out towards Dean. The weight of his hand is almost like a whisper as his fingers ruffle through his hair. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, his pulse suddenly racing like a runaway carriage. “Cas, are you awake?” Are you ok, are you whole, please, tell me you’re all right, tell me that I didn’t destroy you like I destroy everything else in my godforsaken life-

A faint smile creeps over Cas’ face, like the sun struggling to break through the darkness of night. It’s a faint sliver of a thing, but it’s there, inescapable and wondrous. 

“Hello Dean.” 

[chevrolangels]

When My Time Comes

death!cas,  3.3k

Continuing my tradition of posting ~spooky~ fics for Halloween, here’s a little thing with Death!Cas. I know we’re all freaking out with spn ending and a possible looming end for our fave so I hope this is a nice little au reprieve. The title is from 'Work Song' by Hozier, bc I needed to use one of his lyrics for a title eventually.

Enjoy.

read on ao3

The first time Castiel met him, he was crying.

 He beat out with his tiny fists, and his father dragged him away, but not before he managed to swipe at Castiel. His hand passed through him like mist, and Castiel felt a shock, like he had been plunged in icy water. 

 Castiel extended a hand, and he and Mary Winchester walked into the afterlife together.

 “Your son is a feisty one,” he told her.

“Good,” Mary replied. “He'll have to be without his mama.”

◆

“I know what you are.”

A man—boy, really—his hands clenched. He stared at Castiel, anger staining his soul. 

Castiel knew those eyes.

“You’re a reaper,” the man accused.

Castiel did not deny it.

 He simply stood, withdrawing his hands from the body in the alley. 

“That’s one word for what I am.”

The words dragged like rust in Castiel’s throat. It had been some time since he last spoke.

 “I've been searching for you. For years.” 

Castiel looked away, and said nothing. 

 The boy eyed him for several silent moments.

“Why can I see you?” 

 Castiel told him honestly. 

“I don't know.”

 Some of the tension bled from the boy’s shoulders.

“You got a name?” He asked gruffly.

 Castiel nodded.

“My name is Castiel.”

The boy took an abortive step forward, his fingers outstretched. Castiel did not move. 

He reached the outline of where Castiel’s shoulder should be, but touched nothing but air.

His hand dropped. 

“I’m Dean,” he said finally. “Dean Winchester.”

 “I know,” Castiel answered softly. “Hello, Dean.”

◇

“Why can't I touch you?” He asked, the next time they met.

 “Would you like to?”

 Dean thought for a moment, his brow furrowed.

“Yes.”

 Castiel stepped past Dean’s grandfather, lying sick in his bed. Castiel had never done it before, but he saw no reason why it wouldn’t be possible. He extended his arm and thought very hard.

He felt himself solidify, and Dean reached out tentatively, as if Castiel were poisonous. He touched the back of his hand.

His fingers were hot, searing flame, burning brighter than anything Castiel had ever known.

 Until, that is, Dean punched him in the face.

“That was for my ma,” he said.

◆

“I do not cause death,” Castiel said, many months later. “I am merely the link between worlds.”

 Dean lifted his head, shock crossing his pale face. 

“You again.”

His voice was hoarse, weakened through many nights of grief. Tragedy had once again come to their small community, and Castiel could feel Dean’s soul still aching from it.

Castiel stepped forward, looking at the cold form lying before Dean, life now burnt out.

“You were not related to this man,” he said, almost a question.

“No,” Dean answered shortly. 

“Ah.” 

 Castiel looked away. Even after all this time, the nuances of humanity still escaped him.

The silence between them stretched. Castiel furrowed his brow, searching for the appropriate words to use. 

“I’m sorry.”

 Dean said nothing, but his eyes widened, betraying his surprise.

“Dean.” 

Another entered the room, long hair skimming over reddened eyes.

“They want us outside,” the newcomer said, thin, tall, even younger than Dean. “You know. To say a few words.”

 His request was thick, choked. Castiel looked back from his face to Dean’s. Their pain was great, and shared. 

“Yeah, be there soon, Sammy,” Dean answered in a low voice, never taking his eyes off Castiel.

 The boy waited for a moment, eyes sliding towards the spot where Castiel stood, where to him was only empty space.

“You’re not still seeing ghosts, are you?” He asked, smiling wanly. 

His soul flickered, strangely dim. 

“Nah,” Dean answered quietly.

They did not speak after that, even after the boy left the room. Some time later, Dean left too, with a quick nod toward Castiel, so brief he might have missed it.

Castiel watched him go.

Robert Singer sighed, a wistful smile on his face.

“Well,” he said, turning to Castiel. “We’d better get goin’, huh?”

 Castiel nodded.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Let’s.”

◇

Revolution came. Blood ran through the streets and voices cried out in the dawn, the sound of shouts and guns being fired. 

 Dean lay slumped against a building, bleeding in the dirt—a wound in his thigh that desperately needed a doctor. Castiel waited by the dying body of Dean’s compatriot, watching soldiers run past.

Dean saw him and his face went pale.

 “Well, Castiel,” he murmured. “You comin’ to finish me off?”

 He knew. He knew if Castiel was there, it was already too late.

 He passed out soon after from the blood loss. Dean was not to die yet, but soon. Thirty minutes maybe, a stray bullet to the head. He would feel nothing. 

Castiel thought for a moment. Then he did something he was not allowed to do. 

 He picked up the dead comrade’s helmet and slipped it over Dean’s head, brushing the hair back from his glassy green eyes. Then Castiel gently laid him back against the building.

 “Not yet, Dean Winchester,” he whispered.

◆

Castiel was not sure why he did it. But nothing happened. No fire, no brimstone, no splitting of the fabric of time. Whatever cosmic consequences he had incurred lay quiet.

In the hospital, many died. Castiel checked on him frequently. By the seventh death, he was awake.

"Castiel," he whispered. “Cas.”

 The nurse hushed him and quickly turned up his medicine. Dean slipped back under—but not before he grabbed Castiel’s hand.

In sleep, he burns cooler, the swirling ocean during a storm.

◇

Dean sat there, sunken eyes, in a wheelchair. 

War brings out the demons inside.

"Y'know, I'm startin' to think you're following me."

 Castiel frowned. 

"You do not know this man. I believe you are the one following me."

"Yeah, well." Dean turned his head away, scratching at a cheek covered in rough stubble. "I had to thank you, didn't I?"

 Castiel hesitated.

"I did nothing."

"Sure."

 Dean picked at the edge of his bandage. A couple weeks and he'd be able to walk again. 

 "All I'm saying is, it's pretty nice I got the angel of death as my friend."

Castiel let out a small derisive sound.

"I am not an angel."

"Then what are you?"

Castiel thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure."

 Then, something in his words registered. Castiel looked at him curiously. 

 "Friend?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Friend."

◆

Dean was not there when Castiel took his father. They hadn't spoken in years.

 “So that’s it,” John said flatly.

Castiel nodded.

“Yes.”

 John was silent for a long moment. 

“Guess there’s no talking my way outta this one,” he muttered. “No more deals to make.”

Castiel slowly shook his head.

 John looked back at his own body, tears welling in his eyes.

“Miss my boys,” he mumbled. “I shoulda...shoulda done more. Shoulda done right by them.”

He sighed, staring blankly at his hands.

“Guess it’s too late now.”

 Castiel spoke softly.

“Your son is a fine man.”

“Yeah?” John turned, raising an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

 Castiel avoided his eyes, holding out a hand.

"Come," he said. "Mary is waiting."

◇

"How come I see you so much?”

"Death is everywhere.”

"Then how come your name isn't...y'know. Death?” 

 "There are many old names for things. Everything changes with time."

Silence sat between them, comfortable yet steady.

"Is there a god?" 

"Why would you ask me that?" 

"Dunno. Figured if there was, they'd be your boss."

"If there is, I've never met them.”

“Huh. Told Sammy as much. He still thinks you don’t exist, by the way.”

“People find it hard to believe things they cannot see.”

“Mmm.”

“It’s something I have wondered, many times, Yet it remains mysterious, even to me." 

 Castiel looked down at his hands, the means of his lonely burden.

 "I am merely the ferryman,” he murmured. 

Dean nudged his shoulder.

"So the Greeks were right then?"

"What?"

 Dean rolled his eyes.

 "Never mind."

◆

When his next-door neighbor died on his kitchen floor, Castiel visited Dean. 

He was crying. 

“Dean.”

 He looked up slowly, eyes unfocused.

“My dad’s dead,” he mumbled. Castiel nodded.

“I know.”

 “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Castiel shrugged slowly.

 “I hadn't talked to him,” Dean said, a confession. “Not in years.”

“He mentioned you.”

Dean dropped his head back in his hands, shoulders shaking. Rather than comfort, Castiel’s words seemed to have the opposite effect.

 Castiel stood still for several long moments.

Then he knelt, reached out, and touched his cheek.

Tears clung to Dean’s lashes. He looked up at Castiel, shattered, laid bare, his rough exterior finally split open.

 Dean leaned forward, lips parting.

 This soft, broken man was the edge of a knife, a precipice for which there could be no coming back.

   Castiel brushed a thumb over the freckles dusting his skin—wheat and honey stars in a milky sky. 

And he kissed him.

◇

Dean still burns cool in his sleep. But they've evened out, and now, he feels like warm summer rain in Castiel’s arms. He has stopped shivering when Castiel holds him.

 “What do I look like?” Castiel whispers one night.

They do not have much time left. Castiel has been reckless, pushing the limits further and further each time he stays. He cannot begin to imagine what danger might come from his disobedience.

 “You don't know?”

Dean smiles, and starts to trace the lines of his face.

“You look human. Sorta.”

His fingers dance down Castiel’s jaw, sweeping across his chin.

“But...I look at you, and know you're not...y’know?” He laughs softly. “I can just tell. You're made of something else.”

Dean’s hands skim across Castiel’s bare throat.

“When you’re wearing clothes,” he continues, a hint of mischief in his tone. “It’s always the same ugly-ass coat.”

Castiel makes a small indignant sound.

“It is not ugly.”

“Just saying.”

Dean grins, loose and easy, tangling his fingers in Castiel’s own.

“You could rock the whole badass look. Black cloak, scythe—the whole deal.”

“The scythe was quite cumbersome,” Castiel deadpans.

 Dean looks at him for a moment until he realizes Castiel’s joking—and he laughs.

“And you got one hell of a sense of humor,” he murmurs, leaning in.

 Castiel accepts the kiss, closing his eyes. Despite all he’s seen, all he’s suffered, Dean is still so full of love. The resilience of humans will never fail to astound Castiel, but Dean is something else. 

He pulls back, smiling softly, then reaches up, tugging at Castiel’s hair. 

“This is brown. Really dark brown, almost black. Way darker than mine.” 

Dean looks at him, lowering his voice.

“Your eyes are blue, and they're the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.”

 Castiel catches his hand, pressing a small kiss to his palm.

Dean’s smile fades as he watches Castiel, his chest rising and falling slowly. Castiel’s does not. 

He does not breathe.

 “When I gonna die, Cas?” Dean whispers.

 Castiel goes still. 

Dean searches his face. 

“C’mon,” he says, a slight shake in his voice. “You gotta know.”

Castiel looks at him, and realizes he does not. 

 “I don't,” he says, shocking himself with the words. 

Dean doesn't heed him, barreling on.

“Because when I die, I mean what if—”

He stops, fear in his eyes.

“What if I never see you again?” Dean whispers.

 Castiel cradles Dean’s face in his hand, shaking his head, opening his mouth to whisper false words of comfort. 

That's when he feels a tug at the edges of his being, and he’s being pulled halfway across the world, to the next death. 

 The last thing Castiel sees are Dean’s panicked green eyes, before everything turns to black.

◆

“SAM, NO—”

Dean runs, his scream rending the night air.

“No, no, Sammy—”

He reaches Sam just before he collapses, dropping with him in the wet dirt. 

“Dean—” Sam chokes out, as the perpetrator runs away with his crime into the dark. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, hey, no—it’s okay, alright?” Dean tries to pull him up, support him, even as Sam falls to his knees, slumping forward. “You’re fine—it’s fine, it’s not even that bad, it’s not—”

Dean cuts off. He lifts a shaky hand from the wet patch spreading over Sam’s back, seeing it come away covered in slick red.

“Shit,” he breathes lowly.

Sam says something, jagged and garbled in his throat. Dean shushes him, hands coming to his face. 

“No, no, Sammy, you’re gonna be fine—we faced worse before, you just need to—”

 Sam’s face is ashen white, his eyes starting to slip closed. Dean gasps back a choked breath.

 “C’mon, Sammy,” he begs. “Come on.”

He looks around, to cry for help, for something, anything—

And he sees Castiel.

 “No,” Dean breathes.

  “I'm sorry, Dean,” Castiel whispers.

  “No,” Dean snarls again, gripping the back of his brother's jacket.

He doesn't have long. Samuel Winchester’s heart is pushing the blood out of him, slowly but surely. It won't take more than a few minutes.

   Castiel takes a few steps forward, but Dean jerks back, dragging Sam backward, shielding him with his own body. 

 Dean meets Castiel’s eyes. He's broken. 

“No, Cas,” he whispers. “Please, no.”

Castiel’s hands tremble.

“I have to.”

Sam breathes in raggedly.

“Just a few more years,” Dean whispers. “Please.”

“I can’t,” Castiel answers softly. “Death demands life.”

“One year, just one year, c’mon, at least give him something—”

Dean stops, choking back sobs. His breath spirals silently into the night air, the ground slick with rain and blood.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel murmurs.

 He kneels beside them and places a hand on Sam’s forehead. 

Dean watches, bone-white and utterly defeated. 

Sam gasps.

“Dean,” he murmurs. “I...I see him.”

 Dean looks down at him, shocked out of his stupor.

“Y-yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “Your angel...Cas.” 

Dean nods silently, tears dripping down thick and fast.

“He was real after all,” Sam mumbles, his head drooping onto Dean's chest.

 Dean stares down at his brother’s pale face, hands clenched in the loose folds of his jacket.

Seconds, now.

 Castiel closes his eyes. He has no heart, but he’s sure this is what it feels like when it breaks. 

“Take me.”

Castiel looks up sharply.

Dean’s jaw is set, his eyes are firm. 

 “Take me instead,” he orders again.

Castiel stutters, fear constricting his throat.

“Dean, I—”

 He stops, shaking his head. 

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“Bullshit, you can’t,” Dean spits back. “You saved me.”

 “I—”

 His argument dies in his throat. 

As Castiel beholds him, stares into Dean’s eyes—his fate is murky, the truth to Castiel lost in shadow.

  Dean reaches out, catching the edge of Castiel’s sleeve.

"Please," he begs. "Please, Cas."

  Castiel shudders, and looks back to Sam’s pale face.

“And you would leave him here alone?” He swallows thickly. “Without you.”

 Dean is silent for a long moment. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look back at him, his normally carefree face is drawn tight, resignation heavy on his shoulders.

“I ain’t supposed to be here, Cas,” he whispers. “I felt it. Ever since…”

 Castiel knows. 

Ever since he ripped up the rules, leaving nothing.

  “I was supposed to die,” Dean says quietly. “Maybe I should. “

Sam’s breathing slows, his face grows slack.

Dean tightens his grip, knuckles white. 

“It’ll be hard for him at first,” he breathes, looking down at Sam. “For—for both of us. But I know he’ll understand.”

 Castiel cannot think. Dean cannot fathom what he’s asking of him.

 “Cas.”

 Dean’s voice breaks on his name.

“Cas—please,” he whispers. 

A soft touch on his cheek.

 “We’ll see each other again,” Dean breathes, swallowing thickly. “R-right?”

Castiel folds his hand over Dean’s. 

“Right,” he whispers, but he’s not sure if it's true.

He slowly places his other hand on Sam’s, and looks up into Dean’s eyes. He nods, just once.

Sam bolts upright, just as Dean slumps over, the light fading from his eyes.

 Castiel sags, the transfer of energy leaving him weak. It's like watching a film in reverse—Sam rises dazedly, and when he understands what has occurred, he is the one now shaking his brother’s lifeless body, agony in his voice.

“Dean!” He calls, looking around wildly. “Castiel, you son of a bitch, don’t you dare—bring him back—”

He continues raging, cursing Castiel in one breath and begging for help in the next.

 “I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean whispers.

Sam stills, hiccuping.

“Be good, alright?” Dean continues softly. “You keep fighting. And take care of my wheels.”

Sam drops his head, stifling a choked laugh. Dean smiles, sad and bittersweet.

“Remember what Dad taught you, okay?” He murmurs. “And what I taught you.”

 Behind them, a soft white light begins to glow, banishing the obscure dark. Sam does not notice, or see. He is too caught up in his grief, mourning over a now-empty shell.

The universe demanded the soul of a Winchester, and it got one. Yet a life traded for another cannot move on. 

Castiel knows this. 

Beside him, Dean’s hand finds his.

Castiel shivers. Not candle-warm, like the other souls he’s helped cross over. Dean’s hand is as cold as his own.

 “Let's go, Cas,” Dean whispers. “I can't see this.”

They turn away, Castiel giving one last look to the brother they’re leaving behind.

 And they walk forward into the light.

◆◇

Castiel’s work has always been demanding. Souls dying everywhere across the globe, some within the same second. 

 With two, the job is somewhat easier. 

◇◆

She opens her eyes. She must’ve slipped under again, a brief respite from the pain.

She sits up and is surprised to find the motion does not hurt her. In fact, nothing hurts anymore. Instead, she feels only lightness.

“Well, you sure took your sweet time.”

   She turns, startled to see a man standing at the foot of her bed.

He clicks his tongue, pulling back the edge of a leather glove to tap a shining watch on his wrist.

“We’re late enough as it is,” he says expectantly. “And I don’t got all day, seeing as my brother’ll kill me if I don’t get to visit him again.”

He thinks a moment, then chuckles, a wry smile playing around his lips.

“Well.” He smirks. “He would if he could.”

 She blinks a few times, bewildered.

“Who are you?” 

 The man ignores her question, removing his gloves completely. He’s tall, impeccably dressed in a dark suit and black cloak. 

“Tessa, right?”

He smiles, extending a hand.

On his fourth finger is a ring, white ivory in a square setting.

 Tessa doesn’t move.

“I’m dead.”

 The man winks.

“Bingo,” he answers. “Or ‘condolences’, as Cas would say.”

 Before she can ask what that's supposed to mean, the man quickly checks his watch again, speaking brusquely.

“Okay, but seriously, come on.” He jerks his head, nodding over his shoulder. You’d think we’d have all the time in the world, but turns out we run on a very tight schedule.”

Tessa eyes him warily.

“And...where are we going?” 

“Y’know.” The man gestures vaguely. “On. As they say.”

“On,” she repeats.

 The man smirks.

“Yeah. Dust in the wind and all that.”

She frowns.

“What?”

“It’s a—” The man stops, waving an impatient hand. “You know what—never mind.”

 He turns, beckoning once again. Seeing no other option, Tessa falls into step beside him. 

Before them is a warm silver light, growing brighter by the second.

They reach the threshold of what seems to be a shimmering door, a gateway.

Tessa takes a deep breath. Despite everything, she is not afraid. 

 She looks back at her strange shepherd, gathering her courage.

“So.”

He glances up, raising an eybrow.

“You’re Death,” she says.

 The man chuckles, once again pulling on his black gloves.  

"Sure am," he answers, smiling. "Well—"

He shrugs.

"One of them, anyway.”

 He turns, holding a hand out for her to shake.

“You can call me Dean.”

◆◇

[littlemisswinchester7]

AU: Helloooo how are you all ? I hope you’re all doing fine and that you’re safe. I haven’t posted anything for a quite long time, sorry, collège is stealing my time ahah. Here is one fanfic I wrote on a break at college! Hope you’ll like it!

Summary: Sam is so done to be stuck in the middle of his brother and his angel’s constant flirting. This has to end, he has a devious plan to make them both confess their feelings.

A devious plan (Destiel)

That day, Sam Winchester had enough. The sexual tension between his stupid brother and his stubborn Angel was becoming unbearable. Yet, neither of them had the guts to admit their feelings.

Sam was powerless in this exhausting situation. He was always in the middle of those two, and every time it was like he was caught up in a couple fight. It was enough! Today he’ll break this infernal spiral because it was Toxic and heartbreaking for the three of them.

The younger brother had conceived a whole plan in his head, a truly devious plan. Since his brother was too proud to admit that he really liked Castiel, Sam will make him spit the truth by force. He’ll make him believe that he’s interested in the Angel to drive him mad until Dean loses it. Sam will play dumb like he had no idea of their feelings. That was gonna be a sweet revenge for Sam.

He will teach both of them a lesson they will be force to learn and that they will remember for sure.

They were on a vamp nest case today. Some kids went missing and people reported strange sounds coming from the street. A woman even claimed she saw a man covered in blood yesterday. Of course, the first question Sam asked her was pretty obvious.

« Miss Pratt, why didn’t you call the police yesterday then? When you saw that woman? »

As usual, Sam was staring at the potential suspect with his piercing eyes. It was like he knew everything you might possibly tell him and therefore, he was only testing you. He could either make you freak out so bad that you needed to confess right away or make you weak in the knee. I must say that either way you ended up telling him everything he needed. This was how Sam Winchester worked.

In this precise case, the woman seemed to have been the victim of the second option. She was staring back at Sam intently with shiny blue eyes. She was pretty good looking even considering the recent events which were noticeable due to the bags under her eyes. She was about Sam’s age and the hunter decided he would take advantage of the situation. He wanted her to hit on him in front of his brother so that he could nicely turn her advances down. That will definitely catch Dean’s attention.

« I guess I was scared, and I wasn’t sure of what I saw, what I think I saw. I thought nobody would have believed me. But now I realize that I should have called the police. I’m sorry. » she answered with a shaking voice.

« It’s okay, as long as you’re telling us the truth now. Was there anything weird on that woman ? Except the blood of course. Any detail could be important. »

She hesitated for a moment and then she started to talk again with an uncertain look.

« I’m not sure, but ... »

« You can tell us, me anything Aria. We will believe you. » Sam added with a little smile.

« I might be crazy but I think she had fangs, like vampire fangs »

« You’re not crazy, thank you for your time. »

Sam leaned forward to pick his phone that « accidentally » felled from his pocket and « inadvertently » knocked the cup of coffee on his way up. The cup shattered on the wooden floor and the brown liquid spread everywhere. Of course, Sam pretended it was an accident and Dean mocked his little brother for being the trouble maker for once.

« Oh my god! I’m really sorry miss Pratt, can I help you clean this mess? » Sam asked with little concern in his voice.

The woman, -whose name was Aria- had a quicker reaction than Sam and caught a napkin on the table before he could.

« Oh no no don’t worry! It happens! » She answered.

When she bent herself in front of Sam -which, Sam was certain, she did on purpose- Dean winked at his brother.

« Come on dude, don’t you see the signs? That woman is blinking like a traffic light.» Dean whispered

Sam couldn’t help a little chuckle from his throat. He couldn’t get enough of his brother and his constant sex allusions which, by the way, didn’t make any sense sometimes. The woman interrupted his train Of thoughts as she got up.

« I would have offered you another cup but, I’m afraid I’m running out of coffee. » she made a small pause as if she was scared of her next words. « But, if you like, I can offer you one » she almost whispered.

This was exactly what Sam wanted to happen. Everything was just perfect for now.

« Oh! I’m sorry but I have to refuse. It would have been a pleasure but I need to focus on the case right now. »

If Sam hurt her feelings nobody would have known.

« Right, of course. Good luck to you gentlemen. »

She then, gently directed us towards the way out and the second Sam crossed the door Dean went completely hysterical.

« What the hell Sammy? This woman wanted you and you refused? Have you seen her? We don’t have any research to do we both know that it’s a vampire nest that we’re looking for. »

Dean almost yelled.

« Yeah so? She was hot but not my type. » Sam said whilst trying to look enigmatic.

« Not your type? Are you sick Sammy? Is there anything I need to know ‘bout you ? » he said with a truly concerned tone.

« No I’m not sick Dean. I’m just not in the mood. Besides, I have someone on my mind and I can’t do that. »

There, Sam said it and Dean was now staring at him with wide eyes.

« WHAT? Who is she Sammy? Another crazy ass bitch like Ruby? » he screamed

« That was low Dean. He’s not crazy, he’s different. »

Dean stopped in the side of the road.

« A he ? You’re thinking about a he ? You’re gay? »

Dean was so surprised that it looked like his eyes would just pop out of his head.

« I’m not gay, I’m pan. »

« What is pan ? » dean asked suspiciously

« It means that I do not care about the genre of the person. I only care about the person and his or her mentality. »

« Well, okay. Who is he then ? »

« I’m not sure if I should tell you. » Sam said playing dramatic.

« Oh come on Sam! I’m your brother. Tell me. » Dean was starting to to be annoyed. Perfect.

« Okay I’ll tell you but you can’t tell anyone. »

Sam suddenly felt like a teenage boy again and he was dying of amusement inside. Dean made no answer but it was pretty clear with the look on his face that he wanted Sam to continue.

« Ok, it’s Cas. »

For a minute I though that Dean had an attack. When he finally moved again I could see a very weird expression on his face. My revelation hurt him because he finally realized that Cas was not to take for granted. As long as their relation was blurry anything could happen. If someone had the guts to make a declaration to the Angel and that the Angel accepted it Dean would be left aside. He’ll end up blaming himself because he left the only good thing in his life.

« I like him, like, really really like him. I think I might be in love with him. » Sam added.

« No you’re not. You’re definitely not In love with Cas. » Dean reacted.

« What do you mean I’m not in love your Cas? I just told you I am! And I’m gonna ask him out today. »

Dean got out of the car and slammed baby’s door. Sam followed.

« What’s wrong with you Dean ? Dammit get over yourself you can’t stand that I like an other man ? Really ? »

« No Sammy it has nothing to do with you. You can like anyone but not Cas. »

« But why ? Why not Cas ? » Sam asked again

« Because Cas is mine okay! You can’t be in love with Cas and ask him out because I do ! I won’t watch my brother kiss the man I am so desperately in love with! » Dean finally shouted.

The plan had worked. Dean had confessed his love for the Angel.

« Of course you are, and of course I’m not Dean. »

When Dean understood the meaning to that he started to cry and I thought he was about to kick my ass.

« Why did you ... why would you do this? »

« Trust me I’m helping you right now Dean. Turn around. »

Cas was there. He showed up minutes ago when he heard his name being said again and again as we were fighting. He needed to hear this too.

« You like me ? » Cas asked

« Of course I love you stupid Angel. Don’t you dare like someone else. »

« How could I ever? I love you too Dean. I thought it was pretty obvious when I saved you all those times. I even abandoned heaven and God for you, only for you. »

And so the story ends, the beautiful story of how Sam Winchester help the two men in his life to get together. We always knew you were such a fangirl Sam.

Please let me know what you think about this story and support me on Archiveofourown ❤️ my username is « ClaireMcKenzieFraser »

[myshipshipsitself]

Title: It’s Okay Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Eileen, Jack Word Count: 3140 Warning(s): SPOILERS 15x18; Angst w/ a happy ending Read on Ao3 here

Summary:

Everything is back to normal, the world keeps spinning, families are back and people are reunited. Everyone is back and safe. Everyone except the one person Dean has been waiting to walk through the door.

A cosmic reset button. Dean didn’t think they could actually do it. Well, they didn’t necessarily. It had mostly been Jack.

The nephilim slept for a solid week after the fight. After Chuck was gone for good, as well as Amara. Dean had worried if the boy would wake up, but Sam kept an eye on him. And everything was back the way it should be. Mostly, anyway. The world seemed to be back. According to news reports, the entire world just didn’t remember the two or three days between when they disappeared and when they were returned. Some people had little memory, and there were cases of some people missing entirely still, though enough John and Jane Does kept turning up that it appeared that everyone had returned, in one fashion or another. People tried to piece it together, but few people had any pieces, and they weren’t sharing. Bobby, Charlie, Stevie, they were all back. Eileen was back, and happy with Sam. They had been helping Bobby and Charlie, tracking down and tracing all of the missing family members to the claims of people whose memories had been more affected, and working on reuniting them with their loved ones.

The day Jack woke up, he disappeared almost immediately, leaving behind Sam and Eileen worried, and Dean cursing under his breath. He had hoped to talk to Jack. To find out if he…If the Empty might like him better than Chuck. If he could do anything to bring Cas back. But he left.

It was a win. On some level, Dean knew that. On a logical level, maybe. The entire population of the world had been returned. Sam had Eileen. Charlie had Stevie. They were worried about Dean, of course. But they were also happy. They won.

They won. Dean didn’t. Dean felt like screaming at the world. They got to go on as if nothing had changed. As if everyone was safe and alive, but not everyone was. Cas wasn’t.

Dean spent more than his fair share of time drunk. He’d tried for a few days, reading books and going through lore. But he couldn’t ind anything, and when Sam offered to help, he let his brother search. And he got drunk.

He alternated between drinking in his room and drinking in the trap room. Staring, just staring at the wall where the Empty had manifested, had came to take Cas away from him.

Standing in there, now two weeks after everything—a week after Jack had left, Dean’s eyes traced the wall. Sam had cleaned up the glass shards from the beer bottle Dean had thrown at the wall last night. Just like he’d cleaned it up every time it happened. The stained splatter of the small amount of liquid left in the bottles still decorated the wall. Dark spots of beer soaked into the cracks.

Sam had tried to get him to talk at first, but he’d given up after a few days. It wasn’t his business to know exactly what had happened. Cas was gone. That was all he needed to know. The details were for Dean alone. The tearful words spoken into the air between him and Cas—those were his burden to carry.

The words unspoken between them—those were heavier, but still his alone to carry.

Lately, Sam left Dean to his own devices. Probably believing he’d come around eventually. It was a naive thought, but it suited Dean’s needs, so he didn’t correct it. Sam only ever bothered him to make sure he ate a meal on occasion, and drank some water along with the beer. Otherwise, he left Dean alone and stayed buried in books that didn’t hold any answers.

Which was why it was strange to hear his brother’s voice calling his name, and hurried footsteps in the hall outside. “Dean! Dean! Wait, no don’t—“ His voice broke off, and Sam turned to see his brother wince at the shatter of yet against bottle against the wall.

“Leave me alone, Sam,” Dean muttered. His voice didn’t sound angry, not anymore. Just tired.

“At least that’s the last bottle I’ll have to clean up,” Sam said. Dean heard the sigh, but he wasn’t looking at his brother, just using to storm past him and go get another beer. It was early, before noon, and he hadn’t been awake long enough to build up anything stronger than a light buzz, and that wouldn’t get him through the day.

“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”

“Dean, wait,” Sam grabbed his arm, and Dean jerked away from him like he’d caught fire, glare now turned to his brother.

“Leave me alone,” he repeated, venom returning to his voice.

“Jack’s back,” Sam said. Now Dean could see the smile on Sam’s face, the brightness in his eyes. Dean wanted to punch him.

“Good for him. Hope he brought more beer.”

“No, Dean, wait,” Sam hurried, stepping to block Dean’s path, though he didn’t touch him again. Sam’s hands were held up in front of Dean to stop him, but he didn’t reach out to try and grab his arm again. “He didn’t come back alone.”

Dean waited a beat, eyebrows raised before sighing. “I don’t care. Tell Bobby or whoever that I’m sick.”

“Dean,” Sam repeated his name again, it almost sounding like a whine. Dean was tired of this already. He just wanted to lock himself in his room, and let everyone else enjoy their new perfect world. He was the only one suffering, apparently.

The thought wasn’t a fair one, he knew. Sam missed Cas, and Jack missed him, but it wasn’t the same.

“Cas is with him.”

The words sounded strange, like they didn’t make sense together. The words all had distinct meanings, and Dean understood those, but put together in that way—It sounded almost like static.

“What?” For the first time since the day Cas was taken, when he’d had to tell Sam that Cas was gone, he heard his own voice break.

He wasn’t sure if Sam said anything else. It sounded like an ocean roaring in his ears as he pushed past Sam, his legs carrying him at a sprint through the bunker. It belated occurred to him that he should’ve asked Sam where Jack and Cas were, but he stopped dead when his feet reached the entryway.

Jack’s smile was bright when he turned to look at Dean, but Dean’s eyes were glued to the figure beside him. “Cas,” he breathed, so quietly he didn’t think either of them could hear him, but Cas smiled.

“Hello, Dean,” he said. The familiar greeting, the familiar voice, broke something, and Dean surged across the empty space between them, nearly knocking them both over as he wrapped his arms around Cas. He vaguely registered Jack’s hand brushing his arm, pressed against Cas’s back for just a moment to help keep Dean from actually knocking them over, then the nephilim stepped out of his line of sight.

“You’re alive,” Dean said, his voice muffled against the shoulder of Cas’s trench coat.

“I am,” Cas answered. Dean felt the arms around him loosen after a moment, a silent signal that the typically expected hug had reached its allotted time limit, but Dean only tightened his grip. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet. Seconds ticked by. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean again, though loosely, almost uncertain. Slow footsteps drew closer—heavy steps that definitely belonged to his brother, not Eileen.

If Sam noticed that Dean held on to Cas a little too long, he had the decency not to mention it. Once Dean felt like he could breathe again, he pulled back. The smile that stretched across his face pulled at muscles sorely used over the last few weeks.

Looking at Cas though, his hands still resting on the angel’s shoulders, he knew he should say something. He had to say something, but no words came out. His smile faded a little, though Cas was still beaming at him.

“I think this calls for a celebration dinner.” Dean hadn’t been so happy to hear his brother’s voice in a long time.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said quickly, squeezing Cas’s shoulder again, as if reminded himself that he was here, alive and in one piece.

Dinner was a blur for Dean. Everyone was relieved, everyone was happy. Dean made everyone swear multiple times that they were done with making deals with anything. “No demon deals, no angel deals, no deals with—“ he broke off for a moment, waving vaguely at nothing. “All powerful voids of Emptiness or whatever. None.”

Otherwise, Dean was quiet at dinner. Some part of him couldn’t quite believe it was real, but some small part of him was also unreasonably pissed off. And he knew it wasn’t fair, he knew that. But fuck. He’d been miserable, he’d spent endless nights cataloging everything he’d done wrong, how he’d gotten him and Cas into that damn situation in the first place, and how Cas had just made his big speech, knowing he would be swallowed up by the Empty. No facing Dean after he said it, no having to deal with Dean’s pain after he was gone, with Dean’s guilt, with his understanding, with his realization—hell, he probably hadn’t even heard Dean’s prayers.

Dean hardly noticed when Jack helped Sam clear the table, and Eileen got up to leave with Sam. He barely registered Jack giving Cas another hug before leaving for his room. He did notice the subtle, uncomfortable way Cas shifted a bit once they were alone. He’d been acutely aware of the angel since the moment he got back. Every smile that faded a little into something uncertain when he caught Dean’s eye, every hesitation when he accidentally brushed against Dean’s arm when he reached past him or was speaking with his hands too much.

“Good night, Dean.” The words, the scrape of the chair as Cas stood, snapped Dean back, his hand reaching out to grip the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat without conscious thought. Cas froze, blue eyes meeting his with some uncertainty, though no less warmth than they always held. Love, Dean knew now.

Dean licked his lips, and tried not to notice the way Cas’s eyes dropped a fraction to follow the movement. Dean opened his mouth, tried to form any kind of coherent thought. An apology, a confession, anything.

“You stupid son of a bitch.” Not that. He did not intend to say that, and judging by the way Cas’s expression hardened, defensive in what he must’ve assumed to become an angry response to his confession to Dean, he hadn’t expected that response either. Dean stood as well so they were closer to eye level, his grip only tightening on the sleeve of Cas’s coat. “You don’t get to just tell me you frickin love me, and then die. You can’t just—What the hell, man?”

“I’m sorry if my words made you uncomfortable, Dean. It was never my intention,” Cas answered, his voice low and dejected in a way that made Dean feel like the bad guy. But he wasn’t. Cas was the one that left—what right did he have to make Dean feel guilty over being upset with him for leaving?

Except, it occurred belatedly to Dean that that wasn’t what Cas had apologized for. “Cas, that’s not—“

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, or make you feel—“

“Cas, stop. You—“

“—uncomfortable. I don’t expect—“

“—aren’t listening to—“

“—you to reciprocate. You don’t—“

“—me. Will you shut up for a—“

“—have to say anything. I understa—“

Dean almost wishes he could fall back on alcohol, or say he wasn’t thinking, but he was. He knew exactly what he was doing when he cut Cas off one more time, this time the only way he knew for certain would shut him up. The hand gripping Cas’s sleeve came up to the lapel of his trench coat instead, tugging Cas forward as his other hand found the back of Cas’s neck.

When their lips met, it was like everything stopped, and everything came alive simultaneously. Words ceased, the room fell away, the steady hum of the fridge faded. And everything felt electric. His skin buzzed, his lips burned in the most pleasant way—and after a moment it hit him that Cas wasn’t moving.

Dean jerked away as soon as the realization occurred to him. Cas stared, unmoving back at him, eyes wide. Dread and guilt hit him like a wave. He’d misread everything. Cas didn’t love him—not like that—of course he didn’t. Dean was just a human, and not even a good one at that. His soul was tainted, burned and charred from the pits of Hell, from the demon, from everything he’d done and everyone he’d hurt without the excuse of either.

“Shit,” Dean breathed out. His hands pulled back, palms held up in front of him. “Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I misunderstood—Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Dean,” Cas’s voice was softer, almost wistful this time when he spoke, a small, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his lips. Dean didn’t move, didn’t say anything, afraid of screwing up again. It seemed to be the only thing he was good at, apparently. But Cas only reached out, taking one of Dean’s hands in his own, and pulling it forward to press flat against as his chest as he closer the distance between them again.

Every muscle in Dean’s body seemed to melt into the embrace this time, in the reciprocity of Cas’s lips pressed against his. Dean wrapped his hand still under Cas’s tight in the fabric of the trench coat under his fingers, as if he could hold on tightly enough to keep him from leaving again. The kiss was more desperate, or maybe it only felt that way to Dean. After a moment, Cas moved a hand to his face, fingers caressing over his cheek causing Dean’s breath to hitch. He didn’t realize there were tears on his face until Cas pulled away, just a little, and Dean felt fingertips brush wet tears away from his face. When his eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t catch his breath, not with the way Cas was looking at him. His eyes were bright and warm, filled with the love that he’d been able to voice and Dean was still unable to.

“Cas, I—“

“Hey Dean, can you help me with—Shit, sorry,” Sam’s hurried voice broke off at the same time that Dean stumbled back away from Cas, facing burning and gaze unable to meet his brother’s.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Can it wait, Sam?” The words came out sharper than he’d intended.

“It’s nothing, it can wait,” Sam said quickly.

“There’s no need,” Cas answered. Dean was surprised, and honestly a little annoyed, with how even his tone was. How little affected he sounded. “I’ll go and check on Jack.” He caught Dean’s eye offering a smile that made Dean blush harder, before turning to leave.

“I’m really sorry,” Sam repeated. “I uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”

“Nothing to interrupt,” Dean answered. He coughed to clear his throat and made his way to the fridge for a beer, still unable to catch Sam’s eye.

“Right,” Sam said. Dean could hear the disbelief in his tone.

“What do you need, Sammy?”

“It’s nothing, really,” Sam insisted, but his laptop was open and perched on his arm. Dean looked at it instead of his brother, nodding towards it.

“Really? Seriously, what’s going on?”

“Just the latest list of John and Jane Does Bobby sent over,” Sam answered. He closed the laptop and set it on the table. Dean popped the cap off his beer, already dreading whatever Sam was going to say. “You know it’s okay, right?” Sam’s voice was softer when he spoke again.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dean responded. “I’ll help you go through the list tomorrow, alright? I’m tired, I think I’m just gonna—“

“Dean, stop,” Sam said, exasperation clear in his tone. Dean stopped moving towards the door, though his back was still to his brother, hand clenching the beer bottle so tight his knuckles were turning white. “It’s okay. You and Cas. You deserve to be happy, just like I am with Eileen.” Dean didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure how to. After a moment, Sam laughed a little, and Dean turned around to shoot a glare at him. Sam only held a hand up in innocence. “Sorry, I just. I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner.”

“Yeah, and how’s that?” Dean snapped at him. He didn’t intend to snap at him, but how the hell did Sam expect that he was supposed to figure something out when Dean wasn’t even sure he’d figured it out entirely?

“Every time we lost Cas, you were always—you were devastated, and it was worse every time. Especially this last time, I thought—Dean, I honestly, if he hadn’t come back, I wasn’t sure we’d had ever gotten you back,” Sam admitted. Dean felt himself—not relax, more just drop. His shoulders fell, his head dropped, his grip on the bottle loosened a little.

“I know,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sam said. Dean dragged his eyes back up to meet Sam’s, to se a warm smile on his face. Dean was unwilling to move, so Sam did, walking towards him and reaching out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Just be happy. Let yourself be happy, for once. Everything’s ok. There’s no overarching evil, no Chuck, no Amara. Hell, I haven’t seen even the inkling of any kind of demon activity since everything was set back. It’s ok. The world is ok, and you and Cas—That’s ok too.”

Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He hadn’t expected any of this, and hadn’t even thought about how he was going to tell Sam, much less how Sam would respond. So he didn’t say anything, he just reached up, wrapping his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Sam had that bright, stupid smile on his face when he pulled away, drawing an involuntary smile from Dean as well, even as he shoved Sam’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said, mostly because he knew he should, and if he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t going to.

It felt like some kind of weight was taken from his shoulder as he left the kitchen in search of Castiel. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of the angel, and eh was finally able to indulge the excitement and happiness everyone else had found since the world had been put back together again, now a little bit brighter.

[choruscas]

suptober day 10: sweet rides

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer) it tags you in all my short stories like these so you never miss them!

(THERE WILL BE A PART TWO TO THIS! ONCE IT’S OUT, I’LL EDIT THIS ONE AND LINK TO THE SECOND PART ONCE IT’S FINISHED!)

also, sorry that you’re seeing the earlier days in your feeds! i forgot my writing ipad when i went on vacation this weekend, so I’ve been trying to make up the days i missed! i should catch up soon, i’ve just been incredibly busy!

October 10th, 1890 - Lawrence, Kansas

Castiel drew his breath in as the cold air of fall hit his face. He looked around the town, seeing no signs of anybody out.

Most of them were probably in saloons or shops of some sort, drinking their sorrows away with cheap whiskey and tapping all their fortunes out with gambling.

He had lived in this town his whole life, but downtown he has only recently grown familiar with it.

Two months ago, his parents disappeared from him. And the rest of his family either moved away from Lawrence or were arrested for felony and murder charges. Castiel wasn’t like that. Being the youngest in the Novak family was hard, but he managed. He was the last of the Novak’s and he never made any promises to carry the family name, since he wasn’t interested in women of any kind.

So he wouldn’t. Once he drew his dying and final breath, the Novak’s would be no more.

However, in the meantime, he could make fault of his name. He wasn’t the proudest of being a Novak, but like previously said, he managed.

Walking through the dirt roads, marked with horses hooves and wagon’s wheels after years of use, Castiel found himself at the Roadhouse, like he did every Friday night.

He enjoyed the company there, and the beer was cheap but it was decent. He wasn’t much of a drinker, as his mom had drank her heart out all his life, but alcohol was the norm, so he occasionally had a beer or two.

He went inside, pushing the doors forward to be greeted by Ellen Harvelle, the Roadhouse’s proud owner. She was serving a man, who Castiel had never seen before, with big ears and a long nose.

“Hello Ellen. Is Jo working tonight?” he smiled at her while approaching the counter. Jo Harvelle was younger and was also Ellen’s only daughter.

“Nah.” She shook her head. “She’s got studyin’ so she’s workin’ on that upstairs.”

Castiel nodded and looked around the room, there were the usuals that were normally around, like Bobby Singer with his friend Rufus Turner, Meg Masters (a devil in disguise, ask anybody) and...

Dean Winchester.

Town’s heartthrob. And Castiel would never admittedly say this, but also the only man Castiel had currently sought out for.

About a month ago, Dean’s father had died and so him and his brother moved all the way from Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to Lawrence. He became a regular and were familiar with some of the townspeople, since he had lived there until he was four. His mother had died in the paper’s fire at their house, and so they moved across the country. Since the town was celebrating its thirty-sixth anniversary soon, it meant that the town was still young, and so was Dean. John Winchester — thy boys’ father, was a state-famous cowboy, which gave Dean and his brother Sam a good name.

However, Castiel’s has barely usurped a full-on conversation with the man. Castiel was fairly confident, but pretty boys like Dean made his throat close up. Normally their conversations were around five minutes long, until some girl comes and ushers him away.

Although Castiel has never heard that Dean has gotten lucky with any of the women in the town. Maybe he kept it a secret, or maybe he wasn’t interested in sex. With a body like his, Castiel was surprised he didn’t. He could do so very easily, with anybody in the town who was willing.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean called out, waving a large arm up in the sky. Next to him was who he thinks was his younger brother, with shaggy hair and a lanky body, Sam Winchester.

Assuming Dean’s gesture was meant to usher him over, Castiel got up from his stool and walked over, taking off his black cowboy hat and placing it on the pool table once he got to his destination. Dean tipped his Stetson in greeting and flashed a toothy smile to Castiel, causing his cheeks to heat up.

“You here for a beer, angel?” Dean asked.

That was new.

“Uhm, yes. Like I normally am.” Castiel replied solemnly, a little bit skeptical since Dean was being extra flashy today.

Perhaps it was because Sam was around.

“Well,” he started. “I’d like ya to meet Sammy, my lil’ brother. Sammy, Castiel. Castiel, Sammy.”

Castiel nodded. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

The younger brother stuck his arm out, signaling a handshake. It was firm, despite his young age. “You too.”

Dean gave his brother a grin and a wink and Sam had almost immediately left to go to the counter, instantly striking up a conversation with Ellen.

Odd.

“So, have you heard about Lucifer?” The question just popped up out of the blue. Dean was leaning on his cue pole, his hands over the top and his chin resting on his knuckles.

Castiel quirked his head and furrowed his eyebrows.

“The murderer, guy got his face on the wanted posters ‘bout two months ago. People are sayin’ he murdered two people and some animals or somethin’. I don’t gossip like some people do here but it’s somethin’ I’ve heard goin’ ‘round.”

He licked his lips. He hasn’t seen any wanted posters of any kind, so either he was blind or oblivious to his surroundings. Hopefully the latter.

“I haven’t. Is his real name Lucifer?” Castiel asked, now engaged in the conversation, curious.

“Naw, Lucas or somethin’. Lucas... Shurley, I’m pretty sure.” He bit his lip, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

Fuck.

“Lucas Shurley? I...” Castiel’s mouth went dry and the world suddenly got dizzy. “I need to sit down— o-or leave... I—“

Dean put down his cue stick, and it clattered to the ground. He gracefully swept over to where Castiel started leaning over the pool table. He put his hands on his back and laced his fingers with his to support him up.

“Cas?” His voice was soft, like of those of a kitten. “Hey... hey, man. Are you alright?”

“I have to go home—“ Castiel started, his stomach feeling like thousands of volcanic ruptures.

“I’ll take ya, man. How far do you live?”

Castiel looked up to face Dean. “About— about two miles up north. You... I can walk.”

“Walk? No. Where’s your horse?”

“Don’t have one anymore. Horse disappeared along with my parents.” Castiel said like it was nothing.

In all honesty, he didn’t believe it was nothing. He just didn’t want to worry Dean.

It was everything. Chuck and Naomi Novak were his favorite people in the world. Sure, the both of them smoked their lungs dry but without them, Castiel would be a goner. They’ve saved him, fixed him, in more ways and times than he could count.

“I’ll take ya, Baby can fit two.”

“Baby?”

“My black mare. God, she’s a beaut. Love o’ my life.” Dean smiled with pride.

Castiel nodded. That’s how Lincoln was to Castiel and his family. He was a very obedient crime colored horse, and he was very fond of him. However, after his parents disappearance, Lincoln had gone with them. Over and over Castiel theorized where they could’ve gone, but nothing of the sorts came to mind. They’ve always sort of stayed around Lawrence. Never the adventurous type, which was why their disappearance was odd.

Baby was a very comfortable horse, but it was even more comfortable to wrap his hands around Dean’s waist, feeling the rise and fall of his breath against his body. His chest was touching his back and Dean talked to him as Baby slowly rode ahead. Dean had reassured Castiel that since he didn’t feel well, Baby wouldn’t go as fast as she normally would’ve.

Hiding his blush in the night sky, Castiel’s eyes were weary and droopy. He never even got the time to get a beer, nor talk to anyone else. His trip was cut short. However, so was Dean’s.

“Sammy’s a genius, I’m tellin’ ya.” Dean filled the empty silence with something to talk about. “Been studyin’ to go to this new college called Stanford. ‘Bout five years old, fairly new. It’s all the way in California, poor guy.”

Castiel didn’t respond, but Dean could feel the nod of his body against him.

“You got any siblings?” Dean genuinely asked, cocking his head back to meet eye to eye with Castiel. Dean seemed like a good horseback, so he trusted him.

Castiel thinned his lips. “Yes... two. They don’t live around here anymore. Older brothers... uhm, Michael and Gabriel and-“

He stopped himself.

“And what?” Worry sort of filled Dean’s voice.

“I also have an older half brother... but I don’t talk to him. He sort of made my life a living hell growing up.”

“‘M sorry to hear that, Cas.”

Baby stopped in her tracks slowly, and Dean eyed Castiel’s cottage. It was on the outskirts of town, and the wooden place wasn’t the biggest, but it managed. He was proud of it. It’s been there since Lawrence founded in ‘64 and he wasn’t planning on demolishing it anytime soon.

Dean hopped off of Baby and grabbed Castiel’s hand to help him. The sickness started riling back in his gut and he walked to his front door quickly.

The wooden patio could barely hold one person without creaking in vain, crying out because of the heavy steps heaving on it. Let alone two. However, Castiel couldn’t tempt away from the green eyes and peppered freckles face with a smile he’s grown so fond of since Dean moved back.

Dean took off his hat and placed it on his chest, his fingers curling around the crease and pinch of it. He looked down.

“I just realized ya forgot your hat at the Roadhouse.” Dean chuckled, his laugh music to Castiel’s ears. “Could I stop by tomorrow afternoon ‘n give it to ya? I promise I won’t mess wit’ it.”

Castiel nodded, his face becoming red. “Thank you, Dean.” He paused, then he furrowed his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Dean simply blinked and didn’t hesitate. “Because you made me realize that angel’s were real.”

They said their goodbyes and Castiel laid on his bed, first taking off all his clothing except for his undergarments. His sheets were cold with lack of use, as it has been a while since he’s used them.

Thoughts of Dean and his freckled body filled Castiel’s head. The imagery of his cock in Dean’s soft ass pumped his heart and he bit he lip, to try and attempt himself from getting hard. He had nothing but his hand to relieve himself, so he couldn’t tonight.

However, if he got lucky with Dean, he would be a sweet ride indeed.

(tags below)

@potato-painter

[tibbinswrites]

For the prompt list, I'm gonna go with destiel, numbers #9 and/or #20 💙 and congrats on the followers!

Hiii! Thank you! And thanks so much for your request. I’ve already done #9 so I’ve done #20 for you. 

I really struggled with this one, not gonna lie. I had a plan for it but I’m not super sure I managed to balance both sides of the argument and come up with a satisfying solution. Let me know what you think! All concrit is welcome.

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #9, #10, #20, #33, #77, #78, #170 and #502 and I’ve got two still left to do. I’m not accepting any more at this time.

Also, if you wanna check out a fantabulous destiel anthology I’ve had the privilege to write for, our indegogo page is live here

Enjoy ^_^

20. Rules

There were rules to sharing Dean’s bed, Cas had found. Many of them. The main one, of course, was ‘Don’t tell Sam.” Followed by the next rule, ‘Don’t tell anyone’, which Cas argued made the first rule moot, seeing as Sam was part of ‘anyone’ and so didn’t need a separate rule. In fact, most of the rules Dean hurled at him were about keeping what they were doing secret, make sure he wasn’t seen sneaking into or out of Dean’s room at night, no touch lasting longer than two seconds outside of the bedroom, stay quiet unless they were alone in the bunker.

Cas didn’t like these rules, but he respected them. He kept his distance, didn’t touch Dean when he wanted to, didn’t brush their hands together when they walked side-by-side or hold him while they watched movies with Sam and Jack; he didn’t slide his arms around Dean’s waist while he stood at the stove, pressing in close, dropping kisses along the line of his neck. He wanted to do those things, wanted to stare unabashed and happy at how beautiful Dean looked in the early-morning light, wanted to lace their fingers together in line at the supermarket, wanted to hear all the glorious sounds Dean bit back while they made love.

He understood Dean’s reservations, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t resent the rules, and yet he did. Being with Dean was wonderful. Beneath the covers they would talk through their anxieties, their hopes for the future, they would always be touching, they smiled, they joked, they kissed. They discovered every inch of each other and Castiel at least fell more in love with each new piece of revealed information. But if he ever brought up the idea of telling Sam or Jack, Dean instantly clammed up and rolled away, all easy smiles vanished.

“I’m not ready,” was all he said. And really, it was all that he needed to say. Cas knew that he couldn’t force it. Dean being ready was important and Castiel vowed to wait.

But sometimes the waiting was very difficult. He didn’t want to hide his love like it was something shameful, it hurt every time he did. It hurt every time Dean acted like it was something shameful. He tried not to think about the implications, that maybe it was the fact that it was Cas that Dean was ashamed of, rather than any internal hangups about his own sexuality. It wasn’t true, he was almost certain, but there was enough room for doubt that it was a constant battle not to let it take hold.

After all, Dean had raised Sam, how could he have any doubt that he would be anything other than fully supportive of Dean’s happiness? Unless he was just pretending at happy, of course.

As the weeks passed he felt himself growing smaller. That niggling concern that perhaps he didn’t mean as much to Dean as Dean did to him kept niggling, and all his arguments for the contrary weren’t strong enough to hold up. Outside the sanctuary of his room, Dean was no different; they still fought, still talked, still went hunting together, except that Dean didn’t seek out Castiel’s company anymore, instead waiting in his room for Cas to go to him. And any affectionate touches or looks were now reserved until they were behind closed doors. The first few weeks this has been exciting, it had been something to look forward to, to sequester himself in Dean’s room where he would be met with open arms and comfort. But that meant after a disturbing hunt, or a close call while they were still in the field, or a worrying piece of news, even if it affected Dean deeply, he would pull away from Cas’ touch as though it were something dirty, avoid his eyes like Dean had used to avoid his eyes, back before Dean trusted him with his vulnerability. Holding eye contact too long was against the rules after all.

He held Dean close most nights, writhing beneath him, panting his name, pressing sweet words into his skin, or with an arm slung over Cas’ chest while he slept, Cas’ fingers threading through his hair, and yet he had never felt so far away.

Eventually, around six months after the rules had been laid out, Cas realised that he couldn’t go on like this. Perhaps he had been idealistic in what a physical relationship entailed but if this was it then Cas wasn’t sure he wanted it anymore. He missed knowing that Dean would be at his back when needed, he missed feeling secure in his place with the Winchesters, he missed being able to sit comfortably in a room with his family and not be on edge about whether he was staring too long or sitting too close, or stating an opinion that would lead to a hushed argument cutting into the only time they had to be honest. Seeing Dean naked was nice, bringing him pleasure was a worship of which he would never tire, but compared to the bond they used to share, the one that wasn’t contained within four walls and a list of rules, where the passion and trust and care between them was solid and certain, it paled to barely a watermark.

If Dean had been truly happy with how things were then Castiel might have been able to bear it, but as it was, Cas had to say something.

“Dean,” Cas said one evening, gently pushing Dean away from where he was kissing his way down Castiel’s throat. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Can’t do what?” Dean asked, barely listening as he tried to get back in close. When Cas didn’t yield though, he sat back with a frown. “What?”

Cas shifted himself to a seated position and stared at his knees. “I want to go back to not sleeping together.”

Dean just blinked at him for a few moments before he said anything. “Oh,” was all he came out with,  followed by a much smaller, “how come?”

“Because I understand that you want to keep this secret,” Cas said, his throat closing around the words. He swallowed. “But I don’t, and it’s not fair to try and force that from you, so there needs to stop being a secret.”

“You’re kidding me?” Dean said, irritation flaring in his voice. “This is because I won’t tell Sam.” He scoffed loudly and got off the bed, bending to find the shirt he had tossed aside mere moments before.

“We spend more time hiding our relationship than having one,” Cas fired back, already hating how this was going. “And you know, you know that Sam won’t give a crap about your sexuality so the only factor that you have to be ashamed of is me.”

“Oh, yeah, you really got me sussed, huh?” Dean snarked, yanking the shirt down over his head as though preparing to leave, as if this wasn’t his own room. “Like you won’t leave the second that this thing becomes real.”

That struck deep. “It wasn’t…?” Cas began, the question mark hanging there like the rope that life was supposed to be. Then he cleared his throat and stood too, gathering his own clothes and pulling them on, all without looking at Dean. He would not let Dean see how much that had hurt him. “I understand. It was never real for you. That’s why it’s been so easy for you to separate. That makes sense.” The anger hit him then and he spun violently around, his eyes beginning to sting. “If you had just told me that that’s what this was I could have saved us both the trouble! I’m sick of being used, Dean. Ever since I was created I’ve been somebody’s tool. I thought it was different with you, I thought—” He squeezed his eyes shut. No, of course. Dean never loved him. Cared for him perhaps, as a friend, and wanted to explore his sexuality in a safe environment with someone convenient. That’s all this was.

“If you think I’m indulging this pity-party, you’re wrong,” Dean snapped. “You knew what you were getting into, I was upfront. It’s been six months and not a word that this isn’t working for you but all of a sudden it’s so bad that you wanna cut and run!?”

“You said you weren’t ready,” Cas reminded him. “Was I supposed to pressure you?”

“You weren’t supposed to pretend!” Dean shouted. Then he winced and lowered his voice to a hiss. “That’s how relationships work. You talk about the things going wrong so you can fix them.”

“And how do we fix this, Dean? Because I can’t contain my love for you in this room and you can’t love me anywhere else. What are we supposed to do?”

Dean hesitated at that, then he said, slowly, like he was replaying Cas’ words, “You think I don’t love you?”

“I think that our friendship has suffered since we started having sex,” Cas said bluntly. He had to be blunt or the sorrow caused by that fact would overwhelm him. “We practically avoid each other unless it involves a hunt in order to abide by your rules. I didn’t realise that the price of a relationship would be to sacrifice everything the relationship was built on. Turns out that’s not a price I’m willing to pay, you’re too important to me.”

���Yeah, I feel real important right now.” Dean snapped. He folded his arms and turned away, and Cas knew he’d hit a nerve.

“Dean—” Cas reached out to touch him on the shoulder but Dean shrugged him off. He sighed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted.”

“What? Happy?” Dean shot back, his voice thick with emotion. “Yeah, me too.”

He felt a pang in his chest at that.

“I love you, Dean. No matter what we call our relationship, that will always be true.”

“Whatever.”

Taking that as a firm dismissal, Cas turned to leave.

“Cas, wait.”

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m not scared about what Sam would think about be being with you, not really.”

Cas turned back around. Dean’s back was still to him; his shoulders were hunched over, curled in on himself. Cas longed to stride forward, gather him up and place a kiss to each of his freckles.

“Then what are you scared of?”

Dean faced him then, his eyes open and terrified. “This. You taking off again. If I told Sam then I couldn’t ever take it back. And if something happens, and they know… it’ll just make everything so much worse.” He scoffed, a wet, sad sound. “Besides, if he saw how gone I am on you… he’ll start trying to get to me to retire, to take you and just get out and make a happy, apple pie life of our own. I can’t leave him, and I’m not ready to stop hunting.”

“I’d never ask you to,” Cas said gently, a little confused.

“I know. But honestly? I’m kinda terrified of how easy it would be.” He smiled then, a soft, wistful thing. “I’ve actually been thinking about it, making plans for what comes after.” He made a self-deprecating sound “Like I get that lucky. Like I haven’t known since I was five years old that there is no after for me. I’ll die a hunter. At the end of a spell or a blade or a set of claws, that’s how I’ve always wanted it, that’s what always felt right.”

“And now?”

“Now… as long as you’re there with me, I don’t really care so much how it ends.” Dean’s eyes were on his, and they mirrored the longing that Cas himself felt, the magnetic pull that drew him in. “That’s what scares me, Cas. If I tell Sam, it’ll change the way I look at my life, I’ll start wanting something more than what my dad planned, what I was so sure was the only path I had.”

“Dean,” Cas said, reaching for him, and Dean came easily. “Since when have you ever followed a plan set out for you that wasn’t your own?”

xxx

The next morning, Dean dropped a kiss to Cas’ hair at the breakfast table, right in front of Sam, who did nothing more than roll his eyes and mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, “Finally.”

[wanderingcas]

summary: Dean is a librarian who hopelessly falls for the shy, mysterious, book savvy grad student who frequents the university library.  in other words: finally, i wrote a librarian!dean au. destiel. 3k. fluff & graduate student cas & dean being a bisexual mess

Dean normally doesn’t make it a habit to read on the job. It’s not exactly discouraged; he’s the only one that works the night shift. By the time 9PM rolls around, most of the re-shelving and tidying up has already been done by the combined efforts of him and the librarian during the previous shift. Not to mention that it’s completely dead throughout his shift until closing time.

So, despite his enormous amounts of down time on his shift, he doesn’t make reading a habit—ironic, since he works surrounded by books. But the university library is deserted, and there’s another few hours to go before he can close up, and there was a book on garden weed varieties that caught his attention.

He’s deeply entrenched in reading about a particularly aggressive variety of crabgrass when someone loudly clears their throat just a few feet in front of his desk.

Dean jumps minutely in his seat and slams the book closed on instinct. He barely makes eye contact with the guy standing in front of him when he asks, “Uh, yeah?”

“One of your computers is broken.” The man hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the row of computers that line the back wall.

“So use another one,” Dean suggests.

The man shakes his head, looking simultaneously impatient and concerned. “I always work on that computer. If it truly doesn’t work after you try, I’ll choose another one.”

Dean finally meets the man’s eyes to give him a very skeptical look; one that always pissed his brother off growing up (“Stop looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish, Dean!”). “You really can’t use another one?”

Raising an eyebrow, the man says, “I’d hate to take time away from your…” he peeks at the title, “gardening book, but I do think this falls under your job description.”

Dean pastes on the friendliest smile he can manage. “Boy, you’re polite,” he says. “If you keep your pants on for two seconds, I’ll help you.” He walks around the desk, carefully stepping past the guy. He narrowly avoids collision with the man’s massive messenger bag as he goes to the computer that’s causing all the grief in the first place.

He does his usual routine when contending with technology: check the plugs, restart it, make sure the wall sockets are working.

“I’m sorry,” the man says behind him. Dean glances over his shoulder to see him pushing his wild black hair back with a nervous hand. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m coming off a long shift and have to finish this paper by tomorrow and I’m… I guess there’s no other word for it but tired.”

Dean plugs and unplugs a USB wire. “I’m working this shift after my day job, so I feel you. Apology accepted.”

The man sighs. “Thank you.”

Kneeling under the desk to reset the power strip, Dean asks, “So why this computer? In particular?”

“You’ll think I’m insane.”

Dean straightens and turns to face him. “Try me.” 

The man clutches the strap of his messenger bag tighter. “It’s the computer that’s farthest away from the vent, so there’s no breeze. Since it’s on the end of the table, it lowers the chance of anyone sitting directly next to me. It’s the only one with a CD drive, so I can listen to whatever classical music I pick out from the CD section, while I work. I also like how loud the keyboard is; it reminds me to keep working.” He shrugs. “That’s about all.”

Dean crosses his arms and grins. “You’re right, that is insane.”

Blinking, a slow smile crosses the man’s face. Dean can’t believe he’s only just noticing how blue his eyes are. “Well, I’m not getting a graduate degree in logic.”

“Gross, who would?” Dean pats the computer’s hard-drive. “Well, I’m sorry to say, this guy is toast, for reasons unknown. I can put in a work order to have someone look at it, but it’s definitely not usable tonight.”

Blue eyes nods. Frowns wistfully at the computer. “That’s a shame. I’ll take my chances on another one. Thank you for your help, nonetheless.”

“Sure.” Dean scoots past him to go back to his desk; pauses. “It isn’t a gardening book, by the way.”

Blue eyes looks up from where he’s putting his leather bag on the desk. “What?”

“The book I was reading. It wasn’t about gardening. It was about weeds.”

“Only a gardener would care about weeds,” the man responds.

“Or a guy who is sick of his yard being overgrown by them.”

“Touche.”

Dean clears his throat. “Well, anyway. Just wanted to clear that up.”

The guy nods slowly. “Well… thank you for doing so.”

“Yup.” Dean’s treacherous brain is now noticing the way the guy’s long-sleeved dress shirt hugs his arms; the guy’s full set of lips that are lifting at the corners in a smile. “Okay,” Dean says, louder than he should, “let me, uh, let me know if I can do anything else. I’ll be… there.” He errantly gestures to his desk.

Blue eyes works on his paper for three hours without getting up once. At exactly 1AM, closing time for the library, he gathers his things and departs. He gives a small nod to Dean as he passes. Dean awkwardly waves back.

“Damn it,” Dean says to the deserted library, head in his hands.

Where Dean was once oblivious to the man’s presence during his shifts, he’s now hyperaware. The next shift that Dean sees him, he says, as casually as he can, “Got that computer working again.”

This makes Blue Eyes give a disarmingly genuine smile. “That’s great.”

Dean begins a tradition of shelving returns (a task technically for the morning shift), just so he can move around the floor and find an opportunity to talk to the guy (he never can). He tries pretending the computers really need dusting, just in hopes that the guy will look up and chat (he never does).

So Dean settles on reading. At first it was because it keeps him at the desk, in view of the mysterious man, and bonus points for seeming more intellectual. But it’s what ultimately breaks the ice.

Blue eyes nods his head at Dean as he passes by at the same time he’s been leaving for the past few weeks. Dean gives a disappointed wave, as usual, barely looking up from the book propped up on his desk.

“What book is that?”

Dean slowly looks up, frozen at those blue eyes drilling into him. “Huh?” he intelligently replies.

“The book,” Blue Eyes clarifies with a gesture.

“Oh. It’s by Eliot, I think. Uh…” Dean checks the title. “Silas Marner.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Nah. I just picked it up off the shelf. Tried and true way of discovering a new book.”

The man’s eyes seem to light up at this; Dean’s not sure what triggered it, but he’s not complaining. “George Eliot is one of my favorite authors. It’s a good random choice.”

“Yeah, I really like it so far.” Dean taps the cover. “Normally books from this time period bore me, but I like his writing style.”

“Her.”

“What?”

“Her writing style. George Eliot was a woman.”

Dean scoffs, “Oh, yeah, I totally… didn’t know that.”

The guy laughs softly, “It’s okay. Not everyone does.” Adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, he says, “Let me know what you think of the ending, when you’re finished.”

“Totally. Gives me incentive to finish it.” Dean shifts in his seat. “I’m, uh, Dean by the way.”

“I know.” The man taps his chest when Dean gives him a questioning look. Dean looks down at his own chest; mentally kicks himself when he remembers his nametag.

“Oh, yeah. Well, in case you can’t read, and all.”

Miraculously, the guy smiles at the joke. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.” he begins to walk from the desk; Dean’s heart sinks. The man turns and says, “My name is Castiel.”

Dean waits approximately five seconds after Castiel leaves to punch the air with his fists. He gives Silas Marner a big kiss. “Thank you George Eliot, you beautiful broad,” he whispers to the cover.

* * * 

This is what Dean has learned in the scant weeks of knowing Castiel:

He’s a graduate student getting his masters in theology while also teaching math at a nearby Catholic high school.

He is addicted to tea (Dean never sees him without it).

He takes six hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night to work on his thesis.

He’s the most damn adorable man Dean’s ever met.

And he only talks to Dean when a book is involved.

It’s only when a book is in Dean’s hands that Castiel stops and talks. Dean wonders if Castiel is shy, hesitant to start a conversation out of nothing; or if he really just prefers books to people (or Dean). Based on how his eyes light up at the sight of a book, Dean is willing to bet money on the latter.

Dean’s always loved reading, just never to this extent. He feels constantly pressured to finish a book quickly; Castiel comes to the library only a few times a week, and always wants updates on what Dean thinks of the book. It even gets to the point where he’s reading at his day job. Bobby finds him in the back office reading Laughter and Forgetting rather than filling out an order, and barks at him to get his head out of the clouds.

Dean takes to reading in his car during his breaks after that.

The eye strain and stiff back is worth it for Cas approaching him over the next few weeks to discuss the books.

Dean knows something’s gotta give. Every time he and Cas talk, he can feel some sort of connection between them (even though it’s all based on books, but whatever, Rome wasn’t built in a day). Cas is clearly too shy to take the plunge; so Dean does.

It’s the fourth Wednesday after he and Cas meet, the third Wednesday of their book discussions, that Dean decides to do it. He’s fidgety his whole shift, unable to stop peeking at Cas above the pages of his book. Finally, 1AM rolls around. Cas walks past with his usual tangled and tired eyes, sees the book in Dean’s hands, and stops.

“What are you thinking of Kunderas?” Castiel asks. He puts his tea on the desk.

Casual, Dean instructs himself. Act casual. “I gotta be honest, man.” Dean leans back in his chair and stretches. “It’s all too political for me.”

“That’s just the surface of it, though,” Castiel says. “There’s so much more, if one reads it carefully.”

“I’m reading it plenty careful. It’s just not grabbing me.”

“To each his own,” Castiel shrugs. “Although maybe you should try his other book, Slowness. It’s my favorite by him.”

“I’ll check it out,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “You know, you seem to have a lot of book suggestions. Maybe you can, uh. Tell me more books you’d recommend sometime?”

“I’ll make a list for you,” Cas decides with a nod.

“No, I mean. A list would be great but it’s—it’s not exactly what I meant.” Dean takes a steadying breath. “Maybe we could talk more about it sometime. Like, longer than a few minutes after my shift.”

“I could attempt to come in earlier,” Cas offers, brow furrowing as he seems to think through that scenario. “My teaching schedule doesn’t allow for much room, but if I were to bring my dinner—”

“No, Cas, listen.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m trying to ask you out, okay? On a date.”

Cas blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts in his seat. Closes the book and puts his hands on top of it. “I know we both have killer work schedules, but maybe we could find something. Or even like, I dunno, moonlight it and have a beer after one of these shifts sometime. There’s a bar open down the street pretty late, and, uh… yeah.” He trails off when he notices that Cas’ face has froze, blue eyes just staring at Dean. “What do you, uh. Think about that?”

Cas stares for a moment, then seems to snap out of it. He takes a breath, then takes his tea. “No,” he says simply before walking out of the library.

Dean gapes in Cas’ wake.

* * * 

It’s a blow on his self esteem, but Dean licks his wounds and tries to move past it. He’s been rejected before. He can deal.

He keeps reading books, out of some self-flagellation ritual. For a while he tries reading the Kunderas book that Cas suggested.

Cas doesn’t stop by his desk anymore after his shift, whether Dean has a book or not, but he at least has the common courtesy to nod at Dean as he walks past.

It goes on like this, until the sixth Wednesday after Dean and Cas met, until the second Wednesday after Cas rejected him.

The library is deserted, as usual. Dean is not reading that day, instead opting to play Tetris on his phone, his brain and body completely fried from his previous shift at the garage. He doesn’t even notice Cas approach his desk until he loudly clears his throat, making Dean’s finger skate across his phone screen in shock.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, trying to sound as casual as a rejected man can.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas pauses. “The computer. I’m afraid it’s broken again.”

“Oh.” Dean wonders if it’s possible to murder a piece of technology. “I can put in a work order for it.” When Cas remains to stand there, messenger bag clutched in his hands, Dean adds, “I could also try to fix it, I guess.”

Cas looks relieved. “Thank you.” He stands out of Dean’s way as he works his way around the desk and goes toward the offending computer.

Dean tries the usual things: turning it on and off again, making sure it’s plugged in fully, seeing if there’s any updates that maybe is making the computer sluggish. He’s on his back, under the desk and checking the power strip, when Cas approaches.

“I wish to apologize,” Cas says above him.

Dean grunts, trying to get himself at a better angle to turn the power button on and off, “For what, dude?”

“For rejecting your advances two weeks ago.”

Jesus H. Christ. Dean unplugs and plugs the computer cord. “It’s fine, Cas, we don’t need to talk about it.”

“We do need to talk about it, Dean, that’s the trouble.” He hears Cas sigh above him. “I have to admit that I have a crush on you.”

Dean nearly bangs his head on the table as he scrambles out from under it. He’s on his knees, staring up at Cas. “You what?”

“I have a crush on you.”

“Okay. But you said no to a date.”

“Yes, I know. But the fact remains that I have feelings for you.” Cas’ eyes skate away and he shakes his head. “It’s very irritating.”

“Why the hell would it be irritating?”

Cas’ cheeks color. “Because, I.” He shuts his mouth, working his jaw, before continuing, “Because I am on a very strict, very difficult career path. I cannot afford distractions. Furthermore, my previous relationship ended in a bad way and was distracting to say the least, and if that were to happen again it would probably derail my academic efforts.”

“Cas.” Dean holds up his hands. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. I asked you out for a beer, man. It’s casual, okay? Doesn’t have to be anything serious. I just want to get to know you.”

“Get to know me,” Cas repeats. He tilts his head and frowns. “That’s all?”

“Well, yeah.” Dean puts his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “If it leads to more than that, fine. If it doesn’t, that’s fine too. Doesn’t have to like, be a big thing.”

“Oh.” Cas adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Because you… want to hear my book suggestions?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Well, sure, and talk about other stuff too. If you want.”

Seeming to think on this for a long moment, Cas frowns down at his shoes. He finally nods. “I think that’d be okay.” He adds quickly, “If the offer still stands.”

Dean grins. “I should say no, just to get back at you.”

There’s a hint of a smile on Cas’ face, the first one Dean’s seen in a while, as he says, “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

Dean adjusts his weight to his other foot. “So, uh. I guess, give me your number before we can leave? We can work something out.”

Cas nods. “I certainly will.”

As he’s turning back to his desk, Dean asks, “Any books I should read? Before we meet up? You know, to further my education,” he says with a quick wink.

“Hmm.” Cas sets his messenger bag next to an adjacent computer, brow furrowed in thought. His face changes into a grin as he seemingly thinks of his answer. “Maurice. It’s by Forster.”

Dean shoots Cas a finger gun. “Will do.”

He reads it, of course, on the day before their date. The tone is a bit different from Cas’ typical dark and pessimistic recommendations. At its core, the book is essentially about two men who meet, fall in love, and in no uncertain terms live happily ever after.

Dean takes it as a good sign.