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baconandpie1 · 2 years ago

Text

The Gift

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Supernatural (TV 2005)

Supernatural (TV 2005) RPF

Relationships:

Castiel/Dean Winchester

Jensen Ackles & Misha Collins

Characters:

Jensen Ackles

Misha Collins

Alexander Calvert

Dean Winchester

Castiel (Supernatural)

Jack Kline

Sam Winchester

Other actors are mentioned

Summary: It is Jensen's 45th birthday and Danneel is throwing him a party with all of his friends from Supernatural. He shouldn't be surprised when things get a bit strange... It is a good birthday. One of the best. Just ask him after the party.

Notes:

Up until a few days ago I didn't intend to write anything for Jensen's birthday, and then I was watching the con tweets, his pictures, and reading about the SPNFamilyGiving and ... my brain went into overdrive and demanded to write this. So I did.

Hope you like it.

PS - It is March 1st here already - so don't grumble that it's not Jensen's birthday yet. :) 💚 💙

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45406525

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Jensen is dead tired. He hasn’t felt so tired in a long time. He’s been doing conventions almost every weekend, writing and recording new music with Steve, and then there’s his new secret project that very few people know about. And JJ has been sick and wanted her dad by her side more than ever. He never could say no to her, and when she’s sick, she sticks to him like instant glue. Sometimes, when he lies beside her, telling her stories, he wonders when she’ll stop needing him this way and he forgets he is tired and has a myriad of other things he should be doing. These are the moments he will cherish forever.

He tries to put on a smile for his friends who gathered at his house to celebrate his 45th birthday, but it is difficult when all he wants is a good night’s sleep.

Danneel knows how much he misses working on Supernatural, how much he misses his friends, and that is why this birthday party is so special—all his friends from Supernatural are here: Jared and Misha, Jim and Mark, Richard and Rob, Ruth, Kim and Briana, Alex, and even Eric made it though he had to leave early. Rachel has joined them for a while through Zoom, though she would have loved to be there in person.

He needs some fresh air to wake up, clear his head. He wants to be at his best for his friends and not half asleep on his feet. With a bottle of beer in his hand, he slips outside in the garden and sits on the padded bench swing they got for their children.

They were sure the kids would love the swing and they do like it, but Jensen loves it more than they do, especially when he sits on it in the evenings with Danneel curled up into his side, falling asleep with his arm holding her tight, swinging slowly.

The air around him changes bit by bit, it warms up and smells different. He frowns and shakes himself, because he knows that smell, but it cannot be… it smells… it smells almost like when they were filming scenes in the bunker.

He blinks a few times, his vision blurry, and he wonders if he is drunk already. But it cannot be; the beer in his hand was only the second one of the evening, and he hardly touched it.

He becomes even more baffled when he realizes he cannot see well because of the hot tears running down his face.

His knees hurt and he realizes he is kneeling by a bed, praying.

It is his voice, but somehow, it isn’t.

Through the tears, he sees Dean’s bed in the bunker, and he blinks some more because this is impossible. The bunker was dismantled. It doesn’t exist anymore. But the pain in his knees is still there and so are the tears on his face.

His lips move and Jensen can hear the words, though it is not him saying them. Well, it is, and it isn't.

He is Dean. But he is also Jensen.

And Dean is praying to Jack.

"Jack, I know you said you will be hands off, I know. But Jack... I need him back, please... please help us get Cas back. He is your father too, your dad. you cannot leave him in that cold, devastating emptiness... I beg you, Jack... Please..."

The tears are running down his cheeks as he prays. He's been doing it every night since they defeated Chuck and Jack is yet to respond.

Somehow Jensen knows that it’s been more than half a year since Jack took over and Dean never wavered. Together with Sam, they tried everything they could think of to get Castiel back. They moved heaven and earth, they reached out to all their friends and even to the Men of Letters in England in order to find a way to save the angel.

And Dean prayed to Jack like clockwork. Every evening.

Dean who never prayed before he knew God existed beyond a shadow of a doubt, Dean who prayed rarely even after that, he prayed every day to their new God, to his son, to Jack.

Dread starts to settle in his heart as he finishes his prayer, convinced that Jack will ignore him again.

His head snaps up as a whisper insinuates itself into his mind "On one condition, Dad."

Pure joy and happiness suffuse his every cell, every molecule, the whole of his being, his heart and his soul.

"Anything, Jack, I'll do anything!" Dean-Jensen cries out.

"You must tell him how you feel." The whisper is soft and ... uncertain somehow, as if Jack doesn't expect him to agree.

"What?" Dean swallows hard, playing for time. "What do you mean?"

"Dad... I am God now. I know. I know everything."

Dean-Jensen gasps. Somehow, he's forgotten what it means that Jack is God now. A true God.

"You only need to tell him how you feel, Dad. That's it. Have to go now. There's trouble in a parallel universe. Love you!" His son’s love rushes through him, warm and soft and endless.

"Wait! Jack! Wait! How do I tell him anything? He's not here!"

The silence is deafening, and Dean-Jensen is crying again when the door to his room crashes open.

Jared, no, Sam barges through with his gun in his hand and his hair flying as he searches the room for danger.

"Dean! Are you ok? I heard you screaming!"

His right knee creaks as he rises.

"I am fine, Sam. I hit my knee..."

Sam looks at him dubiously, but he knows his brother too well and that expression on his face says that's all he gets from him tonight. Dean will talk to him when he is good and ready. If he gets there. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't.

His eyes soften as he takes in his brother’s wet cheeks, but he doesn't mention them, nor does he ask why Dean was shouting for Jack.

"Be more careful, Dean. Your knees aren't getting any younger, you know.” Sam smirks at him, trying to lighten the mood.

Dean-Jensen rolls his eyes at him. "And neither are you, Sammy."

"It's still Sam.... jerk."

"Bitch" Dean smiles radiantly at his brother, the exchange as heart-warming as it is familiar.

The days go by at a crawl, Dean still praying every evening, and Jensen wants to slap him silly. He already got his answer. What is Dean waiting for?

After a particularly bad night, when every time Dean fell asleep, he dreamt of black goo grabbing his crying but happy angel and taking him away, and then woke up screaming Castiel’s name, he trudges into the kitchen and makes himself an extra-strong cup of coffee.

He is sipping it mournfully when Sam joins him, yawning.

“Morning, Dean.”

His brother mumbles something unintelligible and Sam sits across from him with his own coffee.

“What’s up with you? Bad night?”

Dean nods and sips black and bitter. “Nightmares.”

Sam grimaces when he tastes the coffee. “What the hell is this? It tastes like poison…”

“I made it stronger… needed it.”

Sam adds more sugar to his mug and some cream, making the taste a bit more palatable.

“I didn’t know you still had nightmares,” he breathes.

“I don’t,” Dean grumps. “It was just last night…“ He sighs, sneaking a look at his brother. “It was Cas…“

“Oh…” That’s all Sam says. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t push, he drinks his coffee and munches on a cookie.

Jensen gives Dean a push; he cannot make him speak, not really, but he knows by now that he can influence him, if he does it gently, carefully.

“Jack spoke to me.”

“What? When? How? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam cannot stop the deluge spilling out of his mouth.

Dean-Jensen frowns at Sam, but Jensen keeps on pushing, not letting Dean clamp up again. “It was that night when you ran in…”

“Is he alright? When is he coming to visit?”

Dean-Jensen shakes his head “He didn’t say. He said he was going to handle some stuff in a parallel universe.”

His brother looks at him suspiciously but doesn’t insist. He lets Dean be.

Dean jumps up and gets more coffee, and Sam sighs, convinced his brother is shutting down again. Unsurprisingly.

Dean-Jensen sits back down, opens his mouth, but speaking is difficult. It always is for Dean, and Jensen nudges him again.

The sentences spill out of Dean’s mouth, Jensen helping him word his thoughts, and Sam just sits there listening to how he prayed and prayed and then finally Jack answered.

When Dean stops, Sam’s eyebrows rise in consternation.

“So where is Cas, Dean? Why isn’t he here yet?”

“What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear what I told you? I don’t know how to make him come…”

Sam laughs at him with tears, and the more Dean frowns, the harder he laughs.

"You need to tell Cas how you feel, Dean!" He wheezes out.

"Really, Sam?" Dean is getting angry, not understanding what is going on. "He is not here!"

Jensen is still there, not sure if it's him speaking or Dean. No, it must be Dean... because Jensen is not that clueless. He can feel what Dean feels, as if they were his own feelings, like he never felt them before, not even when he acted as Dean for long 15 amazing years. Dean loves Cas with all his heart. He loves him to the moon and back, he'd die for him if that's what would bring him back to life.

But Dean is scared. Scared of his own feelings, scared of being called a faggot, a homo, or whatever else people say these days to denigrate gay men. He doesn't care that Cas is a man, he never did. Jensen knows he loves Cas, and that his gender never even entered the equation for him.

But what happens if he says the words? What will Sam think? Their friends?

If he says the words and he gets Cas back, what will Cas expect from him? Will he be satisfied with just being friends or will he expect more?

Jensen can feel how much Dean wants everything with Cas, EVERYTHING. But he also feels how terrified he is of getting what he wants with Cas.

Because, whatever Cas said the night he died, Dean is still Dean, he still messes up most of the time, fucks up, says things he shouldn't and doesn't say things he should.

So what if he gets everything and then he fucks it up? He won't survive that, he knows he won't.

It is better if they are just friends, isn't it? Less chance of messing up.

He pulls at his hair with both hands, tears dripping on the kitchen table, unsure if they are the result of the sharp pain in his scalp or in his heart.

"Dean... " Sam has stopped laughing, his brother's distress too real to make fun of him anymore.

"Dean, pray to Cas. Tell him. Tell him everything."

The older brother looks at the younger one, his eyes red-rimmed. "I am scared, Sammy."

For once, his brother doesn't correct him.

"Nothing to be afraid of, Dean. Tell him you love him, and you want him back. Give the two of you a chance."

Round, surprised eyes watch Sam, Dean's voice hoarse with repressed emotions, "You know?"

"Of course I know, you idiot! I've known for years! I was waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and do something about it, and then... then it was too late."

Sam grabs Dean's shoulders and stares him in the eye.

"Dean, you must bring him back. If you don't, you will never forgive yourself. And neither will I."

That evening, when Dean-Jensen kneels by his bed, he doesn’t pray to Jack.

He prays to Castiel.

“Hey Cas.” His eyes are tearing up already and his throat is tightening with every breath he takes. Jensen tries to soothe him and calm him down, though he would be a mess too in Dean’s place. He’s done it enough times to know how difficult it is for Dean to open up, to let himself be vulnerable when his whole life was about being strong and never showing weakness. Loving someone is a weakness, they both know that. And yet.

His heart is hammering away in his chest, and he remembers that case when the guy’s heart pulsed out of his chest like in a cartoon when he declared his love. How fitting. He smiles and starts over.

“Hey Cas. I miss you.”

He looks around, and, when nothing happens, he closes his eyes again.

“I miss you so much, man,” he huffs. “Sorry, angel… I miss you more than I ever thought I could. We saved the world, you know. Sam and Jack and I, we did it. All thanks to you. I… I don’t think I could have done it all without you. And Jack is God now and he… he said I should talk to you… tell you…”

Dean-Jensen sighs, laying his forehead on the bed. “I wanted to ask you… did you really mean what you said before you died? Don’t get me wrong… a part of me knows that you did beyond the shadow of a doubt, but then… this other part of me, the part that you ignore, the part that you said doesn’t exist, that part wants to hear those words again, wants to make sure, because Cas… how could someone like you, an angel no less, love someone like me? I need to know Cas. I have to know. You said for you it was enough to just be, just feel the love… but Cas… loving you is not enough for me, I need you to love me back, Cas, do you understand? I am not like you… it was hard enough loving you for all those years when I had no idea you could feel like we humans do, but knowing that you can love? Cas… do you love me? Do you really love me? I want to believe it so much, I want to believe I am worthy of that love… though I know I am not, but maybe… just maybe… maybe I can become worthy of you if you’ll be here by my side. With you here, Cas, I could do anything, be anything and anyone for you. Please Cas… Please come back to me… Please love me… “ His throat closes up, and he sobs into the mattress as there is no whoosh of wings nor any other noise that would announce the angel’s arrival.

Dean-Jensen crawls into bed and cries himself to sleep. He didn’t even have the strength to get a bottle of whiskey to ease his pain this time.

The night is blessedly empty of dreams, but Dean wakes in a foul mood, ready to murder the world. He is mad at Jack for leading him along, he is mad at Sam for encouraging him to pray to Cas, he is mad at the angel for dying, for abandoning him, for not coming back. But most of all, he is mad at himself for being weak, for letting himself feel too much, for letting his walls down. It was a mistake. A mistake he will not repeat ever again.

Jensen is just as devastated as Dean is. He doesn’t even have the energy to try to help Dean feel better. He is along for the ride and nothing else at this point.

Like every other morning, Dean sips his coffee, but he doesn’t even bother to answer his brother when he joins him at the kitchen table.

Sam doesn’t need to ask. He can see it on Dean’s face, in the way his shoulders slump, in the way he doesn’t even look at his brother while he sips at his coffee.

“Sorry, Dean.”

His brother’s knuckles whiten where they grip the coffee mug, and Sam hopes it won’t break with how hard Dean is clutching at it.

Dean-Jensen is drowning in his sorrow, not paying attention to his surroundings, not caring if an army of vampires descended on the bunker, screaming like banshees, ready to drink his blood. Maybe he wishes they did.

He doesn’t hear the soft steps and doesn’t see Sam freezing with his mug on its way to his lips.

“Good morning,” the raspy voice is behind Dean and before he can react, it continues. “Did you make coffee for me too, Dean?”

He lurches to his feet, toppling the chair to the ground, and spins towards the entrance to the kitchen.

The most gorgeous sight he’s ever seen lands on his retina—his angel, dressed in pajama pants and one of Dean’s old Led Zep t-shirts, barefoot, a hand raised to his head scratching his scalp making an even bigger mess of the dark hair that is clearly mussed up by a night’s sleep.

Cas smiles sheepishly at Dean. “Any chance you’ll make us some pancakes? I am quite hungry this morning.”

Dean just stand there, his mouth opening, closing, like a fish on dry land, frozen in place. His brother huffs and rushes to Castiel, crushing him in a big hug. “It is good to see you again, Cas. We weren’t sure… Well… I am glad you’re back and I hope you’ll be staying.”

When Sam releases him, Dean is still like a statue, in the same place as before.

Castiel looks at his feet, suddenly uncertain. “If Dean wants me to…“ He raises his eyes and their gazes lock together for a long moment. Very long. So long that Sam gets bored and leaves the kitchen mumbling “Idiots.”

A soft whisper escapes Dean-Jensen’s lips at Jensen’s urging. “I want you to. I always wanted you to, Cas… even when I didn’t say anything, especially when I didn’t say anything. I never wanted you to leave, I always wanted you by my side,” his voice is getting stronger and he moves slowly closer to the angel, “first as my ally, then as my friend, later as my family… and then…,” his voice gets lower, a husky rasp that sends shivers through Castiel, “then as someone… closer… someone who could share my life, someone who would build a new life with me, as someone I love.”

He cups the angel’s face in his hands, “As someone I want to spend my life with, and love for the rest of our days together.” He presses a soft kiss on Castiel’s lips and rests his brow on his, brushing his lower lip with his thumb.

“If you’ll have me, Cas.”

There isn’t much that can still surprise Dean after all he’s been through, but seeing Castiel’s trembling fingers reach for his face, and his beautiful blue eyes swimming in tears, the angel still uncertain that he can have Dean, it does surprise him.

He covers Castiel’s hands with his own on his cheeks “I love you, Cas.” He smiles and says the words again, easier, faster, and Jensen doesn’t have to push anymore. “I love you, Cas. I will love you forever if you’ll let me.”

He closes the small distance between their bodies with a hand on the angel’s hip, and kisses him again, this time letting himself taste and nip, running his tongue between Castiel’s plush lips, and he sighs when the angel opens up in invitation and the kiss deepens, their hands clutching at each other, losing themselves in this perfect moment, bodies touching, moving slowly, grinding against each other, their swelling cocks easily felt through the thin cotton of their pajamas.

Dean is breathless when they pull apart and he chuckles, “Coffee or bedroom, Cas?”

Though Dean-Jensen is all in and he wants to be with Cas in every possible way, he is anxious. He’s never been with a man before.

Half an hour later, he has already forgotten why he was worried to begin with, as his angel rocks inside him, lighting his body on fire. Dean knows that orgasming at the same time is mostly a myth, but then how many people have done this with an angel? How many people can say that they have felt the other person as if they are one? Because that’s how it feels to Dean—there is no Castiel, there is no Dean, there is only one being here, one pulsing life, two heartbeats, thrumming at the same frequency, two breaths drinking in the same air, soul and grace intertwined, he doesn’t know where he ends and where the angel begins.

He's never felt such ecstasy before, and he doesn’t know if it is because Castiel is an angel—he must be, isn’t he?—or because of the outpouring of love that envelops him and rushes through him like a physical presence.

The slap of skin on skin is getting louder, and so do their moans and whimpers, the bitten off curses, the “Cas!”s, the “Dean!”s, the man lost in the bright blue of the angel as he comes screaming his name. Those eyes become almost white as Castiel climaxes and spills inside Dean’s warm body, and spectacular, large black wings appear at the angel’s back just as the lights explode when he roars his pleasure “DEAN!”

Though Dean is floating in the post-orgasmic glow, he expects what happens next.

Sam rushes in and freezes as the light from the hallway falls on Dean’s bed. He cannot see much besides the enormous wings that hide most of the bed and their bodies, barely a glimmer of skin here and there.

“You guys ok?”

Dean snorts, “Sure Sammy. Cas just blew out the lights when he…” The door slams shut before he gets the chance to finish the sentence and he bursts out laughing.

“Dean…” Cas chides him softly…

“What? He was asking for it, bursting in here without knocking. He’ll know better next time…” And just like that, Dean’s voice wobbles as he asks. “There will be a next time, right Cas?”

The angel hums into his neck, peppering his skin with kisses. “And a next, and a next… until you tire of me.”

Dean’s arms tighten around Castiel, through his soft feathers. “That will never happen, Cas. Ever. You hear me?”

It is as if just now he realizes he is engulfed by the angel’s wings. “Cas! Your wings! You have wings and they are here! I can feel them! Are you a full angel again? With all your mojo?”

Castiel pulls his wings back and with a whoosh they disappear; he slides to Dean’s side, smearing his semen on both their stomachs, not that either of them cares.

“I am not sure… I do have my grace and my wings, but I also slept, and I am hungry… Dean… I have wings again!”

Dean is suddenly cold, and he shivers, fear creeping in when he realizes the angel is gone. Fear of being abandoned again. Fear of being alone and lonely. Fear his angel will never come back. Fear Castiel doesn’t need him anymore. Jensen, who is still reeling from the lovemaking, is convinced that Castiel will be back and will never leave the hunter again, but then, Jensen doesn’t carry the baggage Dean does.

Jensen is right.

There is another whoosh and Castiel crashes in the bed beside him, laughing like a little boy.

“Dean! I flew to Kilimanjaro and then to the Emerald Lakes in New Zealand, and… I will take you with me next time—you’ll love New Zealand!”

“I… I thought you weren’t coming back, now that you can fly again…”

It is too dark in the room with the lightbulbs gone, and Dean has forgotten that angels can see in the dark as well. He probably would have tried to hide his teary and scared eyes if he had remembered.

“Dean…,” the angel grasps his hands between his, willing him to understand and believe him. “I will never leave you again, Dean. I love you.” He kisses away the tears on Dean’s face, the kisses slowly becoming more heated as Dean’s need to reassure himself that Castiel is truly his, rises faster than a striking snake. His hands are feverish over the angel’s body, his cock already hard and leaking despite his earlier orgasm.

He stretches the angel’s hole in a hurry, Castiel moaning softly, encouraging him, “I am ready, Dean, I am ready…” And he is. More than ready.

Dean mounts him fast and deep, his need too strong to worry about inflicting pain, though somewhere inside he remembers Castiel is an angel, and he cannot truly hurt him now. They shout their release into each other’s mouth as they haven’t stopped kissing throughout Dean’s thrusting into the angel’s body, a loud whoosh heard in the dark room as Castiel spills between their stomachs. At least there are no lights that explode this time.

Dean crashes on top of his angel, and chuckles softly, as soft wings caress his back, hugging him. “I guess you’ll be doing that every time, won’t you?” And before Castiel can give voice to his doubts, Dean murmurs, easing the angel’s fears “I love your wings, they feel amazing on my skin.”

The next days are all a blur for Jensen, but he knows Dean is happy, happier than he’s ever been since he was four years old.

And so is his angel.

They are sitting on a swing that Dean built with his own hands, up on the hill, hanging from a sturdy oak branch, thick enough to hold them and more.

The sun is setting, and a chill runs down Dean-Jensen’s back. Castiel pulls him closer, and Dean-Jensen leans his head on his shoulder, sighing. They sit in comfortable silence, watching the shadows grow longer, Dean’s fingers stroking the angel’s thigh. He can do this now, any time he wants. It is freeing. Exhilarating. They haven’t decided yet what they want to do next, but neither is in a hurry. They have time now. Jack made sure of it.

Dean-Jensen’s eyes close as he thinks about a future together, who knows, maybe even their own home with a white picket fence.

He shivers, suddenly chilly, and Castiel rubs his back, warming him up. He turns his head and presses a kiss on Castiel’s neck, murmuring “I love you, Cas.”

After a slight pause, there is an amused, yet warm “I love you too, Dean.” in reply.

Something is off.

He opens his eyes, and pulls back from where he was sitting, curled up against Castiel, wait no, this… this is not Castiel. His eyes widen and he croaks, “Mish?”

“Yeah, that would be me.” Misha’s eyes crinkle as they do when he smiles his big, sunny smile at him. “You ok, Jen?”

Jensen searches Misha’s eyes, unsure how to answer. “I… yes, I think I am… how long? How long have I been out here?” He rubs his hand over his cheeks.

“Fifteen-twenty minutes? I came after you. Alex said you looked tired, and that you needed me.”

“Alex?”

Misha frowns. “Yes, why?”

Jensen looks away, a small smile gracing his lips. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Nobody would. Though Jensen himself finds it difficult to believe what happened to him, he knows at a visceral level that this was no ordinary dream. Dreams are flighty things, they disappear quickly from one’s mind, only a little is left even when you remember them. But this… this is vivid in his mind, like his own memories, even more so. He remembers everything, from the pain in his knees while praying, the smell and taste of his morning coffee, to sitting with Cas on the swing, watching the sunset.

He is Jensen now, he knows. And yet, he still feels more like Dean. Maybe that is what gives him the courage to ask.

They never truly discussed it before. Not as fans, as friends. It was such a loaded question, with so many ramifications, and neither has allowed himself to talk about it before, not Jensen, not Misha.

With a quiet voice, not looking at Misha, he asks “Have you wondered what Dean’s genuine feelings were for Cas? What he would have done if Cas had come back to him from the Empty?”

His courage seems to be contagious, because, for the first time, Misha dares to say what has been on his mind for a very long time.

“Many times,” his friend answers softly. “I wish we had been brave enough to do it right…”

Jensen turns to him, and his teary eyes glisten as he cups Misha’s stubbly cheek.

“I know what Dean would have said, given a chance.” He leans slowly in and kisses Misha’s lips chastely, but long enough for it to be meaningful. “I love you too, Cas.”

Jensen jumps up and hurries inside the house, brushing his tears away, while Misha sits on the swing, his own tears sliding down his cheeks as he whispers, “I love you, Dean.”

Later that night, after all the guests have gone, Jensen makes one last round around the place, collecting garbage. They could have people come over and clean up, but he doesn’t like strangers poking around his home. He remembers the beer he forgot on the swing, hoping he didn’t make a mess with it.

He finds the bottle stashed by the leg of the swing, still half full. He is about to turn when a flash of white catches his eyes.

“Alex? I thought you left already…”

Jensen frowns slightly as Alex comes closer, dressed in a white jacket, over a light blue t-shirt and blue jeans. Wait… isn’t Alex blond these days? And he was not wearing a white jacket… Jensen might be forty-five years old, but he is not that senile yet.

Alex smiles at him, a radiant smile lighting up his whole being. “Did you like my birthday present, Jensen?”

Jensen squirms, ashamed to admit that he doesn’t remember what Alex got for his birthday. Maybe he is senile after all.

“Sorry… was it you who got me that whiskey bottle?”

Alex shakes his head, still smiling. “Maybe you’ll remember if I call you Dean…”

Shocked eyes stare at Jack as Jensen allows himself to accept what is happening.

“You are not Alex.”

When Jack shakes his head again, Jensen croaks, “Are you Jack?”

“In some universes, I am.”

“And in others?” Jensen cannot stop himself from asking—is he dreaming? Is he having a stroke?

Jack shrugs, “I have many names. They wouldn’t mean anything to you. Some are in languages you wouldn’t be able to recognize as such.”

He needs to know, he wants to know. Because, though he made his peace with the ending of Supernatural, it felt… off, and sometimes, at night, under the cover of darkness, he let himself imagine ‘what if’ scenarios. Scenarios that, sadly, he is aware will never see the light of day.

“Was it…” he fights to speak the words, “was it real?”

“As real as this world is to you,” Jack looks around them. “It is just one of many possible worlds, and I thought you’d like to know what could have been.”

Jensen closes his eyes and whispers, “Are they happy?”

“Yes, yes they are.” Jack grins, “Dean messes up sometimes, but Cas is there for him. Always. Dean makes him burgers and pancakes, and Cas flies them to the beach when they are in the mood. Sam and Eileen join them often.”

New tears make their way from Jensen’s beautiful green eyes, down his cheeks, and drip down onto the grass.

He lurches forward, stops, but then goes for it and crushes Jack’s smaller frame in a hug.

“Thank you.”

Warmth and love flood him, and he is left standing alone in the garden.

“Thank you, Jack,” he says again up towards the starry night sky.

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural destiel #destiel #castiel/dean winchester #Jensen Ackles #Jensen Ackles' Birthday #Jensen Ackles' 45th Birthday #ao3 fic #spn #spn fanfic #Not Canon Compliant with Episode: s15e20 Carry On (Supernatural)#Canon compliant up to S15E19 #Canon Compliant with Episode: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural)#fix it #Fix-it of sorts

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

Colder Weather

A Supernatural Story

~Dean's always been the one for you, but his life - hunting, fighting, almost dying constantly- it hasn't given you a chance to try. Until one day, things seem to change...~

Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester (briefly)

2858 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Romance, Angst, Glossy Smut. - Set somewhere inside the SPN Finale - S15E20, Carry On. - Just so beautiful and painful and ... damnit. I did, in fact, cry a few times while writing...

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

It’s the strangest thing. His skin is so incredibly soft in some places, so rough and tortured in others. He’s covered in scars, lines thick and faded to a dull white; holes where bullets have torn him through, but around those imperfections lie a universe of freckles covering the softest skin she’d ever felt.

His fingertips are forever calloused but so tender when they’re caressing her flesh, scooping up into her, even roughly holding her down. There’s fire in his soul but his kiss is pure love, lips so cracked but plush, smooth and tingling as they trail across her cheek, slide down to taste her.

Everything about him is a contradiction. He’s brave yet scared, strong yet fragile, quiet but so loud when he’s in her arms. He could talk forever with one cheek on the pillow they share, green eyes staring into hers as if blinking would break the spell.

He talks of forever, of leaving his life and settling down somewhere in the woods by a stream. He wants to spend his days fishing and learning to finally play the guitar for real. He wants to stand in the sunshine and breathe deeply, close his eyes for once and not be worried about something attacking from the shadows. He wants to put down his blade, lock up his gun, put it all behind him. He talks of nights spent by a little fireplace wrapped in her arms, fighting for space beneath a handmade blanket while the wind howls against the old windows. He wants to wake to her sleeping face, to brush the hair back from her cheek and kiss her delicate eyelids. To wake her with love, not an alarm. He wants to take his time, ride out the rest of his life by her side.

She teases him that they’d be bored after a while, that a fantasy like that would never last, but he swears that it would. Says with her, he could never be bored, he’d never want for anything ever again as long as she was there. Her cheeks burn from smiling and she bites her lip to hold it all in, but that only makes him want to kiss her, and they roll under the sheets once more.

Every time with him is the same.

There’s a text, maybe a call if he’s desperate to hear her voice.

‘I’m nearby. Wanna buy me a drink?’

‘Passing through on Tuesday, you around?’

She’s always around it seems, life hitting pause when her phone rings. She would put aside the entire world just to see Dean Winchester walk through her front door. And she does.

It’s a Thursday the last time she sees him darken her front steps. The sky is a deep oily gray with lighter clouds than makes sense. It’s been raining on and off for hours and the midday sun is lost behind the airy cover, lighting the edges of the world but only enough so that he didn’t have to turn the headlights on.

She heard the car anyway, didn’t need to see the familiar sweep of light across her front windows.

She’s at the door before he’s even got the driver’s side door shut and she hears the creak of metal, wonders why he’s never oiled the hinges. Everything else about the car is perfect; from the sheen on the tires to the way the raindrops slick off the hood and slid down the windows in a race to the ground. She can close her eyes and smell the old, worn leather in her dreams. Something comforting and warm even on a chilly day like this. She can feel the springs in the backseat give as Dean lays her down. Remembers the feel of the felted roof beneath her fingertips, the cool chrome pressing into her back. So many nights spent driving out into the middle of nowhere and finding bliss in the backseat together.

Dean looks up as he closes the door and a smile tugs at his pink lips. Realization catches in her stomach and Y/N wonders if he’s ever looked happier. His hair is a bit longer than last time they met, his face a little fuller, features more relaxed. He looks good, content. She dares to think: happy.

Even in his lighter moments, there’s always a darkness in Dean’s eyes. Something nagging at his thoughts, some horror lurking that she can’t get near. She would, if he’d let her. She would dig down deep into his soul and scrape away all the pain, all the scarred bits of him until he could breathe again. But he keeps her just far enough away that it’s always a mystery to her. She knows of his life, of the things that lurk in the night, but he never lets it touch her. Not once has she feared for her life, never have the monsters of the world knocked at her door. She’s his secret. His lifeline to normal. His good dream.

But now, he smiles so easily it almost scares her. Her cheeks twitch and she bites her lip, watching as he gallops up the walkway and takes the steps two at a time until she’s in his arms.

He smells like tacos from the road and is so warm she melts right into him, her face in his chest, her arms sliding around to hold him close.

“Dean.”

She looks up and he beams down at her, green eyes fresh and clear, cheeks rosy with a grin.

“You gonna invite me in or we gonna do this out here?”

She laughs at his assumption and slaps his chest as she backs away. She turns to go inside, but he grabs her arm, spins her back to him. His big hand catches her cheek and his thumb curls beneath her chin, lifting her face gently. His kiss is familiar yet striking, wet and hungry. She breaths him in too deeply and stumbles when he lets her go, dizzy and so in love.

“Won’t you please come in, Mr. Winchester?” she teases, bowing her head to invite him inside.

He chuckles softly and takes her hand, fingers slipping in between hers so easily it’s like they’ve been there forever. He kicks the door shut behind him with one muddy boot and the rain is left to carry on without them.

She shoves the jacket from his shoulders, nips at the tip of his ear. He kicks his boots off, paws at her chest.

They stumble through the living room, desperate for the empty expanse of her bed while they strip the road from his back. Naked and shivering, they fall together onto the blankets with searching hands and warm, hungry lips.

He’s starving for her, but he takes his time. Slowly savoring every inch of delicate flesh, he drinks her in, tastes everything she has to give. Relentless, he doesn’t stop until she’s breathless and begging for him.

His name reaches Heaven, pushed like a prayer from her kiss-swollen lips.

When it’s done, they lay tangled in the sheets, fingers laced, hearts synced.

She stares, counting the flecks of gold in his gorgeous eyes, pondering the changes she feels in him.

“You’re starin’ right through me,” he says, blushing like a fool.

Y/N shakes her head gently and lays her hand on his cheek. The stubble sparks against her palm and she rubs her thumb across his cracked bottom lip.

“Not through you,” she answers honestly, “never through.”

He kisses the pad of her finger and smiles. “Hope you like whatcha see.”

“I do.” She leans in, fingers sliding back to scrape lightly over his scalp. “I really do…”

Their kisses are soft and lingering, lazy. Leading nowhere. There’s no urgency, no push to overtake the other. It’s just peace and love and wanting to be close.

Dean catches her in his big arms, closing his hug around her head and kissing her hair. She laughs against him, captured and terribly, wholly happy.

She can hear his heart beating, feel it ticking beneath her cheek. It’s steady and calm, so different from the hundred times before.

“What’s up with you?” she asks, her words slipping out before she thinks them.

He sighs, relaxed. “What do you mean? I’m good. I’m… really good.”

“That’s… kinda what I mean.” Pushing back, she looks up at him and lets her head rest on his bicep. “You just… You seem different. So happy. There’s no… I don’t know, you’ve always got this dark cloud over you and today… it’s gone.”

Dean’s smile falls but it’s not for sadness. His lips pucker and smooth out, the dimples pop above his lip as he thinks about her words and how to answer. Thick lashes distract her for a moment as they flutter over a constellation of freckles and his deep whisper almost makes her jump.

“Something happened, Y/N. I’m still not sure if it was good, but I think it was. I really do. And… things are different now. There’s… hope. I have hope for the first time. I can see a future for me… for-” He takes a breath and brushes his fingertips across her cheek. “-for us, maybe. A real future. Not random hookups every few months. I mean… a real, honest life together.”

Shock washes over her and bubbles up into tiny laugh. She swallows it down and stares at him, her eyes flickering between his, in awe and surprised.

“Dean, I-”

Suddenly shy, he pulls his hand away, but she grabs it, puts it back against her cheek.

His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to just assume-”

She kisses his palm. “Dean… I have never wanted anything more than to be with you. I hope you know that.”

The smile that spreads across his face is true and stunning and Y/N can’t help but trace it with her fingertips.

“You are so beautiful, Dean.” Her eyes float across his lips, his crooked nose, the deep seated crease between his eyes. “If you are happy, so am I. I mean that. And if… whatever happened has opened something up for you to be able to be with me… then- I mean- of course, I’m yours, Dean. Of course I am. I always have been.”

He crushes her like he’s afraid she’ll disappear, breathes her in as if she’s the only air in the room.

When the moment settles, he tells her everything. He talks of God and how they defeated the biggest evil in every universe. Of Jack saving them, bringing the world back and setting everything right. Wipes away tears when he tells her about Castiel and how he gave up his soul to save him. He smiles, amazed at how he and Sam finally broke away from fate and their horrid lives. He talks about feeling free for the first time in his life and how he’s thought of nothing else but being with her, of running away and starting their life together.

Y/N clings to him, listening with all of her being. She’s confused but grateful that he’s opening up, nervous to hear some parts, but happy that it all ended well.

Silence holds them close as they drift off to sleep, promises made and minds at ease.

He’s going to take her away for a while, somewhere with sand and sun and little rum drinks with neon umbrellas shoved in their tops. He wants to rub sunblock on her shoulders and run through the waves, feel the world around him, feel alive and safe.

He just has a few things to finish up back home.

One more hunt.

Then he’s out for good.

It should be easy, he says as he kisses her forehead and squeezes her hand. “More like one last road trip with my brother, really. Do what we do best, ya know?”

“Do you have to?” she asks, sad to see him go. “You could just text him. Doesn’t have to be such a dramatic farewell.”

He laughs and sucks his tongue against his front teeth. “Nah. Sammy deserves more than a text. Besides, I want to tell him all about you and that’ll take a while. And I gotta pack up my room, give the car a tune up and then-” He reaches down and wraps an arm around her back, tugging her close. “Then it’s you and me and clear blue waters, baby.”

He grins and she pushes up on her toes, sealing it all with a kiss.

She watches from the door until the brake lights are faded, until the glint from the chrome doesn’t catch her gaze anymore.

Days pass without a word.

There’s no answer when she calls, no reply to a text, nothing.

Worry stirs in her gut and Y/N spends the third night pacing her livingroom, running a trench into the hardwood with her barefeet. There’s an aching fear deep inside and she jumps whenever headlights strike her window.

It’s never him.

Panic wraps itself around her and she grips the phone, calling every number she has for him, listening to every voicemail intro like they’re ripping her soul open.

“Dean, please- whatever is going on, just call me. Please. I just need to know that you’re alright.”

It’s two in the morning when the line picks up. Her heart stops midbeat and pain webs across her chest. She takes a breath and presses the phone to her ear.

“Dean?”

She’s near to fainting waiting to hear his voice, but it’s not Dean who answers.

He clears his voice, takes a breath. “Uh- No, it’s… This is Sam.”

“Sam.” She says his name and her hands start to shake so badly it’s hard to hold the phone. “Um… Hi. I don’t know if you know who I am, I don’t know if Dean ever- well… My name’s Y/N. Dean was- We were-”

Sam exhales quickly and she can hear the tears on his breath. “I know who you are. He… Dean told me about you.”

“Oh. Good.”

This is wrong, she thinks. Something’s wrong.

She closes her eyes, blocking everything but the white noise in the background and Sam’s heavy breath. “Is he there?”

The pause is painful. She holds her breath, ready to scream, to run, to collapse in on herself.

“Sam?”

She can hear his hard swallow, a swipe of fabric across a wet cheek.

She can’t stand it.

“Is he dead?” she whispers. Her eyes are flooded already, jaw clenched so tightly against her trembling that her teeth ache. “Sam-”

“He’s… He’s gone.”

She can feel herself falling, takes the crash of her knees into the floor like it’s nothing. Her limbs go numb, her eyes blur.

She doesn’t want to ask but she has to know, has to understand.

“What happened?”

Sam’s voice is so low she has to strain to hear him.

“It was… it was so stupid. We, uh- It was just a milk run.” He hangs there for a long moment as memory washes over him. “I tried. I wanted to get him to the hospital but it was too late. I couldn’t- I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t save him.” He trailed off, losing against his tears. “I’m so sorry.”

She wasn’t sure how long she’d laid there on the floor but it felt like forever. Her back was aching, body craving water after shedding so many tears.

She crawled to the bedroom, struggled up onto the bed and hid her face in his pillow. He always took the left side when he was there, always nuzzled deep into the down, said he loved her pillows.

The sheets still smelled like him and she pushed her face into them, wondering how long it would be before his scent left her for good. She clawed at the pillow, crushed it to her face, wanting to suffocate, die with him on her last breath.

“Dean…”

It’s the strangest thing. The sand is soft and yielding but rough between her toes. It’s hot too, like the sun has penetrated every tiny grain with heat and its pushing into her with each step.

It feels good.

She walks along the beach, skirting the waves as they breach the shore and threaten to overtake her. She stares out into the waves, squints at the sun. She sees the ocean for the first time and thinks of him. Of how tanned his face would be under the tropical sun, of how silly he’d look slathering lotion on his nose when he started to burn. She dreams about watching the sunset over the water, their asses sinking into the damp sand, the breeze tickling their cheeks.

Her heart aches for him but the tears never come anymore. She hugs her arms over her chest and closes her eyes, imagining his warmth, his love. If she tries really hard, she can feel his lips on her cheek, his firm chest pressing into her back, holding her close.

In some small way, he’s always with her.

And she holds onto that until the day she can see him again.

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