#rositaslabyrinthwrites

[rositaslabyrinth]

Enchanted

Dean Winchester x Fem!user

Word count ; 1,043

The fluorescent lights of the bar buzzed faintly overhead, competing with the hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses. Dean Winchester leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming absently against the edge of his beer bottle. It was a small-town dive—nothing special—but after the day he’d had, he needed this. A moment to breathe, to let the weight of the hunt fade into the background, even if only for a little while.

Sam had gone back to the motel hours ago, claiming exhaustion, but Dean wasn’t ready for the quiet yet. Not tonight.

The door swung open, and he glanced up instinctively, eyes scanning the newcomer like always.

And then he saw her.

She stepped inside, her silhouette framed by the glow of the streetlights outside. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders, and her eyes—he could see their brightness even from across the room—swept the bar like she was searching for something. Or someone.

Dean sat up straighter, his pulse skipping in a way that surprised him. She wasn’t flashy, not in the way some people tried to be, but there was something about her. A quiet elegance. A kind of presence that made the air feel charged.

She moved to the bar, ordering a drink with a voice too soft for him to hear, and Dean realized he was staring. He tore his gaze away, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. What the hell was wrong with him?

But then, as if sensing his attention, she turned. Her eyes locked on his, and for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of them.

Dean swallowed hard.

The next thing he knew, he was on his feet, walking toward her. He didn’t plan it; his body just moved, like it had a mind of its own.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet away. Smooth, Winchester, real smooth.

She smiled, and it was like the room got a little brighter. “Hey.”

“I, uh—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t usually do this, but…”

“But?” she prompted, tilting her head.

“But I’d kick myself if I didn’t ask your name.”

Her smile widened, and he swore he felt it in his chest. She tells him his name before adding, “And you are?”

“Dean.”

“Well, Dean,” she said, lifting her drink, “it’s nice to meet you.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly after that, like they’d known each other for years instead of minutes. She told him about her life, her dreams, the way she loved the sound of rain against a window. He told her about the Impala, his favorite pie, and carefully avoided the darker parts of his world.

She laughed when he described the way Sam looked at him whenever he played old rock cassette tapes too loudly. She asked if he ever sang along, and he admitted, grudgingly, that he did.

“I can picture it,” she said, grinning. “You, behind the wheel, belting out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”

Dean smirked. “It’s more like ‘Highway to Hell,’ but close enough.”

They talked for hours, long after the bar began to empty.

As the night wore on, that inexplicable sense that meeting her wasn’t just chance—it was something more—only grew. It felt like the universe had drawn a line straight from her to him, like it had been waiting for this exact moment.

When the bartender finally called last call, Dean didn’t want to leave.

“Let me walk you out?” he offered, and she nodded.

The night air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and woodsmoke. They stood outside the bar, neither seeming ready to say goodbye.

“I had a really great time,” she said softly.

“Me too,” Dean replied.

She hesitated, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Finally, she just smiled again, and Dean felt that same ache in his chest.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight.”

She turned to go, and Dean watched her until she disappeared into the night.

He didn’t know her last name. Didn’t know if he’d ever see her again.

But as he climbed into the Impala and started the engine, one thought stayed with him, looping over and over like the chorus of a song he couldn’t forget.

He was enchanted to meet her.

Weeks passed, but she stayed in his mind like a melody he couldn’t shake. Dean had met plenty of people on the road, but none of them had ever felt like this. There was something about her that lingered, a spark he couldn’t explain.

One night, parked on the side of some forgotten highway, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. He didn’t have her number, but he wished he did.

Sam glanced over from the passenger seat. “You okay?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About her?” Sam guessed.

Dean shot him a look, but he didn’t deny it.

“Why don’t you go back?” Sam suggested. “See if she’s still in that town.”

Dean hesitated. The idea had crossed his mind more than once, but the life they lived wasn’t one that allowed for second chances.

Still, as he stared out at the dark horizon, he couldn’t help but wonder.

He drove back to the town the next day. The bar looked exactly the same—dim lights, cheap drinks, the faint smell of stale beer—but there was no sign of her.

Disappointment settled heavy in his chest as he walked back to the Impala. Maybe this had been a mistake.

“Dean?”

He froze, turning toward the voice.

She stood a few feet away, holding a takeout coffee cup, her expression a mix of surprise and something softer.

“I thought that was you,” she said, stepping closer.

Dean’s heart felt like it might beat out of his chest. “Yeah. I, uh—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be around.”

She smiled, and it was just like the first time—bright and warm and completely disarming. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too,” he said, meaning it more than he could say.

They stood there for a moment, the world fading into the background again. And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt like maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Castiel “Castles crumbling”

Castiel x fem!reader

Helping cas recover after losing his grace

Words ; 943

The warehouse was unnervingly quiet now, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights flickering overhead. The metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of smoke clung to the air, a suffocating reminder of the fight that had just ended.

Your legs carried you forward on instinct, the weight of everything that had just happened settling on your chest. Dean and Sam were a few steps behind, speaking in hushed tones about their next move, but their words faded into background noise as your eyes locked on Castiel.

He was slumped against the cold, concrete wall, his trench coat hanging off his shoulders like it was too heavy for him to bear. His head was tilted back, his eyes half-closed, and for the first time, he looked truly, utterly defeated.

It wasn’t just exhaustion. It was something deeper, something that made your throat tighten and your heart twist painfully in your chest.

You dropped to your knees beside him, hesitating only for a moment before reaching out. “Cas?”

His eyes cracked open at the sound of your voice, but they didn’t hold the piercing light you were used to. They were dull now, almost lifeless. He stared at you for a moment before shaking his head faintly. “You shouldn’t…” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

“Don’t say that,” you said quickly, your hand hovering over his arm, unsure if he would pull away. “You’re hurt. Let me help you.”

He let out a dry, bitter laugh that didn’t sound like him at all. “Help me? You can’t help what’s already broken.”

“Cas—”

“I’m nothing now,” he interrupted, his tone sharper, more biting. His gaze shifted away from you, fixing somewhere in the distance. “My grace is gone. I’ve fallen. I was an angel of the Lord, and now I’m…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“Now you’re human,” you finished for him, your voice soft.

His head turned sharply, and for a moment, his expression was one of disbelief—maybe even anger. “Human,” he echoed bitterly. “Do you have any idea what that means? I’ve lost everything. My purpose, my power, my… everything I was. My foes and friends alike have seen me fall.” His voice cracked, and he looked away again, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t even know how it could’ve ended this way.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you struggled to keep your voice steady as you reached for him again. This time, you didn’t hesitate. You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, your thumbs brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “You are not nothing, Castiel. Do you hear me? You’re still you. You’re the one who saved me, who saved Dean and Sam, who saved the world more times than I can count. You’ve fought for humanity, for people you didn’t even know, and for what? To tell me now that you’re nothing? I won’t let you say that.”

His blue eyes, so dull and lifeless moments ago, searched yours now, and you saw the cracks in the wall he was trying so desperately to keep up. “I’ve failed,” he whispered. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I’ve only ever caused pain. To Heaven. To you.”

“You haven’t failed,” you said, your voice trembling as you leaned closer. “You’ve done more good than you’ll ever know. And you’re not alone. Do you hear me? You’ll never be alone.”

His hands came up hesitantly, resting over yours as if grounding himself in your touch. “I don’t know how to be this,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “I don’t know how to be… human.”

“You don’t have to figure it out on your own,” you said, leaning your forehead against his. “You have me. You have Dean and Sam. You have us, Cas. And we’re not going anywhere.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, the weight of your words hanging in the space between you. Then, slowly, he leaned into you, his hands tightening slightly over yours.

“Thank you,” he murmured, the words so quiet you almost didn’t hear them.

Your breath hitched as his gaze dropped to your lips, the air between you shifting. There was a hesitation in his expression, a question he didn’t voice aloud. But when he leaned in, the kiss was soft, tentative, as if he were afraid you might break under his touch.

You kissed him back, your fingers threading through his hair, pouring everything you couldn’t say into that moment—your admiration, your affection, your love.

When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time since Metatron had stolen his grace, there was a faint light in his eyes.

“Uh, hate to interrupt your little moment,” Dean’s voice cut through the quiet, making you jump, “but we gotta get moving. This place isn’t exactly safe.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t move far from Castiel. His hand found yours, and when you glanced at him, his expression was soft but steady.

Dean raised a brow but didn’t comment further, leading the way out with Sam close behind.

As the four of you left the warehouse, Castiel’s hand remained in yours, his grip firm and grounding. He might have lost his grace, his power, and the castle he’d once built, but as you walked beside him, you silently vowed to help him rebuild—brick by brick, piece by piece.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to do it alone.