#me personally i’m actually really rather fond of cas :) i just don’t like him when he gets used to prop up dean 24/7 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cursed-or-not · 4 years ago

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Merry Christmas @dreamnovak from your Secret Santa!! You’re truly, truly The Best and I’ve had sm fun writing for you <33 happy holidays to everyone!!

It’s a slow day at the Roadhouse, and the cold has crept in through the rickety doors and floorboards. Dean shivers behind the counter.

He thinks one day he’ll have to get around to fixing the insulation.

The air feels like snow.

Across the counter, Cas watches him intently.

“You look cold,” he says finally.

Dean shrugs. “Not too bad. Feels like it’s gonna snow, though.”

Cas’ head tilts in confusion. “How do you predict snow with just a feeling?”

Dean stares back at him, affronted. He couldn’t explain how, but he’s spent enough time driving around the Midwest to recognize the heaviness of the air and smell of an oncoming storm.

“It’s in the air, Cas! Don’t look at me like that. I know what it feels like before a storm.”

Cas seems to decide to back down.

“Well, I hope it’s a good thing,” he mumbles.

This time, it’s Dean’s turn to look puzzled.

“The snow?”

Cas nods.

“Jack decided to keep all four seasons. I believe he said something about maintaining authenticity.”

“It’s a good thing,” Dean assures him simply.

Cas barely nods in acknowledgement, eyes scanning the empty tables. Dean picks up on his gaze.

“If you really wanna fix something, it wouldn’t hurt for Jack to give me a few more customers,” Dean quips, knocking his knuckles on the counter where Cas sits alone.

“We can’t force people to support your business,” Cas grumbles. “I thought you believe in free will.”

“Woah, I was just saying it’d be nice,” Dean defends. He wonders if Cas can tell from his face that the comment elicited the exact response he’d been looking for. Dean has found over the last few months that there’s no one he’d rather banter with than Cas.

“Well, you might do better to attempt to attract customers on your own.” Cas says it so sincerely that Dean knows he’s just doing it to tease him.

“Hey!” Dean responds, making his voice as wounded as he can manage.

When Cas just smiles, Dean leans towards him, resting his elbows on the counter, and continues.

“I mean, at least I know there’s one customer I can always count on to show up,” Dean says with a smile.

“If you’re referring to me, I don’t come because of your incredible business practices,” Cas responds, and Dean can’t tell if it’s an insult to his work ethic or a compliment to his personality.

Dean decides to take whatever it means and push his luck.

“Yeah? What keeps bringing you back then?”

At that, Cas looks up, and any teasing is gone from his expression.

“You know the answer to that,” he says simply, and Dean can feel his face burning.

He’s been dancing around this every possible chance.

“Cas…” Dean says softly, eyes fixed firmly on the counter.

“Dean,” Cas echoes, and Dean can practically hear the sad smile behind that tone.

Dean risks a glance up, and Cas’ eyes are searching his face. Dean looks back down.

“It’s okay, you know” Cas says simply. Sincerely.

Dean lets out a breath.

Cas continues, “I know you need more time. I think it’s a testament to how much you’ve grown that you were even willing to tell me that much, and I appreciate your honesty.”

Dean shakes his head barely perceptibly.

“Hey,” Cas says gently, and his hand moves like he might reach out before it falls back. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

God. Sometimes Dean wishes Cas wouldn’t make everything seem so easy and so difficult at the same time. He wishes it didn’t always have to be so complicated with them.

He wishes Cas wouldn’t tell him that it’s okay when Dean is still struggling to work up the courage to be happy.

Dean looks up.

“It’s not,” Dean says, and Cas looks ready to object, so Dean just pushes forward.

“I mean, some of it is. I’m not saying I’m not worthy or I did something wrong, but I’m saying I didn’t do it like I should’ve and I--” Dean pauses, searching for whatever it is he wants to say. “I’m not sure it was fair to you,” he says carefully.

Cas’ expression softens.

“Dean,” he says, and he always manages to say Dean’s name like it’s more than it is. He always manages to put so much meaning into it. “I’ve waited my entire life-- a millenia-- for you. A few weeks is nothing.”

Dean feels like he’s had all the air knocked out of him. Before, he couldn’t look Cas in the eye, but now he can’t stop searching his face.

Dean takes a breath to steal himself, and he feels his resolve crumble. He reaches across the counter to catch Cas’ hand in both of his.

“I’m never gonna deserve you,” Dean tells him, and his throat feels almost too tight to get the words out.

“No,” Cas objects. “No. Dean, I meant every word I told you that night. Not just the ‘I love you,’” Cas says, and his voice is so fierce that Dean can’t help but look away. Cas’ other hand comes up to rest on Dean’s, too.

“You’re a hero, Dean,” Cas says simply. “And the best brother, father, and friend in this universe or any other. And,” Cas adds with a smile, “you’re an above-average bartender.”

“Above average, huh?” Dean asks, eyes still prickling with tears but chest less tight than before.

“The best of the mediocre,” Cas confirms, and Dean lets out a snort at the deadpan humor.

He lets the moment hang in the air for a moment before speaking up.

“Maybe I just need a good business partner,” Dean says slowly, watching Cas’ face carefully.

Cas waits for Dean to say more, and Dean supposes that’s fair; it’s his turn.

“I don’t… I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” Dean says, forcing his voice to sound more matter-of-fact than he feels. “None of it.”

Cas’ face softens again, looking impossibly fond.

“You always have me,” he says with such conviction that Dean chokes out what could pass as a laugh.

“Thanks, man.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. But, uh, I was thinking maybe we try to do things differently. Only if you want,” Dean says, heart pounding. He hopes Cas doesn’t feel his hands shaking.

“Differently?”

Dean shrugs, doing his best to look indifferent.

“As I said, I’m with you no matter what, but if you wanted to specify…” Cas trails off expectantly.

Dean clears his throat again, looking down to where his hands previously held Cas’.

“Differently, like, maybe we see each other more. Not just here, but-- dinner and stuff,” Dean finishes lamely.

Cas narrows his eyes.

“We already do eat dinner together sometimes.”

“You’re killing me, man,” Dean huffs a laugh before taking a deep breath and trying again. “Okay, so, maybe we also… live together?” Dean says nervously, risking only a quick glance to see Cas’ face.

“I’ve already lived with you, in the bun--”

“Cas, I’m trying to tell you I’m in love with you,” Dean snaps.

Cas’ eyes don’t leave Dean’s face as he responds with a simple, “Oh.”

“‘Oh?’ What the hell does ‘oh’ mean?!”

Cas almost looks amused.

“You already know I love you, too,” he points out, and Dean hates how rational a thing to say it is.

“Things could’ve changed,” Dean points out in a half-hearted attempt to defend himself.

‘They haven’t,” Cas says, and Dean can’t help but stare at him in wonder. “They won’t.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Dean says hoarsely. He wishes he could only blame the cold for the goosebumps on his arms.

“Thank you for talking to me,” Cas murmurs, and Dean feels himself melt at the softness of it.

Dean thinks he couldn’t have put this off any longer if he tried.

“Thank you for being… you,” Dean responds, and something in his chest aches at the fondness in the look Cas responds with.

Dean’s hand finds its way back to Cas’.

“You were right, you know,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean waits for him to specify. “It started snowing a couple minutes ago,” he mutters, and Dean laughs at the reluctant confession.

He looks out throught the fogged-up window, and the snowflakes swirl lazily downward. Circling and then falling.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me for a little while,” Dean says with a smile.

Neither of them point out the fact that Cas has his wings back, nor does Dean acknowledge that the few flakes outside aren’t nearly enough to prevent anyone from driving.

“I guess I am,” Cas responds. He glances outside. “Through tomorrow too, I expect. Just in case the storm continues.”

Dean nods in mock solemnity. “Probably safest for you to stick with me for a month or so, actually. Maybe the next year or two. You never know with storms like this.”

They watch the snow keep coming. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, Dean,” he says, and Dean’s not quite sure what the gratitude is for, but he accepts it. He leans farther across the counter, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“You, too-- for everything. Thanks, Cas.”

“You still look cold,” Cas says suddenly, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“Well, guess you’ll have to keep me warm,” he responds smoothly.

“Until the storm’s over,” Cas agrees.

“Oh,” Dean says, pretending to check his watch as he leans in closer, “I think longer than that.”

Cas breathes into the small space between them, and then Dean bridges it.

Around them, the snow keeps falling.

Settling.

#I wanted to do smth w claire for you but i Could Not make it work so I'm really hoping this is okay!! and I'm sorry it's not much!!#but you're truly one of my favorite writers and ppl on here mae just so you know #I was both elated and terrified to find out I was your secret santa lol #spnfamsecretsanta #destiel #spn fanfic #supernatural #mine

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mittensmorgul · 3 years ago

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In your opinion, which writer(s) wrote the best Dean episodes, Cas episodes and Sam episodes? Please don't feel troubled to answer it :)

ooh hello! This feels like a fun thought exercise. Thanks for asking!

I think I'm just gonna ramble about it rather than try to make lists or anything, because I personally feel like different seasons/eras of the show had writers that really stood out and gave me all the feelings :'D

Under a cut because it is long-ish, but also because these are my personal opinions delivered ramble-style and not like some sort of research paper even remotely attempting to be objective. :'D

I think I should start with Sam, since his character feels more consistently written to me across the seasons, but I have to start by pointing at Kripke himself. He wrote our intro to Sam, after all. Edlund gave us the best "soulless Sam" Episode with 6.09. And Meredith Glynn gave us some fantastic insight into Sam even in episodes that were equally about Dean-- like 12.11 and 15.17. Credit also to Yockey for 13.12 and 13.19 especially. He actually gave Sam emotional depth!

Sam as a character is kind of hard to judge according to the metric my brain set out for this. Like, I personally processed this question as "which writers revealed these characters' inner lives to us the most." And Sam as a character just... his "inner life" even from s1 was always a conflict with the Supernatural itself, you know? Far more than even the whole MoC arc for Dean was. Let me try to explain...

S1 Sam's biggest conflicts were find Dad so we can get revenge and I can go back to Normal Life and forget I was ever touched by the Supernatural at all. The demon blood/special children arcs were pretty much the same. His internal conflict was largely "am I evil, or even human?" And his personal goals were sort of the antithesis of the entire concept of the show we were all watching, you know? I didn't tune in to see Law Boy Sam and his Normal Life. I tuned in for Supernatural. lol

So from the outset, to keep Sam relevant to the narrative, the supernatural was essentially foisted upon him. Special Children. Demon Blood. "If you can't save him, you have to kill him." Sam was the object of the plot, and the vast majority of his character actions and choices and goals and desires were shaped by that.

Later seasons gave him a bit of a break from being the Plot Objective, to a certain extent, but every time he began to be even a little bit interesting in his own right (end of s12 taking charge of the hunters and then the AU hunters in s14, or his growing bond with Rowena and witchcraft in s13 and s14, for example), the plotlines never seemed to go anywhere truly deep for more than a random episode here and there. And that's just... disappointing. I mean, when the finale can only muster a blurry-wife-lonely-life montage for him, it only compounds the feeling that there just wasn't a lot to Sam as a character overall, that maybe deep down he just had no real internal hopes and dreams outside that basic generic notion of what life should be like for normal people, and that's pretty damn depressing.

Onward to Dean, because honestly he's the character we have with the biggest window into his emotional state throughout the series. Right from the start, Plot Happens To Sam, and we largely experience it through the filter of Dean's reactions to that.

In early seasons I credit John Shiban (starting with 1.06 Skin), Sera Gamble, and Raelle Tucker (starting with 1.03 Dead In The Water) with establishing the as yet untold depths of Dean Winchester. Sera obviously stuck with the show for a good long time and gave us some of my personal favorite episodes during that time, most of which I love for the Intense Dean Feelings (1.12 Faith, 3.12 Jus In Bello, 6.11 Appointment in Samarra). I'm not terribly fond of her showrunning, but heck she can write an episode.

But those folks took a character that potentially could've just been the two-dimensional dudebro monster hunter whose entire personality was classic rock and his car and made him into one of the most complex and nuanced characters in media. So credit to them for establishing Dean's hidden depths that future writers would build submarines (and one Ma'lak box that thankfully never made it to the bottom of the ocean) to explore.

In later seasons, my Dean champion was clearly Meredith Glynn. If you want to cry about Dean, just marathon her episodes. Well, her and Bobo enjoyed tag teaming on him, honestly, and that just made it so much better/worse. :'D

But I think overall Dean as a character was well established early on, and most writers over the course of the series were easily able to tap into that well without getting stuck on the surface level nonsense it was all too easy to float across when they chose to. More often than not, though, writers didn't get tripped up on the dudebro and chose to reveal the mess of Dean underneath. I mean, even Bucklemming occasionally nailed it (10.16 and 11.18 primarily for them imo)

Which brings us to Cas... the angel who fell in love with humanity, rejected Heaven and God, and chose his own family. I don't think any writer can touch Ben Edlund for ultimate Cas feelings. My biggest regret is that Edlund left the show before he could write a truly human Cas episode. If I could redo ANYTHING about the entire series (setting aside the finale, because that doesn't count), it would be to let Edlund write 9.03 and 9.09 instead of bucklemming... >.>

Why? Because yes, he showed us aspects of Cas as a phenomenal cosmic power, but he never forgot that none of it would've mattered without the crack in Cas, the little bit of him that set him apart from every other angel. And it wasn't his otherness or his power or his grace. It was his humanity. His fear of it at first (i mean his first episode with Cas in it was 4.16 ffs), and his evolution into gradual acceptance and then understanding and love. Not just curiosity of humanity as a concept, but his own desire for it in contrast to every other angel who rejected it for themselves and considered it "lesser."

Even at his most angelic, Edlund wrote Cas at his most human.

#how the heck to tag this even...#mittens thoughts i guess

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pallasperilous · 4 years ago

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Occursus

Castiel/Dean Winchester Gen/Teen, 4341 words 15x20 coda AO3 version “The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” Cas says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.”

Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two. “Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes. “It was a poor analogy. I apologize.” “So what’s a better one?” Castiel drums his fingers for a second. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.” “Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

It’s half past midnight by the time Dean gets another run at Cas.

Granted, what the fuck does half past midnight even mean here, where time is as free as tap water? Why does anybody even bother? For all it matters, Dean could set his watch to eleventy minutes past twenty o’ nope and still never miss last call.

Then again, somebody felt it necessary to invent the idea of Tuesday in the first place, and Dean’s not gonna volunteer himself for the task of replacing it with something better. What’s important is that he’s survived (or rather, he hasn’t survived) a battery of poignant moments and tearful reunions. He and Sam hugged out burdens registering in the triple digits. They even had a little fight, pretty much for the fun of it, while Ellen fucking Harvelle watched them over the bar with her eyes shining. She still charged them, though.

Right at the beginning of the party Dean and Castiel had their eyes-across-the-room thing, followed by the same magnetic, exhausted embrace they’ve shared on just about every plane of reality now. Dean supposes he could ask Cas for a nickel tour of the Empty just so they could hit for the cycle, but he’d really rather not. Sam let them eke out a few gruff, tear-choked monosyllables before diving in, sweeping Cas up in a bear hug and laughing like a fucking kid. Dean doesn’t push it, because it’s been longer for Sam, after all. Or something.

And now it’s quiet, just the jukebox and the clink of glasses back in the kitchen, a few folks murmuring in booths. It might be dark outside, it might not; it’s waiting on Dean’s opinion before it commits to anything. And so is Cas, who is standing in the warm glow of the jukebox, hands in his pockets.

Dean walks up, leans against it, bottle still dangling from one hand.

“C’mon, sunshine. I’ll show you yours, you show me mine.”

Cas looks up and into Dean’s eyes with the wary, elegant patience of a deer. “What is it that you would be showing me, Dean?”

Dean gives him a long, languid blink and bites his lip, and Castiel lags for half a second before rolling his own eyes. “I see death hasn’t refined your sense of humor.”

“Nope. Guess the billionth time aint the charm.”

Cas remains stonefaced, which means a corresponding you dumbass blush starts crawling up the sides of Dean’s neck. The jukebox switches records like it’s making a suggestion.

“I’m gonna sit down outside,” Dean says. “C’mon and sit down with me. There’s a patio somewhere, right? Ellen was always talking about adding one out back. No way she hasn’t bossed somebody into buildin’ it.”

“There’s a patio,” Cas says, taking his hands out of his pockets.

Heaven’s patio is pretty nice; twenty square feet, some scattered picnic tables, fences covered in ivy and string lights. It still smells like fresh pine boards. There’s even a fire pit, which seems kinda bougie for the Roadhouse, but hell with it, it’s warm and pretty, and since when did pretentious people get to lay claim to “a hole with a fire in it”? There’s no moon overhead, and so the Milky Way is giving them the full monty — the runnelled spine of it, the ribcage packed with galaxies.

“Are they all alive?” Dean asks. The warmth from inside leaks out of his collar, wisps away.

“Who?”

Dean points up. “The stars. They always make a big deal about how most of the stars you can see from Earth have been dead for millions of years by the time we get the light from ‘em. That still true here? Or is everything on auto-renewal?”

“That’s a very complicated question,” Cas says, not looking up, only at Dean. He does that a lot, Dean knows, but it turns out to mean something different than what Dean had always assumed, which was ironically pretty similar to what it actually meant, but was reassuringly unactionable and therefore unfuckupable.

“I’m a very complicated guy,” Dean says.

Castiel smiles at that. “I don’t actually know the answer,” he admits. “And it would take an extremely long time to investigate. There are some other things I’d rather do first.”

“What, you can’t just call the kid for directory assistance?”

Castiel lets a good-humored sigh. “Like many young people these days, Jack prefers to avoid the phone.”

This is a solid riff, and Dean respects it. He picks the table closest to the fire and takes a bench and Cas sits next to him, instead of opposite. Dean thought he managed to break him of this habit a few years ago, but here all things are made whole again.

“So what,” Cas says, without a single molecule of playfulness or seduction, “is it that you want us to show each other?”

“Yeah, I was…it was a dumb joke. But I mean it, just not in a ‘playing doctor’ way.”

Castiel frowns, tightens his lips; the firelight throws a fluttering shadow across his face.

“I mean…Christ.” Dean takes a medicinal slug of his dwindling beer. “I don’t really look like this anymore either, right?” And he gestures at his usual shitshow personal presentation, which death has also noticeably failed to refine.

Castiel frowns, smoothes his hand across the surface of the table. “This is a corporeal world, Dean. It operates on a different set of rules, but your body here is no more of an illusion than it was on earth.”

“Seriously?” Dean ponders a second, squints through the dim light at his fingernails, at the high-resolution grime contained therein. “Jesus, that sounds like a lot of work. At least compared to Holodeck Heaven.”

“It is. But we didn’t build this place to be a...a…doorprize. It’s a real world,” Castiel enthuses, looming forward. “It’s the one that should have been created for all of you in the first place.” He pauses, glances down. “For all of us.”

Dean shrugs. “Okay, so no holograms. I’ll keep all that in mind next time Charlie tries to convince me to go skydiving.”

Castiel snorts, but not in pure aggravation, so Dean feels like he’s finally got a point on the board. “What I’m sayin’ is…physical or not, this place has different rules, right? So could I look at you without my eyeballs exploding? The…you know, the angel parts of you. Not just your vessel,” and Dean fwippies his hand at Cas to indicate that true beauty is contained within and Dean is completely indifferent to the fact this dork-ass alien managed to bodysnatch a guy who’s never dipped below an 8.5.

“It isn’t a vessel anymore. We can create our own bodies, now.”

“Peachy,” Dean clips, because that shit is a little late coming off the line.

Castiel sighs. “You could see me in that form without coming to harm. But you should know that I don’t consider it any more a reflection who I am than this form. Not anymore.”

Dean rolls the bottle towards him, nudges a knuckle. “You’re a real boy now, huh?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Castiel says, and smiles a smile so small that Dean would need a microscope to figure out if it’s pleased or pained.

So Dean thwacks the bottle down on the totally-real table and claps his totally-real hands. “Well then let’s go. Hit me with that angel weirdness. If we’re gonna do this, I gotta taste all thirty-one flavors.”

Castiel smiles a little more convincingly, but it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “There are really only the two,” he says, and holds his palms out to the warmth of the fire.

“Great, then we’ll be done in time to catch Letterman. Then if you’re good maybe you can help me shimmy out of this thing.”

Cas cocks his head. “Out of which thing?”

“This super real heavenly meat-suit, dude. It’s not fair if only one of us gets naked. Peep show has to go both ways. I see your angel-face, you see my soul.”

Cas looks stricken, like Dean is asking to suck on his toes next to a playground. “I mean, unless that’d fuck you up,” Dean adds.

“No,” Castiel replies, a little absently. “It wouldn’t fuck me up. But it…wouldn’t really accomplish anything, either.”

“What, no soul kink? That’s bullshit and you know it. You love this crap.”

Castiel replies, “Your soul is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” with the easy confidence of a regular latte order. With the same uncanny, 2 Blessed 2 B Stressed face he had when Dean plowed Ruby’s knife hilt-deep into Jimmy Novak’s sternum, that he had when the Empty collapsed him like a carcass in an acid bath.

That face shuts Dean right the fuck up, because it sends him skipping backwards into that fucking basement, where his phone is buzzing and the gritty concrete chill of the floor is seeping through his jeans into the useless meat of his legs and leeching into the hot, wet channels of his piece of shit heart.

Turns out you can work up a good little panic attack in heaven, which seems like a significant oversight.

From a million miles away he feels Cas’s warm, dry palm slide over the back of his hand –– there’s a ring there now that Dean lost down a motel sink drain ages ago, is nobody spotting continuity errors here?—then Cas’s hand tightens on his and it feels like a Xanax kicking in. (The good kind, direct from the hot nurse with the little paper cup, not the kind you get in a from a shady burnout at a truckstop, that’s been ground up with baking soda or benadryl and carefully remolded, as if you could possibly give that much of a shit when you’re freaking out bad enough to buy Xanax at a truckstop.)

Point being, he calms the fuck down.

Cas has good hands. They can do a lot of impressive shit, and they look nice doing it. They don’t look like –– they’ve never looked like –– they belong to somebody whose main job is destroying people, places, or things. They’re hands that how to play the cello, or make tables from reclaimed wood, or give soapy, encompassing handjobs in the shower on cold evenings.

“It’s been years, though,” Dean rasps, not looking up yet. “I was a kid when you got me out of Hell, Cas. I’ve done a lot of shit since then. Maybe souls get stretch marks.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his, clamps it down on the table. “I’ve always been able to see it.”

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but Cas keeps on going –

“The only time I couldn’t see any part of your soul was when I was without grace, and I promise you that was one of the greatest deprivations imaginable.”

Dean snorts, looks away, but his hand is still on lockdown. “Worse than going hungry, huh?”

“Much.”

“Hey, what about Sam? Or, hell, fucking Donatello. They both were both walking around minus their creamy filling, and you didn’t say boo.”

Cas shrugs. “I can’t see their souls under ordinary circumstances.”

“So what, mine’s just extra loud, or day-glo, or what?”

“It’s both of those things, but that isn’t why,” Cas answers, and the boy is downright wry.

Dean tugs his hand out, raps his knuckles against the wood. “Okay, so stop bein’ coy and tell me before I get a complex. And if you say it’s because of love or some shit, I’m bailing to Rowena’s.”

“You infected me,” Cas says.

“Uh,” says Dean.

The fire pops and a log shifts; Cas glances over at the kerfuffle, absently lifts his fingers to his chin like he’s looking for an old scar. “In Hell, when I retrieved you…I had to grip your raw soul. I was meant to wear a gauntlet, so I wouldn’t be burned.”

Dean snickers. “You’re telling me you were supposed to be wearing a soul condom. What happened, you get too excited and forget to suit up? It’s okay, I know I’m a lot to take in.”

Castiel purses his lips. “No, I was properly armored. But my arm was torn off in combat shortly before I reached you.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Cas agrees. “I didn’t have time to retrieve the arm or its protection from the pit, so I had to grow a new one very quickly.”

Dean really should’ve switched to whiskey before starting this. “What, you didn’t pack a spare?” He wheezes.

“Ordinarily, yes, I would have had the resources, but I was equipped very lightly for that mission. It was a raid, not a siege. You understand the difference.”

“Sure, yeah, you left your emergency arms in the trunk. So you just popped out a new one. No big.”

“It was a big. Your soul was close enough that it forced me to grow a human arm, instead of a much quicker and more powerful extensor.”

“Okay, uh,” Dean pinches at the bridge of his nose, “there’s a lot to unpack there.”

“What part of it confuses you?”

“I dunno, the bit where apparently angels are I guess heavenly octopuses,”

“The plural in the Greek is octopodes,” Cas interjects, not without pleasure.

Dean glowers. “Or the part where you can apparently swap in different drill bits,” Dean continues,

“Mm,” Cas notes, careful not to open his mouth,

“Or that I, like, accidentally bullied you into growing a person arm,” and Dean pauses for breath here, which Cas evidently takes as permission to dive in with more Planet Earth commentary.

“The natural environment of the human soul is a human body,” he says. “Humans have yet to meet a foreign substrate that they don’t immediately attempt to colonize. My form in Hell was not an exception.” Then he shuts his mouth very deliberately and gestures back to Dean like his mic is going live in three, two.

“Or the bit where my soul gave you some kind of STD?” Dean finishes.

“It was a poor analogy. I apologize.”

“So what’s a better one?”

Castiel drums his fingers for a second, listens to the fire pop in its little cage. “It’s more like…the way a parasitic jewel wasp injects a cockroach with venom, and transforms it into a willing host for wasp larvae.”

“Holy shit are you ever bad at this,” Dean says, with that signature brand of fond horror he special-orders just for Castiel, Angel of the Gourd.

“What I’m trying to avoid saying,” Castiel sighs, “is that you rubbed off on me.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. That’s fair. I wouldn’t be dumb enough to say that around me, either.” He lays a couple little pats on Cas’s hand. “Lookit you, though, seeing around that corner. I’m proud of you, man. That would’ve totally flipped your breaker back in the day.”

“Just one of the many ways you have reshaped me, Dean,” Cas says, with warm sarcasm.

“Alright, so you rawdogged me, I whammied you. Chocolate, peanut butter, peanut butter, chocolate.”

Cas’s forehead wrinkles in skepticism. “I still prefer the cockroach. But some part of your soul injected itself into one of my more exposed frequencies. Under different circumstances, I would’ve stopped and excised the affected area before it spread, but. I was being pursued, and the mission had taken much longer than any of us anticipated.”

“Us? Thought it was just you down there.”

Cas looks vaguely offended, straightens and folds his arms like he just remembered he’s giving a deposition. “No, of course not. Michael assigned sixty-six angels in eleven groups of six, each escorted to the field by a seraph. We struck simultaneously at six different areas in perdition. From there we dispersed to individual targets –– to cause as much chaos as possible in order to help obscure the object of our mission, and to increase the odds that one of us would actually find you.”

“And you were the lucky winner.” Dean pushes down a touch of sick shame at the thought of it — he’d been coiled up like a snake around somebody else’s torment, anesthetized by it. It was one of the random rags of infernal time where his own pain decreased in proportion to how much he dealt out, and that was the closest thing Hell had to a Friday night.

“I was,” Castiel nods. “I took some liberties with my assignment,” he adds, squinting. “I flattered myself that I shared a special affinity with The Righteous Man.”

“That guy always sounded like kind of a cunt to me,” Dean notes. “You know, not withstanding the fact that I’m him.”

Castiel shrugs. “I found you, and I did what was necessary to save you, and my siblings did what was necessary to save me.” A little falter enters his voice. “Only twelve of us returned from that mission.” Cas looks up, out, away. A dove coos somewhere nearby of the Roadhouse; did it have a run-in with the windshield of an eighteen wheeler one day and show up here, Dean wonders, or does heaven make its own birds from scratch? That’s gotta be a softball compared to whether Betelgeuse is still open for business.

Castiel waits until the bird shuts up, then says, “Of those twelve surviving angels, I personally murdered nine, in everything that followed.”

After a moment Dean says “Yeah,” with practiced neutrality. He’s got some similar tallies, written in Sharpie on the back of his eyelids.

Cas sighs and his attention comes back down to the table. “By the time I received the authority to restore your soul to your body, the infection had spread almost past the point of containment. That’s why I resisted taking a vessel at first. I worried that occupying a human form would speed up the process.”

“Hey now. I thought you showed up naked because you thought I’d be one of those special people,” Dean quips, “Who can handle angel stuff without going all kibbles ’n bits.”

“That was only a partial truth.”

Dean tips the beer bottle in salute. “You’re a real special flavor of asshole, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told. I was right, though. When I took Jimmy as a vessel, I contracted — condensed — myself very severely. The infection had a much shorter distance to travel to reach all of my extremities, and a human form was the most hospitable environment possible.”

“You got a raging case of the Deans.”

Cas’s head kicks back in a laugh that kinda surprises them both. “Yes,” he says, grinning. “I did. I was very displeased, and very concerned I’d be found out and judged unfit for duty. And I very much was. Unfit, that is. Though I was not found out.”

“C’mon, never? You went rogue on the company.”

“Uriel suspected. Naomi certainly detected it later, as did Metatron. But in the moment, no. The Host’s attention was focused on the Apocalypse ahead, not on debriefing a mission that was considered a success. After the Cage was closed, I had too much influence to come under that level of scrutiny.”

“Hmh.” Dean realizes he’s been systematically picking down the label on the beer bottle, so he sets it on the ground before he gets sticky little shreds everywhere. “So I gotta ask. My little souvenir, the handprint. That’s where you grabbed me, with your lil…Mister Potato Head human arm?”

“It is.”

“If I’m the one who infected you, how come I’m the one who got burned?”

“My hand didn’t burn you.”

“Well, it ain’t fingerpaint.”

“Your own soul burned it, as it flowed out of your flesh and into mine. It burned until the moment when I finally released you from my grip. My hand healed itself; your arm did not.” Castiel gives a thin scoff. “I hadn’t planned to leave you interred.”

“Oh, no? Well that’s nice to hear, you know, a decade after the fact. I still have nightmares about that shit.”

Castiel winces. “It’s no excuse, but I was in a great deal of…the equivalent of pain. It took an immense effort to break off the inflow of your soul, and when I did manage it, I was thrown quite a ways by the recoil. By the time I recovered enough to return, you were already looting a gas station,” He finishes, dryly.

“Yeah, well, Dad didn’t think much of leisure as a virtue. Also I was thirsty, because I’d just crawled out of my own grave.”

“And I was distracted, because I’d just fought my way out of the inferno while being digested by a demented human soul.”

“You wanna call it even?”

Cas lifts his brows. “If you don’t mind.”

There is a long, dark breath, during which their little smiles fade.

“So, all that,” Dean says, because he’s a fucking coward.

“All that,” says Cas, because he isn’t.

Dean clears his throat. “That means you can see my soul-stuff 24/7, huh?”

Castiel slides one leg up onto the bench, shifts to sit astride it, like he’s maybe about to deliver an after-school PSA on the Real Deal About Drugs. “I can always see myself, and extensions of my self. And since your soul made itself into an integral part of me…I can see you.”

“I take it that’s not exactly in the manual.”

“No. I didn’t entirely understand it at first — for a long time, I convinced myself it was because you were designed to be a celestial vessel, and that I had been destined to save you from Hell.”

That thin, acidic feelings starts to rise up in Dean’s chest again. “Do you…” A dry swallow reflex grabs his throat. “Hm. Fuck.”

“What?” Cas asks, scooting forward. An angel. Scooting. What a world. “You can ask me anything, Dean. I hope we’re both past being offended.”

“Have you ever thought that. This whole deal. Our…thing.” Dean lets out a breath. “The way you feel about me. The way I feel about you.”

“Do I worry that its only basis is our shared material?”

Dean licks his lips, works a jaw muscle, forces out a nod.

Cas frowns, sets one elbow up against the table, then lets his head tip to the side. “Why do you love Sam?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I get it, he’s my brother. We got shared material, too. But we’re not talking genetics.”

“Genes were the initial basis of your love for Sam. But you share half as much material with Adam. Do you love him fifty percent as much as you do Sam?”

“One, love doesn’t work that way and you know it, and two, fucking of course not. I barely know the guy, and what I’ve seen didn’t exactly blow me away.” Not that the poor dumb kid ever really had a chance. “Sam’s Sam, he’s earned it a million times over just by bein’ him.”

“Then you understand.”

“But Cas, man…I…” Dean laughs, which is an abbreviated form of screaming, “I treated you like shit.”

Cas nods. “You did.”

“Okay, the rules say you’re not supposed to agree with me.”

“But the balance remains in your favor. Dean, are you genuinely afraid that you — care for me…” and Dean can hear the FCC live-bleep in that one, like does his total cowardice have a special color Cas can see with his soul-o-vision? “Only out of some compulsion?”

“No,” Dean says, to the great surprise of his frontal cortex, which was busy kicking the shit out of itself. “No,” he says again, just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that that answer actually came out of him and entered the living air between them.

Then the wave is rolling towards him and he enters that slim moment of body-physics where you either take a lungful and commit to diving under the break, or you kick out against the undertow, arch your back to meet the blow, and let yourself be flown all the way up to the waiting shore––

“No,” Dean says, “I love you.” And he chokes up a little, first at the release of saying it, then at how much of exactly jack-shit it changes anything so what was he even scared of, and then at the look on Cas’s face: how he’s frozen. Like that dog from that video, the one that loved tennis balls so goddamn much that his owner bought him a thousand fucking tennis balls and dumps them out all at once and the dog absolutely stalls the fuck out, just seconds on end of underspecced dog-brain hang time before he finally snaps back to reality and loses his absolute shit scrabbling all over the porch.

Castiel comes back online with a little choking noise of his own, and a kind of awkward scrabble for Dean’s hand.

“I have for a long time,” Dean continues, because apparently he’s continuing, “I’ve loved you for fucking ages, Cas. In people years, anyway, I’m sure that mean’s fuckall to somebody who’s a zillion––”

“I don’t,” Cas says thickly, “really give a damn about the age difference, Dean,” and cracks into a chuckle.

“So how come you never knew it?” Dean asks, feeling freedom turn into a hunger or something like vertigo. “If you can see my soul, how could you not know?”

Cas shrugs, a bit helplessly.

“Seriously,” Dean laughs, “how did I manage to hide that shit so well? Sammy found every nudie mag I ever shoplifted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ve never actually been able to hide anything from me.”

Dean scoffs. “C’mon, man. I snowed you plenty, or else we woulda had this conversation dirtside a long time ago.”

“Whatever I missed, Dean…it wasn’t because you succeeded at hiding it,” Castiel says, softly. He takes a slow, shaky breath, and meets Dean’s eyes with a smile. He lifts a hand to Dean’s face, bone and flesh on flesh and bone. “I just loved you enough to look away.”

It’s a long time before they go back inside. By any measure. {AO3}

#spn fanfiction #spn 15x20 #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #bless you all for your sexy and angsty coda fics please enjoy this massive wodge of angel lore wankery dating back 11 seasons

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hawkland · 4 years ago

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Destiel fic recs #3 - the (mostly) longfic edition!

It’s been a while since my last rec post - mostly because I’ve been wallowing in a number of longer fics (50-350k!) so it’s taken me a while to have enough to talk about in one post (and boy do I talk a lot, here!)

With these longer fics, I do sometimes have some caveats with my recs - or at least reasons why they might not appeal to every Dean/Cas reader. But note that if I didn’t overall strongly recommend reading the fic I wouldn’t include it in my recs here at all, so any quibbles I bring up are minor compared to my overall enjoyment of the stories. Just, I don’t want someone to commit to a long read without knowing what they’re getting into and why it might not be their thing.

I’m still not into reading complete setting AUs at this time, but a lot/most of these are canon-divergence AUs, often written/set at the end of a season and giving an alternative take on what happened next. I love those kind of stories, as it’s often so interesting to see how fans thought of what might happen in the next season (especially when it’s better than what we actually got.)

Onto the recs & discussion behind the cut!

The Sinking Ship by UnfortunatelyObsessed (114k). This is a story that ripped my heart to pieces (in a good way!). I stayed up all night to finish reading because I simply couldn’t stop once I started on it and it gave me a massive fic hanger from all my emotions. Season 14 divergence, imagine if Dean did go into the Ma’lak box to trap Michael under the ocean with him forever...and once there, he discovers that Cas has stowed away with him. Because of course Cas would never leave Dean to such a fate on his own.

I loved literally. Every. Damn. Thing. About this fic. Cas telling Dean stories to pass the (endless) time. Their small intimate moments while realizing they can never consummate physically while trapped in the box but finding every other way to express their love. The absolute heartbreak that had me SOBBING when Michael fights for control of Dean and destroys everything they’ve built together and Cas thinks he’s lost Dean forever. Sam & Gabriel & Rowena & Claire & Jack doing everything they can to devise a plan back home to try to save them both while keeping Michael trapped. Also even just the wonderfully sensitive portrayal of aroace Jack still closely bonded with Claire and Maggie and just. And just. This is a story I’ve already re-read just to savor how much I loved it and its portrayal of everyone in TFW 2.0 and their extended family, it just hit my id in all the most incredible ways and I have nothing but absolute love for this one.

Beautiful Chaos by anyrei, mugglerock (141k). Season 9 canon-divergence, in which Dean doesn’t simply abandon Cas to fend for himself post 09x03. Instead he sets Cas up in a kind of squatter’s nest in an abandoned building near the bunker so he can keep tabs on him and help him out.

This fic definitely gets the award for FILTHIEST, HOTTEST, SMUTTIEST Dean/Cas (and Cas/other) I’ve read in, like, ever, for human!Cas turns out to be a rather insatiable sex fiend/cock slut and Dean is too up his own repressed ass to easily give Cas what he wants/needs. It is dark at times, Cas ends up in some very unsavory/non-con situations, and the authors do mention that they tried to hone in on endverse!Cas’s characterization more than what we saw in Season 9...so you might roll with it, you might not. I adored their original character Jerry the tattoo artist in this, and like I said it was seriously hot (if you are good with total bottom!Cas and Cas with others, I know those are not everyone’s cuppa). I did have a few minor issues. For one, the last chapter felt a bit rushed and hand-wavey, but clearly the authors weren’t fond of the canon conflicts of season 9 & 10 (Abbadon, Mark of Cain) and just wanted to be done with them. Can’t say I really blame them. And I did have to laugh a bit at Lebanon, Kansas apparently having such a bustling gay bar/tattoo artist/etc scene being someone from a butt-fuck nowhere American small town myself. But, SPN was never all that realistic in how Lebanon was shown (and yes I’ve spent too much time roaming around it on Google maps), so if you can suspend some disbelief this is an awesome hot/angsty/occasionally heartbreaking read.

These Forsaken Lands by destielpasta (53k). I came upon this story when looking for fics that dealt in some way with the aftermath of Godstiel. This is a wonderfully atmospheric late Season 9 “fill-in” case fic (post Meta-fiction) where Cas ends up in a small town that had been visited by Godstiel...and while initially residents have reaped much good fortune, there has suddenly been a wave of deaths/bad events and he is determined to find out what happened and set things right. He calls upon Dean for help, but Dean is fighting the Mark of Cain and it’s going to take a lot to get past its control and find a way out for both of them. Together they work on repairing an old church while trying to repair each other and their damaged relationship.

I loved this story for how well written it was, really invoking a gothic small-town/Americana atmosphere. The original characters blend in very well with the case-fic at the center of it, and the author deals really well with Cas at a very fragile point when he’s running on borrowed grace and trying to navigate Dean’s MoC-enhanced anger. It’s Dean/Cas but actually much more of a Cas character study, so I highly recommend it to my fellow/compatriot Cas-girls who love a good wallow in his head.

Mixed Emotions by Tierra469 (50k). Canon 12 “parallel” fic that then goes canon-divergent with the season finale. I actually stumbled on this while in the mood to read some Cas/ or & Mary fic after enjoying their interactions in Season 12 (don’t hate me). This is sort of two fics in one. The first half focuses mostly on filling in the gaps with some critical S12 Cas episodes, especially Cas & Mary’s developing friendship (and one night of something more). But of course Cas’s feelings for Dean (and vice-versa) are always there, and when Cas figures out a way to get his powers fully back, the question is if Dean can open himself up to be vulnerable - and express love - the way Cas needs for this to work.

This was an interesting fic in a lot of ways. I loved the author’s take on angels’ connections to their vessels and grace, it was very consistent in a way the show sometimes/often wasn’t. Cas is very Cas in not understanding privacy and personal boundaries (so he does some questionable things, admittedly, which might squick some readers). The smut is fucking HOT - though I will caution at one point it involves Cas temporarily in a younger (NOT underage) female vessel (and the story does point out Dean’s discomfort with this and some of the consent issues involved, I don’t want to spoil too much). I wanted the Mary plot resolved more than it was, but I still recommend this story strongly for the quality of the writing and unique/well-developed take on angel lore and mechanics that was quite different from what I’m used to reading.

We Are Either Here Or Not Here by petramacneary (54k) A post-season 12 fic that goes on a different tangent to how Cas returns, and what happens in the meantime. Particularly, it offers a different take on what apocalypseverse!Cas would be like—as Mary makes her own way back from that world with AU!Cas as her prisoner.

What I loved about this story: first off, BAMF!Mary is awesome here. Dean is so heartbreaking, not quite knowing what the fuck to do with this different Cas who at times is just a painful reminder of who/what Dean’s lost...but then becomes a chance for Dean to say and express some of the things he always was afraid to in the past. And when (real/our) Cas finally returns, there’s some very interesting stuff that happens with both Cas & AU!Cas and Cas & Dean that I don’t want to spoil. (And let’s also just say that when real!Cas and Dean finally get together it’s AMAZINGLY awesome. Like, hot Impala!sex. So is the artwork that goes with this story.)

You Can Keep Holding On by NorthernSparrow (353k) The longest fic I read this time around and probably the one I have the most mixed feelings about, but a while on I do keep thinking about parts of it so I do rec it with some caveats. This is a canon-divergence after the end of Season 11. Dean & Sam find Cas after he’s been blasted out of the bunker...to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. Mary isn’t in this one except for a brief appearance/visit, which Dean thinks is Amara’s gift to him. Life seems good for a while, they’re enjoying dealing with mundane problems for a change, but then Cas seems to be pulling away from the brothers, spending less and less time with them at the bunker, taking a mundane job at another Gas ‘n Sip, and clearly preoccupied by something else. Or is it someone else? Dean is worried yet finally ready to accept that Cas maybe has a girlfriend, or a boyfried, but then it turns out that is not at all what Cas has going on. It’s something far more serious than that.

Honestly I almost stopped reading when the reveal happened - it’s a subject that’s very sensitive to me from personal/family experience and not something I usually like reading in fic (especially if there is a sad ending.) So I admit I jumped ahead to read how it would end first before committing to finishing it. And I am glad I did, because the author handles the subject matter with a realism and obvious knowledge of experience as well, not how I often see it in fanfic. There are a lot of emotional ups and downs but it’s nice seeing Dean in his momma-hen/mode, and Sam is so so good in this one! I think I enjoyed Sam’s characterization here most of all! And the author has a really cool/well developed angel/wing lore that hit my wing-kink pretty hard. I do think it could have all been edited down a bit - I found myself skimming parts, especially in the last third, just to get on with things. But it’s definitely a story you can disappear into for a good long time and I’ve bookmarked the author’s other works to read later, so again, I do rec it even with a few caveats.

A few shorter fics, too, just because I don’t want to forget about them...

Eleven Erogenous Zones of a Fallen Angel by almaasi (15k) Pure gratuitous wing!kink for me :) Cas uses the last of his grace to manifest his wings...but then is stuck with them in his human form and not even able to use them to fly as he used to. This presents a lot of awkward problems to deal with but also the excuse for Dean to help him keep them clean :) I did say wing kink, right? :D :D I loved how Cas seemed confused about the pleasure signals he got from bathing vs. sex vs. grooming and all of that. It’s sweet and hot and has my favorite kind of caretaking Dean in it.

Fossil Tracks by SegaBarrett (3k). Dean & Sam & Cas and dinosaurs. How can you go wrong with that? One of the SPN stories from the Id Pro Quo collection I really enjoyed reading (and didn’t write myself, lol).

#destiel recs #my fic recs #deancas recs #fandom that ate my life hello #destiel fic recs #my destiel recs

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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years ago

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.16}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"May I ask you something you might find rather odd?"

"Don't you always?" Robin chuckled softly. "You can ask and say anything at all, you know that. Odd isn't a thing between us anymore."

"Why does your hair smell so insufferably much like pineapple? You don't even like pineapples."

For a broken second, Robin was so surprised by the indeed quite unexpected question that she didn't react at all, then however she had to snort and finally just started laughing. Gods, what a question… whether he had meant to take the edge off the situation or not, his inquiry certainly had done just that. In a sudden mutual agreement that it might be better to let go of each other –better for whom, one might ask– they both removed their tight hold from the other and Robin took a tiny step backwards. Not enough to call it an appropriate distance, really, but enough to look at each other's faces again.

"I, uh…" She started, once she had more or less stopped laughing, and finally folded the letter and the permit back into the envelope. "I haven't really had the money to buy new shampoo after I'd run out, so I first borrowed from Jorien for half a month, and now ever since the beginning of October I've been borrowing from Cas, who unfortunately loves pineapples. That's why I smell like one currently."

"I see… Curious how I haven't noticed it before."

"Well, we don't really… get that close to each other so often." Robin shrugged, trying to suppress the sad subtones that wanted to sneak into the statement, and instead acted over it by removing her wand from the tousled damp mess on her head, now that she remembered that her hair still would have to dry at some point indeed. "And I literally just took a shower before coming here, so that should make the smell even more prominent as well. Sorry…"

"Not for that. But say, do I even want to know why you decided to take a shower in the middle of the night? On your birthday?"

"Cas smeared some sticky goo onto my face and it was really itchy and got stuck in my hair…" She rolled her eyes at the memory, and upon his questioning and slightly horrified expression, she snorted but went to explain. "It was just some kind of face mask, nothing gross! Well, actually, it was pretty vile, all pink and smelling horribly sweet, even worse than the pineapple!"

"Sounds like your evening with your roommates went exactly as expected."

"Well, part of it at least. At first we had tea and cake, which I very much enjoyed actually. They told me about the incident in class as well, even though they thought it was hilarious rather than annoying. But then I became subject to their idea of a girls' night, and that meant sticky goo and painted nails." Robin held up her hands with a humoured sigh to demonstrate Jorien's work. It actually looked quite good, or at least it had, before Robin had already chipped one nail in the shower. She couldn't bring herself to care enough to fix it though. "Then they tried to get me to talk about boys, which was the point where I shut down."

"I can imagine."

"They got me a lovely gift though; a framed photograph of the entire group. The girls and I, and Simon, Gideon and Michael. All sitting together in the great hall." Robin smiled, still very much happy about the picture. "There's so few photos of me and the people I care about. Honestly, I only have the conference photos from last year and the year prior, and either has about fifty strangers in it, but only one has you."

"Good. I doubt that I'm particularly photogenic."

"Neither am I, but I like looking at the picture nonetheless."

"You always were the most photogenic person in the entire newspaper. All three years of conferences."

"Thanks." Robin laughed, once again quite glad that it was too dark for him to really see her blushing. "Remind me to show you the horrible pictures of me as a toddler some time… You'll change your mind about me being photogenic then."

"Don't bet on it."

"Alright, I won't." Her smile turned warmer, less amused and more heartfelt. "But I'm still happy to have one more picture of the people I care about now."

"You should be. It is a nice gift indeed. An actual gift."

"Oh will you stop it now!" Robin rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, then couldn't help smiling up at him nonetheless. "I think your gift IS an actual gift! A perfect one! But if you just keep refusing to believe it, might I make a suggestion?"

"Don't you always?" He raised an eyebrow as he quoted her own words back to her with a not-smirk. "Go ahead."

"Go to Hogsmeade with me on Saturday. I know you're not overly fond of being there while the students are roaming around, but you could consider it a gift to me, if the incredible one you've already given me just won't count for you. Which I still don't understand, by the way." She suggested, then went on with a small smirk. "I'm sure I can sell some stuff to the guy in that ingredients shop you sent me to forever ago."

"I will have to see it to believe it. Saturday it is." He replied and the corners of his lips quirked up more and more. "The man you're speaking of is a sleazy individual, ripping people off wherever he can, and getting him to pay a decent price will be practically impossible. But I will enjoy seeing you try."

"I can get him to pay any price you name." Robin teased with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't know what prices to set anyway, nor what the different objects are worth in theory. Just give me a number I can tell him, and you'll see me getting him to pay it."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"Wanna bet?" She quirked an eyebrow at him, smirking openly with just a tad of mischief in her tone. There was no way she would lose this, she was certain of that. "If you deem me so unconvincing, you should have nothing to lose."

"If you insist. What stakes shall we set?"

"Loser buys the winner a drink afterwards, how about that? We should both be able to afford that much at that point."

"Agreed. It should make for an interesting Saturday either way." Snape seemed to be entirely amused by the idea at this point, and Robin wondered if he was actually serious about doubting her in the first place. He did know better than to question her abilities, especially those she actually believed in herself, and somehow she had the feeling that agreeing to this bet was his way of encouraging her to do her best on Saturday. But he might also just be wanting to buy her a drink. The thought made Robin grin even more, and she decided that she was fine with either version.

"I hope I'll make it to Saturday in the first place…" She said then, remembering that it was only Friday now, roughly around two in the morning. "The girls have made some plans for my birthday, but after this evening, I'm not sure if I will survive any more of their ideas."

"To your luck, they will be busy with classes for most of the day, much like myself unfortunately. Are you going to be assisting Pomona with the second years again?"

"Yeah, it's the only thing I have to do. It's fun, actually, when the students aren't being idiots. Gonna be an easy day."

"Perhaps you should go to bed now nonetheless. As much as I would like to sit down now and keep you here until morning, you certainly would be better off with some sleep before your roommates drag you into whatever schemes they have set up for the morning."

"Yeah… I should go." Robin sighed, and this time she didn't even bother trying to hide her sadness about the fact. "Don't forget about the salt thing though, yes? And please tell McGonagall; even if just for the sake of helping me keep my promise."

"I will." He replied as he followed Robin to the door, keeping his eyes on her as she stepped out into the hallway. "If your roommates haven't already claimed every single minute of your day by then, perhaps we could take a walk in the afternoon."

"I would like that very much." Robin smiled up at him too happily, in too much excitement, but she couldn't bring herself to care. He already knew that she loved spending time with him; he just didn't know all of the reasons. "But for now, goodnight."

"Get out of my sight already."

"As you wish." She grinned at his feigned annoyance and not-smirk, then made her way down the hallway and back towards her room, clutching her wand in one hand and the letter in the other. Surprisingly enough, this had been a great start to her birthday after all.

When she lay in bed a little while later, she could still feel the shadow of his touch along her spine, the brush of his fingertips on her sides, and it took her a while to fall asleep like that, when part of her mind wouldn't shut up and instead kept on wondering what it would've felt like without all the fabric in between his skin and her own.

… … …

Morning, as always, came way too soon, and Robin was woken up by two overly excited girls who then proceeded to dictate her every move. Luckily she could talk them out of painting her face this year, but they still put up her hair into an intricate braid before they finally made their way to breakfast while playing some kind of game Robin never quite understood the rules to in the first place. When they arrived in the great hall, they still were terribly early for once, as they sat down at the Ravenclaw table with the boys, who each proceeded to congratulate Robin as well, and she in return thanked them all, especially Simon for the idea with the picture.

Once the hall had filled up with students and staff alike –Robin took careful notice of the fact that McGonagall was once again sitting next to Snape, chatting away amicably while the latter looked indifferent as always– the beginning of the meal was announced, and the foods and drinks were sent up from the kitchens. The moment everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived, and when Robin looked around, she saw more excited faces than she dared to count. Obviously the news about the prank had made their rounds among the student body, and spread even beyond the Ravenclaw table. In the careful attempt not to be entirely obvious about it, Robin then observed Snape and McGonagall. Both of them went with coffee this morning, and if she wasn't mistaken, they both focused on their mugs a little too long before moving to drink at last. Neither of them pulled a face, nor did McGonagall falter in her one sided chat with the bored man next to her, which relieved Robin quite a bit. Once she looked over at Jorien, the girl mouthed a quiet 'thank you', to which Robin answered with a single subtle nod. Then both their attention was drawn back to the head table, when a happy coincidence decided that it should be Morgan who first made a show of spitting out his salted coffee in an indignant spout. A wave of giggles ran through the student body, and while more professors followed Morgan's example mere seconds later, the giggles turned into straight out laughter. McGonagall made an attempt to hide the fact that she had known in advance, going neatly along with the other professors' surprise and outrage, while Snape however merely let his eyes travel over the students in a menacing glare. When his eyes caught Robin's, however, his face brightened up ever so slightly with a not-smirk for a moment, then he continued his cold inspection of the tables and Robin turned back to her breakfast. Perhaps seeing Morgan spitting out his coffee had made her morning a little better after all, and knowing that Snape had succeeded to get McGonagall, out of all people, to play along with this scheme definitely made her both happy and proud.

The day then continued on quite as good as it had started. During the herbology class she helped with, Sprout not only congratulated her right away, but also gifted her a beautiful scalpel-like knife that was small in size, but sharper than Robin thought possible. The gesture honestly surprised her, but the herbology professor insisted that she couldn't continue watching Robin use that old rusty thing she had been using for both her in- and out-of-class work for the last two years. A little overwhelmed but very much grateful, Robin finally accepted the highly useful gift, and stored it in her pocket for now, just before first students filed into the greenhouse.

The next surprise came during lunch, when Robin found yet another wrapped gift waiting for her in her spot at the Ravenclaw table, where her small group of appreciated people was already awaiting her arrival. Upon Robin's inquiry about the package, they all shrugged and said it had just suddenly been there some time after they'd sat down. Her name was written on a piece of paper that was tugged into the wrapping, but she didn't quite recognise the handwriting. Odd… why were so many people giving her gifts for her birthday, all of a sudden? She appreciated it, of course, but it made her wonder nonetheless. Then, encouraged by her overly curious friends, Robin finally unwrapped the gift, only to reveal a small and desperately old looking book. 'The Unforgivable Curses: A detailed study'... The title alone made the hairs in Robin's neck stand up, while the small group of people around here was simply confused. Of course they understood the title, but they were just as clueless about who would give such a book to Robin as she herself was. There was no note, no letter, nothing but the slip of paper with her name on it, which she tugged in between the pages after briefly flipping through them in search for any more pleasant or unpleasant surprises. But it was just a book, a quite rare one if Robin wasn't entirely mistaken, and certainly not of the kind you would find in a school library. If anyone saw her with this, especially one of the professors, they might just think she was up to no good; thus Robin stored it away in her backpack, making sure to inspect it more thoroughly later today. Preferably together with Snape, he knew way more about these things than anyone else, and he appreciated a good mystery quite as much as she did.

After lunch, when Robin was just about to head to her room to pass the time and perhaps change into something warmer before Snape would be done with his classes for the day, she found herself stopped in her path, surprised yet again by something she hadn't quite expected. This time it was McGonagall who, after a quick glance down the hallway, first congratulated Robin, and then also thanked her for the indirect warning this morning. What surprised Robin however was when the professor took her hand, placed a small and surprisingly cold object in it, and then closed her fingers around it even before Robin could see what it was.

"You did not receive this from me, do you understand?" She asked with an intent look at Robin, who in return merely had the time to nod before the professor turned on her heels and was off down the hallway a second later.

Confused, Robin opened her hand again and her eyes fell onto a key that was now resting in her palm, heavy and cold and no less ancient than the book she had already received an hour earlier. What on earth was going on here that she was missing? What was this key for, in a school that –as far as Robin knew– locked all doors with magic anyway? And why was McGonagall so keen on keeping it a secret? Robin couldn't answer either question, but she hid the key in her locket anyway, to keep it safe until she knew what she was to do with it. Then she finally made for her room, with the intention to get some long overdue rest at last.

… … …

Shortly before four in the afternoon, Robin quietly let herself into Snape's office during the last minutes of the class he was teaching next door. She had indeed changed into something warm enough to be comfortable outside (for once!), and then thought it a nice idea to pick him up here to go for her promised walk. That at least would give them a good two hours before dinner, and thus enough time to actually get away from the castle for a little while. Content with her plan, Robin took her perch on the edge of the desk, not bothering to sit down properly for the little time she planned to stay here. It wasn't long indeed before the door between office and classroom flew open, and a very much annoyed Snape stormed into the room, throwing the door shut behind himself again without looking back. Still it took a few seconds for his eyes to find Robin's, but then he stopped in his track while the tension remained written all over his features.

"Don't." Was all he said in a deep and warning tone, and Robin knew very well what he meant, but she just couldn't help it. She had to smile, brightly and without any attempt to hide it, and he rolled his eyes in return, the tension fleeting, while he tried not to smile in return. "You are insufferable. Just let me be angry in peace."

"I'd rather not. Because I can't be happy when you're upset, so logically I will have to see to it that you're happy. For my own sake." She shrugged easily, and her eyes followed him as he moved to drop a stack of notebooks next to her on the desk. "And I'm here to claim what's been promised to me. Before you can find a way to get out of it."

"Whyever would I want to? Wasn't it I who asked for a moment of your precious time in the first place?" He raised his eyebrows at her for a second, then grabbed his warmer robes from the back of his chair. "I would hardly want to miss the narrow time frame I was given to spend with you."

"Oh come on, I'm not that busy! You're the one who had to teach all day… I've just been in my room ever since lunch."

"Napping, as it seems." He quipped, finally unable to keep the not-smirk off his face, and Robin felt called out immediately.

"How the hell do you know that again?"

"Your hair tells me all about it. Admittedly, the difference from lunch to now is very subtle, especially with the braid, but I know what you look like when you wake up. I've seen it before."

The blush that rose to Robin's face immediately was accompanied by a wave of tingles that were equally a result of his words and her own imagination. Yes, they had woken up in the same room before. But not together, in the way she would've liked. Not the time to think about that now.

"Well, you caught me." Robin finally replied, forcing away the previous string of thoughts. "I was napping because I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. I'm fine with little sleep, generally, but less than two hours isn't enough even for me. With the two herbology classes of the first and second years this morning, on top of two meals with the girls, I honestly just needed some rest."

"What kept you from getting a good night's sleep in the first place?" He asked in return, as they left the office and started making their way outside, unseen as always, through the many rooms and passages Robin found herself actually able to remember at this point. She had no idea how Snape even knew about all these shortcuts and secret paths in the castle, but she was glad to have learned about them too. Wandering around unseen was a lot easier like this.

"Oh, you know… just too many thoughts spinning in my mind." She shrugged, careful not to let slip that it had been thoughts about him that had kept her awake. Thoughts about them, together.

"I understand. Your visit also left me thinking for quite a while." He said, as they arrived at the foot of the hill, under the open grey sky at last. "I have come to the conclusion, for example, that you were right. My gift to you may be considered a gift indeed."

"Where did that change of mind come from?"

"I couldn't find an argument against yours. Giving someone a gift is an act of caring, and as you rightly so pointed out, caring extends way beyond the material. Thus a gift should be judged by the amount of care put into it, not its material worth."

"That's pretty much what I was trying to say last night, yes." Robin smiled up at him, doing her best not to trip over anything while they made their way towards their by now common favorite place outside the castle. The shoreline of the lake. "I received three more gifts today, even though I'm not so sure if the latter two go by our definition of 'gift' in that sense. The care as well as the message behind them are kinda, well, untranslatable to me. Anyway, I've been dying to tell you about it all day."

"I'm listening. And intrigued, seeing as once again you just have to build up suspense."

"Well, first there was Sprout." Robin started, in ignorance of his second comment, and pulled the delicately ornamented knife out of her robes, showing it to Snape with a smile. "I was quite surprised that she got me a gift at all, to be honest. We've gotten a bit closer through my assistance in her classes, but I didn't think she liked me enough to even remember my birthday, leave alone to get me anything."

"She gushes about you all the time actually, in the staff room, or during meals… It seems to be one of her favourite pastimes to tell everyone, especially me, about your brilliant work." Snape replied, then handed the knife back to Robin who slipped it back into her pocket. "I'm not surprised that she would give you a present such as this; she holds you in a higher regard than she does with most of her colleagues."

"I certainly appreciate it. The gift, and that she's obviously quite fond of me too. Especially since the other two items that were given to me today are way more confusing in their nature and their circumstances."

"I know you received a book during lunch. What was that about?"

"I haven't got even the slightest idea. Nobody knows who it's from or why it was given to me, and I was hoping you could help me solve this mystery." She said, and summoned the object in discussion from her bag, once again handing it to Snape. "There's a piece of paper inside with my name on it, perhaps the handwriting will tell you more."

He stopped walking once his eyes fell onto the title of the book, and he inspected it for a moment longer until he looked up at Robin once again, in sincere surprise. "I have heard of this book, but admittedly I believed it to be nothing more than a myth. It still might be a mere joke; we will have to find out about that."

"What's special about it? It probably contains a bit more information than we are taught here at school, but that can't be it, right?"

"Supposedly, it contains methods to resist all three of the unforgivable curses. I highly doubt that rumour however, for obvious reasons."

"Obvious to you, perhaps. Enlighten me."

"If there was a way you could cheat a curse that was banned by the ministry, wouldn't they have an interest in making that knowledge known and thereby eradicate the usefulness of such curses in the first place?"

"That definitely makes sense. But perhaps they also believe the book and thus the methods to be nothing more than a myth? Either way, I have this book now, and I have no idea who gave it to me."

"I could give you an answer to that even without looking at the handwriting." Snape scoffed, but opened the book and inspected the snippet of paper nonetheless. "Quite obviously, Professor Dumbledore has an interest in it that you become better acquainted with these curses. I don't have to tell you that this isn't a good sign."

"No…" Robin breathed in return, and if she was honest with herself, she could also have guessed by herself that it was the headmaster who had given the book to her. "If Dumbledore wants me to read this, I bloody better should. No matter what his intention behind it is."

"Indeed. I would ask him about it, but he hasn't been letting me in on anything of importance for a while now, and I doubt that he would give me an honest answer even if I tried. We are better off drawing our own conclusions from now on. May I read the book, once you have?"

"Obviously! It's really not much of a gift and more of a homework assignment the headmaster expects us both to do."

"An oddly fitting way to describe it. Tell me, if that was the second 'gift', what is the third?"

"Something I understand even less." She sighed, then fiddled the key out of her locket to hand it over too. "This was given to me without a comment, without context, and with the instruction to not reveal who gave it to me."

"That certainly-..."

"It was McGonagall." Robin shrugged with one shoulder, giving him a small smile which only widened as his brows furrowed in confusion. "I'm not keeping secrets from you, and she certainly knows that. But I have every intention to keep her involvement a secret from absolutely everyone else."

"If she was concerned about keeping it a secret in the first place, it likely means that Dumbledore doesn't know. This in return means that whatever his reason might be for not wanting you to have the key, it isn't to your advantage. But the key likely is."

"Why do you think so?"

"Dumbledore has long lost his conscience between the bigger picture and his own ambitions, but Minerva will do what she can to protect the innocent from any misfortune. And if said misfortune was caused or tolerated by the headmaster, I believe she will go against his wishes to act on her own conscience instead. Put differently, Dumbledore's concern lies with the school, and its place in the grand scheme of things. Minerva's concern lies with the learning and wellbeing of both students and staff."

"But… that would mean that Dumbledore is willingly letting something bad happen to me. And McGonagall is trying to protect me from it, even though Dumbledore doesn't want her to."

"So far my theory at least, but I have no proof of it other than both our past experiences. It certainly would make sense in the context of both her own words after the incident with Morgan on the first night of term, and also the fact that Dumbledore gave you the book now."

"Oh great…" Robin groaned under her breath and let herself fall back against the tree behind her. "What have I done that makes me everyone's favourite victim? First Morgan, now Dumbledore, and well… There's literally an entire school full of people to pick on! Why do they keep choosing me?"

"I have another question for you. Why does Minerva believe that an old key will help you against either of them?"

"Yes. Great! Thank you for making matters even more complicated." She rolled her eyes with a huff, but felt bad for it immediately. Time to be better than her emotions. "Sorry… that was really unfair. None of this is your fault."

"It's quite alright." He replied calmly and took the remaining two steps to stand in front of Robin, handing her the book and the key. "I can't say I'm not equally concerned about these developments."

"I just can't get rid of the feeling that it all comes down to Morgan somehow. If McGonagall is the proof of a connecting point, back on the day of the welcoming feast and today, it means that Dumbledore sees Morgan as he is, as a threat, but doesn't want to do anything about it. Not because he doesn't care about Morgan's actions, but because he has some grand scheme in mind where Morgan is a chess piece of yet unknown importance and I'm just a casualty he's willing to sacrifice for whatever greater cause. And McGonagall doesn't want that to happen, but she also can't tell me about it because he doesn't want her to. Does that even make any sense? This is a school and not some bloody thriller!" She scoffed as she returned the book to her bag and the key to her locket, then however didn't lean back against the tree. There was too much tension in her body, too much anxiety in her mind, and thus she simply looked up at Snape with an almost sad expression. "Honestly, what am I missing here? I just… I don't understand what's going on anymore."

"Right now, all that matters is that you are out here, with me. You are supposed to have an enjoyable birthday and not a mental breakdown over people who definitely do not deserve it." He said while lightly tracing the outside of her hand with one finger, and when the gesture made Robin smile instinctively, he took her hand entirely and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We will find answers to all the questions, given the right time and opportunity. You and me together, like always. Yes?"

"Yes." Robin sighed, and her smile broadened into a real one that captured the rest of her face as well. "Let's walk on then, shall we? You could tell me what the fifth years did that was so terribly annoying during your last class."

"The better question would be what they didn't do to annoy me. I cannot believe I have to get those dunderheads through their OWLs at the end of the year." He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and slowly let go of Robin's hand as they sauntered on, along the shoreline. Oh well… Robin was happy about the gesture nonetheless; as small and fleeting as it had been, it had been initiated entirely by him for once.

"You better start telling me then." She suggested, quirking an eyebrow at him with a smile. "If it's such a long list. What did they do wrong this time?"

"Would you like me to answer chronologically or alphabetically?"

_____________________________

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peanutbutterjelly-pie · 4 years ago

Text

prompt: Undercover

hosts: @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, @pray4jensen

Dean has been undercover for many times in his life.

FBI agent, Homeland Security officer, reporter, janitor, gym teacher, lunch lady, maintenance guy, minister, private detective, and so on and so on. The list is so long that he's actually more familiar with playing a role when interacting with strangers than being himself.

So when they're on yet another case again and Sam calls him from the local library and tells him to dress up Dean doesn't even think about questioning it.

“Your fanciest clothes,” Sam orders, making it pretty clear there should be no discussion about it. “Designer suit, shiny shoes. And a shave because you're starting to look like a hobo.”

Dean barely lifts an eyebrow. “What do you need me to be? A snobby multimillionaire too good for this world.”

“The snobbiest,” Sam agrees. “It needs to look like the stench of money is following you everywhere.”

And so Dean does as he's told.

A while ago he got himself one of those super expensive Armani or whatever outfits for a case (thanks to Charlie's unlimited credit card no problem at all) and has it stashed in the depths of Baby's trunk ever since. It's only been used once so far considering fake FBI agents or journalists are rarely dressed in designer suits. At least not if they don't want to draw too much unwanted attention to them.

Dean isn't exactly sure the damned thing still fits after all that time, but after a quick shower and shave he gives it a try and finds himself pleasantly surprised when the suit still wraps itself over his body like a glove. Only around the hips it got a bit tight, but if he'd refrain from bending over it should be fine.

And it actually makes his ass look extra great, Dean has to admit. He snaps a quick picture of it and sends it to Cas because he can't help himself. Cas answers immediately with a long string of enthusiastic emojis that are both incredibly sweet, involving lots of hearts, as well as highly inappropriate and Dean loves him even more for it.

He makes a mental note to wear that suit the next time they'll be alone to see how fast the angel would be able to rip the clothes off his body and then he heads out to meet with Sam.

Soon enough he finds himself in front of a jewelry store, with his tall mountain of a brother waiting at the entrance. He is dressed in fancy clothes as well and considering he left their motel room a few hours ago just with his usual plaid attire he obviously went shopping in the meantime. The suit doesn't fit a hundred percent in some places, making it obvious this was a rather quick shopping trip with no time for a proper fitting, but it makes him nonetheless look extra posh too.

“We look good,” Dean remarks with a grin as he stops next to Sam. “Like we could buy all of the world in a heartbeat and still have a couple of millions left as pocket money.”

Sam merely huffs with a fond smile. “If you say so.”

“So what is the situation?” Dean asks, pointing at the store.

“I just got a lead that our annoying spirit might have a connection to a wristband that's on display here,” Sam tells him. “It had belonged to her before she died. And I know it's not much, but I wanna check it out anyway.”

That specific spirit had been annoying them for days now because they were unable to figure out what kept her here in the first place. So Dean will take any lead they can get, no matter how small.

“I'm actually not very optimistic,” Sam explains with a sigh. “But our ghost is showing up here in the area, so it's not a total longshot. We just need to get inside and distract the employees a little.”

“Hence the fancy clothes.” Dean nods in understanding. He highly doubts they would've even gotten past the security guard on the door in their usual jeans. Most likely even their regular FBI suits wouldn't have been good enough.

“So we just go inside and one of us pretends to be a customer while the other subtly checks out that wristband?” Dean asks nonetheless.

Sam nods. “Don't worry, I have a plan.”

Dean blinks, but has no time for further questioning since Sam's already shoving him through the gigantic front door. He's instantly greeted with lots of bling and bright lights and the absolute perfect room temperature (like seriously, did they hire a guy just to keep a close eye on that the entire time?) before getting pushed to the main counter where a blonde woman with a way too wide smile happily waits to bury her flawlessly manicured nails into those new potential buyers.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice as melodic and perfect as the air in the store. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, we've got an important purchase to make,” Sam announces, sounding all kinds of pompous. “Because you see, my brother here,” he grabs Dean's shoulders and grins at him with such an intensity Dean can't help feeling wary all of a sudden, “he intends to propose to his boyfriend.”

Dean blinks rapidly.

What?

Okay, Dean certainly didn't expect that.

The woman – Marlene, as her name tag tells them – seems taken aback by that for a moment as well, but she picks herself up much quicker than Dean. Her smile increases a few thousand watt while she turns toward the groom-to-be. “This is wonderful. Congratulations!”

Dean feels a bit like he's been hit right in the face, out of nowhere.

Thankfully he is actually used to unexpected violent attacks and has learned fairly early to deal with them.

“Um … thanks,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Marlene apparently misinterprets his awkward fumbling for adorable shyness or whatever and looks at him like she's ready to adopt him right here on the spot.

“You have to excuse him, this is still a bit much for him,” Sam leaps back into the conversation. “He's been thinking about this moment for years and I guess it might be a tad surreal that it's finally happening.”

“Really?” Marlene seems truly intrigued hearing that.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs way too dramatically, “Dean's basically been thinking about marrying Cas since the first moment they met.”

Well.

Actually his first meeting with Cas was more like Dean having a sudden realization á la, “Wow, he's hot!” and then stabbing the guy in the chest.

But Dean refrains from pointing that one out.

It might have ended in those people declaring them insane and kicking them out of the store. And though Dean is used to the first, he doesn't need the latter right now.

“Dean just wants everything to be perfect,” Sam points out, sounding exactly like a guy who is used to getting what he wants. “It's a big day.”

“It most certainly is,” Marlene agrees, dollar signs already flashing up in her eyes. “We have a vast collection of engagement rings and I'm sure we will find something to your liking.”

“Money is not the issue,” Sam says those magic words that make Marlene even more excited, so it seems. “The bigger and more extravagant, the better.”

Marlene smiles widens, appearing incredibly sweet and harmless on the surface. But Dean knows a predator focusing on its prey when he sees it.

On instinct he actually wants to take a step back and hide, but instead he gathers enough courage to meet her smile. It's still somewhat wobbly, but she probably blames it on his alleged nervousness about that big change in his life.

“Why don't you tell me a little bit about your Cas?” she prods him. “What is he like?”

Dean shoots a quick glance at his brother, cursing him for having to endure this in the first place, before clearing his throat and responding, “He's … um, awesome.”

Way to go, Winchester.

She is certainly swooning on the spot.

Dean winces inwardly and forces himself to get a little bit more into his role. After all, he is used to the undercover life, so this shouldn't be too hard.

For a minute there he even considers to lie about Cas' personality, wondering whether that would make it easier to talk about him to a total stranger, but as he's just about to come up with some made-up character traits, he hears himself saying, “Well, to be fair, he's an asshole.”

Marlene looks at him in surprise while Sam in the background rolls his eyes.

“Uh … okay?” Marlene answers, clearly not sure how to reply to that.

“Cas is grumpy,” Dean goes on, now a fond smile flickering over his features. “I'm quite certain he is the biggest grump in the history of mankind, to be honest. And he's way too sassy for his own good. Also he has no idea how to clean up after himself and he always hums those annoying jingles he heard on the radio or whatever. All day. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone mad many years ago.”

Or maybe he has.

With his life, who could tell?

“But he's also a badass,” Dean continues, registering the only other employee who's been lacking any customers at the moment sliding closer with clear interest in her eyes. “No one should dare to screw around with him. And the few that actually did regretted it pretty quickly.”

That's, of course, an understatement actually, but he won't go into much detail now. For those poor women's sanity.

“And he cares, so much,” Dean goes on, an affectionate smile settling on his face when his thoughts drift closer to Cas. It's an automatic response at this point and he's pretty sure it'll stay like that for the rest of his life. “Even about that stupid little fly that got lost into our room a couple of weeks ago. It feels like we spent hours catching that thing and releasing it back into the wild. But what could you have done, you know? Cas would've been miserable if that fly would've died inside and that's something nobody wants to see. Believe me. He looks like a kicked puppy when he's sad.”

The salesladies scoots even closer, captivated by Dean gushing over his boyfriend. While Sam subtly starts to step back a little and check out the rest of the display, trying to locate the wristband of their obnoxious ghost.

Dean clears his throat, despite still feeling like he's been thrown into icy water without any warning whatsoever by his traitorous brother more than determined to play this role like their lives depend on it. After all, there here and they might not get a second chance.

So Dean gives it all he's got.

“So yes, Cas, he's great,” he says. “He's been my best friend for such a long time now and I … I guess I want him at my side for the rest of my life. And even beyond that.”

Dean smiles at the image of sharing his Heaven with Cas one day. It might be a hassle to get there at first – after all, Cas' relationship with his brethren is still not the best –, but Dean has no doubt that it'll come true eventually. Cas is way too much of a stubborn son of a bitch to not see this through.

Dean blinks as he suddenly realizes that he is in fact beginning to fantasize about Cas by his side forever as a real possibility.

Huh.

“As mentioned, we have a vast collection of engagement rings to help you start this new chapter of your life,�� Marlene says with a happy sigh. “We would be more than happy to help you with your endeavor.”

Dean stares at her for a moment.

Oh right. Rings. The case.

“Yes, right,” he mutters, a slight blush on his face now. “It … it needs to be perfect.”

Marlene and her colleague – Amanda, as her name tag tells him – immediately spur into action and for the next ten minutes Dean sees himself confronted with a huge variety of different rings in all shapes and forms. A few are actually quite simple and elegant – silver bands with a couple of nice highlights – and some are seriously so over-the-top pompous and big Dean has no idea how a normal human being should be able to wear that on their hand.

But he smiles at them all and fakes such exaggerated interest both Marlene and Amanda seem to believe they're in Heaven themselves.

And it seems like a freaking eternity until Sam pops up next to him again.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he jumps right into their enthusiastic conversation. “My girlfriend just texted me. Her doctor's appointment ended way earlier than expected and I need to pick her up.”

A blatant lie, of course, considering Eileen is back at the bunker with Cas, probably getting her ass beaten in every single board game invented by the best of all strategists Heaven has ever produced.

“But don't worry, Dean will be back shortly,” Sam promises right away as both Marlene and Amanda look rather crestfallen at those news. “After all, Dean can't wait to get married.”

They bid hasty goodbyes and are soon enough back on the streets again.

“So, any luck?” Dean asks when he's starting to remember the real reason why they went into the store in the first place.

“I found the wristband,” Sam admits. “But there's no suspicious energy to it. It's just jewelry.”

“Damn,” Dean sighs. “Well, it was worth a shot, at least.”

“Yeah …”

“And that was one hell of a cover story, Sammy,” Dean can't help pointing out for some reason.

Sam shoots him a quick glance, something intense flickering over his features.

“It wasn't though, right?” he asks in the end. “A cover story, I mean. Not really, at least.”

Dean frowns. On first instinct he wants to deny that, just wants to scoff at his brother's face and get on with his life, but then he thinks about Cas and how nice he would look with a ring on his finger and he finds himself lowering his gaze to cover up the flush on his cheeks.

“Uh … well, maybe it wasn't really a cover story after all,” he admits, his voice low, yet steady.

“So you want to go back?” Sam wonders, a smile on his lips. “ Look at those rings again? When this case is over and everything.”

Dean blinks. A few of those rings actually did look kind of awesome, if he's honest with himself. And sure, they're pretty expensive, but also very durable (an important feature in their line of work), and Dean surely didn't lie when he said that Cas only deserves the best.

So he finds himself muttering, “Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind going back” and feels rather good about it.

Seems like Dean seriously has an important purchase to make after all.

#destiel #spnstayathome #fanfic #fic #drabble #fluff #established relationship #fanfiction: mine

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dannifielding · 3 years ago

Text

In which Cas catches Amelia

So, this idea came to me this morning, and so I had to write it up. This is set somewhere at the beginning of Season 6.

Light sexual content and a little bit of fun.

Hope you like it ^_^

To Castiel, it felt like fighting this war would never end. He believed in the cause he was fighting for. If he had been human, he was sure the phrase was ‘with his whole heart’. As it stood, along with a soul, a metaphorical heart wasn’t something he possessed. His grace was his whole being so he guessed he could use that instead. He wasn’t sure how immutable human sayings actually were.

But it still felt like it would never end. Every small victory he seemed to win was countered by a small loss on his side. Back and forth the two factions fought, one wanting to follow the script and the other wanting the freedom to choose. Now that he had found that freedom, he was never going to let it go, no matter what the cost. No matter how far he fell. They all deserved it, human and angels alike. He just wished everyone could see it.

He hadn’t been down to earth in what felt like eons, but time wasn’t something that really passed in Heaven. Everything just was, or wasn’t, or would be. Still, it felt like eons, and he desperately wanted to head down. He couldn’t though. He couldn’t risk leaving Heaven just for a little jaunt to see the woman he was so enamoured with, no matter how much he wanted to. More and more frequently excuses came up, and now he felt guilty leaving for anything but genuine danger. He missed her terribly, though, and the respite visiting her gave him. She never had any expectations of him. She just enjoyed his company. Even now, the feeling was new and exciting, and very much welcomed. He just wished that he could return the favour more often.

“Cas…”

He paused. He was about to head off to be briefed by some of his higher subordinates, but Amelia’s soft voice reached him before he left. He heard her prayers often as she updated him on their ‘little human lives’ – her words, most definitely, because they were all very large to him. They brought him comfort, and a little amusement, and he was very grateful that she took the time to talk to him. However, this was different. She wasn’t praying to him; she was reaching out to him. The words were coming from her lips but they weren’t being directed to him. It was a very different feeling from a prayer. It felt… It felt desperate.

He hesitated only slightly, until the next breathy sound of his name reached him, and he was instantly down on Earth, briefings and wars be damned. She needed him, she was in danger, and he wasn’t going to stand around and let her get hurt. He was going to save her. The whole war was pointless if she wasn’t there to be saved as well.

He appeared in a dark hotel room, angel blade already out and ready to fight whatever was hurting Amy. There was no sign of danger, or struggle. There were no monsters, no angels, no demons. In fact, he realised, that it was rather late at night and the whole area was calm with humans either sleeping or getting ready to sleep.

Except Amelia, who was in bed, breath panting and she breathed his name again. She was alone, and in the dark, and he couldn’t quite work out what was happening or why she had needed him so much that it had reached him in Heaven.

Or, in fact, what the buzzing noise was that came from the bed with her.

He lowered his blade and watched for a moment, trying to figure out what was happening. She barely moved on the bed, eyes closed, mouth open as she continued to pant his name. He had never seen her do that before, perhaps she was unwell, perhaps.

“Shit, shit, Cas…” she moaned out loud before biting her lip.

He felt a little foolish, and suddenly rather stunned, to realise that she wasn’t in trouble at all. And as her back arched, and she swore a few more times, he realised that she hadn’t been desperate for him out of pain, but out of pleasure.

It took a moment, but the buzzing stopped, and she fell back onto the bed, and he didn’t know what to do. He knew that this was a rather private time for humans, and he felt like he shouldn’t have been watching. But he couldn’t help it. He could feel the pleasure that she was feeling, the hormones and emotions that had been swirling around inside of her. He had been led to believe that human sexual encounters were messy and full of strange noises and positions. She had just looked beautiful.

Amelia, for a brief moment, enjoyed the aftermath of her orgasm. Nothing was quite the same as the touch of another person, but damn it did really hit the spot. She was so glad that she travelled with Dean and Sam, neither of which would ever go through her bags. And she was even more grateful for her own motel room.

Her eyes were closed, but as always happened she saw the bright glow of angel grace through her eyelids and she quickly sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. She was ready for a fight, as she’d been distracted enough not to see that it was Cas’s grace until she saw the awkward angel in the corner.

She had a few thoughts in her head. First was that she was so happy to see him, because it had been a while since she’d seen him in person and she always worried that something would happen to him. The next was wondering what had brought him down to Earth and if he was immediate danger.

The third was that he’d cause her mid-act, but she didn’t want to think about that, so she forced that out and stood up out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around her into a makeshift dress, quickly stashing her favourite toy underneath the pillow for dealing with after he’d left.

“Cas!” she greeted, brushing over what she had been doing. “I wasn’t expecting… Is everything alright? Are you hiding? Is—” she glanced at the door. “Are you being chased?”

“No, I’m fine,” he dismissed as he always did. “You called out for me.”

She frowned for a moment, because she certainly hadn’t called for him. Then she blanched slightly as she realised that she actually had. “Oh? I-I didn’t mean to interrupt you, if you were busy.” She spotted the angel blade in his hand. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He nodded once but didn’t answer her straight away, but he was curious and he wasn’t sure how to ask her. “Were you masturbating?” He knew it was a delicate subject for humans, and the way her eyes widened suggested he hadn’t broached it in the best manner. “You called out for me in pleasure,” he explained, hoping the help. “I didn’t realise at first, I thought you were in danger.”

She turned her head to look at the bed. “No, no, I did do that,” she agreed softly before turning back to him. She wondered how to delicately explain what she had been doing to him without both freaking him out, and feeling more embarrassed than she already did, but she quickly realised that subtly was going to go right over his head.

So, she took a deep breath, put her big-girl pants on and nodded. “I was, yes,” she told him. “And, I guess, I was a bit louder than I meant to be. Sorry about that.”

“Were you thinking about me?” he asked, against sounding curious rather than judgemental. She did adore that about him; he just always wanted to seem to want to know more about humans and how they worked. So, she nodded. “Why?”

Well, that was a loaded question, wasn’t it? “Um…” she said, stalling slightly as she tried to work out the best answer. Starting from the very top was probably for the best. “Because I fancy you,” she explained kindly, taking his free hand in hers. “And because humans, as a whole, crave contact with others they care about. It’s not always sexual, of course. I mean, I love hugs from Dean, and sometimes I kiss Uncle Bobby on the cheek when I’m feeling fond of him, and…” She shook her head, trying stop herself rambling. “What I mean is, it doesn’t always have to be sexual, but for a lot of people it is. And I, lucky for you—” she gave his arm a little, cheeky tug, “-am a rather horny person. When I hurt, I have sex. When I’m happy, I have sex. And when I fancy you and want to jump your bones, well, I like to have sex too.”

He looked down at their joined hands. He did like the feel of her hand in his, and he had been rather surprised and delighted when they’d first started kissing. He could see the appeal of wanting to be close to someone. “And you want to, as you say, ‘jump my bones’?”

She could hear the little bit of mirth in his voice that said that understood, at least a little, of what she meant. “Very much so,” she replied boldly, a grin on her face that fell into a kind smile. “But we are definitely not there yet, and that means, being the horn-dog that I am, I have to take it into my own hands-on occasion to relax myself. Apparently I’ve just never been that loud before, so I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you into my human problems like this. I hope I haven’t made you too uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he promised her and she looked immediately grateful at his words. He was glad, but her explanation kept his brows furrowed. “Are you disappointed that we don’t engage in that side of a relationship together?”

“Am I disappointed that we’re not having sex?” she asked in clarification and he nodded. “Yeah, a bit,” she admitted. “Am I disappointed with you? Definitely not.” She let go of his hand to cup his cheek. “Cas, I am not disappointed on where we are,” she promised. “This is so new to you, I never expected to just jump into bed straight away. I mean, humans have so many years to explore their feelings, you’ve only had free will for, what, a few years? I would rather never have sex at all rather than force you into something that might not even be something you ever want.”

Her touch on his skin felt wonderful, and his heart – which suddenly he was convinced he had – swelled with pure affection for her. “You did look very satisfied,” he admitted.

She shrugged. “I’m very good at what I do,” she bragged before pausing, a smirk spreading onto her face. “How long were you watching me for, exactly, Cas?”

“I wanted to make sure you were not in danger,” he replied, his eyes dimming just slightly and telling her that he wasn’t being wholly truthful with her.

“You don’t need to be shy,” she continued, deciding to tease him just a little bit. “Did you like what you saw?”

Being able to make Cas flush held a special place in her heart, and flush he did. “I have never seen you like that, before. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.”

She took that as a positive, and internally felt a little hope for her sex life. She made sure that her sheet was secure, then took his hand back in hers to swing lightly. “How about this,” she started. “Next time the mood takes me, I’ll let you know? Then you can come have a look and see how you feel? You don’t even have to be visible, if it makes you more comfortable.”

His brows furrowed, his confused look back on his face. “Would that not embarrass you?”

She shook her head. “Nah,” she dismissed. “I was in a porn movie once; it doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?” he asked, very surprised. She thought asking him about how he knew what porn was best left for another night.

She shrugged. “It was when I first started college. I was just in the background making out with a couple of women, but there were a lot of people and cameras. Which, I admit, isn’t exactly the same as being watched whilst I’m masturbating, but you see my point.”

He was still so amazed by her openness, and he hoped that the war raging above them would allow him to come see her. “I will bare that in mind,” he told her. “But, as you are not in danger, I have to go.”

She sighed, exaggerating the noise to hide how disappointed she actually was. “Will you come back soon?”

“As soon as I can,” he promised “May I kiss you before I leave? Or will that ‘rile’ you up too much?”

Her mouth fell open slightly as he looked amused at his own cheek. “Why you…” she started before laughing. She chucked her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss where she could feel the smile on his face, one that matched her own. A kiss they both wanted to last for a lot longer than it did, and a kiss they both very much needed.

Then he was gone, leaving her alone in her sheets. She pulled them tighter around her, now feeling colder than she had done before she’d spotted him. She turned to face her bed, where her favourite toy sat underneath the pillow. She sighed heavily to herself and pushed her sadness and concern over the angel that had burrowed his way into her heart away in favour of cleaning up so she could get some sleep.

#ocappreciation #supernatural oc #spn oc #amelia miller #bright eyes #just a drabble

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bnhascribbles · 5 years ago

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Acrophobia

Hawks x Reader

Friendship, Secrets, Arguing; This was supposed to be something completely different, but stuff happens the way it does I guess. This was a hard one to trudge through and there MIGHT be a part 2 eventually if I can get through this slump I’m in. As always, thanks for reading!

Words: 3k

Warnings: swearing

Your bubble tea sweats in your palms, condensation gathering along the thin plastic and mirroring the layer of moisture clinging to your forehead. Despite the heat (or maybe because of it), the air feels icy as it whisps across your cheeks. The sensation makes it impossible to forget exactly where you are, where you’ve been coerced to spend your lunch break. You duck low, taking another gulp of your drink as you lean your back against the concrete barrier lining the rooftop.

It doesn’t help. Your tea—every dentist’s nightmare, infused with all sorts of artificial sweeteners—is bitter on your tongue. The world seems fuzzy too, like you’re looking at a video taken by the world’s crappiest flip phone. Underwater. With a cracked lens. Through it all, you tingle from head to toe. You’re half convinced you’ve got ant colonies ready to crawl out from beneath your nails.

So much for exposure therapy. Whatever psychologist came up with that brilliant idea—overcoming your fear by throwing yourself into it—was probably some sort of sadist. Sure, it was a bit more complicated than just forcing yourself into an uncomfortable situation. You’d worked yourself up to this point. After what felt like thousands of appointments with your therapist, you could finally look at pictures of cliffs and feel nothing. You could close your eyes and imagine peering over the edge, seeing the drop. That was an easy thing to do when you were sitting in an office on the ground floor. This wasn’t easy.

You wish you could be more like Hawks. He had a “thing” for high places. It wasn’t entirely unexpected considering his quirk. He’d probably been flying for as long as he’d been walking, and what person takes the time to think about the pavement between steps? To really consider the possibility that they could trip, crack their face on the cement and...whatever. Never once in your many years knowing him had you ever seen him show an ounce of hesitation in his work. Cartwheels performed midair, nosedives from thousands of feet up—it was like the man had no fear whatsoever. Not even the healthy kind. Maybe he believed he just couldn’t fall, not even if he tried.

The tingling starts up again. God, what you would do to have some of that blissful arrogance of his. Distraction. You need a distraction. As if on cue, one presents itself in the form of Hawks’s ridiculous ringtone blaring out of his pocket.

“Shouldn’t you get that?” You ask, only pull your lips away from your straw for long enough to finish the question.

If Hawks hears you, he does a god-awful job of showing it. Rather than reaching into his jacket, doing anything he can to silence the sound of the Angry Bird theme—already nearing the end of its third repeat—he simply swings a leg over the same barrier you’d take cover behind. He seems completely unperturbed by the noise and the 40-story drop beneath the soles of his feet. Even imagining the look of it is enough to make it feel like rooftop is rocking beneath you, less-than-solid.

“It’s probably just the agency.” Hawks says, like that’s a perfectly normal reason to ignore a call in the middle of the day.

“All the more reason to answer it. It’s your agency!” When he doesn’t so much as turn back to look at you, you press on. “What if it’s an actual emergency, huh? What if some daycare somewhere is burning down and they desperately need society’s darling to go and do damage control? Really gonna risk letting the whole of society crumble because you need a longer coffee break?”

Hawks twists so that he’s facing the rooftop, his coffee can pressed to his lips. The phone rings and rings and rings, and he just stares down at you, unconcerned, with one eyebrow quirked upwards. Only when his phone finally goes silent does he let his smirk peek over the edge of his drink.

“Whoops. Looks like I missed it.”

You shoot him a look. He has the gall to grin.

“Don’t look so disappointed, now. They’ll call back if it’s important.”

You roll your eyes and lean your head back against the wall. “If you’re the best and brightest the heroes have to offer, then I’m honestly terrified of what’ll happen the day a competent villain decides to strike. How a lazy bum like you ever got to be number two is still a mystery to me.”

“Hell, me too.”

You scoff. “Liar.”

“Wow, there’s really no pleasing you, is there?” Hawks laughs. As usual, your chiding has absolutely no effect on that carefree air of his. In fact, you have to think that it’s encouraging him, making him work extra hard just to see if he can’t get some sort of reaction.

“Not—“

You’re cut off by Angry Bird as Hawks’s phone rings to life a second time. You shoot the man a look that you’re sure embodies every ounce of the I-told-you-so energy you feel yourself exuding. Hawks sighs like it’s all such a hassle—this picking up the phone business—before he finally reaches into his pocket and peers at the screen.

Something is different this time. It’s almost imperceptible, but you see it nonetheless—the way Hawk’s eyes go wide for a fraction of a second. It’s over quick though, and he’s back to sighing as he balances his coffee can on the ledge beside him and tugs at the finger of his glove.

“Guess I was right, huh?” You all-but sing. It wasn’t everyday you got the opportunity to hold something over him, and it wouldn’t be right to let this one pass.

Hawks doesn’t take the bait. Instead of biting back with something witty (as he was always so fond of doing), he settles for muttering a heart hearted “oops” as he sideswipes his drink off of its perch. It plummets into your lap, and although the can is already empty, that fact doesn’t stop the surprised yelp you let out.

“Hawks, you damn chicken—“

“Heeeeey, how’s it going?” Hawks says, speaking loudly, his voice so bright you can practically hear the grin stretching across his face. You give his leg a shove, and it swings back around to smack you in the shoulder with more force than you’re willing to attribute to momentum. “Nothing much over here. Same old same old. But keep talking—it’s been a while, and you know I miss hearing that voice of yours.”

Consider your curiosity piqued. You mouth “who” as you tap at his knee. Hawks casts you a glance, then places a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture that makes you grind your teeth together.

“Hey now, what’s with the attitude? I did everything I could to be there, but you know how hero stuff is—” Hawks stops abruptly, and you manage to prop yourself up on your knees just in time to listen in on some incoherent chattering on the other end of the line. That’s about all you manage to catch. You can’t seem to pick up on anything from this mystery (?) caller, not when Hawks is interjecting with mmmhm’s and yeahs every second or two. You lean in to get a better listen.

Before you hear anything, Hawks stands, planting the soles of his feet on the narrow ledge and rising to his full height. It’s a sudden movement, and instinctively you make to follow him.

A stupid thing to do given the acrophobia.

The moment you rise—the very instant you catch sight of the open air just beyond the concrete barrier and remember what lies below—you drop back down to your knees. You inhale shakily and fight the urge to curl up into a tiny ball.

It’s absolutely ridiculous, you know. You’re not going to fall—you physically can’t. You’re on solid ground. Well, mostly solid. There are offices below you, empty space for the roof to fill when it crumbled like a stale piece of bread. Then the ones even further down could do the same, then—

No. No. That’s a dumb thought. God, why were you always like this? Why was one, insignificant thing enough to just...set you off? Nothing had changed since you’d first braved the way up here. It was the same solid roof beneath your feet (that could still crumble). The same sturdy barrier against your back (that could still give way). You were with the same reckless companion, the one that always walked the thin line (or ledge) between safety and certain death.

You begin to hyperventilate. Knowing who Hawks is talking to seems far less important now.

“No...no. Listen, I—mmhm.” Hawks paces, still focused on his conversation. Then he turns to face the roof and sees you, your unfocused eyes, your trembling shoulders. He stands there for a minute, mouth opening, then closing. Like he wants to say something, but the words are just...stuck.

Hawks’s wings make a smooth, whooshing sound, extending slightly as he hops back down to the roof. He squats down beside you, reaches out, but hesitates when he sees the way you flinch. Concern mars his features, and you take his hand in yours, scrambling to piece together some semblance of a reassuring response. He didn’t need to be worrying about you. This was nothing and you’d be fine.

The voice at the other end of the phone speaks up before you do. You can’t make out a single word of it, but the way Hawks’s eyebrows furrow says enough. It isn’t a pleasant thing being said. You give his fingers a squeeze and he inhales sharply.

“It’s nothing, don’t—okay, I get it. I just said I get it. No use lecturing me now, I’ll be better. Prove myself to you.” Hawks glances up at the skyline, then to the door leading to the stairwell. His eyes eventually meet yours.

You’re good. You mouth the words and give his fingers a squeeze. Hawks stares for a moment longer, hesitant, then sighs.

“In fact, I’m on my way over right this second...yes, right now. Just so you know, I’m bailing on something important for you; does that make you happy?” There’s a pause. Hawks laughs, and you know the man well enough to know how fake the gesture is. Higher pitched than usual, less of a cackle, more of a grunt. It doesn’t sound right coming from him. “I knew it would. See ya’ in a few.”

He hangs up. Hawks doesn’t even have to speak before you’re cutting him off.

“Don’t say anything.”

Hawks frowns. “I wasn’t going to.”

“Yes you were. You were gonna ask if I’m okay, which I already told you I am. We don’t need to talk about it any more.”

“Is this a height thing again?” When you shoot a severe look his way, he pulls his hand away from yours and scratches at the back of his neck, exhaling. “We don’t need to talk about it any more.” Hawks echoes.

“Good.”

Barely a second passes. “...but you do know that you’re not gonna fall, right?”

“Hawks,” you groan.

“Statistically speaking, it just won’t happen. But even on the one in a million chance that it did—”

“—this really feels like ‘talking about it...’ ”

“—you really think I’d let you hit the ground?” Hawks continues, unfazed. He says it like it’s so simple. ‘Can’t fall if I’m here to catch you.’ Problem solved.

“Mmmm, okay you’ve made your point. That’s a very good argument you have there, ” you offer, leaning forward on your knees and making a face like you’re deliberating on every word, “but see, the whole thing about irrational fears is...well, they’re kind of irrational.”

Hawks lets out a quick “hah” sound and shakes his head. He makes like he’s going to stand up, but you grab his arm and yank him back down. “Oh no, I’m not done with you yet. Tell me about this person you’re bailing on me for.”

“Like eavesdropping, do ya’?” Hawks jokes with an easy tone of voice.

“You weren’t exactly whispering. Besides, you didn’t sound too happy talking on the phone.”

“Because it was somebody telling me to stop enjoying myself and get back to work. Not something that’s really fun to hear.”

“Interesting.” You ponder out loud, intentionally. “What kind of work is ‘hero stuff’ keeping you from doing?”

“The same ‘stuff’ that’s gonna be pissed if I don’t get my ass in gear and go already.”

“Come on, Hawks.”

“Maybe next time.” Hawks sighs as he rises. What he really means is ‘no.’ He never says it outright though. He’d rather dance around questions of “when” or just lie outright and let you forget in the meantime. That way, the pair of you never have to have that conversation on how friendships are kind of supposed to be two-way things.

Sometimes, calling Hawks a friend feels wrong. He has habits and quirks you’ve come to recognize after knowing him as long as you have, true. But he’s still a mystery as far as his personal life goes. You know he never went to U.A. or some other hero school, but you don’t know why he started his agency in the first place. You know he likes coffee and snacks loaded with sugar, but you don’t know if he has any family to pester him about his lousy eating habits. You know he’s brave and proud and his smile can light up an entire room, but you don’t even know his real name. Really, the only thing that separates you from the hundreds of thousands of people that worship him from a distance is the amount he knows about you.

Every time the pair of you meet, he sees fit to interrogate you about all the happenings in your life. Had you finally been assigned to that one project you’d been gushing about? Was your landlord still being an asshole about the plants you keep on your balcony? Were you ever going to check out that new club on the other side of town? A little birdy told him it was good, and he thought it was your sort of thing... But everything always changes when you try to flip the conversation and talk about him. Hawks flutters around your questions like they’re nothing, uses jokes to derail the discussion or finds some excuse to leave. Information only floats in one direction with him.

If all you wanted someone to listen to you talk about your life, you’d see your therapist.

“Not the agency then.” You say, pushing yourself up to your feet. You’re going to fight to get anything you can out of the conversation. “So is it a girl?”

Hawks begins to pull his gloves back on. “That’d make for a hell of a headline.”

“Is it a guy?”

“Why? You jealous?” Hawks counters with that lopsided grin of his. He’s doing what he does best: he’s driving things in the direction he wants them to go. “You sure are asking a lot of questions today.”

“And you’re not answering any of them!”

“I’m not?”

“No, you’re definitely not.” You say, and you mean for it to come out playful, but the edges of your frustration peek through the cracks.

Hawks’s hesitates. The corner of his smile twitches. “And you’re mad about it.” It isn’t a question. Your silence is an answer nonetheless. “Because I won’t tell you about a phone call?”

“It’s not just about the phone call, Hawks.” Hawks doesn’t respond after that. He knows. He’s far from the idiot he pretends to be. ‘Too fast for his own good,’ and his wit is no exception.

“It’s fine.” You lie. “You’ve said it before: it’s a hero thing. There are going to be secrets I can’t know and I’ll just have to get over it. But it’s everything with you, Hawks. Everything is a secret. Heroes have to take off their costumes and turn into people at some point—even the fucking number one Endeavor becomes Enji Todoroki—but not you. You’re always just Hawks. Keeping everyone at an arm's length and pretending you aren't, me included.”

There’s silence, a tense moment where neither of you speaks. They don’t come often, and maybe that’s why it feels as strange as it does. There’s this...empty feeling deep in your stomach as Hawks stands there pulling his headphones over his ears.

“Hawks is my name.” Hawks finally says with a little bit of a lilt to it. Another joke, the only thing he knows how to do. And you laugh. Not because it’s actually funny, but because of course you should’ve seen this coming. The conversation is over—Hawks has made that clear in his own way.

He’s still the untouchable number two, and you’re still out of your element. Why would he ever need someone like you looking out for him, caring about him?

“Not your real one.” You spit when Hawks turns his back to you. “But like everything else about you, that’s just a guess.”

Hawks peers over his shoulder at you. You don’t know why; he doesn’t get the chance to say or do anything before his phone rings for the third time that afternoon.

He mumbles a quick “shit” under his breath and he’s taking off, vaulting over the edge of the rooftop, becoming just another part of the cityscape. You usually try not to watch him take off; Hawks is comfortable in the skies, and that means he flies like a madman, narrowly avoiding collisions with billboards and edges of buildings by what looks like centimeters. This time though, you watch. You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him as he goes nearly vertical, soaring upward into a cloud bed only to reemerge from a completely different part as an obscure splotch of red on the horizon. You swallow down the sour taste on your tongue when he dives downward and gets lost in the glare of the sunshine.

Standing there, obsessing like you always seem to, an image floods your vision. It’s as clear as the sight of your own hand creating craters in the remains of your cup. You see the crowd beginning to form. The blue and red flashes ricocheting off shop windows. The looks the officers shoot your way, the way they tug down the brim of their caps as you shove past and see the wash of crimson staining the street, the handful of feathers floating so easily on the air. You figure that even in the deepest parts of your imagination, he really doesn’t think he can fall. Doesn’t think he needs to give anyone the opportunity to catch him.

#hawks x reader #bnha x reader #bnha hawks #keigo takami x reader #bnha keigo takami #bnha reader insert #mha x reader #keigo takami

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lineffability · 5 years ago

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// and the angel said unto them, do not be afraid // Luke 2:10

Aziraphale was in a good mood. Which was sort of his State Of Being, what with him being an angel and goodness incarnate and generally Holier Than Thou.

That was the way he liked to think of himself, anyways. He didn’t like to look past that thin, fragile layer into the burning depths out of which he had been forged. His goodness was the crust of the earth, the protective layer that made life possible on the surface.

What lay beneath was both life-giving and deeply destructive. Like God herself, in that way. Shaped in Her image.

Hellfire was not the most cataclysmic force around.

Like most angels, it was a part of him he kept under lock and had mostly forgotten (denied). Aziraphale had worked hard to shape himself into who he wanted himself to be. Who he had consciously chosen to be.

He was a being of love, at the end of it all.

And the things he loved and surrounded himself with were like the homemade, cross-stitched fabric of his soul: food and books and warm colours; softness and fondness and contentment; and Crowley.

(Woe betide the fool who might try and rip a hole into this fabric, to snatch a thread and force it to unravel--to reveal what lay neatly tucked away underneath.)

Currently, Aziraphale was in particularly high spirits, because he had struck a most pleasing book deal, and was on his way back to his shop with a pack of chocolates under his arm, and was also very much looking forward to Crowley returning tonight from his little trip over to Wales where he was wreaking some Moderate Inconvenience for old time’s sake.

He entered his shop with a smile on his face: a smile that died when he saw the tall, broad man clad in a perfectly-fitting grey suit standing right there in the centre of the room, waiting for him on the carpet that he knew hid a rather occult chalk sketch.

“Gabriel.” Aziraphale fixed his bowtie, smiling a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This is a... surprise?”

Behind the angel, Aziraphale could see the answering machine blinking at him from under a pile of books--an ugly device, really, but Crowley had pestered him to get one set up so much he had to give in at some point, that wily old serpent--and his thoughts involuntarily wandered off to the demon. Not exactly an appropriate moment.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel smiled his business smile, play-punching Aziraphale on his shoulder as he came up to him. The angels had kept their distance ever since The Hellfire Incident; this was the first time Aziraphale had seen the Archangel since that day, a few months ago now. “Old boy! Just dropped by to update you on some stuff; keep in touch, right? Well, anyways, about the demon Crowley--”

Aziraphale straightened, lips parting slightly.

“--well, about him, you’ll have to manage without him for a bit, nothing serious. No harm done, right? Well, no permanent harm, anyways.” He laughed, as if he’d made a little joke. He had, only Aziraphale was not in on it yet.

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice sounded weak to his own ears.

“Oh, come on! You know we’re big on vengeance!” Gabriel beamed. “Of course, we honour our agreements, but a well-placed little discorporation has never hurt anyone, now, has it? Actually, scratch that, it hurts a little. Anyways, we acquired some fine murderers--aren’t humans just great? Murder by purchase, hilarious! They should be on their way to eliminate his earthly shell as we speak, just wanted to let you know.”

Aziraphale was barely listening anymore. The red light of the answering machine glowered at him from the depths of his consciousness like beastly eyes in the dark, its happy promise turned to bone-deep, spine-chilling dread.

Crowley, discorporated? His knees felt weak.

"Oh don’t look so upset, now. He’ll be back in no time, the paperwork only takes a few years down there. Anyways, I gotta run, duty calls, and--”

He stopped dead when he caught the look in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Aziraphale had never looked at him like that. Perhaps Aziraphale had never looked at anyone like that. Gone was the pudgy little man with eyes so blue they must’ve been taken right from the perfect sky of a picture book. He looked like rainclouds, like a cold desert, like a stormy sea about to come crashing down to drown the entire world. He looked like The Fury Of God, and Gabriel took a step backwards, involuntarily.

But just as suddenly as it had come on, the wave subsided (but oh, the dark sea remained). “It has not happened yet, you say?” His voice sounded strained.

“Oh, no,” Gabriel started, but Aziraphale, staring at the floor, merely snapped his fingers, and the Archangel disappeared as the carpet below him incinerated and the chalk beneath glowed white.

Another snap, and the answering machine started playing by itself.

“Aziraphale!” A chipper voice piped up, and the angel suddenly felt so scared he wanted to sink down onto the floor. “So, I was wondering, since I can’t quite recall--was Wales one of yours or ours? I mean,” and here he laughed, “I do know who’s responsible for Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch--still proud of that one. Anyways, come over to my place tonight at 7, I’ve brought you some bara brith and a bottle blanc de blancs.”

The rest of the tape ran empty. “Dammit, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, trying to convince himself that he was not about to cry. He rushed to the phone, and picked up the receiver. The right number started dialing by itself.

The clock showed 6.

“Angel? I know you miss me, but--”

“Crowley! Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale closed his eyes, the relief was so big.

“--really, gotta be patient only a little while longer.” Crowley’s voice was mischievous, a sentiment that currently went right over the angel’s head. “I still got some business to attend to in Hackney.”

“Wait, are you back in London?!”

“Oh yeah, just about to meet up with some shady people, y’know, my favourite kind, they wanted to strike some sorta deal and--oh, gotta go!”

“Crowley, wait!”

“Toodeloo!”

The line went dead, and Aziraphale, aggravated, threw the receiver down. It fell to the ground, so he picked it back up and put it on the holder, angrily. He felt like swearing.

He had to get to Crowley. Before they did.

Crowley was expecting nothing. If they really were trained assassins, and if they acted fast enough, there was a real chance his demon was in serious trouble.

It took half an hour to get from Soho to Hackney by cab or public transport. For a human.

Aziraphale had been out of shape for six thousand years, but right now he didn’t have time to acknowledge that fact. Reality would just have to deal with it. So he ran. He ran as if the devil was on his heels, even though it was in fact quite the opposite. After a few steps he was barely touching the ground anymore, while an Old power deep inside him reared its tired head. Nobody took notice of him, nor of the flash of white feathers that flickered in and out of existence around him as he moved, ever faster, dragging his body along for the ride.

Ten minutes later he stood in a dark alley, gasping for breath as he tried to put himself back together: literally; rearranging his atoms and reattaching the patches of Soul that had spilled over like water out of an overflowing cup, like cotton out of a crude and frayed doll.

He was close enough now, to feel him. Could sense the demonic aura.

(That was good, right? That meant he still had an aura.)

It didn’t take long to track him down.

Through a broken fence and along a wall full of horrendous graffiti and towards the entrance of an abandoned warehouse. It was a truly sinister place; no person in their right mind would meet up with strangers here. Except Crowley was no person (and quite possibly never in his right mind.)

(I don’t have a right mind, angel, Aziraphale could almost hear him say, I have a wrong mind. And I’m very much in it. Duh.)

The doors crumbled before him, evaporated into thin air that he could feel against his wings. He hadn’t bothered putting them away.

“Crowley?” he called.

And Crowley turned around, surprise on his face, and as if they had been waiting for this moment the two people he was now facing away from drew their guns.

Two shots echoed through the empty hall.

They never reached their target. Aziraphale lifted his hand, and for a moment everything stopped. The wave of his righteous fury came crashing down all over again, and this time there was no stopping it. When reality resumed, the bullets had found new targets.

With twin screams, the two henchpeople went down and writhed on the ground, their kneecaps shattered. When they looked up, they wished they hadn’t.

All they saw was bright white blinding fury, a vast nothingness so incomprehensible to the human mind that it burned their eyes and their souls, and inside that nothingness a million eyes staring right through them. There were whispers, in that place, echoes and ghosts and memories of worlds, and as the angel spread its wings they started screaming.

They stopped, abruptly, when the demon Crowley let them fall into merciful unconsciousness.

“Angel, that’s enough.”

The sound of Crowley’s voice reached him through a haze, and Aziraphale faltered. He turned towards the demon, and saw shock and worry on his face.

Crowley saw something else entirely: He saw Both. There was Aziraphale, tired and dishevelled and unbearably horrified and so very Human; and there was Aziraphale, blinding and manifold and unbearably Holy, and not human at all.

“Aziraphale,” he murmured, “it’s enough, now. It’s okay.”

And Aziraphale closed his eyes, and stood there as the light receded, and when he opened his eyes he was One again. And he looked terrified.

“Oh, Crowley,” he said, and his voice almost broke, it sounded so feeble. “You’re, you’re alright.”

Crowley, on the other hand--now that he had his angel back, he knew it, saw it--looked at him... almost a little smitten. He stepped closer, steadying the angel before he could ask. Though he tried to look Casual, he still scanned the angel’s face intently, until Aziraphale looked away.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he finally said, and after another moment: “Should I thank you?”

“Better not,” Aziraphale answered with a weak smile. “I could get into all sorts of trouble...”

Crowley smiled: faintly, softly. (Almost, very almost, he touched a hand to the angel’s cheek.)

“So, care to tell me what this is all about?” he asked instead, carefully circling around Aziraphale, his touch never quite leaving him.

Aziraphale pressed his lips into a fine line. “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Silence settled around them, and both their gazes landed on the poor unconscious souls lying in a heap on the ground.

“Well uhhh, alright, then,” Crowley spoke up, “So... Let’s get you home? I still have that sparkling wine in my Bentley, y’know the one.”

“Wait.” Aziraphale sighed, taking a few exhausted steps towards the two murderers acquired by Gabriel. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured as he took to healing their knees, “ When you wake up, you migth want to re-evaluate your choice of profession. And try not to believe what you saw.”

(Forgetting, he knew, was impossible. They would have to carry this burden for life. As did he.)

Crowley stood waiting, and then wordlessly walked by his side (his arm brushing against Aziraphale’s now and again, close enough to offer comfort with his presence, but keeping to himself.) He wasn’t quite sure what to make of this situation, wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he knew Aziraphale well enough to give him time.

He’d always needed time.

As they stepped outside, someone was waiting for them.

He was Gabriel--but not quite. A few inches smaller, a little lop-sided, with less of his perfect hair on his head. He looked like he’d been run through a pastry machine. And he looked pissed.

“You’ve really done it now, Aziraphale,” he snapped. “Discorporating an Archangel! Look at the fucking body they gave me!”

“You what?!” Crowley wheezed, incredulous and, not to his credit, looking absolutely delighted.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, and straightened his shoulders, and suddenly looked like his old self. Like his softness was his armour.

“I thought, despite everything, that you were still one of us... but I must have been wrong.” Cold anger sat deep in Gabriel’s eyes, and behind that, hidden, something like disappointment.

Aziraphale opened his mouth, instinctively, ready to go No, no, of course I still am, but then he glanced sideways at Crowley. And that was that. He knew.

They were still His Side... but right now, though he would never say the words out loud despite it all, there was only one thought burning inside him and it was:

Fuck My Side.

“No, I don’t suppose I am.” He said it as if he was realizing it only as he spoke, and a part of him did. Another part had known it for a long, long time. He looked Gabriel right in the eyes, holding his furious gaze with his own.

Beside him, he saw (felt) Crowley’s head snap around, just impercetibly, a motion so small that Gabriel would never notice, but Aziraphale did. Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s eyes had gone wide.

So this was it. The moment he had been so very scared of for so very long, but now that it was happening he suddenly was not scared anymore at all. Determined, he took a step forward, positioning himself slightly closer and slightly in front of Crowley. He thought he saw the demon smile softly, for just a second, a little unsure twitch in his cheek.

“I would appreciate it if you never did that again,” Aziraphale said, and somehow it sounded both like a polite request and a Threat.

And Gabriel, The Trial still present in his mind--the image of Azirapahle standing in Hellfire and basking in it--thought he saw that same Aziraphale again now. The Archangel smiled, a short and humourless smile that was mere acknowledgement, and then he snapped his fingers and was gone.

Crowley waved after him, a little wiggle of his fingers that he very much enjoyed.

Aziraphale felt all his strength leave him, yet at the same time he’d never felt stronger in his life. He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened. He had truly chosen his allegiance once and for all, and he knew it was the only decision he ever could have made.

The power that had so forcefully reminded him of its existence, never quite forgotten, still tingled beneath his skin, but it was only a soft stream now, and Aziraphale gently led it back down. The fabric of Himself was still intact. With a little smile, and an even littler glance to the demon by his side, he clasped his hands contentedly in front of his stomach.

Aziraphale knew who he had to thank for that. Wily old serpent, always meddling in his affairs. He’d better never stop.

“He’s a real jerk, that one, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale gasped, looking scandalized, and completely missed the irony of that. Then he grinned, and laughed, and looked at the ground and then back up into Crowley’s face, a little unsure.

“I guess you might, on occasion, have a point,” he conceded.

He smiled broadly, warmly, one of his best smiles, and Crowley, a little stricken, reciprocated. Suddenly nervous, he took off his sunglasses and tried to clean them with the hem of his shirt, before giving up and slipping them into his pocket, as had been his (very secret) intention all along.

They locked eyes, in the twilight, and almost seemed like bashful teenagers, ready to come of age but feeling very shy about it.

“What’s this horrible feeling all around here?” the demon asked suddenly, looking around. “It’s making my stomach all upset.”

“That would be love, my dear.” Unadulterated.

“Oh.” Crowley said nothing more.

But his hand brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s, just lightly grazing it, and the angel, as if by serendipity, turned his hand to face his--not quite taking it, but letting their fingers touch, and not pulling away.

_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_;_

tagging the people in the OP who sounded like they would want to be tagged:

@idinink @aangelphale @ohblessit @armoredavengers @e3105eb @ineffable-bisexual @cake-cow @snake-in-the-bookshop @crowleysscaredplants @the-best-pilot-in-the-resistance @crowleys--angel @qfantasydragon @aduckwithears @jesuisfabulous @azirafuck @snakecrowleyy @foolish-principalitee @crowleyraejepsen @azfellandco @on-our-own-side @imlowercasemad

#good omens #ineffable husbands #a/c #aziraphale x crowley #my omens #my writing #inefficable #why do i hurt the ones i love #the one in which aziraphale has had Enough

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the-trashy-phoenix · 3 years ago

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Supernatural season 8 review (part 2)

Link to part 1:

Season 8 is far way better than season 7, and overall one of the best seasons of Supernatural, because in my opinion it brings a lot of new and positive elements to the show, even if it has some flaws (like episode 08x04, I'm sorry but what was that?).

We left Dean and Castiel in purgatory, which from, one year after they got in, Dean escapes with a vampire called Benny (08x01), and reunites with Sam who has retired from hunting and started living a life with a woman, Amelia, who he has already broken up with. The relationship between the brothers is already strained because of Sam (who didn't look for him or for Kevin, who was captured by Crowley), and will eventually have its ups and downs throughout the season. Although I would understand why Sam wanted to live a normal life at this point (especially since everyone he knew died or disappeared), I don't think he should have left Dean in purgatory without looking for him (or for Kevin). They eventually find him and discover that there's also a demon's tablet that could send the demons to hell and close its gates forever, so that becomes their primary mission in season 8. Kevin then has to hide throughout the season to translate the tablet and to avoid being caught again by Crowley, the main enemy of the season. We discover many new aspects of his personality and life (such as his relationship with his mom, who appears in episode 08x02 and is a total badass), but also an evolution, from the terrified student to a prophet who no longer fears even Crowley. The first time I watched Supernatural Kevin was one of my favorite characters, perhaps also due to the fact that he was younger than everyone else and that he was vaguely almost my age, and even today I am fond of him, mainly because I love his character and because I am sorry that he had to live this life against his will.

The first episodes of the season contain a series of flashbacks showing the time the brothers were separated, Sam living a new life with Amelia and Dean in purgatory with Benny and Castiel. While I loved Dean's flashbacks, I admit that those who showed Sam's life with Amelia didn't excite me that much. I never really liked the relationship between the two, perhaps because I never liked Amelia as a character herself (she didn't pass on much to me), plus it allowed Sam to ignore all the problems that I think he should have dealt with in this case. The only thing I liked was being able to see Sam living a normal life, without the need to worry about saving more lives. I also think Sam's behavior throughout his time with Amelia was correct, especially when his husband came back, while I think Amelia should have been more determined and not have left Sam without knowing precisely what she wanted.

The period in purgatory, on the other hand, fascinates me particularly: the fact that it's focused on Dean, my favorite character, or that the dynamics between Dean, Benny and Castiel were much more intriguing made me probably wish there were more flashbacks like that. I forgot how much I appreciated Benny's character: it initially seems that he doesn't care about Dean and that he just wants it to get back to earth, but in latest episodes, especially in the period on earth, we notice how much he cares about him, so that he sacrifices himself to save Sam. We also learn more about him and how, even though he's a vampire, he doesn't want to hurt any human (and the thing I appreciated the most is the fact that he didn't let himself be corrupted by returning to life on earth, proving to be really good). Especially because of Sam and Dean's conflicts over having a vampire as a friend (which actually goes against Dean's usual ideals) Benny and Dean have no way of seeing each other that much on earth and Benny realizes that there's nothing left to stick him to that place (and that's why he decides to stay in purgatory once he saves Sam). Although I don't consider their relationship as strictly romantic as many do (though the basics were there), I've always enjoyed Benny’s relationship with Dean and I was sorry not to see it grow and develop (maybe even in something more, also because the parallels with the relationship between Sam and Amelia are quite present and the breaking up phase was very evident even for Dean, besides Sam, as Charlie makes us notice in episode 08x11, one of the two episodes in which she appears, along with the episode 08x20, and in which the relationship with the brothers, and especially with Dean, progresses to such an extent that she becomes a sister to both of them).

Another evolution of relationships is found between Dean and Castiel. The two end up in purgatory together, but Castiel escapes Dean immediately and he spends a lot of time that year (also with Benny) looking for the angel. Once found, we discover that he had avoided Dean to keep him away from the Leviathans and that Dean had prayed to Castiel every night to try to find him. There are several elements that make the dynamics between the two even more special: the fact that Dean desperately looked for him because he didn't want to leave without him, the joy of finding him again, the terror of finding out that Castiel had avoided and ignored him, and the relief of understanding that he had done so only to protect him add layers of depth to the relationship. When Dean can't save Cas, the guilt haunts him until Castiel shows up in front of him. We find out that Castiel wanted to stay in purgatory as punishment for doing all that damage in the past and that Dean thought he hadn't done enough to help him get out. At this point in the series I think there are at least some scenes that involve a possible outlet in a relationship that goes beyond just friendship. The most obvious moment is certainly in episode 08x17, a scene at the height of a series of events that strictly concern Castiel and his relationship with heaven. He returns from purgatory thanks to the angel Naomi, who puts him under her control, without him knowing it, to spy on the Winchesters especially to find the angel tablet, who could send the angels to heaven forever. Dean, suspicious from the first moment Castiel returns without knowing how, realizes that the angel is not okay and when the two find the tablet he tries in every way to prevent Castiel from taking it. The most shocking element is the fact that Naomi trained him in heaven to kill copies of Dean in such a way that, if necessary, he would also do so in reality. In fact, it looks like Castiel, who is totally controlled by Naomi, has no mercy on Dean and is willing to kill him, but, after an open-hearted speech and the famous "I need you" Dean utters, Castiel frees himself from Naomi's control, spares Dean and cures him. Now, it's indisputable that at "What broke the connection?" we would all answer "Castiel's love for you, Dean", but probably the most appropriate question would be "What kind of love?". From the point of view of a person who loves Destiel, I think Castiel still doesn't really realize the emotions he feels, but that certainly the form of love he feels for Dean comes close to being romantic, more than anyone else. The most obvious thing that makes me notice it is the fact that Naomi chose Dean for Castiel's training, and I think she did because if Castiel was able to kill Dean he would easily kill anyone else. I remember when I was fifteen years old, watching this scene for the first time and not shipping Destiel that much, this moment got me thinking. Castiel, however, once back in himself still takes the tablet and hides it from Dean, not trusting what he could do. Dean, when the two meet again, shows all his disappointment at knowing that Cas doesn't trust him, once again showing how much he cares about the angel. Luckily, the two manage to make peace and collaborate until the last episode, 08x23.

Also in episode 08x17 we meet Meg and, thanks to a conversation with Sam, in which he talks about the love he feels for Amelia, we understand that she feels something for Castiel. Probably if Destiel didn't exist I wouldn't mind seeing more of their relationship, but unfortunately Meg is killed a few minutes after that confession.

Castiel's main purpose during the course of season 8 is to redeem himself from the damage caused previously, and especially to help heaven return as it once was. That's why he lets himself be controlled by Naomi more easily and tricked by Metatron, who appears towards the end of the season and plans to bring all the angels out of heaven, making Castiel believe that they are closing the gates of heaven once and for all. Metatron makes him complete three trials, the last of which is to become a man. Castiel then, at the end of the last episode, finds himself both human and aware that he has caused all angels to fall from heaven, shown as a meteor shower in one of Supernatural's most magical scenes.

In the same episode Dean and especially Sam are busy closing the gates of hell forever. With Kevin's help, they discover that to do so they have to complete three tests, tests that also put a strain on their already rather complicated relationship. Given the danger and possible effects of the trials, Dean is the one who wants to deal with them without further discussion, trying to protect Sam at all costs, but his brother disagrees. And right now we see how Dean is now lacking that hope of lifting up and being happy that he once had. He is convinced that for him there is nothing but hunting for evil and knows that one day he will die doing just that. Hearing these words, especially after seeing the last episode of season 15, completely broke my heart. Because here it is understood that Dean, at least, does not think he is valuable enough to live a happy life outside of hunting, unlike Sam. Several times over the seasons Dean proves to be always the most pessimistic, who doesn't believe that he can win and above all that he is able to move on, and this side of it gets worse and worse, to the point of suicidal thoughts. For a character like Dean, who should have grown and realized that he was valuable enough to be happy, dying without a hint of struggle and survival instinct just when he could have been happy is really a terrible end (but I would say I can vent better about it in last season's review). As much as Dean wanted to be the one who would complete the trials, Sam accidentally passes the first one: to kill a hellhound and bathe in its blood (08x14). Sam, unlike Dean, wants to pass the tests because he wants to live on, optimistic, and so he will try to do it in every way. Dean isn't convinced Sam is the one who has to pass the trials and Sam thinks Dean wants to be the only one doing it because he doesn't trust anyone else, not even his brother. I think the problem isn't that Dean doesn't trust anyone else, but rather that Dean is only willing to hurt (and possibly kill) himself to close the gates of hell, and definitely not the person he cares about the most.

Unlike the first test, I was not completely satisfied with how the second was dealt with (08x19), freeing an innocent soul from hell (who turns out to be Bobby), because I think it was too easy to go to hell and above all find Bobby.

The last trial, on the other hand, is the most complex, the one that has been dealt with in the most interesting way and overall the best one: curing a demon and turning them into a human (08x23). The two brothers document themselves and spend quite some time searching for the magic formula (which is meant to be human blood), but the best thing is the demon on which they test this formula, Crowley, who is the enemy of the season and who proves to be Supernatural's best villain, both for his personality, for his own evolution and especially for his relationship with the Winchesters. A decisive aspect of this evolution is in fact precisely this transformation thanks to Sam's blood, which makes him incredibly more sensitive and empathetic (and in fact, although Sam does not complete the third trial and completely transform it, in the following season Crowley shows aspects of himself never seen before). In fact, Dean, once he learns that Sam, completing the trial, would die, convinces Sam to stop the trials and let go of the plan to close the gates of hell. This scene from the last episode is one of my Supernatural favorites, because it shows how much the two brothers care about each other, although they both made many mistakes, and how hurt Sam is that Dean does not trust him enough and prefers to collaborate with Benny or Castiel. Dean assures him that he is the person he would put in front of everyone else and helps him stop the pain he feels for trying to pass the third trial. While I love Castiel's relationship with Dean, I'm convinced Dean’s priorities are focused on Sam, because Dean not only played the role of older brother, but also father and mother, having been the only one to raise Sam, and the idea of seeing Sam die would completely destroy him (as we have already seen in the second season).

The two brothers, who have always lived alone in motels and cars, for the first time since the beginning of Supernatural find a "home". In episode 08x12, they meet their grandfather Henry, John's father, who has gone into the future to escape a Knight of Hell, Abaddon (who joins him and stays there), and they find out that he's part of an association called Men of Letters, the collectors of information on the supernatural who collaborate with a few hunters to handle the monsters, located in a bunker in Kansas. They then discover that they are also their legacy and decide to use that bunker, full of information that they were not aware of, as a base and home for research against the monsters they have to hunt.

The fact that the Winchesters finally have a place to live and create memories, the focus on the trials and the relationship between the two brothers, purgatory, Dean's relationship with Benny and Castiel and the fall of the angels are some of the elements that make season eight one of my favorites.

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laora-inn · 4 years ago

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Supernatural - Destiel in 11x13, or Why this episode shouldn’t be “fixed”

Looks like Billie in the last trailer is a villain, ha? ;) Remember that in 11x02 she said Sam that she will toss any Winchester who’ll die into the Empty? Wonder if she already had a deal with the Empty that time.

Back to Destiel moments in the show which, in my point of view, are underrated by fans. Let’s talk about some episodes in 11th season, shouldn’t we?

I’ve noticed that Destiel-shippers mostly don’t like the episode 11x13, you know, the one with Quareen, who looks like Amara to Dean. Though there are some explanations of this situation from Destiel shippers’ point of view. For example, @charlie-minion, a great meta-writer, whose works I’m absolutely fond of, wrote here:

In case there were still people thinking that Dean and Amara were a good thing, real love, the show gave us an episode about “darkest desires”. The spell that Melissa was given was never about LOVE; it was about something perceived as lustful, codependent, obsessive and selfish (as we learned from Staci, Dan, and Melissa). People expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form when facing Dean missed the whole point.

I am mostly agree with that, but this episode seems much more complex to me.

Because, you know, Dan, Stacy and Melissa look kinda familiar.

Two of them (Dan and Melissa) are in an established relationship. They even have a baby. Then the third one comes, a strong and possessive one (Stacy). She kissed Dan right after Melissa, in front of the nan cam, just to prove her right on him.

Melissa knows about danger which Stacy represents. Melissa truly loves Dan and wants him back, but chooses the wrong way to return his love. This is how we meet the witch of the week, Sonja, whose plan is not to help Melissa, but to kill ALL OF THEM - Dan, Melissa, Stacy. Looks like this witch just hates the whole world, especially people who love each other. She tries to twist their good feelings and for that uses Quareen, a creature, who takes form of their beloved ones.

I’m not saying that the parallel is absolute, but just think of it: Dean and Cas relationship, both of them EQUALS and caring for Sam, whom Dean is like a parent to. Then Amara comes. She kisses Dean to prove her right on him in 11x09 - after he saved Cas from Rowena’s curse in 11x03 and told about “not marriage, but something” with Sam in 11x04. Cas knows Amara is dangerous, he’s faced her. He also feels unloved and expendable - this message he’s got not only from Amara, but from her also. So, for the sake of being useful, especially for Dean, Cas says “yes” to Lucifer in 11x10. Lucifer, of course, promises to defeat Amara, to save the world (and Dean), although his plan is obviously not to help Cas and Dean with Amara, but to kill all of them. He just hates the whole world, especially people who love each other. Dean and Cas, for instance. He tries to twist their good feelings and for that - oh, guess what? - possesses one of them and looks exactly like him!

So, this episode is not only about Quareen Amara, but also about Lucifer and Destiel situation in the whole 11th season.

Note, that Lucifer in 11x11 doesn’t avoid Dean or reveals himself. He acts like Cas, talks to Dean, listens to him, follows him, even touches him! But he does it in a such way, that makes Dean vulnerable and almost gets him dead. Right after their meeting banshee sees Dean as her victim. And she only hunts for the vulnerable ones.

Quareen kills the victims by seducing them and ripping their hearts out. Lucifer in Cas’s vessel is obviously trying to seduce Dean, though really doesn’t care about Dean or his unwanted attraction to Amara, is going to use him as a bait, and all this crap seems to metaphorically rip the heart out of Dean. So banshee decides: oh, someone is vulnerable here. Just the way the man, who had a quarrel with his beloved wife - he was killed by banshee before.

I think 11x11 was the turning point for Dean. Not only because of confession to Casifer about Amara and his not-caring response, which made Dean vulnerable, but also because of Mildred’s words. She said that Dean is pining for someone and advised him to follow his heart. And after that he had a sleepless night. He is stuck between Amara, who scares him and basically wants him dead as a personality (she wants to devour him, but also doesn’t want it to be a non-consensual act - he is an exception for her), and Cas, whom Dean truly loves, by whom he isn’t loved back. As far as he knows.

Relationship with Cas was always painful and complex - like the life itself. Amara’s wish is to give Dean peace, to free him from all the pain, to give him “sheer bliss” - in death. She is like Cas in 4x22, who also wanted peace for Dean and saw that peace in Apocalypse.

Dean didn’t want to die back then, and his point made Cas fall. Dean doesn’t want to die now. He confessed that in 10x16, where also said, that he wanted to experience certain feelings in a different way. He was pining for someone since then - and even earlier. Of course, Dean isn’t pining for Amara.

He is pining for Cas. And it matters a lot now, when Amara is here. It’s no coincidence that Dean told about his feeling towards Amara to Cas first. Dean wanted help from the person he truly loves. Because true love can beat any evil - we know that from fairy-tales. And in case we forgot, the show Stacy was watching before her heart was ripped out reminded us (quoted from the @charlie-minion post mentioned above):

Devil: True love, all right?

Man #1: Is he gone? Like, gone, gone?

Man #2: True love can get us out of here?

Devil: Yeah.

Man #3: Yeah, I’ve been in love a million times.

My point is these lines refer to Dean and his feeling to Amara. He can be saved from this unhealthy and unwanted dependence only by true love, not by some hook-ups with strangers. He literally had dozens of them by that time, gosh, he had one right before 11x13, and that obviously couldn’t help him.

But Cas is gone, played by the Devil himself. So Dean’s confession about Amara to Casifer didn’t work, and Dean ended up with a heartbreak.

That was result of Cas’s wrong choice.

The same as Melissa from 11x13 (who is called just “Mel” by Dan, Dean’s obvious parallel, by the way), Cas trusted the wrong person.

I totally agree that relationships between Melissa, Dan and Stacy are unhealthy. They are WORSE than the relationships between Cas, Dean and Amara. At least, Dean didn’t lie to Cas, he told about Amara. And not for the single moment he wants to “break up” with Cas.

We also have a bunch of “supernatural” and metaphorical excuses for each of Dean, Cas and even Amara. ‘Cause, you know, Amara isn’t evil - just like Stacy. The real evil is Lucifer - the wicked witch of 11th season. That’s why in 11x23, after the moment Amara kicked Lucifer out of Cas and Dean had him back, he succeed to save the world, to survive and finally met his mother, the person who taught him love. When Lucifer is out, there is no problem for Dean to follow his heart :)

Still, the parallel between Melissa-Dan-Stacy and Cas-Dean-Amara remains. And it’s very clear imao. In the end, I doubt that Dan could leave Melissa either.

This episode also has parallel with Cas and Lucifer interaction. Melissa understood her mistake about dealing with the witch and tries to fix it. In some way she succeeded - she helped Sam.

Cas will show up and try to fix his Lucifer mistake in the next episode, 11x14. He will also help Sam to get out from the situation, created by Lucifer.

If it’s not a parallel to the plot of the WHOLE SEASON, I don’t know, what is it.

And this parallel makes absolutely no sense without unplatonic Destiel perception.

So, 11x13 is an important episode - from Destiel-oriented point of view.

And now let’s talk about two moments in the episode, which, I’m sure, are the main reasons DeanCas shippers don’t like it and don’t analyze it much (maybe I just couldn’t find all the meta, but still).

1) Episode 11x13 starts with Dean, who can hardly walk and has a hickey on his neck. It’s the day after Valentine’s Day, and Dean hooked up with some single lady again. And he is planning to go on.

Well, here we see that Dean isn’t so happy about his “romantic” adventures. He doesn’t feel good, spits the fast-food taken from the fridge (maybe it’s not fresh, like his appearance at all), needs a shower and isn’t interested in a case. He says that on Valentine’s Day you don’t have “to be Mr. Right, just be Mr. Right Now” - and that’s the point. He isn’t Mr. Right himself, he doesn’t have his Mr. Right (true love) with him and probably will not ever have. The truth is he is no different than all the single ladies (and gentlemen) and isn’t happy about it.

We see, that Dean is tired of senseless hook-ups. After them he isn’t fond of himself and stinking.

Later he says he’d go on, and that sounds like thing he has to do, but really doesn’t want. That’s why when he isn’t “lucky”, he also isn’t upset.

For me this scene is rather approving Destiel than vice versa.

2) Quareen looks like Amara to Dean.

Here is the point where I want to comment the statement “People expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form when facing Dean missed the whole point”.

Sure, Quareen is a dark creature who kills people by ripping their hearts out, and for show it was safer to compare Quareen with Amara. Actually both of them mean death to Dean. Besides, we had two Destiel fights, in 10x22 and 11x03. Cas even had a PTSD after. If Quareen was in Cas’s form, we’d have one more Destiel fight in 11x13, and that’d be catastrophic. They just didn’t want to make Destiel look more unhealthy than it already was.

But the statement “Quareen takes the form of the victim’s deepest darkest desire“ doesn’t necessary mean that it should be someone whom the victim was obsessed with (in the worst sense of this word). Sam said Melissa truly loved Dan, and I believe that. Dan and Stacy could be obsessed by each other, but Melissa? I doubt. She is portrayed as basically innocent person who just made a huge mistake.

More important, Quareen said to Dean:

Amara: I understand, Dean.

Dean: Is that right?

Amara: The longing in your heart, I feel it too.

Dean: (inching towards the knife) Well that’s touching. Consider that you don’t have a heart. Qareen.

Amara: Who I am doesn’t matter. The real question is who are you?

Dean: What do you mean who am I?

Amara: You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it’s cloaked in shame. When it comes to this (touches her body), you can’t help yourself, so why fight it? Just give in.

Quareen told about LOVE. About longing, which is a synonym to “pining” and was used in 10th season to describe a state when somebody is praying to Cas. Cas told to Claire he can feel longing of another person.

So, Quareen feels longing too. And love. That means this creature can take form of a person, who victim truly loves. But, I think, in Dean’s case it’s not obvious, that’s why Quareen talks about mystery and shame, and doesn’t say that Amara is true love here (just someone Dean can’t help himself with). It’s not strange: Dean certainly knows towards whom he feels love, but doesn’t want someone else knows. In fact he tries to forget himself, because is sure that his feelings aren’t mutual.

I think that’s why Dean told to Sam:

Dean: You know the silver lining about being cursed? I’ll finally get some face time with Daisy Duke. My deepest darkest desire.

Sam: Seriously?

Dean: Ever since I was seven.

Sam: So Bach, not Simpson.

Dean: Eh. Guess I wouldn’t say no to either.

From the start Dean didn’t know what this curse was about. Now he is aware and LYING. Daisy Duke isn’t his deepest darkest desire, he doesn’t care for her more than for any other option Sam can offer. He says it himself. Why is he lying?

I’m sure Dean here thought about Cas and didn’t expect to see Amara AT ALL.

Quareen’s point wasn’t to go deep, to understand complex love, cloaked with shame. To Quareen a victim, who can’t help themselves, would be enough. So in Dean’s case Quareen‘s form is far aside from love. It’s the first obvious form, which has a strong influence, and that influence is really bad. Far from love.

So yes, people expecting the Qareen to take Cas’ form IN THIS SITUATION missed the whole point. But simultaneously Dean was such a person HIMSELF, and it could actually work.

I think Dean was expecting to see Cas also because of this conversation:

Dean: Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire?

Sam: She isn’t?

Dean: No! She can’t be!

Sam: Why not?

Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I’m…

Sam: Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?

Dean: For starters, yeah.

Dean is already confessed to Casifer he and Amara has some kind of connection. Gosh, he even confessed that to Sam - it wasn’t easy, because Dean IS AFRAID of Amara. He isn’t in denial of the fact of their connection. He just doesn’t like its definition, and I am totally agree with his further line: “Something happens and I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that”.

Within this conversation Dean hasn’t finished the line: “Because if she is that means that I’m...” Sam interrupted him with “Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil?“, Dean said “For starters, yeah”. I think, he wanted to say something else. For example, “that means that I’m not in love with Cas. And I love him”. Whatever it would be, I consider Cas would be involved, in Dean’s mind for sure - ‘cause Dean probably couldn’t say something about his Cas-related feelings to Sam.

Anyway, I think there was a reason for Dean to be so sure that “No! She can’t be!”. It’s not fear or denial. He adjusts that something is happening, and I think he understands what love and desire are. This “something” isn’t them.

The chain of events with Quareen is the next: Dean is uncomfortable with his true “darkest desire”, he talks to Sam about the first girl he can remember, a fictional character, by the way, then sees fake Amara, who hasn’t expected to see, she talks to him about his mysterious love, covered in shame and definitely more complex than his feeling for real Amara is, then Sam stabs Quareen’s heart and Dean is like “it couldn’t be Amara, very strange, I love someone else”.

So, if it’s not Amara (accurate) and not random girls to talk with Sam about (accurate), then who the hell it is?!

I think we all know the answer.

From the point of story, to Destiel shippers Quareen looking like Amara is not bad at all. I think this episode is supposed to be a gift for us shippers, but then our own heteronormativity stood on the way and made it hard to see the whole picture.

From the very beginning this episode was full of Destiel: numerous text and plot parallels, which make ABSOLUTELY no sense without implying DeanCas as one of the main points of season 11; Dean tired of senseless hook-ups and unhappy about Valentine’s Day, ‘cause his heart is broken; Dean who wants to hide his true darkest desire from Sam by saying some crap about fictional girls; Quareen‘s words about Dean’s mysterious love, longing, and shame; Dean’s own disagreement with his “love” or “desire” to Amara whom he didn’t suppose to see; his unfinished phrase to Sam.

So no way 11x13 should be “fixed” with adding more Destiel of changing Amara to Cas. It makes no sense.

I wonder how this heavy Destiel content ended up with “Dean loves Amara” perception. The content wasn’t so subtle, you know.

Just how strong our heteronormativity could be?

And how the hell despite of that we manage to get almost canon Destiel relationship? In fact, they are more canon, then any other romance in this story.

______________________ To conclude, I have some difficulties with the tumblr usage for now, but I'd like to communicate with the co-shippers.

So, if you want to hear my opinion about or to point out any Destiel moment in the show, feel free to write to my ask. I’ll try to answer ASAP - we all are in the same boat now, so it’s important to support each other and to share our thoughts. Some kind of therapy, I’d say :)

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rolorules · 4 years ago

Text

Tanjoubi Omedetou, Niisan!

Part I

"Evening, Commander! Better be on your guard, he's particularly moody today."

Villetta Nu, who had just exited the lift that had taken her to the secret OSI control room raised an eyebrow.

"Thank you for the warning, Victor, but I think I know how to handle him."

"Good for you, Commander. Well, good night, then."

Villetta entered the room that was filled with control panels and screens that, among other things, showed footage of the hundreds of cameras that were hidden all across the premises of Ashford Academy. The panels were manned by a single fair-haired OSI agent whose name she had yet to memorise. Unlike Victor, he looked more annoyed than upset, and the reason for that was obviously the only other occupant of the room. And Victor had been right. Rolo, who was lounging on the sofa, looked dark and brooding. A casual observer would simply have interpreted this as anger and reacted like the blonde agent, who shot Rolo a nasty glance, musing that the one thing child actors and child assassins have in common is that they start getting troublesome once they hit puberty. Villetta Nu, however, had achieved at least some basic understanding of the teenage boy's inner workings, so she guessed that something else was going on.

"Good evening, gentlemen! Anything to report?"

"Good evening, Commander! Nothing to report. We're just sitting here having a good time," the agent said sarcastically, exchanging another mean look with Rolo, who also returned Villettas greeting, gave her a brief nod and then went back to toying with the locket that was dangling from his mobile phone.

"Rolo, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, Commander. I'm just thinking about how to best fulfill my mission."

There was a stifled snort behind Villetta. She looked at the agent, then at Rolo, and said: "I'll relieve you, agent. You can call it an early night."

"Understood, Commander." The agent gave her a grateful look and hurried to the exit, trying not to let his relief show too much.

When the door had closed behind him, Villetta turned to Rolo again and said:

"Now, Rolo, will you tell me what's really going on?"

The purple-eyed boy hesitated briefly, then said: "My big brother's - I mean - Lelouch's birthday is next week, and I still have no idea what to buy for him."

Villetta smiled. "Is that all? Maybe you don't have to buy him anything. Just draw him a picture or something like that."

Rolo gave her a look that seemed to question her sanity.

"What am I? Five?"

"Then buy him a book, he seems to be very fond of reading."

"Yes, he probably knows all the classics. He is very smart and learned, especially for his age."

"Excellent."

"But I am not," Rolo sighed, "so I wouldn't know what to pick."

"Or maybe," Villetta's inner teacher said, "you could buy him a treadmill. He could really do with some exercise."

"I don't want him to hate me - yet." Rolo smiled, beside himself. "If Lelouch wanted to do sports, he would simply attend your lessons rather than skip them, don't you think?"

"Fair point." Villetta conceded, slightly annoyed. "Maybe you should ask his friends from the student council."

"I have considered that. But as his little brother, I should know him better than they, and I should not have to ask them for help. But I overheard their conversations concerning his birthday."

"And?"

"Well, Rivalz wants to invite him on a trip with his bike to Mount Fuji (which will mean more trouble for us, we'll probably have to wire the bike - or Rivalz). Of course I could borrow it from him and do the same, but that would be boring. President Milly says his birthday party in the evening will be her gift, but it's more like a gift to herself because she loves to throw parties, and Lelouch and I are celebrating his birthday in the afternoon anyway. Miss Shirley says she won't give him anything because it would be embarrassing. Plus, she wouldn't want her gift to be drowned in the sea of presents Lelouch is going to be showered with by all the other girls on campus."

"She, too, has a point." Villetta nodded knowingly. "Maybe you should not think too much about it and just buy some off-the-mill gift."

That suggestion made Rolo look exceedingly unhappy.

"Now what's the matter?" asked the P.E. teacher/soldier/secret agent, who felt increasingly like an agony aunt.

Rolo hesitated briefly, then asked: "Did you ever feel obliged to someone who is technically your enemy?"

He could have sworn that the commander was blushing, but dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

"Why - where does that even come from, Rolo?"

"Well, my big brother, I mean Lelouch, he gave me a present for my birthday. It was not actually my birthday, of course, but his sister's. But anyway, it probably was pretty pricey and I'm sure he put a lot of thought into it. So I feel that I should give it my all and find a great present for him, too. Is that wrong?"

Villetta Nu looked at Rolo's mobile phone and the heart-shaped locket that had been dangling from it for about a month and which the boy assassin would hardly ever let go. Realisation dawned on her, and her heart once again broke a little for the boy with the sad purple eyes.

"I don't think you're in the wrong here, Rolo. On the contrary, one good turn deserves another, as they say," she replied, trying not to think of a certain member of the Black Knights, "and it also benefits our mission if you take your role seriously, just don't forget that you are not really Lelouch Lamperouge's little brother, but an agent of the OSI."

"I will not, Commander!" Rolo replied.

"Good. I think you should go now. Lelouch is probably already waiting for you."

"You're probably right, Commander. Thank you. Maybe I have another idea whom to ask, but that can wait till tomorrow. Good night."

"One more thing, Rolo," Villetta said as he was about to leave the control room. She hesitated to break it to the boy, but went on: "You realise that Lelouch probably had his sister Nunnally in mind when he bought that gift, don't you? So don't let it affect you too much."

"I do and I won't commander." he said.

Too late. he thought.

While the elevator was taking Rolo to the ground floor, he was trying to sort his feelings.

His sister Nunnally. Did she even have a cellphone?

Part II

"Your name is Rolo, right? It's been a while."

"It has indeed, Lord Kururugi."

"No need to be so formal. How's the Vincent doing?"

"He's a great piece of machinery. I am eager to try him in actual combat."

"Don't be," Suzaku said, smiling at the fact that Rolo referred to the KnightMare Frame as "he". "How can I help you?"

"Well, allow me to put it bluntly, My Lord, given the fact that you and Lelouch used to be childhood friends, I was hoping that you could help me find a suitable birthday gift for him."

That request caught the Knight of Seven off guard, so his immediate response was: "Oh right, December's not far away." Pushing aside his mixed emotions, Suzaku went on: "I'm not sure if I can help you. I used to pray at our shrine for him on his birthday. Apart from that, I mostly gave him something that I had made myself. like a nice calligraphy of his name, or a wooden katana sword that I had carved myself."

"That's amazing, Lord Kururugi."

"I know right?!. I had made one for myself too and wanted to have a duel with him, but he did not like that."

"Of course not, it involved physical activity." Rolo remarked drily.

"True." Suzaku grinned. "That hasn't changed, apparently. His sister Nunnally would knit dolls for him that looked like the three of us."

There she is again. How did she even do that?

"But what he liked best, I think," Suzaku went on "was a Shôgi set that I had made from cardboard and plywood, but he had to leave it behind when we escaped from home during the war."

"That's something like Japanese chess, right?" Rolo said. "I'm not surprised. That sounds like a game Big- Lelouch can actually win. And he certainly likes to win."

"You seem to have gained a pretty good understanding of Lelouch's personality," Suzaku replied, "but it's not just the winning that Lelouch likes. He likes to win knowing that he has outsmarted the enemy. That's his way of ascertaining superiority."

"You're right. I have often seen this when - "

"Rolo, you're okay?"

"Yes, more than okay. Thank you, Lord Kururugi. You have been a great help."

"I have?! That's good to hear. Then please keep me updated on the situation in Ashford."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Like I said, no need to be that formal, once I return to the academy, you will have to call me Suzaku anyway."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Goodbye, Rolo."

"Goodbye, Lord Kururugi!" Rolo said, suppressing the urge to bark "ALL HAIL BRITANNIA!"

Part III

The door of the Lamperouge Brothers' apartment opened and in came a bunch of plastic bags filled with teddy bears, gift-wrapped parcels, sweets and colourful birthday cards, followed by Lelouch Lamperouge, who was trying hard not to drop them. "I told them not to," he exclaimed, "I told them last year they shouldn't have, but they never listen."

"This is Valentine's Day all over again," a panting Rolo said while entering after his "brother". He was carrying a huge cardboard box filled with similar items. "Where do you want me to put the presents, Big Brother? Do you want to open them right away?"

No, please put them in my room, Rolo. I want to celebrate with my little brother first. We can open the gifts later."

"We?"

"I hope you'll help me." Lelouch grinned. "This is too much for a single person."

"Fine, Big Brother." Rolo said when he put down the box on Lelouch's sofa. "But please let there be no panties this time."

"I don't mind the panties," Lelouch's grin widened to that peculiar Lamperouge smirk, "as long as they are for boys. We have to live on a tight budget after all."

Rolo, who did not want to hear about tight budgets or tight panties, said "Let's celebrate. You get the tea, I get the cake."

So the cake was brought forth. It was a collaborative work of the Lamperouge Brothers. Lelouch had taken care of the dough, Rolo had done the icing. The cake had the obligatory 17 candles, and inside the circle that they formed, there was something like a smiley with light-purple eyes and light-brown hair featuring two cowlicks. Above the emoji there was a huge speech bubble, saying "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIG BROTHER!" Which, incidentally, was exactly what Rolo said at that point.

Lelouch laughed in delight (and amusement because of Smiley Rolo, given that the original was not really much of a smiler, except now). "Thank you so much Rolo, you could not have made me happier."

"I hope I can, Big Brother, I still have a present for you when we've finished our tea."

So fifteen minutes later Lelouch was fiddling with the ribbons around a parcel that a nice lady from a shop at the Omatosando Mall had dilligently wrapped in expensive-looking paper. After Lelouch had removed the wrapping, he held something like a small, slim suitcase in his hands. He gave a quizzing look to Rolo, who was eyeing him nervously.

"Just open it."

"It's a chessboard!" Lelouch said enthusiastically, examining the foldable board and the figures. "These are great, theý look refined and modern at the same time. I particularly like the king. This is just perfect. Again, thank you, Little Brother. That must have cost a fortune! How long did you have to save your allowance for that?"

"You're welcome, Big Brother. It really wasn't that much of a deal." Rolo (whose "allowance" came in the form of a credit card with no limit, courtesy of the OSI) said and grinned smugly.

"I challenge you to be my first opponent, Rolo! The clash of the Lamperouge Brothers. A duel for the ages. But beware, I'll show no mercy!"

“I wouldn't have it any other way," Rolo replied. "I accept your challenge."

That was of course not totally true, Rolo mused, while Lelouch was arranging the pieces on the board. Before he had come to Ashford, he had known next to nothing about chess, how to move the pieces on the board at best, but his brother had taught him a lot about the game, and he had also read a few books about it, even joined the Ashford chess club for a while, so that he would at least have a fighting chance against Lelouch. Still, he was no match for him, but Lelouch would at least go easy on him for the first ten minutes or so, firstly, because he did not want to frustrate his little brother too much, secondly, because it allowed him to enjoy the prospect of victory a bit longer (Rolo always thought that this was how a cat felt when it had caught a mouse and played a little before the kill).

What Lelouch did not know was that his gift had a second part in the form of a tiny chess computer that Rolo had also bought. This model had allegedly defeated a chess world champion and allowed you to enter a start setting and go from there. Rolo's plan was to use his time-stopping Geass, should the need arise. He did not want to cheat to win though, only to provide his brother with a bit more of a challenge. The victory, after all, was part of the gift.

"Ready, Rolo?"

"Yes, Big Brother!"

"Happy Birthday!" Rolo said softly one more time, rather pleased with himself and the world.

#rolo lamperouge #lelouch lamperouge #suzaku kururugi #villetta nu #code geass #birthday #fanfiction

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castielismyfavouriteangel · 5 years ago

Text

Gentlemen

It was a habit he picked up during his time with Lisa. He opened the car door, he pulled out the chair, he helped with the coat. He just couldn't stop it. But also didn’t really notice it.

But the small smiles it put onto Cas face were worth it. He never said anything, but the fond smiles made Deans knees go weak all the time.

So after a successful hunt Dean - as always - opens the car door for Cas to get in.

“May I ask you something, Dean?” Cas asks.

“Well, technically you just did, but you can ask me another question.” Dean says and winks at Cas while getting into the car himself.

“Why do you always open the car door for me? Or any other door for that matter. I’ve never seen you doing that for someone else, like Sam or Jack. I think the only time I’ve ever seen you doing that, was when you were with Lisa and I was watching over you. So why for me? Is there anything special about me? Don’t you trust me not to scratch the finish of your precious car?”

With every word Cas said Dean felt his heart sink even lower. He hadn’t even realized he was doing all those things. And now that he thought about it, yeah, the only time he did something like that was when he was involved with someone romantically. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? Did he have deeper feelings for Cas than he thought he had?

He had always deemed Cas somewhat good looking, with his tousled hair that never seemed to stay in one place, the strong jawline with the everpresent stubble, those plump, chapped, pink lips that no chapstick in the world could smooth out. And then there were his eyes. Those beautiful orbs of the bluest blue Dean has ever seen as an eye color.

Holy Crap!!

Dean was in love with Cas!

How come he never noticed it! Cas was his best friend, the one guy that promised to always be there for him, to never leave him. Would it be so bad if there was more than friendship involved? Would Cas even want anything more than friendship?

Dean was majorly freaking out, at least internal, on the outside he’s been sitting in Baby’s drivers seat for the past 5 minutes, staring into the abyss.

“Dean? Are you alright? If I said something to upset you, I’m truly sorry. I didn’t even wanna mention it, but I was wondering what’s going on but I really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything. I’m sorry, Dean, please forgive me.”

Cas’ voice carried Deans thoughts back into reality.

“Yeah, no problem, Cas, I was just thinking. Put your seatbelt on.”

Bam! Another detail he usually only tells his s/o.

“Dean, I’m an angel, even without all my powers I couldn’t get killed or even hurt in an car accident.” with a sigh he tried to put the seatbelt on, but struggled until Dean lent him a helping hand.

“Yeah, that might be, but when the police stops us I have to pay the fine for you not being properly beltet.” Dean tells him while putting on his own seatbelt.

On the whole ride back, which took several hours, the two didn’t say a single word, but Dean was thinking a lot. Thinking about all the times he was alone with Cas and what he did, that he usually only did if he’s in love with someone. And the list was long, very long.

Apparently he’d been falling in love with Cas without even noticing. But when did that all start? Was there ever a time he wasn’t like this? Did he fell in love at the very beginning? But he wasn’t gay? Well, maybe he was a little gay. There was his Dr. Sexy obsession and that guy that kinda catfished him with the Golem, what was his name? Aaron Something. It didn’t matter.

But how would he talk to Cas about that?

Hey, Cas, just uh, I think I’m in love with you, so...you wanna make out or something?

Yeah, no, that was bullshit. He had to smooth into that particular conversation, it was a sensitive topic after all, he could lose his best friend about this.

Dean let out a heavy sigh when he finally parked Baby in the Bunker’s garage.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I really didn’t want to upset you with that question.” and without a look in Deans direction Cas got out of the car and into the Bunker.

Dean let his head fall onto the steering wheel.

Great!

This was going to be one hell of a conversation.

The next evening Dean made two large cups of hot chocolate, he knew how much Cas loves that stuff, and went over to Cas room to have a - probably - rather unpleasant conversation.

Since his hands were full with the cups he used his foot to knock, it kinda worked, after all Cas opened the door, even if with a puzzled look on his face, which quickly turned into a happily surprised one, once he noticed what Dean was carrying.

He took one of the cups out of Deans hands and waved his arm into the room to invite him in. Dean did, sat down on the foot end of Cas’ bed and patted his hand on the empty space besides him, so Cas would sit down there, which he promptly did while sipping his cocoa.

“What brings you here bearing gifts, Dean?” Cas asked, again with the puzzled look on his face.

“Well, I need to talk to you about something.” Dean started but Cas interrupted.

“Is it about the question I asked you yesterday? If so you don’t have to say something, I understand.” now it was Dean’s turn to be surprised.

“You do? But how? I only just realized it yesterday myself? How could you have known about this?”

“I know a lot more about you than you think, Dean. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just tell me you just like to be a gentleman from time to time? It’s not like it’s a big deal or anything and I really appreciate the gesture.” Dean actually snorted with laughter.

“You…” he fell into a giggle fit. “You thought I just wanna play the gentlemen once in a while?”

“Well, yeah. Sam would just give you a hard time about it and Jack wouldn’t know how to appreciate the gesture, he does kinda lack the knowledge about some finer social norms.” Cas did his adorable head tilt while saying this and Dean’s heart began to practically glow.

“I’m sorry, Cas, but you’re very far away from the truth here.” Cas brows furrowed while still having his head slightly tilted. Dean just wanted to kiss him then and there, but he first had to finish this conversation.

“The actual truth is...I don’t even know how to start with this,” Dean paused for a moment and recollected his thoughts.

“You made a comparison yesterday, that you only ever saw me doing that when I was with Lisa. And after some thinking I came to the same conclusion, I only ever did all that with someone I was romantically involved with.” he put some emphasis on that word specifically, hoping Cas would get the hint.

“Well, yeah, I know what I said. But that just fits into my conclusion. You miss having someone you can care about and - well - pamper a little, so you took me as a substitute. I don’t mind it, Dean, I rather really appreciate it.” there was this amazing Cas-Smile Dean could never have enough of.

“No, Cas, you’re still wrong. I don’t ‘use you’ as a substitute for something I’m missing." he actually did the air quotes.

“It’s rather I realized you have kinda become that kind of person I usually do all those things for.” he smiled at Cas who was still looking at him with furrowed brows.

“I don’t think I can follow, Dean. What kind of person did I become? I’m fairly sure I’m still the same person I was when I raised you from hell. I didn’t change. Well, I did change periodically, but I always became myself again in the end, didn’t I?”

Internal Dean was laughing, but not to hurt Cas’ feelings he kept his outside face straight.

“Cas, stop thinking so hard about this. What I was trying to say is, I think you’ve become the kind of person I’d like to be with. Like, really be with. Be with in a romantical way.” Dean couldn’t look at Cas any longer. The fear of seeing his face change into something like aversion or even disgust was too much to handle for him. He flinched when he felt Cas hand on his chin, guiding his face so he would look at him again.

The look on Cas’ face was nothing like what Dean was afraid of. It was soft and pure and Dean would’ve sworn he even saw the glistening of tears in the corners of Cas’ eyes.

“Oh Dean.” it was just shy from a whisper.

“Why did it took you so long to realize this? I always told myself you don’t feel this way about me and that I should stop hoping for you to come around.” Cas thumb was slightly caressing Dean’s jaw while he was talking.

“You wanna know why I volunteered to get you out of hell? I’ve been watching you, or rather watching over you, for quite some time already, and when you went to hell I was heartbroken. But then we got the command to raise you and I couldn’t have let anyone else get you out of there. And ever since I’ve been secretly pining for you, hoping that one day you’d return my feelings.”

There was a look on Cas face Dean had never seen on him before. It was a look he had last seen on his mother’s face. It was pure and unconditional love.

“I fucking love you, Cas” was everything Dean was able to say before he took Cas face into his hands and kissed him with a passion he never even kissed Lisa with.

@bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 @pray4jensen

#Monday 2: Gentleman #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Ficlet #SPNStayAtHome #Writing #My writing #Destiel #Fluff #Castiel #Dean Winchester

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spnwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Maybe he doesn’t want to take the chance.

AN: there is a slight sexual theme to this one, it’s talked about but nothing graphic. just a warning. <3

I should have known better. Hunters don't get the apple pie life. We don't get a happily ever after. Dating isn't something hunters get to do. I was only hunting part-time, trying to get out of the life but it's never easy. I grew up in it, my dad had me hunting as soon as I could hold a gun. After he died, I killed the werewolf that killed him. Unfortunately, the whole pack came after me so I didn't end up getting out. I slowly started to taper off how often I took cases. So I figured I'd try to date, have a semi-normal life...it wasn't working. I had been seeing this amazing guy, Mikey. I hadn't told him what I do on the side but, I have a feeling he'd take it well. Things were going swimmingly. I really thought that he could the reason I get out of the life. No such luck, I got home from a hunt and found a skinny little blonde on top of him. And just like that my happily ever after goes up in smoke. He said it was because I was never around. He had needs that I couldn't cater to so I broke his nose before getting in my car. I drove as fast and as far as I could before the tears started blinding my vision. I pull over on the side of the road allowing the sobs to take over my body. I actually thought he loved me. He said he did but then again, everybody lies. I just so happened to be on the other side of one this time. I suppose it's some kind of cosmic karma for lying as much as I do in the hunting life. I slam my hands against the steering wheel as anger fills my body. How dare he? We were together for a year tomorrow. I didn't hunt that often, in fact, I was hardly gone at all. Maybe a couple of days once a month. Dear God why me? Why can't I be happy? A sob wrecks through my body. I tried to hard. I tried to have a 'normal' life. I wanted that, why can't I have that? My thoughts drift, I wonder if it'd be uncalled for is I went back and shot him? I mean like in the knee or something...

. “Maybe a little.” a gruff voice says from behind me.

I jump turning around to stare into familiar ocean blue eyes.

“Cas! You scared the shit out of me!” I snap at the angle in my back seat as I wipe the tears from my eyes.

“My apologizes, I heard your prayer and wanted to check on you.” Cas explains looking at me through the rearview mirror.

“I didn't pray.”

“Not in the normal way no but I did hear you.” Cas sighs placing a hand on my shoulder before we arrive at the bunker.

Sam and Dean are sat at the library table. They both look up at us when we appear in the room.

“What happened?” Sam asks standing quickly to rush over to me. He inspects my body for injuries, gently cupping my jaw in his hands as his eyes scan my body. I reach up grabbing his wrists. Sam and I had always been close. Since I met him the younger Winchester and I got along well. Alright, alright I may have a small (massive) crush on the tall hunter but who wouldn't? Sam is such a sweetheart, so caring and eyes on the eyes. I know he'd never like me back so I settle for being his friend. I'd rather have him in my life in a platonic way than not at all. These three men around me have always been there for me. They're my family. This is where I had planned on going before Cas zapped me here. I knew this was the place I could get my head back on straight. Heal and not be judged for it.

“I'm not injured Sammy.” I whisper as his eyes soften at the notice of the dried tears on my face.

“Mike cheated on her.” Cas exclaims “She was in her car crying, she prayed.”

“Cas!” I sigh “Come on.”

Sam is quick to wrap his arms around me, holding me tight. He places a gentle kiss on my cheek before whispering “You deserve so much better. I'm sorry he did that you.”

“I'm going to kill him.” Dean exclaims loudly before grabbing his gun and walking towards me.

Sam lets me go as I say “Hey if anyone gets to shoot his ass it's me.”

Dean is quick to replace Sam. He wraps his arms around me. “I'm sorry Kid. I know you loved him.” Dean whispers kissing the side of my head before walking back to the table. The thing is, I didn't love him. I liked him but, I could never love him the way I love Sam. No one could ever hold a candle to the younger Winchester. I suppose that's why I was with Mikey in the first place, to get over him but, it didn't work. I just kept comparing them and I ended up getting heartbroken anyway.

Sam takes my hand in his, leading me to his room. He shuts the door behind us as I flop on his bed. He laughs lightly before taking the spot next to me. He turns his head towards me asking “Do you want to talk about it?” I frown looking at the ceiling.

“I'm starting to question my choice in men. I ended up being destroyed physically, emotionally and I don't understand. Love is supposed to heal you but it doesn't do that for me. I've been cheated on more times than I can count, I've been replaced with someone better, I was lied to by the person I love. He said he loved me. He didn't though. Love fucking destroyed me. In the end I'm left wondering if I'm good enough. Maybe I too blind to see the real me. What if the real me isn't good enough? Maybe love does heal but I'm just not good enough? Maybe I'm the reason he cheated and chose someone better, prettier, thinner. Maybe I'm the reason he didn't love me. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's all my fault.” I vent, allowing my insecurities to show.

“Y/N, look at me.” Sam says voice gentle

. I turn to face the hazel eyes I love so much. He frowns at me placing a hand on the side of my face.

“You are not the problem. It isn't your fault he cheated. You didn't do anything wrong. You are an amazing woman. You are a beautiful, kind strong woman. He just didn't see it. It's his fault, not yours.” Sam whispers. “As for him picking someone 'better' I don't think it's possible. Yeah, she may have been thinner than you but, that doesn't make her better than you.” “He said he did it because I was gone too much. He had needs that I couldn't meet...” I hesitate not wanting to voice what I was actually thinking about what Mikey had said. Yes, Sam and I were best friends and yeah we had talked about sex before but never alone. It's always been with Dean present. Mostly because he's the one who brings it up. I really don't want to have this conversation with him but at the same time, I really need to voice this stuff. I can't let it sit in my head and overwhelm me.

“Was he trying to imply that you didn't meet his needs...” Sam asks, confusion in his voice.

“I think so...I don't know I really didn't stick around to hear an explanation.”

“A relationship isn't all about sex Y/N. If you weren't meeting his needs he should have talked to you about it not cheated on you. I mean if he got off he shouldn't have any complaints.”

“By that logic I should have been the one having complaints.” I joke, not thinking that I just admitted that Mikey never got me off in our entire almost year relationship.

“Wait, you're telling me he never got you off? “ Sam sits up suddenly causing me to follow his actions turning my body to face him. “Like ever?”

“Kind of an awkward conversation Sammy.” I blush

“No, no, you brought it up. I want to know.”

“If you really must know no he never did,” I admit.

“You guys were together for a year.” Sam utters, obviously trying to wrap his head around the new information he'd just been told.

“Believe me, I know.”

“Did he never go down on you or something?” Sam asks, unashamed of how personal of a question that was.

“Sam!”

“Come on, we've known each other forever. We can talk about sex. Especially when it's bashing you ex douche bag.” I give in, knowing I can't really say no to him. I sigh before bringing my legs to sit with them under me.

“Once and I didn't...you know so he figured I didn't like it...truth is it was awful.”

“So foreplay consisted of what?” Sam asks moving to sit against the headboard.

“Nothing really. Some dry humping, light fingering but only enough to make sure I was ready for the main event.” I shrug.

“You're kidding me right? Did you ever give him head as foreplay?”

“Yeah, all the time.”

“And yet he wouldn't go down on you.”

“I don't know, the sex was never amazing.” I sigh

“Yeah sounds like it.” Sam huffs “So what? You had to finish yourself off?”

I nod “Usually after he'd gone to bed or in the shower.”

“So you haven't had an orgasm that wasn't given to yourself since you've been with that asshole?”

“Hum, I guess not.” I hadn't really thought of it like that to be honest.

“How did you survive?”

“A bit dramatic Sam but, I had toys to help. Was quite fond of my vibrator for quick but if I had the time...I dragged out the Bruce.” I admit, not knowing why I couldn't stop the word vomit coming out of my mouth. Sam's eyebrows shoot up as he observed me.

“And Bruce is?” Sam asks licking his lips.

“Oh that's my nine inch dildo.” Was I really about to talk about my toy collection with my best friend and secret crush? Guess I am.

“And it was bigger than Mikey?” He asks eyes not leaving mine

“Oh yeah by a lot.” I don't look away from his eyes. What the hell is going on?

“So he was small and bad in bed?”

I nod still not looking away from the hunter before me. Something in the air as we stay looking at each other. Something in his eyes I haven't seen when he looks at me. No one says anything as we just openly check out each other.

“So...why did you stay with him?” He asks, voice soft.

“Honestly?” I pause finally breaking eye contact, eyes trained on my hands in my lap. “I was trying to get over a guy that'd never feel the same.”

“How do you know he'd never feel the same?”

I looking up “I'm not good enough for him.”

“Maybe he thinks the same...and that's why he never showed any interest?”

“Why would he think that? He could have anyone he wants?” I ask understanding we're dancing around our feelings.

“Maybe the woman he wanted was with someone else and he thought he'd never get his chance.”

“Maybe the guy she was with messed up and he does get his chance after all.” “What if he's scared to take that chance?” I can see the hesitation in his features as he eyes me. I smile slowly crawling over to sit in front of him.

“Maybe he doesn't have to be the one to take the chance.” I smirk before climbing in his lap, legs on either side on his slim hips. His hands grasp my hips quickly. “

Y/N.” Sam starts looking down at me.

“D-did did I read the situation wrong?” I ask suddenly insecure at my bold assumption that it was, in fact, me he was talking about. “Not at all...I just want to make sure that we are on the same page here.” The fear leaving my mind as I understand he wants us to be opened about our feelings rather than continuing to dance around them. “I'm in love with you. Have been since that salt and burn two years ago.” I smile “Dean was hurt and couldn't go with you, it was the first hunt we did just us.”

Sam smiles “Yeah, I remember that hunt. I dragged it out so that I could spend more time with you, but when I realized I loved you is when you almost died on that werewolf hunt...If Cas wasn't there...”

“Don't think like that Sam. I'm alive.” He doesn't respond instead he presses his lip against mine. We both smile into the kiss before he pulls away resting his forehead on mine “I love you.” “I love you too.”

“Be mine?”

“I always was.”

#sam winchester imagine #supernatural imagine #spn imagine

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