#spn 15x03 coda

[deansawthetvglow]

everyone always describes castiel with the same words.

wide, blue eyes. plump, pink lips. perfectly straight nose. voice like gravel, hair like sex.

to dean, none of those words ever fit castiel.

not exactly.

because castiel is a force, a light, a scream breaking the windows and welcoming him back into the world from the womb of mother earth.

castiel is more human than most human beings, yet he is angelic and fierce.

castiel is a walking contradiction. a beautiful being that dean can’t bear to describe by vessel alone.

doing so makes dean think castiel is a possibility, that he’s attainable—he has to acknowledge the enormity of castiel in order to humble himself.

in order to let go.

and yet, no matter how much he wants to ignore it, when castiel leaves, it’s not with the woosh of grace leaving his host’s body, it’s not with wings spreading like shadows and hurling his form into the unknown, it’s not with a bright white light streaming from stolen eyes.

when castiel leaves, it’s with wide, blue eyes and plump, pink lips, and a perfectly straight nose. it’s with a voice like gravel and hair like sex.

it’s a body, turning away.

a body, leaving him.

a body.

cas

[shining-castiel]

15x03 coda for the one year anniversary!

cas heard the dull thud of the heavy bunker door behind him and took a deep breath. he really thought that dean would stop him after all these years, after all he’d been through, all they’d been through he thought he’d ask him to stay.

 ‘we’re family’ dean had said all those years ago ‘we need you, i need you’, his words echoed in his mind as he stood there outside the bunker, half expecting to see dean push the door open and apologise, to tell him that he wanted him to stay but it never happened. it was time to move on he thought as he stepped through the gravel and towards his car. he was right, he thought dimly to himself feeling the unfamiliar sting of tears forming in his eyes, there wasn’t anything left for him here, not anymore anymore. he really was just a tool that would be discarded when it wasn’t needed. he just thought this was going to be different. 

the car door slammed and the engine sputtered as he drove off and didn’t look back. ‘it’s better this way’ he repeated to himself over and over, like a mantra, during his journey into the unknown

notes under the cut :)

ok i have no idea what this is and i haven’t proofread it enough but i wanted to get something out for the anniversary slkfdjal, it’s really clunky (?) at some parts but oh well-

[brittywritesstuff]

you fooled me from the start when you let me start to love you

Warnings:  Spoilers for 15x03; many bad words

Words: 1.1k

A/N:  Title and lyrics at the end from “Leaving Tonight” by The Neighborhood.  Also... kinda sorry for this. 

Read on AO3

Dean swallows hard, watching just how deep those words cut into Cas.  He should take them back.  But he doesn’t.  God help him, he doesn’t.  No.  No, not God help him.  God won’t help him.  God is the reason for all of this.  God is the whole fucking reason  Dean’s world is spinning out.  He used to think he had free will.  He used to think that maybe the one fucking thing he had in this whole forsaken rat maze was his choice.  But, as it turns out, he didn’t.  God unapologetically and unceremoniously ripped any semblance of free will away from him.  Nothing has been real.  Nothing is real.  He can’t trust anything or anyone, so why should he let himself be attached?

The trouble is, though… this feels so fucking real.  He’s not numb enough.  He didn’t get enough whiskey before Cas approached, and all at once, it’s too much and not enough.  

Jesus, Dean.  Say something.  Just fucking say something. 

Cas is walking away, and it truly feels like Dean’s heart is being ripped from his chest.  “Where are you going?”  It’s not enough.  It’s not enough, but it’s all he can manage.  Say something!

Dean squeezes his eyes shut.  “Cas.”  His voice gives out, and he clears his throat to try again.  “Cas, wait.”  He pushes off the table and sets down his glass, harder than he means to.  The sound echoes in the library as he drags his feet toward Cas in the war room.  “Don’t--”

Cas stops and heaves a breath, turning toward Dean.  “Don’t what?”  

“I didn’t…”  Dean looks down at his feet, the line between his brows drawing ever-deeper.  “I’m fuckin’ pissed--” “Yes, Dean, I got that.”

“At all of it.  At Jack, at Chuck, at--”

“Me--”

“No,” Dean cries.  He finally lifts his head, and tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Dean, I can’t…” Cas looks down and shifts, as if searching for his words.  The silence seems interminable.  “I cannot continue to do this with you.  I cannot continue to be your punching bag when you’re angry at the world.   I have always been here.  I have always come when you called.  But I am suffering, too.  And you don’t care--”

“I do.”  Dean takes a step forward, and inhales sharply.  “God, Cas, I do fucking care!”

“When have you ever shown me that you care, Dean?”  Cas’s voice raises and echoes through the war room.  Dean swallows hard.  “I have always been here.  I have begged you to talk to me, and have been met with disdain.  I have begged you for help, and you have turned me away.  I told you that I loved you--”  He hears Cas’s voice break, and it breaks Dean-- “and you said nothing in return.”

“I wanted to die, Cas,” Dean says, his voice rough.  He shakes his head.  “When you died, I fuckin’ tried.  You were gone, and it didn’t fuckin’ matter.  Because I--”

“When have you ever shown me, Dean, that I matter?”

Dean doesn’t answer with words.  Instead, he surges forward, grasps Cas’s face, and pulls him into a hard, heated, desperate kiss.  It’s sloppy work; too much teeth and a little too bruising, but it’s there.  And he does all he can to pour every ounce of emotion into it.  But, to his dismay and horror, Cas plants his palms on his chest, and shoves Dean away.  “Cas--”  No.  Please, no.  His stomach lurches, and he can’t see straight.  This can’t be the end. 

“Do you think that kissing me will change anything?  I’m what goes wrong, aren’t I?  I’m useless to you.  A burden to you.  Dead to you.”

Dean is desperate.  He grabs a fistful of trench coat and yanks Cas in.  “I didn’t mean it.”  He grasps the side of his head and leans in closer.  The tears are free falling, and he does nothing to stop them.  “I’m sorry, Cas.  Don’t go.  Please.  Please.  We’ll figure it out.  But I can’t-- I can’t lose you again.  Please, Cas.  Please.  Please.”

“Dean…”

“Please.”  He cards his fingers through Cas’s hair, gripping the back of his head.  He presses his forehead to Cas’s and sucks in a breath.  “I can’t lose you, too.”

Cas is silent for a moment, and he finally tilts his head to press his lips against Dean’s.  It’s soft and warm and everything Dean so desperately needs--

Dean gasps as he startles awake, looking around for a moment, confused.  The bottle of whiskey in his hand had slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling against the leg of the drink cart.  He scrubs a hand over his face, and it comes away wet with tears.  His heart is pounding, and he shifts in the chair; the leather creaking underneath him.  “Fuck,” he mutters, leaning forward.  

He can still hear the echo of the heavy door that slammed shut behind Cas; a soundtrack to the deep, bitter, overwhelming pain that has settled in his chest.  Always the adios.  That’s what’s real.  That everyone leaves.  Everyone leaves Dean.  Either by death or by choice, everyone leaves.  It’s fucked up and he hates himself for it, but it feels more real than anything’s felt in a while.�� Like digging a finger into a wound, making sure the pain is still there.  He kept his mouth shut, and Cas walked out.  Dean’s been shot, he’s been stabbed, he’s been ripped to shreds by Hellhounds.  But nothing, he decides, nothing hurt as bad as watching Cas walk out that door.  

Even if he’d had the balls to stop him… who’s to say it’s not what Chuck wanted all along.  They’re nothing but puppets on fucking strings to Chuck.  No matter how much Cas insists, they’re in the fucking Winchester Gospels; bowing to the mercy of that glorified fanboy.  And Dean’s been played for a fucking fool all these years.  To feel the kind of love he feels for Cas, and know that it can’t possibly be real...  

This deep, disgusting, filthy shame and pain Dean feels is better than any fake happiness that can be ripped away from him at any moment.  And he knows, if he had asked Cas to stay… he knows if he had just fucking said something, he knows the pain at the end of that road will be so much worse than this.  This, he can convince himself, is his choice.  

It hurts less.

That’s the lie he tells himself when he downs another fifth of whiskey and cries himself to sleep clutching that old, worn photo of Cas, Sam, Jo, Ellen, himself, and Bobby. 

It hurts less.

All alone, all we know is haunting me… making harder to breathe.

[nightingalefeminist]

Freedom: a 15x03 Coda

Ok so, disclaimer... I love Dean but im very angry with him right now. Cas deserves better. If Dean realizes this and treats Cas how he deserves I might forgive him (aka the writers) but until then I don’t write happy destiel.

So just an FYI this is not a happy ending. Also excuse the tense shifts I’m horrible at using past perfect where it’s not appropriate but I can’t edit anymore!

__________________________

The heavy bunker door closing behind Cas echoed through the empty space. It reverberated through Dean’s mind and disturbed all the dangerous thoughts waiting for the excuse to escape.

It wasn’t like he treated Cas like shit! He treated him how he always did, like family dammit. But that son of a bitch had still walked. He’d abandoned them.

Dean tore through the books and artifacts on the closest shelf, throwing them to the floor as hard as he could. He waited for the embarrassment to sweep in like it did when he took a breath and saw what he’d done, but it didn’t come. Seeing the destruction only made him angrier and he grabbed a poker from the fireplace and smashed through a lamp on the table. Then he destroyed the shelf that he’d knocked the stuff from but the anger only turned to rage. That’s when he saw the angel statue sitting on the partition wall between the library and the entry hall. It was a woman in long robes but her black wings reminded him of Cas’s stretched out and burnt into the sand. He hefted the poker and beat the statue until he was sweating and shivering over a pile of dust.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey a pulled from it for too long. The burn of alcohol twisted his insides.

No. Cas had abandoned them, his own family. After he’d gotten Mary and Jack and then Rowena killed. It was his fault they were dead. Wasn’t it? The guilt forced his thoughts back faster than he could wash them down with the bitter spirits. He knew something was off with Jack; a nagging at the back of his mind. Dean even said something to Sam about it a few days before Jack disappeared with their mom. Cas shared his worries but hadn’t said anything, why hadn’t he said anything?

You didn’t say anything either, his traitorous mind whispered to him through the fast-approaching whiskey blur. Then he remembered the look on Cas’s face when he said Cas was the problem, the reason for all of it going wrong, and his words finally bloomed ugly in his gut. The whiskey threatened to come back up but he swallowed hard and steadied himself on the table. He managed to keep his stomach in check but the tears came fast and hot.

______

The air outside the bunker was cool and it cleared Cas’s mind for the first time in days. He breathed in deep and was astonished that the emotional rising to the surface was relief.

There was sorrow below that and desperation too, but they were staying under the veil of numbness; it allowed him to recognize that he felt lighter outside of the walls, formally detached from the Winchester’s. When he thought of Sam he hesitated, he would miss him and would worry about him too, but Dean would take care of him. Sam was the only one Dean took care of.

Cas thought Dean was finally letting himself love and be loved by Cas. They’d started spending nights together, and Dean would sometimes talk to him, and sometimes make love to him. The first time had been years ago and Cas never felt such an attachment to anything before, they grew close and kept getting closer.

Then something happened.

Even looking back he didn’t know just what it was. Had it been subtle? Or was it a moment that snapped what they’d built like a twig? Cas supposed it didn’t matter, the end result was the same. For the past year or more Dean had become so distant it drove Cas to compulsion, trying to hold on to what they had. He told Dean he loved him one night in desperation.

The next night Dean came to him drunk and hungry, they ripped each other’s clothes off and pushed each other against the walls, growling their desires without inhibitions. It satisfied Cas until he woke up the next morning and Dean was gone, the first time he’d ever snuck out of his room. After that Dean came to him almost every night whenever they were in the bunker and he was almost always drunk. After a while Cas started to feel sick when Dean touched him while drunk, it was such a contrast to when Dean touched him with purpose and reverence. The rush he got at first in response to Dean’s hunger, it had come with the hope that Dean was letting him in. But soon Dean would come too drunk to make love to him and he’d ask Cas to fuck him instead. When Cas refused, sick off the smell of whiskey, Dean would leave angry and wouldn’t speak to him the next day.

When he told Dean that he loved him It was the truth, but as soon as he said it he knew it was all wrong. The way he said it. When he said it. Wrong, just like Dean had said. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get it right. At least this way, on his own, he’d only disappoint himself and no one else.

Against his better judgment Cas closed his eyes and concentrated on Dean, reaching through the space between them and listened intently. He didn’t hear anything. He only felt white hot anger and then deep, seeping guilt.

Cas shook his head and cut the connection, he should get rid of his grace, what use was it if his powers were failing anyway? He started walking down the road, taking out his angel blade while he looked up at the stars. Before he could think twice he found the grace’s pulse at the base of his throat and cut it out. The bright blue miasma slid from him and floated in the air a moment, waiting to be contained by something or stored away in another living thing. When Cas kept moving and left it behind him he felt it start to dissipate, scattered to the countless atoms that made up every minuscule part of the universe. He knew when the last of it finally melted into the night because it felt like a black hole, impossibly large for his vessel, opened up in the center of him.

All he ever wanted was to just be an angel; but with heaven failing and God as their enemy, it didn’t seem possible any more.

Even after the drunken, disturbed nights Cas thought his place was by Dean’s side. He felt like Dean might return his love some day. One day. Tonight Dean made it clear that Cas didn’t belong with them. He felt a sharp sadness but then the feeling dulled, just like that, and his path away felt right.

[adsp-destielcockles]

I really love pining Dean caring for this lone feather, as his only way to be close to Cas. He ran the feather across his cheek. He absolutely wasn’t going to cry....He laid in the dark, holding the feather to his chest.

And then Cas cutting through Dean’s crap to get right to the heart of things. ❤️

Written for the SPN Stay at Home challenge.

Monday 1: Feathers

A Feather For Your Thoughts

Dean laid on his bed, looking at the feather. It was one that had fluttered to the floor years ago, when Cas still had his wings, him taking off again to leave Dean standing there alone.

He wondered just how many times he’d watched Cas leave. Way too many to remember, let alone count.

No one knew he had the feather. He’d kept it hidden for years, at the bottom of his duffel bag and then under his pillow when they’d found the bunker and at last had a bedroom to their own. He’d taken good care of it, it was still shiny, inky in the light. 

He twirled it in his fingers, letting the feelings he always denied having wash over him. 

Fuck.

It had been two weeks since their fight. Well, since Dean yelled at Cas and Cas took off. He hated that he hurt Cas, he hated when his anger got the better of him. Why was he always angry? Why did he always lash out?

He ran the feather across his cheek. He absolutely wasn’t going to cry. 

He missed Cas so much. 

Cas, I don’t know if you can hear me. If you can, please forgive me. I didn’t mean what I said… I just get so angry and I lash out and… anyway, I’m sorry. I know I can be a real dick, but man, I miss you. I’m so sorry. Please, come back…

He laid in the dark, holding the feather to his chest.

Three days later, he was resigned that he’d never see Cas again. He’d called, just getting Cas’ voicemail. He’d left messages. Then he’d texted. Nothing. Not a fucking peep.

Sam was steering clear of him. He knew Sam wanted to help but there wasn’t anything he could do. He knew what Dean was going through, and that it wouldn’t do any good to try to talk to him. He just let Dean drink his whiskey and left him alone.

Keep reading

[rauko-creates]

The Black and White

Part 2: And, Finally...

(Part 1 is here)

I call it how I see, But you care way too much for me And I can't stand that honestly So I pushed it all away ‘Cause I won’t let you see me this way But still I'd wish you stay

Turn around…

Dean watched Cas walk up the stairs to leave. 

Please… 

The door shut behind Cas.

I- I’ve finally done it...

It had sure taken a long time. Dean huffed. Guess Cas had underestimated just how toxic Dean could be. Well, Dean sure showed him. He gripped the table beneath him.

Sure, Cas had left before, but this was different. Before, Cas had chosen Heaven over Dean, had chosen other alliances over trusting Dean. Before, there had been things pulling Cas away. This time, there was nothing to choose between. Cas was just...leaving.

Well, actually...Cas was making a choice this time too: he was finally choosing himself over Dean.

And Cas was right to. 

Even so, Dean’s hoarse whisper stretched into the empty room. “I needed you to stay.” Dean reached for the bottle of whiskey. Forget the glass. He turned it up. This bottle wasn’t for sharing anymore.

He slung the empty bottle across the room. The shattering sound was almost satisfying but not enough.

Dean reached into the cabinet for another. We literally met in Hell. So, what? You’ll only walk through bad times with me if it’s under orders?

That bottle didn’t last long either. You turned your back on Heaven, on your family, to choose mine. You rebelled against the great plan to fight destiny with me. Guess it was only a matter of time ‘til you realized it wasn’t worth it, ‘til you realized I wasn’t worth it.

He sobbed against the liquor cabinet. You killed a reaper to save us. You said I was too important to you, to the world. I wonder if you think that now. I bet you finally see you were wrong.

He fumbled with the bottles. You said you loved me. 

Dean shoved everything off of the surface, letting glasses shatter against the floor. You said you’d go with me. You were once willing to die with me so I wouldn’t have to face Amara alone, so I wouldn’t have to die alone...and I still managed to chase you away.

Dean stumbled across the room. You were willing to let the world burn under Michael to keep me from sacrificing myself. You should have just let me and my box sink to the bottom of the goddamn ocean. God, it would hurt less.

Dean tripped over...something. He didn’t care. It was vaguely annoying though, as he had wanted to go...where was he wanting to go? Oh yeah. The kitchen. There was more beer in the kitchen. He struggled to his feet just to fall back over. He became vaguely aware that someone was saying his name, that an arm was lifting him up. “Cas?” he breathed.

“I think he went out. I haven’t seen him in a couple hours.”

Dean nodded. “Sammy, I...Cas...he’s gone.”

Sam was pulling him...somewhere. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”

“I’m fucking garbage.” Dean fell backwards. Sam didn’t catch him, but it didn’t hurt. He felt something pulling at his feet and tried to scramble away, but his body wouldn’t do much.

“Dean would you stop?”

Dean looked down to see Sam dropping a shoe. Was Sam borrowing his shoes? Oh. Of course. “You’re leaving too,” he choked.

Sam pulled Dean’s other shoe off. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know what happened with Cas, but we’ll talk about it in the morning. When you’re sober.”

Dean nodded and dropped his head back onto his pillow. He felt the warmth of a blanket being pulled over him.

That night, Dean dreamed of strong hands gripping him tight and raising him from this Hell. He dreamed of blue. He dreamed of warm arms wrapping around him. He dreamed of a voice saying that he would never leave, that he would go with Dean. He heard the voice say, of course, Dean, that he would do or be anything that Dean needed.

Dean dreamed of ripping those arms away from himself and running, because no one so utterly wonderful should have to actually do all those things, not for him, not for someone who was so broken and undeserving. He felt the arms and the blue chasing after him, reaching for him. As Dean ran, he screamed that he hated them. He didn’t. But he screamed that he did.

And, finally, they stopped reaching.

[quillquiver]

Not a great one, but it’s a coda! DeanCas coda to 15.03: The Rupture

The bunker door closes behind Cas, and Dean gets a beer.

Then he gets another.

Then another.

Then he goes back to the library and gets to work. Just ’cause that was the last apocalyptic hurrah doesn’t mean all the creepy crawlies are dead and gone—gotta be a case out there somewhere. Cas wants to leave? That’s fine. He wants to abandon his fucking family? It’s no skin off Dean’s nose. Castiel is older than every goddamn adult on the planet. He can make his own decisions.

Sam doesn’t come out for the rest of the day and that’s fine, too. Dean grabs another beer before falling asleep at the table.

Fuck Cas. They don’t need him.

***

“Where’s Cas?”

“Gone.”

“What? He—”

“Yeah. Grabbed his shit, walked right out the door. Gone.”

“…Is he coming back?”

“No.”

“No? Dean—”

“He left, Sam! Leave it!”

***

Dean walks past Cas’s empty room at least fifteen times before going in, scoffing at the empty desk and shelf. The go-bag in the closet is gone, too, though he’s not sure what was inside it. Probably clothes, money, IDs… the kind of stuff he should have had in Rexford but didn’t. Guess he’s got it now, huh?

Dean scoffs.

It’s not like there was anything interesting in the room to begin with; couple of pictures, a small plant, a neat row of books beside a collection of interesting-looking rocks. As an angel, Cas had never needed material objects for anything but his own personal enjoyment, and he was always a little too alien to be into having stuff of his own, anyway.

You don’t care. I’m dead to you.

Or maybe he never felt comfortable enough to take up space.

Maybe he was selfish and instead of pushing, instead of putting in the work, he kept secrets and made mistakes and up and left the second shit finally calmed down. Cas wanted to talk? Yeah right. If he’d cared as much as he says he does, he wouldn’t have left. Dean’s pissed but he would’ve dealt. He would’ve—

I don’t think there’s anything left to say.

Fucking bullshit.

Dean tears the room apart.

***

“Caaaaaaassssssssss callin’ you’n your phone ’cause you’re losin’ all you’re p’wers… Kay, bye.”

***

Dean lies in bed, squeezing his eyes shut to keep the room from spinning, trying to keep down his liquid lunch. Dinner? Who the fuck cares. He throws up in his mouth a little and cringes. “Dear Castiel,” he mumbles, sweaty and exhausted and a little delirious. “You fucking left me. Mom’s gone, and Jack’s gone, and Rowena and Ketch and Kevin and Charlie and Bobby and Ellen and Jo and Ash and Dad and I’m an asshole, okay, but you left. Fuck you.” He sniffles a little, holding tight to his pillows. “Fuck your messy hair and your blue eyes and your dumb legs. Fuck your healing hands. Fuck. Fuck.” The tears are coming in earnest now, but he’s too tired to wipe them away.

“…Come back.”

***

Dean has a vivid dream about forgiveness. He says, “I’m sorry.” He says, “There’s too much to say.” He says, “You’re everything to me.” Cas shakes his head and Dean kisses him to make him believe it. “Please,” he begs. Believe me. Believe me. Come home.

Half a world away, Castiel wakes in a cold sweat, fingers drifting up to brush over his mouth.

I’m coming, he thinks.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Prayer In A Bottle

Cas. 

Castiel jerks to attention, as a familiar voice nimbly enters his thoughts - almost as if it’s brushing the curtains away to see if he’s there, and he is, and he lets it in. That’s not how prayers are supposed to work, but the Winchesters have a way of doing things their own way. 

Cas? 

It’s a tired, heavy voice; just not the one he’d thought. This was Sam. 

Voices tend to get mangled when they reach you as prayer - something about allowing for anonymous benefactoring of kindness, but probably more about impartiality. But Cas can tell. He knows the brothers too well, has heard their voices too many times - this has to be Sam. 

However, Sam isn’t supposed to get intoxicated and pray to him. That’s so much more Dean. Sam’s not supposed to sound this broken, or unsure, or wistful in his prayers. Sam isn’t supposed to be sad. 

I think you can hear me. But I wish there was some way I could tell. 

Cas pauses. He sighs - well, he’s wished so more than once, before. Now, he’s an angel who can’t fly, but can hear prayers. It’s a cruel paradox. 

Nonetheless, his surroundings melt away, just like the disregarded plate, for he listens hard. Even if it’s all he can do. 

Okay, you know what? I’m just going to believe that you can hear me. Belief’s supposed to do the trick, isn’t it? Just like I believe you’ve read my texts. And listened to the mails. 

He hasn’t. He’d had no clue. Almost instinctively, Cas reaches into his coat for his phone, but when he clicks the button, the screen doesn’t blare to life. He scowls at it, for he needs to check these messages that have Sam so upset with him - or so he sounds. He’s trying to will it to come to life, clicking the button repeatedly, when it strikes him. Of course, it must be completely discharged. Not on purpose - he just never remembered. There have been many other things to think about. 

Back at the bunker, most times, one of the boys would plug his cellphone in, when theirs were done. It was mostly Sam. He should’ve known this would happen. 

And I’m just going to get this clear. It’s alright if you don’t it respond. I get it. 

Cas pauses. 

I got Dean to tell me everything. And I get it. 

*

Except for the occasional rambling, and the rare distracted lull in his voice - he wouldn’t even have been able to tell that Sam was drunk. But he had to be. 

Because these weren’t things Sam Winchester would say to him, otherwise. 

I miss Jack, Cas. I miss him, and his voice, and his pencils and everything. I miss having him around so much that it’s crazy, and what’s crazier is that I don’t even think of not having Mom around those times. I know Dean doesn’t feel the same way. He thinks about her all the time. 

Cas clenches his fists. He knows Dean thinks about her. He knows that’s what’s made it worse. But he’d never thought of Sam not thinking about her like that. 

He almost sounds guilty, and that’s a feeling that this man should never have to experience, but Cas can’t do a thing about it. 

He hangs onto every word Sam’s offering him, finally letting it out. Everything he says, punctuated by endearing rambles and random questions about Cas’s general  well-being, makes his head reel. 

I never apologized to you for that day. For the coffin. For Jack. You kept saying you’re sorry, Cas, and that’s all I could hear. I was lost, and it was such a horrific thing to do. It was Jack, our Jack, and we almost locked him away for eternity - there’s things Dean says to try and forget I ever did, but I will never forgive myself for that. 

And then, I couldn’t think past God - you walked out, you were brave enough, and I didn’t follow. If I had, today could’ve been different, so much better - but I didn’t, and every day, I think about why I couldn’t do it. I still can’t tell, but I suppose it’s because I still believed in God. 

Cas is almost dizzy, at this point. He can’t think, or move. He can only let every word Sam utters, wash over him - and he does. 

Sam doesn’t stop speaking. He goes on, about god, and confides in Cas how he’s never felt so alone. He tells him how he wishes he could believe in a superior Good, though it’s exactly Him they’re battling. He almost chokes telling Cas about Rowena. Those last few moments in the crypt. 

Castiel cries with him, at that, but Sam doesn’t know it. 

Belphegor was a goddamn jackass, and there were none of us who didn’t know it. Cas, what happened between you two in hell, I don’t know - we never talked after that, but I know what happened in that crypt.. Rowena - she chose that path, she kept telling me that - and I didn’t believe her then, but I’m trying to now. Please, Cas, believe it too. 

On that day, I made the same decision you did. You chose to save the world, over the last bit of Jack you had left, and I chose to save the world over her. They were tough decisions, but if Dean can tell me it was justified, then so was yours. 

A tear slips down Cas’s cheek. He’d had no idea that he’d needed to hear this so much. It’s strange for him to cry, seated alone in a diner - thankfully facing away from people, since he’s completely tuned out of the setting. All he can think about is Sam. 

He’s never wanted to answer a prayer more. 

Know what, Cas? Sam’s tone had grown harder. Or was it softer? I’d promised myself I wasn’t going to say this, because I’ve already said it in those calls you didn’t pick up - but you left, Cas. We lost so many friends, that day. Ketch, he’s gone. We lost Rowena, Cas, and then you were gone, too. 

Cas shakes his head, denying the true allegations to the wall. Sam sounds drained, as he says it. It’s like he’s suddenly more tired. 

I cannot believe you chose to leave us then, Cas. 

Sam breathes it out, quiet - and if Cas had been a few feet from him, he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. But, because he’s miles away - and Sam’s still praying, he does hear it, and something shatters inside of him. 

How had he been so heartless as to abandon Sam that night, needless of whether he’d needed him there or not. It didn’t matter that Dean was enough for him, and Sam was enough for Dean - it didn’t matter that Dean was still furious with him, that he was never going to be forgiven, that he didn’t feel like he could breathe in the bunker anymore - how could Cas have decided to desert Sam Winchester, that day?

Suddenly, he didn’t care about how much it would’ve ached to stay another day. The disdain in Dean’s rare glances his side, the apathy which made him ache seemed inconsequential, all at once. Sam had lost a friend that day. Castiel had compelled him to lose two. 

Sam had been quiet for a long time. 

Cas wonders if Sam’s stopped praying - it’s always been mysterious to him, how dialogue stops being a prayer once the attachment is gone, though it’s within the same revolution of the clockhands and the same two persons. Maybe Sam doesn’t want to speak to him anymore. 

He doesn’t blame him. 

Castiel doesn’t deserve his kind words. The forgiveness, the acceptance, and the redemption that he’s starved for. He doesn’t deserve anything from Sam. 

But here’s the ridiculous part. I can’t believe you’re gone, but I can believe it too. We’ve been awful. Dean doesn’t know what he’s like, when he’s like this. I - I’ve been there. He thought I was the reason Charlie got killed. I’ve never known him to hate me more, and there might have been a lot going on then, but I’ve never worried more that he’d not look at me the same again. 

So there. I know why you felt like you had to go away. I just can’t believe that you did. 

Cas swallows. He’s never thought about it like this. Sam sounds like he’s given this some thought - his words touch Castiel’s heart, and wrench his gut at the same time. He waits for more. 

You know this, Cas. Dean’s Dean. He can be angry, he can be mean, and he can be terrible, but he’s Dean, so it doesn’t matter. He’s always going to come around, because he loves us, and misplaced rage can only last so long. He needs us, and we need him - all we’ve got to do is wait, and not walk out while he’s being ridiculous like this. Try to knock some sense back into him, prove our intentions, and -

Sam chuckles, suddenly. Cas’s ears perk at the sound, it’s breathy and beautiful, and a little sigh of relief overtakes him at the short huff of laughter. Sam’s okay. 

He sounds like a villain, when I say that. No, Dean’s anything but that. He’s my brother, Cas, and I’m sorry on his behalf. I know that doesn’t make up for all he said, but tell me that you’ll let it go sometime, please. That someday, you’ll not hate us anymore. Because this is Dean, and you know him too, and - you get it, don’t you?

Cas purses his lips. Yes, he does. But this is different - Dean’s the one who won’t let it go, and they’re the ones who don’t need -

Cas had forgotten Sam can’t hear him. So Sam continued, after a deep inhale. 

You’re kind of the only person who does. 

*

Sam trails off of Dean, just as sudden as he’d come upon it. Now, he’s recounting days from before. Suddenly, he’s telling Cas about his discussions with Jack about cereal, and Cas is listening so awfully keen, that Sam’s voice might as well be that of the angel radio which pierces through the barriers of his mind - except he’s welcoming this. 

Of course, Cas isn’t eating anymore, so the waitress comes to ask him if she should fetch his check - but Cas couldn’t possibly move. He’s pinned to his spot, just as his ears are pinned to Sam. So he orders a coffee, black - hoping the bitterness makes it past his senses. And then he keeps listening 

Sam keeps talking. Cas doesn’t remember when he last had a conversation like this with someone. If ever, at all. And, he doesn’t think Sam’s had one of these conversations recently either - and he feels a dreadful kind of happy, to get to listen in to one of those rare times Sam Winchester truly shines through the cracks in his armor. 

Sam occasionally drifts off, settles into a sadder tone and confesses things that make Cas’s heart heavy. But he always finds his way back, almost to a conversational tone, and continues to talk. 

It’s so good to hear from him, Cas realizes, when a couple hours have passed. He hadn’t realized how much he’s missed the younger Winchester, either. It’s been oddly satisfying to hear his voice. 

And further so, that Sam talks to him now. It’s surreal, and he’s never thought about how much he’s wanted this, over the years. 

It’s different, from Dean. 

How, he wouldn’t be able to explain. 

But it’s very different. 

Sam’s voice is soft, growing drowsier as the minutes fly by - he pauses occasionally, too, praying not in a monologue, but as if Cas might be speaking at the other end. 

Cas wishes, surprising himself only minutely at the thought, to be able to pray back to him. Sam Winchester’s far more deserving of being prayed to, than he is - and that way, he could tell him his side. Thank him. Apologize profusely, and then thank him again. Do all of it, and maybe feel a little less contrite in regardance to how terrible a friend he’s been to a man who’s been good to him, since they first made each other’s acquaintance, all those years back. 

*

Anyways, Cas. 

Cas frowns at the tone. He knows it’s been very long, he knows Sam should sleep now - but he can’t help but wish this went on some more. He wants Sam to keep speaking to him. 

I guess this is where I say goodbye. 

Cas expects him to go on, actually say the words, hoping it’ll have him linger for a little longer. He sulks, when Sam goes silent. 

Cas hadn’t realized how lonely he’s been, before this. Sam’s familiar, comfortably used-to voice has managed to do wonders to his anxious state of mind. He doesn’t want him to leave, not at all, but the pause is too long, and he begins to wonder if Sam left with just that bit of preamble. 

He misses him already. 

But Sam comes back, words newly accentuated with an inebriated slur. 

You never even said goodbye to me, you know that, right?

Cas freezes.

I mean, you just - you never did. You’re moving on, aren’t you? Couldn’t even bother to see me before you move on. Maybe I matter too little, maybe you couldn’t stand the thought of being with us any longer - but I deserved that goodbye, alright? I’m sorry, but after all this time, I fucking did. 

Cas screws his eyes shut. The guilt comes thundering back. Sam sounds awful, too. 

You didn’t say goodbye, Cas. Sam repeats, and sounds devastated, and that’s what pushes Cas over the edge. His voice trembles like it might crack, and Cas swears to himself that if it did, he’d break down too. 

There’s another long, long pause. 

Again, Cas dreads that Sam is gone - that Sam will never pray to him again, and has left already to enhance his point - because Castiel still doesn’t deserve any of it, he doesn’t deserve to be Sam’s friend, and maybe Sam finally realized it. But he’s still stuck there, waiting for Sam, because his heart refuses to believe it. 

And Sam’s not gone. 

You know, he’s back, it’s a small voice, and he’s drank some more. If you’re going to come back, Cas, this would be the perfect moment to do so. Show up - right here in front of me, come back, Cas - and tell me that you didn’t say it because you were never really gone - and I’ll believe you, if you show up. 

Sam, completely drunk now, seems to have forgotten that Cas cannot show up at places anymore. He’s lost his wings. Oh, how he wishes he could, though - for he’d have complied immediately. There’s no other place he wants to be right now. 

But for that matter, anything Sam asks him to do, within his abilities of doing; in that voice, sounding like he needed Cas, begging him to show up, desperate and pleading - was as good as done. 

Alright. 

Cas feels oppressed by the two syllables. Sam must hate him that much more. 

So, that’s not happening. 

Cas holds his breath. 

Of course, it isn’t. I’d say, worth a try, but it’s idiotic to think you’d just be here like that. For me. Dean’s the one who should’ve been calling you. S’always worked in the past. 

Cas shakes his head, emphatically, desperately, with tears in his eyes. “It’s not that.” He says out loud, not even capable of feeling foolish for it. “I can’t come back. I cannot -”

Nevermind. 

“You’re wrong! I want to be there.” Cas argues. “You think you’re right, I can hear it, but you’re not. Sam, I want to be there for you.” 

Sam can’t hear him. 

I get it.

“You’re getting it wrong.” Cas pleads. “Sam, I -”

So, that’s that. I guess. I should go. Don’t, uh, don’t be a stranger. And take care of yourself, Cas.

Cas hates how prayers work. He detests the entire institution of praying. He’s never been so repulsed by the mechanisms of heaven, and he’s rebelled plenty. 

Just so you know, I’ll stop with the calls now, uh, I know why you want to stay away. And I’m going to respect that. 

Cas doesn’t want him to stop. He’s going to call him tomorrow, when he’s got his stupid phone’s battery back. He doesn’t want to stay away, anymore. He doesn’t think he even can. 

And hey, last thing. 

Cas waits, anxious. 

We’ve talked about this, all those years back - and I know you only care about Dean, but just remember - try to remember that he’s not the only one who cares about you. Alright? 

And all goes silent then, snapping the link and rendering Cas speechless. He wants to yell at the wall that that’s not true, that he loves Sam, that he needs him - he wants to beg him to pray again, to not hate him for saying goodbye, to plead him to keep talking about Jack - but he can’t do any of it. He can’t do anything at all. 

Sam’s stopped praying. 

*

And back at the bunker, the younger Winchester doesn’t even get to dwell on his words, repeat his prayers to himself and think about Cas - because he passes out too soon, crashing into the mattress, bottle at the bedside; it’s been a long day. He dreams of being killed by Dean again; this time, Sam’s one of the bodies he’s slashing up in hell, and he wakes up panting and cannot look Dean in the eye through breakfast. 

Moreover, he doesn’t recall a single speck of his prayers from last night. 

**

Taggy the list says: @ctrl-alt-destiel @emmii4 @awkward-penguin-in-a-trenchcoat @styggtroll @adventurous-blob @petrichoravellichor @all-or-nothing-baby @moderatelypanickedbiromantic @elvenlicht @legendary-destiel @noemithenephilim @galaxy-charm @trenchcoatsandfreckles @naitia @ladywaywarddsc @zoerayne2426 @thekidsmaybealright @hellfire37 @screamatthescreen @guesstimating-life @3dg310rdsupreme @impulsivedandelion @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect

[adoptdontshoppets]

Beautiful story. I loved hearing how their friendship developed, with Dean returning to the bar but never seeking or expecting anything more than a friendly face. Just that little escape to normal.

Whiskey Glasses

Dean Winchester x OFC Amanda, 4000 words

Song: Whiskey Glasses, Morgan Wallen Tags: drinking (so much drinking), angst, sadness, one-night stand (sex and oral sex)  AN: I love this song, and it hit me a couple of weeks ago that it is a total Dean song. The first story I came up with didn’t do him justice though. This is another one where @thoughtslikeaminefield and @there-must-be-a-lock pushed me to strip it all the way down to bare bones and start over. @mskathywriteswords did her part too. Thanks, my friends.

(set after 15x03) *** Amanda looked up the minute Dean Winchester walked through the door. Thunder rolled over his features and lightning sparked in his eyes as he let the door slam behind him. She would swear, she could feel the storm around him as soon as he walked in. Restless energy seemed to cloud the air in his wake, as his gaze sought hers from across the room.

“Howdy, stranger,” she called, waving him over. Her standard greeting usually drew a smirk, a wave, or even a playfully blown kiss; today he barely nodded before sinking onto a high bar chair. 

“Is it a beer night or a whiskey night?” Amanda tried again, hoping to get him to look up, to smile. But he just scrubbed one hand over his face and sighed. 

“Whiskey, double, and keep ‘em coming.” His voice had a ragged edge to it as he slapped down several twenties. He drank the first glass like a single shot, knocked the second one back like he didn’t even taste it.

Amanda paused before putting down the third drink in under an hour. All she said was, “Dean?" 

Keep reading

[mattzerella-sticks]

Stubborn, Coda to 15x03 “The Rapture”

Sam finds Dean after causing the rupture in his and Cas's relationship, trying to heal the wound with a familiar potion. When Dean can't answer a very easy answer, tensions finally boil over and Sam says a few things that Dean needs to hear. Needed to hear for years. Surprising how it takes only one domino to fall for an entire structure to collapse.

Sam softly closes his bedroom door, wincing as the hinges squeak. Echoing in the too empty hallway. Once he hears the small click of his lock Sam steps away. Then he shuffles down towards the kitchen. Each step brings with it a small jolt of cold as his bare feet connect with the tile. He welcomes the distraction as it pushes the more troubling thoughts from the front of his mind.

His path would lead him to the kitchen, if he kept on course. Seeing as the day’s theme is the opposite of that, Sam finds himself following the clattering sounds of the alcohol decanters and his brother’s growling in the War Room.

Dean sits hunched over the glow of the world map. Arms splayed across the surface, one traveling up the length of South America where his pinkie finger gently rubs against Middle America. The other hand clutches to the glass of half-drunk whiskey floating in the Pacific.

Sighing, Sam moves closer. The mutterings he could barely hear earlier become full sentences, a familiar name popping up every few words. He clears his throat. Announcing his presence before Dean could say anything he might regret. That he wasn’t ready for.

His brother tenses, head turning to where Sam entered. Glassy, bloodshot eyes swim in a sea of liquor as they try to focus on him. When the flash of recognition dimly lights up his gaze, the frown smeared across Dean’s face lightens into a harsh line. “What’re y’doin up?”

Great. Slurring means Dean drank enough to kill a horse. The empty row of containers scattered across the map provides enough evidence for his theory.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sam says, “Figured I’d make some coffee… what about you?”

Dean rolls his eyes, lazily saluting with his glass. Whiskey sloshing inside. “Drinkin’.”

“I can see that.”

“Good f’you…”

Sam leans on one of the chairs, sour mood curdling further. His brother takes the barbed silence as an end to their conversation, sipping at his drink and laying his head across the map again without care.

Not ready to leave yet, Sam searches for something to say. Looks in every corner of the War Room, past the archways and into every shadow. The overwhelming absence needles him. “Where’s Cas?”

Scoffing, Dean tucks himself further into his arm.

Sam repeats himself. “Where’s Cas?” Then he scrapes the chair across the floor. Dean stiffens into a seated position, posture straight and face wrenched in pain.

He glares at him, “What was that for?”

“Where’s… Cas ?”

“Why you wanna know, huh?” Dean asks instead, shifting awkwardly. Wobbling to and fro in his seat. “You think you mean that much to him? I got news Sam - you don’t . None of us do.” He empties his glass, slamming it onto the map. “Where’s Cas?” he mocks, snarling, “Who cares - how’s that for an answer?”

Sam’s lips twisted in disgust at the sheer ugliness marring his brother’s features. Gone was the smooth mask of professionalism. With nothing weighing on his shoulders, all the hurt and pain from days ago could swim to surface and take their wretched breaths.

“I care, Dean,” Sam starts, “and so do you -”

Dean scoffs. “I care… maybe once, maybe…” He swallows roughly, gaze darting to his lap. “I don’t anymore. S’all that matters. Cas could go off himself in some stupid way or,” the next part comes out rough, dragged through his clenched teeth. “Or give up this whole rotten business and settle down with some pretty young thing. He made it perfectly clear where the line’s drawn… Us on one side, him on the other.”

Sam glares, Dean’s tantrum eating at his already frayed nerves. “What did you say to him?”

“ Me ?” he splutters, “Why’re you sticking up for that little punk , huh? What’s he ever done for us?”

“What’s he ever - Dean . Do you even hear yourself?” His grip on the chair tightens, the wood biting into his skin. “Cas has given everything to help us. To help you . Sacrificed himself time and time again for the greater good, doing what he thinks right -”

“Yeah, right ,” Dean chuckles darkly, “What he thinks is right . Like smiting the useful demon and forcing Rowena to off herself - he thought that was right .”

Sam sees white. The anger passes, vision sharpening as his teeth press so fiercely against each other they might shatter. “Plans change,” he says, “We didn’t have any other choice -”

Dean rushes to his feet, chair clamoring as it falls backwards. Every muscle wired and ready to pounce, sobriety hemming the steely green of his iris. “Because he didn’t give us a choice, Sammy. He went AWOL and did this to us. Every damn time something goes wrong Cas is there, red-fucking-handed.”

Shocked, Sam distances himself from the brother he barely knows. Anger possessing him like a demented spirit. “If you really think that,” he says, “then it’s your fault. You taught him about free will, about how to make choices. Even if they’re the tough ones, like today’s.”

“Well that was a fucking mistake,” he says with no hesitation. “ He’s a mistake. A lost cause. A - what did he call Bel-bel-bel-whatever? Abomination? Sure let’s go with that.”

“Dean, he’s your best friend -”

“He’s not my -” Dean teeters, so close to falling over. Sam reaches out, ready to catch him. His brother shakes off the stupor and bats Sam’s hand away. More tentative than last time, Dean continues, “Wasn’t my best friend… not for a long time… he was - and now he’s not really…” Nose scrunching in confusion, Dean wipes at his teary eyes and growls. “It doesn’t matter anymore Sam! He never mattered, never cared . Castiel is an angel, and like every other feathery bastard like him all he did was interfere .”

Vein throbbing, Sam sucks a deep breath low into his gut to try and smother the rising flames of his temper. They only fan it. The fire rages across his conscious and turns any remaining patience inside to ash. “I’m fucking tired of this, Dean.”

“So am I. Finally something we can agree on.”

“No, I’m tired of you ,” Sam says, startling Dean. “I’m tired of this .”

“Oh, so you’re gonna move on from me too, Sam?” Dean asks, fear visibly paling his expression. “Leave like Cas, like Chuck -”

“Enough!” Sam roars, “Stop pushing all of your problems onto other people! I’m not Chuck, Cas isn’t Chuck. We actually fucking care about you. The sooner you stop taking your anger out on us - on him - the better all our lives will be.”

“But I am angry with Cas,” Dean argues still, “Sam, Cas he - he let mom die -”

“Yes, mom died,” he says, “Mom died. Jack died. Ketch died, and too many innocent people died… Rowena died, Dean.” Sam stutters a shaky sigh, heart clenching. “I had to kill someone I was getting so close… someone I loved and could see myself loving for a long time. She followed the plan Billie set out perfectly for us, and look how it turned out. Another woman I loved who ended up dead at my hands .”

Dean stares with precise focus at the ground, unable to meet Sam’s gaze. He carries on. “Rowena and me though… we didn’t get a choice. At least there’s some comfort in that, knowing she went out saving the world. Giving other people the chance to decide how they’ll spend their next day. But if you expect me to throw you a fucking pity party for pushing Cas away then you’re skunked. No one held a gun to your head and forced you to hold this ridiculous grudge against him, you pushed away someone you loved all on your own.”

Flustered, Dean meeks out a response. “I didn’t lo… I didn’t… Cas left on his own -”

“Cas left because you gave him no choice,” Sam tells him. “You took away any option he had and when he could only do what was left you blamed him for it. Would you blame the car in front of you for traffic if it was construction’s fault for blocking out the other lanes? No! Then why Cas?”

Sam answers for Dean. “Because you figured Cas would stay. This isn’t the first time you’ve done this but it’s the first time Cas called you on your bluff.”

Dean holds his ground. “There is no bluff -”

“Don’t,” he warns, “Do not… you can lie to everyone, lie to Cas - hell, lie to yourself. But don’t look me in the eye and tell me it isn’t exactly what we both know it is.”

His brother opens his mouth as if to speak, only to snap it shut with enough force to bite the head off a snake.

“You never learn… you lash out at the easiest targets. Probably thought you could get away with it because it was Cas. Cas never leaves you, Cas is always there. Cas will come back - even if it shouldn’t be possible. You had so many chances,” Sam’s voice breaks, a tear slipping free. “And you wasted each one. This isn’t on Cas, man. It’s on you. You’re the reason your world’s falling apart. You’re Chuck. And if you keep on acting this way you’ll end up just like him… miserable, depressed, and alone.”

No more steam left in his engine Sam spins on his heel. Coffee forgotten, he stomps towards his room without glancing back. Not when Dean calls for him, demands he stay. Nor when curses echo in the Bunker’s halls, followed by the smashing of glass against stone.

Sam keeps moving forward, hoping Dean will see the light soon and follow.

He needs to, because with Cas gone there’s one less star brightening his darkness.

[dothwrites]

15.03 coda--grief like a marathon

I crawled into the side of the bed that I knew no one had been--Your grief always like a marathon to the rest of the world’s sprint. --Ivy, Andrea Gibson

The door closes gently. The sound still manages to echo around the empty war room, echo around the emptiness in his chest. Dean almost wishes that he’d slammed the door. At least then, he’d have a reason why he couldn’t get the sound out of his head. 

He can’t breathe. The door closed, and the hollow click echoes in his head, and Dean, he can’t...He can’t breathe. 

He’s had his lungs torn apart, he’s had fingers reach into his chest and curl around his heart, but now, standing alone in the war room, his fingers curled around the chair like it’s the only thing that’s keeping him upright...And he can’t breathe. 

Heat prickles at the back of his eyes and nose and Dean swallows it down. He pushes it into that pit inside of him, the one where everything eventually goes. He swallows, and he swallows, and he swallows, but the pain keeps on coming, keeps sneaking around every barrier that he throws up. Footsteps on the stairs, the door closing, agony clawing its way up his chest, and Dean...He can’t breathe. 

He hadn’t actually thought that Cas would leave. 

Eleven years and...

He really thought that Cas wouldn’t leave. 

He’d thought it was a bluff, that somehow, Cas would change his mind. That a few minutes later, Cas would come slinking back in, tail between his legs, and lurk around the edges of his favor. He’d really, honestly thought that Cas would be with him until the end, whatever that looked like. 

He should have known better. Everyone leaves in the end. Everyone. Maybe they don’t want to, maybe they’re forced to, but in the end...Dad, Jo, Ellen, Bobby, Kevin, Charlie, Mom, Jack, even fucking Rowena, and Crowley, and Ketch...everyone leaves. He’d just thought that Cas would be the exception that proved the rule. 

For years, Dean has built his foundations based upon two supports: Sam on one side, and Castiel on the other and now...He can’t breathe. 

He wishes that Cas had yelled at him. He wishes that Cas’ eyes had flashed blue, that Cas had torn the library apart with the force of his rage. Dean could have understood that, could have fought against that. The hollow clang of his steps on the stairs, the defeated click of the door shutting? Dean can’t understand that. His brain runs in circles and scrabbles at loose ends, tries to find a way that Cas hasn’t left him--Cas always comes back, Cas was trapped in Purgatory and still found a way back to him, Cas died and still managed to drag himself back--but there was something so final, so damning about his last words. 

Time for me to move on. 

Like this was a pit stop for him. 

Dean knows that he’s being unfair. That’s the worst part really, is the knowledge that this was preventable. The red flags, waved in front of him with a matador’s precision, all of them saying Stop now, this is a dangerous road to tread. But Dean threw himself down that road, wholeheartedly. He’d taken some kind of pleasure in watching Cas flinch at every small cruelty thrown his way, targeted every weak spot in Cas’ armor with a sadist’s glee, because he’d known that at the end of it, Cas would still be standing there beside him. Maybe a little more bruised, maybe a little chipped around the edges, but Cas would still be there. 

Except...that door, those steps, time for me to move on, and Dean can’t breathe. Cas is gone, the kind of gone that’s done deliberately, the kind of gone that doesn’t come back.  

Dean can’t breathe. 

He stays in the war room for hours, staring at the door, waiting for Cas to come back. Waiting for that door to open again, waiting for something. He stays until he can feel the shift in his rhythm that tells him that the sun is rising, he stays until his legs tremble from exhaustion. He stays, and he waits, and the door doesn’t open, and Cas stays gone, and Dean still can’t breathe. 

---

The next day, he runs into Sam in the kitchen. He meets his brother’s red-rimmed eyes head on and says nothing, until Sam asks, in a hoarse, shredded voice, “Where’s Cas?”

“He’s gone,” Dean says, brusque. Final. 

Sam’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “Where’d he need to go?” Like Cas just needed to pop to the store. 

“Cas is gone,” Dean says. He puts steel and ice into his voice, dips down into that part of himself that’s hard, that part of himself that pushed Cas away until he finally left, proving Dean’s theory right: Everyone always leaves. No one ever stays. 

“He’s gone, Sammy,” Dean repeats. The words echo in the kitchen, and Dean hears them the same way he hears Time for me to move on, the same way he hears the footsteps walking away, the same way he hears the door close--

Three hours I stared at the window, loving you, then turned towards your ear and whispered that I had to go. You uncurled from a dream and said Okay Honey. And I went to wherever the ivy goes in the winter, and for the same reasons.--Ivy, Andrea Gibson

[destiels-assbutt13]

“i think it’s time for me to move on” cas says, his tone softer than dean has heard for a long time. cas lingers for a moment, almost as if he was waiting for dean to say “please don’t go”. but those words never left dean’s mouth. and so, reluctantly, castiel turns his back on dean; his friend, his family, his soulmate, and starts walking. dean is internally screaming at him telling him, no, begging him not to leave, that they need him, that he needs him. that he loves him. with every step the broken angel takes, a little more of his already-dwindling hope is shedding behind him. dean watches him leave; that’s all he’s capable of doing right now. cas reaches the door to the bunker, their home, and again, hesitates. he’s giving dean one last chance to stop him. ‘please, god, just let him stop me’, but no one was stopping him from leaving, not today. with a heavy heart and a deep breath, cas leaves the bunker, and the heavy door slamming behind him would be the sound that echoed through dean’s soul for eternity

“i left, but you didn’t stop me” why didn’t you stop me? i wish you had stopped me.

“i should have stopped you” why didn’t i stop you? i wish i had stopped you.

[adsp-destielcockles]

Ahhhh! This is story is wonderful and what we want in 15x09 but I am still not getting my hopes up. Been disappointed too many times.

“This is so stupid,”

he grumbled. He didn’t know if Cas would hear him, or if he even wanted Cas to hear him. To be honest, he didn’t know what to say. Watching Cas climb those noisy, metallic steps and walk out the door was truly the dumbest thing Dean he had ever done, and that’s saying alot.

He cleared his throat as he positioned himself at the foot of his bed, leg bouncing and fingers interlocking. Bony thumb knuckles pressed against either side of the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

“This is so stupid,” he whispered again. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“Hey, Cas,” his voice shook quietly. “It’s been two weeks since…” He trailed off and opened his eyes, looking around the room. Not like he was expecting Cas to be there or anything, but it couldn’t hurt to peek. He bowed his head and pinched his eyes shut. “Been two weeks, man. I know–shit, I don’t know, actually. I know what led up to you leavin’ and all, but I—fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry.” He squeezed his hands together, white knuckling his way through his half-assed prayer.

“I know it’s not your fault. Mom, Jack, all the shit I put on you. None of it’s your fault. I just–I get so scared. So fucking scared. An’ with everything we’ve been through, you gotta know I don’t actually blame you. You’re my—you’re my best friend, man. I’m alive because’a you. I’m topside because you beat your way through hell to save me. Still think that was a good idea?” He chuckled at himself, letting a small smile crease his lips.

“For a long time, Sam’s all I had an’ that was fine. I was happy with the way things were. Then–,” he laughed quietly, tilting his head to the side, “then this guy in a stupid trench coat burst through a friggen barn in the middle of the night and changed everything. Don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m not the best at dealin’ with change. But–when you’re around, I can roll with the punches. S’easier with you here.” His hands eased their grip on each other and he splayed his palms across the top of his thighs. “You make everything better. I can—I can breathe when you’re here, Cas, and right now I’m suffocating.” He gripped his thighs tight as he tried to steady his breathing. “Can’t think or sleep or fucking feel anything without you here.” He shook his head at himself. “Feels like—like I’m stuck. I’m stuck here, alone, dyin’ inside. I’m dying without you, Cas. I can feel it.”

He wiped his eyes, suddenly realizing that he was crying. “Fuck,” he whispered. He stood and scuffed his boot on the tiled floor, trying to distract himself from all of this. He let out a long breath as he stared at the ceiling.

“I don’t–I haven’t said this to alot of people, cuz it only hurts in the end, but Cas,” his chin quivered as his voice shook. He closed his eyes and steeled his nerves. “I love you. I can’t live without you. I don’t wanna live without you.” Tears flowed freely down his cheeks and soaked their way into the collar of his flannel. “I don’t even know if you can hear me, but I needed to say it. I had to try.”

Raising his arm, he wiped his cheeks dry with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffed, trying to regain his composure. He opened his eyes slowly, the floor blurrily coming into view. He turned his head, checking behind him for any sign of the angel. 

Nothing.

He thinks maybe since his powers were failing, Cas just didn’t get the message. Or, he thinks maybe Cas is so fucking pissed and fed up with his shit that he’s ignoring him. He can’t decide which option is worse.

A week goes by, and every night Dean prays.

He prays that Cas can hear him. Tells him he loves him and that he’s sorry. Tells him that each day, alone in the bunker is worse than all his time in hell. Pleads for Cas to come home. 

Each night it goes unanswered.

Until one night there’s a knock at his bedroom door. 

He’s sitting up in bed, eyes closed but not sleeping. He can’t do that anymore.

“What?” he barks.

The knock comes again.

“What, Sammy? Tryin’ to sleep,” he lies.

The knock comes a third time and now he’s annoyed. He gets out of bed with a huff and marches over to the door.

“I said ‘what’,” he yells as he swings the door open.

The saddest blue eyes he’s ever seen greet him from the other side of the door. Dark circles under them match his own. The trench coat he’s grown so fond of is wrinkled and stained.

He takes a deep breath and holds it.

“Hello, Dean.”

[rauko-creates]

The Black and White

Is this a really late destiel coda for 15x03? Yes, yes it is. I wrote this first part back when the episode aired, but I had more I wanted to do with it and my heart couldn’t handle having another unfinished wip floating around out there, so I waited until I had the other 3 parts mapped out and largely written. 

Anyway, uh, there’s pain. Lots of angst. But I promise it ends well ;)

Part 1: Dead

Call it what you need,

But don't blame yourself for me

Don't blame yourself for me

‘Cause I spaced myself from you

‘Cause I got tired of hurting you

But now I'm hurting too

Castiel had never missed his wings more than in this moment. They were Dead. They were all Dead. Mary was Dead. The hunters who had come from the apocalypse dimension were Dead. Rowena was Dead. Ketch was Dead. Nearly everyone who had ever associated with Castiel or the Winchesters: Dead. Jack…

Even Castiel, although breathing, was apparently Dead along with the others.

“The plan changed, Dean. Something went wrong. You know this: something always goes wrong.” 

“Yeah, why does that something always seem to be you?”

Ah...pain.

“You used to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me.

Dean finally looked at him. It wasn’t better.

“My powers are failing, and- and I've tried to talk to you, over and over, and you just don't want to hear it. You don't care.”

No response.

“I'm dead to you.”

He didn’t take it back.

“You still blame me for Mary.”

He does.

“Well, I don't think there's anything left to say.”

There is. There’s so much to say. But no point.

“Where you going? 

Castiel paused. “Jack's dead. Chuck's gone. You and Sam have each other.” But Castiel was not part of that apparently. “I think it’s time for me to move on.”

Nothing.

Castiel waited.

Nothing.

Castiel turned.

Nothing.

Castiel took his time walking up the stairs. Please. Please, Dean, say something. Say anything. Ask me to turn around. It’s all I want to do. But I need you to want it too. Dean, please…

Nothing.

Now, Castiel was running. He ached for his wings. He ached for the feeling of air and space moving around them. He ached for the ability to blink and be somewhere so very far away from here, somewhere where maybe he was wanted, a place where he couldn’t feel Dean’s hatred and resentment radiating out at him where the longing used to reside, somewhere where he couldn’t still feel Dean’s gravity pulling him right back. 

He wanted to stay. He needed to leave.

How had it come to this? They had both made so many mistakes before, but they had always gotten through it before.

Castiel had made so many mistakes. He knew he had. He had abandoned Dean for Heaven when Dean had needed him. He had lied to Dean to work with Crowley. He had hurt Sam by shattering his wall that protected him from his trauma in the cage. Castiel had ignored Dean’s warnings and attempts to help him as he ravaged Heaven and Earth as some deranged god, filled with the eroding power of Purgatory’s souls. 

But he had always fixed it. Dean had always given him the chance to fix it.

Castiel had turned his back on Heaven to choose Dean and Sam when it came down to it. He’d come clean about working with Crowley when Dean confronted him. He’d taken Sam’s pain from him and made it his own. He had put the souls back into Purgatory when he finally understood he’d gone too far. 

This time...Dean wasn’t giving him the chance...and Castiel hadn’t even chosen wrong.

Sure, horrible things had happened and Castiel’s actions and choices had contributed to those things...but he had made the best choices he could with the information he’d had. Hindsight is always twenty/twenty. Castiel had not abandoned them. He had not been deceitful or intentionally hidden anything. He had been there...doing his best.

Apparently, even Castiel’s best wasn’t good enough.

Edit: part 2 is here

[deansawthetvglow]

15x03/15x06 Coda Mash-Up

“been trying to get you guys to see me for a while now.”

pairings: destiel, saileen

words: 986

angst 

--

Eileen has always been a fighter. That’s why she’s made it all these centuries in hell. That’s why she’s not broken, not all the way. That’s why she’s in the middle of a dusty road on a Sunday, hauling ass. 

It was dark in hell until the heavens opened up. She’d have never thought to call the earth above her any sort of heaven when she was alive, but as she’d hefted her form from the pit and she’d seen the blue of the sky, and the green of Sam’s eyes, that was all the proof she needed to understand that heaven was a place on earth. 

She’d tried to hitch a ride in the Impala out of the graveyard, but the spell work on the damn thing wouldn’t let her in. In her desperation to escape, she’d taken matters into her own hands. 

So that’s how she finds herself, a mile out from the bunker and running like hell. From hell. 

The Impala had rumbled past her on the road not long before and she knows she needs to reach the bunker before its supernatural wardings are closed and she can’t enter. 

She convinces herself to run faster, desperately wishing her toes could dig into the dirt below.

The run is taking up all of her power, but her draw towards Sam is enough. It’s like he’s her connection to this world, and she’s not letting that go. 

When she reaches the door of the bunker, it’s nearly shut. She slips through the sliver still open and fades into the background, keeping her distance. She’s only been out of hell for a few days now, and after using all her energy to get her to this safe place, she knows she won’t be able to show herself to the brothers, and Cas, for some time. 

She’s not sure if it’s just the overwhelming nature of earth or experiencing all of this in a new form, but the air in the bunker is thick. 

If you could feel tension, Eileen imagines, this is what it would feel like. 

Sam’s eyes are watering and she can see the effort he’s putting into steadying his breathing. She mourns the ability to wipe the tears away from his cheeks.

Dean is quiet, he’s near Castiel, almost too close, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think they were together. Neither of them speaks, they simply stand, unwavering, as Sam excuses himself from the room. She wishes she could follow, but she’s settled into a chair in the library and there’s no way she has the energy to stand now. 

She notes how Castiel angles himself towards Dean, as if expecting something, but the elder Winchester simply turns away with military accuracy and follows Sam. 

Eileen can feel the longing of the angel’s grace as Dean exits the room, and, after a time, he does the same, heading to some other, unknown room in the expanse of this safe haven. 

Some time passes before Eileen is waking back up to the low light in the library. The air is lighter now, easier to move in, so she adjusts her arms and places her elbows onto the shiny wood table in front of her. She watches the dance of Dean pouring himself two fingers of whiskey (Sam always complained to her about how much Dean drank) and bringing the crystal glass to his lips. 

The air becomes unbearably heavy when Castiel appears at the edge of the space. She can see Dean’s muscles tense for a moment before he completes his movement. 

Glass to lips. 

Whiskey to tongue. 

Heart to floor. 

“How’s Sam?”

Sam had always said that Dean could be harsh, but more than anything, he loves his family, will protect them to the point of hurting. 

This doesn’t feel like the Dean that Sam described. 

This is cold and shut off and walls building that Eileen swears she could reach out and dig into with a pick-ax. 

“The plan changed, Dean--” 

As an observer, she wants to stay partial, but Eileen is a hunter first and foremost. 

She wishes she could scream at Dean that even the first time they met, something went wrong. 

The angel is right, something always does. 

She can feel the weight of shame pulse off of Dean’s body after he snaps with a “Why does that something always seem to be you?” 

How could Castiel possibly be to blame for everything? 

She sees the frantic shake of Dean’s eyes, she feels the wobble of Castiel’s voice, she knows the brokenness in both of their souls, and she can’t--

She can’t do anything. 

“I think it’s time for me to move on.” 

She wants to shake Dean by his shoulders and tell him to fight. 

She wants to grab onto Castiel’s ankles and pull him back from the stairs and tell him not to leave.

She wants to stand between them, hands pressing into their chests and pour out her own heart, demanding to know why they would throw away something so solid and beautiful and real when she and Sam never got the chance. 

But she can’t. 

So, she watches from her seat at the table as Castiel retreats. She feels that same longing she felt from Castiel earlier, pulling from Dean’s soul. 

With all her pent up anger and passion and pure emotion, she flickers into existence for just a moment and she almost has her chance to cry out-- but in that split second, Dean is suddenly turning to fill up his glass and she’s snapping back into the chaos of the air. 

She breaks. 

She wishes she could hold onto something to ground herself right now. She wishes she could cry-- full, beautiful tears-- but her lungs are nothing. Her tears, nothing. Her heart, nothing. Her body, nothing. 

She wishes she was alive.

[gravelghosts]

Stealing the Show, 7.4k, E, 15.05 coda. Dean/Cas.

In which Dean prays to Cas, sort of. Angst & porn with a hopeful ending.

Read on AO3.

It’s been years since he prayed to Cas. Really prayed, with his heart in his throat and his back against the wall. In a hospital chapel: Whatever you did or didn't do, it doesn't matter, okay? We'll work it out. Please, man, I need you here.

He’s done with that. What Cas did matters. Something went wrong, Dean’s ass.

So he doesn’t pray. Not really. He just holds all the things that make him think of Cas — the small things and the big ones, his worries for Sam, the convenience store aisles he thinks for a moment he’ll see Cas down at the end at, tilting his head quizzically at a carton of eggs — carefully in his head. Finds the words to hold them. Sets them aside, a museum of what might have been.

Keep reading on AO3.