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shallowseeker · 2 years ago

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In 10x07, Cas was involuntarily attracted to naked Hannah, and no amount of fandom stuff is ever going to change my mind about that.

(Okay, I was exaggerating a bit just to get your attention there.)

But I think he was nervous seeing her vessel naked in a way he was not when she saw him naked. He has to try not to look. He straightens up, like he’s subtly aroused, and the picture on the wall is a whole bunch of erect buildings. Cas stands torn before two modes: duty and lust. (I would say his physical attraction to her is, if anything, a little involuntary and NOT something he wants to act on. I even think his bodily reaction may be why she thought she had a chance post-the gentle letdown he previously gave her.)

(Yeah, yeah…the board could be casework, the skyscrapers Heaven, but this is more fun.)

Season 10 screams painful things about temptation. I think that Cas is being actively tempted by Hannah, and he defaults to duty, as he always does when it comes to feelings. And Hannah? Wants so badly to be wanted. Maybe Metatron was right about her hidden needs: "desperate to be dominated” indeed.

/// Meanwhile, in the same episode, Sam calls Dean out for falling for a (prostitution) ploy. This comes on the heels of Cas's accidental rejection; that is, his response to Dean's "I'm glad you're here," which was "Another time. There's a female in the car." So, Dean goes in search of validation:

SAM: "But [Shaylene] seems, um... Kind of...available. Like too available. 'Oh, baby, whatever you want. I'm burning up just thinking about you.' No, it's not bad, Dean. It's too good to be true.

Then Shaylene shows up and Dean goes for it, because he (like Hannah) is desperate to be wanted. We cut to him being slammed against a wall, and she stops to tell him she has rules. But she means payment, and Dean is so disappointed that he wasn't really wanted.

As it turns out, Shaylene was “abducted” during a vulnerable time and forced to work gathering souls for a demon. (Ouch. Freshly familiar!)

But in a way, I feel like a fun reading of these sexy scenes being back-to-back is actually both of them being "aroused" and neither of them getting what they really crave (emotional connection). Alternatively, Cas secretly wants slippery shower sex and Dean wants Cas to slam him against a wall? Those two things are compatible.

///

As a character, Cas typically withholds his affection out of duty, even when he feels arousal that he could act on.

(It's fine if you read this differently, but I see Cas as being canonically aroused on multiple occasions: as an angel by straight-adjacent porn, by Meg on at least two occasions to the point of wanting to "move furniture around," and by a random human woman on the street after his grace had been cut out. Not to mention his "hopefully more of this" line and hopping happily back on top of April. So, to me, it's not a total reach to frame Hannah as a very real temptation here. I think Cas's "oddity" lies in being attracted to "strange flesh"/HUMANS/demons/“SOULS,�� regardless of the whole gender thing. Ergo, as an angel, he's "queer" because he likes flesh in the first place, irrespective of the shape of that flesh.

HANNAH: He wouldn't listen, Castiel. He wouldn't let me go. I didn't want to hurt him. I could've erased his memories, but... It didn't feel right. I thought if he truly believed we were together, he'd give up. And it worked. So, why does it feel so bad? CASTIEL: You did the right thing. You hurt him, but you gave him a reason, something he could use to move forward and make sense of his loss. I had to take my vessel from his family -- twice, actually. Jimmy Novak. He was a good man. He was married, had a daughter...Claire. HANNAH: And? CASTIEL: And it was difficult but necessary. The mission comes first -- always.

But Hannah, suddenly, does not feel that this is the right thing. Suddenly, she's questioning the parameters of the mission.

Deep down, Hannah wanted to act on her feelings for Cas, but in doing so, she hurt Joe. That's a lot of what their kiss was about--stabbing Joe in the heart. She realized it was wrong to take Caroline for the mission and hurt Joe (and if you squint, I agree this could represent Dean). But at the forefront of my mind, Joe is Amelia Novak.

At core, Hannah realized that in wanting a relationship with Cas, it was at the expense of another person's life. And then came the shame of that. This plot works to underline Cas's shame, too.

It underlines WHY Cas is hesitant to stay on Earth, why he won't act on his feelings for Dean, and why he feels he doesn't deserve to. Meanwhile, Dean spins out because Cas, one of the people who truly knows him inside and out, who wants him to exist as an integrated human with good parts and demonic experiences (not all human or all demon)…doesn’t seem to want him. Anyway… unlike with Jimmy, Hannah can still save Caroline, so she does. But it's too late for Jimmy. Too late for Cas?

So, Cas looks up Claire Novak. Perhaps with enough penance, he can at least be allowed to stay on Earth?

///

Earlier in the season, Demon Dean is having freakouts revolving around monogamy and infidelity. In his mind, Dean hunts and only works works works. He's only good for work; that's all there is to him. He "whores" around, because he doesn’t think he’s good enough for a happy life/the commitment he might want.

And interestingly, the back half of season 10 is about the shame teenage girls feel when used by deceptive men for their own personal gain.

Anyway, Demon Dean is bitter about being looked down on, just as much as he's strangely sensitive about wanting fidelity, respect, etc. Honestly, if Dean didn’t seem to actively want monogamy and devotion, I’d be happy to leave SPN alone as the perfect story of platonic devotion or alternative relationships. But Dean’s got hangups about it. He seems to long for a simple, old-fashioned relationship.

He's sensitive about it, and so wistful, as if he's afraid he's ruined his chances from both the party-boy way he's lived his life and the undertaking of the Mark of Cain. (A painful parallel is that Crowley effectively dangled Dean in front of Cain in order to solve a power problem within his kingdom/Abbadon, in a parallel way to how Randy used Claire to solve his debt crisis. Claire was out running odd jobs to make money for Randy, and Demon Dean wound up working for Crowley to make money/souls in the Hell system.)

In 10x07, Dean seems disappointed that he's not even wanted, but when he faces Cole, we see that his self-worthlessness runs deep: "Cole, once you touch that darkness... It never goes away. Now, the truth is... I'm past saving. I know how my story ends. It's at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun." Ergo, Dean is “damaged goods.”

///

Anyway, Dean is sensitive about all of it, because it's the one thing he wants (and can't have, because it's Cas, it's Cas, it's CAS).

There’s a little truth in his distraction tactics:

Dean: What if I said I, I didn't want to die... yet. That I wasn't ready. Father Delaney: Are you expecting to? Dean: Always. The life I live, the work I do, I pretty much just figured that's all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later I'd go out the same way I lived, pedal to the metal and that would be it. Father Delaney: And now? Dean: Now. Recent events made me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And I don't know; there's things, there's people, feelings that I-I want to experience differently than I did before, or maybe even the first time.

SPN 10x16 Paint it Black

///

Dean and Cas are, in season 10 and 11, struggling with, not just their feelings, but wanting to commit and live together despite their mistakes, and they both feel too worthless/guilty/ashamed to do so.

(We see this idealized commitment mirrored with Caroline and her husband Joe; he welcomes her inside when she comes home, the same way Amelia and Jimmy will welcome each other later this season, in Heaven.) (But Dean? Feels like he's damaged goods. He has no right to ask anyone to STAY with him, much less Cas. And Cas? Feels like he should be in Heaven. He has no right to STAY on earth, much less be together with Dean.)

Season 10 is a lot about the baggage of the past and how it affects the future; nay, how is cancels out the deserving of the future. It will not be until Mary comes back that Dean begins to hope for his own future, and Cas won’t allow himself this until Jack (the perfect earthly-heavenly cause) appears.

#dean stuff #dean/cas #temptations #spn 10x16 #cas stuff #spn hannah #duty stuff #soldier stuff #you always want what you can't have #bi cas #bi cas truthing #you are welcome to read it as uncomfortable cas but i genuinely think this is more fun for me personally #shal meta #the bi cas agenda #spn 10x07 #spn paint it black

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whelvenwings · 4 years ago

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Castiel's grace is missing, and Dean's frustrated - instead of looking for it, all Castiel wants to do is grow his flowers. Eventually, the two of them have to talk about it.

Read it below or here on AO3! Tags: Canon Divergent, Gardener!Cas, Cas' Grace

This fic was inspired by this wonderful art by saminzat, and written as part of the @spnreverse-promptchallenge!

It’s not Heaven. It’s not even close. It’s just a garden, where Castiel is growing things.

If it were Heaven, Castiel thinks, then Dean would be looking a lot happier, those wrinkles around his eyes all eased away. If it were Heaven, there would have been a break in the clouds overhead when Dean arrived.

If it were Heaven, the peach rose would be in bloom, not straggling all green and leggy and ungainly through the picket fence that Castiel had put up to help it grow.

Castiel puts down the secateurs he’s been using to prune the forsythia, and takes off his gardening gloves. He walks over to Dean, acutely aware of the fact that he’s wearing enough sunscreen to make his skin shine, the worn-thin, oversized blue t-shirt he found at a Goodwill that says Thyme to Garden, and a very large sunhat to protect the back of his neck.

Sunburn, he reminds himself, is more uncomfortable than the growing look of mixed amusement and judgement in Dean’s eyes. Even on a cloudy day, his skin will burn if he’s outside for a long time. Something he learned the hard way after becoming human.

“I thought you were researching a case,” Castiel says to Dean as he approaches.

“Done. Thought I’d come say hi.” Dean raises an eyebrow and a half-smile at him in greeting. “So, hi.”

Castiel stops a few feet from him and tips his hat a little further back on his head, so that Dean can clearly see his face.

“Hello,” he says. Dean takes in the hat, the t-shirt, the full gardening ensemble, with one sweeping gaze.

“Looking good,” Dean says.

Castiel looks down at himself, and then solemnly back to Dean.

“Thank you,” he says, with just enough irony in his tone to get Dean to smile. Or it would have been, usually, but today Dean’s expression is sinking back into hard lines. The greyish, muted light seems to lie heavy on him, putting a coldness in his eyes.

Castiel searches his face. Just as he’s about to say something more, Dean breaks their stare, glancing around at the plants nearest him as a light breeze ruffles at them.

“They’ve grown since last time you showed me,” Dean says. He’s holding himself strangely, his fists clenched. Castiel tilts his head to one side, and then looks around with Dean at the garden.

He feels the familiar spark of happiness as he surveys his handiwork. Once, the place had been a sad little patch of chalky, lump-filled earth. Now the flowers drip off their stems like dewdrops, and the soil smells rich, and the leaves tremble their creaky little paths to follow the sun each day. Even the blossomless peach rose has strong roots.

Castiel glances back to Dean, and feels the warmth in his chest sputter out. Dean’s eyeing the plantlife with an expression that doesn’t seem impressed.

“It’s been a while since last time,” Castiel says.

“Yeah. Well, you know.” Dean looks distracted, frowning down at a squat little succulent plant. There’s something bothering him, obviously, and Castiel isn’t sure whether Dean wants to be asked about it or have it be left alone.

“You’re always welcome,” Castiel tries quietly. Dean seems to catch himself, shifting his expression to something more neutral as he turns back to Castiel.

“Yeah,” he says, not as though he particularly believes it, and – in a way that almost manages to seem genuine – not as though he particularly cares.

“You can stay,” Castiel says. “If you want. There’s plenty to do. If you’re not busy.”

Dean puts his hands into his pockets and looks around the garden again, this time with his eyes a little less sharp.

“Nah,” he says. “Nah, I don’t wanna spoil the fun.”

Spoil the fun? Castiel gives Dean a look that he hopes is eloquent, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“I dunno, man,” he says. “Anyway, it’s not really me, is it.”

He looks tired, Castiel thinks.

“Didn’t think it was you, either,” Dean adds after a half-beat. He reaches up unselfconsciously, and then seems to realise what he’s doing at the last moment, and awkwardly flicks the brim of Castiel’s hat with the back of one finger before taking a step away. “Didn’t think you’d ever go in for… you know. Whatever this is.”

Castiel can easily read that expression on Dean’s face. He’s seen it before, in other times, other places. The mixture of bravado and hurt and confusion had made sense when lives had been at stake and grand lies had been unfolding, but this – here, today, in among his roses and sunflowers, Castiel hadn’t expected it. Dean looks betrayed.

And Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He reaches up to his hat, just brushing the brim with the tips of his fingers in the same place Dean touched it.

“I need the hat,” he says. “To keep the sun off my neck.”

“Right,” Dean says. “Yeah.” He looks up at the sky, which is still an overcast grey.

“Even through clouds,” Castiel offers.

“Uh huh. Okay.”

Castiel squints at him.

“You seem angry,” he says. No more dancing around it. Predictably, Dean makes a face, as though the suggestion were ridiculous.

“Nah.”

“Dean.” Castiel fixes him with a look, and Dean shrugs.

“Whatever, man.”

“If something is wrong…” Castiel says.

“Listen, if coming out here and growing your little flowers and everything helps, then that’s fine,” he says. “It’s fine.”

There’s a but coming, and Castiel knows enough to wait for it. Dean looks aimlessly around at the burgeoning plants. His eyes trace the tangle of a buddleia, until he glances back to Castiel, who raises an eyebrow.

Dean’s front drops, the stiffness going out of his shoulders, his hands unclenching.

“But your grace, man,” he says. Castiel looks down at the ground. He should have expected this, he knew. But somehow hearing the words still takes him by surprise.

“What about it,” he says, in a tone that doesn’t really want an answer, but knows it’s going to get one.

Dean’s hands come up, palms facing out, asking a question without words at first.

“Seriously,” he manages after a moment. “What about it? It’s your grace, Cas.”

“I know,” Castiel says.

“It’s gone,” Dean says.

“I know.”

“It’s been months.”

“I…” Castiel sighs. “Yes.”

“You told me it was just gone,” Dean says, ducking his chin slightly to catch Castiel’s eyes. “Like it was no big deal. And now all you do is spend time up here, planting flowers. Not even trying to look for it. I don’t get it, man. And whenever I try to bring it up, you just say –”

“It’s taken care of,” Castiel says, at the same time as Dean mouths the words along with him, his expression exasperated with a spiderweb of hurt threaded through.

“It’s your grace.”

“I know,” Castiel says. “I know it is. But it’s taken care of, Dean. I don’t want…”

He cuts himself off before he says too much, pressing his lips together.

Dean shakes his head. Castiel can see him battling with himself, trying to decide whether he wants to push harder. Castiel keeps his face neutral, hoping Dean will drop it.

“Don’t want what?” Dean says, though, and Castiel feels his heart sink. “You’re human, now. And you’re stuck that way until you get your grace back, but you won’t even…” Dean seems to run out of words. Castiel tries to think of something to say to divert the conversation, take them down a different track.

“I’m doing better at shaving,” he says. “And I’ve learned not to brush my teeth before drinking orange juice.”

Castiel can see the slight smile on Dean’s face, but it’s almost completely buried under the worry and the anger.

“Right,” Dean says.

“Dean…”

“I just don’t get it. The grace… if it’s lost, I can help with that. If it’s destroyed, I can try to help too, or… we’ll figure something out. Or if it’s safe, why won’t you tell me what happened with it?” The strain in Dean’s voice tells Castiel that they’re at the heart of it now, at the reason for the tight shoulders and the clipped answers and the judgemental eyes on his catmint and cosmos. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

Castiel stares at him helplessly. The answers are in the back of his throat, ready to be said, but he can’t open his mouth – can’t get them out. He feels his heart thudding, his human heart. He doesn’t know if he likes that feeling, if he wants it – perhaps not, no more than he wants sunburn, or the taste of orange juice after toothpaste, or blood on his palms when he catches himself on that peach rose’s thorns.

But there’s something he does want. And any chance at – at that – any chance at all, it’s worth the weight of being human. He made a choice and he knows he’d make it, the same one, over and over again.

He thinks it all, but he can’t say it. Dean watches him, angry and confused. Overhead, the clouds lumber their heavy bellies across the sky.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Dean says. Castiel looks away, and Dean takes a step closer. “Cas,” he says. “I swear to god.”

Castiel looks up at him, knowing his own tiredness is right there to be seen on his face – and his sadness, his hurt. Dean’s expression shifts, and he comes even closer.

“What did you do, man? Is it that bad?”

It’s easy to see Dean’s mind working, trying to piece everything together. He’s probably thinking demons, and deals, and treachery, all the things that they’ve been through before. Castiel doesn’t know how to explain to him that he’s wrong without telling him the whole truth. And he can’t tell the whole truth.

“Look,” Dean says, “we’ll figure it out. If you just tell me – tell me where it is, or what happened. Did someone do this? And what… what does all of this have to do with it…” He looks around again at the garden. Castiel closes his eyes for a second, lets the familiar feeling of being here fill him as much as he can let it – the warmth in his chest, the spark.

He knows he should try to talk about it, but he can’t. He can’t.

When he opens his eyes, Dean’s waiting, watching him. Castiel opens his mouth – but nothing comes out.

Dean’s face tightens again.

“Okay,” he says. “So it’s like that. Great, Cas.”

“Dean, it’s –”

“No, it’s fine,” Dean says, his tone taut with bitterness, but his face carefully unbothered. “That’s fine. Deal with it by yourself. That’s always gone so well. And meanwhile, me, I’ll just, what? Wait for you to give me the bad news, I guess. That’s great, Cas. Really. You know, you –”

“Stop,” Castiel asks.

And a little of the fight leaves Dean again. He looks as though he wants to say something else, but doesn’t know what. His face is half apology and half anger.

“It just…” he says. And then waves his hand, like it doesn’t matter anyway.

And it’s the simplicity of the hurt in that gesture that has Castiel throwing all his caution to the wind and saying,

“I don’t want it back.”

Dean stops moving. His eyes fix on Castiel.

“What?” Dean asks.

Castiel’s jaw is tight, but he manages to say again,

“I don’t want it back. My grace. I know where it is. But I don’t want it back.”

All of Dean’s carefully placed anger is gone, suddenly, in his shock. There’s no performance, no strategy, in the way that he steps closer and looks utterly bewildered.

“You don’t?” he says.

“No. I…” Castiel hesitates, and then says, “I took it out myself.”

“You what?”

Castiel lifts one shoulder, a little diffidently. It had been necessary, so he’d done it. As simple as that.

“Cas,” Dean says, and then seems to be at a loss. Castiel doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say, so far as he can see.

He’s made his choice. And if he ever regrets it, if he ever wishes things could be different, all he has to do is look at Dean and it pales to nothing.

“Cas… why?” Dean manages eventually, and Castiel breathes out.

He looks at Dean.

Dean stares right back at him, not understanding.

“Did someone make you?” Dean demands. “We can go and look for them, we can –”

“No,” Castiel says. “No. I chose to do it.”

“But Cas…”

“It’s –” Castiel presses his lips together again, trying not to let the expression look pained, even though there’s a flash of hurt through his chest at the thought of trying to say any of it aloud. Saying it would push the two of them, Dean and Castiel, towards a tipping point. A no-takebacks, no room for misunderstanding point. Sharp as a thorn.

And it’s the last thing Castiel wants.

Until they talk about it, anything seems possible. It almost feels real enough. But if they talk, it’ll all be over. Dean will tell him to take back his grace, and Castiel will have to leave. It’ll be over.

“You took it out. What would you do that for,” Dean says. When Castiel doesn’t reply, he reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, the word harsh enough to compensate for the touch.

“It’s nothing,” Castiel says.

“Cas.”

“Really, it’s…” Castiel stops. The denial dies in his mouth. He swallows, his eyes on Dean, before he looked down. “I just want to be able to stay with you.”

The last two words are too much – all of it is too much – but they’re out his mouth before he can stop them. Castiel breathes out and waits to feel Dean’s hand loosen its grip, drop away in shock at the unwanted intensity. It’s too much. Castiel knows it’s too much.

But Dean’s hand is still on his shoulder.

“You want to be able to stay?” Dean says.

“Yes.” Castiel says it bluntly, to try to shave off the emotion, make it easier to talk about. Dean’s hand still doesn’t move. Castiel can feel each place Dean’s fingers are digging in slightly through the thin material of his t-shirt. His heart is pounding and he wants to be able to turn it off, quiet it down, hear Dean’s heart instead in the way he could when he had his grace. He wants it with a sudden acuteness, a pang of loss.

“But – you can,” Dean says. “Why would you think you needed to do this?”

Castiel can’t look back up at him.

“Cas,” Dean says.

There’s a band of pain squeezing tightly around Castiel’s chest. He can’t quite seem to get his breath, suddenly.

“I just thought I’d fit better this way,” he says.

“Fit better?” Now Dean moves his hand, pulls back, though he doesn’t go far. “What do you mean?”

“You’re human,” Castiel says. He looks up, meets Dean’s eyes. “Now I am too. I thought, maybe…”

He trails off. He can’t say more. He can’t talk about what he hopes for, what he wants. He can’t.

Dean’s hand is back on his shoulder and the touch is different, now, less insistent. Softer. Castiel can see the gentleness in Dean’s eyes, shy and uncertain, allowed to show just for a few moments.

“We don’t have to be the same,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer.

“We’ve never been the same,” Dean says. “But we’re still good. Right?”

There are no words in Castiel’s mind, or none that make sense – or none that he can say aloud. He wishes he could give Dean the way that he feels, just drop it into Dean’s mind, show him without having to explain it. The feeling is yes, good, of course we’re good, but there’s more – there’s different things, things I want to be to you, ways I want to be with you. And not telling you feels more and more like lying with every passing day but I don’t know how to tell you without you being suddenly aware that I’ve been wanting you in a different way to how you want me for a very long time, and will you hate me for that? Will you think I’m a liar? Will you send me away? Could I bear that? Could I bear it? If you hated me, how could I bear it?

“I just,” Castiel says, “I just want to be able to stay.” It’s the only part of it that will come out of his mouth.

“You can,” Dean says. “You don’t need… damnit, Cas, you didn’t have to take your own grace out just to be able to stay.”

Castiel nods mutely. Dean’s hand squeezes Castiel’s shoulder.

“So you can put it back, right?” he says. “The grace. You can go get it and put it back?”

“I could.” It comes out more direct and harsh than Castiel intended, and Dean’s grip tightens.

“So…?” he says.

Castiel can’t meet his eyes. He looks to the side, around the garden that he’s created. The flowers that have unfurled for him, trusting, unfussy about what deep love and secrets he’s hiding. The leaves and shoots that grow steadily under the care of his hands, no matter who else those hands wish they could hold.

“Cas,” Dean says again, and gives another squeeze, and then lets go. “Your grace is you, man. All these months, it’s not like you’ve had a good time being human, is it?”

“It’s worth it.”

“Worth it?” Dean echoes.

“If it means we’re the same,” Castiel says. And his reasoning isn’t even clear to Castiel himself, now. It just feels as though if they’re both human, if they both are the same thing, there’s a chance they could both feel the same way, too – it makes no sense, and yet Castiel can’t imagine letting go of the thought.

“We don’t need to be the same,” Dean says, repeating himself with a look that’s crossed between confusion and concern.

“But I…”

Castiel stops talking, cuts himself off. Dean’s eyes search his face.

“You want to be?” Dean says, cautious, hazarding a guess. And when Castiel’s expression tells Dean he’s right, his face goes even more soft with surprise. “Why?”

There isn’t anything that Castiel can say in answer. No explanations he can give that will make sense outside his own mind. All he finds himself doing is looking at Dean – looking at him more openly than he has done in a long time, half tight-lipped and wanting the conversation to end, half hoping that Dean will finally piece it all together. He allows himself to stare, frankly and directly, pushing away the guilt and shame that push at him and tell him to look down, step away, move back, leave. He stares like he once used to all the time, letting down the walls.

There’s Dean, he thinks. There he is. Sometimes the feelings in Castiel grow so big and overwhelming that he forgets the shape of the man at the heart of them. The way Dean cares. The way Dean looks at him right back, matches him – when it comes down to it, never pretends it doesn’t matter to him when it does.

Dean’s mouth opens to form words, but he seems to stop himself. Castiel watches Dean swallow, and feels the familiar swoop and ache in his chest as all his crushing sky-sized love focuses into the smallness of the place on Dean’s throat that he wants to touch.

Dean goes to say something, and then stops.

Castiel looks down at Dean’s lips, and then back up again.

Is it wrong, how much he wants to kiss Dean? The feeling is pressing, immediate, alive. It’s in Castiel’s blood, in his bones. If Dean doesn’t want him too, in the same way, does that make the feeling wrong? Or would it just be acting on it, making Dean aware of it, that would be wrong? But the feeling is a background hum in everything Castiel does. He acts on it even when Dean isn’t with him. He acts on it all the time.

Every passing moment changes the gaze between them. Dean’s waiting for him to talk, not filling in the space with any words this time, but his face keeps sinking further into something that looks dangerously like realisation.

“I don’t know,” Castiel says. If how he feels, or what he’s doing, is wrong, then he should look away. He should go away, leave Dean alone, find somewhere else to be. But he couldn’t, he can’t, not until he knows for sure that Dean doesn’t feel even slightly the same way – and he can’t ask, because as soon as he knows Dean doesn’t feel the same way, he’ll have to leave. The thoughts chase their tails in Castiel’s head and he stares and he stares at Dean and he hurts so much that he wants to hit his own chest just for the distraction of a simpler pain.

“You don’t know what?”

“I just don’t know, Dean.”

Dean is watching him carefully, his mouth slightly open, as though trying to figure out how to phrase something he wants to say. There’s a slight tinge of colour to his cheeks, too, Castiel notices.

“Uh,” Dean says. His mouth shapes a ‘w’ like the start of a question, and then closes again, and he frowns – but he doesn’t look away.

He almost knows, Castiel thinks. He’s almost understood. And as soon as Dean understands, it’s over. Unless he feels the same way, which he doesn’t. He can’t. We’re not the same. No matter how hard I try and how much I change, we’re not ever the same.

He needs to cauterise this conversation like a wound, stop all this from happening, but he can’t find the words. Dean’s still watching him. Castiel’s heart is thunder in his head, drowning out his thoughts.

“You look like the whole world’s falling apart,” Dean says eventually. “Not an exaggeration. ‘Cause I’ve seen your face when the world was actually falling apart.” Dean points vaguely with one finger towards Castiel’s face. “And it looked like that.”

Castiel nods mutely, and Dean sighs and glances sharply away, and then back again.

“Come on, Cas, jesus. Something’s up, so whatever it is, just tell me.” He looks at Castiel for a long time, and then he says it again. In a different voice, quieter, with a little rise at the end as though of hope or something equally as stupid for Castiel to consider. “Tell me.”

It’s said in a way that makes Castiel want to believe he’s asking for all the things Castiel wants to give.

Dean’s eyes are wide, too. Like he can’t quite believe what he’s asking.

And Castiel’s human heart is pounding at that tone in his voice, that look on his face, because it feels as though – tentatively – they could be talking about the same thing. The longer Castiel watches Dean’s face, the more he sees it. There are the little flickers of denial, uncertainty, in the way Dean’s eyes narrow for a half-moment. And then there again is the rise of hope in the depth of Dean’s gaze, the openness.

It’s so small and barely-there that Castiel can’t trust it. He can’t know how this ends. It’s a rope thrown into down into his well, though, and with no idea what waits for him at the top, he still puts his hand on it and wonders if he’s strong enough to begin to climb.

“I, um.” He starts to speak, and his voice is low and rough. When he pauses almost immediately, Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other, licks his lips. Castiel searches for the words. “I tried staking that peach rose. But it didn’t do any good.”

Dean looks confused. He doesn’t even bother to look down at the rose, just keeps his eyes on Castiel.

“What…” he says.

“It just grew that way,” Castiel says. He can feel a lump in his throat. “Naturally. It wanted to grow that way.”

“Okay,” Dean says, as though slightly concerned for Castiel’s sanity.

“I think sometimes it’s just like that,” Castiel says. He meets Dean’s eyes. “You can try planting them in the place you want them. Cut them back. Put a stake through them.” He resists the sudden, unexpected urge to reach up and touch the place on his chest where, years ago, Dean buried a knife in his heart. He swallows. “But sometimes there are things you can’t control. And even if it’s not… not healthy, or pretty, or the way it’s supposed to go… that’s how they’ll grow. Just towards the place they want to be.”

Dean’s listening intently, but his eyes are clouded with confusion. He looks like he wants to say something, and then stops himself. Castiel can’t blame him for not understanding, when half the point is that he’s talking without getting to the point. He doesn’t want to get to that sharp-split point when his life takes one of two courses, when Dean says one of two things.

“Dean, I…” Castiel says, and his hand reaches out. Unconsciously, awkwardly, the straggling limb of a plant that has never grown the way it should have done. And Castiel goes to catch himself, to stop letting his fingers trail through the air reaching for a place they can’t go – but then Dean takes his hand.

Dean takes his hand, and holds onto it. Not sweetly, not softly. Hard. Like they’re at the top of a cliff and Dean’s afraid of losing his grip and having to watch Castiel fall alone.

Castiel can barely breathe. Against the odds his hand is being held by Dean. Against the way that his words desert him, against the thousands of reasons that the two of them shouldn’t have ever even met, let alone be standing here together in a garden. Against all of it, Castiel’s hand is squeezed tight in Dean’s.

There’s a part of Castiel that’s trying to pinch itself, that’s shaking its head in denial, but Dean’s grip is warm and real.

“Cas,” Dean says. “Do you…”

The question has no ending, but it’s Dean, so the answer is yes. Castiel nods.

Dean’s expression seems, with just the smallest of looks in his eyes, to break apart. He holds onto Castiel’s hand and says nothing, doesn’t move.

“And…” Castiel says, but his throat goes dry. He can do this. He has to do this. If he doesn’t now, he never will. He tries again. “And… you?”

Dean looks momentarily bewildered.

“Yeah, Cas,” he says.

Castiel feels himself go light, so suddenly his stomach flips.

Yeah, Cas, he hears in his head. Yeah, Cas.

On another day, when Castiel hadn’t just told Dean how he feels through a series of oblique angles – when Castiel’s hand wasn’t still being held in the rough warmth of Dean’s – Castiel might have been indignant at that tone in Dean’s voice. As though it had been obvious, when yes, half the time Dean was staring at him like he actually mattered, was ready to die for him – but the rest of the time Dean couldn’t look at him, was ready to die for anything.

Their hands swing a little between them. Just their arm muscles getting a little tired, and their hands moving together. Such a very little thing to happen, Castiel thinks. So very small. After all this time it’s just one hand in another, and it means absolutely crushingly everything, in the way that he’d known it would.

It’s happening, he thinks. It’s happening. We’re the same. We’re the same.

A little clutch of fear that he might change, one day. Wake up and be something else, unexpectedly. Grow again, in a direction Dean doesn’t –

Castiel breathes. It’s alright. He’s torn out his grace for this. He can be the person Dean needs. He can change himself again. Over and over, if needs be.

He holds Dean’s hand. Tight. He can always change again. He can make them the same again. Whatever it takes. For this, for the feeling of Dean's hand in his, it would be worth it, anything would be worth it. But –

Dean’s grip goes slack in his own.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Castiel says. He holds tighter. “Nothing.”

Dean’s hand drops Castiel’s. The loosening of his grip is a slow-motion whip crack across Castiel’s chest.

“No?” Dean says, looking at Castiel, asking with the single word whether Castiel doesn’t want anything that just happened. He puts his hands up just a little way, maybe a surrender, maybe just a gesture to show he isn’t touching.

“Wait,” Castiel says, his hand still in place, still reaching. It shows, then, he thinks to himself. That sickle-curve sharpness in his chest, the fear in him that he won’t always be able to fit himself to what Dean wants, it must show. Dean can see it. Castiel lifts his chin, tries to look as though he’s feeling incredibly happy, instead of just incredibly much. “Dean, why are you –”

“Cas…” Dean’s eyes are searching his face, looking for the place where something is wrong. Castiel wants to cut in, insist that nothing is wrong. Take Dean’s hand again, reach for more – he could reach for more, he thinks, and his heart twists, and his head feels light. He could reach for more. Dean might let him. Dean was holding his hand for a moment, there, by choice, as though it really meant something. Castiel’s mouth is dry.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel tries. But his stomach is sinking, even as he’s aching with the terrifying joy of the sudden opening of all the doors he’d always thought were closed for him.

Dean can see that he’s scared. Dean is going to figure it all out. And then those doors will close again.

“I mean…” Dean says. He blinks, shakes his head just slightly. Seems to remember where exactly he is, glancing around at Castiel’s garden. It’s all slipping out of Castiel’s grasp. They’re going to pretend as though the last two minutes never happened, Castiel can feel it.

It’s unbearable. It’s unbearable. The idea of having had it for barely a few seconds, and then losing it. Castiel reaches for words, for anything – something that will show Dean how much it all means to him, how far he’ll go to make it work.

“We’re both human,” he says, almost blurts. “I took out my grace. So we can be… so I can stay.”

Took out, he thinks to himself. What a clinical way to talk about the tearing, the self-destruction, the loss.

Dean just looks at him, mouth slightly open.

This is supposed to be the part where Dean argues, Castiel realises only when it doesn’t come. This is the part where Dean asks me what the hell I was thinking. Tells me to put the grace damn well back where it came from, and to stop making terrible decisions. And then I argue back, and tell him I’ll do what I want to do with my own grace, and I made this choice for him, and I’d do it again.

But Dean isn’t saying anything. He’s just staring. And Castiel stares, too. He can’t argue back when Dean hasn’t started the fight. He can’t push back if Dean never pushed forward. So they stand in silence. The clouds overhead roll on, oblivious to the hearts frantically pounding so far beneath them.

“Cas,” Dean says, and he says it differently to how he’s supposed to – quietly, carefully, handling the name like it’s made of something delicate. “I don’t know what you want me to say, man.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Castiel says.

“But you… you did that…”

Castiel watches him mutely.

“Why?” Dean asks.

So many answers. To be like you. To be near you. To show you I can change for you. Castiel opens his mouth and tries not to say too much.

“For – this,” Castiel says, managing to stop himself saying, for you.

“This?”

“This,” Castiel says, holding Dean’s gaze.

Dean holds his gaze.

“But it – ah. Jesus, Cas, this is hard to talk about.”

Castiel nods. He doesn’t want to let it go – feels sick at the idea of Dean just dropping the subject, and heading back inside, leaving the garden and forgetting all about what they’d said to each other. Chalking it up as somewhere he’d never go again. Too much baggage, too heavy, not worth it.

Dean puffs out his cheeks, though, and breathes out sharply, and says,

“It’s just that, hell, man, you never had to take the grace out to have… you know… anything you wanted out of me.” Dean looks uncertain as he says the last part, as though a little disbelieving that Castiel could want anything from him in particular. “You know that. Right?”

His voice is so different. So gentle in a way that Castiel only barely recognises from the most private of moments they’ve shared. Castiel is suddenly so intensely aware that they’re the only two in the garden, alone with each other. No one else to see them or hear them or judge what they say to each other. It’s a thought that gives him courage.

“I’ve changed for you since the beginning,” Castiel says. Dean opens his mouth, and then closes it, his eyes troubled. Castiel watches him, thinking. “Or –” he starts, as a new thought occurs to him. “Or, changed because of you, at least.”

Dean still looks confused, as though he doesn’t really see the difference. To Castiel, though, it feels clear as day. He changed because he met Dean – without that meeting, he would still be the angel he’d always been. But when he thought about it, the person he changed for was himself. Because it had felt right. Because it felt, period, and that was what he’d wanted.

It loops round and round perfectly in Castiel’s mind. Meeting Dean, the push Castiel needed to start running. And knowing Dean, now, the pull Castiel needs to keep changing, stay with him, stay together.

“I just thought,” Castiel says, when Dean stays silent, “if I could be human like you, then maybe you’d… maybe we could be the same. And stay that way.”

“And you want that,” Dean says.

“Yes.”

“Because…”

“Because,” Castiel says, a little taken aback, “I want… this.”

“But why’d we have to be the same for that? I mean – this?” Dean frowns, as though almost losing track of what he’s trying to say. They’re trying to talk all around it without using any words that are too big.

“Why…” Castiel trails off as he considers the question.

Dean shrugs, in a way that battles to look uncaring and ends up looking heartfelt.

“But… we need to be the same,” Castiel says. He wants them to be close like two leaves on a tree. Closer, two petals on a flower. No, closer still, not even two things. Just one, one plant, growing strong. He wants them that close, that inseparable, after so long being forced apart by fate and circumstance. No would-be gods or divine powers could set them apart if they were one thing. The same.

“But we aren’t the same, Cas,” Dean says, so quietly that Castiel only just hears it over the little burst of breeze that briefly ruffles over them.

Castiel feels his chest clench.

“I’m trying…” he says.

“No, I mean – I mean we can’t be,” Dean says. “I mean, we aren’t, ‘cause we’re… you know… two different people. There it is, you know? Different people. We can’t be exactly the same.”

“But…” Castiel starts, and the word comes out sounding almost angry, so he checks himself and looks down. “But,” he starts again, “if I can just…”

“C’mon,” Dean says, the smallest of smiles softening one side of his mouth. “You wouldn’t really want two of me running around the place, would you?”

“That’s not how I meant it,” Castiel answers, his voice serious, but with a lightness in his eyes to acknowledge Dean’s brush with humour.

“Come to think of it, though,” Dean says, “I’d get a lot more work done on the car if there were two of me. And we could harmonise on Zepp tracks. Maybe you are onto something.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, though he can feel his heart lifting just seeing Dean reaching out for him, trying to make him smile.

“I wouldn’t let you share my toothbrush, though, no way.” Dean looks around the garden. “And this would have to go. Hate to break it to you, but no way are you digging around in the dirt for hours if you’re me. Not unless there’s something to salt and burn at the end of it.”

“I know,” Castiel says, and the words sound little and obstinate, but his hands relax. Dean is looking at him like he gets it – like he sees that curling fear inside Castiel, the one that can’t let them be two different and separate things that just happen by the grace of luck to be next to each other. Because luck runs out, and they both know it. The only way to be sure of staying together, the fear says, is to be so much the same as to be one thing.

But it’s impossible. Castiel can’t be Dean. And Dean’s right, too, because Castiel doesn’t really want to be. He doesn’t want to give up gardening. He doesn’t want to work on Dean’s car. He doesn’t want to share a toothbrush.

He wants to spend time growing things. He wants his own hands in the dirt. He wants – he wants Dean, in the way that he has done since meeting Dean. And he wants to keep wanting.

Even if he didn’t want it, it’s what is. They’re two plants next to each other. Hoping not to be uprooted, hoping for sun, hoping for kind hands that stake them upright and water them even when they won’t flower. Always at the mercy of whatever storms might come, however hard Castiel tries to tangle himself together with Dean, camouflage with him, become just the same.

There are plants that do that, Castiel remembers. Plants that tangle and blend with other plants. They’re weeds. They choke out the first plant, cut off all its light and food until it dies. Two things can’t become one thing without loss. And Castiel doesn’t want to lose Dean – and, he realises quite suddenly, he also doesn’t want to lose himself. There’s so much he wants to do.

Things he might be able to do.

He looks at Dean, who’s watching him piece it all together, giving him time in silence, or maybe just struggling to find more words. But either way, Dean is still here. Dean is in front of him. A moment ago, they were hand in hand.

They could be again.

“You good?” Dean asks, seeming to sense Castiel come to a conclusion.

“Yes,” Castiel says. Dean visibly relaxes, shoulders easing under his coat. Castiel wants to put his hands on those shoulders. He wants to reach out. He wants to touch. He wants, wants, wants, and it feels like still growing, it feels like still changing, it feels like being alive. Like being himself.

He wants to hear Dean’s heartbeat. He wants his grace back. With a sudden absolute certainty, Castiel feels how much he wants his grace back.

He meets Dean’s eyes, and says simply,

“It’s here.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow, catching Castiel’s mood without his meaning.

“It’s here?”

“My grace,” Castiel says. “You were asking where it was. It’s here.”

“Here?” Dean looks confused.

Castiel can feel his mood unfurling, the parts of himself that he’s pushed away and hidden – the parts that have known all along he wants his grace back – finally allowed to breathe, finally being given what they need. He turns his attention to his garden, bending down next to the peach rose that has been so wilfully refusing to blossom.

“I didn’t expect anything to grow when I buried it here,” Castiel says to Dean, over his shoulder. “But then the first flowers came, and so I bought more, and then I put in the fence, and – it helped, being able to come here.” He puts out his hand towards the peach rose, speaking meditatively, almost not quite to Dean at all.

His fingertips brush the tightly closed buds, the sharpness of the thorns. Castiel lets that want for his grace rise up in him, unafraid of the feeling now that he knows it can be acted on. He closes his eyes, and feels for his grace.

It’s right there, waiting for him.

Brilliant and electric. Fast, so fast, and all colours, colours so bright they hiss and spit as they rocket up the stem of the peach rose and through Castiel’s fingers, filling his body with a fierce familiar hum. Castiel breathes in and smells every flower in the garden at once and the breeze and the tang of sap and the rich wetness of the soil and there, behind him, Dean. He breathes out ozone, heady.

He can feel the hat on his head, the way it rests on each hair. He can feel Dean’s closeness, the way the atoms of air jumble between them.

He can feel the sunshine on his face when it finally breaks through the clouds overhead.

The world is turning beneath his feet as it should. The plants around him are creaking as they grow. Dean is breathing a little quicker than usual, and Dean’s heartbeat – there it is. That sound Castiel has missed since the day he tore out his grace. Thud thud, thud thud, thud thud. Castiel closes his eyes more tightly and focuses in on it, loses himself briefly in its rhythm.

“Cas?” Dean says. His voice has all the layers Castiel can hear as an angel. Richer, deeper. He can hear the roughness that comes from the light scarring in Dean’s throat after years of hunting, calling out warnings and yelling in shock. He can hear the exact pitch at which Dean ends the single word, the note that means it’s a question and it’s shy and it’s hopeful and Dean is trying to hide all of it.

The sun is bright when Castiel opens his eyes. There on the peach rose, at the tip of the stem through which he drew out his grace from the earth, is a full-blossom flower. Blushing petals unfurled, just waiting to be looked at, to be touched. Castiel reaches up a finger, and presses it to the velvet centre.

He stands up, and turns to Dean, who’s looking at him with something in his eyes that’s just the same. Newly unfurled, wanting touch.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean’s face relaxes.

“Here all along, huh.” Dean says. “Damn it, Cas. And there was me, worrying where to find it for no goddamn reason.” The words are irritable but Dean’s tone is a betrayal of them, because it’s so gentle, so serious. Serious enough that Castiel doesn’t feel silly when he takes a step forward, closer to Dean.

He meets Dean’s eyes silently, asking a question.

“You still…?” Dean says.

Still what exactly, Castiel wonders. Still want this? Still want you? Still look at you and think about how anything else I’ve tried to care about felt like trying to follow a script written for a part I was never meant to play, but with you caring grows up without me even trying like a wild rose in good earth?

The answer to all of it is yes. It’s Dean, after all. The answer is yes.

Castiel doesn’t use words to say it. Dean barely used them to ask the question, it was all in his eyes and the way he’s still holding his arms slightly out to the sides as though hoping to have a reason to put them around someone, and so Castiel gives him a reason.

The closeness – Castiel has always thought it might be jarring, if it ever happened, to be in Dean’s space like this. Something he’s wanted for so long and imagined so many times that the reality would be strange. But it’s not strange, it’s – it’s just a little slow, and hushed. It’s so quiet in the garden as they come together. Hand touching hand. Then arms reaching up. Castiel’s eyes tracing the lines of Dean’s face, finally having time to do it in as much time as he chooses, because Dean’s going a pleased shade of red under his gaze.

“I, uh,” Dean says, his voice a little hoarse. Castiel tilts his head at a slight angle. “I, uh. I don’t know how to do this. When it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I – I don’t know if you want me to…” Dean’s eyes drop to Castiel’s lips. Through angel’s eyes, Castiel can see the slight tremor in him, the way he leans in just a little and then pulls back, the way his muscles are tightening in uncertainty.

“Yes,” says Castiel simply. He reaches up, and tilts his hat back.

“But you… it’s…” Dean looks at him helplessly.

And Castiel thinks perhaps he understands. This thing between them, the way that Castiel feels, it’s – it’s alive, it’s wider and deeper than the sky. It’s everything. And they’re supposed to, what, kiss about it? As though it were the end of a fairy tale? The end of a second date?

But then, they’ve done all the rest of it before. They’ve done blood and big choices. They’ve done hands grasping for each other against every rule, against all the smart money. And now there’s just this.

There’s just Castiel leaning forwards, and seeing relief and happiness break through on Dean’s face like sunshine for a second, before they kiss.

Castiel feels his wings unfurl.

It’s still not Heaven. It’s not even close. But – Castiel pulls back, and sees the expression on Dean’s face, the way his eyes are wide and unbelieving and so, so happy. But it’s a place, where Castiel is growing things.

#whelvenwingsfic #destiel #destiel fic #ahh I managed to finish it in time!! I'm so glad #I started this thinking it was gonna be something tiny and all fluff #and then this came out #what can you do #thank you so much to the mods for running the challenge #and to the artist for submitting such lovely art #and to sam wanderingcas for being herself in my vicinity

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bragganhyl · 3 years ago

Note

Fluffy 17 from the drabble list for any members of Team Gilded Vale that are interested?

Thank you 💖💖 have some sugary sweet Aloth x Watcher thing 😊

It takes place some time during act 2 of PoE 1, after Heritage Hill has been completed.

Word count: 1270 words, roughly

'Aloth, can I bother you for a moment?' Gaura stood by the wizard's preferred table in Caed Nua's library. He looked up at her when he heard his name and noticed the parchment in her hand. He reached for it before he even responded.

'Of course,' his lips perked up for a fleeting moment, 'please, have a seat.'

The Watcher pulled out the chair facing him. She noticed it didn't match his. As she looked around she remembered that the table was only meant for a single person. She smiled to herself as she sat down. It was good to see Aloth make some efforts at welcoming others to his side, even if his gestures were still that of a reclusive academic's. The wizard shyly glanced up at her for a moment and caught a glimpse of her smile that spread on his face as well. He quickly turned his attention to the parchment he was given before she could notice his expression. What he read gave him a pause, however.

'"Dear Mother",' he read it out loud, 'I... I mustn't... I can't possibly read this.'

'Sure you can,' Gaura tried to play off her plea as encouragement. 'I haven't managed to write to my parents all this time and it's been months since I left the Valleys. I don't want to worry them. Well... worry them even more.''

'But...' Aloth shifted his weight somewhat uncomfortably, 'this seems rather personal, don't you think?'

'It is why it's important that I uhh... don't mess up my language,' she tapped her temple mocking herself.

Ever since Icantha unlocked the memory of having Engwithan as a mother tongue, the Watcher has had some moments of... confusion. For the first few hours after it happened, every word that came out of her mouth was in the dead language, even when she was convinced she was speaking Aedyran. It took her some time until her mind could orient the massive amount of knowledge that she gained too suddenly and too unnaturally. But still, she would sometimes catch herself slipping Engwithan words into her conversations when she got tired or writing Engwithan words when she wasn't paying attention. Luckily, Aloth understood her strange predicament in a way that Gaura couldn't help but find oddly comforting. It is why she trusted him to look through her letters for her even if she was reluctant about it, and while he was taken aback at first by her request for help, he was willing to grant it. No further questions were asked.

'If you're certain,' Aloth blushed slightly as he looked at the letter again.

The wizard's eyes followed one line after another, while his eyebrows furrowed in a thoughtful expression. Gaura watched him in complete silence and she tried hard not to imagine those eyes of his roaming along herself in the same way. She felt her hair flutter at the thought and she quickly patted down her most mischievous flames. Aloth didn't seem to notice. A few moments later the Watcher saw him purse his lips. He reached for a quill, or so Gaura assumed. She only saw it from the corner of her eyes. She had a hard time tearing her gaze away from those lips. It was only the sharp sound of the quill swiftly stricking out words of her prose that snapped the Watcher out of her flimsily constructed daydreams. She didn't notice how close she was learning to Aloth, luckily neither did he, or if he did, he didn't seem to mind.

After a while, Aloth's ears turned red and a soft, barely visible smile spread on his face.

'What?' Gaura couldn't help but ask.

'I'm sorry?' The wizard looked up from the text.

'You're smiling,' the Watcher leaned slightly forward in interest. 'I assume I wrote something funny.'

'Oh,' Aloth chuckled, at first uncomfortably, but a moment later his laugh turned into something genuine and wistful. 'I would not call it funny,' he cleared his throat, readying himself to read the letter out loud. '"Don't worry, I'm not alone in this place. And no, I'm not referring to the ghosts either,' he glanced at the Watcher and shook his head, a smile hiding in the corners of his lips, 'I have people with me whom I met during my travels. They're good people who...' he blushed once again. 'Who have become very important to me."'

The wizard looked at Gaura who just shrugged with a fond smile. He watched her as if he only noticed something about her in that very moment, an important detail that had escaped him but it was quite precious and beautiful to him. Or maybe it was something about himself, something he could not possibly see on his own because it was something only visible from the point of view of another. He could not tell and he couldn't speak of it either. He just looked at the Watcher in front of him, stunned.

'Obviously that does not apply to Durance,' she said eventually, snapping Aloth out of his musings and prompting him to let out a short laugh.

'Good, I was about to start questioning your ability to judge one's character.'

'Why?' Gaura raised a brow and smirked at him, challenging him. 'Afraid I might have misjudged you?'

'I wouldn't know,' Aloth leaned back in his seat casually. 'Luckily for the both of us, you've said nothing about me in this letter.'

The Watcher scoffed softly. 'Are you implying that my opinions on you would embarrass us both?' She laughed. 'Aloth, if you want me to wax poetic about you, you can just ask.'

Aloth laughed back at her but there was a hint of nervousness ringing in it. 'I wasn't...'

'Because I do admire you,' Gaura interrupted his protest before he could truly start, 'for your intelligence and your bravery. Even if you keep your distance I know you got my back and I...' she smoothed down a flame, 'I trust you immensely. I'm really lucky to have you.'

Aloth said nothing, he just stared at her wide-eyed while an intense shade of red colored his cheeks and spread to his ears.

Gaura looked away and bit her lips, trying to hold back an embarrassed chuckle. 'If I were to really wax poetic then I might also sprinkle mentions of your good looks, your elegance and your refined manners in there too,' she didn't dare look but she could've sworn she heard Aloth sink lower in his chair. 'You're right, it's lucky I didn't write about you,' she laughed as she turned her attention to him again.

Aloth blinked at her a few times, cleared his throat then reached her letter out to her again. 'Indeed,' he said. 'You only made a few mistakes but besides that, you're flawless.'

When the Watcher only responded with a relieved smile as she took her letter back, the wizard's eyes widened in a slight panic.

'It! It is flawless!' He said as he gathered his tomes and stood up. 'Forgive me, I... I should let you work on your prose.'

'Alright,' Gaura smiled up at him. 'See you at dinner?'

'Of course,' Aloth tried his best to look casual but failed miserably. 'I will be in my room...' he glanced down at the books he's been holding in front of him, 'reading. If you need me for anything.' He gave her a slightly stiff nod and turned to leave.

The Watcher stared after him for several moments, oblivious to the grin on her face. Then she turned to the parchment in her hand and began working again.

#pillars of eternity #aloth x watcher #aloth corfiser #wrytinge #oc fic: gaura #this turned out so tooth rotting it cracks me up #i had fun with it thank you

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petrichoravellichor · 4 years ago

Text

Begin and End There (Part 2)

For Day 6 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: Destiel).

Note: This is Chapter 2 of 2; you can find the post with Chapter 1 here, or you can read the entire work on Ao3.

Rating: T

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, minor Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, minor Castiel & Sam Winchester, background Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Warnings: Brief, non-graphic mentions of canon violence; reference to Dean’s suicidal ideation/decision to temporarily kill himself in 13x05; references to repeated major character death that didn’t stick - to be clear, this fic has a happy ending and is basically everything Dean needed to say and Cas needed to hear.

Summary: After the Empty takes him, Castiel wakes up in the last place he expected (Chapter 1), with a second chance at happiness when he reunites with Dean and the latter finally gets to speak his truth (Chapter 2).

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“Love him, and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?” —James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

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

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was imploring, gentle, just like it had been the first two times he’d tried. “Come on, sit down.”

Dean ignored him and continued pacing, the cramped stillness of the motel room a vicious sounding board for his thoughts. Among them all, he clung to one thought in particular, the only one keeping him sane: Jack’s gonna get him back. He said he would. He has to...

He could feel Sam’s worried gaze on him from where his brother sat in a chair by the door. It had been Sam who had insisted they grab the motel room after Jack had gone, having intuited, rightly, that Dean was a mess even if he was trying to hide it and that he needed somewhere private where he didn’t have to. The only problem was that, for Dean, privacy in the sense of space to break down meant an audience of zero, not one, and Dean didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself together.

“Damn it, Sam,” he growled a minute later, “don’t you and Eileen have stuff to talk about? You don’t gotta hang around like a damn babysitter.”

If Sam was annoyed by Dean’s tone, he didn’t show it; instead, he just leaned forward, folding his hands in his lap. “We do, but it can wait,” he said calmly. "Besides, you heard her: someone had to go back to the silo and make sure all the Apocalypse-world hunters made it back okay. She said she’d text me when she got there.”

Dean huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, well...Still. You could’ve gone with her, is all I’m sayin’.”

“No. Not until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean, enough.” Sam was frowning now, and there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “You think I don’t know what Cas means to you?” He scoffed and shook his head. “Because if so, I’m sorry, but you’re not as hard to read as you think you are, not for me.”

Dean stopped dead in his tracks, stunned, and as he wilted under Sam’s knowing gaze, the full force of his exhaustion hit him all at once and damn near brought him to his knees. “I can’t lose him,” he heard himself admit in a hoarse whisper. He swallowed and shook his head. “Not again.”

Sam’s expression softened. “I know. We’ll get him back; if Jack can’t save him, we’ll find another way. We always do.”

Dean sighed, then nodded. Sam was right; of course he was. They’d get Cas back even if Dean had to storm into the Empty and grab him himself, grip Cas’s formerly feathered ass and raise him from perdition for a change. Cas, you idiot, what the hell’s the matter with you? he imagined himself demanding. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?

Suddenly, there was a shuffling sound outside, and before Sam could even begin to stand, Dean had bolted across the room and yanked open the door, determined to hear whatever news Jack was bringing them so that he could actually do something instead of just waiting, only...only it wasn’t Jack standing on the other side of the threshold.

Cas gazed back at him as though in a daze, hand raised in an aborted knock; after a beat, he lowered it and cleared his throat. “I—Hello, Dean.” He nodded past Dean toward the interior of the room. “May I come in?”

Dean nodded wordlessly, feet suddenly like lead as he stepped aside so Cas could brush past him. He closed the door and sank down on the edge of the nearest bed as Sam let out an exclamation of relief and stood to pull Cas into a hug.

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Sam said warmly, clapping Cas on the back. As they drew apart, he added, “How’s Jack? Did you have a chance to talk with him?”

Cas nodded, smiling. “I did. He told me everything that’s happened since…” Cas’s smile faltered, and his eyes darted over to land on Dean, who suddenly felt as though his face were on fire. Before Dean could say anything, though, Cas looked away, as though he were the one who’d been burned. “He told me everything,” he said instead. “He also said that he’ll be home as soon as he’s able, once he and Amara have finished remaking Heaven.”

Sam raised a brow, glancing curiously from Cas to Dean and back again; clearly, he’d clearly picked up on the weirdness between them. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to call them out on it and started casting about for something innocuous to say; however, Sam just smiled and nodded. “That’s great, Cas. Thanks for the update. And for saving Dean. If you hadn’t gone with him…” Sam swallowed, a more sober expression settling on his face. He reached out and clasped Cas’s shoulder. “Just...thank you. For everything.”

The genuineness of Sam’s words seemed to catch Cas off guard; then, after a moment, his lips quirked in a timid sort of smile, and he nodded. “Of course.”

Sam beamed at him, then took a step back and gestured toward the door. “Okay, I’m gonna go grab lunch while I wait to hear from Eileen, so I’ll see you guys later.” Then, with a poorly concealed smirk, he looked over at Dean and added, “Text me if I should steer clear of the Bunker for a few days.”

Dean glared daggers at him. Sammy, I swear to our kid who is now God...“How ’bout you just get a move on before I kick your ass? Bitch.”

But Sam just chuckled. “Good luck, jerk,” he replied, fondly; then, with a wave, he turned and headed for the door.

A moment later, he was gone, and the room was unbearably silent. Dean glanced up at Cas to find the latter regarding him almost shyly, as though any words uttered between them would bring the walls crashing down. For his part, Dean would have almost welcomed it. A quick death sounded pretty good right about now; at the very least, it’d absolve him from having to speak.

In the end, it was Cas who cleared his throat and broke the silence. “Jack said you wanted to see me?”

“Uh.” Dean sucked in a shaky breath, then nodded. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I did.” Then, feeling his face grow warm at Cas’s continued stare, he coughed and looked away. “Cas, have a seat. We, uh, we need to talk.”

He’d expected Cas to sit opposite him, in the chair Sam had vacated; but before he realized what was going on, Cas had crossed over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed, less than a foot of mattress between their thighs. The heat on Dean’s face licked down his neck and back, almost overwhelming him, and if his legs hadn’t suddenly turned to jelly, he probably would have bolted.

Instead, he just blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “So...Jack was able to get you back, huh?” He immediately wanted to kick himself, because of course Jack had been able to get Cas back, that much was obvious. Way to go, dumbass...

Thankfully, Cas just nodded. “He promised the Empty a future of noninterference within Its realm in exchange for my life, and It accepted.”

“Huh.” Dean chewed his tongue thoughtfully. “Sounds like one of us actually made a good deal for a change.”

Cas gave him a tentative smile. “I hope so.” A pause; then: “Dean, I need you to know that I don’t regret my choice, because that’s what it was: my choice; and there’s nothing you could have said or done that would have made me choose differently.” Cas was speaking quickly, urgently, looking at Dean as though afraid Dean would interrupt. “And I also need you to know that I meant every word that I said about how I see you. Now that Chuck is gone, you can finally be happy, and...if it’s possible, I would like to be part of that happiness.” He looked up at Dean sadly, adding, “but if that’s not what you want, if you want me to leave, I promise I understand.”

Dean, who up to this point had only been able to listen in stunned silence, finally managed to unstick his voice. “If that’s not what I...What are you...You think I don’t want you to be a part of it?”

“I...” Cas looked down at his hands. “I’m aware that my connection to Heaven is no longer of particular value, and more than that, I don’t wish the knowledge of what you mean to me to make you uncomfortable.” He smiled sadly. “You don’t owe me anything, Dean; I recognize that. I—”

“Stop,” Dean interrupted, because every word out of Cas’s mouth was landing like a knife in his heart. He reached out and gripped Cas’s shoulder tightly, causing the latter to look up in startled surprise. “Damn it, Cas, stop talking like I’d only want you in my life if you were a goddamn tool I could use. You’re not a hammer, remember? Not mine or anyone else’s.”

Cas’s stunned expression melted into one of soft wonder. He nodded slowly, gazing back at Dean with eyes so earnest and hopeful that Dean had to look away lest he fall right into them. With a nervous swallow, Dean licked his lips and dropped his hand from Cas’s shoulder, determined to keep going now that he’d gotten started. “And..and about me not owing you anything...Cas, I owe you everything.” He made himself meet Cas’s gaze again, because damn it, this was apparently something Cas had doubts on, and Dean needed him to understand. “You pulled me out of Hell, and you helped me and Sam stop the Apocalypse and saved both our asses more times than I can count, and Jack’s alive because of you and so is everyone else in the world. And you think what, that I’m just gonna forget about all that?” he demanded, just barely managing to keep his voice from breaking. He shook his head. “Fuck that, Cas; you’re not disposable.”

Cas, whose expression had become increasingly anguished the longer Dean spoke, now looked dangerously close to tears. “Then what am I, Dean? I...please, I need to know, I need you to tell me, because I don’t...I can’t...”

Everything, Dean thought fiercely; you’re everything. Fuck, he just needed to find some way to actually say it…

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him: maybe, if saying it out loud was too much...He closed his eyes and started praying. Cas?

He felt a slight shift of the mattress as Cas stiffened in attention. “Dean?” he asked, hesitantly.

Yeah. Yeah, I can hear you. Dean kept his eyes closed, responding in his head. Question is, can you hear me?

A beat of silence; then: “Yes. I can hear you.”

Dean let out a steady breath. Okay. Okay, good. ’Cause there’s something I need you know, but...He tried to finish the thought; damn it, he tried, but even like this, he just couldn’t fucking seem to—

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder; his eyes fluttered open to see Cas leaning forward into his space, looking at him with soft understanding. “There’s something you need me to know,” Cas repeated slowly, “but you’re not sure how to say it.”

Dean blinked in surprise. “You...you got that part, too?”

Cas nodded. “The way it works...It’s difficult to explain in human terms. Prayers are something I hear and see and feel, all at once, and they don’t have to be words. They can be feelings or images or—”

“Memories?” Dean sat up straight, an idea forming. “Does it work with memories?”

Cas’s brow furrowed in apparent confusion, but eventually, he nodded. “Yes. If you show them to me.”

Dean didn’t waste another moment—he couldn’t, or he might lose his nerve. He closed his eyes and resumed his prayer. Okay, Cas, listen up...

He was pulling Cas’s trench coat out of the reservoir after the Leviathans had walked Cas into it, and the feeling in his gut...Dean knew it was grief. He’d lost friends before; hell, he’d lost Sam before, but this...this felt different...

But the Leviathans were on the loose, and the wall blocking out Sam’s Hell trauma had crumbled, and Dean didn’t have time to let himself stop and think. He folded the trench coat and stowed it in Baby’s trunk.

Months later, he was talking to Cas in an abandoned hangar the night before they stormed Sucrocorp and went after Dick Roman. Cas was saying he should stay behind, told Dean he wasn’t good luck and would just get in the way, but Dean wasn't having it. He’d done life without Cas, and it had sucked. Now, he knew he’d rather have him, cursed or not, friend or...He’d rather have him.

He only told Cas the first part, though.

Then, after, when he was tearing through Purgatory for over a year, Dean realized it wasn’t that he’d rather have Cas—it was that he couldn’t imagine not having him. He was going to find Cas no matter the cost, wasn’t leaving Purgatory without him. Cas was...he wasn’t something Dean couldn’t stand to lose.

And then Dean lost him anyway.

Dean was back topside, and Cas was still in Purgatory because Dean had failed to save him. The knowledge haunted Dean; he saw Cas everywhere, was sure he was hallucinating...until it turned out he wasn’t. And then he learned that Cas had made the conscious choice to stay behind, because apparently, Dean was something he could stand to lose, and that knowledge hurt in a way Dean didn’t have words for.

So they didn’t talk about it.

Then Dean was kneeling, bloodied, in Lucifer’s crypt, Cas standing over him with his angel blade raised. And Dean didn’t know what was going on, but he knew, he knew, that this wasn’t his Cas. His Cas. The words were loud in his mind, and he was both awed and terrified of how right they felt. He needed Cas, and he told him so...and Cas’s angel blade fell to the floor.

They didn’t talk about that much, either.

Years went by, and now Dean was the one standing over a bloodied, crumpled Cas, the Mark of Cain burning on his arm and Cas’s stolen blade in hand. He needed to hurt Cas, or for Cas to hurt him, to fight back and end the goddamn constant screaming in Dean’s head that was all blood and rage and hate and—Cas’s hand came up to gently clasp Dean’s wrist. “No, Dean...please.” And for a second, just a second, the hate in Dean’s mind was quiet, and in its place, strong, surging, and undeniable, was—

Dean stabbed the book next to Cas’s head and walked away.

Next, he was standing in a barn with his mom and Sam and Crowley, watching in terrified helplessness as Cas writhed in agony on an old couch. Ramiel could come for them at any moment, and yet all Dean could think about was the intensity in Cas’s eyes as Cas told him, told all of them, that he loved them, and fuck, Dean loved him, too, but not the familial sort of love that Cas seemed to be getting at, no. Dean loved him in a raw, real sense that he felt in his bones and that scared him half out of his mind, and he wanted to say it; but then Cas was convulsing, and it was too late…

Then Crowley snapped Ramiel’s spear, and Cas was saved, and Dean told himself that enough was enough, he needed to get his shit together and find some way to tell Cas what he felt before—

He was kneeling, silent, on the shore of a lake. The sky was starless overhead, and Cas was dead on the ground in front of him, wings scorched against the sand. And Dean was aching and empty, hollowed out by grief and regret, because he’d waited too long, and now it was too late…

And then he was dead, or something like it. He was in Death’s library and Billie was showing him the shelf of books with his name on the cover, detailing all the possible ways he could die, and Dean should have felt fear, should have felt fight, but instead, all he felt was finally. He hadn’t been able to save the people he loved, hadn’t been able to save Cas, so what was the point of going back? Sam would be better off without him, would get a shot at the normal life he’d always wanted. Billie could toss Dean in the Empty; he didn’t care anymore. Hell, he wanted it, anything to end all his goddamn regret—

But Billie sent him back anyway, and later that night, Dean’s phone rang.

Cas was back. He was alive and he was back, and fuck, he was so much more than Dean deserved. And Dean told himself that he was okay with that, with not having Cas in the way that he wanted, as long as he had him in some way, shape, or form. But then Jack killed Mary, and Dean...he was so angry and hurt that he lashed out at Cas, said horrible things he didn’t mean but didn’t know how to take back once they were out, and he couldn’t even look at Cas without wanting to scream and break and beg for forgiveness. He watched as Cas left him after they fought, left him like everyone else did, and Dean let him, because he knew now that needing someone wasn’t the same as deserving them.

Then they were back in Purgatory after a botched attempt at securing a Leviathan Blossom. They’d been ambushed, and Dean had been knocked out, had woken up alone with Cas nowhere in sight and limited time to make it back. And Dean knew he still didn’t deserve Cas, but he prayed to him anyway. He told Cas about the hurt and the anger and the helplessness he felt when it took hold of him, and he was sorry, God, he was so fucking sorry…

When he found Cas at the last moment at the base of a tree, he wanted...he needed to tell Cas what he hadn’t had the nerve to say in his prayer, because it was so much more than of course I forgive you; it was please forgive me, I know I don’t fucking deserve you but I want you, I need you, I love you…

But they had to go, because as always, there was never enough fucking time.

And then they were trapped in the Bunker’s interrogation room as Billie pounded on the door. Cas was going to die, and it was Dean’s fault, again it was his fault, because he’d screwed up, because he’d been stupid and angry and that was all he knew how to be—

But then Cas was talking with tears in his eyes, and each word was its own revelation, because Cas was looking at him the way Dean had never in a million years thought to be worthy of. And Dean forgot how to breathe, because suddenly, Cas was saying it, he said it: “I love you…”

And then the Empty took him, and Billie, and Dean was left alone on the floor. He was dimly aware of the way Sam’s name flashed on his phone, but he couldn’t answer, because then he’d have to explain, and…and...

Dean cradled his head in his hands and sobbed. He felt like his entire soul had been lit on fire and that every word he’d ever known had been ripped out of him by the roots, all except for the two he murmured, strangled and broken, into the silence: “Me too...”

Dean gasped and ended the prayer. He opened his eyes and felt tears roll down his cheeks; he hadn’t noticed them forming while he’d been praying, and he was about to reach up to dash them away when he saw that Cas’s face was wet with tears of his own; he looked more wrecked than Dean had ever seen him, and the hand he’d kept on Dean’s shoulder throughout the prayer had started to tremble. “Dean, I—”

“Look,” Dean said shakily, because if he didn’t say this now, he didn’t know if he ever could. “I...I know you said happiness isn't really in the having and all that, but...well, I think maybe it is. For me, anyway. Because Cas, if there’s one thing I’ve learned after all the crap we’ve been through, it’s that my life ain’t happy if it doesn’t have you in it.” He swallowed a lump in his throat and pushed on: “You said you thought you couldn’t have me, but the thing is, you’ve had me for years. And I just...I need you to hear me, I need you to know…” He almost stopped then, almost couldn’t go on, because the look of absolute love in Cas’s eyes was overwhelming, and Dean could no more deny it than he could give up breathing. He raised his hand, placed it firmly on top of the one on his shoulder, and squeezed. “You changed me too, Cas.”

Then Cas was kissing him, and Dean let out a muffled sob of relief as he felt Cas’s hands wrap around his middle and pull them flush against one another. His grip was hot and desperate on Dean’s back, and the way his mouth moved against Dean’s made Dean feel as though he were going to burst into millions of joyous pieces. He tangled his hands in Cas’s hair and kissed him hard, tugging him backward until Cas was straddling him on the mattress, his solid, unyielding weight a blissful, dizzying contrast to the lightness Dean felt in his mind as Cas’s tongue slid surely over his own, ravishing and reverent and real. They were real, and they always had been.

And Dean would never, ever doubt that again.

#destiel #deancas #spndbcc #spn #spn spoilers #my writing #begin and end there #fanfiction #if the network won't give them this then i will do it myself!

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squinkpup · 3 years ago

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｡*ﾟ+ about me + *ﾟ｡

hi, welcome to my gender hoard blog >:3

my name is casper finn! i'm 19 years old, transmasc, biromantic questioning acespec, polyamorous, + a lot of xenogenders and other labels lol. nicknames i go by are cas(s), finn, ghost (our system name), and bug :) my birthday is august 11th! i have three lovely, amazing partners, who i live with <3

important information under this!

here is a link to my carrd! i'm still working on it n stuff but yea!

my main pronouns are he/him and i always prefer those ones, but i do have lots of neopronouns. find the list of neopronouns i use on my carrd linked above! i'm pretty much fine with any neos but if i ask you not to use specific a specific set pls respect that !! i might try out pup themed first person neos soon ;; 👀

i am a white american. i don't really associate with any religion because of trauma.

i am autistic and the host of an OSDD-1b system; i also have adhd, bpd, cptsd, tics, depression, and anxiety. i am physically disabled.

i love making friends, so feel free to shoot me a message if you'd like! but please read my boundaries (down towards the bottom) before you do! <3

dni information

discourse makes me incredibly uncomfortable and i don't want any part in it at all, so this userbox generally stands:

that being said, i don't want anyone to think that i condone things that i don't, so here is a rather wordy dni i had up at one point:

(i'm not going to go through my notifications constantly and check to see if people are violating this dni, because i get quite a lot of notifications and i genuinely do not have the time for that in my adult life, but please just be a decent person.)

• basic dni criteria

• anti-mogai, TERFs/SWERFs, aspec exclus, anti-pan, pronoun policer, gendercritical, nonbinary skeptic, anti-queer, anti gnc, radfem, anti-neopronouns, zoophile/supporter, super straight/bi/pan/gay/etc., anti pronoun-nonconforming people/think pronouns = gender, think expression = identity, anti aroallo

• MAP/p3d0/whatever they're calling themselves now, pro-ship/anti-anti, anti sfw agere/petre, if you sexualize sfw age regressors, minors in kink/supporters, fetishizer (mlm, wlw, trans people, poc, etc.), support incest, anti sex work

• anti BLM/ACAB, pro-blue lives matter, believe that reverse racism/cishetphobia/etc. is a real issue, antisemite, nazi supporter/sympathizer, alt-right / conservative / right wing / etc.

• cringe/flop blogs, anti cringe culture, you make fun of anyone for their interests/identity/etc. (educating people about harmful things doesn't count but don't harass), fakedisordercringe supporter, any cringe account supporter in general

• anti-self dx, autism speaks supporter, anti-kin, anti DID/OSDD/systems, system skeptic, thinspo/pro ana, if you infantilize mental illness or neurodivergence, sh blogs, gatekeep kin, s*1c1d3 bait people, harass or threaten people, use high/low functioning terms, fakeclaimer or support fakeclaiming, stigmatize mental illness, syscourse

which can all be summed up as: don't be an asshole

boundaries:

• do not interact romantically, s3xually, or flirtatiously if you are younger than 18 or, like, way older than me (hopefully this should be obvious)

- (if you're joking, please use tone tags. i won't know otherwise and will probably block you)

• as stated above, PLEASE use tone tags when communicating with me.

• please do not talk to me about discourse, like at all. i don't want any part of it. especially not syscourse of any kind - do not ask me where i stand, please. it's triggering, uncomfortable, and makes me very anxious and stressed. if i have done something wrong, please let me know so i can fix it, but otherwise please leave me out of any drama, discourse, etc. this blog is a special interest blog and a safe, comforting space for me and i'd like to keep it free of stress and negativity.

request rules:

i'm opening requests! here are some things to keep in mind:

• please be nice!

• my requests are always open, but i will get to them on my own time.

• types of requests i will do are pronoun flags, gender flags, and terms; i have never done orientation flags/terms, but i can probably try if you give me enough information!

• i will try my best to help find names, labels, pronouns, etc. if requested!

• i will not make anything relating to communities i do not belong to, such as poc specific terms, religion specific terms, cultural specific terms, terms relating to disabilities/disorders/etc. i do not have, etc. (i will, however, make things relating to angels, demons, and stuff like that if requested)

• i reserve the right to deny requests that make me uncomfortable or that i feel i cannot do

• i cannot promise anything. i have severe executive dysfunction and my motivation/ability to complete tasks/focus on things is absolutely not consistent. if i haven't completed your request, know that i'm trying my best and i apologize.

• i am okay with creepy, gory, horror, and/or (some) s3xual related themes, but as i stated before, i reserve the right to deny a request if it makes me uncomfortable

- do not request anything s3xual if you are a minor. i would prefer s3xual requests to be off-anon so i can make sure, but obviously i can't enforce that, so please just. respect this. i'm an adult and i do not want any type of inappropriate interaction from minors. please.

taglist:

i don't really have a fancy tagging system yet, so i'll update this section when i do!

for now, my only tag is:

#casper coins - which is. you know. things i coined/created

sorry this was so long !! i hope you like my blog (*＾3＾)/～♡

#intro post #pinned post #dni #boundaries

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writtenmemxries · 4 years ago

Text

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk

I tried to write something soft and fluffy and this is what came out. There may be some mistakes since English is not my first language. Hope you like it! I'd love to hear your opinions, so feel free to leave a comment! xx

1449 words

"No Cas, we don't need that stuff. Just the things on the list, okay? Good. See you soon, love ya." Dean ended the phone call, leaning his back against the kitchen counter, fidgeting absentmindedly with the phone in his hands. Sam, sitting at the table, looking at who-knows-what on his computer, looked up at him with raised eyebrows and an ill-concealed grin.

"What?" Dean asked confused, feeling his gaze on him.

"Did you just end the call with Cas saying love ya?" His brother chuckled.

"What?! No, I-"

"I didn't know you had decided to declare your love to Cas. Anyway, I'm happy for you," Sam said, looking at his brother with an amused grin.

"Sam, I-"

"When were you planning on telling me, anyway?"

"Sam, what the fuck are you talking about?!" Dean exclaimed, upset by his brother's comments.

Sam laughed quietly, looking back at the computer screen. "You never end a phone call with love ya. You're more the hurry up type. And a grunt, maybe."

Dean blushed imperceptibly. "That's not true."

"Oh, come on. You never say 'I love you' even in serious situations. Anyway, I was just kidding," Sam said with a shrug.

"I don't need to say I love you to let you know I do," Dean grumbled in response. Sam smiled, his eyes softened. "I know, Dean." After a few moments of silence, Sam eased the tension with another silly remark: "It's okay if you like Cas, though."

Dean looked at him in exasperation. "What's wrong with you, man? I don't like Cas." Tired of his brother's teasing game, he thought about going to another room, waiting for Castiel to come back with the groceries, when Sam said with another grin: "Maybe he likes you."

Dean stiffened. "Sorry, what?" he said with his back turned to his brother, trying to keep his voice calm.

"I'm just saying, the way he looks at you is very different from the way he looks at me. You've always had this sort of... special bond, or whatever you want to call it. I wouldn't be surprised if this bond turned out to be more... deep."

Dean turned slowly, approaching the kitchen table. "Cas is family," he stated simply.

Sam shook his head, giggling. "Of course he is. He's like a brother to me, you know."

"Good. Same for me," Dean said coldly.

"So you're not going to move somewhere with him when this Chuck thing will be over? A cottage in the countryside perhaps, a couple of cats..."

"I'm allergic to cats," Dean snorted.

"A couple of rabbits then. What I'm trying to say is, would it be that terrible to settle down with someone?" Sam asked with a look of genuine curiosity on his face.

"Just because you want to move in with Eileen, doesn't mean I have to, too. I like it here," Dean noted. Sam blushed at the mention of Eileen, but said nothing. "Right." Silence fell between the two, until they heard the bunker door open and Castiel's voice announced his presence.

"Your husband's home," Sam chuckled.

"For fuck's sake, shut your mouth!" Dean said exasperated, then he went to help Cas with the shopping bags, even though he knew the angel didn't really need any help.

♡

That evening, Dean was restless. He wasn't sure why, maybe Sam's words had affected him more than he cared to admit, but he couldn't get out of his mind the image of him and Cas in a little and welcoming house of their own, together with Sam and Eileen, and Jack too. A quiet place, no monsters, no apocalypses, no pissed off Gods to maneuver them like puppets. Just them. Team free will.

He walked to the library with a beer in his hand. Castiel was there, reading, sitting in an armchair.

"Hey Cas."

Castiel looked up and smiled at him. "Hello Dean."

Dean sat down on the chair next to him. "What are you reading?"

"A book about carnivorous plants."

"Carnivorous plants?" Dean looked at him amused.

"Yes, there are many things to know about plants. Gardening is relaxing," Castiel replied with a shrug, keeping his eyes on the book. Dean took a sip of his beer and gazed at his friend, hoping not to look too creepy. He imagined him taking care of their garden, somewhere in the world, in their home.

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk.

He looked away, focusing on the huge bookshelves surrounding them. Although the silence between them was not embarrassing but rather pleasant and comforting, he still decided to break it to ask the angel a question which, he realised as soon as the words left his mouth, was rather stupid. "Have you ever thought of settling down?"

Castiel frowned in confusion. "Settle where?"

Dean shrugged, looking at the beer in his hands. "I don't know, somewhere. When this is all over I mean, y'know, Chuck and everything else. What are you going to do? Are you going back to Heaven?" Dean asked, foolishly hoping that Castiel would say no, that he would tell him he wanted to stay in the bunker with them, with him.

"I don't even know if there will be a Heaven after we defeat Chuck," the angel replied bitterly.

"Right. Sorry Cas, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Dean whispered, suddenly embarrassed, ready to get up and leave.

"You never make me uncomfortable, Dean," Castiel said gently, and Dean's heart skipped a beat.

Frigging Sam and his stupid talk, he thought again.

"Okay then," Dean murmured.

"What about you, Dean? What are you going to do? Are you going to settle down?" Castiel asked.

Dean smiled. "I don't know, maybe."

Castiel smirked. "I guess you've found someone, then. A woman to settle down with."

Dean looked at him confused. "What? No, no, no woman, I- there's no one."

"Who would you like to settle down with, then?"

Dean blushed. "I don't know, maybe with you." Castiel's gaze softened. "And- and Jack of course. Sam, Eileen," Dean hastened to add, fidgeting with the beer in his hands.

The book Castiel was reading was now completely forgotten, lying on his lap. His eyes focused solely on Dean. "Like a family," he said softly.

"Yeah," Dean whispered. "Like a family."

There was silence, then Castiel spoke again: "I would like that." His deep, relaxed voice, with a hint of sweetness, caressed Dean's ears. He looked at him.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Castiel answered, locking eyes with Dean. "I like your company."

Dean's mouth was dry, his heart pounded in his chest and there was no way to calm it down. The conversation was taking a weird turn, and he didn't know if he was ready for it. He licked his lips, looking Castiel in the eye. "Yeah, me too."

Castiel smiled at him, reaching out to delicately touch his hand. Dean held his breath.

Frigging Sam, he thought again. Damn damn damn.

"Cas?" he whispered, unable to take his eyes off his damn blue eyes.

"Yes, Dean?"

"What if I like more than just your company?"

Castiel grinned. "For example?"

"Your eyes," he blurted out. "I like your eyes," he repeated more calmly.

Castiel chuckled. "Thanks Dean, that's very sweet of you. I like your eyes, too."

"Good," he whispered. He cleared his throat. "Thanks." The beer was now forgotten, squeezed between his thighs to prevent it from falling.

"Dean." Castiel was looking at him with so much adoration in his eyes that Dean felt his heart aching. He had his lips slightly parted, chapped as always, and Dean was breathless. He felt the heat rise up his neck as he analysed the details of the angel's face, so close to his. He licked his lips once again, as he breathed an almost imperceptible "Yeah?".

"Can I kiss you?" Castiel asked shyly, and Dean felt like he was about to die. His heart took an exaggeratedly accelerated rhythm, while the angel's blue eyes scanned him for some sort of signal, a nod of agreement, anything. Dean didn't move. He didn't speak, he couldn't even think.

Castiel's gaze changed rapidly, from sweet and full of love to mortified and sad. "I'm sorry Dean, I didn't- I-," he stammered, moving away.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Dean took Cas' face in his hands and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, two lips meeting for the first time, shy and insecure, eager to get to know, study and taste each other. Castiel closed his eyes, cupping Dean's cheeks with his hands.

As he broke away from that much coveted and feared kiss, placing his forehead against that of the angel, Dean had only one thought in mind: thank you, Sammy.

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nafeary · 4 years ago

Text

“Midnight Lovers”

⚬ Pairing: Arthur/Reader

⚬ Characters: Arthur; mentions of Isaac, Sebas, and Comte

⚬ Word count: ca. 1K

⚬ Warnings: very mild mention of a drug ...and goat testicles don’t ask

✧✎ Synopsis: You are plagued by the guilt of being unable to help your friend overcome his fever, thus working yourself through book after book. Arthur would rather want you to rest and appreciate yourself more— and to stop looking at obscure medical books, while you’re at it.

✧✎ A/N: So, a sweet sweet anon requested some Arthur fluff with an overthinking MC/Reader, with a moodboard (but my dumbass deleted the request because I’m utterly inept), so here it is. I took inspiration from this tumblr @foxes-in-love who makes the most adorable little comics I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. Also, thank you @juminly for slapping my doubts away! I love you so so so much!

Also, yes, they did indeed use heroine back in the day to treat coughs... make sure to drink water y’all!!!

“Luv? Are you still in here?”

A suave voice rang throughout the library you had holed yourself up in, its familiar rhythm soothing your nerves like the sweetest of honeys.

It was unreasonably late. The entire mansion had fallen still like an unperturbed pond, completely hushed. Ever so often, the storm outside would make itself noticeable, threatening some lonely souls daring enough to venture outside. Its distress was not unlike your mood, thoughts spurning multiple worst-case scenarios in an effort to keep you awake, to gather solutions.

Overthinking had always been troubling for you, relentlessly trickling poison into your ears, contrary to all dictates of common sense.

“I’m over here, Arthur,” you called out to your lover, grateful, albeit apprehensive, for the distraction.

You tilted your head in the direction of the echoing steps, alabaster rays serving as nothing but an enhancer for his already devilish handsome looks. Cool ocean waves illuminated by the moon’s ivory blush crashed upon you as he fully came into view, carrying the salty breeze alongside him. This magnificent view made you halt for a split second, simply marveling at the sight of the handsome man.

Your handsome man.

“Shouldn’t you be beside me by now? It’s quite lonely in bed, I’ll have you know.” His arms cocooned you gently, contrasting his words of ambiguous comfort.

He yelped slightly as you caught some of his skin between your nails, eliciting a soft giggle from you at his histrionic antics, effectively vanishing any sleepy stupor you were falling prey to. Nonetheless, you fell into his embrace, moulding together like long lost puzzle pieces. This instance of tenderness and care engulfed your heart, the warmth of his dexterous hands imbuing through your own skin and reminding you starkly that you were very much alive.

“What are you reading, anyway?”, he inquired with a pout, kissing your ear gingerly from behind, “You can’t possibly be still strung up on ‘ol Newt.”

At the mention of the physicist, your brows pinched together, and the all so wonted stagnation of fear squeezed uncomfortably around your lungs, forcing a sigh ridden with the distress of helplessness from you.

Earlier this week, Isaac had fallen prey to a bout of fever once again, and both Arthur and Sebastian had been busy running their respective errands. While le Comte had requested for a doctor, the weather made it far to dangerous for any mortal to venture to their mansion. Cold rags were only able to aid inadequately, leaving you with no volition but to watch his battle; volatile series of wretched coughs prompted your tears to flow, unable to lend your dead friend a helping hand.

While Arthur had long since taken care of him, you wanted to be prepared to not be contingent on the modern medicine you grew up with. Should any misfortune befall onto the residents, the people who had welcomed you with open arms, you couldn’t keep clinging to other’s white coats— you had to become one yourself.

“Just some rather... obscure medical books,” you replied to his previous question, “I’m trying to find some different ways to treat a cough that does not involve the use of drugs.”

“Ah, you’ve mentioned your distaste of heroine.”

You snorted, amused by the mind of the 19th century doctor. “Distaste is one word for an addictive poison. You do know th—“

Abruptly, the author launched himself on top the desk you were occupying, covering your sight from the book you had been reading. “Arthur... what in the world...?” He laid vixen-like befor you, despite the apparent discomfort of the hard tabletop. You knew that you should be tucked into bed, listening to the gentle lullaby of drizzling rain; and yet, the necessity to further consume knowledge was weighing your shoulders deeper down the pit. And it was rather out of character for him to react so sudden...

“I’m shielding you with my body,” he said, a nervous simper flitting across his features as he tapped the mahogany surface in a tenebrous tempo, the gauche position working in favour to portray his charming awkwardness.

“And why would you have to do that? I still have to finish the book, you know.”

“It’s not just that... I doubt you’d enjoy learning—and seeing—of contraceptive methods involving the testicles of a goat, luv.” He reached beneath him to snatch the book, nonchalantly throwing it into nirvana, nescient to your drained protests. “Besides, you’re positively knackered, my dear.”

“But—“

“No buts. I do not doubt your abilities, but you won’t become a doctor overnight. Especially if you work yourself close to your grave,” he interrupted you, intertwining your hands, “You already do enough... I rely on you more than you could ever begin to comprehend. So please allow me to relieve you of some troubles, at least.”

That was all it took for him to steal away your oxygen, sending your systems into panic, waking you up like you’ve never been awake, consequently forcing you into unsure stillness. You were overcome with such raw emotion, such pure love, that you just couldn’t reign your body’s response. Your breaths pinioned in an ethereal waltz of two souls, neither of you too concerned of the wood denting your arms, the sore sensation nothing compared to the sensual spark as you lightly tugged his hair.

His quiet moan against your bruised lips made you halt, choosing to rest your head on his chest.

“Are you alright?” you heard him ask, reaching out to trace the smooth curve of your jaw with an almost chimerical gentleness. He asked not because he wanted to push you to continue where you’ve left off, but due to the genuine concern gleaming within his ocean eyes. As much as he fought for the role of their resident Casanova, you knew he’d never do anything without your consent, and that he was a lot more timid than he’d like to admit. Indeed, he deserved the credit he would never even think to give himself.

“It’s nothing much. It’s just this.” You gestured. “Us... I feel so lucky to have you. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt so connected to someone.” And it was the truth. Arthur understood you more than anyone else ever had, making you happy like no one else ever had, and helping you in overcoming your fears like no one else ever had.

Your words seemed to linger tangibly, your lover’s face vulnerable to the blatant exposure of sentiment. He could only hold you closer, carrying you to your room. Humming a soft tune, he accompanied you not only to rest, but to a future brighter than the sun could ever hope to be.

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smol-and-grumpy · 5 years ago

Text

Something Just Like This - CH30

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester, mobster boss. He’s a little cocky, a lot ruthless and more often than not, short tempered. But he’s also, Dean Winchester, a war veteran and hero who suffers under a shit ton of PTS. He met her in a bar and thinks it’s fate that brought her to him. Little does he know why she’s really here.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, violence, gore

WC: 3974

A/N: Hi, I wanna thank you all for staying with me and this story. I have received a rather not very nice comment about this. As in their opinion, I stretched it out pointlessly and there’s too much sex, and that I should please go back and edit out the unnecessary parts. I just don’t know what happens to don’t like, don’t read. But yeah, can’t lie that it was kind of a discourage. Nonetheless, I’m sticking to my story, because it helped me keep myself sane in quarantine. So here you go. Hope you enjoy this chapter.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Y/N’s awake before him, Cuddles is already gone but Bubbles’ still lying next to her. She takes the little cat and walks out, closing the door behind her. She feeds Cuddles, sits down with Bubbles to see if the little baby would eat and the cat does, which is a relief, really. While she waits to see if Bubbles will throw up again, she turns on the coffee maker. The noise makes the three of them jump.

When she sees that Bubbles can hold her food in, she makes coffee, takes the mugs into the bedroom and climbs to bed with Dean, she places the mug on her bedside table and begins to nudge at his face, rubs her nose along his scruff. It’s scratchy but soft, just the way she likes it. She then kisses his jaw, the corner of his lips, his cheek, his nose.

“It’s too early,” Dean mumbles, his eyes are still closed.

“It’s not.”

“Ah, it’s not because you say it’s not.” He turns and buries his face into his pillow.

“Exactly,” She kisses along the skin that is visible, his ear, the nape of his neck. “And I made you coffee.”

Dean tilts his head up, opens up his one eye, it’s a little red rimmed from sleep. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Or what do you want?”

“I’m offended. Just because I made you coffee doesn’t mean that I did something stupid or want something?”

“Yeah, it does.” Dean chuckles before reaching his hand out to grab her and pull her to him. “What is it?”

It’s her turn to bury her face into the pillow and she mumbles. “I have to go meet my cousin today.”

“You have a cousin?”

Well, how can she say that she didn’t know about it until last night either?

“Yeah, my aunt makes me go meet him. He came over from England and is in town for a short while.” She lies, hopes Dean buys it.

“When are you meeting him?” He kisses the nape of her neck, his scruff scratches at her skin. She welcomes the burn.

“This afternoon in a café. Just thought you should know so as not to be mad at me again.”

Dean chuckles and manhandles her around so she’s lying on top of him. “Baby, I’m never mad at you.”

“Annoyed.”

“Yeah, I’ve been annoyed.” And then he pauses before he adds, “This afternoon, huh? I don’t have anything scheduled. Why don’t I come with you?”

She honestly doesn’t know what to say to that. How can she say that she doesn’t want him around? That Ketch could expose her? She can’t even text Ketch to blow it off because she foolishly deleted his number and blocked him too.

“Yeah, sure.” She says instead, doesn’t know why but the thought of having Dean around will probably make her feel better? It’ll at least keep her from spilling Ketch everything she knows and make it worse.

Dean and her are sitting at the table, decided to go there before for lunch and now they’re having coffee and waiting for Ketch.

She’s glad Dean agreed to go eat there beforehand but she has never seen Ketch and it would really be embarrassing if she wouldn’t even recognize her own ‘cousin’.

Linda did give her info about him though, it was after they talked last time that she sent Y/N a brief profile.

“There you are!”

She looks up at the man who’s smiling brightly at her. He wears a suit, complete with tie and all, dark grey, white shirt, black tie. There’s an expensive watch on his wrist and a ring on his pinky which, she thinks, is weird but to each their own.

“Hi,” She says, stands up and there’s a short confusion of how she should greet him but he takes the lead, kisses her cheeks and pulls her in for a hug.

One that doesn’t seem to end and she hates that. Dean’s clearing his throat audibly and Ketch releases her with a grin that signals trouble.

This is going great.

“Ketch, this is Dean—”

“—Winchester, I know,” Ketch extends a hand and adds, “I saw your face in the newspaper a couple of days ago.”

Ah. What a liar.

Dean takes Ketch’s hand and there’s a small smile on Dean’s face but she knows that expression too well. It says something like he doesn’t know where to categorize Ketch yet. Dean wants to play nice but he can sense that’s something off about that guy. She can’t blame Dean, she’s weirded out herself.

They sit down and Ketch orders a coffee before he starts to talk, and my god, that man can talk.

Occasionally Dean would look at her, his eyes pleading for her to end this madness.

“What are you doing for a living?” Dean asks Ketch and she doesn’t know if it’s out of genuine curiosity or if it’s a way for Dean to show that he’s polite.

“I used to work for the MI6.” Ketch says matter of factly, like it’s no fucking big deal. “But now I’m a solicitor. Or as you Americans say, lawyer.”

Dean nods. If the mention of the MI6 did throw him off, he doesn’t show it. “And what are you doing in America?”

“Oh, you know, visiting my relatives,” Ketch nods at Y/N, “And I’m looking for a job. Looking to stay, actually.”

“Your mom will be heartbroken.” She mumbles. How fucking dare he uses the meeting to try to get in while Y/N told Linda that she’s got this.

“Yeah, but I’m not the first one who breaks her heart, am I?” Ketch looks at her, raising an eyebrow. It’s a dig at Linda’s and their relationship that has become straining, she knows.

“Anyway,” Ketch goes on, “I was wondering since you’re here, Dean, maybe you know of any openings in your organization?”

So this is what it was about, isn’t it? He really does try to get in? Will probably try to destroy her life and Dean’s before she can finish her mission? Not on her fucking watch. She’s fuming on the inside.

Dean sets his coffee down, one of his hands goes under the table, rubs at her thigh, as if he knows her distress. “I wouldn’t know about it. Ms MacLeod is my Head of HR. She’d know. Maybe you could contact her.”

Ketch looks at Dean, perplexed. As if he doesn’t get rejected often.

“I thought maybe, you know, we’re family.” Ketch adds.

“Oh, stop that bullshit Ketch, we are not! I barely know you and then you come here and want to meet me just because you want a job?” She’s outraged, feels stupid because she made Dean come here and there’s someone sitting across from her that could blow off her cover within a blink of an eye!

“Babe, it’s okay.” Dean squeezes her thigh.

“It’s not, Dean! It’s not okay. I didn’t know he wanted to ask for a job. I’m— Let’s go.” She stands up, leaving Dean to catch up to her. “And Ketch, if you want a job, get one yourself.”

Dean fishes out a bill from his pants and leaves it on the table. Y/N’s already walking out.

“I hate my family.” She breathes out as she leans her head against the car door, feels hot and uncomfortable all of a sudden, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for my family's gain.”

“Baby, really, it’s okay.” Dean tries to calm her down, his hand finds her thigh, stroking it up and down.

“I feel so foolish.”

“You are not. You’re being nice and sometimes, people tend to take advantage of that. I’m used to it, actually.”

“I don’t want my family taking advantage of you.”

Dean chuckles, “I think I can handle it fine myself, you really don’t have to worry about that.”

Her bra stabs at her sides, that damn thing, seriously. Everything feels too restrictive right now.

Y/N unhooks her bra on the back, slips out of the straps and pulls it out through the arm of her shirt. She feels so much better now.

Dean’s forehead creases when he sees it. “What did you do?”

She shrugs.

“How is that even possible?”

She laughs, “You’ve never seen someone do it before? You’re shitting me.”

“Well, sweetheart, usually I take them off or the woman does it, you know, more gracefully.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m not graceful, I get it. Bras are overrated anyway.” She bunches it up and throws it to the floor.

Dean has to laugh, “Yeah, they are. Your tits shouldn’t be covered by anything. Except maybe my hands.”

He says it in that straight face of his that makes her face flare up.

Y/N’s taking a bath to relax from Ketch and Dean has brought her a glass of wine, almost changed his mind on going out for that meeting when he saw her there, with foam on her head and a smile decorating her pink cheeks. Felt a strong urge to jump right in too, but he’s really got to go, Cas would give him hell if he would show up too late and that would definitely happen if he would stay next to the tub for too long.

So he steals a kiss before he tells her that he’ll see her later. And it’s hard. Hard to walk out from a wet and naked girl in his tub. He does it nonetheless, someone has got to be the reasonable one around here and today’s his turn.

He walks out, and takes his keys when he hears the doorbell.

They never have someone ringing the doorbell. At least not when they didn’t order anything and he knows he didn’t but maybe she ordered something before taking a bath and forgot to tell him.

Dean opens to Ketch.

“Hi, uh, I just wanna come and apologize for making a fool out of myself. Is Y/N here?” The man looks behind Dean, then and really, Dean doesn’t know what it is but something about Ketch irks him very much.��

Against his better judgment, Dean opens the door wider, letting Ketch step in. He is family after all, right? He lets Ketch follow him inside. “Yeah, she’s still taking a ba—”

The blow to the back of his head knocks Dean out of balance and to the side, his body hitting the wall close to the entrance. He did not see that coming.

Dean turns around, his vision is blurry from the blow. Before he can even react, Ketch’s right fist connects with Dean's face. Once, twice, three times, sending him on his side, his body hits the floor with a dull heavy thud.

Yep, definitely didn’t see it coming.

He tries to get up, but there’s a blow in his stomach, feet kicking at his ribs, it punches the air out of his lungs.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Dean growls, and tuns on his stomach, kneels up a little. He sees splatters of blood on the floor. There’s another kick, right into his middle, making him feel nauseous.

Y/N hears the bell, and thinks it’s weird because she didn’t order anything and she doubts that Dean did, knowing that he’ll be out until late at night.

With a weird feeling in her guts, she gets out of the bath, wraps a towel around her, and secures it with a knot.

She tiptoes out of the bathroom and when she reaches the bedroom, she hears a thud of something heavy hitting a wall.

There’s noises like someone’s grunting before there’s another thud and this time, she can feel the vibration of the flooring beneath her bare feet.

Instinctively, she runs to the closet, retrieves a gun from the cabinet, has to punch in the code twice because her hands are shaking.

Y/N breathes relief when it opens and she quickly grabs the gun Dean has bought for her. Probably not really bought it, but what does it matter now.

Clicking off the safety, she draws it, walks slowly to the bedroom door that’s standing ajar. Dean never closes it when he knows that she’ll be alone. Knowing that she likes it when the cats can come in and bother her.

There she sees it, Dean’s on the floor on his knees, his one arm braced on the floor while he holds his stomach with his other hand. His face is bloody and in pain, there’s a cut above his left eyebrow. Dark red blood splatters the floor.

Standing above Dean, is Ketch. He has a crooked grin on his face.

“You fucking son of a bitch!” Dean growls and Ketch only laughs, kicks Dean some more.

She tries to keep calm, tries to breath. That fucking son of a bitch, for real!

Taking one last deep breath, she steps out but holds her gun steady, points it towards Ketch.

“You tracked our car.” She says calmly. She’s not dumb, can put two and two together. But also because she doesn’t have any other explanation on how Ketch could know where she lives. Not even Linda knows it because they don’t track phones of undercover agents.

“Aw, Y/N no guns please, I didn’t use mine.” Ketch lifts his jacket, showing her that his gun is still in his holster. “Well, that’s a lie, I did for the first blow but I didn’t shoot. I need him alive, you understand, don’t you?” Ketch sounds so fucking arrogant and it makes her blood boil.

Dean’s wincing on the floor between them. And it hurts her, it physically hurts her to see him hurt.

“Shut up!” She hisses, has tears in her eyes. There’s so much going on in her mind, she doesn’t know what’s right and what’s wrong anymore. All she knows is that she wants Ketch to stop hurting Dean.

“Lower your gun, darling.” Ketch is still looking at her with a shiteating grin on his face. “You wouldn’t shoot me. You don’t have it in you, am I right?. How would you explain to my mo—”

The bullet goes right through the crease between his eyebrows.

She doesn’t know why she pulled the trigger. Doesn’t know why she killed Ketch. Fact is that she didn’t want to hear him say more, fact is, that he invaded her life. Fact is, that he hurt Dean and by doing it, he — by proxy — hurt her too. And there’s no way out of it. Ketch already knows too much. If she doesn’t do it, Dean will and she has to answer too many questions that Dean will be throwing at her. Questions she doesn’t even have answers to herself. She doesn’t want to face them yet. Not when she still has time left that she could actually enjoy with him.

She killed a man.

The realization hit her like a freight train.

Not only a man. A special agent. A Fed.

One of her own.

Linda will never forgive her.

The Bureau will never forgive her.

She’s no better than Dean. She’s now in this as much as he is. This life has consumed her, and there’s no way of getting out. She isn’t even sure now if she even wants to get out at all.

Letting herself sink down to the floor, she leans the side of her face against the door frame and starts to cry. Her hand slowly releases her gun.

Her vision is blurry and she closes her eyes for a brief moment, thinking about all the consequences of her action. When she opens her eyes again, Dean’s right in front of her. He’s in pain, she can see that but nonetheless he crawled over the floor to be close to her.

His hands cradle her face as he places a kiss on her forehead, thumbs brushing at the tears that streamed down her cheeks.

“You okay?” He asks her, and there’s a split in his lips and blood at the corner of his mouth.

He’s hurt more than she is but he still asks her if she’s okay.

She does not deserve that.

Unable to answer, she sits still and that prompts Dean to get closer, he sits up, grunting loudly as he does. And then he holds her face firm in his hands, lays his forehead on hers. Their noses touch.

“Baby, I need to know if you’re okay.”

She nods but cries some more.

He kisses her lips and she kisses him back, pours every sorry she can not say into the kiss.

Dean then pulls her towards his chest, lets her cry into it. “I guess I have to call for a clean up, huh?”

Y/N nods again and then out of the corner of her eyes, she sees the two cats slowly coming out from under the sofa. They walk towards Dean and her. She smiles and Dean lets go off her, grunting when he adjusts himself. He takes Bubbles, places the cat on her lap while he holds Cuddles.

It dawns on her then, after she strokes the cats for a while that she didn’t ask if he’s okay.

He’s been asking her twice and she wasn’t even the one who took the beating!

“Are you okay?” She finally asks and Dean breathes out, pulls the corner of his lips up to a little smile.

“Never been better.”

“Liar.” She mutters, then adds, “I need to check if anything’s broken.” Sitting up straight, she lowers Bubbles back on the floor but the cat stays close, watches her as she cradles Dean’s face.

“Baby,” Dean’s holding his breath when she skims one of her hands over his ribs, flinches as she touches him, “I can’t believe I’m saying this myself, but I’d rather you don’t touch me right now.”

She purses her lips. “But a kiss is okay?”

“That’s always okay.” He smiles a weak smile.

Y/N helps Dean after, throws his hand over her shoulder and walks him over to the couch before she calls for Sergei.

“I’m gonna call Cas,” He grunts some more as he settles into the couch.

She walks over to the door and leaves it open for when Sergei comes up.

Turning around, she avoids looking at the dead body of Ketch on the floor.

“Do you want anyone to know about your cousin?”

She frowns at first before it dawns on her that he’s talking about Ketch. Hopes that he didn’t see her hesitation, “No.” She then says, “No, I don’t.”

Because it’s the truth. If possible, she’d like to avoid anyone ever finding out.

“Okay.” Dean nods.

There’s a knock at the door and she leads Sergei into the apartment. The man doesn’t even bat an eye when he sees a dead body on the floor. She guesses that he’s not paid to ask questions.

She leaves Sergei and Dean in the living room, disappears into the bedroom and thinks about calling Linda.

Y/N doesn’t call though. Maybe, she thinks, maybe it’s better when she acts like she doesn’t know anything at all.

Sergei helps Dean into bed and Y/N props up the pillows before undressing him. He grunts out in pain as she makes him sit up a little to get his shirt off his shoulders. He’s already half asleep by the time she pulls off his socks.

She’s been given two different kinds of painkillers by Sergei and he tells her exactly when Dean should take which pills over the next three days. Thankfully nothing’s broken.

Cas arrives with a couple of men later and they immediately start with the clean up. Nobody said a word. It’s like everyone knows what they're doing and she has the feeling that it’s not the first time that they’re doing this.

Y/N takes the cats and closes the room to their bedroom. The workers are being loud but Dean’s even snoring a little by now, unfazed of what’s going on around him.

The cats immediately jump onto the bed, lay themselves around Dean and she couldn’t not take a picture of them together like this even if Dean’s face is bruised.

There’s a band aid that holds his skin together above his eyebrow instead of stitches, the bruise on his cheek already starts to turn green. His lips are swollen and it hurts her to see him like this. It physically hurts her heart.

She wonders how long it’ll take Linda to piece two and two together on Ketch’s whereabouts. How long it’ll be for Linda to knock down the door and arrest her and Dean. Wonders if Linda even knows that Ketch was trying to forgo her commands and contact Y/N directly just because he wants to play a fucking hero. Because honestly, she can’t imagine that the thing Ketch pulled off was in Linda’s interest. Not when Y/N’s so close to the finish line.

After about two hours, there’s a knock on the bedroom door. She opens up to Cas and wave of something that smells like bleach hit her. It seems like they were trying to make it better by spraying some flower scents around the living room, which actually might have made it even worse. She’s going to have to open the windows for hours to get the smell out.

“We’re done.” Cas says, and steals a glimpse of Dean in bed. “How is he?”

“Sleeping.” She answers.

“That’s good. He should sleep. The meeting today went well. Just tell him that? Okay?”

She smiles, “I will.”

“If there’s anything, you know…”

“I know. Thank you, Cas.”

“Anytime.”

She leaves the door open, but goes back to bed, picks her pencil and her notebook back up. She has to turn on the bedside lamp because it’s getting dark outside, the room lights up in a warm soft glow.

It’s an hour later when Dean opens his eyes. He squints at her.

“Is this heaven? Am I in heaven?” He mumbles, his lips purse into a smile.

Y/N replicates his smile, “No, sorry, you’re still stuck with me.”

He starts to laugh but then he flinches in pain. “Baby, no jokes, okay? My body can’t take it.”

“Shit, yeah,” She’s crawling over to his side on all fours. “‘M sorry.”

“Come on,” He says, pats the side of his bed and she goes in, lays her head on his arm. “How are you feeling?”

She chuckles. That’s so typical Dean. He’s the one who’s hurt but he asks her how she’s feeling. She does not deserve him. “Tired. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been beaten.”

She tilts her head, kisses him on his good cheek. “I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t know that he would come and hurt you.”

“That’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

She wants to tell him that it is.

Dean didn’t say more though, didn’t ask her why Ketch holds a grudge against Dean. Why she shot him. Because that’s also Dean. He doesn’t ask questions to answer that he doesn’t need to know. Answer that won’t change his decision. Answers that aren’t relevant on how he lives his life.

She can also guess that he might know. Ketch mentioned the MI6. Dean’s no fucking idiot.

“Can I ask you something?” He says after a while and her heart picks up pace.

That’s it, she thinks. Finally he’s going to ask her and she’s going to tell him the truth and everything will be over.

“Anything.” She says, because it’s true. At this point it’s all or nothing. She doesn’t want to lie to him any more.

“Why are the cats in our bed?”

CH31

#something just like this #dean winchester #mobster!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #nathalie writes

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rmtndew · 4 years ago

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All I’ve Ever Known ~ Chapter 2

Summary: Fiona’s life is a shattered fraction of what it used to be. She’s trying to navigate her new normal when she meets Detective Marshall, who gives her something more to look forward to.

Pairing: Marshall and OFC.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of death, cancer.

A/N - This was intended as a short drabble but it got out of hand and became a multi-chapter story instead. It’s my first Marshall fic and the first fan fic that I’ve written in over a decade. The title comes from the song ‘All I’ve Ever Known’ from Hadestown: ‘I was alone so long, I didn’t even know that I was lonely. Out in the cold so long, I didn’t even know that I was cold. Turned my collar to the wind, this is how it’s always been. All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own, but now I want to hold you, too.’

Tag list - @hollydaisy23, @readings-of-a-cavill-lover, @onlyhenrys, @omgkatinka, @speakerforthedead0-blog, @gearhead66

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know!

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Two weeks later, I was back at the police station with my delivery. Nick had gone on and on the week before about how much he’d loved covering for me and that two of the detectives had given him tips. He didn’t say how much they were, but emphasized that they were generous. I’d never been tipped before but I wasn’t jealous that Nick had been. He was good at small talk and being outgoing. That got noticed. And there was no ten or twenty dollar tip that was enticing enough for me to put myself through painfully awkward social interactions that I wasn’t good at. I wanted to do my job and do it well and Darcy didn’t hire me for my conversation skills. That was made quite clear when Officer Bates asked about Nick by name while still calling me Waverly.

Upstairs in the break room, most of the detectives were waiting for me when I arrived. They moved around me, grabbing their boxes as I placed them on the table. When I was done packing up the dolly, only a single box was left. Out of every person who had claimed their order, only a couple had acknowledged me with a thank you.

As I was leaving, I caught the wheel of my cart on the door frame. It yanked right out of my hands, falling over. I sighed and bent to pick it up. Before I could, a set of hands beat me to it. I swallowed thickly as my eyes followed the hands (with no wedding band) to their source: Detective Marshall. My mouth felt dry when I tried to speak and I had to clear my throat.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, setting it up straight with one hand like it weighed nothing. He looked at me, his brow raised slightly. “You weren’t here last week.”

I blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Someone else delivered for you last week.”

“Um, yeah. I had to take my mom to a doctor’s appointment. My co-worker Nick covered for me.”

He nodded. “He talks a lot.”

I laughed. “Yes, he does,” I agreed. “It’s a talent that I don’t possess.”

He gave me a half smile and my stomach flipped at the sight of it. “Me, either,” he said. “Is your mother okay?”

“Yeah. It was just a check up with her oncologist. She has to go every few weeks.”

“Does that mean she’s in remission?”

“It does, yeah. She’s been clear for a few months now.”

“And you care for her?”

“I do. As much as she’ll let me, anyway. My dad died a couple of years back so she asked me to move in with her. She couldn’t bear to sell the house but she couldn’t handle being alone, either,” I said, then smiled. “She had a friend who offered to move in and pay rent but Mom said she was too noisy. Apparently I make a good housemate because I’m not overly talkative.”

“My daughter thinks I’m a bad housemate because I’m not talkative enough,” he joked.

I laughed. “How old is she?”

“Thirteen.”

“You’re just on the cusp, then. My parents were amazing and they still couldn’t do anything right when I was a teenager. But if your daughter’s biggest complaint is that you’re not talkative enough, that’s pretty good.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and raised his eyebrows. “It’s not her biggest complaint, just one of several.”

“Well, as long as she feels comfortable enough to voice her problems to you, it’s fixable. It’s when they shut down that’s the problem,” I said, then suddenly felt silly for sharing so much with him. The poor man was just being polite and I was keeping him hostage. He’d come for his lunch - not for my life story. “Um, anyway, I should get back to work. Thank you again for helping me.”

“No problem.”

“Have a good week.”

“You, too.”

That Saturday, despite every fiber of my being screaming for me to be somewhere else, I found myself at an overpriced bar with my friends Lena and Demi. Demi had gotten a promotion at her job and wanted us to go out to celebrate. I wanted to back out but they wouldn’t let me, so I tagged along knowing full well that it would be the same as always: I wouldn’t drink, I wouldn’t dance, they would get annoyed at me for being a ‘wet blanket’, then they’d meet some guys and ignore me for the rest of the night, except when they’d tell me how much fun I was missing out on. I knew what I was in for, and yet I still hated it when it happened.

That particular evening, Lena and Demi zeroed in on two guys while we were still at the bar ordering. They introduced themselves and invited them to sit with us. While the four of them chatted, I sat, listening and watching the clock, counting the minutes until I felt I could call it a night without offending Demi. But despite being the third (fifth?) wheel, I was comfortable being on my own. Unfortunately that comfort was kicked square in the teeth when a friend joined the two guys Demi and Lena were talking to. He was a squirrely looking guy with a severely receding hairline and he was several inches shorter than me. But there was an unspoken rule that if your two friends were talking to someone else’s two friends, you were now obligated to talk to each other. I knew that rule well because I’d spent a good portion of my adult life as the quiet third friend to two far more outgoing women.The only time I’d been excused from the rule was when I’d been dating my ex-boyfriend Ezra. So while they were chatting up guys they were genuinely interested in, I was usually left taking one for the team. I wondered how often they thought about talking to me in the same terms.

A lot of the times I was lucky and the guy would carry the whole conversation, talking about himself, and I didn’t have to do much more than nod and pretend to be interested. Every once in a while I’d get a guy who was a bit pushy at the end of the night, practically demanding my phone number, or, on rare occasions, something a little more intimate. I was pretty good at turning them down in a way that didn’t escalate the situation, but there were still those few that slipped through that didn’t know that no meant no. That night, unfortunately, was one of those nights. The guy I’d gotten stuck talking to, Adam, had started out self absorbed but otherwise okay, but I guess he took my quiet nodding and occasional ‘Yeahs’ and ‘Wows’ as extreme interest and as time ticked on, he became more bold. His conversation took on a more...personal tone. That’s when I decided to try to wrap it up. I wasn’t spending time with Demi, she and Lena were both dancing, and I wasn’t going to let some guy make me uncomfortable. But when I tried to end the conversation, he wouldn’t let me.

“Come on, we’re having fun,” he said. “You don’t have to leave yet.”

“I do, actually. I have to work tomorrow,” I lied.

“You could stay for another hour.”

I shook my head. “No, sorry.”

I moved to stand up and he put his hand on my leg, holding me still. “I think you can.”

“But I’m not, so move your hand.”

Instead of letting go, he squeezed tighter. “You don’t have to play hard to get, you know? It’s not attractive.”

“And neither are you. Now move your hand.”

He swore, calling me a name, but kept gripping me. I was sure he’d leave a bruise. “You’re not pretty enough to be this difficult.”

I felt a sudden surge of warmth behind me and could feel the presence of someone standing there.

“She told you to let go, I suggest you listen.”

My head snapped up at the sound of the voice. Detective Marshall was standing behind me. His pretty blue eyes were dark like an angry ocean as he glared at Adam, giving his already stern face a menacing look.

“Who are you?” Adam asked, too stupid to give up.

“Someone who will gladly break your hand if you don’t move it like she asked.”

Detective Marshall took a few steps forward, putting himself tight to my side. Adam was going to say something, he had his mouth open ready to do so, but Detective Marshall crossed his arms over his chest and Adam’s eyes went to his belt. His sweater had risen to show off his badge and gun clipped at his waist. The sight was enough to shut Adam up. He didn’t say another word. He let go of my leg and left.

“Are you alright?” Detective Marshall asked.

“Yeah. Thank you.”

He looked at me, his face softened. “This doesn’t really look like your scene.”

I shook my head. “It’s not. I’m here with my friends,” I said. His eyes glanced at the empty chairs around me. I nodded to the dance floor. “They’re over there.”

He looked to where Adam was talking to the two friends he’d come with. They were still with Lena and Demi, and were all staring at me. I was sure that Adam was telling them I was a frigid tease, and they were almost definitely confused by Detective Marshall standing next to me like a bodyguard.

“What about you?” I asked. “You don’t really look like this is your scene, either.”

He looked down at me. “It’s not. I’m working a case. I was asking the manager about the victim.” He looked at my friends again before letting out a breath. “Are you staying here or would you like me to walk you to your car?”

“No, I’m not staying,” I said. “But I didn’t drive. I rode with them. I was going to get an Uber.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to get into a car with a stranger by yourself at night?”

I nodded as I stood. I liked that I had to look up at him slightly. “It’s usually what happens when I let myself get talked into these stupid nights.”

I watched his face. It was like he had a million thoughts running through his mind at once and his eyes shifted, like he was actively trying to sort through them. After a moment he said, “Would you let me drive you instead?”

“You don’t have to do that. I can usually get an Uber here in about ten minutes.” I gave a faint smile. “You could talk to them before I get in, if you want?”

He shook his head and rubbed his neck. “I’d feel a lot better if I knew you got home safely.”

So much of me wanted to say no. I had a difficult time accepting help from people, even when I clearly needed it, because I hated the thought of being a burden on someone. But if he was there asking about a victim, there was a chance that they’d been at that bar, maybe even disappeared from there, maybe after taking a ride from someone they thought was legit and was later found dead. Maybe he didn’t want another case, especially with a familiar person, and that’s why he was offering me the ride. That’s what I told myself anyway. That was my excuse for wanting to accept his offer. It wasn’t that I was weirdly attracted to how protected he made me feel.

“Okay,” I relented.

“Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Let me tell my friends I’m leaving.”

I started walking towards Lena and Demi. They’d been watching me ever since Adam had drawn their attention to me. But before I could reach them, they came to me, meeting me halfway.

“What is going on, Fiona?” Demi demanded. “That guy you were talking to said you were having a good time and then you just started freaking out and making a scene. He said some guy heard you and threatened him if he didn’t leave you alone.”

I shook my head. “That’s not how it happened. He was making me uncomfortable so I said I was going to leave. He put his hands on me and I told him to let me go. He wouldn’t and yes, someone did step in, but he wouldn’t have if that perv had just let me go.”

“Why do you do this?” Lena asked. “Anytime a guy shows interest in you, you find some reason to run away.”

“That’s not true. And even if it was, that’s not what happened here,” I said.

“It is true. And I honestly don’t know why we invite you out anymore. You always make things awkward because you don’t know how to function like an adult woman. You’re like some little girl who’s afraid to even let a boy kiss her,” Demi said. “You need to grow up.”

I bit my tongue. I knew that she’d had a few drinks and that she always got catty right before she tipped over to drunk, but just because she was rude didn’t mean that I had to be, too. The evening had taken all the energy from me and I didn’t have the strength to try to be diplomatic. I chose to ignore her completely instead.

“I’m going home,” I finally said.

“I’m not taking you,” Lena said. “Not right now.”

“I don’t need you. Someone else is taking me”

Demi rolled her eyes. “Who?”

I looked at Detective Marshall. He was still standing by our table, waiting. “You guys think I need to get out of my comfort zone, so I am.”

“You’re going home with a man you just met? Do you know how dangerous that is?” Lena asked.

“First of all, you two do it all the time,” I said. “And secondly, I’m not going home with him, he’s taking me home.”

“I don’t believe you,” Demi said.

“I don’t need you to believe me. I just need you to know that I’m leaving. Whoever I go with, or however I get home, doesn’t matter.”

I walked off, feeling angry heat licking my neck and ears. My hands kept clenching tightly, pushing my fingernails into the palms of my hands. Detective Marshall could obviously tell that something was wrong because he tilted his head at me, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Is everything alright?” he asked.

“I have horrible friends, but other than that, everything’s peachy,” I said dryly.

He didn’t ask any follow up questions but I think he’d observed enough of the situation to not need to. He just nodded and waved for me to follow him.

The air outside was surprisingly cold and made my angrily flushed skin sting from the contrast. But the feeling worked like a grounding sensation, clearing my mind. I let out a breath and followed Detective Marshall to his truck. He went to the passenger’s side and unlocked it, then opened it for me.

“Thank you,” I said, climbing in.

He gave me a smile that somehow read more in his eyes than his mouth before closing the door.

I took my crossbody purse off, holding it in my lap, before pulling on my seatbelt. I watched as he walked around the front of the truck, unlocking his own door and sliding in beside me. He started his truck with one hand while reaching for his seatbelt with the other. As the truck came to life, the radio came on. A ZZ Top song was playing.

“Sorry,” he said, turning the volume down but leaving the radio itself on.

I noticed the station and smiled. “This is the same station I listen to in my car.”

He looked over at me, giving me another one of his eye smiles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Shouting along to eighties rock music is a pretty good stress reliever.”

“It doesn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

He asked where I lived and even though I was terrible at explaining directions, I finally gave him enough clues for him to piece it together. He said that his ex-wife had lived in the neighborhood just past mine when they were dating and he remembered seeing the sign for it. Once we pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, I took my phone from my purse.

“Do you mind if I make a quick phone call?”

He shook his head. “No, go on.”

I called Mom but she didn’t answer. I wasn’t worried. She was more than likely watching TV and had her phone in her room again. I decided to leave a message. “Hey Mom, it’s Fi. I was just letting you know that I’m on my way home. You don’t have to call me back when you get this, I’ll just see you when I get there. Love you. Bye.”

I hung up and put the phone away. A few moments passed before Detective Marshall asked, “Is Fi short for something?”

“Yeah. Fiona. When I was a kid my dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird, then he shortened to Fi when I was a teenager.”

“When did you lose him?”

“Two years ago. He was hit by a drunk driver.”

“Was your mum ill at the time?”

“No. I mean, she may have had her cancer then but we didn’t know anything about it. They found it at the beginning of the year.” I looked at him. “I’m a little surprised that you remember me telling you about them, to be honest.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve barely spoken and I assume your job is mentaly exhausting, so the fact that you remembered it… I don’t know, I’m just surprised.”

“It is mentally exhausting. But peanut butter cookies help.” He looked at me briefly, giving me a smile that showed his teeth. “And you bring those.”

I laughed and felt my cheeks heat back up, but it wasn’t from anger that time. “And that makes me memorable?”

He nodded. “Absolutely.”

A few minutes passed quietly, but not uncomfortably, before I stole a glance at him. He really was gorgeous. I had no issues with Demi and Lena thinking that I was leaving with him for reasons other than an innocent ride home. They’d been more than snide about my lack of interest in men since my last boyfriend had broken up with me, never pausing to think that how he’d broken up with me - and more importantly when - had done a lot of damage.

“I really do appreciate you giving me a ride home,” I said. “I, uh, I don’t have anyone else to call. An Uber would have been my only option.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem,” he said. “But next time maybe think about driving your own car. I’m not just against Uber; I’m against any rides that require you to get into a car with a stranger. Particularly women. And particularly at that bar.” He pushed his hair back from his face and let out a frustrated breath. “Their security cameras have been down since May.” He swore under his breath. “Sort of defeats the purpose of security cameras.”

“Does that stall your investigation?”

“Not necessarily. Other businesses in the area may have footage. It just delays things, at least for tonight.”

“Can I ask how long you’ve been working on it?”

“It’ll be two weeks tomorrow.”

“Is that long for a murder investigation?”

He didn’t say anything for a while and I thought I’d gone too far. Just as I was about to apologize he said, “They don’t really have typical timelines. It just depends on the case. Some are like a ripple effect and you just have to start in the center and work your way out.” He paused for a moment, licking his lips. “Others are like a pile of rope tangled up. You have to work your way through, trying to untangle it, but sometimes you’re working on a piece that’s a dead end, then you have to start all over again. Those take a bit longer.”

“And this case, it’s one of the tangled ones?”

He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry.”

He glanced at me again quickly, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. “That’s the job.”

Another wave of silence filled the cab of his truck. I liked that he didn’t talk for the sake of it. He seemed to be at ease in the quiet and his ease spilled over to me. That was the only explanation for me being so calm sitting that close to a man as attractive as him and not having a total meltdown. And we were close enough that the body heat radiating off of him kept me from requesting that the actual heater be turned on, despite the chilly night. He was like a human space heater, but I was far from complaining. And I think the fact that he had been so protective of me fed that feeling of comfort. That night, he had stood up for me more than Ezra ever had in three and a half years.

“I can’t remember if I thanked you earlier at the bar or not when you helped me with that guy, but thank you for that, too,” I said. “I’m not usually such a damsel in distress, I promise.”

“It doesn’t make you a damsel just because I stepped in.” We stopped at a red light and he looked at me. “But if it ever happens again, all you have to do is ask them to move their hand once and if they don’t, take one of their fingers and shove it back towards their wrist. Make sure to break it.”

I smiled slightly. “Detective Marshall, are you giving me permission to assault someone?”

“It’s not assault if you’re protecting yourself, but yes, I’m giving you permission. Men have a hard time convincing police that their advances were wanted when it results in a broken finger,” he said. “And you don’t have to call me Detective, you can just call me Marshall.”

I smiled wider at that. “Well, Marshall,” I said, trying out the more personal feeling name, “I’ll keep that in mind. Although I think I’m done with nights like tonight. I’m too old to keep putting myself in situations that make me uncomfortable. But maybe I needed this to know that my friends and I really have grown apart. And maybe for the better.”

The light turned green and he looked back to the road again. “I take it you had a falling out over you leaving them?” he asked as we started moving.

“Not really over me leaving. More like why I was leaving.” I sighed. “Their idea of fun is drinking and dancing and flirting, and at one point, I saw the appeal in that, even though I’ve never been as outgoing as them. But when I lost my dad…” I shook my head. “I’m sure you see people in grief all the time with your job. You see how it changes people. How it can create a division. They never understood that. They thought that there should be a grieving period and then I should get over it and go back to being the same old Fiona. But that’s never going to happen.”

“Grief does change people. It’s natural. And sometimes, it never goes away. You have to adapt to deal with it, but it always follows you,” he said. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I guess when you’ve never experienced it, it’s hard to really understand. I didn’t really understand it until my dad passed. And then when Mom got sick…” I trailed off. “Sorry, I told you that I wasn’t a big talker and I just keep going on about myself.”

“You’re fine. I promise,” he said softly.

I smiled at him. “Those peanut butter cookies really do buy me a lot of forgiveness, don’t they?”

He laughed. It was a low, beautiful sound. “They are very good.”

The rest of the ride home was spent in slow, quiet conversation. I tried not to unload anymore of my personal issues on him, even if he said it was okay. I was a little sad when he pulled onto my street, but I directed him to my house and he stopped in front of the driveway, unable to pull in because of mine and my mom’s cars.

He put the truck in park and turned to me. “I’ll watch you in.”

“Okay.” I unbuckled and grabbed my purse from my lap, slipping it back on. I reached for the door handle but before opening it, I looked at him. “I really do appreciate all of this. You have no idea,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to thank you?”

He twisted his mouth to the side, his eyes doing the thing they’d done earlier where it looked like he was actively sorting through his thoughts. After a moment, he nodded, then gave me a smile that made my heart flutter. “There is, actually,” he said. “Next time you deliver lunch, if I’m not there to get mine before you leave, could you bring it to my office again?”

I smiled back. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I could do that,” I said. “If you’re not there, do you want me to leave it on your desk?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” I opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. I already missed the heat of being close to him. “Goodnight Det- Goodnight Marshall.”

“Goodnight Fiona.”

Never in my life had someone saying my name given me instant butterflies until right then. I gave him a small wave and closed the door. I took my house keys from my purse as I walked to the front door, trying not to think about him watching me. After unlocking the door, I fought not to look back at Marshall one last time and slipped inside, closing and locking the door behind me. As I put the chain lock in place, I let my forehead fall against the door and let out a happy sigh. When I was able to gather myself, I went to find Mom. Just as I expected, she was in the living room watching some sort of Hallmark movie.

“Hey Mom, I’m home,” I said.

She turned her head to look at me. “Hey, sweetie. How was it? Did you have fun?”

“Not quite.” I joined her, sitting on the arm of the recliner. “I think things are done between Demi, Lena and me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Some things happened and some things were said and I don’t think there’s any going back.”

She patted my knee. “I’m sorry. I hate that for you.”

“There was a bright side to the whole night, though,” I said, smiling.

“And what was that?”

“You know the detective that I told you about, Detective Marshall?” I asked. She nodded. “He was there asking the manager about a case he’s working on and noticed that a guy was bothering me so he stepped in to help me. Then he gave me a ride home.”

She looked at me with big eyes. “You got into a car with someone you don’t know?”

“No, I got into a truck with a cop, who I’d met before,” I said. “Look, Lena refused to take me home. I would have had to call for a ride.”

I could tell she disapproved but didn’t say anything else about it. Instead she asked, “What’s this detective like?”

“He’s a little quiet, gentlemanly, has good taste in music, and extremely not married.”

She finally broke down and smiled. “Well, maybe this is the start of something, then. You deserve to be happy.”

“Maybe but I don’t think he’s interested. He offered me a ride to make sure I got home safely; he wasn’t flirting. I just feel less guilty about being attracted to him now that I know he’s single.”

“Your father and I started off as friends first, too, you know?”

“I wouldn’t say that Marshall and I are friends, Mom,” I said, standing up. “But I’m appreciative of him and his handsome face all the same.”

“Oh, so you call him Marshall now? No ‘Detective’?” she teased. “That seems pretty friendly to me.”

I laughed. “If I ever get on a first name basis with him, I might agree. Until then, he’s just an acquaintance. That’s all.”

“One who doesn’t mind you dropping a very earned title.”

“Well, he found out that you call me Fi-Fi, so he probably thought it was fair to let me call him something a little less formal, too.”

“How did he find that out?”

“Because I called and left you a voicemail letting you know that I was on my way home and he asked what Fi was short for. I told him that Dad used to call me Fi-Fi Bird.”

She tilted her head at me like she finally had her answer. “If you’re talking to him about your father, he’s far more than an acquaintance. You barely talk about him to anyone other than me.”

“He’s...it’s…” I sputtered, trying to find the right explanation. I sighed. “Death isn’t a topic that makes him uncomfortable, like other people. He’s a homicide detective. That’s sort of his business. Bringing Dad up didn’t feel weird.”

She held up her hands, almost defensively. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I think it’s great. I just hope I get to see this handsome Marshall at some point.”

“I’ll talk to Darcy about a Bring Your Mom to Work Day and see if I can’t get you to the station to check him out. And hey, he might not have been flirting with me but you’re a single lady now, maybe you can lock him down. I always wanted a sister and he has a daughter, so it would be kind of perfect.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Love you, Mom,” I said, walking away.

“Love you, too!”

#Henry Cavill #Walter Marshall #Night Hunter #Nomis #All I've Ever Known #walter marshall fanfiction #Henry Cavill fan fiction #Night Hunter fan fiction #Walter Marshall/OFC #HenryCavillFanfic #WalterMarshallFanfic

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the-sympathetic-villain · 5 years ago

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You Belong With Me - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Next | Masterpost

Description: Much to his surprise, after being released from prison for a crime he didn’t commit, Logan has been appointed as a the prince’s new advisor.

Word Count: 1505

Warnings: Mentions of nightmares, Anxiety, Brief Unsympathetic!Remus

Logan jerked awake, gasping for air. His eyes darted desperately around the room as they adjusted to the dark. Recognizing the room around him, he relaxed slightly. He took a breath, sitting up. Moonlight filtered in through the windows, gently illuminating his new bedroom. He leaned forward, resting his face in his hands.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and felt the wetness of tears on his face. He took another deep breath, wiping them away.

Why am I like this?

This isn't the way he wanted to start his new life. He'd been gifted an unbelievable opportunity. To have been granted his freedom was a miracle, but to have been appointed to the prince’s new advisor was frankly beyond anything he could have imagined. He shouldn’t be terrified. He should be excited. Sighing, Logan slid his legs out from under the blankets and down onto the floor. He paused, breathing deeply. The feeling of the cold, stone floor grounded him, helping to settle his mind.

He leaned against the bed, glancing up through the narrow window above his bed. He could just make out the moon through the narrow slit in the wall. He pondered for a few minutes, counting the days in his head. By his estimate, the full moon must be only a few days away. Pushing himself off the bed, he moved his way to the door. Realistically, he knew he should go back to sleep, but the thought of another nightmare unnerved him too much to consider it. Instead, he decided to make the most of his night and investigate his new study.

He turned the doorknob to the main room, feeling his way through the darkness of the main room into study. A faint ray of moonlight lit the study as he entered the study. He slowly walked the perimeter of the room. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the relaxing scent of the old books. He reached out and let his fingers drift over the spines as he passed by the shelves.

After a moment, he turned to face the small, ornate desk on the far wall. Logan reached across the desk and ignited a small gas lamp sitting on the corner of the desk. The soft, amber light of the lamp illuminated the room around him. He yawned as he turned and walked idly around the room, reading the titles on the spines of the books. After several minutes of internal debate, he pulled a small philosophy book with a bright red cover off the shelf. Logan settled into the desk, flipping open the cover of his book to the first pages. Any ideas of sleep left his mind and he was able lose himself in the ideas of another person. His anxiety seemed to abate. He finally felt like he could breathe, if only for a moment.

Hours later, he found himself at his desk, still in the same position. A small pile of books had begun to form on his desk and his body was beginning to ache. He forced himself to pull himself away, rubbing at the sore muscles at the base of his neck. He stood, somewhat unsteady, and wandered slowly back to his bedroom, stretching his arms above his head. Idly moving about, he washed his face at the water basin and changed his clothes. His stomach was already rumbling when a knock finally sounded at his door.

Stalling, Logan meandered his way the door. Pulling it open, he glanced down, surprised to see a small boy standing in the doorway with a cart full of covered plates. Logan doubted the boy was even of age. Smiling encouragingly, Logan stepped aside, holding the door for him.

He hesitated but finally entered the room cautiously. He kept his head down as he pushed the cart into Logan's room.

“It smells delicious,” he said, smiling at the kid, who was still avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you, sir.” The child replied, quickly.

Logan stepped over to the cart, lifting one of the plate covers. Steam drifted up from the plate as he revealed a small roast chicken, resting on a pile of roasted vegetables underneath.

“In the future, will you let the chef know that I prefer not to eat meat.” He made an effort to keep his tone soft but the boy startled all the same.

“O-oh… I c-can take it back if you like, sir. I-if it's not good enough.” His voice was loud and unsteady and Logan could tell the kid was struggling.

Logan smiled at him sympathetically. “Please, be at ease. This is more than adequate for now. Send my compliments to the chef. I'm being genuine when I say it smells superb. I only want the chef to know my preferences for the future. Thank you for your services. Please, take this and get back to your work.” He reached into his coin purse and pulled out a few copper coins. He offered them to the kid and gestured to indicate that he was free to leave.

“Thank you, sir.” The boy hesitated before taking the coins. He nodded quickly at Logan and turned to go.

“You’re welcome.” Logan watched as the boy left the room before inspecting the plates on the cart. He lifted the other plate covers. There was more food on this cart than he could possibly consume on his own. The first platter he'd opened had a whole roasted chicken surrounded by roasted vegetables and potatoes. Another bowl was piled high with fresh fruit and berries. Various other dishes held sides and sauces. The abundance of food was overwhelming. He could only assume the chef had sent him a variety to get a feel for his preferences but all the same, he couldn’t help but marvel at the surrealness of his new position. He swallowed. His stomach was now growling loudly as he pulled the cart over to the table and started to dig into the various dishes

A half hour later, Logan sat at the table feeling uncomfortably full. He'd made an impressive dent into the intimidating amount of food he had been served. After the last week, he felt justified in catching up on a few meals but that didn’t stop his stomach from attempting to rebel against the sheer amount of food he’s consumed. Logan stood up and poked at the remaining food with a fork.

Logan sighed and dropped the fork down on the plate. He knew he was stalling. He needed to venture out into the tower eventually, but anxiety flared in his chest at the idea of leaving his chambers. Despite the warm light filtering through the window, Logan shivered. He was unnerved at the idea of traveling the halls by himself but he couldn’t just sit in his quarters all day. He sighed, pacing the room. Several minutes passed before Logan stopped at the door. He took a breath, bracing himself, and left the room.

The halls of the tower were massive and brimming with life. He weaved his way through the halls, keeping his head down and trying to blend into the crowd. For the most part it worked, despite the bruises covering his face, many people passed him by without a second glance, too absorbed in their personal tasks to take an interest in him. Logan was perfectly satisfied with the lack of attention. He didn't know where he was headed and wasn’t interested in answering anyone’s questions.

He wandered the corridors, letting his gaze drift into the various rooms throughout the tower. In his mind, he absent-mindedly began making a mental map of the tower, noting places he cared to return to. Lost in thought, he aimlessly turned the corridors, taking whatever path took his fancy in the moment.

Without thinking, he turned down a smaller corridor. This hall was dimly lit due to fact that a number of the curtains were closed. As he left the more crowded halls, the noise dissipated. Logan felt himself relax. He wasn't used to the bustle of the castle and he welcomed a retreat from the constant barrage of overstimulation.

His reprieve was cut suddenly short as a hand shot out from behind him and painfully gripped his shoulder. Logan was spun around and slammed forcefully into the wall beside him. He grunted as the air was knocked from his lungs. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath. Hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, shoving him backwards and pinning him against the wall.

“What are you doing here, pretty boy? I thought you knew you aren't welcome here.”

Logan froze. He glanced up, clenching his jaw to force his eyes to focus through his pain. Three men stood before him, dressed in dark, fancy clothing fit for nobility. The man in the center gripped Logan's collar. His strength easily overpowered Logan's resistance, effectively preventing him from escaping. Bile filled his throat as Logan recognized him.

“Remus.” Logan muttered.

You Belong With Me Taglist: @cas-is-a-hunter @insert-cool-blogname

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #ts #ts logan #unsympathetic remus #You Belong With Me #villain writes

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sylvanfreckles · 4 years ago

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Day Twelve: Belonging

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: (Sequel to Day 21 of Whumptober) Cas faces a long recovery after his grace is cut out to power up Naomi. Now it's Christmas, and they're meeting Jody and the girls for a long weekend together. Cas has a chance to learn more about his condition, and Sam has a chance to ask a very important question...if Dean doesn't beat him to it.

(The finale! You don't have to read the Whumptober chapter to understand this story, but it might give you more of a sense of what's going on.)

* * *

There was a brief moment of disorientation as Dean woke up, but it passed quickly enough. He was still jammed into the backseat of his car, with Eileen behind the wheel and Sammy riding shotgun, and Cas stretched out across the seat next to him. Cas was sitting sideways on the seat behind Sam with his feet in Dean's lap, slumped against the door with his eyes closed. Dean rolled his shoulders and tried to stretch inconspicuously so as not to disturb Cas, and caught Sam's eye when his brother twisted around to check on him.

“You good?” Sam asked quietly. “We're about an hour out from the cabin.”

“I think my knees are permanently locked up,” Dean groused. “How long was I out?”

“Couple hours. Cas fell asleep just across the border.”

Dean glanced over at the man beside him. “Yeah, he's not asleep.”

One bleary blue eye opened to study him and Cas tried for a smile that came across more as a grimace. “I'm fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean pushed himself up a little straighter in the seat. “What's the number?”

Now Cas was definitely grimacing, and he shifted uncomfortably as Sam and Dean's attention was focused on him. “Six.”

Dean snorted. “Which means eight. You've gotta tell us when it gets bad, man.”

Cas closed his eyes and let his head rest against the seat again. Even in the dark of the interior of the car Dean could see that the former angel was uncomfortable. Arms tucked around himself, slightly hunched over in the seat, muscles in his calves so tight Dean could feel the spasming.

It had been nearly four months since that horrible day when they'd gotten the call. Some anonymous tip from some bastard angel under Naomi's command, informing them that Castiel had been stripped of his grace and needed assistant. Hell, they hadn't even known he was alive again...the last Dean had seen his (angel? Friend? Something else?) had been pulled away by the Empty in a last-ditch effort to stop Billie from killing Dean.

But at some point Jack had freed him from the Empty. They had remodeled heaven. Jack had been full of big, exciting plans and wanted Cas to remain in heaven for a little while, while the kid scoured the fragments of Chuck's alternate dimensions for a way to restore his grace.

Then Naomi happened. Naomi and some twisted, ancient magic that had her sacrificing Cas's grace to turn herself into an archangel. They'd caught him (apparently Cas wasn't the only angel Jack had brought back), tied him down, carved sigils into his back, and burned his grace right out of his body to power up super-bitch.

God (or Jack or whatever) he hoped the kid tore her in half whenever he got back.

Cas had been left wounded, graceless, and human to die of exposure in the middle of nowhere. If Anapiel hadn't had a crisis of conscience, or whatever angels had, he would have died without Dean even knowing he'd been alive again.

So here they were, the four of them packed into the Impala, headed for a cabin Jody had rented to spend Christmas with her and the girls. It was still difficult for Cas to travel, as he was frequently wracked by spasms of pain that left him weak and miserable, but he was determined to spend his first human Christmas with Claire. And Jody had promised soft beds, a big fireplace, and a Jacuzzi to help make the former angel more comfortable.

“I think I need to move,” Cas finally said, after a few moments of silence. They'd had difficulty treating his condition—the closest human ailment was fibromyalgia, or maybe some sort of rheumatoid arthritis, but the flare-ups of pain and stiffness were short and intense. Keeping his muscles and joints warm helped, and sometimes some light exercise relieved the horrible, cramping spasms.

Even though they were only an hour from their destination, Eileen turned off at the first place she found. “I've got him, Dean,” Sam said before climbing out of the car to help pull Cas out.

Cas really was doing better, it just didn't seem like it in moments like this. When Sam was practically holding him up as they made a couple of slow, painful laps around the car, Cas's face pinched in pain.

Eileen twisted in the seat to look back at Dean and for a moment he thought she was going to ask if he wanted to drive...but he must have looked as exhausted as he felt because she simply held up a thermos. “Coffee?”

He let out a deep, dramatic sigh and reached for the thermos. “You are a life-saver,” he announced. “If Sam doesn't marry you, I will.”

She giggled at that. “He bought a ring.”

Dean had the choice between spitting his coffee all over his car and the woman in front of him or swallowing it in one painful gulp. “He what?” he spluttered, pounding his chest where the coffee, somehow, seemed to be stuck on the way down.

“He thinks I don't know,” Eileen explained with a fond look to where Sam was gently leading Cas through some stretches.

“Hell,” Dean shook his head, took another swallow of coffee, and passed the thermos up. “Maybe I should propose, just to give him the hint.”

Eileen laughed again and stowed the thermos in the front seat while Sam opened the back door to help Cas into the car. “What's so funny?” he asked.

“You,” Dean retorted.

“Real mature, dude,” Sam bitch-faced back.

Dean chuckled and settled back in the seat while Cas rearranged himself. Dean gave him a second to get comfortable, then pulled his legs back across his lap. “Feel better?” he asked, thumbs working at the cramped muscles in Cas's calves.

Cas nodded. He looked like that short trek around the car had exhausted him, but he also looked more relaxed than before. “My apologies for the delay.”

“Shut up,” Dean teased. He couldn't quite reach over to ruffle Cas's hair, so he settled with shaking the former angel's foot back and forth. “It's Christmas, Cas. You can have as many breaks as you need.”

Eileen was pulling back on the road as Cas leaned his head against the seat, studying Dean intensely. “And how many of these 'it's Christmas' excuses do I get?”

“It's Christmas,” Dean explained with a shrug.

“Dean...”

“C'mon, dude. Christmas.”

Cas switched tactics. “Sam, your brother isn't making sense.”

“He just means don't be afraid to speak up when you need something,” Sam replied.

“Spoilsport,” Dean couldn't reach Sam's hair, either, so he settled for tossing a balled-up hamburger wrapper at the back of his head.

Cas was smiling now—a tired smile, but a genuine one. “Sam, your brother is compensating for his inability to show affection again.”

“Well, Cas, that's just Dean being Dean.”

* * *

He'd been a little surprised that Jody had rented a cabin instead of having them all over to her house, or even packing them in to her cabin...but Dean figured their family had gotten a lot bigger since the last time they were all together.

Jody was waiting for them, towel flung over one shoulder and a welcoming smile on her face. “Glad to see you, kiddo,” she said, pulling Sam into a hug. “How was the drive?”

“Not bad,” Sam shrugged. “Dean?”

“We're good,” Dean called. He'd already helped Cas out of the car and was holding his arm out, bent at the elbow, so the former angel could latch on for support. That little walking break they'd taken had probably done more good than they realized and kept Cas's body from locking up on him. Just a few months ago Sam or Dean would have had to carry him out of the car after a trip like this, and here he was walking under (mostly) his own power.

Jody met them partway, standing at the top of the stairs with her hands extended. Cas transferred his grip from Dean to Jody and carefully climbed up the steps to the cabin's wraparound porch, letting Jody steady and guide him up. “Good to see you again,” she said when he reached the top, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Claire and the others will be back in about an hour, do you want to rest until they get here?”

Cas nodded. Better still wasn't recovered, and he didn't want to push himself too hard and end up bedridden during the long weekend.

“Come on. I've got a surprise for you,” Jody said. She held her arm out like Dean had and Cas took it, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Dean was following.

“Get the bags, Sammy,” Dean announced loftily, ignored the middle finger his brother sent his way. He hesitated when he saw Eileen, but she just smirked at him.

“Go on,” she pushed at his arm. “I'll make sure Sam doesn't break anything.”

On mostly reassured—Eileen hadn't been around long enough to become immune to Winchester Luck—Dean followed Jody and Cas to a bedroom just off the main central room of the cabin. “The other rooms are upstairs,” Jody was explaining, tugging back the blankets on the bed as she did. “It's probably more noisy down here, but we wanted to save you the stairs.”

“Thank you, Jody,” Cas sounded exhausted as he climbed into bed, letting the sheriff tug the blankets up to his shoulders. “This is...oh.”

Jody was grinning. She had her arms folded across her chest and a pleased expression on her face. “Early Christmas present. You like?”

Cas let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan and looked past Jody to Dean. “It's warm.”

“Heated mattress pad,” Jody explained. “Sure beats a half-dozen heating pads.”

Dean slipped a hand beneath the blankets and ran it along the warm mattress. “You're a genius.”

“Of course I am. Come on, let's let him rest.”

He hesitated, but Cas seemed content under the blankets and Jody was tugging on his arm, so he followed her out to the main room. “Okay, you and Cas are sharing, right?” she asked, moving back around the island that separated the kitchen from the main room.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean hesitated. “It's, uh...when he has a bad night it's better when someone's with him, so we just kind of planned it that way.”

“Look, kiddo, you don't have to explain anything to me,” Jody had pulled another towel out of a drawer and was gesturing at him. “You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, okay?”

He hesitated again and glanced at the door. Sam and Eileen were taking an awfully long time with the luggage, but maybe they were just enjoying some privacy before a big family weekend. “He, uh, he said some things. Before he died. And I just...I don't know how to handle it.”

Jody slung the towel over her shoulder, right on top of the first one she'd clearly forgotten about, and leaned toward him on the counter. “What kind of things?”

Dean wrapped his arms around himself and stared toward the door. Even after all this time it was still so real—the pain and loss from that moment, Cas's final words echoing in his head, the emptiness of the world that followed. “Like...feelings stuff.”

“Oh.” Jody walked around the island and tugged out one of the stools and sat on it, facing Dean. “Have you talked to your brother about it?”

“I don't know what to say. I haven't said anything...until now.”

Jody sucked in a breath. “Not even Castiel?”

“He was dead!” Dean scrubbed one hand through his hair, fighting the urge to turn away and hide his face. “He died, and I, I should have been able to figure things out then on my own, but then? Then we get the call that he's back but he's hurt, and-and he needs so much help now, and it just doesn't seem right.”

“Slow down, kiddo,” Jody caught one of his wrists and tugged him over, sliding another stool out for him to sit. “Walk me through this. What are you feeling now.”

“I don't know!” Dean let his elbow rest on the counter and buried his face in his hand. “He said this stuff and I didn't have any time to process it and he died...and now he's here but it's just so...it's not fair.”

Jody was rubbing his shoulder through his outburst, and leaned in close enough to wrap one arm around him. “What do you want to do?”

“Nothing.” Dean wiped his face and pulled away, trying to pull himself back together. “I can't right now, Jody. I can't...I can't ask him to make some kind of, of choice like that right now. Not when...not when he needs us. Too many people have done that to him. If we...if we can get him back on his feet, back to where he's able to walk away if he needs to...but not now.”

He hadn't realized he was crying again until Jody gently wiped a thumb across his cheek. “That really sucks, Dean.”

Dean managed a pathetic chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” He wasn't going to be one of those people who took advantage of Cas when Cas couldn't say no. Besides, Cas had to know that they'd still take care of him, even if there wasn't...something...there.

The door banged open, bringing in the cold wind and Sam loaded down with too many bags. “Finally,” Dean complained, spinning around on the stool. “What took you guys so long?”

Sam huffed and very pointedly dropped Dean's bag on the floor right in front of the door. “I'm taking the rest of this upstairs. Jody, which one's our room?”

“I'll show you,” Jody offered.

Dean looked past Sam to Eileen, who was loitering by the door. He raised his eyebrows in question and she held up her left hand with a shake of the head. Still no proposal.

Damn. What was taking that kid so long?

* * *

“Hey, buddy, you awake?” Dean crouched beside the bed, gently ruffling Cas's hair. The former angel stretched like a contented cat and blinked up at him.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey there,” Dean replied, grinning. “You look rested.”

“It's so warm.” Ever since his return, Cas had so much trouble just staying warm. Back at the bunker they practically kept a constant rotation of hot water bottles in play for him to tuck under his sweatshirt or to wrap in his blankets. So seeing him this comfortable and relaxed made something deep in Dean's heart unwind just a little.

“The girls are here. Wanna say hi? Get some dinner?”

Cas grunted and pushed the blankets back, twisting to get his feet under him. His clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them, but didn't seem to notice as he pushed himself up. “Claire's here?”

“First one in the door,” Dean replied. He held his arm out to steady Cas as they made their way through the bedroom to the main room. “She and Eileen are swapping werewolf stories.”

He helped Cas out of the room and gently lead him over to one of the stools at the counter. Jody—with a third towel now, on her other shoulder—was whisking up waffle batter in a big red bowl in the kitchen.

“Cas!” Claire pulled away from Eileen as soon as she saw the former angel. She hesitated for a second, but when he held an arm out to her she gladly went in for a hug. “You came!”

“Of course,” Cas replied. When Claire pulled away he seemed reluctant to release her, gently brushing her blonde hair behind her shoulders. “How are you?”

Claire shrugged. “Still kicking ass.”

“Hell yeah!” Dean announced, giving the kid a high-five.

Cas was smiling—it was a small, tired smile, but it was genuine. “Claire...your parents send their love.”

Claire froze. “You saw them?”

“I did some work in Heaven, before...anyway, they wanted you to know that they're proud of you.”

Claire's face went red, then white. “You told them about me?”

Cas nodded. “Of course. They can't wait to meet Kaia.”

“Oh my god,” Claire moaned, burying her face in her hands.

“Hey,” Dean bumped her with his hip. “Pretty sure he's technically your step-brother now.”

She punched his arm. “Shut up, Dean!”

“No fighting,” Jody announced. “Patience, honey, did you find the wafflemaker?”

Patience reluctantly left her conversation with Sam—probably about SATs and college scholarships and Harvard or something—to help Jody lug an ancient Black & Decker monstrosity out of a box on the counter.

“Anyway,” Claire cleared her throat, neck still flushed with embarrassment. “You look good. I like this,” she added, trailing her fingers through Cas's hair. It was flecked with gray now. Sam thought it was from the trauma done on his vessel when his grace was burned out.

Cas leaned away from her touch, brushing his own hand over his hair self-consciously. “I'm not accustomed to my vessel's appearance changing.”

“Hey, I like the gray!” Jody piped in, gesturing to her own silvery pixie cut. “It's very...paternal.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Jody!” Dean snorted, earning him another punch from Claire. “Anyway, it's good.”

She probably meant that Cas didn't really look like Jimmy anymore. Pain and trauma had etched lines in his face and gray in his hair. As though sensing his train of thought Cas leaned into Dean, and Dean wrapped an arm behind his back.

Kaia joined them, slipping an arm around Claire's and resting her head on the blonde girl's shoulders. They moved to the side to whisper about something between themselves, and Dean could see Eileen and Sam talking to Alex near one of the couches in the main room.

“Where's Donna?” he asked.

“She'll be here in the morning,” Jody replied. “Spending Christmas Eve with her brother tonight.”

Cas shifted against Dean, and he moved his arm up. Sometimes touching the scars left by the sigils hurt. “So, T-minus what until waffles?”

Jody let out an exaggerated huff and tossed a fourth towel over her shoulder—same side as the first two. “Never if you don't get your butt in here and help out. We need fruit chopped and eggs scrambled, and for the love of god somebody get the bacon.”

Dean let out a laugh and pulled away from Cas, only for the former angel to grab his sleeve.

“Dean?”

His heart dropped. That was the voice...the pale, scared voice that meant something bad was happening. He managed to get his arms around Cas in time to cushion his fall to the ground, as Cas suddenly curled in on himself in a full-body spasm of pain.

Someone swore behind him—he thought it was Jody, but when she started calling Sam he realized it must have been Patience. Cas shuddered in his grasp, arms wrapped around himself tight enough to bruise.

“Back up, come on,” Sam was wading in, flapping his giant moose arms to move the girls away from the kitchen. Cas let out a moan and buried his face in Dean's shoulder, shame adding to the pain riding up and down his body.

“I've got you, Cas,” Dean murmured. He ran his hand up and down his friend's arm, as though he could physically hold him together. “It's gonna pass. It always passes. You'll be okay.”

Sam crouched in front of them, his sheer size blocking the rest of the room from view. “We're right here, Cas,” he added, one hand on Cas's knee.

Cas tried to curl further into Dean, as though seeking whatever comfort or warmth the hunter could offer. Dean closed his eyes and pressed his cheek to the top of Cas's head—all they could do was reassure him, hold him where it wouldn't hurt, remind him he wasn't alone.

It wasn't fair. He'd been having such a good day.

“Right here, buddy,” Dean repeated. Cas was breathing in sharp, pained jerks, like even his lungs were spasming under the onslaught. “You're all right. We're not leaving.”

Finally...finally...the awful spasms slowed. Dean knew it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, but it always felt like hours. Cas let out a moan and shifted away, awkwardly dragging up a hand to wipe at his eyes.

Dean's heart broke a little more.

“Sam?” Alex was standing behind Sam, a first-aide kit in her hands. “Can I check on him?”

“He's all right,” Dean tried to protest, but Sam had already backed away so the young woman could take his place. Alex gently picked up one of Cas's wrists to feel his pulse, then pulled a small penlight out to check his eyes.

“How long are his seizures usually?” she asked.

“Seizures?” Dean shook his head. “What are you talking about? That wasn't a seizure.”

“We did rounds with a neurosurgeon last semester,” Alex explained. “They don't always look like they do on TV. I'd have to looks some things up, but it looked like a seizure to me.”

For the first time since Cas had come back, Dean could see the thinnest thread of an answer. Seizures could be treated, right? It wasn't everything Cas was dealing with, but if they could stop these attacks...

“It was less than three minutes,” Alex was saying. “If Castiel normally recovers from them just fine he'll be okay, but maybe you should think about going to a neurologist.”

Dean nodded, looking back down at the man he was holding. Cas had let his head drop back to Dean's shoulder, closing his eyes in obvious exhaustion.

“Thanks, Alex,” Sam said, helping Dean struggle to his feet with Cas in his arms. “We'll check that out.”

* * *

“The world can end now. I'm never leaving this bed.” Dean wiggled his toes under the blankets, relaxing in the luxuriant warmth of Cas's new heated mattress pad. “Jody is a genius.”

Cas, for his part, was quiet. He was curled on his side, watching Dean. Last night had been one of the bad ones—they usually were, right after an attack like that. Nightmares and night terrors were par for the course for their line of work, but Cas had once confessed he sometimes woke up thinking he was still tied down to the altar. Even now, months later, he'd scream out in his sleep and try to claw his way out of the blankets.

When Dean was with him—or Sam or Eileen—it was easier to remember where he was.

“This was my Christmas present, Dean,” he finally said after a few minutes.

“So? You can share.”

“Don't you want to see what Jody got you?”

That got Dean moving. He flipped the covers back and went for his bag, tossing clothes over his shoulder to the bed behind him. Cas got up more slowly, still stiff from the attack the night before. He was slowly pulling on a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized hooded sweatshirt when Dean turned back around, trying to tug on his jeans and henley at the same time.

“Come on,” Dean said, as soon as he was decent. Cas seemed steadier on his feet today, so he only needed a hand on Dean's shoulder for balance. “Sam might open everything without us.”

Sam hadn't, of course. And they'd had to wait for Donna, and then wait for breakfast (to Dean's relief, Jody had remembered to bring Cas-friendly food, and while the rest of them ate deliciously greasy hashbrown casserole Cas actually managed a full plate of cottage cheese and fruit).

Then there was the battle. Chucking balled-up wrapping paper at Claire every time she made a sassy comment, making Sam wear the Santa hat to actually hand out the gifts. Donna had given Cas a big, fleece blanket in a blue that almost matched his old tie, and he'd immediately wrapped himself up in it and dozed off in his armchair.

Dean had kept an eye on his brother throughout the morning. Christmas was the perfect chance to propose, right? It was the shit Hallmark movies were made of. But Sam just stood there, seven shades of awkward, one hand jammed in his pocket and his big moose eyes all sad and wistful.

“For the love of...” Dean grumbled. He shoved himself up to his feet—maybe it was time to stop sitting on the floor—and caught Eileen's hand as she passed by. He sank down to one knee, looking up at her seriously. “Eileen. You've probably been the best thing that's happened to my brother in his entire life. So I'm asking for him...will you marry Sam?”

There was a squeal from one of the girls, an enraged shout from Sam, and the click of Donna's camera. Eileen laughed at him, twisting her fingers through his, and looked over to Sam. “Yes.”

* * *

No, Dean isn't good with his feelings, but he'll meddle with Sam's just fine.

That's actually a horrible thing to do to your little brother, never propose for someone.

I did have this long-term plan, where Dean is putting off any conversation about feelings, or "I love you" moments, or anything like that because Cas isn't strong enough to walk away if he needs. The last thing he wants is Cas thinking he HAS to be in a relationship with Dean or he'll be out on the street--or that Dean would only take care of him because he wants something in return. Dean is shoving that all down to focus on taking care of Cas. And because he’s Dean Winchester and allergic to talking about things, but Jody can out-mom anyone.

Anyway, that's the end! I hope you enjoyed these twelve days of stories!

* * *

Day Eleven - Master List

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bamby0304 · 5 years ago

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Apple of my Eye- Ch.20

Series Masterlist

Summary: When Sam and Dean were pulled back into their world, you were left behind. Stuck in the hustle bustle of Hollywood life, you have no choice but to play along, leaving almost all of your old life behind. Seven years later, when a rip in time and space opens up, you are finally able to go home… but you don’t go alone.

AN: I’ve been sick and then super busy catching up with uni work, so sorry for the delay in an update...

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

Bamby

You and Dakota were in the bedroom, getting her dressed after a shower. She hadn’t spoken much, and was clinging to you like a magnet. The girl was terrified.

Not being able to reassure her, seeing her uncertainties mirrored in her eyes- eyes that looked so much like Dean’s- broke your heart.

“Can I stay in here?” she asked, voice small, gaze on the ground as she stood in front of you.

Kneeling on the ground, you tried to tilt your head to meet her eyes, but she avoided you. “Okay, just… if you need me I’ll be out in the living room with the girls.”

Humming and nodding, she turned away from you and climbed onto the bed, grabbing your laptop. You stayed where you were and watched as she opened it and turned on My Little Pony. She seemed content enough, sitting there and watching the show, so with sigh you left the room, making sure the door was open a crack for her.

Walking down the hall, it didn’t take long for you to hear voices and notice the new one.

“Are you a hunter?”

“Psychic,” Patience answered the new voice.

“Cool. You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

“Uh, Jody-”

Before Patience could continue the new voice cut her off, “Is she sleeping in my room too?”

“Actually, she’s in the guest room… but your room isn’t empty.”

Right as Jody finished, you walked into the living room. All eyes turned to you but yours were focused on the blonde teen girl who you recognised in an instant.

“Well crap… Claire, you grew up into… something else.”

Jimmy Novak had been a brief moment but one you hadn’t forgotten. When Cas had been pulled from his vessel and the brothers had to keep an eye on him, you were lucky enough to get dragged in. You’d been lucky enough to know his daughter for five minutes, but that had been enough.

You’d sympathised with the family, but especially with Claire, and when it came to Jimmy saying goodbye to them, when it came to him choosing to leave in order to save his daughter from Cas’ possession… it had broken your heart.

Her eyes looked you up and down as if she didn’t know you.

“Claire this is-”

“Y/N,” she cut Jody off. “I remember.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where have you been? ‘Cause it’s been years and Sam and Dean haven’t said a word. Thought you were dead.”

“I was trapped in an alternate universe.”

“Well damn.” She paused a moment, still checking up out, before asking, “You the one in my room?”

“Me and my daughter, yeah. If that’s a problem-”

“You have a daughter? Must be young, ‘cause you didn’t have one last time we met.”

“She’s almost seven.”

“Cool.” She nodded, clearly disinterested. “Okay, so… Sam and Dean, what do we know?”

“Hey Jody, thanks for your help earlier. So listen, we’re looking for someone, Kaia Nieves. She might be the key to saving Mom. So if you hear anything…”

“Gotta go, call you later.”

You sat on the couch with the rest of the women, listening to Sam and Dean on Jody’s voicemail. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the message, Jody had played it for you last night before you’d headed off to bed. Just because it wasn’t the first time you heard it, however, doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Dean was tense, more tense than usual. You could hear it in his tone. The guy was on edge, almost angry and desperate.

“Ow.” Claire flinched back from Alex who was fixing up a cut on her face.

Alex scoffed at her. “Baby.”

“That was three days ago, I haven’t heard anything since,” Jody explained, staying focused on the voicemail while her daughters bickered.

“What about the girl? Kaia?” Claire asked, swatting Alex away to grab at Kaia’s rap sheet as it sat on the coffee table.

“Yeah I ran her name through the system, she was picked up for possession in Minnesota and then she escaped from court ordered drug rehab three days ago. Warrant out for arrest,” Jody noted.

“Check the rehab centre and the local hospitals,” Claire suggested.

Ignoring Claire’s attempts at pushing her away, Alex kept trying to fix up her cut. “Already did.” Finishing up, she packed everything back into the first aid as she looked to Jody. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” With a sigh she stood and began to head for the front door.

“Where are you going?” Claire called out, stopping her.

Coming to a halt, Alex paused a moment before turning to her sister. “Night shift,” she answered shortly.

“So Sam and Dean are missing and you’re bailing?”

“I have a job, Claire.”

“Huh.” Claire leaned back in her seat with a shrug. “So do I, it’s called hunting.”

It was obvious that this wasn’t the first time this conversation had been brought up, and it was obviously getting on Alex’s last nerve. She understood, however, that Claire wasn’t the kind of person to argue with. You got the feeling she didn’t back down easily.

So, instead of responding, Alex gave Jody a tight smile. “Good luck.” This time when she went to leave there was no stopping her.

Once the door was closed, Claire turned to Jody. “What is she talking about? Hmm?”

“Claire...”

“If this is about me hunting alone, I know I should’ve called more, but I’m fine. I’m good! I’m safe.”

“No, you’re not!” Jody exclaimed. “Patience had a vision, that’s why she’s here.”

All eyes turned to Patience.

Looking from Jody to Claire, Patience swallowed nervously before explaining, “I… I saw you die.”

“Mummy?”

Shit.

You jumped to your feet just as Dakota came around the corner, clutching at her pillow. She looked tired, but mostly scared and sad. It was getting more and more heartbreaking seeing her like that…

“Hey.” You smiled as she headed your way. Getting to your knees, you waited for her to stop in front of you before you asked, “What’s up, bub?”

“Hungry,” she mumbled, eyes glancing over your shoulder at the women behind you. Her attention seemed to be focused on one person in particular. “Who is that?”

Looking back at who she was staring at, you spotted Claire watching her intently. “That’s Claire,” you answered, turning back to Dakota. “That’s Jody’s other daughter.”

“Is she De and Sam’s friend, too?”

“Yes she is.”

“Does she know where they are?”

“No, sweetie, but she’s gonna help us look for them,” you promised, rubbing her arms up and down. “Now why don’t we see if we can get you something to eat, huh?”

“I got her.” Jody got to her feet and offered her hand to your daughter. “Come on. I think we’ve got some left over pizza in the ridge.” She winked and smiled.

Dakota’s lips tugged into a smile of her own as she took Jody’s hand and let her led her into the kitchen.

Once you were sure she was out of earshot, you turned to Claire.

“She’s your daughter.”

“Yes.”

The way she was watching you made it clear there was more she wanted to say, but instead she kept her mouth shut and turned to Patience. “So every vision you have, it always comes true?”

“I don’t know,” Patience admitted. “I’m still figuring all this out.”

“So you might be wrong.”

Jody returned then, having set Dakota up at the dining table with cold pizza and Paw Patrol on her laptop. Making sure your daughter wasn’t listening, she then turned to her own. “Claire this is serious, I’m trying to protect you,” she told her, trying to keep her voice down.

“Jody, that’s always your excuse. Every time we’d go out on a hunt together you’d take care of the monster while I’d just wait in the car.”

“That happened one time.”

“It happened every time, Jody!” Claire countered. When Jody gave her a pointed look and gestured to your daughter, Claire snapped her mouth shut and took a moment before speaking again, this time a little more gentler, “You, you’ve never even seen what I can do.”

“Claire, if I put the brakes on you it’s because you can’t go dive bombing into every fight…”

“Yes I can,” Claire argued, getting to her feet to be on Jody’s level. “That’s how you save people. Sitting back and making the perfect plan, losing time, that’s how people end up dead.”

“And if you end up dead?”

There was a pause. Jody was pleading with her daughter, begging her to understand and step down. Claire was measuring the thought, reading Jody’s expression, and weighing her options. Unfortunately, she didn’t pick the way her mum hoped.

“I won’t.” She turned and walked to the dining table.

“Claire, you can’t just run away from this.”

“Watch me.” Grabbing her jacket from the back of one of the chairs and stormed out the front door.

The silence that followed was practically deafening and highly uncomfortable.

“Is she okay?” Dakota asked, causing everyone to turn to her.

Smiling, you shrugged as you headed her way. “She’s as okay as she can be with her friends missing.”

“She misses Sam and De, too?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, taking a seat next to her.

“We’ll find them. I know we will.” Reaching over, she slid her plate over towards you. “Want some pizza? You gotta eat, too.”

Your smile grew, becoming more genuine as you reached over to take one of the slices. “Thanks sweetie.”

She gave a sharp nod and turned back to her show. “You’re welcome.”

“I have to go find Claire.”

Turning n the doorway where you’d been watching Patience and Dakota watching Paw Patrol in the living room, you looked to Jody. “I get it.”

She smiled, looking over your shoulder at the girls. “You did a good job with her.”

“And you did a good job with your girls.”

You could practically see her heart swell as her eyes met yours. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If Claire gets her before me-”

“I’ll call you,” you assured her. “And I’ll keep an eye on Patience.”

Reaching over, she gave your arm a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Pretty sure I should be the one thank you.”

Letting your arm go, she smiled against before reaching for her jacket and heading out the front door. Once the wooden barrier was closed once more you turned back to the girls.

By the time Jody returned you’d managed to get Dakota in bed and semi-asleep. She was tired, but she was too worried to actually rest, so you just tucked her in and set her up with My Little Pony. Once you were certain she’s stay in bed and slowly drift, you headed out to join the others in the garage.

Opening the door and slipping in, you didn’t even flinch at the thing that they’d laid down on the table in the middle of the room.

“Wow.” You stepped up to Alex as she pulled on some latex glove. “Anyone got any idea what this thing is?” you asked.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Jody told you.

She wasn’t the only one who hadn’t seen anything like it. Out of all the monsters you’d dealt with in you hunter years, nothing had been quite like this. Or smelt like it.

The thing was slimy all over, with a layer of clear gooey stuff that covered it’d skin and clothes. You deduced that it was some kind of protective layering, perhaps to keep with safe from whatever elements they might be foreign to. Their clothes were all black, and a little chunky. It was a very primitive look, which just added to the intimidating feel of the creature.

It’s skin was what really caught your attention though. It was so pale, so stark, that you could see it’s bone structure and more veins than would be healthy on a human. It wasn’t a sight you’d easily forget.

“So…” You eyed the beast, leaning in to get a better look. “What’s under this?” Reaching out, you flicked the gas-mask-like thing it wore.

Alex shrugged. “Let’s find out.”

As Alex pulled the mask from the monster’s face, the smell intensified as long strings of the slime covering the thing followed the mask.

It smelt like wet, mouldy debris, and rotting meat. Like if you were to roll over a dead body in the woods and release the smell of the leaves, and dirt, and mould underneath.

Patience scrunched up her face and pulled back. “Oh god.”

“Don’t scream.,” Alex teased.

“Might puke,” Patience countered. “What is that?” she asked as Claire and Kaia- who they’d found at the hospital- walked in.

Jody shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“She does.” All eyes turned to Claire as she looked at Kaia. “It’s okay, you can tell.”

Hesitantly, Kaia stepped forward, keeping her eyes on the creature on the table. “Umm... I’m a dreamwalker. It means when I sleep I see another world, this other dimension.”

“Seriously?” Patience asked.

Kaia nodded. “The Bad Place, it’s where that came from.” She gestured to the creature. “Your friends, Sam and Dean, they wanted me to help them open a door to another world and we did but something went wrong.”

Jody frowned, a little confused. “Okay so then how did this thing end up here?”

“The door is still open,” Claire answered, a small smile on her lips. “If we find it we find Sam and Dean.”

“No.” Kaia shook her head. “If they’re there, they’re already dead.”

Your stomach dropped.

You were pacing, freaking out, trying not to spiral into a full blown panic. With nothing to keep you distracted, you mind kept concocting images of Sam and Dean dead. The idea of them being gone, after having only just getting them back, made you literally sick.

“I’m gonna throw up.” Dashing from the kitchen, you were headed for the bathroom when the front door suddenly burst open.

“We have to go. Now,” Patience ordered.

The look on her face told you she’d passed the level of panic you’d been trying to avoid.

“What?” Claire pushed off from the couch and stepped up to the other young woman.

“Those monsters? They’re coming. Lots of them,” Patience explained.

You groaned. “Can we not catch a break already?”

“They’re after me,” Kaia noted, so sure of herself.

Those words seemed to push a button inside Claire, making her stand straighter and stronger. “Then we should stay and fight.”

“There’s too many, they’ll kill us,” Patience argued.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Before you could tell Claire she was being a fool, Patience stepped up to her. The look she gave the blonde girl was one of frustration and determination.

“Look, I gave up a lot to come here. To do what was right, to save you. You want to brush that off? You want to think I’m a fake, fine. But I’m telling you right now we’re all in danger.”

There was no doubt in your mind that she believed every word coming out of her mouth, and that was enough for you.

“Jody, Alex, you’re in the car with me and Dakota. Patience, you’re taking Claire and Kaia,” you ordered, reaching for your coat. “Everyone start moving, now. The more distance we can get between us and them, the better.”

No one argued. Either surprised by your sudden orders, or understanding the severity of the situation, everyone did as you said and got moving, hurrying out of the place and fast as possible.

You were behind the wheel, speeding down the road, away from Jody’s. Patience was right behind you. Before you all left, Claire had grabbed a computer that was connected to the security cameras in the house. You had no doubt she was watching whatever was going on in the house, and you had no doubt it was horrifying.

“Hey.” Jody reached over to rest her hand on your shoulder. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“How do you know that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice down.

Dakota and Alex were behind you in the backseat. Ales was listening, while also looking out the window. She seemed relatively calm. Dakota was fast asleep once more. You knew, however, that she wasn’t going to stay asleep for much longer.

“What am I supposed to do now, Jody? Before, at your place, I knew she was safe. Now? Now we’re out here, without a shelter for her to stay secure in. Without a clue as to what’s going on. We still don’t know where Sam and Dean are, or if they’re still alive-”

“They’re alive,” she assured you. “If anyone can survive the ‘Bad Place’ it’s those two boys, and you know it.”

“Surviving it, and making it out of there before the door closes, are two very different things. How am I supposed to save them, and protect my daughter?”

She watched you carefully, hesitating before she suggested, “Do you want to sit this out?”

Your head snapped in her direction briefly before you turned back to the road. “What?”

“We’re here for you, Y/N. We won’t stop until we find the boys, you have my word. If this is too much, if you’re worried about Dakota… no one will blame you if you decide to go back to the bunker.”

“I would,” you corrected her.

“You would what?”

“I would blame myself. If anything happened to you or your girls. If anything happened to Sam and Dean.” You shook your head, tightening your grip on the steering wheel. “What kind of mother would I be if I left my daughter’s father’s life in the hands of others? I know I can do this, and that’s enough for me to know I need to be there. When Dean comes back through the portal I need to see it for myself, and I need to reassure him that she’s safe.” You gestured behind your shoulder. “I need to be there.”

“Okay then.” Jody gave a tight nod. “Then we’ll figure out everything else when the time comes.”

Bamby

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #apple of my eye

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ghostsgerard · 3 years ago

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man fuck this post all my homies hate this post

so guess what

it’s a fucking destiel fanfic now

700 words, deal with it

Another car pulls up. Castiel can tell by the loud ding he hears in his headset, indicating a customer. He could also see it on the monitor, if he bothers to watch the cameras. He holds back a sigh, and turns on his mic, repeating the same phrase he says all day, everyday.

“Welcome to McDonald’s, how can I help you?”

He typed in their order before asking them to pull forward.

A mobile order for a milkshake pops up on his screen, he reaches for a cup to make it when he freezes.

1 small vanilla milkshake

and there’s a note under the “special instructions” underneath.

“86 cherries” it reads.

What the fuck.

Castiel scratches his head before shrugging. Inias appears behind him, speaking loudly over his shoulder. “86 cherries? What the fuck?”

Castiel shrugs again. “Perhaps he meant 8 or 6 and it was a mistake.”

“Nah, customers are fucking weird. He probably just wants a shit ton,” Inias says before going back to his task.

“86 fucking cherries?” Charlie whisper-shouts.

Castiel once again just shrugs and continues blending the milkshake.

“What are you gonna do?” Charlie stands awkwardly to the side, eye wide looking at him and the screen. “Are you gonna count out 86 cherries?”

While that would be petty, Castiel doesn’t have time for that, or patience. And he’s sure there’s some point he needs to charge for the cherries, and looking at his jar, he doesn’t think there are 86 in there.

He finished the milkshake, and forgoes whipped cream. “I guess I’ll just…. put a bunch on there, hope he doesn’t count.”

Charlie nods, but doesn’t move. She watched him shove as many maraschino cherries he could fit into the plastic dome lid. He didn’t end up counting, but the milkshake is beginning to look like something you’d find in a cannibal’s refrigerator.

He give Charlie a look, she nods approvingly, as if to say yeah that works.

He takes note of the customers name and brings the order to the front. “Dean.” he says.

Presumably, Dean walks up, with a kind smile and golden freckles dusting his skin. Castiel is almost mesmerized by him, until his eyes dart toward the milkshake and his face falls.

“Hi, uh, I’m Dean.”

Castiel holds the milkshake up.

“I, uh. Actually I didn’t want any cherries.” Dean looks somewhat amused and horrified at the god awful amount of cherries shoved onto his vanilla milkshake.

“I’m confused,” is all Castiel says as he brings the milkshake back down and checks the ticket again. 86 cherries. “You wrote you wanted 86 cherries.” He holds the milkshake up again. “This is, well it’s not 86, I don’t think I can give you that much, but there’s a lot.”

“Yes, I see that.” Dean laughs a little uncomfortably. “86 kinda means like none.”

Castiel stares at him.

“Like ix-nay… nix?” Dean falters. “Eight miles out, six feet under in bar speak?”

Castiel blinks. “Sir, this is a McDonald’s.”

Dean scratches the back of his head. “Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s restaurant slang, like for out of stock but can kinda mean take off. I used to work at a restaurant, the Roadhouse, they used that.”

“Why would you not use ‘no’? It has the same amount of characters. Infact the number zero is even less characters.” Castiel is trying not to sound rude. He’s genuinely confused, and it comes out as blunt.

“Right, well, that’s my bad, I’ll just—“ Dean reaches to take the milkshake, but Castiel pulls it back out of reach.

“No, I’ll remake it.”

“Man, that’s not necessary, I messed up.” Dean reached for the shake again, wrapping his hand around it, his fingers brushing Castiel’s. Castiel doesn’t let go. “Listen, my brother likes those kinds of cherries, he’ll eat them.”

Castiel stares for a minute longer before letting go. “If you insist.” He doesn’t like the idea of messing up Dean’s order, he also doesn’t normally offer to remake something unless the customer specifically asks for it.

“See ya, Cas.” Dean offers a smile before walking away, meeting up with a tall man with long hair, presumably his brother, who wrinkles his nose when Dean offers him his cherries, shaking his head and pushing the shake away. Dean laughs at his brother’s adverse reaction.

Cas hopes he sees Dean tomorrow but he also hopes to never see him again.

86 fucking cherries.

will never forget when i worked in a fast food joint. some customer wrote like “86 cherries” on their mobile order, as like a pretentious way of say no cherries, but the store was run by a bunch of high schoolers who are working their first job so they collectively went “why the fuck does this guy want 86 fucking cherries” and like piled them onto his milkshake

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rebellious-chi · 5 years ago

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FMR Chapter 2

My POV

After Sam went to bed, I spent my time alone writing down the recent events in a fanfiction. I was slightly startled when Cas entered the bunker at 6:41. “Hello, Rachel.” He said. “Cas? What were you doing out all night?” I question. “There was some business in heaven I needed to attend.” He said. “Really? Like what?” I asked. “There’s a rogue angel killing people in a small town.” He explains. “Oh, do you think it could be a case?” I ask. “Maybe, it’s in Big Sandy, Tennessee.” He states. “Great, do you want coffee?” I ask him, knowing he and Dean like black coffee. “Yes, that sounds pleasant.” Cas smiles, taking a seat. “Alrighty.” I smile back and head to the kitchen.

When I turned on the coffee machine, Dean walked in. “You look terrible.” I laugh. “Shut up.” He groaned, rubbing his face. “You know, I heard from a wise person once a great way to get rid of hangovers.” I say, smirking to myself. “Yeah? What’s that?” He asked. “A greasy pork sandwich served served up in a dirty ashtray.” I giggle. “I hate you.” He groaned. “I know you do” I smirk. “Do you want coffee?” I ask. “Yeah.” He answers as if it shouldn’t even be a question.

Dean’s POV

She grabs three cups and pours coffee into them. She gets creamer and pours some in the first one. “I like my coffee-“ I start to say but she finishes my sentence. “Black, I know.” She says. “What are you? Psychic?” I ask. “Totally.” She jokes, rolling her eyes.

She takes the cups for her and Cas into the library and I take mine to the war room and find Kyler snoring. “Dude, wake up.” I say, shoving his shoulder and he sits up straight fast. “I’m awake!” He shouts.

When the clock hit 9:45, everyone was up. Cas told Sam about a possible case that we should investigate and after breakfast, we packed for the road.

Kyler’s POV

I forgot we stole a van. Karly, Jax, Gibbs, and I through our bags in the back of the van that Sam was going to drive and I called shotgun. Gibbs and Karly listened to music while either playing a game or taking selfies because they kept laughing. Jax was occupied with music and drawing in the back pair of seats, sitting sideways. Andrew insisted on riding in the Impala with Cas and Dean so he did. Rachel was a give-in on riding with them because of how obsessed with Cas she is so there’s no surprise there.

Sam turned on the radio two hours in and ‘New Perspective’ by Panic! At The Disco comes on. Four hours later, Dean texts Sam saying he’s hungry so we stop at a Biggerson’s and get some food. “Quit eating like you’ve been starved for weeks, you’re embarrassing me.” Sam tell his brother as Dean gorges himself in the food in front of him.

Andrew’s POV

After lunch, we got on the road again. “Five more hours.” Rachel sighed, putting in her earbuds. “Five hours isn’t so bad.” Dean said, but she was already in her own little world. Two hours after lunch, Dean called bathroom break when he saw a Gas ‘n Sip and pulled in. “Alright, everyone get out and go to bathroom. We have three hours to go and I don’t plan on stopping again until we get to the motel.” He said. “Okay.” Rachel said, getting out and walking in. I got out and followed Dean to the restroom. “Can you get some snacks and drinks?” He asks me. “Sure.” I reply. “Thanks, man.” He says, handing me a 20$ bill. I grab a bunch of snacks and take them to the cashier. “You’re buying all of this?” The man asks me. “Um, yeah.” I answer. “I don’t do business with kids like you.” He tells me with an angry look. “Get lost.” He adds. “You know what? You can get fucked in the ass with a peanut because you eat pickles and wipe your face with diapers!” I yell at him. “Excuse me?” He asks furiously. “Okay, we just want some snacks, here’s your money.” Rachel says, rushing over with Dean to avoid any fights that might’ve taken place. Dean grabs the food off the counter and walks out quickly. “Have a nice day, sir!” Rachel tells him, grabbing my arm and dragging me back to the Impala.

“‘Get fucked in the ass with a peanut?’” Rachel questions, giggling. “Dude, we’ve gotta work on your insults.” Dean chuckled, turning on the engine. “Wait, where’s Cas?” Andrew asked. We all looked at each other, trying to figure out where the angel went. “I’ll get him.” Rachel said, running inside. “Go with her, I don’t know if that guy is angry with just you or all three of us.” Dean yells me and I rush after her. “Hey, me again. Sorry, have you seen a 5’11 man in a trench coat?” I hear her ask. “Yeah, he’s- what are you doing back here?” He glares at me. “Andrew, I can find Cas on my own. Go back to the car, we don’t need to start a fight.” Rachel tells me, then turns back to the cashier. I leave, but stay by the door to listen. “Just to be clear, you’re talking about the attractive guy dressed as Constantine?” He asks. “Yes, that one.” She says, I could hear her snap her fingers and point her bisexual finger guns. “He’s looking at the news papers.” He tells her. “Thank you so much.” She tells him and the next thing I know, she’s walking out with Cas.

Karly’s POV

For the final three hours of driving, Gibbs and I made fools of ourselves on the internet and listened to music. When we got to the motel, Sam received two keys from his brother and came back to the van. “Karly, Gibbs, you two will be roommates.” He tells us, handing me a key with a room number. “Cool!” We exclaim.

We grab our bags and take them to our room. Gibbs took the bed next to the door and I took the other one. “I’m going to take a shower.” I say, walking to the bathroom with my bag. “Okay.” Gibbs says, getting out his pajamas.

Jax’s POV

When Andrew walked in front of the van and held up a key, I knew I was going to share a room with him and Kyler. “Come on.” I say as I climb out, nudging Kyler.

When we get to the room, Kyler falls on the bed opposite of the door. “So Jax, who’re you gonna share a bed with?” Andrew asks me. “The couch, you perv.” I answer. “Won’t that be uncomfortable?” He questions. “It’s a pullout, dumbass.” Kyler mumbles. “Oh. Well, I’m gonna take a shower then go to bed.” Andrew tells us. “Mkay.” I say, removing the cushions and pulling out the hidden bed. Since Kyler was basically asleep, I changed while Andrew took a shower and flipped on the bed.

Cas’s POV

“Rachel, you and Cas are gonna room together this week.” Dean says, tossing a key at her. “Um, what?” She asks, confusion in her voice. “Since neither of you sleep, I thought I would put both of you in the same room.” He explained. “Oh.” She says and I follow her to our room. “Which bed do you want?” She asks me. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t sleep.” I reply. “I sleep when I feel safe, otherwise I don’t.” She explains, placing her bag on the bed opposite to the door. “That’s not healthy, usually, humans need at least 8 hours of sleep a night.” I tell her. “Yeah, well I’m not ‘usual’ and I never will be, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She half-smiles at me. “When was the last time you slept?” I ask curiously. “The night my parents were murdered.” She said in a cold tone. “I’m sorry about your parents.” I tell her. “It’s fine, if I’m being honest, it lead me to a great place. I’m better off here then anywhere else and I feel like I fit in a little more.” She tells me. “If you need to talk, I can listen.” I say, sitting on the motel bed. “Thanks, Cas.” She smiles. “You’re welcome, Rachel.” I smile back.

I turn on the TV and flip through the channels and find ‘Dr. Sexy’. 5 minutes in, Rachel and I are squinting in confusion. “I seriously can’t understand why Dean likes this show.” She says. “Neither can I.” I agree. I reach over to the nightstand and turn it off. I walk over to the small table and pick up the newspaper I got from the gas station and read some of the stories while Rachel gets out her phone and starts to write.

At 4:34, I hear someone screaming and stand up. “Stay here.” I tell her. “What happened?” She asks. “I’m not sure, it might be the angel.” I suggest as I walk out the door. I stop when I see an all too familiar face standing over a dead body. “Lucifer?” I hear Rachel’s voice behind me and I turn around. “I told you to stay in the room.” I glare at her. “I don’t follow anyone’s orders.” She says, shifting her wait and putting her hands on her hips. “I like her already, who is she?” Lucifer asks. “If you like me, you’ll love Jax.” Rachel tells him. “I’m Rachel.” She says, walking up and offering her hand to him. “I see you already know who I am.” He says, shaking her hand. Rachel turns around and looks at me. “I don’t get how everyone hates this guy, he seems cool.” She says. “Thank you.” He seemed genuinely touched by my comment. “Lucifer, why are you killing people in this town?” I ask sternly. “I’m not.” He says to me. “Then who is?” I ask, not convinced. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” He replies. “Not to side with anyone, but if you aren’t doing this then why are you standing over a lifeless person that I assume to be the person that screamed bloody murder?” Rachel asks. “I heard the scream as well and flew over here.” He defends. “His alibi seems legit.” She tells me. “It’s Lucifer, he could be lying.” I say. “Castiel, I’ve watched Supernatural so much that I can tell when one of the characters is lying.” She glares at me. “Fine, go back to the room, I’ll have Balthazar take you and your friends back to the bunker while the Winchesters and I solve this case.” I tell her. “Okay, 1:you sound like an FBI agent, and 2: no way, we’re going on this hunt.” She tells me. “Fine, but if this goes wrong, you won’t be allowed to go on any hunts until all of you are ready.” I warn her. “Awesome!” She exclaims and runs back to the room, but not without turning around and yelling “Don’t go anywhere, Luci! You’re going to meet your biggest fan tomorrow!” at Lucifer and slamming the door.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N- I’m sorry for the crappy ending and all of the cringe in this series. I know it kinda leaves off on a cliffhanger but the hunt will be in the next chapter along with a slight twist so I hope to be finished with the next part of the series within the next two days or so. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and have a great rest of your day!

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abadoodlesss · 6 years ago

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Sometimes the Job’s Worth It - Chapter Eleven

Tag List: @jadepc @mypage-myfandoms @bellero @colie87 @jokerslittlemunster (just ask to be added!)

Read Previous Chapters Here.

Next: Chapter Twelve

Summary: Jane gets in a bit of trouble with the boys and of course Dean’s a softie, but not for the reasons you think.

(Meant to have this out way sooner! It’s been done for three days now I’ve just had no time to edit but thank you for the patience!!)

“Well that was pointless.” Dean said as he climbed down the steps of the Whittaker household, Sam by his side.

“Tell me about it.” Sam said as he scrolled through his phone, searching for Jane’s number. He pressed call as he slid into the passenger seat. It rang and rang but there was no response. He called again but got the same results.

“She’s not picking up.”

Instead of responding, Dean pulled out his phone and started dialing.

“Cas?” Dean growled into his phone.

“You don’t need to worry, Dean. I’m with Jane.” He replied in his usual monotone voice, anticipating Dean’s anger.

“Do you want to explain why?”

“She called me.” Cas stated.

“You didn’t think to question that. Cas you can’t just- We have no idea where she is right now, great that she’s safe with you, but you can’t just let her disappear on us like that.”

“She’s perfectly safe here with me in the Bunker, there’s no need to worry.”

“Cas- just don’t pull that shit again, alright? Jane doesn’t go anywhere unless we know and approve. She doesn’t know what she’s doing; you can’t just listen to her.”

“She said I could trust her, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, buddy. We’re on our way home now.”

Dean hung up, tossing his phone into a cup holder as he sped off towards the Bunker.

The boys made it home in record time.

They slammed their car doors in unison and stormed down the halls until they came to the war room. They burst through the doors to find Jane with her back turned to them, leaning over the table.

Dean opened his mouth, ready to scold Jane for the stunt she just pulled but she cut him off, spinning around to face the boys.

“Woman in white.” Jane said as she presented them with a book, opened to a page with a ghostly woman standing beside a tree.

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“A woman in white, that’s what’s causing all the disappearances.” Jane said proudly as she handed over the book, returning to the table which the boys now noticed was covered in different books and papers.

Dean took the book from Sam’s hands and read for himself. He didn’t even remember that women in white existed. They hadn’t faced one since- it was the very first case the brothers went on together, back when Sam went to college, back when his life was normal, back when-

Dean’s train of thought derailed when Jane spoke, “I’ve been doing a little research of my own-”

“A little?” Dean said with a chuckle that Sam didn’t appreciate.

“You’ve done a lot of research, behind our backs.” Sam added in his stern voice. The Winchesters agreed Jane would have no part in hunting, yet here Dean was, joking with Jane when he should be helping Sam discipline.

“Don’t scold me, I might have cracked this case for you.” Jane said to Sam, grabbing some of her materials off the table. “At the Whittaker’s house, I overheard a conversation those women were having in the kitchen. Howard Whittaker,” Jane said, taking out the little profile the boys made on him, “was cheating on his wife. A woman in white ‘targets those that are unfaithful to their wives as the women in white were rejected or deceived by men in their life’.” Jane finished, quoting the book in Dean’s hands from memory.

“That might just be a coincidence, besides, not all the men were cheating. One was single.” Dean said, joining Jane’s side as he looked over the work she’d done.

“Dean.” Sam scolded. “Shouldn’t we deal with the whole sneaking-out-and-disrupting-an-investigation-and-then-disappearing-thing and the getting-involved-with-the-paranormal-even-though-we-said-not-to-thing first?”

Dean looked at his brother them Jane. Jane looked at Dean with her pleading green eyes. She wasn’t doing this to be rebellious, she was doing this because she genuinely wanted to help and Dean could understand and respect that.

“She might have something here, Sam.” Dean defended.

Jane’s pleading eyes softened as her face beamed with the most grateful smile Dean had ever seen. He couldn’t help but copy it.

“I’m sure that I do. I thought about all the factors too. Women in white ‘will also prey upon those she influences and seduces into committing adultery’. And the single guy could have cheated in the past.” She explained. “Also, the last known location of three victims was this pub.” Jane said pointing to a map. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“We’ll go check it out.” Dean said, taking the map.

“Shouldn’t we talk about this more? I mean this is just a theory right now.” Sam interjected, taking the map away.

“Do you have anything better?” Jane asked.

They didn’t. Sam couldn’t deny it.

“I guess we’ll go check it out.” He said, feeling his anger subside when he saw the proud smile on Jane’s face. “You’re not coming with us, though.” He added.

“On one condition.” She wagered. “You let me help with research.”

“Jane-”

“I get you want to protect me, but there’s no harm in this. Besides, what else am I going to do in here? Maybe I’ll stop trying to leave if I’m not so bored out of my mind.” She said. “Also, not to mention that I��m pretty damn good at this.”

“Don’t get cocky.” Dean said. “But I think you make a good point.”

“Dean-” Sam let out a sigh “Can I talk to you alone for a second?”

The brothers wandered over out of earshot of Jane. “It may sound harmless now, Dean, but we can’t keep giving in. First, we let her start researching, then she starts helping on investigations, then she’s begging to come hunting.”

“You’re overthinking again, Sammy.”

“I’m not. It might get to that point, Dean, and I don’t think you have the willpower to keep saying no to her.”

“Look, we took Jane with us to protect her. If we say no, she’s gonna keep trying to get the hell out of here to have something to do. This will tide her over for a while.”

“A while? And then when she gets bored again?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Dean-”

“Sammy look, just trust me right now, okay?” Dean said in a whisper before looking away. Sam knew something was going on but he stayed quiet. He knew Dean wasn’t ready to explain himself just yet, so Sam would just have to trust him.

“Alright, I do.” Sam said with a nod.

“Good.” Dean then whirled around, instantly putting on a bright face. “We’ve reached a verdict.” He announced.

“Don’t keep a girl in suspense.” Jane said, leaning against the table.

“Welcome to Team Free Will.”

Jane launched herself at the boys, throwing her arms around their necks as she pulled them in for a family hug. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” She exclaimed. “I won’t let you down.” She promised, as she pulled away.

“Alright, team. What’s the plan?” Dean asked as they all took a seat around the table.

“Next left.” Sam said.

The boys took off in the Impala in search of the pub where the latest victims were last seen. Jane promised to stay home this time, though that didn’t stop the boys from checking the backseat before they left.

They were driving down a long quiet road with sparse streetlights, the radio playing softly as the brothers drove, neither speaking unless it was about directions.

There was a weird energy in the car, it was uncomfortable. Dean shifted in his seat, turning up the raido a little louder to drown out the silence. Why wasn’t Sam talking to him? Was he mad about letting Jane help still? Dean told Sam to trust him, was that not enough?

“It’s coming up on your right,’ Sam said before tossing the directions Jane gave him to the side.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, finding a spot right up front. He threw the car in park before turning to his brother.

“Alright, what’s up with you?” He asked.

“Nothing, lets go.” Sam said, moving to get out of the car but Dean quickly pressed the button that locked all the doors. “Dean, c’mon just-” Sam said, fiddling with the door handle.

“Something’s going on.” Dean pressed.

“It’s nothing,” Sam said with a sigh.

“What, are you still mad about letting Jane help?”

“It’s not that.” Sam said. ‘I’ve just been thinking about the last time we had a woman in white case.”

“Yeah, it was our first hunt together.” Dean recalled.

“A lot changed that day. I gave up on college, I started hunting again, Jess-” Sam stopped for a moment. “I just don’t want that to happen to Jane.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to sigh. “It’s not going to.”

“How do you know? I mean she’s going to get wrapped up in this world and she’s gonna turn out just like us. Is that really what you want? I know you told me to just trust you and I’m trying to but I don’t think you’re really thinking about this.”

“You’re the one not thinking about this shit, Sam.” Dean growled, looking down at his hands.

“No, I really think you believe this is all gonna be fine, you’re ignoring the danger this is gonna put her in, why? Because you want her to be happy? I know you love that kid, I do too, but we don’t always get what we want, she’ll get over it.”

“Damn it, Sam.” Dean said, slamming his fist into his door. The car was silent except for Dean’s deep breaths. “Don’t you get it?” He sounded broken.

“Dean-”

“We both know she’s not gonna make it very long.” He said. “I mean Lucifer and Michael are after her. Look how that turned out for us, you think Jane’s gonna be able to make it through all that?” Sam stayed quiet, unable to look at his brother. “I just- I don’t want whatever’s left of her life to be miserable. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“Alright, I get it.” Sam said.

They sat in silence for another minute.

“Let’s go.” Dean said, finally unlocking the doors. He got out and slammed his shut, walking towards the pub before Sam was even out of the car.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural imagine #reader #oc #dean winchester #sam winchester #sister winchester #daughter winchester #castiel #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #castiel x reader #Michael #lucifer #woman in white

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