#i hope they bring castiel back and kill him again somehow but in the past

[girlblocker]

i dont actually care about the spn prequel and i will never watch it. however i am rooting for whatever outcome is funniest to me personally (ie. whatever causes the most suffering to cockles shippers who are watching it because they think jackles is going to pull a destiel hat trick)

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Raven Haired Rebel

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which Loki decides to forge his own path. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Welcome to the start of my new mini series! The idea came from the Send Me a Fic Title ask game. This was a title sent in by @lokistan​! Hope you enjoy!

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan​ @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​ @laurenandloki​ @fallinallinmendes​ @sophlubbwriting​ @mooncat163​ 

RHR Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake​ @electroma89​ @stardust-walker​ @i-would-kneel-for-loki​

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki wondered what his cell on Asgard would look like, for surely he’d be transferred there any day now. For three days now, he’d been held in the belly of a SHIELD base in these ridiculous cuffs. Tony had, at least, sent down that drink Loki had asked for. Whether it was a taunt or a small bit of kindness, Loki honestly wasn’t sure. Either way, he’d downed it in one gulp; Midgardian alcohol never having a strong effect on him. Honestly, he probably should have been concerned if it was poisoned or not. Then again, after everything he’d been through, what did he care?

“Brother,” Loki greeted Thor as he walked into view. “How lovely of you to finally grace me with your presence. Though I take it this is not a leisure visit, hm?”

“You know full well it is not,” the God of Thunder replied with a stern tone.

“And here I was so hoping we could catch up.”

“If you want to talk, then talk, Loki. Explain yourself. What has transpired that you have attacked so many innocent people in this way?”

Loki wanted to laugh at that. Innocent? Who was Thor to talk of innocent with all the unrighteous battles he’d fought, all the blood spilled by his hands? The God of Mischief had done what? Attacked a military base? Made a few people kneel? Corralled a few groups into buildings? Which really was for the own safety so they wouldn’t be in the way of the battles on the streets. But no; conquest was apparently only just when Odin decided to do it. When Thor wanted to follow in his footsteps. But for Loki, there was a whole other set of rules. Of course, no one ever bothered to outline them for the trickster, just let him know he failed to obey them.

Besides, he hadn’t been in his right mind. Rather, he’d been under the mind stone’s influence, under Thanos’s control. He worked his jaw as he tried to figure out whether to say that or not. If he had any sense of self preservation, he probably would have. Yet after living his whole life being told he was weak, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Whether Asgardian culture, his family, or he himself were to blame for that, he wasn’t sure. Still, best just to stick with his wit.

“Pardon, brother,” Loki finally replied. “If it bothers you that much, I will stop following your example.”

“You dare insinuate I would do such a thing?” Thor rhetorically asked, appalled and shocked now that his honor was called into question. “Truly, brother, your mind is far more twisted than I had imagined. I see now I should not have advocated for you; you are too far gone. And yet, I already have, so your second chance you shall have.”

“How benevolent,” Loki rolled his eyes.

In reality, Loki was actually kind of touched Thor had spoken on his behalf. It was more than he expected from the blonde. Though, he had a feeling he hadn’t been spoken of in the most flattering light. Regardless, Thor opened his cell and, accompanied by a couple agents, led him to the upper floors of of the base.

The light blinded Loki for a minute as he saw sunlight for the first time since he’d been locked up. The glares passing agents gave him did significantly less to burn him, though. He was used to scorn. Of course, he did feel a wave of regret as he realized he’d probably killed some of their colleagues, their friends. Even if he didn’t have control of himself, he’d still done it. Why did he have to be so weak as to let Thanos gain control of his mind, he wondered? Such horrid deeds had never been in his nature before, though it seemed Thor was ready to believe he’d been evil all along.

The brothers were silent the whole way to Fury’s office, even as they waited for the director to come in. From his seat in front of the desk, Loki surveyed the office. Nice enough, he mused, but could use some more color. Maybe some drapes. Loki wondered if he should laugh that that’s what he was thinking. Though, in all honesty, it might be a chuckle of relief, knowing that his thoughts were finally his own again.

When the director did finally walk in, he and Loki just eyed each other for a moment, sizing the other up. Loki was fairly confident he could get out of this room, out of this base, if he really wanted to. But what was even the point? He wasn’t particularly interested in playing a game of cat and mouse, as SHIELD would try desperately to recover him. No, he’d rather take whatever punishment was about to be doled out. At least for now, anyway.

“Well, thank you for having me,” Loki quipped, being the first to break the silence. “I am afraid I have never been much good at small talk, though. How about that weather?”

“Funny,” Fury deadpanned. “Glad you didn’t lose your sense of humor when you killed my men.”

Loki’s smile faltered ever so slightly. It seemed like people were going to keep bringing that up despite that it had not even been his intention to kill anyone. Injure and temporarily dispose of, sure, but not kill. He supposed that having been on the verge of collapse himself, he wasn’t able to be as precise as he usually was.

“That little stunt you pulled should have you locked up for life,” Fury continued before Loki could respond. “However, we are prepared to offer you a deal. You are going to work for SHIELD to make up for your crimes.”

“Ah. I see. So gracious of you. And my other options are?”

“You come with me back to Asgard,” Thor chimed in, “and father can do whatever he wants with you.”

Well, that created three possible paths, really, Loki figured. Be sent to Asgard and locked up there was option one. Then the second was to be sent back and killed. Was it bad he kind of hoped for the latter? Oh, it definitely was. Yet, that’s how he felt. And then he could stay here, play along until the opportunity came to break free. Live his life as he wanted for once.

“Alright,” Loki agreed with a smile that he was sure would be seen as more untrustworthy than anything else. “When do I begin?”

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

A week of tedious lectures later, Loki was out in the field. He’d listened with rapt attention as he’d undergone his brief training. And somehow they deemed him trustworthy enough to send on a mission already. So, here he was in a Quinjet with his fellow agents. Maybe they didn’t entirely trust him. After all, Clint kept eyeing him with something akin to murder in his gaze.

Still, once they touched down, Loki followed the procedures he’d been taught. Thankfully, they hadn’t trusted him with any of the more important jobs, just securing the perimeter. That, of course, was a mistake on their part. As soon as it was time to break apart from the others, Loki created a double of himself. Meanwhile, he causally strutted over to a nearby motorcycle. Ok, he had to admit he didn’t really know how to ride one, but he’d make do.

Loki’s drive was surprisingly smooth as he escaped his would-be employers. The joke was on them for trying to tie him down, he thought. It was actually rather freeing to be racing along the open road, wind in his raven-black hair. Maybe he could find a nice little secluded home somewhere and live the rest of his days out in peace. And then he saw a burning building. Really, he should just keep going. You Midgardians had forces to deal with this. And yet, something made him pull over and rush inside, saving those he found trapped by the flames.

“I can never thank you enough,” a lady blubbered as she clung to her child, who Loki had just saved. “Please, what’s your name? How can I repay you?”

“You can call me, Loki,” he replied with a charming grin. “And really, no thanks necessary. It is just what I do.”

And as he rode off again, Loki decided he was going to make that last statement true. Look out, Midgard, he thought to himself. Looks like you have got yourself a new superhero.

[dickspeightjrs]

It’s Just a Little Crush (au / 2.2k words) 

Prompt 7 from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ for @starclaire

ao3 link

“Okay guys, we got a little time to kill before the bell so talk amongst yourselves. But keep it quiet.” Dean warns. 

It’s an ordinary Tuesday morning in Dean’s home room class. He’s got a good bunch this year - a few interesting personalities for sure. 

“Mr Winchester?”

Ah, speaking of interesting personalities.

“Yes, Krissy?” He looks up from the lesson plan he’d put together for his sophomore class first period. He frowns when he sees the eyes of all twenty-something kids staring back at him. “What’s going on?”

Nothing would surprise him anymore. He may have only been teaching at this particular school for a couple of years but he’d been an auto shop teacher for going on ten. He’d seen everything. And that’s why he knew having his entire home room look at him, like his kids currently were, wasn’t always a good thing. 

“What’s the deal with you and Mr Novak?” She smirks. 

Mr Novak, Castiel, is head of the history department. He’d started at the school about a year before Dean. He’s a little dorky and doesn’t always get people’s jokes or references but Dean knows the kids love him. He’s had many auto shop classes that begin with students telling him all about the ‘totally awesome’ history lesson they’d just had with Mr Novak. 

Dean pretends not to understand the implication in Krissy’s question. “What do you mean?”

But Krissy isn’t letting it go. “It’s just that we’ve all noticed that you get into the same car with Mr Novak every day after school.” She shrugs, feigning innocence as if her words aren’t peppered with sly suggestions. “And we all know it’s your car because you never stop going on about it even though it’s old as hell and no one, except old men, drive cars like that anymore.”

Dean tries not to be offended on behalf of his baby. He wasn’t going to argue with a teenager about the merits of a well-kept classic vintage car. Not again anyway. 

“It ain’t any of your business, Krissy, but Mr Novak doesn’t have a car so I drive him home.” Dean explains. “Happy?”

Krissy seems to relent, realising she’s not going to get a rise out of her teacher today. 

“Nah,” comes a voice from the back row. “I reckon there’s more to it than that.”

The class shuffles around to reveal Claire Novak smirking back at the teacher. She has a mischievous look in her eyes that Dean doesn’t like. She has the rest of the students intrigued though. 

Claire’s sly look only gets bigger as she begins to speak again. “I think they’re secretly dating,” she says, never taking her eyes off Dean, watching for his reaction. 

Dean sighs. Where is that damn bell?

“No, Claire, me and Mr Novak are not dating,” he denies. “And you of all people should know that.”

Claire is Castiel’s niece. Her dad is Castiel’s twin brother, Jimmy. Jimmy came to school to pick Claire up once and it weirded everyone out seeing the exact replica of their favourite teacher stood right next to the man himself. 

“Okay, fine,” Claire relents, “but you like him, right?”

Dean is saved from answering by the bell finally ringing.

*  *  * 

Dean was foolish to hope that the details of the interrogation he’d received would stay in home room. 

By third period, he’d heard students from each of his classes whisper as they were meant to be working. He couldn’t make out everything they were saying but he kept hearing the words ‘crush’ and ‘Mr Novak’ in the same sentence. 

Crush? Dean is a grown man. He hasn’t had a crush since he met his first boyfriend when he was sixteen. 

He takes a deep breath. It’ll blow over soon. 

*  *  * 

It does not blow over. 

A week later and everyone is still talking about. Even some of the other teachers have been giving Dean knowing looks every time he’s sat next to Castiel in the teacher’s lounge. Though, Cas seems to remain none the wiser. 

By the end of the day, Dean is glad to see his baby. He couldn’t wait to get home and be distracted from the rumours of his feelings for his fellow teacher. 

As usual, Castiel joins him for the journey. Luckily, none of their students seem to be around when they get into the car. 

Once they leave the school parking lot, Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He can just be himself now, and not worry about what other people are thinking. 

The two men sit in silence for a few moments. Dean’s eyes are on the road ahead. Driving always calms him. 

“Dean, can I ask you something?” 

“Think you just did, Cas,” Dean smirks, not taking his eyes from the road. 

“You’re hilarious,” Castiel replies. Dean sees him roll his eyes from the corner of his own. His smirk just gets bigger. 

“I’ve been hearing some things around school recently,” Cas says, his voice changing to a more serious tone. “And, I just wanted to ask. Do you have a crush on me?”

It’s silent in the car for a few moments until Dean is the first to crack. 

He lets out a loud bark of laughter. “I can’t believe you managed to say that with a straight face.” He chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. 

The car pulls into the driveway of a modest two-storey house. Dean cuts the engine and turns to Cas. 

The other man is quietly laughing too. He looks quite amused with himself. He is honestly such a dork, Dean thinks.

But then his face turns serious again. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have a crush on me?” He asks again. 

Dean thinks for a minute, taking in the man sitting in front of him. “Do I have a crush on my best friend, and husband of thirteen years? Yeah, I guess I do.”

Dean gives Cas a teasing smile and leans across the passenger seat to bring his husband into a smiling kiss. 

*  *  *

Later that evening, Dean and Castiel are laying together in their bed. Only a lamp on the nightstand lights the room, letting out a relaxing glow. 

Castiel reaches out to let Dean cuddle up to him. Dean rests his head on Castiel’s chest. He plays with the fingers on Castiel’s left hand. Castiel lets him and goes with the movement when Dean turns his hand over to reveal the small ‘18’ tattooed on the underside of his ring finger. 

They’d met on September 18th in their junior year of high school. From that day, Castiel had been Dean’s first and only crush. 

Castiel and Jimmy had just transferred from their old school. It was some old-fashioned super religious school but some bad shit had gone down and the school had to close. Dean’s school had been the next best thing according to Castiel's overbearing, church-going, Jesus devotee parents. 

Dean and Castiel became inseparable by the time it came for them to graduate. By then, everyone knew they were together but they didn’t care. The honeymoon phase never seemed to end for them. 

For obvious reasons, Castiel’s parents were the only ones who had never found out about their relationship. Given what they thought about anyone who wasn’t straight, the boys thought it was safer to keep it from them. They didn’t know what they might try to do to Castiel if they found out. 

The day after their graduation, Dean had packed up his car and they ran away. They went to college in another state and never looked back. Castiel had left his parents a note explaining everything and telling them not to try and contact him - though Castiel didn’t think they’d want to after they’d found out he was gay. 

Dean’s family knew where they’d gone (they’d always been supportive of their relationship since the beginning). They welcomed Castiel into their family and treated him like their own. They’d visit the boys for the holidays and eventually, once Dean’s brother, Sam, finished high school, they all moved to be closer to their boys. 

Castiel had felt guilty for years for leaving his brother but in their second year of college, Jimmy tracked Castiel down and told him he’d left too. (Turns out he’d got his high school girlfriend, Amelia, pregnant and their parents didn’t take kindly to it happening out of wedlock.) 

Dean and Castiel got married while they were still in college. Most people would warn them against getting married so young but their family knew they weren’t being naive. They were it for each other. 

They had a small ceremony on the anniversary of their first meeting. Sam and Jimmy had been best men and two-year-old Claire was their flower girl. (Despite what her attitude now might make you think, she was an adorable toddler who stole the show with her adorable presence.) 

Over the years, they’d kept their marriage on the down low. Castiel was a little paranoid that his parents would somehow find them and try to take him away from Dean and their family. They had a lot of connections and Castiel wouldn’t put it past them to use those connections to find him. 

So, when they both became teachers and ended up working at the same high school, Castiel had asked Dean if he could be called Mr Novak so as not to draw attention to them. (Same sex marriage might be legal now but it would still turn heads to have two husbands teaching at the same school, which was the kind of thing Castiel wanted to avoid.) Dean had agreed, he just wanted his husband to feel safe. They still went home together at the end of the day and that’s all that mattered to him. 

But it is that exact act which has led them to where they are now. 

“Dean,” Castiel speaks into his husband’s hair. “I think it’s time to tell everyone the truth.” 

Dean turns to sit up properly and look at Castiel. 

“Are you sure? We don’t have to. I know you love and I sure as shit love you,” he reassures Cas. “Plus, it’s only your teacher name that’s still ‘Novak’. Legally, you’re a Winchester,” he smiles. 

“I know, but I want to be honest with our coworkers and students too.” Castiel explains. “And maybe I want to show them that you’re not the only one with a crush,” he teases. 

“Awesome.” Dean beams. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it anyways. We’ll just start wearing our rings tomorrow and they’ll figure it out.” 

Castiel nods in agreement. 

Dean could just burst with happiness. He’d finally be able to show Castiel off like he’s always wanted to. 

Currently, his wedding ring sat against his chest on a silver chain under his shirt. Castiel keeps his safely tucked away, only taking it out for special family occasions (hence why he got the tattoo - as a more subtle and personal token of his love for Dean). Dean couldn’t wait to feel the weight of the ring on his finger every day. And knowing Castiel would be walking around with his matching one makes Dean smile like a love-sick dork.

Suddenly feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve, Dean settles down into the sheets again, eagerly awaiting sleep to take him so it could hurry up and be morning. 

He’s just drifting into sleep when Castiel’s voice whispers against his ear. 

“Dean?”

Dean hums, not mustering the energy to turn over and face his husband. 

“Not that I’m not happy that it gave me the perspective to stop being scared, but where did the rumours of you having a crush on me come from anyway?”

Trust Cas to think of the semantics just as Dean is trying to sleep. 

Dean only has one word. 

“Claire.”

Castiel sighs. “I should have known. I’ll talk to her.”

Dean finally turns to look at Cas in the eyes. Green meets blue. “Don’t sweat it, babe,” he smiles. “She’s just teasing like all teenagers do. She would never actually tell anyone anything we’re not comfortable with.” 

Castiel shrugs and nods his head in silent agreement. 

“I’ll just get her back when we go to your brother’s for dinner on Sunday.” Dean yawns, cheekily. 

Castiel rolls his eyes. The joking rivalry between Dean and their niece never seems to end. 

Dean smirks and leans over to kiss Castiel. “Goodnight, Mr Winchester.”

“Good night, Dean.” 

*  *  *

The next morning, Dean walks into his home room class and begins the regular formalities of the morning. 

Claire walks in late a few minutes later. She says nothing to Dean until she sits down at her desk, puts her feet up on the table, and says in a nonchalant manner, “Nice ring, Mr Winchester.” 

The rest of the class look to Dean’s hand. Sure enough there’s a silver band on his left hand that hadn’t been there the day before. 

“I just saw a matching one on my uncle’s hand when I handed in my history project. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?” She smirks as the rest of the students’ mouths drop open. Dean’s known Claire long enough to know that it’s a smirk of love though. 

The news of his and Castiel’s marriage (and Castiel’s new teacher name) reaches his freshman class by second period. He should have known it wouldn’t take long. 

-

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it Mae! 

If you liked what you saw, REBLOG! and consider reserving a prompt from my ‘30 Destiel Prompts’ challenge, or just send me your own prompt you’d like me to fill! 

-

TAGS: @eccentriccas @starrynightdeancas @credentiast @imbiowaresbitch @starclaire @cockleslovesdestiel @bend-me-shape-me @destielfactory @dea-stiel @wendeano @wingsandimpalas @aggressivedean @flowersforcas @chill-legilimens @pancakesofthelord @saltnhalo @caslikescoffeeandfreckles @assbuttboyfriends @jhoomwrites @breathingdestiel @simplymisha @thekingslover 

(once again tagging my faves, let me you if you’d like to be removed from future fics - or added if you’re not already there!)

[rowan-underthehouse]

Shot Glasses and Shadows

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 2,011

Warnings: slight self-harm, mention of blood

Additional Tags: hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, Abandon All Hope Coda, Mentioned Jo Harvelle, grief/ mourning

Summary: Dean struggles with the aftermath of Abandon All Hope. Castiel is there to help.

Read it on Ao3 here

It’s the moments between hunts where Dean starts to lose his balance. When there’s no monster to fight, and the adrenaline pounding through his limbs fades away.

There are things he can do to stop it. He can make dinner runs while he tries to list the name of every song he’s ever put on a mixtape, or blast the radio until the speakers crackle, or sprint until his lungs burn. As long as he keeps moving he can fight it off. But as flames lick the glossy edges of the closest thing to a send-off they can give Jo and Ellen, all Dean can do is root his feet to the ground and watch.

He doesn't walk away from the fire until the photograph is reduced to ash. The crumbling of Jo’s gentle features is almost beautiful here. He wonders if Jo could feel the flames in her last moments. If she still believed her death meant something. If it felt beautiful.

“I’m going to clean up.”

“Dean you don’t-” Sam follows his gaze to the cluster of shot glasses still spread across the table, not finding the right words until his brother is already gone. Sam knows better than to follow.

It shouldn’t take him more than fifteen minutes to finish the kitchen, but Dean’s limbs are heavy with guilt and the half bottle of whiskey he’s already downed. He’d expected it to feel different to be back here. Everything warm and homey and right should have burned up with Ellen and Jo, but Bobby’s kitchen somehow missed the memo. This is still the same place they’d laughed and drank and squeezed out smiles around the dread no amount of alcohol could quite wash away just the night before. It’s Dean who’s out of place. He shouldn’t be here, surrounded by a past already so long gone it aches. It’s going to collapse in on him at any second.

The first shot glass that shatters against the hardwood floor is an honest-to-god accident. Dean lets the second roll out of the crook of his elbow, watching with the closest thing to satisfaction he can muster as broken glass dusts his boots. The third, he smashes into the worn countertop. He feels the blood pooling under his palm before he registers the glass wedged there. It brings a sick, bubbling laugh to the back of his throat.

He’s watching the blood run along the edge of a fourth glass, rolling it over in his palm when a hand appears on his shoulder.

“Dean,” The unmistakable crunching of dress shoes on glass pulls Dean back to reality. “You’re injured.”

Dean tosses the shot glass in his hands into the sink, almost disappointed when it doesn’t shatter. He shrugs Castiel’s hand off his shoulder, doing his damn best to ignore how cold he feels at the tiny loss of contact. Cas has that effect on people. That warm sort of feeling that starts deep in your chest and spreads to your fingertips until it feels like everything might be alright. Sam feels it too, Dean’s sure, but it doesn’t seem to be burning him up from the inside the way it does Dean. The relief he feels when Cas grabs his shoulder again is humiliating. He wipes it clean off his face before Cas can turn him around.

“You’re bleeding, Dean,” there’s more force to it this time. Dean stares expectantly, waiting for the feeling of grace stitching the fibres of his hand together, but nothing comes. Cas’s eyes fall to the floor. “I’m...going to get the first-aid kit.”

“So, what? Not going to mojo me back together? Cas, is there something you want to tell me?” He squares his shoulders, taking a step toward Cas. Of course something’s wrong. Not even an angel of the lord could get that close to Lucifer and come out unscathed.

“Because if something happened, something that we should know about, you better spit it out before it gets someone killed,” Dean closes the distance between him and Cas, staring down with what he hopes reads as more malice than concern and waits. Cas should be snapping back at him or threatening to throw him back to hell or something but he’s just standing there, gaze cast at the floor.

“It’s not important. It won’t affect my ability to help in your fight against the devil,” Dean turns away with a scoff just loud enough for Cas to hear. Somewhere deep beneath two hours worth of whiskey he knows he’s trying to start a fight, but he doesn’t care.

Even turned away, Dean can feel Cas’ gaze burning into his back. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to do something useful?” He nods in the direction of the library where every piece of lore they could find is still strewn out on the desk. The words taste bitter on Dean’s tongue, but if it gets Cas to do something, anything, other than stand there and stare straight into Dean’s soul (Maybe literally. Dean hopes not) it will be worth it.

Dean doesn’t turn around until the footsteps have faded from the kitchen. He drops the remaining shot glasses into the sink and kicks Jo’s chair in as an afterthought on his way out the door.

Sam and Bobby are nowhere to be seen, no doubt already tucked away in their respective rooms trying to figure out how to get through the night. Dean doesn't bother asking how they got Bobby up to his old room now that the sofa has been temporarily dragged back to its place in the library. He suspects Cas had something to do with it.

The fire is little more than embers when Cas comes back around the corner, battered first-aid kit in hand. Dean’s stomach churns. He should apologize.

“Throw another log on.”

Again, Castiel fixes him with that stupid, sympathetic, stare and does as he’s asked.

“You’re grieving.”

Dean almost laughs. “Really, Cas? I hadn’t noticed.”

“You shouldn’t try to stop it. It won’t help,” Cas settles on the sofa and unpacks the kit, examining the contents carefully while he lays them out on the end table.

That old rage bubbles up in Dean's chest again. “So what am I supposed to do, huh? Just sit here and moan about it in the middle of the friggin’ apocalypse? We have work to do, Cas. Stow the Vincent Grey crap.”

“Give me your hand.”

He thinks about arguing. About trying again to stir up some kind of fight just to feel something other than hollow for a few seconds. Angry is easier. Safer. But then, this is Cas. He knows every atom of Dean’s body and can recite his earliest memories like the goddamn pledge of allegiance. There’s no point hiding. He lets some of the tension holding up his body seep back into the floor.

Cas is more gentle than Dean can handle. All calloused hands and careful touches that are anything but clinical. Letting him in is frighteningly easy. It’ll be letting him go when he finally realizes the Winchesters and all their problems aren't worth the effort that will be like pulling stitches.

“They trusted me,” It’s barely a whisper, but Dean’s throat closes around the words. “They trusted me, and I led them to their deaths.”

“You did the best you could. They knew the risks,” There’s a strain in Cas’ voice Dean has never heard before.

Dean’s eyes are burning. He can’t bring himself to meet Cas’ gaze until a thumb swipes across his cheek, brushing away the tears there. For once he finds himself thanking god in all his infinite absence that Cas doesn’t realize the intimacy of the gesture “You did the right thing, Dean. You tried.”

There’s a weight to his words that Dean can’t quite pin down, the teary smile plastered on his face making Dean want to either wrap his arms around Cas or make a break for it. He shoots for somewhere near a more reasonable middle.

“Are you uh…” Dean is struck very suddenly by just how bad he is at this, But he has to try. It’s Cas. “Are you holding out okay?”

“Human grief is different. It’s...heavier”

If tearing down heaven brick by brick could pull that weight off Cas, Dean would do it in a second. It terrifies him how far he’s willing to go.

“Yeah.”

The mess of bandages Cas eventually manages to secure around Dean’s hand isn’t pretty, but it’s a relief. He tosses the bloody glass in a trash bin and dries his now clean hands on an embroidered dish towel that may have been colourful twenty years ago. “I’ll leave you to rest.”

He’s halfway to the door by the time Dean swallows his pride enough to say something. “Cas, wait. Have you - eaten anything? It’s been a long day.”

“I don’t eat.”

Dean spends the longest ten seconds of silence in his life wondering if he could bore a hole through the floor with his eyes to crawl into. This may be the dumbest excuse he’s ever come up with, which is not an easy title to win.

“Are you asking me to stay?”

Maybe it’s the whiskey clouding his mind or the idea of spending the rest of the night drinking his way through whatever’s left of his liver alone that finally snaps a cord in Dean. He sinks back into the couch, exhaustion taking over.

“Please.”

With a creak of old springs and cushions creasing just enough for Dean to slide, Cas is back on the couch, a good few inches closer than the last time. Of course, it doesn't mean anything. Cas is an angel. He can’t understand the way the closeness makes Dean’s heart leap out of his chest. But the way he presses his shoulder against Dean’s is distinctly and undeniably human. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

The next few hours drift by in near silence, broken only by offers of whiskey and the occasional non-committal remark. When Dean’s eyes slip closed, his head lolling against Cas’ shoulder, Cas doesn’t try to wake him.

Once Dean does finally open his eyes, it’s with a pounding headache, and his face pressed against the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt. Through the fog of sleep Dean slowly becomes aware of his limbs tangled with Cas’ where they’ve sprawled across the sofa. He’s a split second away from launching himself onto the floor when he registers Cas’ hand resting loosely against Dean’s back. The slow tide of his breathing. He can’t be asleep but Dean’s never seen him this relaxed. His hair is a disaster where it’s rubbed against the arm of the sofa and his coat is more on the floor than his body. He must be meditating or praying or whatever the hell angels do to recharge their heavenly batteries. It would be rude to interrupt him, Dean reasons, and he’ll be awake again within a few hours. There’s still plenty of time before sunrise. A few hours can’t hurt. In the moment before he’s pulled back to a dreamless sleep, Dean swears he catches the shadow of wings cast against the wall, curled around his body.

…

It’s not unusual for Sam to be awake before his brother. He rolls out of bed some time after sunrise, stumbling toward the kitchen before he’s even finished rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He very nearly walks past the tangle of limbs on the couch before Bobby rolls into the room, gesturing for him to stay quiet.

“They haven’t moved since Cas brought me back down here. Let them rest. They need it.”

And they do.

When Dean finally stumbles into the kitchen, Cas having disappeared mere seconds before he woke up, Sam doesn’t say a word about it, just smiles into his coffee mug. It’s good to see someone keeping Dean steady for once, and if Dean isn't ready to admit it yet, that’s a problem for another day.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Epilogue

We’re Tied Together (Always and Forever)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader  Word count: 3750

Summary: In which you reach the end of the line. Is it though? The end?

Warnings: battle with Thanos no.2, blood and violence, character death, religious motives, mention of afterlife, language

A/N:  Do you ever look at your fic and are like… you know this was supposed to be a cheesy one-shot, right? Soulmate meet-cute one-shot to be precise. Well. That work out splendidly... Anyway, here – the epilogue! Enjoy! Oh, and prepare tissues :-*

Part 6

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Waking up in a comfy bed was surreal; mostly because you knew that after falling – or half-jumping – from a cliff, this wasn’t what was usually happening. You didn’t have much experience, but you still had some common sense left.

Right?

Why did nothing hurt?

“Hello, Little One,” a voice greeted you, startling you enough to roll over and fall from the bed – only to land back in the cushions, confusing the Hell out of you – or perhaps you should have thought Heaven.

Because this was positively Castiel‘s voice. Castiel as an angel. Angels, as far as you were concerned, belonged to Heaven.

Was it possible that… that- this was--?

“Yes, you’re in Heaven… again,” he hummed nonchalantly as if it was perfectly common to just die twice and he seated himself on the edge of your bed.

“I killed myself,” you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, instantly slapping your palm over your mouth. It sounded terrible, hearing yourself say it out loud, just throw it out in the open as if it was not a big deal.

Which in fact, it was. Since when suicidal people went to Heaven? You never had been good with the whole faith thing, but this sounded a bit sketchy.

“To save half of the Universe,” Castiel questioned, frowning. “Or would you say your soulmate belonged to hell after had once forced the plane down, expecting to die in exchange of saving millions?”

Silently admitting he had a point, you let the issue alone for the moment. Instead, you blinked, taking his appearance in. He was wearing his typical trench-coat, making him look like an accountant, dorky for a celestial being. He fitted in here though – bright room, white sheets, no windows…

“You’ll get a better room soon, less prison-like,” he explained as if he could hear your thoughts. Which he as well might, because he was an angel, you were in freaking Heaven, again, which what the Hell, if you had been before, how could you not remember that-- and everything was so confusing and… lonely. “But I thought you’d like to see your soulmate first.”

Your heart stopped. Later, you would question why did you still have a fucking heartbeat, or why did it feel like it, but did he just say-

“What the Hell is Steve doing here?!” you shrieked in horror and Castiel sighed, possibly at your swearing, but you didn’t give a fuck. What was Steve-

“He’s not here. But a battle with Thanos occurred and I thought you might like to see.”

You ran your hand down your face tiredly, relieved beyond words. Steve was alive, still on Earth – probably.

Christ. Castiel sure didn’t know how to talk to a girl who had a superhero for husband. Or he in fact did, since he was willing to show you.

It took one single snap of Castiel’s fingers and a scene of horror – fire, ash and blood – unfolded in front of you. There was nothing but smother from the debris where the compound had used to be, the Titan with an enormous space ship probably the one to blame.

And barely three defenders of Earth stood against him and his endless rows of army, thousands of monsters ready to take the half of population one by one, just waiting to be released from the ship.

Where were the others? And… Thanos! They killed him! What-

“How-“

“The Avengers gathered all the Stones. Hulk snapped this time, bringing everyone who had died in the original Snap back. Unfortunately, a spy infiltrated the team and led Thanos from the past to the present,” Castiel explained patiently, but you were anything but patient, suddenly angry as gnawing fear bit into your stomach.

“Then why are you here?! There’s… there’s Tony, Thor and Steve, three people—sorta people – facing a fucking ARMY FROM SPACE!” you yelled at the angel, a being powerful enough to drag your ass from Heaven – which you didn’t care for in the slightest.

How could he just... sit here with you?!

“We cannot interfere-“

“The fuck did you just say?!” you spitted out, rising to your feet. “Aren’t angels supposed to be guardians? You-“ you continued your verbal assault in attempt to get him moving, only to freeze when a blinding lightning hit Thor’s hammers (plural?!) and the infamous trio threw themselves into the battle.

You barely had few seconds to feast your eyes on Steve in one piece; he was glorious, standing straight with his chin up, jaw clenched in determination and all you could think of was how strong he was, carrying on with the mission.

You knew it wasn’t that he didn’t miss you, that he didn’t grieve you; he was simply the bravest person you had ever met, just like you had told him before--- ugh, before you had died.

If you only weren’t so terrified for him.

Where was everyone? If the Snap worked and people had been brought back, where was the whole bunch of warriors from Wakanda? The rest of the Avengers’ crew?

Breathless, your heart pounding in both your ribcage and temples, you watched as Thanos tossed the three figures around, almost as if he was playing with them despite their best efforts.

“Get up, Stevie. God, please, get up, get up, be okay,” you whispered urgently with your throat swollen at one particular blow that had your soulmate landing on his back and lying down with his breath knocked out of his chest, his eyes closed in what could only be agony.

With horror, you saw his body turn almost limp, your nails digging into your palms.

GET. UP. Don’t you dare to stay down and get yourself killed!

He clenched his jaw, glint of something that twisted your insides in genuine fear in his eyes. This wasn’t determination anymore. This was madness. He pushed himself on his feet and you couldn’t quite make yourself to feel relieved despite him fulfilling your earlier silent wish.

Determined Steve was a great Steve. Mad Steve? Mad Steve did crazy-ass decisions that could cost him his life. You had that in common.

Your jaw slowly went slack when your very husband grabbed Thor’s Mjölnir as if it was not a mythical weapon from the legends only Thor could lift and… banged up the Titan as if he had been fighting with it his whole life.

Incredulous chuckle escaped your lips when a flash of lightning connected with the hammer as Steve… charged it, only to aim its power at Thanos.

“I told him he could lift it,” you murmured despite yourself, letting yourself to feel a tinniest bit of hope and pride.

There was only three of them now, but surely the people who had been dusted were on their way. Steve, Thor and Tony just had to keep the Titan occupied-

Then the army stood, exiting the ship in a deadly march, no, in a deadly race and Steve got himself into trouble.

You grinded your teeth, unable to look away, but present enough to be pissed as Hell at Heaven and its angels and let them know.

“Do something! He’s gonna-“

A circle of amber-coloured sparkles appeared on Steve’s left and you could cry, recognizing Strange’s handiwork. The back-up was there. The army. The King of Wakanda with his badass sister. Sam. Bucky. Strange, Peter, the Maximoffs. Carol Danvers flying through the alien spaceship as if it was made of cotton candy. Even Natasha emerged from the debris with Clint and the others, causing you to breathe out in relief.

Now the true fight would start.

You weren’t calm by any means. But you were hopeful. Just glancing at the briefest encounter of Natasha with Sam was sweet enough to bring tears in your eyes.

“Kick their asses,” you whispered encouragingly, swallowing thickly and actually praying.

It was nearly impossible to follow the battle then; too many fronts, too many people, half-people and alien creatures. You saw the gauntlet they were trying to protect, you kept your eye on Steve, finding Thanos and his momentary enemies when you had the capacity to do so.

You honestly couldn’t tell how the fight was going, if it was in your favour or not, there was so much blood and smoke and noise… and then something caught your attention with painful clarity.

Several things happened at once; Carol, literally glued to Thanos, who had somehow got a hold of the gauntlet with all of the stones in it (oh God, oh my God, this couldn’t happen again-), was thrown away as if she was nothing but an annoying fly, Tony registered a part of his armour having been ripped away – his hand-piece – and found it with his gaze at Steve’s feet as Stephen Strange raised one shaky finger towards Tony, who suddenly had an expression of utter defeat on his face.

Your slow, terror-struck mind didn’t do the math when Steve jumped on Thanos’ arm, forcing his fingers away so he couldn’t snap his fingers. Something red and flashy glimmered in the mess of limbs, but you didn’t pay enough attention to make the connection. Peter, Spider-man, managed to web the gauntlet, helping out Steve and you almost breathed out the air suffocating your lungs.

Almost.

Because the next moment, Steve was tossed away like a rag-doll, much like Carol had been.

Like in a slow motion, the infamous effect in movies to add dramatics, you saw the Titan raise his hand with a smug smirk; and you noticed, unlike him, that his gauntlet was, in fact, empty of the Stones. But-

“I am… inevitable,” he exclaimed, a dull mechanic snap following his statement.

Nothing happened, except for the huge and ugly purple head whipping towards his useless weapon in confusion.

And that was when you saw it. The glow of the stones in a red piece of armour, Ironman’s armour, that was no longer worn by its owner.

All of the puzzle pieces fell into place, clicking with a painful clack.

Strange’s gesture. Tony’s expression. Crowley’s words of one future, matching the story of the contemporary Sorcerer Supreme. And the red flash when Steve had been fighting Thanos.

“No,” you whispered breathlessly, remembering with startling clarity what Steve had told you about Thanos – the Titan, stronger than all of the Avengers together – looked like after he finished his mission. He had nearly died.  

“NO!” you repeated with more force, horror filling your very being, dimming the world around you, a violent tremble attacking your body at the glint in Steve’s eye.

It was the one that had shaken you so much before. The mad spark.

Do whatever it takes, consequences be damned.

His raspy voice broke your heart in two, tearing your soul when you realized the implication of his words:

“No. You are only dust. And to dust you shall return.”

The snap of Steve’s metal-clad fingers echoed in the room and in your head, the sound seeping into your bones as you were blinded by the streak of colours, the white swallowing the whole world for long seconds.

You were sure that this was what actual death looked like. Nothing but emptiness.

You reflected several of your last words to Steve, wanting to rip your hair out. Why had you told him such nonsense? Why would you tell him that God had wanted it this way, that you had only played your part in His grand scheme?

You finally understood the words Sam had told you so many years ago, about similar people in a relationship being a disaster in making. Steve had embraced your belief in being only a tiny wheel in the God’s great plan.

That was the meaning of the words he said. A famous line from Bible, reflecting how much he believed in God’s work at the moment.  

You are only dust. And to dust you shall return.

In the critical seconds, Steve believed he had been chosen by God to be the tool delivering Thanos his defeat.

And to very likely to pay his life as a price.

Your eyes adjusted to the once again dark scene, where the hostile army started indeed turning back to dust. You desperately searched the only figure that mattered, finding him with his back resting against a random vertical flat surface, his chest barely rising.

The sight on half of his body severely burned, multiple spots on his skin blacking as it already died, had your eyes squeezed shut, your knees giving out as the sob shook your whole body.

The scene was burned into your brain, an image carved into your eyelids, sharp and precise as if you were still watching with your eyes wide open. You whimpered, shaking your head to chase it away. Vainly.  You didn’t remember looking into his eyes, yet you saw them hollow, blue and green always so brilliant misted. Dead.

A hand landed on your shoulder and you winced, releasing another whine, sobs braking through your palm that at some point covered your mouth – whether to be silent of not to throw up, you couldn’t tell. The hand gave you a gentle squeeze that did nothing to sooth your grief.

Oh God, oh you ignorant God, why are you such a DICK?!

“Why? Why did-- it have to--- be him?!” you choked out, avoiding the post-battle sight and instead shot Castiel a glare that could murder.

Your chest hurt. They just tore your heart away, easily as that, hollow gaping space in its place and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t breathe and hear and see-

“I don’t know, Little One. It was as it was meant to be. You wouldn’t want to see him suffer through your loss again anyway, believe me.”

“That doesn’t make it right!” you spitted out, disgusted at such implication. As if this happened to make you feel better! You were suffering. Hurting. But most of all, you were so fucking angry. With God. With Castiel. With… with yourself. Maybe if you hadn’t told him— perhaps- oh God, oh Satan, let the pain go away… let him rest at least. “What happens to him now?”

“Watch, Little One. He’s not gone yet,” Castiel encouraged you kindly, but you couldn’t- couldn’t—what was happening? Was he trying to tell you that they might be able to save him?

The flare of hope ignited in your body died as fast as it caught fire; why would Castiel say that you wouldn’t want to Steve go through losing you again if there had been a chance to save Steve still?

Steve was about to die. If he wasn’t gone yet, then he must have been in so much pain that your own, this paralyzing feeling, must have been nothing in comparison.

Why were you forced to witness his last moments? What kind of a twisted Heaven was this?

“You fucking idiot,” Tony rushed to his friend’s side, pissed and resigned at the same time.

“We won,” Steve breathed out weakly, only one eye following the movements around him. You buried your nails in the flesh of your palm, choking on your own spit as the sob tried to fight its way out of your chest.

“Yeah, we did,” Bucky confirmed softly, kneeling to his brother; they were nothing less than that. Hesitant hand curled around Steve’s seemingly unharmed bicep and he made a lame attempt at moving his arm to return that gesture. Bucky clenched his jaw, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye. “Don’t call him an idiot, Stark. That’s my job.”

His voice broke at the end of the sentence and your heart shattered as you felt his pain as your own. You couldn’t see anymore. The image was so blurry, but now new fear controlled your body, the fact Castiel never answered you and that meant something horrible awaited Steve in death and this was in fact your last moments of seeing him and— God, oh God, who had ever dared to call you merciful?

“I’m talking to God,” Tony specified and you wordlessly thanked him. “Clearly, he’s a dick for making it this way.”

“Nah. ‘s smart. S-sam?” Steve choked out, voice barely audible and the therapist (with wings now, having returned to his previous job) was instantly by his side, his eyes glassy as well.

“Yeah, Cap?”

An attempt at shake of head was given, you assumed, but barely a motion was the result. “You Cap now. Will ya’?”

If you had any capacity for being astonished left, you would have been at the request. But you were far too gone, drowning in misery.

“…yeah. Of course. I will if that’s what you want.”

“ ’sanks.”

Thor’s enormous figure took a step closer, thunderous voice uncharacteristically quiet. “We’ll remember you, brother. Both of you.”

A faint smile appeared on Steve’s lips, only one corner capable of rising, and yet he closed both of his eyes for a long moment, clearly struggling to stay conscious.

That’s a lie, your mind whispered. Not just conscious. Struggling to stay alive. And losing!

Only one eye opening, Steve managed to cast a half-lidded glance in Bucky’s direction, flickering to Tony for a second.

His next word was crystal clear. “Home.”

Natasha sobbed into her palm, but her delicate fingers curled around Steve’s arm as well, right next to Bucky’s, giving her friend a tight-lipped pained smile.

“Yeah, Steve. It’s okay to go home. To her. Tell her we say hi, yeah?” she pleaded lowly, keeping her voice without a crack despite few tears escaping her eyes.

You stopped breathing altogether and prayed. God, please, let him find peace. With me. And if not with me, at least give him the peace he deserves, I beg you.

Clint fell to one knee, bowing his head.

At first, you didn’t realize it wasn’t just grief sucking the strength out of him. No. Bucky, Sam and Nat instantly followed, mirroring his position precisely.

They were paying their respect to a fallen comrade, you realized.

You couldn’t take it anymore as you noticed everyone else doing the same. Not when during the process Steve’s chest ceased its motions, the life leaving his body.

And your heart left with him, along with your sanity.

Nothing made sense anymore. You fucked up, God himself fucked up and Castiel, and angels and Universe and-- and it hurt. Steve had said that they had won, but you lost. You lost everything.

Your vision was clouded by both tears of sorrow and anger, your body numb from all the pain.

Castiel’s hand slid from your shoulder, finally, but instead, you were pulled into an embrace.

You wanted to push away and run and punch and curl up on the floor, but the arms around you held you too firmly, your head was buried in your captor’s chest. You wanted to fight it, refuse the lame attempt at comfort, and you breathed in furiously to brace yourself to free your body-- but the sudden familiarity, faint cologne and warmth, body large enough to engulf yours, lips in your hair…

“S-st-steve?” you choked out, disgusting gurgle sounding in your throat, but in that moment, you suddenly couldn’t bring yourself to care.

The way you said his name was more a question, but you didn’t need an answer. You would recognize him anywhere.

You husband. Your soulmate. Your Steve.

The arms around you tightened, his embrace turning nearly crushing, his chest expanding with generous inhale as his face buried in your hair further. Your lips curled up in a tight smile and you let out a hysterical laugh, sorrow and joy, pain and relief.

“You’re here,” he mumbled to your scalp, hot tears following his words and you found yourself lifted from the floor, your body nearly merging with his and you could finally breathe again, your heart fluttering in your chest. One of his arms held you securely to his form while the other fisted in the mess of your hair. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t be here.”

“Then why did you do it?” you asked him, the anger seeping through despite the delight at the encounter you could have only prayed for. He was here. “I’m so fucking mad at you.”

“So am I at you,” he opposed, but the growling of his voice was too soft for you to believe him that his rage was larger than his relief.

And so you let go of your own anger too.

This was all beyond your control. Deep inside, you knew that. You had been just playing a part; neither of you had asked for that. You surely didn’t ask to be approached by Crowley and being given the mission, while there was little Steve could do differently when the weapon had been thrown to his feet; a literal throw of the gauntlet that was impossible to ignore.

There was a large scheme of the inevitable put in motion. Who were you to challenge fate?

No point at being mad at each other. Especially when graced with this opportunity to… whatever this was.

“Truce?” you quipped hesitantly and Steve chuckled, a watery sound that made your chest ache, yet filled it with warmth that could never be replicated. For this sensation, so unique, you needed your soulmate only.

And you had him. Forever, perhaps?

Steve withdrew a fraction, his hand caressing your damp cheek as his own glistened with salty drops, but the magnitude of his love, the amount of affection written all over his face, took your breath away, making you forget all about ugly crying.

One look into his twinkling eyes, full of devotion, and nothing else mattered.

“Yeah, doll. Truce. I love you.”

You didn’t get a chance to tell him the same, since he kissed your nose, your watery giggle having his lips spread in the boyish smile you adored.

“I love you too,” you whispered then, planting your own kiss on his lips, chaste and short.

He wouldn’t take it. His mouth locked with yours in a searing kiss instead, emotion pouring from each tiny motion of his lips against yours and you gave in, engaging in the dance of love, your fingers tangled in his locks.

Now this felt like Heaven.

“We’re okay. Everything is going to be okay,” he breathed into your mouth then, fresh tears spicing your kiss.

You didn’t care if you sounded like a child, you asked anyway. “Promise?”

Steve retreated as little as possible to be able to look into your eyes, his own still glassy, but serious and heavy with a vow.

“Promise.”

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S.R. masterlist

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Am I forgiven? Technically, this could be considered a sort of a happy ending, right? To a point, of course. I mean. Morgan still has her dad. No soulmate pairs were split… :)

Some awesome readers on AO3 suggested that the Winchesters then bullied Cas into bringing the lovebirds back to life, fixed them a cabin in the middle of nowhere, and granted them an actual happy ending. Well. If that makes you feel better, roll with that :-*

BTW, about the scene where they honour the fallen Cap: that scene (with Tony, obviously) WAS supposed to be in Endgame, how dare you, fix that at instant!

I love you if you read this till the end, till the last line. Thank you with my whole heart for your support 🤍

-.-.-

Also, while I love Steve to bits (in case you couldn’t tell) and I was happy for him because of the ending he got in Endgame, understanding the arc the writers made, the more and more I think about it, it was kinda out of character and… maybe I would have been more satisfied if heStevewas the one snapping and taking Tony’s fate. I mean… I would have cried my eyes out, sure, but… but.  Sorry for the ramble O:-)

[castiel-kline]

cas and balthazar meet again post finale

This one really got away from me, and it got really long. I promise it does answer the prompt but I also made it super plotty for some reason. I hope you don’t mind!

Being taken by the Empty didn’t feel like dying. 

Of course, that’s what was happening to him, but it didn’t feel like that. It felt cold, and painful, and vengeful. Lonely and miserable and laced with glittering knives of regret.

It was his damnation. Not the traditional sense of the word, but true nonetheless. 

But if facing it meant he’d save his family? Save Jack from being subject to the same fate? He’d damn himself to this a thousand times over, without a single shred of hesitation. 

The Empty had him entirely covered in its goo, tendrils snaking under his skin and into his body from every angle. In through the eyes, the nose, snaking down his throat. Under the fingernails, into the ears, scraping through the tattered remnants of his grace and pressing down around his true form. 

It was agony. 

Eventually it subsided, and some of the inky tendrils retracted, leaving him gasping for air that neither existed in this realm nor was truly necessary. He collapsed in a heap, the Empty bubbling around him. He spared a glance up, wondering if the Shadow were nearby to gloat before sending them both into slumber. What he saw… well. Unexpected didn’t quite cover it. 

“Jack?” 

“Hmm. Guess again, Castiel.” 

“No.” Don’t you dare look like him.

“Oh, yes. Because it hurts you to look at him, doesn’t it?” The Shadow leaned down, condescension clear as day in its every move. So wrong on Jack’s face that it twisted something deep within him. It stared him down, watching him squirm, mania-painted smirk stretching wider. “Good. I want you to suffer, so that’s what you’re going to do.” 

“I thought you wanted your peace and quiet,” Cas managed, as more tendrils snaked out over his wrists and ankles. Dragging him a little bit further down, completely at the Empty’s mercy. Somehow he suspected that was the point.

The Shadow straightened, looking down Jack’s nose at him. 

“Of course I do,” It said, emulating Jack’s earnestness. Liar. “But I can’t!”

“What?”

“Wonderboy-” the Shadow gesticulated wildly in the direction of its facsimile body “-woke everybody up when he exploded all over me. So I don’t get to sleep, no, and if I don’t get to sleep then you definitely don’t get to sleep. None at all.” 

Quicker than a blink, the Shadow had fisted Castiel’s collar in its hands, bringing their faces inches apart. 

“At least,” It whispered, eyes wild with an energy Jack had never, and would never, possess. “I get to make you suffer like you’ve made me suffer. So I want you to look at this face, Castiel. Look at it, and know that it’s contorted in tears right now because Papa Bear abandoned him.” 

The Shadow threw him down, the goo swallowing him right back up. Submerged in the dark, he scarcely felt its weight. He was too busy drowning in a fresh cascade of guilt.

It yanked him back up, tendrils leaving him suspended in the middle of nothing. Some of them twisted at his feathers, pulling them just enough to be excruciating but not enough to rip them free. He screamed.

“Be quiet!” The Empty released him, and Cas fell back down, every fibre of his being crying out in pain.

The Shadow cackled, everything about it from the pitch to the cadence to the intention screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

“You’re never going to regret this, are you?”

Cas glared at it, mustering up as much defiance as he could. 

“No,” he croaked. “Because saving my family? That’s worth dying a thousand deaths.”

The Shadow doubled over laughing again. Then, quick as a blink, kicked him across the face, sending him reeling backwards.

“‘Die a thousand deaths’? Please. You’re pathetic, you know that?”

Castiel pushed himself back up, following the Shadow’s pacing with his eyes. It walked with one arm tucked behind its back, the other gesticulating as it spoke.

“Death isn’t going to be enough for you, hmm. Oh, you know what you’ve never been able to take?” It spun back around, grinning down at him. “You can’t stand seeing the pain you’ve caused. And since you can’t see what’s left of your precious little family- not that they even care that you died, by the way- how would you feel about seeing the angels again?”

No. He must have looked visibly afraid, because the Shadow only smiled wider. 

“Not so pleasant a thought, hmm? Seeing as you killed most of them.” It laughed again, clapping its hands in an expression of glee that would have been endearing coming from Jack, but now simply served to be disturbing. “Oh, yes. It’ll be just like throwing a scrap of meat to a pack of starving dogs.”

Cas shook his head, but the Empty pressed on. It waved its hand, and Castiel was thrown some immeasurable distance away. He pushed himself to a sitting position, and watched in horror as the ground bubbled around him, and his brothers and sisters began to crawl their way out.

He recognized them, of course, because he’d taken care to never forget a single name. He saw Hael first, then Bartholomew, then Jonah and Efram and Ambriel and Samandriel. He saw Raphael, Uriel, Anna, Jophiel. He scrambled to his feet, unable to do anything but watch and wait for their wrath to undoubtedly descend upon him. 

Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled, running and dragging Castiel with them. He didn’t fight it, figuring that whoever had him was going to inflict a world of pain and there wasn’t a thing to do but accept it. They’d gone a fair distance, if there was such a thing as distance in nothing, before they stopped and Cas turned to face who had taken him. 

“Balthazar?” His voice came out strangled, as scarcely more than a whisper. 

“Cas,” Balthazar said, staring at him with something unreadable in his eyes. “Your wings…”

“Balthazar,” Cas repeated, finding himself unable to say anything else, mind swirling in an inescapable vortex of grief and guilt and pain. “I’m sorry, my friend. I’m so sorry.”

“What, for killing me? You weren’t yourself.”

“I was. That’s the problem.”

Balthazar just shook his head. “It’s going to take more than a stab in the back to get rid of me. You do know that, right?”

“If we weren’t already dead I’d offer you my blade to kill me. I deserve nothing more.”

“Castiel.” Cas forced himself to meet Balthazar’s eyes directly. “I know you, and so I forgive you. As I’ve told you before- nothing’s changed.”

Cas smiled bitterly. “Except me.”

“What happened to you?” Balthazar’s fingers traced the air where Castiel’s wings lay mangled and twisted in another dimension. “You look like you’ve been clawed apart by feral house cats.”

“I destroyed everything, Balthazar. So many times.” And he felt like he was being crushed under the weight of all his mistakes. Perhaps this was the torture the Empty preferred for him- giving him back a lost friend, giving him forgiveness- and then ripping it away again. Surely even someone as loyal as Balthazar wouldn’t want to associate with him after learning of the things he’d done.

“You, Cassie? I’ve only ever known you to do what’s right.”

“How can you say that when you saw me make one of my biggest mistakes? When I killed you because of it?”

Balthazar scoffed. “Mistake? Cas, you were trying to stop our control freak of an older brother from letting the other ones out to destroy the world. What about that is a mistake? Sure, Crowley was a bit of a snake, but come on. It can’t have been so long that you’ve forgotten your good intentions.”

Cas didn’t say a word, and Balthazar narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been, Cas?”

Cas sighed. “Nine years.”

“Nine years.” Balthazar’s eyebrows had shot all the way up. “Wow. Not long at all. So what could… no. Tell me you weren’t.”

Castiel frowned. “Weren’t what?”

“Weren’t still kissing the Winchesters’ asses for the whole nine years.”

“They’re my friends, Balthazar.”

“Oh, really?” Balthazar crossed his arms. “If they’re your friends, why did they treat you like one of the guns they keep in the trunk of their wretched car?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it, Cas?” Balthazar sighed, backing down a little. Nine years of death wouldn’t stop them from bickering, it seemed, though he did put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. An uncharacteristic attempt to show solidarity through the sarcasm.

“Look,” Balthazar continued. “What you do is your business, but… just tell me there was something good in those years. That it wasn’t just you running around trying to prove yourself to them.”

There was something, in fact, something he’d never expected. Something beautiful.

“I had a son,” he admitted. He’d often wondered what Jack would be like meeting angels that weren’t hell-bent on killing him. He’d imagined Jack meeting Balthazar, or Hannah, or Rachel or Samandriel, but it would never come to fruition. The best he would get was telling them about him, assuming he would be able to escape being choked and stretched and drowned by the depths of the Empty for all eternity.

“Why, Cassie, I’m impressed,” Balthazar said wryly. Oh no. Before Cas could interject and explain, Balthazar continued. “Looks like you really did get that stick out of your ass. And you put it right up-”

“Balthazar! He’s not mine, not like that. He chose me, and his mother was a friend. That’s all.”

Balthazar seemed to enjoy how flustered he was, but his tone was serious. “You adopted a human child?”

“No, he’s a nephilim.”

“Ah,” Balthazar said. “So they changed the rules regarding them in the past nine years, then?”

“No,” Cas said again, getting frustrated. He’d forgotten how much Balthazar loved to hear himself speak. Even if he had missed it, it was still mildly insufferable.

“Well, you rebel Cas, you. But, ah- who was the sire?”

Cas winced. “Lucifer.”

“Oh, my. That is unfortunate.”

“Yeah. Jack’s nothing like him, though. He’s… he’s very much like his mother. And I like to think he’s a little bit like me, too.”

Balthazar looked at him, somehow still reading him like a book after all this time.

“You spoil the poor child, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do not,” Cas huffed.

“Oh, yes you do. You’ve always been soft, but now you’re practically a down pillow.”

Cas’ smile was sadder, again. “I told you I’ve changed.”

“Maybe so. But we haven’t.”

“Thank you.”

Balthazar smiled. “I do have one question though, Cas.”

“Of course.”

“How did you die?”

Well. He supposed it would have had to be asked eventually. Unfortunately his hesitation gave Balthazar another opportunity to talk over him.

“Please don’t tell me it was for the Winchesters.”

“I love them.”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Of course you do. And unfortunately I love that about you. Well, go on. Tell me a story.”

Cas shrugged. “I made a deal with the Empty. My life for Jack’s, which- it wasn’t even a question. It said that when I was finally happy, it would take me.”

Balthazar frowned. “What did you in?”

“You know, I’m not really sure. But I managed to save Dean, and that’s all that matters.”

“Oh, Cas,” Balthazar muttered, sounding deeply sad. “Well, at least you were clearly a better father than our dear old absent God. That much is clear.”

Cas’ heart sank. He couldn’t not tell him, though he didn’t necessarily want to break the news.

“Balthazar.”

“What?”

“Um. A lot has happened since I’ve last seen you, and there’s a lot you need to know, but God- God was never on our side.”

--------

They walked aimlessly through the Empty, keeping aware for signs of their siblings or the Shadow, but oddly finding none.

“Well then,” Balthazar said, flippant as ever. Cas was nearly sure he was deflecting.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re not angry?”

“Nope.” Forced cheerfulness. “Never liked him anyway. Frankly, I’m surprised you even met the man.”

Cas paused and stopped moving, feeling something tugging at his grace.

“Cas, what’s wrong? Are you alright?” Balthazar had stopped too, hovering closer. 

A pocket of the nothingness in front of them seemed to pull itself inward, caving in like a black hole and then cracking open just a bit. Was this what it looked like when someone died and came to the Empty?

Hopefully not, because the distortion cleared and Jack was standing there. And it was painfully, obviously Jack, clearly indicated by everything from his posture to the grace Cas could feel reaching for his own.

Balthazar stiffened, preparing for a fight, but the minute Jack caught sight of Castiel the angel found himself with an armful of nephilim. He held on tight, feeling Jack trembling slightly.

Having connected the dots, Balthazar caught his eye over Jack’s shoulder and mouthed “down pillow.” Cas shook his head slightly, but turned his attention back to his son.

“Jack? Are you-”

“I’m getting you out, Cas,” Jack said, pulling back. “We’re both getting out of here.”

Balthazar’s stricken expression tugged at Cas’ heart.

“Just me?” Cas asked.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The other angels are awake, Jack. Can you…”

“I… maybe. But, Cas, I don’t… I don’t know them. Why…”

“It’s alright if you can’t,” Cas assured. “But if we can help them somehow, be that bringing them back or putting them to sleep… I need to try to make things right.”

Jack nodded. “I’ll try to help.”

Cas smiled at him, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you. And thank you for coming to get me.”

“Of course. I missed you,” Jack said, eyes wide. Cas felt something else inside him twisting.

Balthazar cleared his throat, and Cas gently turned Jack around to face the third member of their party.

“Jack, this is Balthazar. He’s a good friend.”

Jack and Balthazar looked at each other, Jack frowning and Balthazar smirking in a horribly misguided attempt to be friendly. The silence stretched on, utterly deafening. Jack broke it first.

“I… I met an alternate universe version of you that was not very nice.”

Balthazar didn’t miss a beat.

“Well, you know what they say. Don’t judge an angel by their alternate universe counterparts, right?”

That got a bit of a smile out of Jack, though he was still wary. Cas couldn’t blame him, so he kept in contact to keep him at ease.

“We need to find the Shadow. Make an arrangement so that we can take a few angels with us and the Empty goes back to peace and quiet,” Jack said. The self-assuredness was clearly a front, but somehow Cas felt as if he’d have time to help Jack through it. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding at Jack. Jack nodded back, and the three of them started walking. Into what, they didn’t know. 

But Castiel had the strangest feeling that it was all going to turn out alright.

[liron-ao3]

Read it on AO3

Happiness is in the having

Castiel never thought he would see Dean ever again. Telling him that he loved him right before he died for good had felt safe, safer than any other time he had just wanted to blurt it out, but his voice betrayed his overflowing heart.

This time is different, though. None of them is dying. Well, Dean managed to get himself killed and the irony isn't lost on Castiel. Everything he touches somehow goes south from there, no matter how good his intentions are.

But no, he mustn't think about it that way. If not for him neither the world would still exist nor Dean would be in the heaven the righteous man truly deserves. And even if Castiel had wanted him to live a long, free, and happy life, with someone he loved, maybe kids (his own or just some he took under his wing), a dog, more pie than was ever good for him, and without the shackles of saving the world around his feet, he is proud of what Jack and he managed in the short time until his arrival.

Castiel looks at him like he has so many times before, his blue eyes scanning Dean's face. But there is something different now. He can't hold Dean's gaze as he once could. Castiel's eyes flicker away again and again, the weight of his confession an obstacle between them.

Castiel always knew that Dean loved him. Well, maybe not always and to what extent, but in the end he was sure about it. That's why he pushed him aside, literally. More than once Dean had tried to protect him, put himself physically between Castiel and an aggressor, even though Dean had been the more vulnerable person in most cases. Castiel wouldn't have put it past him to jump between him and the Empty and there was no way that he would ever let this happen.

But that's all in the past now and despite his best attempt, Castiel can't bring himself to look at Dean long enough to read him properly. The green of his eyes is just too intense, the crow's feet around them somehow wrinkling deeper than ever before.

Dean looks tired, more tired than he has ever seen him, and Castiel wonders what happened in the few days since he let the Empty take him. All he ever focused on was Dean, to protect him and the people he loved. It hits Castiel like an ice-cold shower that he never thought about how Dean would feel after his sacrifice.

Castiel always wind forwards to Dean's apple pie life, leapfrogging the phase leading up to it. Too painful was the thought of Dean mourning him, no matter if as a brother or something else.

Castiel hoped that Dean would just leave their memories behind, that he would be part of the "stuff" Dean would let just go, forget about for his own good. But even with Dean's great talent in compartmentalisation, his grief might have already caught up on him.

He's always drinking himself into oblivion when you die or are gone too long, Sam once told him, pretty wasted himself at that time, and Castiel wants to punch something, maybe himself. Not really taking this possibility into account was rather stupid.

He should have known that his parting words wouldn't be enough to counter Dean's emotions that were always so much more intense than the man allowed to show on the outside. He most likely kept everything inside, grinned and bore it to lull Sam and all the others into a false sense of security.

Why the heck did he put John into Dean's heaven, the man who made Dean push away his own feelings starting the day his mother died?

The silence between them grows and Castiel wishes he just stayed away from Dean's heaven. He obviously doesn't belong here. They have nothing left to say to each other. Castiel put everything out in the open and Dean has no words to voice whatever he is feeling. Just another gift his old man left him.

"I shouldn't have come," Castiel says, casting down his eyes. When there is no answer he looks up, filing away to memory Dean's grown older, but still beautiful features as best as he can, ready to fly away for the very last time.

"Don't you dare!" comes Dean's rumbling voice. "Don't you dare ever leave me again!"

Castiel isn't sure if it's the words themselves or the sound of Dean's voice saying them that let him crumble in his resolve. Maybe it's the tears in Dean's eyes or the angry way he clenches his jaws and his hands into fists.

"You never asked me to stay," Castiel says, his voice so much higher than usual. Maybe he sounds pathetic, but he can't find it in himself to care.

Dean looks bashfully at the ground, jaw still working as if he had to keep a stream of words inside. He inhales sharply. "I do now. Stay. I want you to stay, Cass."

If he still needed to breathe, these words would have knocked the air out of Castiel's lungs, but instead a needy sound, nearly a whimper, comes out of his mouth. How much he had longed for Dean to say it. How many times didn't he and Castiel left him, walked away heart-broken?

"Why?" Castiel barely whispers.

Dean looks at him, really looks at him, and this time Castiel holds his gaze.

"Because I am not as selfless as you think me to be. I can be a selfish bastard. I want you. Damn it, I wanted you for such a long time." Dean swallows hard and runs a hand nervously through his hair. "I love you. Not because you're family, which you are, or because you are a self-sacrificing bitch, about which we still have to talk about ... but because it's you, Cass, ever since we met it's always been you. I really tried not to love you the way I do, to convince myself I didn't, to make my feelings for you ... safe, to keep you on arm's lenght and push you away whenever I just wanted you to choose me."

Castiel's heart threatens to beat out of his chest and he's sure if there was any kind of electricity around them, his grace would spread sparks all around them, like the very first time they stood face to face.

Castiel chuckles. "We're really both a couple of dumbasses, aren't we?"

Dean's mouth twitches into a lopsided smile. He looks at Castiel through his eyelashes, the way he used to look at the women he picked up in bars too many times Castiel could or wanted to count.

The angel's treacherous heart thumbs even harder, his grace thrumming under his skin, ready to explode. This is simultaneously worse and so much better than the constant pining over all those years. Dean has the power to destroy him, a millions year old celestial being and Castiel gave the weapon away freely. But maybe that's what love is all about. Vulnerability.

"I prefer the word 'trusting'. Less dumb. Less ass," Dean smirks.

For the first time since he was taken, Castiel feels a smile growing on his face, relaxing the lines of worry on his forehead. He nods in agreement.

And then there are lips on his own, not comparable with Meg's in any way. They are chapped and still soft, careful and as if they were asking a million questions. Maybe they do.

It's only an innocent brush and still Castiel knows that if heaven was still like it used to be and he died as a human this would be the moment repeating itself for all eternity.

He had been so wrong. True happiness is not in just saying it. True happiness is in the having, in the kissing, in the holding, in the keeping. True happiness is Dean Winchester loving him back.

[erule]

A holy lie

Summary: you (the reader) take the Mark of Cain instead of Dean. You knew the Mark of Cain was going to test you, but you weren't prepared for it to break your heart too.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 1224

A/N: enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated :)

Story under the cut.

«You know, when people want something really, really bad, they lie» you said and that’s the moment Dean realized that those were his words.

«Y/N, no!»

But that was the point of no return, the part of time in which you died for your friends and became a demon to protect the love of your life, after you tricked him.

The last three months were rough. You were a demon and you had the Mark, therefore you were so angry and indifferent, something that brought you anywhere without feeling guilty about leaving your boyfriend and your friends. It was like your head was empty and your chest so light. You felt free. That was the matter. You didn’t want to go back to your past life, because you would have been weak again and you didn’t want that at all.

Well, someone did, actually. Those months were rough for Dean, not for you. He was restless. He looked for you everywhere and once almost caught you, but after he realized you were not the kind girl he knew, he tried to bring you back home, but you managed to escape. Yes, until now.

This brings us to the present day, in which you’re looking for Dean inside the bunker, while Sam and Cas are somewhere thinking about their next move, leaving Dean to you, hoping that you will spare him. They’re wrong. You’re following his tracks, the scent of his soul, so familiar yet so distant. The red lights make all similar to a horror movie, which you had always hated, but now it’s like you love them.

«Oh Dean, come out! Come on baby, show me your moves» you say with a grin.

There he is. You found him. He is in the principal hall, a demon knife in his right hand and a scratch on his left cheek. You blink to him, caressing the hammer you’ve got.

«I’m not gonna hurt you» he says.

«Yeah, well, I bet you don’t want to have sex with me either, so we’re at a standstill, don’t you think?»

«You don’t seem like her anymore» he replies, with a sort of sorrow in his eyes.

«You’re right, I’m better.»

«You’re a fucking monster and I’m gonna take you down, somehow.»

«Well, you said so the last time, yet you didn’t succeed» you responds. «Did you miss?»

Dean seems tired of your sarcasm, but he doesn’t know how to stop you without hurting you. So, he doesn’t. He waits for Sam and Castiel to think about something. You fight against Dean, losing your hammer and using his knife instead. At the end, he has a lot of wounds on his body and he looks like he’s bleeding inside. You find him on his knees, a semi-closed eye and his hands trembling while he is trying to beg you not to kill him.

«Y/N, baby, please don’t do this» he says. You laugh, taking his gun directly from his pocket.

«I think you know how your story ends» you replies, loading the gun.

«I know that I need you, that’s the only thing I know for sure» he says. There’s a tear in his eye.

«You’re gonna regret leaving me alive.»

«Sweetheart, please, don’t…»

That’s it. The click. Something in your head just skips. Fucking Dean and his fucking sweetheart. You have a moment of hesitation and that’s when Castiel appears behind your back and embraces you. Sam runs down from the stairs with the syringe and injects the liquid inside of you to make you go back to your human form. You scream, while Dean is closing his eyes for the pain.

You collapse with your knees on the ground. It takes you a couple of minutes before you recover, but when you realize where you are, you immediately let go of the weapon you were holding as if you were scared. You widen your eyes, incredulous and only then you notice Dean, in front of you.

«Dean! Oh my God, what did I do to you?» you ask, terrified. «I’ll take something to cure you, I…»

«No, no, just… just hold me, please. I couldn’t even touch you for three months, so please, can you hug me?» he asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer, he just does it.

He hugs you so thight you feel your whole body burning up. He even silently sobs on your shoulder, so tired but so relieved at the same time. You feel your heart breaking for him.

After Castiel had cured him, you knocks at his door.

You look out the door, Dean notices you and waves you in. His face is tired and it seems that the scar from the cut you made him has remained on his cheek like a halo.

You approach him slowly, thinking that if he still fears you, at least this time he will have time to escape. But he doesn't. You sit on the edge of the bed and he immediately caresses the profile of your jaw. You close your eyes and, for a moment, you savor it, as if you could be able to remember it forever this way.

«Dean, I’m sorry» you say.

«I was lost, Y/N. I didn’t tell you that I would have taken the Mark because I think you’re weak. Hell, I think you’re one of the strongest person I’ve ever known! I told you, because I knew I wouldn’t have the heart to see you like that. I would have sacrificed everyting for you» he says, looking straight at you.

You feel your own bones trembling under his gaze. Dean had always had the power to make you question anything with just a look. One nod was enough and you would have pulled all of heaven down for him, angel after angel. But that wasn't just infatuation, it was something deeper. That's why, when you realized he wanted to sacrifice himself in Sam's place and take the Mark, you got in the way. Just the thought of losing him made you feel weak in the knees. He didn't deserve that. It was a suicide mission. Nothing more. And by feeling what you felt for him, you couldn't let him stop seeing the sun with those beautiful green eyes. You had to get in the way. This was clear to you from the start. That's why making that decision hadn't been difficult at all. That's why you tricked him and lied to him, making him think that you would have let him, that you would have killed him if he went crazy or something. You already knew there was a catch. Yours.

«This doesn’t make you selfish, Dean. It just makes you human. Don’t feel guilty.»

«I don’t…»

«I know you do, Dean. You’re selfless and I’m still in love you with you as I was before all of this» you interrupt him.

«I have felt so lonely without you» he says. You bite your inner cheek to avoid the tears to slip down your eyes, but you feel the corners burning. «I usually don’t feel like that because I’m used to it, but this time I was really afraid of losing it.»

«I’m here now, okay?» you say, hugging him until your knuckles don’t become white.

«Don’t ever do that again to me, understand?»

«Promise.»

[petrichoravellichor]

Title: A New Kind of Life

Wordcount: ~10k

Rating: T

Summary: What if, when Sam and Dean break into the Empty, Cas isn’t the only one they save? A post-15x19 fix-it fic in which Crowley gets a second shot at the redemption (and family) he deserves.

(Read on Ao3)

********************

Chapter 2 (of 5) (Ch. 1, Ch. 3, Chs. 4 & 5)

Days go by. Crowley remains in his room, keeping the door locked and stubbornly ignoring any attempts by Sam or Dean to gain entrance, although he does spare a breath to shout that if they want something to do, they can go ward the rest of the Bunker against further intrusions from certain Hell witches. In the end, the brothers leave him alone, and Crowley tells himself he’s glad. It nearly works; he is, after all, a very good liar, even to himself.

Then comes a newer knock, a softer one, followed by a voice Crowley recognizes as belonging to the new God-Kid, Jack: “Hello? Mr. Crowley? Are you still in there?”

And maybe it’s because he’s bored—it’s certainly not because he’s lonely— but Crowley decides to answer. “Why are you knocking?” he snaps. “Can’t you just blow the bloody door off its hinges?”

A beat of silence; then: “I...could, but it wouldn’t be very polite.”

Wouldn’t be very—?! Crowley gapes at the door; dear God, the boy really was Castiel’s son. Eventually, Crowley asks, “What do you want?”

“Do you know how to play chess?”

Whatever Crowley is expecting, it isn’t that. He goes to the door, unlatching the bolt and opening it a crack. “What?”

“Do you know how to play chess?” Jack repeats and holds up a battered old set. “I found this in the storeroom a while back, but I don’t know how to play, and neither do Sam or Dean.”

And it’s...strange. Crowley knows, logically, that this is the golden-eyed man he saw in the Empty, the supremely powerful being who is not only Lucifer’s spawn but also the new God; he knows this...yet somehow, as Jack stands before him and smiles almost shyly, Crowley can’t help but think Jack looks rather...small.

He frowns, opening the door wider. “What about Castiel?” Crowley demands archly. “Surely he’s familiar with what it means to be a pawn.”

Unfortunately, the jab appears to go right over the boy’s head. “He knows what all the pieces are called,” Jack says, nodding, “but he’s never played before. Have you?”

Crowley has. He actually rather likes chess, although it’s been some time since he’s faced a worthy opponent. As King of Hell, he’d of course been able to order other demons to play with him, but most of them were so abysmally bad at it that he’d stopped bothering after a while. “Why do you ask?” he says, instead of answering.

“Will you teach me?”

The request catches Crowley off-guard; he can’t help but feel it’s some sort of joke. “You want me,” he says slowly, “to teach you how to play chess.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Oh.” Jack’s face falls; he looks down. “Okay. Sorry for bothering you; I’ll leave you alone.”

Jack turns and begins to walk away, and the sight really shouldn’t bother Crowley...but it does. He feels a sort of painful pressure building in his chest, and suddenly, the thought of being alone any longer is downright unbearable. Bollocks...

“Wait!” Crowley calls, stepping out into the hallway as Jack turns to peer hopefully over his shoulder. “Just...wait. I’ve changed my mind. The answer is yes.”

Jack beams. “You mean it?”

And he looks so bloody happy that Crowley has to focus his gaze on Jack’s shoulder; looking too long at that smile feels like staring into the sun. “I said as much,” he grumbles. “What more do you want?”

“Can we play in the library? The lighting’s better there.”

Crowley flicks his gaze back to Jack’s face, fully prepared to say no, they’ll play in his quarters or not at all...but Jack is giving him these blasted, begging eyes that Crowley would bet good money were learned from Sam, and what actually comes out is, “Lead the way.”

*****

They take to having daily lessons in the library. Crowley demonstrates various openings and defenses, and when they progress to actual matches, he shows no mercy, checkmating Jack’s king in what feels like a record number of moves.

Still, what Jack lacks in natural ability, he makes up for with eagerness to learn and ample appreciation of Crowley’s knowledge, which is...actually rather nice, if Crowley’s being honest with himself; he can’t remember the last time anyone appreciated him for anything.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel look in on them from time to time, although Crowley pretends not to notice them. Once, he catches a glimpse of a woman Jack says is called Eileen Leahy.

“She’s Sam’s girlfriend,” Jack explains brightly as he takes one of Crowley’s pawns with his remaining bishop. “Sam brought her back from the dead after a hellhound killed her.”

Ah. That explains the dirty look...Crowley frowns, moving a knight to capture Jack’s bishop. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Sam, years ago, that he hadn't known who Eileen was when he lent a hellhound to the British Men of Letters, and besides, they were the ones who’d decided to sic said hellhound on the woman, not him. It’s not his fault the bastards had apparently thought it sporting to use an invisible weapon against someone who couldn’t hear it coming. If Crowley had wanted to kill Eileen, he would have at least had the decency to use a weapon she could see. Still, what’s done is done, and Crowley does his best not to dwell on it. The topic of hellhounds is, after all, rather painful at present, given that he still doesn’t know what’s become of Juliet.

Not for the first time, Crowley curses himself for losing his temper with his mother before having learned the fate of his favorite hellhound. Was Juliet still in Hell, where he’d left her? Had she been well-cared for in his absence? What if one of his adversaries had harmed her out of spite? What if his mother had harmed her out of spite? Crowley has no way of knowing, not unless he wants to contact his mother again or just show up in Hell, and neither option inspires optimism. Rowena could very easily lie to him over the phone, and setting foot in Hell feels far too akin to walking into a trap: enough of Crowley’s enemies have probably survived the past few years that he’d be stabbed the moment he got through the gates, and for what? Only to learn that Juliet had been butchered years ago? At least as things currently are, he can still hold onto the chance, however slim, that Juliet is alive. If only there were some way to know…

Go on then, universe, Crowley thinks savagely, give me a bloody sign.

No sooner does the thought form than Crowley hears the click of paws against the Bunker's floor. He freezes, hardly daring to believe...but his hopes are abruptly dashed when a moment later, a tan, scruffy-looking mutt who is neither Juliet nor a hellhound enters the library. The dog pauses when it catches sight of him seated across from Jack at the table, then growls.

Jack looks over and smiles. “Hey, boy, it’s okay,” he calls soothingly, reaching a hand down to get the dog’s attention. “This is Mr. Crowley; he’s a friend. Come say hi.”

To Crowley's surprise, the dog scampers forward, apparently willing to take Jack’s word on the matter. It stops next to Crowley’s chair and sniffs him curiously until Crowley reaches out and hesitantly pats its head, at which point it starts wagging its tail and lets out a friendly sort of bark. The sound fills Crowley with a sense of unexpected warmth.

“When did you lot get a dog?” he asks, glancing back at Jack as the dog lies down at his feet.

“A little over a week ago,” Jack replies. “Dean found him after Chuck made everyone disappear. His name is Miracle.”

“Miracle,” Crowley repeats, looking down at the dog, which yawns back at him, apparently settling in for a nap. “Of course.”

After they finish their lesson, Crowley starts to return to his room, only to hear Miracle trailing after him into the hall. He turns to regard the dog with a frown.

“If it’s treats you’re after,” Crowley says, “I haven’t got any.”

Miracle cocks his head, seeming to consider him for a moment, then pads over, tail wagging and eyes bright. “Woof.”

Crowley arches a brow. “You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”

“Woof.”

“Right.” Crowley sighs. “Well, come on, then,” he says, turning and continuing the rest of the way to his room, Miracle trotting alongside him. “You’re no hellhound, but I suppose you’ll do for company.”

And to himself, with grudging approval: Well played, universe. Well played.

*****

More days pass. Crowley spends most of his time in his room, leafing through books borrowed from the Bunker library with Miracle curled up at the foot of his bed. The dog comes to visit him more often than not, scratching insistently at the door until Crowley lets him in. Having him around doesn’t make Crowley’s anxieties over Juliet fade away, but it does lessen the sting of her absence, if only a little.

Jack also stops by with increasing frequency, and Crowley honestly still doesn’t know what to make of him. Lucifer’s blood flows in the boy’s veins, and by all accounts, that should make Jack terrible beyond reason, a vicious, manipulative creature whose only goal is to bring about the downfall of mankind in the most horrible way imaginable.

Instead, Jack sits cross-legged on Crowley’s bed and talks cheerfully about Star Wars or whatever other interest has his attention that day, and his only vice seems to be an insatiable sweet tooth. During one of his visits, he asks about Crowley’s life before they met, and there’s something so maddeningly sincere about the way he does it that Crowley finds himself telling Jack more than he means to, about himself, about Hell, about his mother...

By the time he finishes, Crowley feels raw and a little embarrassed at having said so much, but Jack just smiles softly. “It’s okay, Mr. Crowley,” he says. “We can be more than the people we come from; my dads taught me that. We can choose to be good.”

Crowley isn’t so sure about that, at least not as far as he himself is concerned. His soul is about as damned as a soul can get, and besides, his choices have a nasty habit of blowing up in his face. Still, it’s...a nice thought, if nothing else.

He’s still thinking about it later that night, long after Jack’s gone off to Heaven for a bit to do whatever it is he and Amara do up there. Crowley’s sitting in the dark kitchen having a cup of tea—cheap stuff that comes in a bag, unfortunately, but at least there’d been a kettle—when Castiel appears in the doorway, an almost-silhouette against the soft glow of the hall light, and peers in at him through the darkness.

Crowley stares stonily back. Apparently, his assessment of the shift in Dean and Castiel's dynamic had been correct: Castiel is barefoot, wearing a t-shirt and sweats that were probably once Dean’s or maybe still are. Crowley can practically smell Dean’s scent on the clothes even from where he sits, and the low-quality tea does nothing to chase the bitterness from his mouth. Who would have thought that all it would take to tear away whatever final shred of heterosexuality Dean Winchester had been clinging to all these years was a deathbed love confession followed by a romp in the Empty? Not that Crowley cares a whit about that; he doesn't, not even a little bit, not at all.

“Hello, Castiel,” he says darkly. “Out for a stroll? You should try the dungeon; from what I recall, it’s lovely this time of night.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t know,” he says evenly, “having never spent the night there.” Then, before Crowley can think of a suitable comeback, Castiel gestures at an empty stool on the other side of the table. “May I?”

Crowley shrugs. “This is your home, not mine. You don’t need my permission to do anything.”

“Even so, I’d like to have it.”

“Then consider it had. I’ll take my tea elsewhere.”

Castiel frowns. “There’s no need for that.”

Crowley lets his eyes linger on Castiel’s shirt, on Dean’s shirt, then snaps his gaze back to Castiel’s face. “Not for you, perhaps.”

Silence. Crowley is hyperaware of the clock on the wall, ticking out each passing second as they stare each another down, and he half hopes Castiel will charge, practically dares him to. Crowley’s not stupid—he knows his odds against an ordinary angel aren't particularly good, let alone a former leader of garrisons—but at the moment, he doesn’t care: worst-case scenario, Castiel kills him and he goes back to the Empty. Maybe if Crowley's lucky, he’ll actually get a funeral this time.

Eventually, however, Castiel’s shoulders relax, and he sighs. “You should know,” he says, quietly, “I bear you no ill will over our past grievances.”

Crowley bristles; for a second, he considers getting up and throwing the first punch himself. He isn’t sure what Castiel is playing at, but whatever it is, he’s not in the mood for games. “Of course you don’t," he growls. "They all worked out in your favor.”

Castiel regards him carefully. “You’re referring to Dean.”

“I’m referring to everything!” Crowley snaps, nearly shattering his cup as he slams it down on the table. “Haven’t you noticed, Castiel? Your choices are lauded, held up as grand examples of what one does for love, and mine?” He lets out a mirthless laugh that comes out closer to a sob. “Mine end with me on the business end of an angel blade, dying for a world where I’m not even missed, not by Dean or anyone else.”

No sooner does he say the words than Crowley feels like he can’t breathe. Which is stupid, because he doesn’t need to breathe, hasn’t for centuries, but the feeling’s there all the same. The place his heart would be if he still had one aches; it’s as though a well-healed scar in his chest has been sliced wide open and now Crowley’s choking on all the blood. He blinks back the bitter tears he can feel prickling at his eyes, staring fixedly down at the tabletop and wishing it would swallow him whole.

Eventually, he manages to get himself under control, and by the time the choking feeling subsides, Crowley is more exhausted than angry. Maybe Dean should have left him in the Empty after all, he thinks tiredly; it would have saved a good deal of heartache.

Through it all, Castiel remains silent; when Crowley finally looks up at him, he’s surprised to be met with something strangely akin to pity. Ordinarily, it would be infuriating, but right now, Crowley just can’t find the energy to give a damn; he slumps forward over the table and sighs. “What is it you want, Castiel?” he asks listlessly. “You came here to say something, so by all means, say it. There’s nothing you can take from me that I haven’t already lost.”

For a moment, Castiel lingers on the threshold; then he steps into the dark kitchen and sits across from Crowley at the table. Crowley waits, expecting to be told off...but when Castiel speaks, his tone is surprisingly, solemnly gentle.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, “for the interest you’ve taken in Jack. What he’s been going through lately...facing Chuck, rebuilding Heaven...it’s been a great deal of change very suddenly. He’s trying so hard, and Sam, Dean, and I are supporting him as best we can, as is Amara, but it's still an incredible burden for a child to bear.” Castiel smiles sadly. “Especially when it’s so easy for others to forget that he’s a child.”

As he listens to Castiel speak, Crowley thinks back to that day in the Empty, at the cosmically powerful golden-eyed being who shielded him, shielded all of them, from the surrounding darkness. Jack is powerful in ways Crowley can only begin to imagine...but he’s also more than that. He's the boy who knocked timidly on Crowley's door and asked to learn chess, the boy who sits on the edge of Crowley’s bed and talks to him and smiles in delight when Miracle chases his tail. He’s curious and well-mannered and kind and—

And God, Crowley realizes with a start; bloody hell, when had he grown so fond of God?

“But, as I was saying,” Castiel says, snapping Crowley out of his thoughts, “the time you’ve been spending with him, treating him like he’s anyone else, giving him space to just be himself...it’s been good for him.” A pause, then: “You’ve been good for him. And while you and I have had our differences—”

Crowley can’t help it; he snorts. “That’s putting it mildly,” he says, and Castiel actually cracks a smile before continuing:

“—and while you and I have had our differences, Jack’s happiness takes precedence over all of them. He’s my son, and you matter to him.” He looks at Crowley intently, then adds, in a tone of absolute certainty, “And he would miss you if you were gone.”

The weight of Castiel’s words nearly knocks Crowley to the floor. He’s never mattered to anyone before, and now...now he matters to God. Crowley swallows; he doesn’t know what to say.

Castiel seems to understand, though. They sit in silence, and it’s not exactly amicable, but it’s not strained, either. Like for the first time since Castiel entered the kitchen, there’s enough space in the room for both of them.

Eventually, Crowley clears his throat. “There’s still some water left in the kettle,” he says, “if you’d like a cup of tea.” Then, because he doesn’t want to appear too agreeable, he gestures despairingly down at his cup and adds, “although what passes for Earl Grey according to Winchester tastes is, unsurprisingly, questionable at best.”

And Castiel, to Crowley’s surprise, smirks. “Leave that to me,” he says, rising and heading over to the cupboard. “I know where Sam hides the stash Rowena gave him for Christmas.”

[orionsangel86]

Hey Everyone,

As you have probably noticed, I have neglected this blog for a long time now. I haven’t been on any fandom related social media at all actually. But I figured since I am currently in a good mindset, I want to write a post just outlining some things which basically boils down to a goodbye letter to Supernatural fandom.

Long rambling post below the cut...

This year (and the last) has just taken it out of me in terms of general negativity online both in fandom and in the real world. At first I got tired of fandom (mostly because Twitter is a cesspool of policing and bullying) and then I got tired of everything else (the world sucks right now, and my mental health basically stopped me from being able to participate in any form of online activism – just because I’m not blogging about something, doesn’t mean I don’t support the cause ya know?). Earlier this year, right around the time of the UK lockdowns, I had surgery and a recovery period in which I spent a lot of time with family, and just reacquainted myself with the real world. I think perhaps the coronavirus pandemic made me realise that long before lockdown began I had already been isolating myself from my real life and diving further and further into an online black hole.

It was years in the making. Supernatural fandom preoccupied my thoughts for such a long period of time it got to the point where every moment of my non working time seemed to be spent either online scrolling my tumblr dash or twitter feed, or reading fanfic or doing something fandom related. I invested so much of myself into this show and fandom that I think I forgot who I was before I was a Supernatural fan completely.

After my wake up call in late 2019, which lead me to break free from an extremely nasty clique, I have tried to re-enter fandom on my own terms, as well as attempt to enjoy the source material and the fandom creations to ignite some new spark of love and interest in the show. Yet as much as I have tried, I have failed to do so.

I was thinking recently about someone I used to follow years ago before I ever created a blog. When I was still just lurking in the tumblr shadows and followed the likes of Mittens, Lizbob, and other meta writers of the period, there was a blogger whose name I can’t remember but she was the funniest blogger I had come across. But when the show killed off Charlie Bradbury, she quit. I had never even interacted with her, as I was barely getting my blog started at the time, but I’ll never forget a post she wrote about her feelings on the show. She had recently started watching something else (I think it was Sense8 but can’t recall entirely), and that this new show had given her everything she had never thought she could have from her fave before. She wrote about how her relationship with Supernatural had become abusive. That for years the writers of Supernatural continued to throw punches at fans like her – women, LGBTQ+ people, people of colour, and yet she continued to give it all her time and attention, brushing off the punches because she was so damn devoted to the characters. Then this new show had come along, and it was like she had seen the light. The killing of Charlie Bradbury was the last straw, and she dumped Supernatural’s ass and fled into the arms of her new love.

I hope she is doing fantastically today.

What she wrote has resonated with me for years. I was a fairly new Supernatural fan at the time, and therefore didn’t really understand what she meant. A TV show can’t be abusive. Can it?

Of course, we are speaking in metaphor here, and in no way are these metaphors meant to reduce or limit the truly serious situation of actual abusive relationships, but every now and then, when a new episode of Supernatural has left me feeling upset, disappointed, frustrated and grossly let down, in some cases affecting my mood for days at a time, and therefore my mental health. I have thought back to those words she wrote and quietly agreed with them in my head. Yes. This is a metaphorically abusive relationship.

When I discovered earlier this year that Castiel was most likely going to be killed off in some sort of bullshit self sacrifice before the end of the show, I was extremely distressed. When I found out that my favourite person of all time Misha Collins, supported this ending for Castiel, and may have even been the one who pushed for it, I was more than distressed, I felt betrayed by the person I cared about most. I’ll admit to you all now that in my weakest moments I have fantasized about standing in front of Misha and screaming at him exactly just what kind of affect his “ideal ending” for Castiel will have on his fanbase, on their mental health, and potentially their own safety. This fantasy has me guilt tripping him and doing everything in my power to make him feel utterly shit about the decision. I know what you are thinking – don’t blame Misha, the guy has his own problems and we all know he projects his own self esteem issues onto Cas – and yes, I know this, like I said its only a fantasy to get me through my darkest moments. I don’t hate Misha at all. But perhaps I do love him a little less nowadays than I did back at the height of my fandom life. That’s at least still a little bit more than my feelings for Jensen and Jared which now I can only describe as complete indifference.

I am admitting all of this now knowing full well it will ignite shock and anger among the more die hard fans of J2M, to explain why I need to just leave this fandom completely, or more accurately, why I have already left fandom.

Over the past 10 months of 2020, I have watched a lot of TV (there isn’t much else to do during a lockdown when you are on crutches with your foot in a cast!) and the one thought that occurred to me over and over again was “this show is so much better than Supernatural”.

I kept comparing everything I watched, from the quality of the scripts, the actors, the special effects, to the inclusiveness of the shows. Just so many beautiful and interesting stories that seem to understand their audience, and understand how to entertain and impress without resorting to cringe humour, outdated jokes, and prejudice, not to mention misogyny and queerbaiting – yup, I said it.

The thing is, I think these thoughts have been creeping over me slowly for longer than just this year, but I have been desperately batting them away the way Dean Winchester bats away his own gay thoughts. Unlike Dean though, eventually I couldn’t ignore them anymore. I cannot continue to carve out space in my own soul for this show, which incessantly beats me down regardless of my devotion. The creators, the network, the writers, and sometimes even the cast, have all shown that they don’t care about me as a fan. I’m not some gun toting dudebro living in middle America, so why should they give a damn about me? I’m clearly not their target audience, nor have I ever been.

I know many of you will vehemently deny my personal opinion of Supernatural now. That is absolutely fine. I am sorry to be admitting it, but I had to. I feel like once I finally write out these words, I have got it off my chest and can close and lock the door on Supernatural for good.

Without Supernatural, I am able to focus on my real life, I am able to find pleasure in other things, new things, interesting things, that bring me joy and joy alone – not disappointment and frustration. I found a new job this year, which has been a huge accomplishment as I was stagnating in my old one, and several new hobbies under my belt. I moved to a new flat, I have a lovely flatmate who has been a godsend throughout lockdown, and I have rekindled friendships that I was neglecting due to my Supernatural obsession.

All in all, I am finding post-Supernatural life far more rewarding and content than my life in fandom. It has taken me a while, but I am over the show. And whilst I will always hold a special place in my heart for Castiel, it will be as I know him in my own mind; as the wonderful, strong, powerful and determined angel with a soul, who loves so strongly, and who is worth so much more than his own creators give him credit for. He is up there with Aziraphale and Crowley, with The Doctor, and Buffy, as one of the greatest characters of all time.  

So the Supernatural writers and creators can take whatever ending they have decided upon, and shove it up their asses. I am sorry to say that Sam and Dean Winchester are also lost to me. Any love I had for them was destroyed by their later season depictions. Castiel alone is the only character worthy of that space in my heart now. If in time he longs for a companion, I will find one for him, but it won’t be the Dean Winchester of the canon show. Canon Dean hasn’t been deserving of Cas for a long time now.

Perhaps I am still a little bitter about the ending. Perhaps the finale won’t be the disaster I expect it to be, perhaps Dabb will somehow turn it all around last minute following whatever travesty Bucklemming have given us in 15x19. Either way, I won’t be watching.

So this is me saying goodbye to this blog, at least until I have decided what else to do with it. It certainly won’t be a Supernatural fandom blog anymore. It wasn’t all wasted though. I did get a wonderful friendship group out of this fandom, and I have certainly expanded my knowledge of film and television analysis, as well as having enjoyed a great many memes.

I guess in the end, my internal war with my inner bitter Cas girl finished with her winning, and writing this post. Once it is posted however, I will put her to sleep with thoughts of a happy Castiel, who has swapped his wings for a beating human heart, and is living on a beach somewhere beautiful, refurbishing an old Victorian house, and greeting his kindly elderly neighbours. There’s a gay bar on the main strip, and the bartender is quite a dish. Green eyes and light brown hair with a killer smile. Castiel thinks he looks familiar, like a memory from a past life, but they’ve definitely never met, because this man is kind.

Now that she is asleep, there is nothing left for me here. Goodbye everyone. Whether you manage to enjoy the finale or not, I truly hope you too, find your peace.

[inawickedlittletown]

Is It Too Much To Ask For Something Good (3/4)

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Summary: Maybe the problem was knowing that if he talked about it and that if he said it outloud with words that could be heard, it wasn’t only his anymore. Or that they had saved the world but nothing was alright. Not anymore. Not ever.

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In the aftermath of defeating Chuck and bringing everyone back, there was still one thing that wasn’t set to rights. Castiel was still in The Empty. And Dean would never leave him there, even if it meant allowing Jack to change him.

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Words:  2,731

Read on Ao3

Part One

Part Two

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Part Three

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“Cas,” Dean breathed. 

His hand lingered on Cas’ cheek and Cas was staring at him unblinkingly first looking at Dean’s face and then past him. 

“Oh,” Cas said and his hand reached outwards and one of Dean’s wings moved towards Cas’ reach without Dean realizing it. 

In The Empty, his wings had been huge. Their scope and size had been able to wrap around him and shield him from The Empty’s soldiers. They had been so big and Dean had just known it. In the bunker they were smaller and fit in between dimensions and as much as Dean could feel them on his back, he knew they were actually invisible to humans. But Cas was an angel and it must have been jarring for him to see Dean with angel wings.  

When Cas’ fingers made contact with his wing the feathers shone. It was a light so blinding that Dean had the afterthought to hope that his brother had shielded his eyes. The rest of him relished the touch. 

“Dean, you’re...” Cas trailed off.

He felt Cas’ fingers. It was gentle and almost not there and yet it was pleasant like someone running fingers through his hair but somehow even better and Cas’ fingers dug deep into his feathers. 

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said. His blue eyes were filled with unmistakable sadness. 

And they were back there down in that room that Dean hadn’t been able to step foot in. Dean couldn’t go any longer holding anything in or letting Cas think that he felt nothing. This time, there was no putting it off and telling himself that it was for the better. It wouldn’t be. 

“Cas,” Dean said and his grip tightened on Cas’ wrist. The hand on Cas’ cheek swept over the space under Cas’ eye. 

Cas’ eyes fluttered a few times and then they were back on Dean’s, just as piercing as ever. A blue that was all Cas and that Dean had thought he was never going to see again. And yet there it was. 

“I love you, Cas,” Dean said. 

Cas’ lips parted in a gasp. For a long moment they just stared at each other and there was no doubt in Dean’s mind that they were both marveling at being together. Because despite everything that had occurred, the whole of it still felt like a dream. There was no looming threat. there was no danger to either of their lives. They could just be. 

Sam coughed loudly. 

“What the hell is going on?” Sam asked.

It was strange, turning to face Sam. For one thing, Dean could see his soul, and he could also see that Sam was confused and deny it all he wanted, scared. And worried. 

Eileen appeared behind Sam. She had taken the time to dress and she stopped just next to Sam. Her soul was just as nice as Sam’s and when they stood next to each other they seemed to get brighter. It made Dean wonder about his own soul in relation to the angel whose face he still tenderly held. 

“I think Dean and I need to talk,” Cas said. 

His voice was that deep gravely warm that Dean had missed desperately. Dean wanted to wrap himself in it. 

“But—“ Sam began.

Dean turned and it literally hurt to look away from Cas, but he did it. 

“Sam, I’ll explain after.”

Slowly, he moved off the table, but couldn’t get himself to let go of Cas’ wrist as if doing so would mean that Cas would just disappear, so as he moved Cas moved with him, sitting up on the table. His trenchcoat was still streaked with back and under it his tie was rumpled and askew. 

He heard Eileen pull Sam away and they must have been signing to each other because he didn’t hear anything except their footsteps. Dean would need to do something really nice for Eileen when it was all said and done because without her there, Sam would have demanded answers in his stubborn way.

“I — I really needed you to know,” Dean said, after a long moment. He straightened his clothes and felt his wings right themselves too, but they leaned forward as if reaching for Cas. Missing his touch already. 

“So you became an angel,” Cas said and it wasn’t a question, but he still tilted his head just so as if it were. 

“Jack couldn’t go get you. So he made it so that I could,” Dean said. 

Cas’ pulse was constant under Dean’s fingers. Cas looked down and Dean followed his gaze. Immediately he let go and he took a step back too because Cas’ wrist was angry red, the skin raised like a bad blistering burn. It calmed once Dean had let go and Dean watched as Cas examined his own wrist and as the mark disappeared entirely. 

His fingers itched to grab onto Cas again. 

“Jack made you an angel,” Cas said, slowly. 

Dean had imagined how seeing Cas would feel, how happy he would be and how things might play out, but his imagination didn’t account for Cas himself and for how the reality would feel. How all his emotions would become a tangled ball of yarn with so many starts and ends that no single thing took precedence. There was so much to say. So much that needed explaining. Cas had been gone months, long months that Dean had somehow existed through. But one required repeating.

“I love you,” Dean said.

What he was now, the grace that existed within him could easily tell Dean how often he’d said those words in his adult life and how often he hadn’t meant it or been convinced that he did when he didn’t. And the few times it had been real, none of them felt at all like the full encompassing love that he felt for Cas. 

“You didn’t give me time to say it back,” Dean said. “But I do love you, Cas. And isn’t it better reciprocated. To have it and know it.”

Cas sat on the edge of the table. His hands gripped the edge so tight that his knuckles had gone white, but he pushed off of it, falling into step and taking the remaining one to make it to where Dean stood. He looked wild, hair standing in every direction, and behind him the wings that Dean had never before been allowed to actually see. They were limp and with hardly any feathers left and yet they twitched up and curved towards Dean. 

Dean met him halfway, hands reaching for Cas’ jaw and the scruff was surprisinglyand then his lips were pressing against Cas’ for the first time. One of Cas’ hands had climbed up to rest on Dean’s neck and jaw, but his other hand was at first on Dean’s shoulder and then on his wings again and between the kissing and the touch on his feathers, Dean couldn’t help a low moan. 

Cas made a noise that sounded like a chuckle, breath falling over Dean’s lips and chin as Cas pulled back, but Dean chased his lips. Wanted nothing more than to remain there kissing and kissing and kissing. 

“We do have to talk, Dean,” Cas said, removing his hand from Dean’s feathers and then taking a step back. 

Dean reached out and he managed to grab onto Cas’ wrist — the same one from before. Cas looked down and he smiled wide, teeth and gums on display. Dean pulled him forward, this time into an embrace because he hadn’t yet hugged him. Cas melted into him, dropping his weight right into Dean to be held and Dean wrapped his arms tightly around him and with his arms came his wings, cocooning them both. Cas sighed happily. 

It was more than Dean had expected. More than he could have ever hoped for. The hug lasted longer than the kisses, but even that came to an end and Cas found his hand and tugged him towards the table and then into two chairs. 

Cas frowned at him. “I know some of it already,” Cas said. “But not all. Where is Jack?”

“In heaven wrangling some angels,” Dean said and then he filled him in. 

He told Cas about everyone being gone and about how in the end it had come down to Jack.

“And now Jack is God,” Cas said and there was just a smidge of disbelief. “And he made you an angel.”

It seemed like that was a part of the whole thing that Cas still needed to wrap his mind around. Dean could tell when Cas’ eyes would go to his wings, how they would get caught up looking at them with something almost wistful. 

So, Dean explained. He didn’t go into detail to how Dean had dealt with Cas being gone, but he mentioned praying to Jack and about how Jack hadn’t answered until he just showed up. How Jack had struggled to find a way to bring Cas back because he couldn’t personally go and fetch him and so it had fallen to Dean.

“But I had to—”

“Be an angel,” Cas finished. 

“It was about damn time that I pay you back for pulling me out of hell. Damn it, Cas, do you have any idea what you did to me? What it did to have you gone after—”

“Billie would have killed us both,” Cas said, interrupting. “I had the option to save you and you can’t blame me for taking it.”

He was right. Of course he was right because it hadn’t all even been about Dean. Everything had been at stake and Cas had had to make that decision. Really, it went back to Cas’ decision to make that deal with The Empty in the first place. And not just that, but his decision to keep the deal to himself. It had been such a blindsight, but worse on looking at it now, Dean had to imagine that Cas had been avoiding finding true happiness ever since. Dean had probably made that easy for him with how much he pushed Cas away. How much he lay the blame on Cas.

“Dean, I’m here now,” Cas said. “I will never regret saving you, as I am sure you don’t regret this.” Cas waved a hand at Dean’s wings. 

Dean didn’t regret it. He just didn’t know if he wanted to stay that way or if Jack would give him the option to return to his old self. In the end, he knew it didn’t matter as long as Cas was alive and as long as he was at Dean’s side. 

“I don’t care what you are or what I am,” Dean found himself saying, “not when the parts that matter stay. Most caring man in the world, huh?” 

A light pink tinged Cas’ cheeks, but he was smiling. 

“I think you see it now,” Cas said. “I think you see how absolutely unfounded the things you believed about yourself were.” 

Dean didn’t see himself like Cas did. He understood himself and the things he had done and the choices he made. He could connect more dots to fully comprehend that there was more driving him than ego or anger or believing he could never have more than that life John Winchester had put him on. 

“If I changed you, then you changed me,” Dean said. “And from now on, I think we stick together.”

Cas was smiling his wide happy smile again. His eyes shone and Dean couldn’t help but lean over and kiss him simply because he could. Mere hours ago, Dean could have never imagined actually getting to see Cas again much less being able to kiss him. He had never allowed himself to hope for the fear that he would be disappointed. 

Their foreheads were pressed together and their breath mingled between them. There was still a lot that needed to be discussed. Cas needed to be filled in on more than just the bullet points that Dean had given him. Jack would need to return and see his father or maybe Cas would need to go to Jack. Dean could probably even go with him if he wanted to. The first thing was talking to Sam. 

Dean just shot Sam a text and Cas seemed to think it was a good time to touch Dean’s wings again. He was careful and his touches felt amazing. 

“How do you feel?” Cas asked. “I can still see your soul. It’s as bright as ever.”

“Different but the same,” Dean said. “I just understand things and I see more.” He reached behind Cas and gently touched Cas’ wing.

Cas shuddered and Dean pulled his hand away.

“They’re not what they used to be. Nothing like yours are.” Cas’ smile was wistful. “My grace hasn’t been what it was.”

“Man, I’m sure Jack can fix that.”

Cas stared at him for a long moment. Dean heard Sam and Eileen returning, but he didn’t turn to see them because Cas gripped his hand tight. 

“I didn’t think I wanted that. Now, I—” he motioned at Dean’s wings. 

They filled in Sam and Eileen. There were questions and Dean could tell when Sam was holding back anger or when he was filled with sorrow that was aimed at Dean and at everything that he’d gone through the last few months. 

“You hid it well this time,” Sam muttered and there was hurt laced through his words. 

“I needed to,” Dean said back. 

It was Cas’ love that had held him together. Knowing it had kept him from truly drowning himself in alcohol. It had kept him from being overcome by the grief and the anger and the pain even while it had all been there in him nonetheless. It wasn’t like the time before this one when Dean had had Cas’ body as a representation that he was gone. Where he had been the one to prepare the body and then he and Sam had put him on that pyre. Dean had gone as far as to collect the ashes because Cas deserved more. Then, there had been Jack to pour his anger against. This time, there was just Dean. But Cas loved him and it was everything. 

Eventually, it wouldn’t have been enough. Dean knew that. All his research had been leading nowhere and if Jack had truly not had a way to bring Cas back, Dean doubted that he would have kept holding on. It was a scary thing to realize about himself, how deep in his subconscious Dean had known that there was an easier choice. A way to leave his misery behind. 

Cas’ sad gaze told him that Cas knew what he was thinking. It shamed Dean. 

Sam had a lot of questions about Dean being an angel and Dean did his best to answer until Eileen asked what Cas had asked earlier. 

“Dean, now that Cas is back, are you going to stay this way?”

“It won’t hurt to have this type of mojo on hunts, will it?” Dean asked. “I know Chuck is gone and things in heaven and hell are well in hand, but the monsters we hunt are still out there. I don’t know.”

Sam frowned and Cas’ expression was just thoughtful. Eileen nodded. 

It made him equal to Cas was the thing. It made him — no, he was worthy of Cas whether human or angel. It was just that Cas was an angel and despite his many deaths, he could still live far longer than Dean as a human would ever get to. Dean was sure that if Cas wanted, Jack could fix his wings. Dean had seen what it did to Cas to be human and he couldn’t ask Cas to give up who he was for him. 

It was nearing morning by the time that their conversation ended. Dean hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. It was a strange thing to know, but stranger to know he didn’t need it at all. And that he wasn’t hungry. 

He turned to Cas, eyes wide. “What did you say food tasted like to you?” 

Sam broke into laughter and when Eileen caught on to what Dean asked, she grinned. 

“Molecules,” Cas said. “I don’t know that it will be the same for you.” 

Dean groaned. 

-

Part Four

[cas-lost-grace]

Prompt: I have been working three jobs to afford this ring and yeah I know it put a strain on our relationship that I wasn’t around much but, um, surprise, do you want to get married? What? NO? You’re dumping me? But…but…fuck everything - hey, random person over there, you want to get married? Yes? Really? Okay, let’s do this, I’m ready to drive to Vegas right now if you are.

Dean’s heart is in overdrive and his lungs are burning. He hates running. Sammy might actually be right about Dean needing to cut back on the burgers.

Dean takes a few deep breaths, swipes the sweat off his forehead and taps his pocket to make sure the little box is still there before he enters the restaurant.

"Hi, um, I have a... look there she is," he tells the hostess, pointing at Cassie who’s just getting up from her table. He weaves his way between the tables, apologizing to everyone he accidentally knocks into. Why are fancy places like this always so cramped? People spend so much money here, don’t they deserve some personal space?

"Hey, honey! I’m so sorry I’m late," he blurts out, grabs Cassie’s shoulders and presses a kiss to her cheek.

"Twenty minutes, Dean. I told you this was important and you are twenty minutes late."

"Yeah, I know, but I-" he takes a deep breath to calm himself, "I also have something important to tell you. Let’s just sit and have a nice dinner first. Please, Cassie, I’m sorry."

She heaves a heavy sigh but sits down.

Dean orders wine and watches as Cassie downs the first glass in one go. She’s really upset, but he hopes she’ll forgive him once she learns the reason for his delay.

"So, how’s the article about foster care going?" he asks. She loves talking about her job, so it will surely improve her mood.

If looks could kill, he would fall dead immediately. "That article was published a week ago," she says through clenched teeth.

"Oh. I... I’m sorry, Cassie. You know I’ve been working a lot lately-"

"Yes, I know," she cuts him off bitterly.

The waiter saves Dean by bringing the starters and rambling on about the ingredients.

The portions are ridiculously small for how much they cost, but the food is delicious and the wine is strong. By the time they reach dessert, Cassie has melted a little bit.

"I think we should get to the serious part," Cassie says, eyes fixed on her empty plate, she’s spreading the remnants of chocolate creme with a fork.

"Yeah, we should," Dean says. His heart is picking up pace again. "Please, let me start, I’ve been preparing for this for a long time."

She lifts her eyes and frowns suspiciously, but she nods.

"Please, close your eyes, babe."

She hesitates but obeys. Dean’s hands are shaking as he reaches for the box in his pocket.

"You can look," he says softly when he’s kneeling in front of her, holding the open box with both his hands like he saw it in movies so many times. He can feel many pairs of eyes on him, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is Cassie and her expression when she sees the ring.

Her eyes widen, her lips part, all color drains from her face.

"Dean," she breathes out.

"Cassie, will you marry me?"

She stares at him for a moment, it looks like she’s not breathing. Then she looks around at all the people awaiting her answer so they can clap and cheer. Her cheeks turn red.

"Dean, please, close the box and get back to your seat."

Dean knows that tone. She uses it with hysterical people that demand she writes about their problems or takes their side in an article.

He frowns.

"Do you want to marry me?" he asks again feeling a lump forming in his throat.

"Babe, let’s talk first. Please, don’t make a scene."

"Don’t make a scene? That’s what you care about?" Dean raises his voice as a wave of anger surges through him. "This was all about making a scene because I know you like big gestures!"

She huffs out an exasperated sound. "That’s not even... fuck, Dean, sit down and listen to me for one damn minute!"

She’s actually being pretty scary, so Dean grumpily obeys. He sees the other guests averting their eyes and pretending nothing happened.

"I’m listening," he growls.

Cassie takes a deep breath. "Dean, I’m really sorry I ruined this moment for you, but if I knew-" she shakes her head, "look, it really surprised me. We were barely spending any time together lately."

"Yeah, because I was saving up for this crazy expensive ring!"

Her face actually contorts with pity and Dean regrets yelling.

"Babe, I know it’s been hard for these past weeks, but I really did it for you."

"I would have appreciated it much more if you were with me."

"I’m sorry, babe." He reaches over the table to hold her hand but she withdraws it.

"Yeah, me too, Dean. I’m sorry, I-" another steadying breath, "I’m not going to marry you. I actually planned to break up with you tonight."

"What?" There’s something wrong with the world because Dean suddenly feels like he’s spinning and somebody has sucked the air out of the room. Maybe it’s just a nightmare. He’s been so nervous about the proposal that it would make sense if he dreamed of something as horrible as this. There’s no chance this could be true. Cassie would never...

"Dean?" she snaps her fingers in front of his face. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean blinks at her and shakes his head slowly.

"No, I’m not fucking okay. I proposed to you and you are ditching me instead. How could I possibly be okay?"

"Dean, I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’ll move on soon."

"Is there anybody else?" Dean asks with a spark of hope. If it’s about another man, he can just beat him and it will be solved.

"No," Cassie says, biting her lip. "It’s about you."

"I told you I wasn’t present because I was busy working. That’s over now. I’ll be with you. I swear I will learn all your articles by heart."

She shakes her head. "No, Dean, that won’t work. You see, the worst part about you not being there with me was that I realized I don’t really need you."

That hurts.

"I know it’s harsh. But let’s be realistic. This relationship didn’t have a future."

"Well, I thought different," Dean says through his teeth and clenches the ring box in his hand.

Cassie tilts her head and looks at him the way one looks at an injured animal.

"Did you, really? Be honest with yourself, Dean. Did you actually wanted to marry me because you loved me that much or because you know your dad wanted you to find a nice girl and settle down with her?"

Dean gapes at her, speechless.

She smiles bitterly. "You see? That’s what I thought."

"That’s not-"

She doesn’t let him finish, he wouldn´t know what to say anyway.

"I’m done, Dean. I already packed my stuff so if you give me a little headstart, I’ll be gone when you arrive at the apartment.”

______________________

"I’m done with women!" Dean tells the bartender. His words slur together, thanks to all the whiskey he has drunk. "You can never tell where you stand with a woman. One day you think you’re the love of her life and the next day you learn you’re nothing to her. Nothing!" He swings his hand angrily in front of him and knocks over his glass. Fortunately, it’s empty.

The bartender grabs it but doesn’t refill it. Dean’s too submerged in his speech to notice.

"That’s why I’m here," he gestures wildly to imply the half-empty gay bar. "I’m gonna pick myself a man," he announces with a drunken grin. "I like men, you know? Always have. I somehow always pictured myself ending up with a girl, but that’s out of the question now." The bartender hums and pushes a glass of water in front of him. Dean takes a sip and makes a face. "This is shit," he mumbles before looking around.

There’s a man sitting at the far end of the bar. He has thick dark hair and a nice profile. He looks like he didn’t have a great day either.

"Hey, you!" Dean calls and points at him. "You, trenchcoat! I’m talking to you."

The man finally looks at him, gives him a once-over before his full lips curl up into an amused smile.

"Come here. I’m buying you a drink. Fuck, I’m buying you a whole bottle. I already spend a fortune for this stupid ring, so what does one bottle of fine whiskey means, right?"

The man moves to sit next to him and orders himself a glass.

"I’m sorry, you got rejected," he says and damn, his voice does strange things to Dean’s insides.

"Nah, that’s alright. Serves me right for being stupid."

"I don’t think you’re stupid." He says it like he means it and looks Dean deep in the eyes. The color of the guy’s eyes steals Dean’s breath.

"What’s your name?" he asks.

"Castiel."

Dean bursts into laughter. The guy looks at him like he’s some peculiar new species.

"Cas," he says, "that’s perfect. Yeah, that’s perfect. Cas, may I see your left hand?"

The guy raises his hand and Dean grabs it. Big palm, but slender fingers, yeah, this could work.

Dean opens the box with his free hand and pulls out the ring. He looks at the inscription of little letters D+C and chuckles again. He planned to have the ring fitted after giving it to Cassie, so it’s quite big now.

He still has to push a little to slip it on Castiel’s finger, but he manages.

"What-what are you doing?" the guy asks softly, staring at his own hand.

"Do you want to get married, Cas?"

Blue eyes meet his, stealing his breath away just like the first time. "I don’t even know your name."

"I’m Dean. 33. Mechanic. No relatives but a younger brother who lives in California. I’m a catch. We can drive to Vegas right now!" he says, a little too excited.

Castiel takes a moment to answer.

"Alright, Dean, let’s drive to Vegas."

"Awesome!" Dean jumps off the barstool and throws some money on the countertop. "I need to pee first, meet me at the door." He leaves as Cas talks with the bartender who’s watching Dean’s departure with concern.

________

"I should drive," Cas says when they reach Dean’s car.

"No, no, no. No way. You see this beauty? She’s the best thing I have. I don’t let anybody drive her."

"I’m going to be your husband. I think you should let me drive your car."

It’s a valid argument, but Dean doesn’t like it. He folds his arms across his chest and pouts.

"Besides you’re too drunk to drive, Dean."

Dean sighs and gives Cas the keys. He slumps grumpily in the passenger seat.

Castiel looks hot while driving, though, so Dean takes that as a consolation prize.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" he asks because he wants to hear that amazing voice again.

"Yes, once, on a business trip. But I didn’t really have the opportunity to enjoy what the city can offer."

"Oh, we will enjoy everything, Cas. What do you think about getting wed by Elvis?"

"I’m not a huge fan of Elvis."

"Oh come on! How can you not like Elvis? Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you... Come on, Cas!"

Castiel laughs. The sound is deep and rich. Dean likes it very much.

"Oh, wait, where are you driving to?" Dean asks suddenly aware of his surroundings.

"To my place," Castiel says without hesitation, "I need to change, I’m not getting married in my work clothes."

Dean looks at him. A boring trenchcoat and a crumpled suit.

"Yeah, sure, it should be the best day of your life. If you wanna change, you should change!"

Cas nods with a soft smile playing on his lips. They are full and pink and a little chapped.

__________

 Castiel has a nice little house in the suburbs.

"Dean, follow me, please," he says in the hall and leads Dean through the house. They stop in the bedroom. It’s warm-colored and cozy.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks when Castiel turns to him and pushes his jacket off his shoulders. "Oh, premarital sex, yeah, I’m up for that." Dean hiccups as he shrugs his sleeves off his hands and lets the jacket fall on the floor. Castiel pushes him towards the bed and Dean topples inelegantly on top of the covers. "Uh. Yeah, it would be stupid to marry someone if you don’t know whether you are-" he unbuttons his pants and pushes them down his hips, "-compatible in bed, right? Oh god, these sheets are so soft," he mumbles as Castiel takes his shoes off and gets rid of the pants. Dean pushes himself up on the bed and buries his face in a fluffy pillow.

"I hope you’re a top-" he mutters into the pillow. There’s a blanket being thrown over him but he barely notices it. His body suddenly feels very heavy. "I mean, I could fuck you but I-" he yaws "-I really like it up my ass."

It’s silent and dark and Dean lets it overcome him.

________

 Waking up is disorienting. He’s in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar bedroom. His head is killing him. Grunting, he kicks the blanket off and sees he’s wearing his shirt and boxers. At least he hasn’t done anything he would have to regret. He treads lightly as he opens the bedroom door and walks into the living room. There’s a lump on the couch. A mop of dark hair peeking from under a blanket.

"Oh shit," Dean breathes as the events of last night start coming back to him in flashes. He has to brace himself against the wall because his knees feel weak.

Castiel stirs and opens his blue eyes. "Hello, Dean," he says, voice huskier than Dean remembers.

"Hi, Cas."

Castiel’s smile is small but sweet. "I didn’t expect you to remember my name. How are you feeling?" He sits up and folds the blanket neatly. He looks even better in a gray t-shirt and black boxer briefs than he did in his coat.

"Um. My head feels like it’s going to explode every minute," Dean admits. He´s trying not to stare at Cas´ muscular thighs while the man walks towards him.

"Let’s get you some water and Advil and I’ll make some breakfast."

"Wait," Dean stops him by grabbing his shoulder. The muscles under his palm feel incredibly firm. "I want to thank you. You saved me from doing something very stupid."

"You had a rough day. I was worried somebody would take advantage of you."

When he imagines what could have happened to him if he addressed somebody else than Castiel, it gives him goosebumps.

"Thank you."

"It’s nothing," Cas says and pats Dean’s hand that is still resting on his shoulder. The wedding ring on his finger glistens in the morning sun.

"What do you say to pancakes and bacon?"

Dean grins. "I say hell yeah."

_________

They have a nice breakfast. Castiel is a decent cook and a very nice company. Dean learns the basics about him. What does he do for a living, where he grew up and how he spends his free time.

"Thank you once again, Cas," Dean says in the doorway when it’s time for him to leave.

"Goodbye, Dean. I hope that... that things get better for you soon."

"Yeah," Dean sighs. It hurts every time his mind as much as brushes the thought of Cassie. He’s not looking forward to seeing his empty apartment. "Goodbye."

"Oh wait!" Cas stops him. Dean almost forgot about the ring still sitting snuggly on Cas’ finger. Castiel tugs at it but it won’t move past his knuckle.

"Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll get some soap and-"

Dean wraps his hand around Castiel’s. Cas looks at him with surprise in his beautiful eyes.

"You know what? I owe you a meal at least. Let’s meet tonight. I’ll pick you up at six. You can give me the ring then."

Cas nods hesitantly. "Alright. At six."

_______

 When Dean picks him up, Castiel is still wearing the ring. He doesn’t give it back that night, too busy kissing Dean. He doesn’t give it back on their second date either because things get heated fast. He doesn´t give it back the morning after, nor the next morning or any other morning they wake up in the same bed.

________

Castiel blinks sleepily at Dean as Dean plays with his hand. "It’s been a year," Dean says, running the pad of his thumb over the stone of the ring. A year since they met. Six months since Dean moved in with Cas.

"Hmm." Cas turns to his side and nuzzles at Dean’s neck. "Maybe we should get married. It’s too late to give it back now."

With his heart beating hard, Dean wraps his arms around his boyfriend and squeezes him tight. "Yeah, we should."

"But not in Vegas. I want a proper wedding."

Dean laughs. "Of course. I can’t wait for you to turn into a bridezilla."

Cas pinches his side which makes Dean squeal and laugh. Castiel waits patiently for him to calm down before he kisses him breathless.

[goindowninablazeofglory]

What am I supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you? 15x18 Coda

Warning for mentions of past major character death and grief. Optimistic ending because I couldn’t just end it.

Word count: 1275

Read here on Ao3

The phone kept buzzing.

Four missed calls from Sam.

He threw the damn thing across the room.

Cas's words were echoing in his head, The one thing I want, it's something I know I can't have.

You are the most selfless, the most loving human being I will ever know.

I love you

Dean buried his face in his hands as a sob wracked through his body. He couldn't believe it. Any of it. Cas had made a deal without telling him. Hadn't they been through this enough already? Didn't he know how it would end? But Dean couldn't even make himself be mad about it, couldn't twist this sadness into rage.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

It wasn't like Dean hadn't known. Sort of. There was always something with Cas, in the way that he moved and spoke and in the way that their touches would linger. There was a part of him that had always known, the same part of him that wanted to take Cas's face in his hands and kiss him breathless. But as Cas had said the words, the only thing that Dean could think was not like this, not like this. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Cas was in front of him, saying everything that Dean was too afraid to even try and say, too afraid to hear. He'd tried to answer him, tried to tell him- but it all happened so fast. Cas pushed him away and Dean couldn't do anything but watch as his best friend, the love of his- was taken by The Empty.

The words lingered on his lips, a ghost of a confession that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The one thing I want, it's something I know I can't have.

Cas had thought that-

Fuck he was an idiot. They both were. Always dancing around it- this thing between them. Always saying it however they could without daring to actually cross that line. Dean should have done something. He should have said it in purgatory when Cas stopped him, should have told Cas to "let him speak god dammit" and get the damn words out in the open. He should have said it before then, when Cas came back from The Empty the first time, should have told him that he loved him and missed him and to never do that again because Dean didn't think he could handle losing Cas one more time. He should have said it when he gave Cas the mixtape with his heart inside it. He should have said it when Dean had thought that killing Amara would be a suicide mission. He should have said it when he found Cas on the side of the road after believing for so long that he'd left Cas in purgatory to die.

He'd never said it.

Dean had wanted to say it, so many times he'd wanted to say it. But the words always stuck in his throat, so he shoved them down because later, he could always tell him later and Cas already knew didn't he? Cas hadn't known. He'd spent god known how long feeling the same way as Dean, and not saying anything because he somehow thought that there was no possible way that Dean could ever love him back. How many times had Cas almost said it before this? How many times had Cas tried, but Dean was too stubborn to hear it? And now Dean couldn't fix it, couldn't even tell him because Cas was-

Cas was gone.

"Cas," his name fell from Dean's lips, a whisper into the deafening silence around him and then Dean couldn't stop saying it. "Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas-" he said Cas's name over and over again, as if that by itself might be enough to bring him back.

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet. Too empty.

Dean didn't know what it was like there for Cas. He'd told Dean some when he'd first gotten back, after Dean had gotten them a little drunk at some dive bar and he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He remembered something that Cas had told him that night, between the shots and the "accidentally" brushing hands. He'd heard one thing, one thing that was loud enough to wake him up. He'd heard Jack's voice, Jack's longing. He remembered what Jack had told him, how Nick had done it to Lucifer too. It was a long shot, but Dean didn't have anything more to lose. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, taking a deep breath before daring to break the silence.

"Cas, Cas I hope- god, I really hope you can hear me." Dean's voice was shaking as tears ran down his face. "Come back, please Cas, come back. I don't think I can- I can't do this without you. So if you can hear me, wake up, fight." Dean was shaking again, and it was getting harder not to suffocate under the weight of everything. "I need you here with me. Cas I-" the words were there now, ready and waiting to be said. Why did it have to come to this for him to be able to say it?

"I love you." He hoped Cas could hear him, he hoped that this would be enough. He needed Cas to be able to hear him, needed Cas to know. "You said- you said that the one thing you want you know you can't have. Cas if you- Cas, come back to me. You can. We can. Just come back to me. Castiel, I love you. Please, I love you, come back. Come back. Come back." Dean held his breath, waiting, hoping for something, anything.

The bunker was quiet.

Dean sobbed.

~*~

Castiel watched as Dean raked the leaves in Lisa's yard. He wanted to appear to him, to ask for his help, but Dean was happy here. Living his "apple pie life" as he'd called it once. He couldn't do that to him, take him away from the happiness he so deserved. He still wanted to. He still wanted Dean by his side, wanted the Righteous Man who he'd rescued and who'd rescued him in return. There was a voice from behind him, calling his name. Castiel turned, expecting to see Crowley, but instead there was nothing.

"Just come back to me. Castiel, I love you. Please, I love you, come back."

Dean.

He turned back around, but Dean was gone too, the leaves he'd been so dutifully raking left abandoned on the ground.

Dean's voice was in his head, and he thought this must have been a trick somehow because Dean would never say any of this. It must have been some sort of cruel cosmic joke because Dean- Dean didn't love him. Not the way Castiel loved Dean. Dean's voice grew louder, clearer, and the place in front of him began to fade away until there was nothing but Dean's voice. Dean telling him that he loved him. Dean telling him that he wanted him back. Dean was in pain, Dean was hurting because Castiel wasn't there. Dean needed him. Castiel had to get up, had to move, had to do something because it was Dean down there saying that he loved him and Castiel needed to get back there, he needed to tell Dean that he-

A jolt of pain and longing shot through him, and Castiel felt his body curl in on himself as he heard Dean weep. Castiel inhaled, ready to fight, ready to wake up.

He opened his eyes to darkness.

Come talk to me on tumblr!

[plus-size-reader]

Different

Dean Winchester x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1622 words

Warnings: Demon!Dean

Summary: Coming back to your motel room, to find Demon Dean waiting for you

———————————————————————————————————

No one had seen Dean in months. Castiel was gone on his never ending search for Metatron and Sam was fully consumed by his equally never ending search for his older brother.

Everyone was dealing with it in their own way, but as for you, you knew that you had to do something. You couldn’t just sit around, waiting for him to come back…

So you did the next best thing, you threw yourself into hunting.

When you missed Dean or got frustrated that he was gone, you killed something.

Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest thing you could have done but it was all you knew how to do. You’d been hunting for so long and you couldn’t just stop. It was the only thing that you knew to do when everything in your world was falling apart.

It was all you wanted to do.

Hunting helped you bury your emotions. When you were too busy saving people and tracking monsters, you didn’t even have to think about Dean...and that was perfect.

If you didn’t keep busy, you’d go insane.

Morning his loss was enough to turn you into a monster all your own, and you weren’t going to let that happen.

It was bad enough that Dean had gone completely dark side, you weren’t going to do the same. You owed it to him, to your Dean, to stay strong through this. You, Sam, and Cas were his only chance of getting back to normal.

When you gave up, that was when Dean was truly lost.

Right now, you just had to do your best to keep your mind off of it. With as intense a focus Sam had on tracking him, it was only a matter of time before he found Dean. Until then, you had monsters to kill.

Maybe putting down demons would make you feel better?

You hoped so.

Your feet dragged behind you on the ground as you made your way into your motel room. You had been waiting for dark to go out in public again. The last thing you needed was to explain why you were covered in blood.

You had only made that mistake one time, and once was enough.

Killing demons did make you feel better, after all. Putting them down, and just knowing that you were cutting down on Crowley’s followers made you feel so much better. It was payback, he had stolen Dean after all.

You had to take something of value from him, in turn.

And since Dean was your everything, that meant that you had to kill every demon you came across, probably for the rest of your life just to pay him back.

The motel door creaked when you pulled it open, the force required to do so making your muscles burn. It was a good burn though, it reminded you of what a successful day it had been.

However, that burn was far from your mind when your eyes fell on the sight in front of you.

It was Dean, or what was left of him, laying on your bed.

“Hey there beautiful, you miss me?” he hummed, a strange tone in his voice. It sounded deeper, and more gravely than the last time you’d heard him but that was the least of what had changed. There was a dark look in his eyes, a depth that frightened you.

Staring in his eyes was like looking into the pits of hell themselves.

It was hard, to see the man you loved and not recognize him but there was still a part of you. A part of you that wanted to grab ahold of him and never let go. It was just because you had missed him but you had to stay strong.

You had to remember that that thing wasn’t Dean. He wasn’t your Dean anymore.

“You want me to lie?” you bit, throwing your duffel down on the floor. The guns and knifes rattled as they hit the floor but you payed them no mind, your eyes focused solely on Dean.

Your gaze flicked over to your phone, sitting on the bedside table. It crossed your mind to call Sam and head back out on the road but Dean beat you to it. Before you could even move, he leaned over, snatching up the phone.

He couldn’t have you leaving just yet, he’d missed you.

“So icy, it’s like you don’t love me anymore” he teased, taunting you. If he had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have hesitated to beat him to death but this was Dean. Even without the mark of Cain and demon anger, he was stronger than you.

Not to mention the fact that you could never lay a hand on him, no matter how much you wanted to.

You just didn’t have it in you.

“What are you doing here? I’m the only person on the planet that isn’t looking for you...so why come bother me?” you wondered, deciding to channel all your anger and rage into dealing with him.

After all, if he wouldn’t have went and got himself killed, none of you would be in this position in the first place.

You couldn’t help but blame him for this whole thing.

Still, Dean didn’t even bat an eye. It didn’t bother him that you were angry with him, in fact, he was almost amused by how you were reacting.

He had just dropped by to say hello to you, though that clearly wasn't the case. "that's exactly why darling, you make it so much fun" he grinned, sitting  up further to get a better look at you.

Something had changed in you in the past few months. You weren't the same girl he'd left behind. Instead, your beautiful soft face had been hardened. You looked different, sure, but it wasn't a bad thing.

Some part of him even preferred this darker version, though he couldn't be quite sure about it just yet.

He could see that look in your eyes, that anger bubbling up in your stomach. All he wanted was for you to show him what you could do.

It could be fun.

That unfiltered rage had never been directed at him. He'd seen it before, on hunts, but never like this.

"Oh yeah, this is the most fun I've had in a while" you grumbled, sarcasm dripping from your voice. After all this time, Sam was out there searching for his brother, but somehow he'd found you.

You just couldn't handle what was happening right now.

"Do you know how worried about you Sam and Cas have been?" you grumbled, plopping down on the motel bed across from him.

You knew that at any moment, Dean could close the space between you and snap y our neck but you didn't care.

No matter what happened, you couldn't bring yourself to be afraid of Dean. Angry though...that was something you could easily be.

He didn't answer at first, shrugging nonchalantly.

In all honesty, it didn't bother him that they were worried about him. He had given up on ever connecting with them again. The only person that he couldn't completely cut ties from was you.

No matter what state he was in, his love for you wasn't going anywhere. Not that he had any intention of staying here with you.

All Dean needed was closure. He wanted to say goodbye to you and then he could really leave it all behind.

"Have you been worried about me Y/N?" he wondered, smirking at you.

If Dean was himself, you would have been all in to play this game with him but seeing as he wasn't, you didn't even smile. You just couldn't bring yourself to react.

"Would it really matter if I had?" you countered, kicking off your boots. They hit the floor with a thud but you didn't even flinch.

Right about now, you just wanted to curl up in bed and get some rest...but you knew that wouldn't happen until Dean left. Speaking of which, what was he still doing here?

"Are you done? You can just let yourself out" you bit, your voice harsh though you didn't care. You were fed up with this new Dean, and it wasn't a secret.

You were only greeted by some bellowing laughter, from deep in his chest. It amused him that you thought you could avoid him. If anyone knew all of your weaknesses, it was Dean.

You could pretend to hate him all you wanted but he knew the truth.

There was nothing you wanted more in the world than his company...but he was only half right.

You wanted Dean's company, yes, but you wanted your Dean.

You wanted the man that you loved, not the thing the mark had turning him into.

"I missed you, you're so much fun" he purred, his eyes flicking between your face and your body. You were so tense and upset with him. It just sucked that he couldn't get you to believe him.

Dean had missed you, in his own way.

Still, you couldn't help but roll your eyes when he said it. You thought that he was pathetic. You had seen it yourself, Dean wasn't capable of the terrible things you'd watched him do since taking on the mark.

If he could kill all those people and not even care, how were you supposed to believe that he missed you.

There had to be another reason for his breaking in.

"I'm here to say goodbye" he allowed finally, taking the air out of your lungs with a single sentence...All you had to do was look in his eyes to know that he was serious.

Dean was actually going to leave you behind.

[lifblogs]

Livin In You: Chapter 9

Fandom: Supernatural Pairing: Destiel Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1011 Summary: Castiel is a mental health worker who is just fine with the way his life is. The only thing that really bugs him is how much his co-worker, and friend, Meg, mentions Dean Winchester, the most famous rock star in the modern age. Meg drags him to a concert, and he ends up getting tied into the wild and angsty life of Dean Winchester. Suddenly his old life seems boring, but so much calmer. Suddenly, it matters to him that he's still a virgin. Suddenly, this rock star that he despised the mention of, now matters to him. Dean Winchester is a rock star who's on top of the world when it comes to music. Yet there's more that he wants. He misses Lisa and Ben, he craves connection, craves being himself. Any hope for that amidst his alcoholic life all changes when Zachariah, the head exec of Heaven's Records, pairs with a new exec, Michael Edlund -- the Archangel of Music. Under Michael's dominance, he's no longer in control of his own life. There are rules. No more sex with fans. No more alcohol. And in Dean's view, no more god damn free will. Yet he stumbled into Castiel. READ ON AO3 | READ ON FF.NET CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 | CHAPTER 8

“Meg, oh my god, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you earlier,” Cas said. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay?” she asked, incredulous. “Whose phone is this? Are you okay?”

“There was a little accident,” he explained, walking farther away from the bathroom, towards the kitchenette. He glanced back at the bathroom, the one with a very naked Dean Winchester in it.

God, what was even happening?”

“My car had to get towed. I found someone to stay with.”

“Why didn’t you just come back here?”

“He… He needed some help.”

“Cas, you can’t help everybody who falls into your lap. You’re a mental health worker, not a miracle worker. Besides, you need to save some of that empathy and energy for yourself, your own self care. You know how things get when we don’t take care of ourselves.”

Cas frowned, lying, “I’m… taking care of myself. He just needs help. Uh, I’m calling from his phone. Everything will be okay. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Are you gonna get yourself killed?”

“What?”

“Well, how serious is his issue?”

“Hmm… Define serious.”

“Cas!”

“He’s drunk. Think he’s an…” Cas realized Dean still might be able to hear him, so he lowered his voice before going on, “alcoholic.”

“You go out for a cup of tea and find yourself an alcoholic. Congrats. Think you’re gonna get paid overtime?”

“Meg!”

“You ditched me.”

“I was just getting tea,” he argued.

“And now you’re with some guy.”

“He’s… cute,” Cas reasoned.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’d never. He’s drunk.”

Castiel was about to add that he didn’t know much about what to do when it came to sex anyway, but Meg had no idea he was a virgin. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed about it, knew it was just a label used to control people, usually women. He had to be at least okay with his body and who he was.

For the most part he was alright with all of that. But Dean’s reaction to finding out he was a virgin had made him feel… strange.

Maybe Castiel didn’t want to be a virgin anymore.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Assbutt.”

“That’s my word,” he argued.

“Alright, Clarence. I’m pissed at you, but goodnight. Be safe.”

“You too.”

They hung up, and Cas went back into the bathroom to give Dean his phone. There was a timer running on it. Had about sixteen minutes left.

His bath. Right, it was for his bath.

“So why did you punch a wall?” Castiel asked as he settled down by the counter again.

“Got angry,” Dean simply answered.

“About?”

Dean waved his hand. “Look, we’ll… Tomorrow. We can talk tomorrow. For now, just… make yourself useful or get out.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow as he looked down at him. “Useful?”

Dean sighed, cheeks red, and he admitted, “I’m not used to bringing a fan back to my hotel and not gettin’ any.”

“I’m not a fan,” Castiel pointed out.

“Right, right. ‘Cause you have a stick up your ass.”

Castiel didn’t feel any hurt from Dean’s words.

“You’re tired, drunk, probably in pain. You don’t mean to be acting like this.”

“How do you know what I mean?”

“You could say I’ve… studied humanity. And there’s good there. So there’s good in you, even if you’re upset now, or trying to throw me off, or hoping you’ll get to use me.”

Dean grumbled, “I don’t use people.”

“Then you didn’t mean what you said to me. Something clearly set you off before we even met. You just have to take care of yourself physically first.”

Castiel left the bathroom to go get something, Dean yelling, “Wait, where are you going?”

After searching through the fridge, he found what he needed, popped the cap, and then went into the bathroom to give it to Dean.

“Here. Drink. It’ll get the alcohol out of your system faster, and you’re probably dehydrated.”

“Water’s boring.”

Castiel stared at him hard, leaning over as he held out the bottle. As he did so he did his best to not glance at Dean’s thighs, or any part of him that was under the water really. What lay there was too tempting. And too confusing. Meg had been right. Castiel needed self care, and just as much as Dean did. He was important too, despite what this rockstar might think. Though, now that he was with him, a lot of the arrogance he’d seen on stage had mellowed. Something in Dean just seemed… hurt, angry. It showed in his apple green eyes, with the slight pout on his plump, cupid’s bow lips. And maybe after Castiel left tears would trail down those sharp cheekbones and cut through the makeup he could see now that he was up close. Were those freckles lightly dotting his skin beneath it? No. Didn’t matter. He forced the water closer, realizing Dean wasn’t taking it. That’s what he was here for, not… admiring the view.

“Fine.”

Dean took it, and Castiel was content when he unscrewed the cap and started drinking it. Though, that soon turned into chugging.

“Take it slow.”

Dean grumbled.

“Need help with your hand?”

“I can handle it.”

“Well, there’s only one bed, so I guess I’ll sleep on the couch. Uh… goodnight, Dean.”

Dean raised his swollen right hand in recognition, sipping at the water.

“Night.”

Castiel grabbed some blankets he found from the closet, and pulled them over himself, sinking into the couch. This really wasn’t a bad place to sleep. Somehow this piece of furniture meant for simply sitting around and reading, maybe watching TV, was more comfortable than his bed at home. Even before knowing that, the idea of sleeping on the couch hadn’t daunted him. Castiel had spent many a night shift in a chair that was a few years past its prime. Finding comfort on a couch was easy compared to that.

Before he could process where he was, what he was wearing, who he was with, exhaustion caught up to him and he drifted off.

[darkstar6782]

4.03: In the Beginning - My Rewatch Review

It never fails to surprise me just how strong a start we get to Season 4. This is the third episode in a row that I can find little to no fault with, and trying to watch with a critical eye makes me appreciate the way the writers manage to expand the Winchesters’ backstory and tell a time-travel story with very few inconsistencies as well.

It does always make me wonder how far back they decided on Mary’s story, though, because this episode explains more than a few little things that have come up in previous seasons; specifically, the fact that Mary’s ghost says ‘I’m sorry’ to Sam when she sees him in ‘Home’ back in season 1, and there is also that incomplete story point from episode 2 of season 3, where Sam was looking into the fact that all of Mary’s friends and family members had been recently killed, and Ruby tells him that it is somehow related to him. It is still my theory that, before the writer’s strike, the job of finding out everything that Dean discovers in this episode about their family would have gone to Sam, who would have uncovered Mary’s past as a hunter and her deal with Azazal in the course of trying to tap into his powers to find some way to stop Dean from going to Hell, but that a pivot was necessary once that storyline had to be reconfigured, and since they brought angels into the mix, it only made sense to use them—and thus, Dean—to tell this part of the story instead.

Which I still have mixed feelings about, mostly because I once again find myself missing Sam’s point of view on all this, as well as the brothers working together as a team. Even though it’s not unexpected, and even though I know they have to go through all of this (and will again and again) in order to come out stronger together on the other side, and even though I know it’s not forever (though season 11, where they pretty much stop splitting apart like this feels like a long way off at the moment), it is still always hard to watch, because they are both going through a lot, and they would both be able to handle it so much better if they would just sit down and freaking talk to one another. Arg! But if they did that, I guess they wouldn’t be the Sam and Dean that I love so much, so I will just watch and wait for them to get their shit together. They always do eventually, after all.

The one thing that really struck me this rewatch is just how much of an asshole Castiel is in the beginning. Even though we find out later on that, though he is in the dark about Azazal’s plans, the other angels are not, and he is being manipulated by his superiors in exactly the same way that he is manipulating Dean, and even though it is probably true that the angels actually sent Dean back in the past to influence the events that needed to take place (time travel is a closed loop, here—everything that happens was always going to happen and nothing can be changed, but it requires that the person was sent back in time in the first place in order for it to happen as it’s supposed to), it still doesn’t excuse his cryptic conversations, or the fact that he can’t be bothered to explain any of this to Dean afterwards, or that he jut stands around looking all-knowing and disappears in the middle of conversations. For as beloved a character as he eventually becomes, it is obvious that Kripke didn’t start out wanting him to be likeable—his one caveat for introducing angels to the show was that they would be ‘dicks’, after all, and as the first angel we meet, it is necessary for Castiel to be an obvious dick, and they did a very good job of that in this episode.

I will also say that I have always loved the twist that Mary was a hunter, and the added tragedy that brings to the Winchesters’ story. That scene where she tells Dean that the worst thing she can imagine is for her children to be raised as hunters breaks my heart, for both of them, because Dean now has to live with the knowledge that his mother understands his life but never wanted it for him, even though he only ended up in it in order to avenge her death, and Mary, though she doesn’t know it yet, has destined both her sons to end up as hunters by the simple act of wanting a life outside of hunting. It is a true tragedy, in the most Greek sense of the word, and I think it will go on to inform Mary’s relationship with her adult sons when she returns in season 12 in ways that the fandom has yet to truly understand. I’m not sure I fully grasp it yet, but I hope that by the time I get there, I will have spent enough time analyzing the show to be in a better place to do so.