#WHEEL IN THE SKY ; castiel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

naughtystiel · 9 months

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Golden light bathed their surroundings, vivid green leaves of a tree that they were sitting on looked like tiny pieces of stained glass against the sun. On the other side of the tree, on a thick branch was Dean, his eyes sparkling with joy when he glanced at Castiel. Small shadows danced on his features like a kaleidoscope, so mesmerising it was hard to look away.

Castiel’s fingers fumbled with the hem of a tee that he once had stolen from his best friend, so long ago the material started to wear thin in some spots. It was battered, but it was his favourite piece of clothing he owned. As he chewed on his bottom lip, pleasant breeze tousled his dark curls that gained a few lighter strands from the time spent out in the summer sun. The wind carried Dean’s quiet humming, one of songs that they used to listen to on an old walkman. Sometimes they sat on a hill and stared at the night sky, sharing a set of earphones, accompanied by music from a mix tape they had created together.

The branch creaked underneath him as he shuffled in his spot, trying to change his position. His best friend gave him a curious look, his face pressed against dark bark as he wrapped his arms around the tree, “What are you doing?”

Clumsily, Castiel hung his legs over and swung back, his arms now swaying slightly, the tips of his fingers brushing long grass underneath him. In result, the gravity pulled his tee down, covering the blush that spread over his cheeks, “Hanging.” He mumbled and Dean barked out a laugh, “Yeah, I can see that now. Don’t stay upside down too long or all the blood will rush to your head.”

Suddenly, Dean jumped off the tree and walked up to Castiel. A brush of fingers on his torso made Castiel shiver, but all Dean did was lift the tee up to expose his friend’s face, and grinned, “It’s already working, buddy. Your face matches the shade of fuschias in my mom’s garden.”

In lack of any good comeback, Castiel stuck out his tongue like a child and tried to swing himself enough to be able to reach the branch again. His fingers slipped on the crumbly bark before he could get a good grip, but instead of the hard landing that he embraced himself for, was met with a pair of strong arms. For a second, relieved about being saved from possible bruises or fractures, he laughed. Then, it occurred to him that he was, in fact, still upside down and his rear end was shoved right in Dean’s face. Squirming in the tight grip, he tried to wiggle his way out, but instead made his friend lose balance and they tumbled down to the ground. Once more, embarrassed, Castiel crawled away from Dean who was laughing so much his whole body was shaking, “Are you okay?”

Dean nodded and swatted a blade of grass away that kept tickling his nose before pushing his hair back, “Yup, all good. Let’s go!” Before Castiel knew it, his legs were carrying him after Dean, who held his wrist while running towards bikes that they had left nearby. As they cycled on a path that divided two endless fields, wildflowers scattered all over them, they tried to let go of the handlebars, spreading their arms wide open. Any negative thoughts fled from Castiel’s head and got replaced with the carefree feeling, with pure joy of just existing in the moment. Sweet scent of flowers followed them and Castiel took a few deep breaths that filled his lungs with the smell of contentment. The feeling travelled through his whole body, seeping through his bones right to the core. In this moment, nothing else mattered.

An uneven sandy patch made his front wheel swivel and without his palms on the handlebars, the bike turned right into the tall grass that cushioned his fall. Before he could get up, Dean’s hand was already waiting for him, reaching out to be grabbed. So, with a grateful smile, Castiel accepted and got pulled up, “Dude, you gotta stop falling.” His friend teased, but Castiel’s heart quickened its pace. Combined with the previous rush of adrenaline, it was basically hammering against his chest.

“I can’t.” he blurted out, but before Dean could question him about his strange answer he grabbed the bike and jumped on, pedalling as fast as he could, “We’re racing to the lake!” he called out behind his shoulder, a mischievous smile on his face.

“You’re cheating! Stop distracting me then!” Dean yelled back, quickly mounting his own cranky bike. It was hard not to laugh around him and it was one of the reasons why Castiel was glad that he could call Dean his best friend. In fact, his only friend, but spending time with Dean made him feel like he wasn’t lacking anything and judging by how Dean acted around him, he felt exactly the same. Some would say that they acted like kids, and perhaps they were, a pair of kids with scraped knees trapped in bodies of people who had already lived for over twenty five years. Selfishly, he hoped that it would stay like this for many more years to come.

The path they followed turned right, but there was a shortcut through a field with short green grass that Castiel decided to take. Soon, he let the gravity do its thing and the bike accelerated on its own, speeding down a hill. A sound, close to a howl of joy, erupted from his chest when he lifted his legs up, tightly holding onto the handlebars, so he wouldn’t fall.

Again.

Dean’s own laughter could be heard just behind him, so Castiel knew his friend was catching up with him. All too soon, the lake appeared in front of him and when he pulled onto the brakes, they didn’t work. Panicked, he tried to stop the bike, repeatedly pulling onto the brakes, but it did nothing against the speed he had gained cycling down the hill. Then, accepting his fate, he held tight and let himself go down with his ship. At first, the cold water was like a shock to his body that was warm from being exposed to the sun, but soon enough it became pleasant. His head resurfaced from beneath the lake, his wet curls sticking to his forehead. Heavy drops of water dripped down his face and eyelashes, making his vision slightly blurry. To his surprise, he found himself not being injured, apart from a small scrape to his elbow.

“What the hell happened?” Dean laughed, jumping right onto Castiel that was attempting to fish his bike out of the lake. When he managed to push Dean off, uncontrollable laughter echoing around them, Castiel swung his arms so they made contact with the surface, and splashed his best friend right in the face. After a short splashing war, they were both breathless, with huge grins on their faces, “Peace?” Castiel panted, reaching his hand out to Dean, who nodded and shook it. Together, they got the bike out to the small wild beach and rested it next to Dean’s. Once that was done, they took off their tees, leaving only shorts on, and hung them on a bush to dry.

The sky started to turn dark blue with a layer of orange hues dividing it from the trees on the horizon. The atmosphere shifted alongside with the changes in their surroundings, from energised to more sedated.

Castiel had known Dean for so long, that they were able to communicate without the need to use words. With a small nod, they started gathering twigs and small branches that later got placed in a pile on the sand. Back in the water, they found some bigger stones and used them to surround the wood. Dean reached into his pocket, the wet shorts still clinging to his body, and pulled out a lighter, “Here goes nothing.”

At first, there was no flame, but after shaking it a few times an orangey glow appeared. Their gaze locked and Castiel wondered if his eyes were mirroring the happiness that he could see in Dean’s. Using some dry leaves, they set the bonfire aflame and sat down, their legs crossed. The gap between them was small, but immediately Dean scooted even closer, so their knees brushed.

The warm glow danced on their features and the cracking sound of wood slowly being burned by the fire created a comfortable bubble that they occupied. They sat there, enjoying the private smiles and glances in between songs that they sang, warmth spreading within Castiel that wasn’t caused by the bonfire in front of them. With Dean, he felt content, whole. There wasn’t anything that he would change about their friendship.

Perhaps, apart from one.

His fingers itched to entwine with Dean’s, he wanted to rest his head on his friend’s chest and listen to the steady and comforting heartbeat. Finding out what Dean’s lips tasted of was a mystery that he wanted to solve, so so badly. But he restrained himself, for years.

The songs died out as time passed, the sky darkening with every minute until stars started to appear and lazily blink over their heads. Castiel got up, wiping off any sand that stuck to his shorts, and checked on their tees that were now dry. When he turned to pass Dean his, his friend was right in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face. Something shifted in Castiel’s stomach, concern and worry replacing the carefree feeling, “What’s wrong?”

Dean reached out for his tee, but his fingers lingered on Castiel’s, “Nothing, I just…” he trailed off and shook his head, finally grabbing the piece of clothing and pulling it over his head.

“Dean, we’re best friends. You know you can tell me anything.”

The man visibly hesitated and chewed on his bottom lip, averting his gaze away, before taking a deep breath and locking his gaze back with Castiel’s, “That’s the thing. What did you mean when you said that you couldn’t stop falling earlier? Do you ever wanna be-”

“Yes.” Castiel blurted out, cutting off Dean’s question. He could be wrong, maybe Dean didn’t intend on finishing it with more, but God, he hoped he was right, because otherwise he would fall apart. Now, that the possibility was so close, he would do anything to launch himself onto it and hold tight.

A pair of soft lips connected with his and Castiel’s heart rate quickened once more. The kiss was slow, tender and they poured every unspoken feeling that accumulated throughout the years of their friendship into it. Now, it could bloom into something more. But maybe, it was always there, slowly creeping up until it quietly settled down and waited to be discovered.

When they parted, their foreheads rested against each other. Without any more hesitation, their fingers entwined with a soft brush, “This is love. Right?” Castiel smiled and Dean nodded, “Yeah and there’s so much more on my tongue so take a bite and let it linger.”

#destiel #destiel ficlet #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #spn #spn ficlet #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural ficlet #supernatural fic #vin.txt #vince writes #vmart #drabble.txt

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loveofastarvingdog · 10 months

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ten line challenge 💪

tagged by @littlebitofdiaz hiii beloved <3

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able to and see if there are any patterns!

Simple as a Weathervane (destiel) They're about halfway through summer when Dean first brings it up.

Sunrise with the Dealers and the Dancers (buddie) Buck should've seen it coming, is the thing.

From the Mud of my Body, I Create You (destiel) Dean's not so unsettled, anymore.

Gold in the Edges of Our Vision (destiel) The sun's warm in an unpleasant, sticky sorta way.

Don't Make Me Say It (What Would I Even Say?) (buddie) Okay, so when Eddie said he remembered the initial impact, remembered thinking “this is the last moment of my life,” remembered waking up… Well, okay, so he might have lied.

Brand New Things and Second Lives (destiel) The road here is a mix of gravel and old asphalt, not cracked so much as crumbling into itself; All at once auto-cannibalism and returning to the earth's welcoming body.

I Don't Hide My Love; I Don't Cover It Up (destiel) Dean's hands are dry where they curl absently over the steering wheel, Winter across the western States biting in deeper than he expected.

lovely to just lay here with you (destiel) Dean’s lying with his hand on Cas’ hip.

Lullabies and other Love Stories (destiel) See, the thing is, Dean knows his voice ain't worth shit.

I Spread Forth My Hands Unto Thee (destiel) The sky has bloomed open into a lovely blue spread by the time Castiel cracks his eyes open, one sleep-stuck eyelid at a time.

Not sure there's a theme here, aside for the fact that i'm a big fan of short sentences to start fics <3

tagging @faithdeans @saintedcastiel @heller-castiel @pinknatural and frankly anyone who writes fic and follows me <3

#tag game #timothy's txts.

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wormstacheangel · 2 years

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Day Five: Perfect Disaster

His day was shit.

No other way to say it. If he looked up to the sky there’ll be a little gray cloud over his head, following him around like the kicked puppy. Never in his life has he felt so defeated and embarrassed all at the same time but here he was, coffee stain down his shirt and all.

The knock at his passenger side window made him jump, slamming his knees into the steering wheel.

“Oops.” Castiel heard from whoever knocked. “Sorry, man, but I tried calling you but you weren’t answering.”

Cas looked at his phone, tapping the screen a few times only to realize with defeat that the only lifeline he had was dead. “Aw fuck.” Cas showed the person the black screen. “It’s dead.”

And maybe that was the last inconvenience he could take for the day because next thing he knew the world started to blur and his chest started to ache while he let out a loud nasty sob of a cry.

“Whoa!” The passenger door opened with a click and Cas didn’t even care if he didn’t know the person at the moment. “You okay? It’s just a flat tire.”

“No!” Cas cried, finally looking at the stranger and his heart skipped a beat. “You’re hot!”

“What?”

“You’re hot! You’re hot and I’m a fucking mess!” Cas hid his face into the steering wheel to cry. “Fuck! This has to be the worst day of my fucking life!”

“Cause I’m hot?”

Cas heard the smile on his voice, “You’re teasing me?” He turned to peek one eye at the hot mechanic guy.

“No! No. Of course not.”

Cas sat up and wiped his face, glaring at the name tag. “Dean?”

“Yeah. And you’re Castiel.”

Cas nodded. “Well, Dean, I had a very very bad day. And I don’t need your judgment right now.”

Dean raised his hands with a shrug, an innocent little smile on his face. “Hey, dude, your business is yours. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not.”

“You wanna elaborate. You know, just so I can tell the police later why you decided to run your car into a tree.”

Cas sighed, copying Dean’s body language as they faced each other in the cramped up car. “My boyfriend broke up with me and took my cat. I lost my job that I’ve been in for ten years. Then I dropped my coffee all over myself. And I don’t know how to change a fucking tire!”

“Wow.”

“Exactly. So excuse me for having a breakdown.”

“Well, at least we can fix one of those things right now.” Dean opened his passenger door and got out. Leaning back down to motion Cas to follow him. “Come on, I’ll teach you to change a tire.”

Cas got out hesitantly, watching Dean walk over to his side to look at the flat back tire. “Really?”

Dean motioned Cas closer. “Sure! I taught my little brother I sure as hell can teach you too!”

Cas smiled back, Dean’s contagious smile was already growing on him. “Thank you, Dean.”

“No problem, Cas.”

#suptober22 #destiel #wormstachewrites #ficlet #drabble

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arsonistsam · 1 year

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Tagged by @yourmadnesswon thank you so much :)😻

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

A lot of these are explicit in some way or have some triggering content so mind tags

Allure (only one chapter so far):

Brady keeps one hand on the wheel and the other banging on the back of Sam’s seat as he raps.“Really?” Sam moves his gaze from out the window to Brady’s side profile. “Hell yeah, man, don’t insult Jay-Z.” “Jay-Z isn’t the problem here, if I have to listen to your rapping one more time I’ll launch myself out of this car.”

Humanity 201, for Non-Beginners:

The day after Castiel comes back, Sam takes him to see Dean’s grave. The day after that he drives them both to the local community college. Sam burns red when the lady at the front desk informs them that most of the enrollment process has been digitized. Castiel stays silent behind him, like a young school child instead of being older than the concept of time. His knees creak and he feels old.

Evocation:

“It’s your birthday.” Dean picks up his head and stops shifting through his bag of tapes. “Yeah. I guess it is.” “You guess?” Mary holds the door handle in her fingers like she’s ready to dip out at any point. Dean leans back in his chair. “I know it’s my birthday. Is that what you want?”

The Winds of Time Pass Me By:

Dean’s dad never took them to the movies. He thought it was a waste of time. Spewed all this shit about expensive snacks that Dean and Sam never even finished, how crowded and loud the lobby got. He had a thick case of CDs, though, that he carried around in the back of trunk when a motel had a player. In the top sleeve he always has what he said was the Ultimate Classic. Dean’s suspicious of any “classic” that does have Eastwood in it but, God, if that wasn’t a good one. Goncharov.

Good Samaritan:

There’s a woman pulled over on the side of the deserted road. Long, dark hair disappears behind her shoulders as she hunches over the hood of her car. Eileen pulls up behind her and the woman turns around, bright eyes and brighter smile turning Eileen’s way. It’s sunset, the slowly darkening sky parts into pink and purple and orange as the fields of wheat behind the two women sway in the breeze.

i’ll take you to a side street:

Dean rolls over in his sleep. Small whistles that grate Lisa’s ears fall from his lips and lift the hair from his forehead. Lisa checks the clock, 2:34 a.m. Shit. She lifts herself out of bed as gingerly as possible, careful not to wake Dean. He’s a light sleeper and she wants to conduct her business in total private. Lord knows how much time they have left before she and her love are torn apart. Dean cannot- will not- find out about this affair.

Good Luck, Sam Winchester:

It’s cold in the night and there’s 50 minutes until the bus comes to whisk Sam off to California. He cups his hands together and blows into them, wishing he had thought to take a pair of gloves or even mittens before he ran. Sam stuffs his hands in his coat pocket. Paper crinkles in his right hand.

Compiled Blacknatural Benny:

Benny doesn’t know where he comes from. Not really. He remembers running around Carencero in knickers. Little brown-skinned boy passing between the Cajun and the Creole populations and doing odd jobs soon as he could do any job.

Everything Is Not What It Seems:

Dean brought it up when they finished reuniting after a run to the grocery store- Hey, it’s hell out there, okay? Cas laid his head on Dean’s chest while Dean had an arm wrapped around his back. “I think Sam and Eileen are possessed,” he said, out of the blue. Cas picked his head up off Dean’s chest to squint at him. “What?”

sorry about the blood in your mouth (i wish it was mine):

Sam wakes up to the loud blaring of his cellphone. “Shit,” he scrambles out of bed and flips it open to answer the call. “Hello?” “Hey- uh,” starts the voice on the phone, ”are you Sam?” “Yeah, that’s me.”

Changed the last one here cause I wanted some variety. Anyway tagging @hauntedpearl @meatmensch @thursdaysidjit @jimmynovac @bebeverse sorry I tried to tag some of the people I know write (less than 10) but anyone is free to join

#Yo #my writing #tag games

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angelinthefire · 2 years

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Ignite your bones - chapter 7

Castiel/Dean Winchester, multi-chapter, WIP, rated E, MCD

Silence stretches between them again, as vast and heavy as the sky.

It’s a few minutes before Jack says, softly, “I know you hate us for being alive when Sam isn’t.”

The words hit Dean like a brick, the way they echo Cas, and he turns sharply towards Jack. “I don’t,” he says reflexively.

Jack keeps his eyes on the road, adjusts his hands on the steering wheel, and says nothing.

Jack doesn’t believe him. Dean knows he’s been cold, and mean, and even resentful. Hell, he’s tried to hate Cas and Jack, wanted to so badly because it would make everything easy. But he can’t. And now, hearing Jack say I know you hate us turns Dean’s stomach with how wrong it feels.

“Look,” Dean says. “I don’t hate you. I’m just a horror show of a person. It’s better for you, and Cas, to realize that. I’m gonna end up hurting you guys one way or another.”

Jack frowns. “Why?”

Dean blinks. A follow-up question was the last thing he expected.

“Huh?”

“Why do you have to hurt us?”

Chapter 7 of the Dean-kills-Sam-in-15x19 fic.

Jack and Dean look for Cas together.

Let me know if you want on or off the tag list.

@restlesshush @yesitsterriblysimple @icefire149 @destieldisaster @autisticandroids @krill-joy @raouldechagnys @ayumidah @faithcastiel @rhystheceo @hannahmcbannah @spuffy-destiel @itsanending @spriteofmushrooms @an-android-in-a-tutu @ineed-love-you @officialmisha @vividfaces @castielmydarling @finchnatural @kaiteymae @bluishorange @sixn1604 @angelicode @edelwaiss @bibibijaybird @icameoutonthetardis @stressedtaco @bluecashappy @givemchel @meanstiel @fromthedeskofcripslock @mothersoldiergun @castielmybeloved @1dnatural @glitterinlowgravity @spperditionn @goatiel @bedlund @sixohsixoheightfourtwo @poeobi @carzinization @suncaptor @moonshadecastiel @stronghopelovefaith @crossroadsdog @nerdy-duckling @madstropa @hellerstiel @sobernatural @casual-student-candy @thelmanotvelma @self-loathing-angel-of-thursday @nostarinthedark @im-a-weredonkey @outrageousbirb @erisandrea @underloves @whatsupitsyagirl

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #deancas #supernatural #spn #by mi #iyb

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awakenthemusic · 1 year

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What You Wish For: Chapter 1

When Dean and Sam realize that all is not as it seems in Jack's new heaven, will they be able to rally their allies to rescue Cas from the Empty and defeat Chuck once and for all?

Or, my humble contender for Supernatural: Season 16.

Under the cut or on Ao3

THEN

The Winchester’s 1967 Chevy Impala peeled out, a cloud of road dust rising in her wake. The dust drifted lazily on the autumn breeze until it reached Chuck where he lay in the dirt, defeated.

Dust coated Chuck’s mouth, gritting against his teeth and settling in the drying tracks of his tears. He spat, his breaths still hiccoughing out raggedly, as he rolled over onto his back.

The engine noise faded in the distance as birds wheeled overhead and fluffy white clouds scudded across the sky.

Chuck folded his arms underneath his head as a slow smile spread across his face. He lay in the dirt where Team Free Will had left him and laughed.

Amara reclined in the soothing waters of her favorite hot spring in Reykjavik. Steam curled lazily off the water as the heat turned her muscles to jelly.

She tipped her head back, smiling contentedly at the stars shining overhead.

What a beautiful night.

When she’d first been released from her cage, Amara had hated earth and all the ridiculous little humans that her brother had seemed so fond of. Now though, after years of sampling the best that humanity had to offer, she had to admit, she did like it on earth.

And, speak of the devil…

Chuck appeared at the edge of the hot spring, grinning at her and bouncing excitedly as he said, “I did it! I finally did it!”

Amara sighed quietly and tried to cling to the blessed relaxation of the healing waters. Chuck stared at her and, when it became clear that he was waiting for a response, Amara said, “Brother, what are you—”

“Oh, right,” Chuck interrupted, before snapping his fingers.

Amara’s vision whited out and she gasped. Memories poured into her mind; she wasn’t in the spa in Reykjavik, her brother had consumed her, had trapped her once again, this time deep within his own mind.

Her vision cleared, as she sat bolt upright in the soothing waters, tenser than ever. She gasped, “What have you done to me?”

A shiver ran down Amara’s spine despite the heat from the water around her. This was worse than the cage her brother had locked her in for centuries; at least then, her mind had been her own. This was…

Some of her horrified comprehension must have shown on her face, for now her brother nodded and said, “All caught up? Good.”

Chuck paced around the edge of the pool, rubbing his hands together as he gushed, “You’ll never guess what I’ve done, it’s brilliant! I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.” Chuck paused to throw his hands out wide as he declared, “I finally found a way to get ‘Team Free Will’ off my back for good!”

Amara shook her head, her breath still gasping out of her, as she struggled to process what was happening.

Chuck wasn’t fazed by her lack of response. He gestured at the steam rising from the hot spring and hazy images appeared over the water as he explained, “Castiel is locked away in the Empty after bravely sacrificing himself…” An image of Castiel appeared, surrounded by nothingness, eyes closed as though asleep, his face tear-stained and contorted in pain.

“Jack is fighting millennia of angel politics and stubbornness trying to restructure heaven after sacrificing his connection to the only family he’s ever known…” The image of Castiel changed to one of Jack. He frowned from a large, white throne as people in pantsuits argued around him. He sighed and seemed to age several years, his open, youthful face collapsing into something like despair.

“And, best of all,” Chuck crowed. “Sam and Dean think that they’ve won! They think they’re finally free, and all it cost them was the two people they cared about most…” Sam and Dean appeared, clearly struggling to keep hollow smiles on their faces as they peered around their empty bunker.

As usual, Amara’s eyes were drawn toward Dean. The sorrow on his face shot through her like an arrow, pinching her lungs and squeezing painfully around her heart.

“Look at them,” Chuck said, gesturing again so that images of all of them appeared side-by-side. “They’re trying so hard to convince themselves that this is their happy ending, but they’re more miserable than I’ve ever made them before!”

Shock held Amara captive, freezing her in place as Chuck started to mumble to himself.

“I really thought that Dean would kill me, though…” Chuck seemed to have almost forgotten that Amara was there. “I had his aggression cranked up so high, I had to invent another fucking level for it and he still didn’t kill me…”

Chuck suddenly shook himself and turned back to Amara as he said, “Now, I’m going to let Sam and Dean wallow in their miserable ‘victory’ just long enough that they’ll think it’s really over and then… Guess what I’m going to do.”

Chuck looked at Amara expectantly, actually expecting a response this time.

Amara shook her head, unable to speak past the horror that had a stranglehold on her throat.

Chuck grinned at her, a maniacal light glimmering feverishly in his eyes as he said, “I’m going to give them everything they’ve ever wanted… Dean will get to go out in his ‘blaze of glory,’ though I’ll find a way to make it the most useless death possible, and Sam will get the apple-pie life he’s always dreamed of. He’ll linger on for decades, suffering through a long life plagued by the loss of his beloved brother.”

Chuck rubbed his hands together again and said, “I’ll admit, it took me a while to crack this one. This version of Sam and Dean is way more of a pain in the ass than the ones in any of the other universes I’ve made, and that’s saying something.”

“You know,” Chuck continued thoughtfully. “I really think that it was destroying the other universes that did it in the end. Sometimes you’ve really got to just free up that bandwidth, remove all the distractions, and just focus on your story.”

Amara nodded warily as she subtly backed away from Chuck. She cursed herself for ever thinking she could trust him. Now she was trapped, once again, and had no way to stop him.

Chuck rambled on about his master plan as Amara wracked her brain for some way she could fight Chuck, or perhaps warn Dean somehow.

Suddenly, Chuck said something that broke through Amara’s thoughts and she tuned back into the conversation with a jolt as Chuck said, “...send them to heaven—”

“Heaven?” Amara interrupted, her surprise pulling the word from her before she could stop herself.

Chuck grinned at her, clearly relishing her interest, and said, “You thought that I would send them to hell, didn’t you? Really make them suffer…” He waved off her response and said, “I’ve made that mistake before; those idiots have so many allies, they wouldn’t be in hell more than a few days before Jack or Rowena or someone else would figure out what had happened and find some way to bust them back out.”

Chuck frowned in thought and said, “Besides, if I make them suffer too much, I risk showing my hand. The entire plan hinges on them not fighting it because they don’t realize that there’s anything left to fight.” Chuck nodded as though satisfied with his logic. “No, the best thing to do is leave them to their ‘peace’ in heaven, so that I can watch my new show with no distractions.”

A long moment of silence followed Chuck’s words, and Amara realized that he was now waiting for her reaction. She stammered out, “T- That’s…” before trailing off. Everything she could possibly think to say was sucked into the black hole of terror twisting in her stomach.

Chuck, oblivious to her disgust, grinned and said, “It’s genius, right?”

Amara did her best to smile and nod, but it felt more like a wince.

All warmth drained from Chuck’s face as he straightened to his full height. His voice dropped dangerously low as he said, “I thought you’d be happy for me. I thought you’d see how much better this will make things for me.” Chuck’s eyes narrowed as he growled, “I see that I was wrong.”

Amara shook her head, raising her arms instinctively in front of her as she pleaded, “You’re right, of course you’re right. I just need a little time—”

Chuck raised his hand.

Amara gasped, “No, brother, please!”

Amara reclined in the soothing waters of her favorite hot spring in Reykjavik. Steam curled lazily off the water as the heat turned her muscles to jelly.

She tipped her head back, smiling contentedly at the stars shining overhead.

What a beautiful night.

NOW

Dean stood on a bridge in heaven, his brother by his side. Water gurgled along under their feet, flowing from the mountains behind them and flashing golden with the light from the setting sun. Birds sang in the trees. All was right with the world.

The gorgeous view had nothing to do with Dean’s shit-eating grin as he said, “Wait, wait, wait. Back the truck up… You named your kid Dean ?”

Sam leaned against the guardrail of the bridge and winced down at the water. He said, “You’re never going to let me hear the end of this, are you?”

“Oh, hell no,” Dean crowed. “I am contractually obligated to give you hell for stupid shit you do for the rest of your afterlife, Sammy. It’s in the big brother contract.” Dean nudged Sam with a shoulder and said, “I’m surprised they didn’t teach you about it in Stanford, Mr. Pre-Law.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked up at the corners fondly as he did.

Dean stilled as he tried to picture it; Sam as a dad, raising a kid of his own, changing diapers, maybe even putting the kid in little league… He said quietly, “Kinda sorry I never got to meet the rugrat.”

Sam’s face crinkled up into full-on ‘must talk about feelings’ mode and Dean quickly changed the subject, saying, “The Roadhouse is here.”

“The…” Sam blinked, then asked, “ Harvelle’s Roadhouse?”

Dean nodded. “I met Bobby there, he told me all about the changes that Jack’s been making. All the walls are gone, everyone’s in one big group together…” Dean trailed off, trying to recall exactly what Bobby had said.

The memory was all fuzzy around the edges and Dean couldn’t seem to bring it into focus. Weird. That had been right after he’d gotten topside… Maybe he’d had some kind of death hangover and that was why the conversation seemed so hazy now.

Sam grinned at him and said, “Yeah? That’s great! Who else have you seen? I have so many people to catch up with…”

“Well… um… kinda nobody?” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of topic, now that he thought about it.

Sam frowned and asked, “What do you mean, ‘nobody?’ I… You’ve been up here for decades , Dean, how could you have not seen everybody?”

“Look, time works differently up here.” Dean could at least remember that much from his chat with Bobby. “It hasn’t been that long for me. I grabbed a shitty beer with Bobby, took a quick drive, and here you are.”

Sam paused, searching Dean’s face, before he grinned and said, “Well, if you’re all done moping around heaven waiting for me, how about we go visit the roadhouse together?”

Heat burned across Dean’s face as he spluttered, “I wasn’t… I didn’t…” He stomped over toward the car and said, “Shut up, Bitch.”

Sam’s laughter echoed out over the sweeping mountain vista around them and he shot back, “Jerk.”

Dean couldn’t fight the grin that took over his face as he slid behind Baby’s wheel.

It was like no time had passed at all.

#destiel #fanfic #fanfiction #spn #supernatural #what you wish for #wywf #my fics #dean winchester #castiel #happy birthday dean winchester

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thevioletcaptain · 2 years

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🌹

//spins an imaginary wheel of fortune wheel// okay let's go with the opening of the next-to-be-published chapter of isosceles

Within seconds of climbing into the car, the sky opens up. The rain that had followed them into Washington returns heavier than before, and as they make their way through the streets, the late afternoon traffic shifts from mildly unpleasant to excruciatingly slow as the collective windshield wipers of the city's cars work at breakneck speed to maintain visibility. Despite it only being a short distance between the zoo and the diner Dean has set his sights on for dinner, it ends up taking close to an hour for them to get there. This isn't the first time Castiel has experienced bad traffic with Dean, but it's definitely the first time that Dean hasn't seemed all that upset about it. As the Impala crawls along the crowded roads, kicking up rainwater, Dean turns up the radio and sings along. He's still noticeably self-conscious about it, but the way the corner of his mouth ticks up whenever he glances at Castiel from the corner of his eye makes it clear that he's determined not to let that stop him. For the entire drive, Castiel just soaks in the feeling of being with him. Of seeing him like this. Of being trusted with this side of him.

[for this ask meme | other responses here]

#phlintscones #cass writes things #cass writes fic #imogenbynight #askbox game 🌹 edition #i want to throw this whole chapter at the internet already ughhhh #soooooon #also please feel free to rb/reply/comment in tags etc if you like the things #i desperately need the serotonin because i'm having a personally stressful week on top of all the societally horrific shit

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sarah-dipitous · 10 months

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 169

Hunteri Heroici

“Hunteri Heroici”

Plot Description: After learning that Castiel plans to be a hunter, Sam and Dean join him to investigate a case where a man’s heart literally burst through his chest

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: what in the looney tunes bullshit…I mean. Probably not? Like, that felt pretty inescapable

PLEASE. I AM BEGGING THE WRITERS OF A SHOW THATS BEEN OFF THE AIR FOR TWO AND A HALF YEARS, GIVE ME JUST ONE EPISODE WITH GARTH AND THE TRANS. He has set Kevin and Mrs Tran up on his houseboat for a safe house…

You would think that after four and a half seasons, I would be less susceptible to Cas smiling. But no. When I tell you I screeched and had to walk around a little after seeing him so proud of himself for deciding to become a hunter…he’s had so precious little to smile about, like, this whole fucking time. LOOK AT HIMMMMM

And then him telling Dean the benefits of a third wheel (adds extra grip, great stability). I just…I love him a lot

Wait. Now I want Cas and Garth on a case. Just one. PLEASE.

I really want the dead guy’s recent bladder infection to be relevant eventually. Sure, Cas is being a little weirdly gung-ho about investigating but he’s LEARNING

Ugh, another flashback from Sam’s year off. Did they BUY A HOUSE TOGETHER?? Oh……..Amelia’s dad is an asshole

OMG. Cas baby noooooooo that’s not how you do thisssssss “I was being bad cop” “you were being bad everything”

Pausing because my guess is this guy (standing on the roof of a several story building) will either bounce stupidly high OR he won’t actually fall until he looks down. My money is on the latter, though

I was RIGHT. Because of COURSE he can’t LIVE. This is SUPERNATURAL

“We’re looking for some insect-rabbit hybrid?” I adore Castiel and him not understanding pop culture

They made him watch Looney Tunes

Omg his sincerity telling Dean he’ll watch over him while he gets his four hours of sleeeeeep. I can’t

Dean, if he doesn’t want to go back to heaven, stop trying to make him

Oh…..Oh, Castiel. He’s so devastated over what he did to heaven. He can’t bring himself to go back (little does he know he HAS been back and his memory has been wiped of it, and who knows how many times that happened??)

What an interesting case…

Kicking my feet at Cas quietly telling Dean he doesn’t think he pronounced that correctly when he said “it’s wabbit season”

Omg…Cas is gonna interrogate the cat soooooon

Huh…so an old friend of the Winchesters just HAPPENS to be in this retirement home and he just HAPPENS to be psychokinetic and he just HAPPENS to love old cartoons and he just HAPPENS to be kind of stuck in his own head

Cas you can’t just jump straight to murder. I mean, that IS what the boys do most of the time, but aren’t you trying to atone from all the murders you did??

I’m terrified to see what’s going to happen with this near dynamite stick of a birthday candle. YEAH, THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU WOULD DO, YOU DUMB SHOW

Ok it wasn’t EXACTLY what I thought. Just the cake exploded, not any of the people around it

So what cartoonishly terrible way is the doctor going to die? What HAVEN’T we seen? (We’ve gotten heart beats out of chest, falls only after looking down, anvil dropping from the sky, painting a black hole on a wall as a doorway, dynamite….what are we missing??)

Sure. Let’s transport ourselves into his brain. Yeah.

Omg of course Dean took the opportunity to get to say “what’s up, doc?”

OMG NOT THE “BANG!” FLAG INSTEAD OF BULLETS

NOOOOo. You can’t do that. You can’t make the doctor shoot himself and then say “well, that’s all folks”

Fuck you, Naomi

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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javocjovian · 1 year

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Aeternitas - PB Gift Exchange 2022

Happy Exchange, @sunerpatural !

This year’s theme for the Profound Bond Gift Exchange was Throwback! I had a lot of fun with this one :)

Thank you bexgowen for being an incredible editor!

Title: Aeternitas Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42862635 Ship: Destiel Rating: M Word Count: 7674 Tags: Repressed Dean, Hurt/Comfort/Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Divergent, Time Travel, Dean’s relationship with John, Coming Out, Dean and Castiel need to use their words (and they do in the end :)

Summary: In order to find a component for a spell, Dean and Castiel must take a dangerous trek into his past, but this voyage is unlike any Dean has experienced before. If he and Cas are to stay together, Dean must grapple with the things that happened and the things that didn’t happen, all while confronting his relationship with his father and his own self-acceptance. Set post 15x18.

Notes: The title means 'Eternity' in Latin, a reference to one of my favorite stories about alternate universe stories, The End of Eternity by Isaac Asimov.

Fall settled on the plains of the midwest like a cloud, drifting through the prairies and creating an ethereal sheen through which reds and golds gleamed against a pale sky. A solitary farmhouse sat in a clearing behind which sprawled a junkyard of vehicles. Night was approaching from the woods, quickly stealing the fragile warmth of the day. Cars and trucks rusted quietly, muffled by leaves as a heavily layered man worked at the back of the house. He rubbed his neck with a calloused hand and adjusted his trucker hat, unaware that the empty headlights weren’t his only observers that late afternoon.

Past the rows and rows of derelict cars sat a faded Oldsmobile, but unlike its fellows, this car had passengers. Two people were sitting inside, as still and silent as any of the vehicles. They watched the man look up from his pile of leaves as if he’d heard something, but he brushed it off as a trick of the mind and resumed raking.

The inside of the Oldsmobile was no longer a modern, comfortable ride. It was faded and stiff, and it bore an ancient, minerally smell, but it was a good enough hideout for Dean and Castiel.

They’d been sitting there for hours, watching the unsuspecting Bobby go about his daily chores in silence. A pair of binoculars sat in Dean’s lap and a duffel bag waited in the backseat. Occasionally Dean’s hand ventured to a flask in his coat.

While Dean’s eyes were fixed with predatory precision, Castiel’s kept wandering uncertainly to his companion. Castiel had accepted hours ago that no conversation would be had unless he started it, so with a brave inhale he said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

Dean’s predatory gaze shifted to Castiel at once, whose bravery flew from him like a flock of crows.

“I didn’t mean…” Castiel muttered. “I mean, I think I know what you’re worried about,” he tried again.

Dean looked at him coldly, but soon enough his gaze softened and he resumed watching Bobby. “I’m not worried.”

Castiel smiled slightly. It was a sad kind of smile.

Dean took a measured sip from his flask.

“You know,” Castiel carried on, “when he gets here, it won’t really be him. I mean, it’ll be him, but…a different one. It won’t be the John who raised you. There’s a chance he wouldn’t even recognize you if he saw you.”

“I know,” Dean said tersely. He put his flask back and watched Bobby adding more leaves to a burn pile.

Castle’s smile faded along with the feeble conversation. He watched Dean’s hand rest instinctively on the chilly, padded steering wheel, but Castiel knew better than to try and take it now.

“Dean.”

Something in his voice made Dean’s eyes leave Bobby. He looked at Castiel seriously.

“I…” Castiel hadn’t expected to get Dean’s attention, and now that he had it he found his words impossible to string together. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I thought I’d never see you again. And when Jack sent me back after, well, everything, you wouldn’t…” Castiel took a deep breath, “I didn’t know how to talk to you. I asked Sam, but…”

“You talked to Sam?”

“Yes.”

Dean made a mildly interested noise, and Castiel knew that was a bad sign.

“Dean…what was I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, how about not talk about me to Sam behind my back?” Dean offered coolly.

Castiel’s heart sank. Dean took another sip from his flask. Castiel’s defeated gaze fell to Bobby, raking another heap of leaves onto his pile. Castiel contemplated the futile task of trying to capture every fallen leaf. He felt hopelessly lost and, somehow, more alien than ever.

Suddenly, a small figure came running around the house, catching Dean and Castiel’s attention at once. Dean grabbed his binoculars, but they never made it to his eyes. He’d know that child anywhere.

A young Sam Winchester dove into Bobby’s pile of leaves, creating an avalanche of orange and brown. Bobby shouted in annoyance, his voice muffled by the distance, but he was soon laughing. Sam had climbed out, leaves sticking out of his hair and his face flushed with adrenaline.

Dean couldn’t look away. His rigid expression was unwavering, but there was a warmth in his eyes that could have rivaled even the brightest summer day.

Dean was about to turn to Cas to make sure he was seeing this, but Dean didn’t get a chance. As if struck with inspiration, Castiel had thrown the door open and begun sneaking along the cars.

“Cas!” he hissed.

Too late. Castiel had disappeared into the maze of dully gleaming vehicles. Dean looked around in confusion, then raised the binoculars to his eyes.

“Damnit, Cas.”

Dean saw something beige whip around the side of the house opposite Bobby and young Sam’s autumn revelry. Dean contemplated getting out and following Castiel, but he had a feeling he knew what Castiel was doing, and Castiel would be better adept at it than him. So he waited, his annoyance and fear tempered by occasional laughter from Sam carrying over the junkyard.

Castiel didn’t take long. He swooped back into the car after a few minutes, making Dean hit himself with the binoculars and swear again. Cheeks red from the cold, Castiel rejoined him in their makeshift hideout.

“Are you insane?” Dean mouthed.

“I…that’s rhetorical, right?” Castiel breathed. “Nevermind. I looked everywhere. It’s not in the house.”

The smallest flicker of hope in Dean’s eyes died. He took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said, sharing a look of mutual resignation with Castiel. Their list of places to look was getting dangerously short. If John Winchester had the pendant on his person, they might as well shoot themselves and call it a day.

Castiel raised his eyebrows at Dean, who suddenly realized Castiel was holding something–it was a slip of paper. Dean recognized Bobby’s messy scrawl at once.

“A shopping list?”

Castiel gestured to the top. “Today’s date. It’s 1992. At least we know that.”

Dean took the paper, staring at the little charcoal numbers like windows into his own mind. Castiel let go of the paper immediately.

“It’s November 25th,” Dean said.

Castiel looked at him.

“Thanksgiving.”

“Is that…bad?”

Dean snorted. That was a loaded question. “Not really,” he replied vaguely.

Something about that answer made Castiel feel like Dean was lying. Or maybe Castiel was just being paranoid. He couldn’t read Dean at all anymore. He sighed. He’d hoped for Dean’s sake that they wouldn’t come across something Dean wouldn’t want to relive. Maybe this really was just an ordinary, ‘not really bad’ Thanksgiving. They would soon find out, regardless.

Before Castiel could decide if he wanted to push the issue, the sound of a car engine made them freeze. There was no mistaking that engine. Once again, Dean didn’t bother with the binoculars. They saw the familiar gleam of metallic black as the Impala pulled up to the farmhouse. Engine purring, it came to a stop by the front porch. The driver’s door slammed, and John Winchester stepped out into the waning sunlight.

He looked relatively young, possibly even half Dean’s current age, and he was carrying a large paper bag under his arm. John scanned the junkyard, eyes breezing past car after car until he spotted Bobby near the back of the house and made his way to him.

“What’s going on here?” John asked.

Sam and Bobby both turned to see him.

“Hi, Dad,” Sam said.

John raised a brow at the mess of leaves and the rake Bobby was leaning on. “Don’t tell me Sam made this mess,” he said gruffly.

Sam looked at the leaves stuck to his shoes.

“It’s fine,” Bobby said quickly. “We were just having some fun.”

“Uh-huh,” John eyed Sam. “Did you finish your homework?”

“No,” Sam mumbled.

John frowned at him.

“I’ll help him finish after we get these leaves back together,” Bobby said pacifyingly. Then quietly, under his breath, “It’s Thanksgiving, why don’t you give the boys some time off?”

John looked at him sternly.

“What’s in the bag?” Bobby asked before John could argue the point. “Ammo?”

John adjusted the bag under his arm. “Yup. I want the boys to get some target practice in this weekend while I’m gone.”

“Uh-huh,” Bobby said, eying the Impala. “But you’re staying tonight, right?”

Sam looked up at his dad. He’d already taken the rake and had started putting the pile back together.

John eyed his youngest son hesitantly.

“C’mon,” Bobby said. “I’ve got two pies in the oven, and I’ve got that bird dethawed and ready to cook. Dean said he’d help. Sam, too. Stay. You could use a good meal.”

John looked exhausted.

Bobby eyed him firmly.

John sighed. “Alright. But I want your homework finished. Tonight,” he directed at Sam, who was smiling again. “And clean up this mess.” He gave Bobby a knowing look.

Bobby grinned.

“Where’s Dean?” John asked.

“Oh, I told him he could hang out with some of the boys from the neighborhood.”

John stared at him.

“Don’t worry, I told him to be back before sunset. You know he hit every mark today with the rifle? Beat your old record,” Bobby said smugly. “He’s earned it.”

“Alright,” John relented, “I’ll go put this inside.”

Their conversation trailed off, the echoes of which were carried on the wind over the junkyard and into the Oldsmobile where Dean and Castiel sat frozen in their seats. They didn’t dare speak for the entirety of John and Bobby’s conversation, and they maintained that silence as Bobby began helping Sam rake leaves.

At last, they looked at each other.

The warmth that had been in Dean’s eyes at the sight of Sam was gone. His expression had become mask-like, and there was an intensity that went beyond the mission at hand. But he also looked distinctly confused.

“Dean?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean paused. “Sorry. I just…” His eyes lingered on the piece of paper sitting on the dashboard with Bobby’s handwritten date. “He didn’t stay for Thanksgiving. My dad, I mean. He said no. Sam was really upset….” Dean’s voice trailed off into a chilly mist. The confusion mixed with the juxtaposition of the two Johns was too much.

Castiel watched him sadly, knowing fully well he didn’t have the ability to help Dean. He knew seeing John, even a different John, would be hard on him, but it still hurt to see it.

“Okay,” Dean said as if finally processing what he’d just heard. “Good. That’s good,” he said more to himself than to Castiel. “That means the Impala will be here for a while. So we just have to wait until it’s dark, then hope the pendant is in there. We snag it, poof back home, and Sam can do his spell at sunrise.” He looked at Castiel for confirmation.

Castiel nodded. “Right.”

“All of this,” Dean sighed, “just to talk to Jack. I hope he picks up.”

A part of Castiel felt guilty that Sam and Dean were doing all of this just to satiate his own, personal desire, but he knew Sam and Dean wanted to talk to Jack just as much as Castiel did. They all had so many questions.

So Dean and Castiel settled back in to watch Sam and Bobby. Castiel didn’t dare try and talk about anything but the mission, and even that he sensed was something Dean wasn’t keen on discussing. But it wasn’t Cas that spoke first this time.

“Hey,” Dean said, looking directly at Castiel. An idea came to him–an idea as sudden and reckless as Castiel’s idea to check the house while it was momentarily empty. “I have an idea. Come on.”

And he was out of the door before Castiel could respond.

Castiel hurried after Dean as quickly as he could, ducking behind leaf-strewn cars until they reached the silence of the woods and were out of sight of the house. Distantly they could hear Sam and Bobby, still thankfully unaware of their presence.

“Dean? Where are we going?” Castiel whispered.

“It should be somewhere down here.”.

Dusk was swiftly approaching, and the woods were already bathed in a twilit mist. The ground was a cacophony of leaves and damp, autumnal detritus. It muffled their footsteps as Dean led Castiel down some invisible path.

The bare limbs of atrophied trees cast foreboding silhouettes around them, but Dean trudged on. Castiel kept glancing back, hoping that Dean was working towards something, not away from it.

“It should be around here….” Dean stopped abruptly, making Castiel nearly walk into him.

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered.

When Castiel looked up, he saw they were standing at the brink of a large clearing in the woods. Bluish light shone over a knotted tree that lay fallen like a headstone. It was a beautiful, lonely place. But again, Dean looked confused.

“I don’t…it’s gotta be here somewhere.” But he knew the moment he saw the bare clearing that what he was looking for wasn’t there. Not only wasn’t it there, it had never happened. And as he approached the tree, he began to understand.

“Dean,” an older Sam’s voice called to him from the churning surface of his own memories. It was the Sam that Dean had just left behind in the bunker; the one waiting for them to come home. It was as if Dean had stepped through the ethereal corporeity of this reality and straight into the bunker library from earlier that day. Sam was sitting at the table with an array of books opened in front of him. “Would you stop calling it that? It’s not time travel.”

Dean looked at the freshly opened beer in his right hand and a second, unopened bottle in his left. He passed it to Sam, who accepted it absentmindedly.

“Cas can’t time travel anymore,” Sam reminded him. “It’s too much on him. Besides, that wouldn’t even help us. You’re going to another timeline. Like, another universe.”

“Same thing,” Dean said.

“It’s not,” Sam insisted. “That’s the whole point. The pendant was destroyed in our universe. So we need to go to one where…where it wasn’t.”

They exchanged a quiet look, then Dean sighed and pulled one of the books on the table to him. It was their dad’s journal. Dean looked at the drawing of the delicate necklace adorning one of the first few pages of the journal. John had written beside it in capital letters: For Mary.

“Cas will find a universe where it survived the fire,” Sam said carefully. “Maybe one where she wasn’t wearing it at… at the time.”

Dean sipped his beer slowly.

“Hopefully he can find a universe that’s as similar to ours as possible, with that one exception. But even if he does, you need to be prepared,” he said, more seriously now. “We don’t know what kind of…butterfly effect that one change might have. For all we know, dad could be driving a minivan.”

Dean finally looked up from the drawing, his eyes narrowed. “How dare you.”

Sam smiled, but he went on. “I’m serious. Who knows if that John will make the same choices our dad made?”

“Aren’t they the same person?” Dean asked, not sure if that was a dumb question or not.

Sam clearly didn’t think it was dumb. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

They both looked back down at the drawing. If what Castiel said was true, the pendant should be a strong enough object for their spell. They weren’t sure why it was so powerful, but Dean would leave that to Sam to figure out. It was Dean’s, and Castiel’s, job to bring the pendant home. But despite all of their preparations, none of them ever discussed the most likely scenario should they find a universe with that pendant still in it—the scenario in which John carried it on his person at all times. They seemed to wordlessly agree that Dean would just have to deal with the other John the best he could.

As if that memory had happened right there in the forest, Dean’s eyes fell past the beer in his hand to the leaf-strewn, knotty surface of the fallen tree. Deaf to Castiel’s quiet inquiries, Dean reached out an empty hand to touch it. For a moment he feared the tree might not even be there at all, but then his fingertips felt rough, mossy bark. Dean sighed in defeat.

“When Sam was little,” he finally explained, “we spent a whole summer at Bobby’s place. We made a fort here.” He could practically see the engravings he and Sam had made on that very spot over twenty years ago. “I thought, maybe…” But he knew the pendant wouldn’t be there. No matter how divergent this universe was, John would never let Dean or Sam leave something like that pendant lying around, even if they didn’t know what power it might have held.

Dean heard the leaves crunch behind him and knew Castiel was there. He could feel his warmth in the cool, autumn dusk. Castiel put a hand on his shoulder.

“Dean. We need to go back,” he said gently.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go search the car.” He turned to face Castiel and, for a wild moment, he wanted to just run away with him in those woods. He wanted to say those magic words that would let them escape and never have to worry about spells or necklaces or any version of their past lives. They were so enticing, so comforting, those blue eyes like starlight in the near dark. But then Dean cleared his throat and looked away.

“C’mon.”

Castiel watched him turn away and head back up towards the house. He was certain Dean was about to say something, but he’d been mistaken. He sighed and followed Dean.

The woods were truly dark now, but Dean didn’t dare turn on his flashlight. He didn’t need to at any rate. He followed a path from his memories, a path that both existed and didn’t exist, until he found the edge of this universe’s forest. He saw the junkyard, lined with skeletal cars like a graveyard, and the farmhouse in the distance, its lights beginning to glow brightly against a deep blue sky. The Impala was still there, looking as unreachable as the surface of the pale moon, but he barely had a chance to plot a stealthy route to it before a pair of footsteps made both Dean and Castiel spin around.

They reached for their weapons simultaneously, but Dean suddenly threw up a hand.

Two young boys were walking side by side along a sheltered path to the farmhouse. Castiel knew at once the brown-haired boy was Dean, but the darker-haired boy was a stranger to him. It was the adult Dean’s strangely rigid posture that made Castiel look twice at the scene. The boys were holding hands.

Castiel eyed his Dean in surprise, and although Dean’s expression had become mask-like again there was something else in his eyes; something mournful. Castiel and Dean ducked down in the brush to remain unseen as the boys two passed, silent as two owls in the night, until a voice made all four of the wayward travelers jump.

“Dean Winchester!”

Both Deans froze.

John Winchester was marching towards him. He was like a lion in his fury, bearing down on the boys. They immediately dropped hands, but it was too late. They’d been caught at the edge of the tree line.

The young Dean was not yet adept at hiding his fear, and the look of petrification on his face made Castiel’s heart ache. The older of the two Deans, stoic as he was, had closed his eyes.

“What the Hell do you think you’re doing?” John roared. “Have you lost your mind?”

The young Dean tried to speak but nothing came out.

“Sir…” the other boy began, voice shaking.

“You!” John rounded on him. “Get out of here! Go home!”

The boy didn’t hesitate. Neither of the two Deans could blame him. He dashed back into the woods. As his footsteps retreated into silence, John turned to his eldest son.

“Inside! Now!”

Castiel watched as young Dean, who looked more like a child than ever before, followed in his father's footsteps back to the farmhouse. Castiel could tell John was saving his rage for when they reached the safety of Bobby’s house.

There was no intake of breath from either Castiel or the older Dean. They sat hunched in the brush, frozen in place. A wintry chill was creeping up Castiel’s neck.

“Dean,” he said consolingly.

Dean had opened his eyes and was staring at a single red leaf still attached to the bush. It hovered over its dead brothers on the ground, not alive, but dead yet. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Bobby’s front door open, then slam closed.

“Dean,” Castiel repeated, his voice barely audible now.

Suddenly, Dean moved. He darted out of the woods as quickly as if struck by lightning, leaving Castiel dumbstruck behind the bush. Castiel squinted, then tore after him towards the farmhouse.

“Dean!” Castiel whispered harshly, but he could barely keep up with him.

A desperate recklessness had overtaken Dean and he wasn’t bothering to avoid the view of the fast-approaching windows of Bobby’s kitchen. They could hear muffled yelling and smell something savory cooking in the oven. Stealth abandoned, all Castiel could do was mimic Dean as he threw himself down beneath a dogwood bush beside the front porch.

Panting, Castiel stared at Dean in disbelief. He had no idea if they’d been seen, and he wasn’t even sure if they’d be properly concealed should someone walk outside. Dean, however, was calm. He raised a finger to his lips and Castiel realized they could hear every word John was saying through the open kitchen window. The sounds of Sam and Bobby’s conversation had stopped abruptly.

“What on Earth were you thinking?” John was yelling. “You were out there where anyone could see you! Are you out of your mind?”

Bobby wasn’t saying anything. Castiel could practically see him standing there in his kitchen, watching John’s rage with his hand on the young Sam’s shoulder.

“I did not raise you to act like this! Where did you get the nerve…?”

Castiel looked at his own Dean hidden in the shadows. He could see the young Dean there, on his face, trying and failing to remain impassive as his father yelled at him.

“You’re out there, walking around the woods at night with a complete stranger! Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? I’ve told you a hundred times, you are not to go off with anyone, and I mean anyone, without me vetting them first! He could have been a shapeshifter! Or a ghoul! You jeopardized this entire family’s safety!”

“John…” Bobby attempted to interject. “I’ve checked that family before. They come here every summer.”

“Did you check their son? Recently?” John demanded.

Bobby’s silence was a definitive ‘no’.

John resumed. “I don't want to see you going off with anybody else without my direct approval. Do you understand me?”

After a moment in which the young Dean might have taken a shaky inhale of breath, there came a small reply, “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” John said, his anger beginning to wane. “Now go get cleaned up and help Bobby with the meal.”

A tenuous silence followed, broken by small footsteps running up the stairs and the idle sounds of someone stirring a pot on the stove.

Uneasy conversation broke out as Bobby encouraged Sam to resume stirring the gravy. Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He looked numb. Even his eyes, now pink at the edges, looked frozen solid.

Castiel didn’t have the heart to say anything to him. He sat beside him in silence, wondering if it would help or hurt him to take Dean’s hand now.

“Why was Dean out there with that boy?” Sam asked Bobby quietly.

“Oh,” Bobby sighed. “You know, young people making dumb decisions trying to court other young people.” Then he said in a stage whisper, “Your dad doesn’t know anything about that.”

Silence followed this, but a chuckle from Bobby told Castiel that John had smiled.

“Courting?” Sam asked. “Dad never courted.”

“Oh, yes he did.” There was a smile in Bobby’s voice. “And I have tons of stories about it, don’t you worry.”

Sam giggled.

“Don’t,” John said warningly, but Castiel could tell the conversation had become lighthearted.

“Dean,” Castiel said gently. “We need to get out of here.”

His voice entered Dean’s consciousness as if from another world. He gazed out over the driveway, his eyes lingering on the Impala as he listened to his dad talk in the kitchen.

“We need to leave,” Castiel said.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or if the Impala looked like a slightly different shade of black than his own. The minor difference made his stomach ache.

“We can’t yet,” Castiel whispered as sympathetically as he could manage. “They can see it from the window. Dean, please.”

Dean was barely aware of what he saying, but he gave Castiel a nod, and the two of them climbed out from under the bush as stealthily as they could.

The kitchen conversation gradually faded as they entered the maze of vehicles. It was cold now, the sun had taken all of the warmth across the horizon leaving an icy fog behind. Leaves crackled beneath their boots as they reached the Oldsmobile and climbed inside for what little warmth it provided.

It was quiet in the car. Castiel reached back to the duffel bag and pulled out some gloves and hats. He offered them to Dean first, who took them numbly. Castiel wasn’t sure Dean knew what he was taking. Sure enough, Dean didn't put the gloves on.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, despite being out of range of even the most alert hunter. “I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Here was another instance in which Castiel wished Dean would tell him what to say.

This wasn’t the first time Castiel had seen John’s fury break over his eldest son; one of Castiel’s first assignments was to watch over their family afterall, but this time felt different. Castiel also knew what it was like to be rejected by a seemingly omnipotent father, but again this was different. Castiel would have given anything to have selected a different universe, or even just a different date.

At last, Dean spoke. His face was red from the cold, but the waver in his voice was from a different chill. “It didn’t happen.”

Castiel watched him sadly. “Dean. It did happen. We were there. You can’t…” he paused, trying to control his own pain and frustration in seeing Dean outright repress what they had just seen. “You can’t just pretend it didn’t…”

“No,” Dean interrupted him. “It didn’t happen,” he repeated, this time looking directly at Castiel.

Castiel squinted at him.

“Not to me. My dad wasn’t at Thanksgiving. My dad went hunting that night.” Dean explained.

Castiel blinked. He stared at the flush in Dean’s face from the cold, and the red in Dean’s eyes. He had never seen him look more defeated. “I don’t understand…”

Dean swallowed, feeling the gloves weakly with his shivering hands. “My dad never caught us. My dad…” he tried to go on, but his throat felt like it was slowly constricting, closing off his airways. He sniffed again, trying to brush off the cold that they had left outside the car. “My dad never found o…” he stopped himself, determined to use the right words. “I never told him.”

Castiel watched Dean wipe his face with trembling hands, blind to the gloves and hat in his lap, and Castiel finally understood.

Dean never came out to his dad.

Castiel’s hands seemed to act of their own accord. He reached out and took Dean’s hand, steadying it in his warm grip. Dean exhaled, but he didn’t take his hand away. In fact, it seemed like it helped unblock his throat a little.

“I was so afraid, my whole life, of him finding out. I spent so many years…terrified.” He gave a weak smile and shook his head. He looked as young and scared as his younger counterpart standing on the forest’s edge. “I never told anyone. He died, never knowing. And all this time…”

“But, he was angry.”

Dean laughed, but it was a hollow sound. “Yeah! He was pissed… because that kid could’ve been a shapeshifter. Because I didn’t introduce him first…” Dean’s laughter faded into the night, leaving Dean with an awful smile on his face. Fear had kept him stuck in place for so long that he no longer knew which way to turn. Regret was rising out of him, overflowing, to the point where he no longer knew what was worse–if his father had had the same reaction as this John, or not. Because the truth was, he would never know, and that was the worst outcome of all.

As Castiel watched Dean’s sorrow unfold, he found words drifting into his head as if crossing some invisible border from his subconsciousness right into the air around him. They were simple and kind, yet they seemed to come from a deep undergrowth of certainty, and of shared sorrow. “Forgive yourself.”

Dean stared at him.

“You need to forgive yourself,” Castiel repeated. “Human relationships are fraught with peril, especially yours and your father’s. You’ve told me your father did the best he could. So did you.”

Dean didn’t say anything, he just held Castiel’s hand in the darkened car, staring at the wayward leaves stuck to the end of Castiel’s trenchcoat.

“He loved you.”

Dean swallowed and closed his eyes. Castiel felt the words flowing through him cease, so he stopped talking. He just held Dean’s hand for as long as Dean needed it.

They sat in silence for a long time, sharing each other’s company, and for the first time since the Empty had taken him, Castiel felt connected to Dean. Whenever Dean’s mind started ruminating, there was Castiel’s hand to ground him, and in an odd serendipity, Dean found himself taking solace in imagining the Thanksgiving dinner being enjoyed just a few yards away. The other Bobby, John, Dean, and Sam, all of them eating and enjoying each other’s company, and although Dead wasn’t there and would never be there, he was there. Somehow, through the ethereal mist that separated their lives, he prayed there was enough of a connection between him and the Dean in the farmhouse so that he could tell his counterpart to make the most of his time with his father, and everyone else for that matter. And then forgive yourself for the time missed.

Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. At last, Castiel spoke. His voice sounded loud in the silence of the night.

“That’s the last one.”

The last light had gone out in the farmhouse and Castiel was looking at Dean. It was time to check the Impala.

It felt strange to let go of each other’s hands, it felt as if Dean had suddenly lost a limb, but Castiel stayed close as they crept out of the Oldsmobile and made their way back up to the house. It was well past midnight, and the only sound was that of a distant wind blowing through the trees.

Castiel lingered behind as they reached the car, keeping an eye out while Dean approached the driver’s side. He felt around his coat pocket and withdrew a key. Would the universes converge here? He shared a glance with Castiel before making a silent prayer and inserting the key into the lock.

Click.

The door opened for him like it always did. Dean opened it with a feeling of immense relief. A feeling that was mirrored on Castiel’s face. Dean gave him a wink, then ducked inside.

The Impala was nothing like the Oldsmobile they’d been hiding out in all day. Dean felt instantly at home. And yet, as he settled into the well-worn seat, little details began jumping out at him–a slightly different color steering wheel, the throttle a slightly different shape, and a single cassette tape that Dean didn’t recognize from his dad’s collection. Despite everything he had been through, demons, angels, shapeshifters, he had never encountered anything so odd as this.

Dean caught sight of his own face in the rearview mirror, pale and uncertain, and he forced his mind back into the mission. They needed the pendant. He began to search. He opened up panels, checked under the seats; he found quite a few odd trinkets but nothing remotely close to a necklace. He could see Castiel keeping guard outside, waiting for Dean to make the call. The pendant had to be there. He opened the glovebox, but it was filled with papers and more cassettes. Finally, he saw a latch to unlock the trunk that John must have installed as an extra measure of security. As he reached down to pull it, something silver glinted in the corner of his eye. His hand froze above the latch. Slowly, he lifted his hand beside the steering wheel. Tucked away but still visible was a silvery chain supporting a small, diamond-shaped pendant.

Dean’s heart leaped. He gently unhooked it and watched it fall into his hand, smooth and glossy as water. His eyes feasted on it. The engraving had a cryptic elegance to it that his father’s drawing had failed to capture. For some reason, this made him smile. Though it was cold to the touch, he rubbed his thumb over it, imagining all the warmth stored inside. He supposed it was all his mother’s, since he knew at once that John would have never worn it after it was recovered from the fire. He couldn’t wear it–But he kept it close. Perhaps it had been his lucky charm, ready to go on the hunt that he chose not to take in favor of a Thanksgiving meal with his family, a decision that separated entire worlds. Somewhere, Dean thought Mary must be smiling.

Dean turned the pendant over his hand to examine the back, where something caught his eye. Tiny initials were scratched at the bottom: H.W.

Dean stared at it, and it came to him at once. “Henry,” he said aloud.

Of course. This was John’s father’s pendant. He either gave it to John or John found it after Henry left. But Henry didn’t really leave his son, not on purpose anyway. That was yet another secret John never knew. Did this John know? Was this why the pendant was so powerful–it was a Men of Letters heirloom?

“Did you find it?” Castiel’s hoarse whisper broke Dean out of his thoughts.

“Hang on,” he muttered.

Dean flipped the pendant over once more, then slipped it into his pocket. He started to get out of the car, but he paused. He knew the heartache this would cause John, but they didn’t have a choice. He could only hope John would understand.

Castiel watched expectantly as Dean got out of the car. Slowly, he pulled the chain out of his pocket just to show Cas. Relief flooded Castiel’s face. It seemed to unlock some of Dean’s own relief as well, allowing it to grace his features in return.

Carefully, Dean closed the Impala door and locked it. Not because John wouldn’t find out someone broke in, but out of respect. She was still Baby, after all. Just, someone else’s Baby.

Castiel smiled as Dean approached. “Thank g… well.” Castiel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “Any time.”

Castiel grinned back.

Castiel and Dean walked back towards the woods, side by side, basking in their shared victory. They didn’t have to confront John, and they’d be back in the bunker with the pendant before Dean knew it. He couldn’t wait to tell Sam what they’d seen, although, maybe not all of it. Not yet. Dean hadn’t even realized how hungry he was. Castiel stopped Dean at the tree line and held out his hand, ready to transport them back to their own universe.

“Hey!” A deep voice bellowed across the grounds, causing them to look around. “Don’t move!”

Dean stared wide-eyed as John barreled towards them from the farmhouse, firearm and flashlight raised with uniform precision pointing at the place where Dean stood.

“Who are you? Don’t move!”

“Dean!” Castiel urged, ducking into the foliage.

But Dean didn’t follow him. Instead, he turned towards his father and slowly raised his hands.

John stopped a few yards from Dean, ready to fire on him. “I said who are you? Answer me!” he bellowed.

“Okay, okay…” Dean squinted in the light.

“Your name!”

John lowered the flashlight slightly, and Dean was struck by how young he was. Dean hadn’t seen him this close up before, and he could’ve easily been half Dean’s age. Despite his age, however, he already had those tired, weary eyes that Dean knew so well. But it wasn’t this fact that struck Dean, it was the look on his father’s face—he looked like he was seeing a ghost.

Then, something clicked in Dean’s head. He could feel Castiel behind him, reaching out from his hiding place so Dean could take his hand, but Dean had been possessed by a need so strong that it commanded him entirely.

“John,” Dean said slowly, “I’m sorry.”

John gaped at the man he didn’t realize was his own son. The wind was picking up, blowing through the trees, but Dean was numb to the cold. He could see John’s hands trembling.

“I never meant to leave. I’m so sorry.”

The words seemed to hit Dean as much as they hit John. John opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to demand Dean tell him his name, but no sound left his lips.

“Tell your sons you love them, okay?” Dean said seriously. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never stop telling them.”

Slowly, Dean began to lower his arms. John’s finger rested on the trigger. John seemed frozen in shock, unable to do anything but point the gun at Dean. Dean lowered his arms completely and reached back. He smiled at his father’s stunned face one last time, then he felt Castiel’s hand clasp his own, and the universe around him blinked out of existence.

The trip between universes was just as unpleasant as it had been earlier that afternoon. Dean felt like he was being pulled through solid matter, and like the world around him was being pulled through his own body. He caught one last smell of damp, autumn forest, then he was standing on solid ground beside Castiel.

A sharp exhale and two large hands steadying him told him they had made it back to the bunker.

“Hey, hey!” Sam’s voice echoed around them.

Dean opened his eyes and, sure enough, he and Castiel were standing on the very spot they’d left—Beside the library table.

“You guys okay?” Sam asked, looking quickly between Dean and Castiel as he helped to steady them.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Dean said.

The bunker was warmly lit, the table was littered with books, and the beer bottles were still on the table where Dean had left them. For a moment he thought he saw the forest floor below them, but it was just some note cards scattered on the linoleum.

Castiel looked as windswept as Dean, but Castiel didn’t share Dean’s relief at being home. The moment he realized they were both safe, he rounded on Dean. “Why did you do that?” he demanded, taking Sam by surprise. “He could have shot you! What were you doing?”

Sam’s eyes widened in realization. “Who…” he started to ask, but one look at Dean’s guilty face confirmed his suspicion. “D…dad? You saw Dad? He almost shot you?”

“He wasn’t going to shoot me,” Dean said calmly.

“You don’t know that!” Castiel persisted. “He didn’t recognize you, Dean! He could have easily…”

“Exactly,” Dean said.

Castiel looked exasperated.

“Cas… You don’t understand,” Dean said apologetically, “I had to. He thought…” He glanced heavily at Sam. “He thought I was his dad. He thought I was Henry.”

A heavy silence followed those words. Castiel and Sam both stared at him, dumbfounded.

“He deserved to hear those words. He… needed it.” Dean finished. His voice was quiet, but it seemed to fill the whole library. “I had to do it.” The conviction, and the grief, in Dean’s eyes seemed to have robbed Castiel of his anger.

Castiel looked deflated. He stared at Dean with a pained expression.

“What…what happened?” Sam asked. He sounded so hesitant that had it not been for the pitch of his voice the words might have come from the younger Sam’s mouth.

Dean glanced at Castiel, but Castiel had looked away. Dean took a deep breath and began to tell Sam what happened. When he got to the part about seeing young Dean and the neighbor boy, however, Dean paused. When Sam looked at him, expecting the story to go on, Dean instead reached into his coat and pulled out the silvery pendant.

Sam stared at it in shock. “You got it!”

“Yeah, we got it,” Dean said.

He passed it to Sam who accepted it reverently, examining it much the same way Dean had in the Impala. Dean chanced another glance at Castiel, but Castiel still wouldn’t look at him.

Dean continued telling Sam what happened, but he skipped to the part where John caught them. He would tell Sam everything eventually, but he needed more time with what he’d seen. He was sure Sam would understand. Castiel didn’t acknowledge the gap at all.

When Dean finally told Sam what he’d said to their dad, Sam’s expression softened. It was like they were sharing the same thoughts. Sam smiled weakly, feeling the initials carved into the back of the pendant. Dean thought he saw something like pride in Sam’s eyes. Dean didn’t think he could handle saying much more about it, so he finished the story by saying, “So, that’s it. We have everything we need for the spell.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, taking Dean’s cue to move on. “Yeah, first thing in the morning.” His voice was a little hoarse, but he was smiling. “If you guys are ready.”

Sam looked to Castiel, who seemed to come back to himself.

Castiel sighed. “Yes. I’ll need rest first.” Then he got up without further explanation and headed to his room.

Sam’s smile faded. Dean stared at the burnished amber light filtering through the empty beer bottles.

“So, I take it you guys didn’t talk much?” Sam asked, not really expecting an answer. Sure enough, he didn’t get one, so he took a risk and said, “Dean? I think you should take your own advice.”

Dean eyed him apprehensively, but he found that he was no longer mad about Castiel seeking out advice from Sam in secret, nor about Sam giving it. He felt like something had broken in him, but it wasn’t a painful feeling. He felt strangely present, and as if he were moving back and forth in time–witnessing the roots of a knotted tree spread throughout the universes, infecting one and in turn all the others with an ethereal mist. But a burn had started, breaking cycle after cycle to allow something new to grow.

Dean didn’t respond to Sam. Instead, he turned and headed down the hallway to find Castiel.

Castiel was removing his trenchcoat in one of the spare bedrooms. It had become something of a home for him. He laid it on the neatly made bed and sighed. He was so distracted by the dissonance ringing in his own head that he didn’t hear the knock on his door. He only noticed Dean was standing in the open doorway when he said his name.

“Oh,” Castiel said. “Come in.”

Dean could tell Castiel was still upset with him, but he couldn’t blame him. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

Castiel glanced at him sheepishly. He looked like he was trying to restrain himself, but it wasn’t working. “You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry.” He said. “I just wish you would talk to me.”

Dean’s expression had become mask-like, but Castiel could tell he was thinking something through. Castiel waited.

At last, Dean spoke. his gentle words at odds with his stoic expression.

“I love you, too.”

Castiel froze. He stared at Dean in surprise. There was a long pause as the words seemed to reverberate through the space, and then Dean’s stoic expression faltered. He looked hesitant, vulnerable, but it was the very same look that made Castiel fall for Dean all those years ago.

“I should’ve said it right away.” Dean’s voice was fragile, and it startled him to hear it coming out of his own throat, but he pressed on. He had to. “I was just afraid something…bad would happen. I know that sounds stupid...”

“It’s not,” Castiel said. Of all the confusing things Dean had ever said to him, this was not one of them. Castiel understood. “It’s not stupid, Dean.”

Dean was more grateful for Castiel's assurance than he liked to realize. He was even more grateful when Castiel saved him from having to say anything else by walking up to him and taking him into an embrace.

Something about the warmth of Castiel’s body brought back the memories of everything they’d just witnessed, and Dean felt more vulnerable than he’d ever felt in his life. And yet, he felt safe. He put his arms around Castiel firmly, happy for the first time in his life to be exactly where he was.

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