naitiaclo960writings - Tumblr blog

naitiaclo960writings · 3 years

Text

Day 17 - Autumn Invading

When Sam and Dean officially moved into the bunker, it was in the early fall. Even in Kansas, the wind was cold and biting at that time of year and, although he would never admit it even on his deathbed, Dean had always been of a chilly nature. In the innumerable motels they had traveled throughout their lives, Dean systematically arranged to keep several layers of clothing on him or to ask for extra blankets at the reception. When they had established their base at the bunker and each had inherited a room, it was not long for Dean before finding slippers, a warm bathrobe and the thickest blankets of their fortress.

Sam had noticed his little game a long time ago already, but never said anything. Despite his tough guy looks that Dean wanted to give himself for a reason that escaped him, Sam knew that his brother had a weakness, especially for the rare days when their daily life turned out to be calm and domestic. While he was ruthless with the monsters who gave them a hard time, Dean was also the most inclined to make hot chocolates in front of a wood fire while watching a nice movie. Sam called it his "cocooning period" and Dean, who thought it sounded too much like "a chick word”, just said he liked the simple things of life.

However, although he had so far moderated those moments of lounging to prevent Sam from laughing at him anymore, Dean had always dreamed of being able to spend whole days literally doing nothing. Don’t get him wrong, he was a man of action and he needed his quota of monsters and adventure within a week. Nevertheless, he certainly wouldn’t say no to weekends holed up in the bunker to worry about nothing but eating and sleeping from time to time.

Fortunately for him, the opportunity had almost presented itself when Castiel came to live with them. Definitely, of course.

Currently, Dean was buried under several fluffy blankets in his memory foam bed. He stretched out slowly, feeling each of his muscles deliciously distends before falling back against his pillows in the most satisfied sigh. Despite his blanket fortress and the heating on in his room, Dean was practically naked in his bed, wearing only a large pair of boxers with pizza patterns that he only wore when he wanted to relax. The underwear was so loose that he hardly felt it around his waist. On the other hand, feeling the cotton of the blankets on his freshly washed skin had the talent of putting him in a good mood.

His feet—which had kept cooling on contact with the bunker tiles despite his wool slippers—were now pleasantly warm at the end of the bed, sending delightful waves of tingling in his legs. He felt like he was floating in a cloud of comfort and, for God’s sake, he would like to feel that way for the rest of his life. Dean barely wanted to get up to get food or go to the bathroom. If he had to die here, then so be it. He told himself that he would pass away happily, with a little soft smile. Dean retreated to his comfort nest, his hair pointing in all directions as he tightened his favorite blanket around his shoulders.

The arm that did not hold the blanket, for its part, went on a wander in search of a very different source of heat. When his fingers finally came into contact with warm and familiar skin in front of him, he smiled a little more. Castiel was sitting next to him, leaning on a pile of pillows against the headboard and staring at the computer between them. He was not much more dressed than Dean, but unlike his companion, he did not feel the need to cover up. Angels were not affected by temperature like humans. Also, Castiel was always temperate and, when Dean felt too chilly, he would snuggle to him in search of a human — or almost — radiator. Although, of course, Dean did not always wait to be cold to cuddle with Castiel.

Castiel smiled while feeling Dean’s hand gently caressing his bare and finely muscled belly, his blue eyes leaving the screen to come and rest on Dean’s loving face. He loved to see this expression so open and relaxed on his partner’s face and made it a point to make it appear as often as possible. Since the beginning of fall, he and Dean had multiplied the afternoons in bed to laze undisturbed in the warmth of their room. It was needless to say that Castiel had never experienced such a situation, it seemed to him to be a purely human activity to which he would have lent no use not so long before. But now that he shared his daily life and more with Dean, he had quickly learned to cherish those kinds of shared moments together. It was beyond words. Dean called it "having a good run together" and Castiel loved the sound of that sentence, because he already knew that he wanted to explore every possible and imaginable existence with Dean until the end of his very long life. It would probably be a bit silly if he confessed it aloud to his companion, but he would not hesitate to let Dean know it just to see him blush and mumble two or three swear words under his breath before kissing him gently on the lips.

Castiel cut his thoughts short to get progressively closer to Dean, sinking into the blankets too. He turned on the mattress to face him, placing a warm hand on one of his cheeks and feeling Dean’s zygomatic tends more into a soft smile.

"Are you cold?" Castiel inquired, raising a curious eyebrow while the computer played a series, forgotten between them.

Dean shrugged but nevertheless got closer, planting a wet kiss on Castiel’s nose. They were now so close to each other that they shared the same air.

"That’s alright. Unless you want to give me a little sport to warm me up…" Dean teased while continuing to touch the Angel’s abs, a playful smile on his face.

Castiel hummed gently to the attention before extending an arm towards Dean. He embraced him slowly before drawing Dean to him and share another kiss, deeper this time. Dean let out an amused exclamation in the embrace and then retreated after a while. He smiled.

"Besides, I thought you really wanted to know the end of Breaking Bad before deigning to touch me." He joked before he kissed Castiel again, gently.

Castiel raised an arrogant eyebrow and this time it was his turn to break the contact.

"Maybe my human’s needs come first this time. Well, so I believe." Castiel replied in a teasing tone, easily entering Dean’s game now that he had learned the subtlety of sarcasm and seduction.

Dean shook his head and smiled. He knew that such a dynamic between them would never have been possible before, even in his wildest dreams. Dean had resigned to his unspoken feelings by persuading himself for years that he and Castiel were a relationship doomed to failure and suffering. That they were too different and that their lives would never allow them any semblance of normalcy or comfort. That he shouldn’t be distracted when he was trying to save the world or taking care of his little brother. That it just wouldn’t work, because it wasn’t reciprocal and he’d make a fool of himself, he’d lose his best friend, he’d still hurt someone he cared about.

He had been happy to have decided not to listen to this voice the day he opened himself up to Castiel. Although this was greatly encouraged by alcohol, it was all but unimportant.

"Oh, I see. Well, the human is infinitely grateful to you for honoring him with your luminous presence." Dean answered with exaggeration, rolling his eyes and pretending to be annoyed.

"You don’t complain about it, though." Castiel remarked.

Castiel tried to kiss him again after that, but Dean backed away and gave him a finger. Castiel grumbled and pushed him a little further while Dean laughed softly, not even offended when the blanket slipped from his shoulders. He loved the simplicity that animated their relationship, the fact that he could act freely without worrying about the reaction of the other. Castiel knew him so well now and it had taken more than a few months for Dean to accept the fact that his best friend loved him for what he was and not for what he was supposed to be every day. It was refreshing and oh so restful for Dean. In all these previous serious relationships, although they were not numerous, he had had to keep a part of mystery or even a lie that had systematically left a bitter taste in his mouth. With Castiel, the major difference was that he knew immediately what he was signing up for and accepted it as is.

Still smiling, Dean straightened up to grab the cup of hot chocolate he had left to cool down until then. He took the drink with a comfortable sigh and wrapped his fingers around the still warm ceramic. A marshmallow floated lazily in the center of the chocolate and Dean melted a little more in the mattress when the liquid touched his lips. He knew that in normal times and with anyone else at his side, he would disown hot chocolate for something stronger. Probably coffee, or whiskey. Or both at the same time. But now, he was too deeply immersed in his trance of total relaxation to care about it and this chocolate was the most delicious there was right now. He let the sweet taste come and tease his taste buds before swallowing it with delight, feeling the still burning liquid slipping down his throat.

When Dean opened his eyes that he did not remember closing, he watched his computer continue broadcasting Breaking Bad in front of them. They remained in silence for many minutes, Dean finishing his cup of chocolate while Castiel played distractingly with the fingers of Dean’s unoccupied hand. When his cup was empty and he felt warmed from the inside, Dean rested his mug on his nightstand and stretched out like a cat again. He was pretty sure that Castiel paid as much attention as he did to their series—that is to say, very little—so he was not surprised when his companion straightened up to hug him on his side and bury his nose in his neck. Dean smiles as he feels Castiel’s warm breath in the hollow of his skin.

"If you keep going, we both know perfectly well that we will never finish the episode…" Dean growled gently while leaning into the embrace.

Time seemed suspended between them in this bubble of happiness that constituted their room, slowed down. Dean sighed quietly, softly sliding towards that version of him that only very few people on this Earth had the right to see. The relaxed and gentle, funny Dean. A little needy, but nevertheless light and easy… The Dean is the exact opposite of this emotionless killing machine that he had to interpret too often to survive. Here, the only weapon he needed was the puppy eyes that he sometimes threw at Castiel to order him another head massage among his tangled hair.

The hours elapsed deliciously between them as the episodes followed one another. Dean felt a little more filled with that warm feeling every time Castiel paid attention to him, whether it was when he rolled the blankets up on a piece of his bare skin or when he pressed a tender kiss down his neck just to feel it shivering. In those days, Dean wanted to do everything and do nothing at the same time. He felt powerful, important, alive.

The sun was certainly declining outside to give way to the long night of winter, but both dared hardly look at the hour for fear of breaking this tacit agreement of total tranquility. Of course, Dean got up at one point to quickly go to cook something before coming back to eat it in bed, and Castiel took the opportunity to take out the controllers of the game console located in Dean’s room after they had finished their series. Castiel won the game, as he always did, because he seemed to be just good at everything he did, and Dean mumbled for form in the face of his traditional forfeit of the loser before indulging in a back massage for his companion.

He savored every trembling muscle under his fingers, every scar that he began to know by heart, and paid special attention to these two reddish marks among the scapula reminiscent of deep cuts. But Dean knew these marks well, and he loved them even more since he knew how to exploit them. Sitting softly on Castiel’s buttocks, he pressed his fingers against the spine of his angel before slowly pulling up each vertebra. He massaged, caressed, brushed and massaged again until he felt Castiel trembling beneath him. Dean leaned a little further forward, so that his breath now came to warm the skin of his lover’s back. He smiles, concentrating his movements on the shoulder blades, teasing the hollows and bumps of his companion’s anatomy while detailing his pale, muscular skin.

"Never have I ever… lost in a video game on purpose to massage you." Dean suddenly said before he came to kiss Cas’s upper back.

Castiel sighed and a fine smile appeared on his relaxed face. It was their game, their way of saying "I love you" without really expressing it… They had developed it at the turn of a drink-fueled evening that had undeniably ended with very few clothes, but their trick had remained and everything was a pretext to reuse it now. It was simple and stupid and simply stupid, everything they needed to know and say what they thought about each other. One said a perfectly obvious fact by beginning his sentence with "never have I ever", to which the other had to answer with a kiss if it were true. To date, no one has stated facts that do not require a positive response. Normally, the game was played in turn, but, engaged in the roll, Dean continued.

"Never have I ever loved the touch of your wings more than anything in this world…"

Another kiss, on one of the marks this time, as if to contradict himself. An umpteenth happy sigh. Castiel did not complain about this brief change of rules.

"Never have I ever…" A kiss. "Loved as much…" Then another. " As with you…"

Castiel practically purred under the attention before Dean slowly retreated and lowered his hands. Like a perfectly repeated choreography, Castiel took the opportunity to take a deep inspiration before a loud "whoosh" filled the air and two huge black wings invaded the space of the room. Dean smiled tenderly, a wide smile full of teeth that wrinkled the corner of his eyes as he leaned forward again to kiss the base of the wings. No feather escaped his attention as he stroked and kissed every bit of plumage offered to him, and Castiel seemed to melt on the mattress.

Seeing the wings of an angel was a true honor considering how intimate the gesture was for the angel concerned. Castiel literally laid bare before him, revealing his purest primal form and putting his life in his hands. The wings of an angel were so fragile, so sensitive and yet so powerful and majestic. Even among them, it was not common for this heavenly race to show their wings, let alone in a moment as intimate as the one Castiel and Dean were living. But the months had accumulated between them and from this love a solid trust was born. Dean would never thank his angel enough for offering him such proof of love, but he could nevertheless try to love him so much in return.

"Cas…" Dean whispered against the heat of a large dark feather.

"I’m here." Castiel immediately replied. Always.

As a result, the words were lost, the gestures became feverish to make room only for the language of the bodies. Although Dean was woefully bad at expressing his emotions, he certainly knew how to show them and Castiel undeniably liked to receive. Nevertheless, of all the means they used to warm up on the cold autumn days, this was their favorite.

* * * @winchester-reload

Hiya! First of all, I’m sorry for the delay in publication. I had several personal things to deal with, a writing block and, among other things, the now imminent end of the show that is beginning to weigh on morale. However, I repeat that I intend to finish this collection on the 31 days of the Suptober! I’m not going to pick up the pace of "one work a day", but things will continue to move forward, hoping you’ll stay tuned for it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace

24 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 16 - Switch it up!

Anyone who had ever had the opportunity to share a meal with the Winchester brothers knew that they had undeniably simple tastes. As sons of hunters and hunters themselves, of course, they had grown up and lived most of their lives on the roads, leaving very few opportunities for relaxation or even cooking. They would stay a few days, complete the case, save lives, then drive across the country and start all over again. However, in the many motel rooms they had crossed until then, Dean had nevertheless learned to handle things in a kitchen. He had had to feed himself and his younger brother when their father was gone several days or weeks, hunting monsters in another state and left them a roll of bills on the night table for the most part. Of course, they were not rolling in money. But Dean had always managed to find something to satisfy his brother and he was not too proud of it.

If many thought that Sam was the smartest of the two —which Dean pretended not to be offended by— very few knew that Dean was actually the best cook. Admittedly, some of his creations had not always been successful, such as those marshmallow nachos that Sam seemed to like when he was 8 years old. But he could nevertheless boast of his superb homemade hamburgers, pancakes or even of his talent for pies: apples, cherries, blueberries, pecan… he tried everything. He also knew how to concoct this famous tomato-rice soup that Mary Winchester made for him with love when he was sick, holding this recipe from her own mother, before singing "Hey Jude" to him until he fell asleep. This same soup that John had tried to reproduce for years afterwards by always adding too much salt.

However, the recipe of their childhood that Dean has always taken the most pleasure in redoing was undoubtedly the "Winchester Surprise". It was the only dish, apart from the soup, that Mary cooked on her own for her children when she was still alive. In addition to these two recipes, Mary had always proved to be a poor cook from what their father had told them. Dean didn’t know then where his attraction to cooking came from, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. He and Sam had tried to recreate the comfort of their home hundreds of times trying to reproduce the Winchester Surprise and it was the first dish they had made in the bunker kitchen.

Dean never ran out of ideas to try to improve the recipe, making it more exotic or richer depending on the desires. He had made Castiel taste it when he became human and he had caught a cold, seeing him shivering in a blanket in the bunker all day long. To hear his friend’s groan of satisfaction when the food had passed the threshold of his lips was the best reward.

Today, he had no particular excuse to do the Winchester Surprise, he was simply bored and had just come back from the grocery store. Sam had gone to clear a vampire nest with Eileen and would probably be back tonight, Castiel had gone off to do some business in Heaven and Jack and Charlie had gone to the cinema to see the latest Disney movie. He had the kitchen to himself.

Also, Dean didn’t wait any longer to plug his phone into a small speaker and put a Metallica playlist on that soon resonated in the room. He had all the ingredients he needed and mouths to feed when they came home tonight, what more could he ask for? He started whistling quietly to the rhythm of "Fade to Black" and opened the refrigerator in search of onions, grounded meat and slices of cheese. He caught pickles and some other condiments. Once all this was laid out on the central island, he closed the fridge and went to search in a cupboard for buttermilk biscuits and corn chips, which would be the main garnishing. Finally, he seized a gratin dish and some utensils before returning to the central island.

Dean felt good and light, it was that special feeling that he felt every time he went into a new recipe. He knew that this unique satisfaction of having created something that would please his family would follow and it was really gratifying to know that his food would be eaten tonight. Sam would probably roll his eyes with tenderness while Jack and Charlie would rush to the table like the walking stomachs they were. Eileen would sign him a simple "thank you" charged with gratitude and Castiel would still give him this look full of a special affection that he always reserved for him. With that in mind, Dean got to work.

Maybe he’d come back to the bases today. After all, the Winchester Surprise in all its splendor was above all made to warm the hearts of those returning home from a rough day. He didn’t have to seek something too original today. Dean began: he scattered the cookies across the bottom of the baking dish before sautéing the onions in a frying pan. Quickly, he added the meat and let it rest for a few minutes while listening to the guitar solo which was in full swing in the speaker. Afterwards he added his condiments and stirred.

He had made this recipe so many times that he could have done it with his eyes closed. When everything had simmered to his liking, Dean poured the mixture into his baking dish and covered it with slices of cheese. Satisfied with his decoration, he finally slipped the dish into the oven before closing the door and turning the thermostat up. He programmed an alert on his phone 5 minutes before the end of the cooking to add the corn chips and sighed with satisfaction before catching the part he feared the most: the dishes.

That night, Sam and Eileen returned from their hunt in one piece just after Jack and Charlie returned. Castiel was the last to enter the bunker, a tired, but relieved to be home expression on his face. Everyone found the table set in the library, a rather rare thing in short, but everyone knew what it announced. And as Dean had predicted, each one went with his own reaction as they sat down at the table.

"Thanks mum." Sam gently laughed at him when Dean served him a piece, and Dean replied with a middle finger and a smile on his face.

Castiel, as usual now that he had become an angel again, did not hesitate to eat, but took the time to analyze each molecule with curiosity. Finally, Dean sat down with a full plate and looked around. His family chatted happily while filling their bellies and he could not feel more at home than now. Hell, he loved to innovate in the kitchen, even though he always ended up going back to basics.

* * * @winchester-reload

This is such a short one that I didn’t cut it. I hope I made a good interpretation of today’s word, I admit I struggled with it a little. I hope you enjoyed it anyway, tomorrow’s word should be as light as this one!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

#suptober20 #domestic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #Sam Winchester #jack kline #charlie bradbury #eileen leahy

26 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 15 - Third Eye

(Warnings: consensual drug use + dark fic)

Move. Kill. Don’t mourn, no time. Start again.

Some wouldn’t call it a life, and Dean thought they would be right. It wasn’t a life, it was survival. In 2014, in this world infected by a freaking zombie apocalypse and Lucifer in person walking the Earth with his Knights of the Apocalypse, no one had a life anymore. Some of them were literally no longer alive. Half the population was now wandering the streets animated by an insatiable thirst for blood. The other half killed each other or desperately hoped to put themselves through it, but everyone knew it was a crazy hope. Dean knew it, he learned it too many times at his own expense.

His mother was dead, his father was dead, his friends were dead, and his brother said yes to the only asshole responsible for this nightmare. Dead, too. Even his trusty car was dead, rusting in a corner of vegetation that ended up gnawing it to the bone. The only thing Dean could call "his reason keep going" was this camp of survivors barely holding up. Although it eluded his own understanding, he was the leader, which mostly included keeping everyone alive. It was definitely more of a curse than a blessing when you thought of every opportunity to die in such a world. Dean wasn’t even sure he wanted to survive himself most of the time.

Today, he had to kill one of his men in cold blood again because of a croat who infected him during their raid on the outside, which reduced their force to 23 now, including 11 people unable to fight or go on missions. Dean sighed, pinching the base of his nose while still feeling this migraine pointing behind his eyes. Following this incident, Dean had taken care of the reserve to find out what they should find in priority of their next raid and had followed Risa up to the North Wall to investigate a breach. He had put some men on the job before listening to Chuck’s umpteenth complaints about rationing and, finally, he had locked himself in the military room to keep up with Lucifer’s latest advances in the country.

Now, once his migraine was in full swing, he was standing in front of this familiar curtain of pearls that served as a safe door in front of him. Although times are tough for everyone, Dean knew he still had a friend left on this gangrene Earth. He was certainly the strangest and most atypical friend he could have had by his side, the one who did him the most harm as well. Castiel for whom he felt responsible and, therefore, guilty of his present state. But Castiel was also the friend who had stayed with him to the end.

"And look at the result," a disturbingly voice whispered in his head. He pushed it back into the depths of his mind. Dean discarded the pearls in front of him and made his way into the protective den of his friend reeking sage. He came here to seek a little comfort, selfishly. He knew that he had already worn Castiel to the core and yet he kept coming back to ask him for more, over and over again just to see if Castiel would say yes every time. He never said no, anyway.

"Cas." Dean called once with his tired voice.

He was almost relieved to not see a group of naked women from the encampment in the middle of the room. He had witnessed this kind of debacle far too often to still find it amusing. Not seeing his friend in the main room, he went a little further into the building until a wide curtain of washed-out sheets concealed Castiel’s bedroom. He knew he would find him there rather than wandering around the camp. Castiel had no reason to go out if he wasn’t in a raid or stoned. Or both.

Indeed, Dean spread the sheets and his eyes fell upon Castiel lying in the middle of a king-size mattress that had known better days. He was currently sorting a small, dark green, powdery product in a bottle cap, several disemboweled cigarettes resting around him. Dean knew all too well what he was doing and it would be a lie to say that he had not hoped to find him in this exact situation. He took a brief moment to contemplate the emaciated features and pale skin of Castiel, who had raised his head towards him, before coming to sit on the mattress with him.

Castiel did not utter a word, he just threw him that trembling smile that he had for years now, a smile almost crazy of something. Dean watched him do it calmly by rubbing his brow arch distractingly, thoughtful. It was their thing. When Dean was at his wits' end, he would come knocking on Castiel’s door and get high with him until he forgot everything. He could have lingered and wept over the fact that this now represented their only contact face to face. The rest of the time, Dean yelled his orders at everyone and treated his "friends" as soldiers: sacrificial and replaceable. Tools for his own survival. But when he came to intoxicate his mind with Castiel in this makeshift hut, then he could almost claim that everything had gone back to the way it was before and it was beautiful. Who was he to blame Castiel for injecting that into his veins all day? He’d give anything to stay forever in that kind of dream, too.

When Castiel was satisfied with his opium, he emptied a cigarette of part of its tobacco before replacing it with opium. He clumsily closed the whole thing with a second sheet of rolling tobacco and did the same with all the next cigarettes. When he finished, he turned his curious gaze to Dean. Dean poked around in his pocket for a moment before taking out his lighter. Castiel immediately carried an opium-cut cigarette to his mouth and leaned forward. Dean activated his lighter to light his cigarette before closing the flap of his Zippo with a sharp noise. He watched patiently as Castiel lit a second cigarette with the glowing tip of his own before handing it to Dean.

"For you, my dear leader." Castiel mocked with a hoarse voice and on the verge of insult. "Open your third eye, Dean. That’s all we had left anyway."

Dean swallowed with difficulty in the face of the veracity of Castiel’s words and took the cigarette between his fingers. He took the time to lean against the wall behind him before pulling on the small roll of tobacco. As soon as the smoke filled his lungs, he felt his body relax and leaned a little more against the wall behind him. The effect was always almost immediate and that was exactly what he needed. If he could, he’d get rid of his brain permanently. He would lie down on the same mattress gnawed by the moths and inject himself with so many drugs that it would make the most delicious overdose in total indifference. But he couldn’t do it. So he was content to come and get high like that miserable thing he was before he came out and continue to utter orders here and there, as if he were able to change anything to this insignificant existence.

Dean turned his head to see Castiel exhale his own puff of smoke with an already glassy look, lost in the wave of blankets in front of him. They had lost everything and the only thing they had left was to hope to feel from time to time. Soon, the muscles relaxed one by one until no one was able to get up, even if they wanted to. Dean was sure that if someone popped up and shot them right away, he wouldn’t move an inch. And as sordid as that sounds, he loved it. He was in full ecstasy, watching the thick white smoke swirling before him with an absent fascination, his gaze being lost in emptiness. Dean was now struggling to coordinate his actions and bringing that cigarette to his mouth was the only movement he could still do somewhat properly.

It was finally starting to disappear. Pain, grief, despair, guilt… Instead, the face of the people he had once loved started to draw in front of him, in the smoke accumulating in the small space. He could see his beautiful mother like in the good old days making him an apple pie in the heat of their home. His father teaching him how to fish that day nearby a lake in 1988. His little brother sitting next to him in the Impala, smiling as they made their way to their next destination. He saw Bobby refilling a glass of alcohol in the kitchen of his house and he saw Castiel at his best, sharing a beer with him on the hood of his car as he contemplated the stars. While hovering in the seventh heaven, Dean imagined he could touch that dream with his fingers.

The anguish no longer existed, this consuming fear of seeing his friends and family die had disappeared. No, nothing existed anymore because of this call to happiness that was lost in the smoke volutes around him. He wasn’t cold anymore, he felt good. Strangely, he felt himself smile, something he no longer remembered having done for years now. To his left, he simply hoped that Castiel would touch on the same euphoria as the one he was tasting, no matter how fake it might be. He just liked to wrap himself into this hallucinogenic state where drugs plunged him into, this kind of parallel universe where everything was going well and he was someone else. There, he had a real reason to keep going.

That was all they had left.

* * * @winchester-reload

That’s the first time I write about Endverse!Dean and Castiel, let me know what you thought about it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

#suptober20 #endverse!dean #endverse!cas #2014 apocalypse #supernatural

11 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 14 - Fun & Games

The evening was already well advanced when Dean decided to turn off his computer and take a break from his essay. That last year at engineering degree was starting to give him a hard time and, frankly, he was looking forward to graduating and being hired somewhere. Hopefully, he would find a job in the same city and not have to look for another apartment.

It’s been 3 years since he shared a place with his best friend Castiel and things suited him perfectly like they were. Castiel had already been in the active life for two years, working as a heritage officer at the Kansas City Museum, but sharing the rent of their apartment was a relief for everyone. Moreover, they had now settled into a comfortable routine that gave rhythm to their lives in the most pleasant way. Most often, they would invite friends on Friday nights and spend an evening together over a beer. Saturday was reserved for a video game night where Castiel often ended up winning and bequeathing his dishes tour of the week to Dean. Sunday night was a mix of movies and popcorn while Tuesday was a board game night. On Wednesdays, finally, they always ordered from the Japanese caterer on the corner of the street and zapped between Netflix and YouTube until they were too tired to put away their plates and left them on the coffee table in the living room.

Dean stretched out at his desk before he got up. He quietly shut off his laptop and put down the glasses he used for work on top, massaging the back of his neck gently. When he turned off the light from his desk, his room was plunged into darkness and, as if to confirm the late hour, his belly began to grumble softly.

"Okay…" He sighed while putting a hand on his belly. It was time for him to return to the real world.

Outside, he heard Castiel moving a few pots and he smiled softly. He could always count on his friend to cook for them when he was too immersed in his own classes to care, and truly, Castiel was not such a bad cook as he claimed. Dean walked blindly to his door and opened it to a good smell of melted cheese. Growling with envy and a tenfold appetite, he approached the kitchen to find his roommate tidying up some kitchen utensils, the oven gently purring behind him. Dean leaned against the central island with a relaxed smile.

"What’s up, chief?" Dean asked, raising his voice in the hope of surprising Castiel.

The latter did not even jump, probably having heard him arrive without showing it. He put away the spatula he had in his hand before responding to Dean with a smile on his face.

"Four cheeses Mac’n’Cheese!" Castiel proudly announced, turning to him.

"Wow." Dean said, raising his eyebrows, truly surprised. "And what did I do to deserve one of my favorite comfort foods tonight?"

Castiel smiled even more and shrugged, returning to his storage. He took the time to rinse a knife before answering.

"You hardly left your room in the afternoon, I thought you might need a pick-me-up."

And it was as simple as that. It has now been 7 years since Dean and Castiel met, they had found each other at school and had not really left each other since. As a result, Castiel was obviously able to read Dean like an open book and the opposite was also true. They were confidants for each other, brothers almost, pillars on which to lean when everything went too fast around them. Dean and Castiel had actually painted the town red in high school before going to enter together into the terrifying life of a student or, for Castiel, an active worker. Above all, they had always been there for each other. Dean had been more than present during the divorce of Castiel’s parents and the ensuing family debacle, he had even taken his friend out of a very bad drug past for which Castiel would be forever grateful. Castiel, meanwhile, had supported Dean when Mary Winchester had lost her battle against a disease and John spent about most of his time at the bar, drowning his grief while his sons remained helpless at home. Dean no longer counted the number of times Castiel had welcomed him and Sam into his home simply to give them a break from everything else.

Such events bound destinies for a long time when they were lived like this. However, although Dean cherished his friendship with Castiel more than anything, he had to face reality about a year earlier. Dean was not particularly known for his long introspections, but he was obliged to admit after several months of living together that his friendship with Castiel had perhaps turned into a more concrete and disabling feeling in his situation.

Okay, maybe he had a thing for Castiel. A little bit. Okay, good time! He wasn’t even sure it was mutual, so he certainly wasn’t going to waste 7 years of friendship on a simple… feeling? For God’s sake, he had spent whole evenings struggling with this very question, thinking about it again and again until he got migraines, and he had finally come to the conclusion that if he did not have absolute confirmation of the reciprocity of his feelings, then he wouldn’t try anything. It may have been giving up without a fight, but whatever he had was too valuable to make decisions lightly. It was not even certain that Castiel liked men! Well, yes, perhaps, his friend qualified himself as"pansexual". What Dean always said to him was that it was just "being a fucking care bear, but more complicated, just to piss me off."

Anyway, after months of internal debate, Dean always found himself in the middle of that kitchen, with a best friend and roommate he loved a little more every day, but to which he had to continue pretending to maintain the ideal routine in which they had settled. Dean smiled tenderly at Castiel, who had now finished tidying up the kitchen and, realizing that he might have been staring at him for a little too long now, he sighed and went to the couch to choose their program.

They ate in a good mood in front of a horror film so lame that Dean was seized with a hysterical laugher in the middle and nearly choked on a macaroni. For dessert, Dean got up and came back with two ice creams — vanilla for him and a much more sophisticated taste for Castiel like wild mango or whatever — to finish their meal. Surprisingly, Dean was not particularly tired despite his long day of work and considering the energy that Castiel still had in front of the film, neither was his friend. When the credits began to scroll on the screen, Dean sighed.

"What time do you start tomorrow?" He asked in an innocent tone.

Castiel stretched out on the couch before falling back heavily into it.

"At 11:00, I’m closing." He said, grimacing. "But I won’t be spitting on some extra sleep, really."

Dean let out a contemplative "mmh" before turning to his friend.

"Does that mean you’re up for continuing the night a little longer? I’m starting late tomorrow too, and I admit that I’d like to enjoy the last few hours of the weekend without thinking about my damn essay." Dean pouted.

At these words, Castiel laughs softly and Dean already knew his answer by the expression of his face alone.

"What do you propose?" Castiel asked, raising a defiant eyebrow.

Dean took a short moment to think before his gaze landed on the drawer in which all their board games rested. Immediately, his brain set out to lead him towards an idea that would gradually stretch a malicious smile on his face. Of course, he had long established that he could not reveal his feelings to Castiel, but that did not mean that he could not take advantage of them here and there when the opportunity presented itself.

"A card game?" Dean suggested, turning an angelic face to Castiel again. "Do you know how to play poker?"

Castiel frowned and tilted his head slightly to the side, as was always the case when a situation confused him somehow.

"Uh… I can’t say I do, no. It always seemed rather complicated to me when I saw you playing that during parties." Castiel replied slowly, his blue and curious eyes fixed on Dean.

"It’s pretty simple once you understand the basics!" Dean assured, already bending over to open the drawer with his plan still in mind. "I can teach you if you want, it’ll save you from getting ripped off by Gabriel the next time we play."

As he hoped, these words seemed to unlock something in Castiel’s mind, for his friend straightened himself up with new interest before nodding.

"Okay, but only on one condition." He said, raising his eyebrows. "We don’t bet money. I already have to pay Charlie back because of our last night together."

Dean laughs softly at the mention of that stupid bet that Castiel had royally lost while he was reinstalling himself on the couch with the card game in hand.

"Okay, okay. That’s fine with me. But we still need to spice things up or poker is a lot less fun." He pretended to think for a moment under Castiel’s innocent gaze before resuming. "For lack of something better... we can consider a strip poker?"

As these words left his mouth, Dean felt his heart speed up in his chest. Of course, he had already seen Castiel half-naked many times before, and although he had always appreciated what he saw there, he had to admit that this context would be otherwise amusing. Nevertheless, Castiel remained forbidden and inexpressive so long before him that Dean quickly lost his smile.

"I mean, no… Of course not, I was joking. What-"

"Strip poker works for me." Castiel cut off.

His friend had answered so confidently that Dean was caught off guard for a moment before he could recover. Castiel agreed with his idea, really?

"But it’s quite uneven." Castiel replied, pouting. "You already know the rules, I’ll be naked in less than ten minutes."

That’s the idea, Dean thought. But as he still had compassion for Castiel, he looked around before he got up.

"Mix the cards, I’ll come back." He said to Castiel.

Quickly, he arrived in the kitchen and began searching in the cupboard just below the central island.

"Do we have any bottles left from Friday?" Dean asked as his eyes swept over the contents of the closet.

"I think Benny left a bottle of sherry, yes." Castiel replied from the living room.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. Sherry, seriously… Did Benny think he was a modern-day pirate or something?

"It’s an insult to call Sherry alcohol when you’re under 40, but… fine." Dean said while grabbing the said bottle before heading out in search of tumblers.

"It’s more of a set of brandy-cut wines, actually, but you did you know that-"

"Cas." Dean sighed again as he returned to the salon with his findings.

He did not need to look in the direction of Castiel to know that he had rolled his eyes heavily. Dean reinstalled himself in the sofa and placed the sherry bottle and the tumblers on the coffee table. He began his explanation while serving the first cup.

"Well, the rules are simple. If you lose a turn in poker, you take off one piece of clothing and the last one naked wins." He grabbed another tumbler. "However... Since I am an extremely nice and magnanimous teacher, we will have three jokers each." Dean pointed to the liquor bottle. "Therefore, if you lose a match, you have the right to choose to drink a shot bottom up rather than take off clothes. We’ll have three jokers each for the whole night. Is that all right, Mr. Know-it-all?"

Castiel did not pay attention to the comment and watched Dean pour the last shot with special attention. He seemed to be much more focused than he wanted to appear until then, and Dean restrained a smile. Castiel had always been a competitor.

"If the three jokers are only usable for the whole evening, then three is not enough." Castiel protested. "I really don’t know anything about it! Allow us at least five? Please?" He added with a more than pronounced pleading expression that came straight to Dean’s heart.

He rolled his eyes before taking out four new cups.

"Yeah, yeah, if you want. Five jokers each then, but don’t expect that to save you from not exposing those gorgeous leopard panties that I gave you for Thanksgiving last year." Dean replied with a mocking smile.

Castiel pushed him with his foot from the other end of the couch and kept his mouth shut on the fact that he, at least, was not knowingly buying Scooby-Doo underwear. Nevertheless, he let go of the remark and straightened himself up on the couch as Dean began to deal the cards. Judging by the smile on Dean’s face, he was more than confident.

* * *

Turns out Castiel was either a damn good liar or he had a freaking knack for poker. Dean continued to bitch in his corner while he was already in his underwear and socks on the couch, his five empty sherry glasses on the coffee table while three on Castiel’s side were still full. Not to mention the fact that Castiel was still perfectly dressed and even sprawled out among the blankets in a casual attitude that only offended Dean more.

He himself was curled up and kept staring at his cards with a sullen expression, alcohol already making him spin his head to make matters worse.

"You’re sulking." Castiel unnecessarily remarked as he was knocking down other cards on their improvised playground.

"I’m not- Damn it, seriously!" Dean suddenly exclaimed in a raging gesture as Castiel won that round again." Dude, I don’t have any more clothes to take anything off!"

Castiel raised an almost cruel eyebrow.

"You still have your socks. Why didn’t you take them off first anyway?" He asked, tilting his head one more time to the side.

Dean simply groaned as an answer and placed his card game with ill-humor on the armrest of the couch. The truth was that he had always been a little chilly in their apartment, whatever the temperature indicated by the thermometer, but he preferred to stand naked in front of Castiel ten times than to admit it in person. Eventually, he began to pull on his left sock reluctantly before letting the poor piece of cloth fall to the ground. If he got sick because of that damn game he started himself, he’d never play poker again.

By attending to his friend’s obvious bad faith, Castiel had to restrain a smile. Eventually, poker was quite instinctive according to him and he even enjoyed playing it now.

"We do one last game before we go to sleep?" Castiel asked, putting the cards together and mixing them again.

Dean sighed loudly.

"What, so I can go back to my room barefoot and bare-bottomed?" Dean grumbled.

Castiel rolled his eyes and began dealing the cards in silence, ignoring Dean’s bad loser attitude and his naked and shivering body before him for a moment. He briefly thought about an alternative before biting his inner cheek with apprehension considering to the direction in which his thoughts were going. Maybe these two sherry cups finally got to his brain... Castiel had never held his liquor very well. However, he was the first to be surprised — and mortified — by the forbidden words that came out of his mouth:

"I have another idea. For the last match, I’ll give you an extra joker." Castiel began, feeling a knot in his stomach as to the turn the events would soon take.

"Mmh?" Dean replied with a questioning look, his curiosity obviously bringing him a new interest.

"If I beat you again on this game…" He handed Dean a few cards, face down. "You will have the right to refuse to take your clothes off. But in that case, you will have to trust me and let me… challenge you?

Dean raised an eyebrow before turning completely to Castiel, sitting cross-legged on the couch. He remained silent for a moment before taking a deep breath and finally grabbing the cards that Castiel handed him.

"… Will I regret it again?" Dean asked seriously.

Castiel swallowed. He had no good answer to this question. Was he himself certain of what he was doing? Not at all. But he needed Dean to play tonight, because right now, he felt brave.

"No." He lied.

Dean seemed to gauge him for a moment before finally nodding. Thus, another game engaged in a silence filled with concentration. Both of them knew there was a real stake in this game even though Dean was advancing blindly this time. No matter the outcome of the game, he already knew that he would choose Castiel’s challenge, just because he was a player and possessed a curiosity far too strong for his own good. Moreover, this redness that he had thought had subtly appeared on Castiel’s face when he had imposed his condition did not cease to come to torture his mind. He needed to know.

Of course, as if it had been bound to happen, Dean would put his cards down on the couch just to see his chances of winning be wiped out by Castiel a few seconds later. His shoulders dropped heavily, the adrenaline of the game diminishing to give way to defeat. He did not say a word, hardly surprised though, and looked up at Castiel who offered him a compassionate smile. Dean sighed and clasped his hands before him, shrugging.

"Okay Doc Holliday, you got me cowboy…" Dean pouted. "Okay… Joker. What should I do?"

Castiel suddenly seemed nervous in front of him, which did not help Dean relax. He frowned slightly, uncertain, while Castiel laid all the cards on the table.

"I.... I need you to close your eyes. It has to be a surprise or I.... Anyway. Close your eyes please." Castiel stuttered in front of him.

Dean watched him for a moment without saying anything before finally taking a discreet breath and closing his eyes. As soon as the living room disappeared around him, Castiel’s beautiful face faded behind his eyelids as he tried to ignore his crazy heart beating in his chest. The atmosphere had suddenly become special in their apartment, and this since Castiel had brought up the challenge. Dean’s instincts were yelling at him that this was the ultimate time to trust his friend, because something important was going to happen. He could not explain it more than that, he knew it, that’s all.

Dean remained as calm as possible as he tried to listen to what was going on around him. In the first place, only Castiel’s quick breathing made itself heard while Dean remained straight in his place, gently squeezing his hands against each other to control the nerves that he felt rising in him. After a few seconds, he heard movement in front of him and felt the couch rise a little, as if his friend had just changed position. Suddenly, he felt this same rapid breath close to his face and frowned gently, confused. When he could endure it no longer, Dean opened his mouth slightly to ask the question that he was dying to ask before his lips were covered by warm, wet others. Sweet and yet trembling.

Dean opened wide, astonished eyes, in shock as his heart missed another beat. Immediately, he fell upon Castiel’s face, gently close to his own, and swallowed a surprised exclamation which had gone up his throat. The kiss was not really one while Castiel quickly stepped back with nervousness to look into Dean’s eyes, their faces still close and frozen in the moment. Dean looked at Castiel who was looking back at him and everything was crumbling around them in a silence filled with electricity and unspoken confusion. Dean felt like dying and being reborn at the same time, silently in that body that suddenly seemed so narrow to him.

"You…?" Dean whispered, even if he never managed to finish his sentence.

Castiel feverishly licked his lower lip before shaking his head imperceptibly, the face so devastated by the fear of rejection at the moment that Dean felt like he had fallen into his worst nightmare. He could not bear such an expression on Castiel’s face, Cas who had kissed him, Cas who was afraid of his reaction, Cas who cared for him right now. Castiel who loved him.

In a surge of combativeness and surely relief, Dean filled the space between their mouths again and slipped one of his hands to the back of Castiel’s neck to keep him close, preventing him from escaping this time. Once the surprise has passed for Castiel, Dean could almost see his whole body lighten up and melt into their shared kiss. This simple contact seemed to open so many doors that they were too blind to see before that Dean almost had his head spinning. Did Cas have at least as much desire as he had for him the whole time? He tightened his grip around his roommate’s body, he needed to hold on to something so he wouldn’t fall right away.

But he fell anyway when Castiel gently pushed him onto the sofa so that he lay down under him. Later that night he fell again into this large bed in Castiel's room, his lips unable to leave the body of the other as if he desired to make every inch of him feel loved. He fell and fell and fell all night long, tumbling down into the most exquisite and liberating of the falls as a smile split their two faces in the frenzy of the moment. Dean kept falling, but he didn’t do it alone, clinging to the one thing he had never hoped for in recent years and that he could finally touch with his fingers now.

Finally, he was unable to remain angry with Castiel for having beaten him at poker, just as he was unable to detach himself from him that night. As the sun’s rays filtered through the closed shutters of Castiel’s room, Dean gently caressed his lover’s face in the hollow of the pillow with a new, fascinated tenderness. He barely waited until Castiel opened his eyes to steal another kiss before whispering against his lips.

"Hey… I have no fucking idea what happened to my remaining sock yesterday."

When Castiel let out a hoarse chuckle before drawing him closer to himself, Dean promised to do everything to hear this sound every morning now. They were going to need more games night from now on…

* * * @winchester-reload

Yep, I’m late haha, sorry! It took me a while to write this one but no worries, I’ll post day 15 and day 16 today too. I’m really proud of this OS, don’t hesitate to come and talk about it with me in the comments!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

#suptober20 #destiel fanfiction #alternative universe #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural

33 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Suptober 2020 updates

Hey folks! I’m still doing this thing, I’m just struggling with day 14 right now :). My creativity decided to sulk so I will be a tiny bit late starting now about this challenge. Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning, I just wanted to keep you updated! Thank you for the support y’all, it really means everything right now! I hope to be able to catch up with everything soon enough. Xoxo :)

#my writings #suptober2020 #i'm rambling

0 notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 13 - Ladies

A frustrated complaint escaped her lips as she opened the door to get out of the car. Her hip had been sore since that ghost had thrown her through a window display and her forearm had been nicked for ten centimeters because of the glass. Her few scratches made her look a bit rebellious which she certainly did not mind, but she really had to think about checking that her shoulder’s Band-Aid did not slip. She would have hated having to deal with an infection now and add to the scars already present on her body. She wasn’t particularly obsessed with her appearance, but Kaia, she would have noticed, and she would have had to deal with another lecture about her health.

Claire had gone on at least four consecutive hunts in the states surrounding Sioux Falls before returning home behind the wheel of her car. To be honest, she could very well have continued with this other case in Montana —a vampire nest if she wasn’t wrong— but Jody had reminded her that they had planned to celebrate Donna’s birthday as a family and the girl could not refuse. Donna was not only a good friend of her adoptive mother, she was an important member of her family. Being present on her birthday was the least she could do. As for the gift, she had managed to find a basket filled with French wines and a snowglobe from Mount Rushmore in a motel shop to complete Donna’s collection.

So, yes, she had quickly finished her last hunt and had driven a good part of the night home. A little aspirin and she’d be back in the game, she knew it. Claire couldn’t afford the luxury of taking a vacation or even a break so she’d swallow some pain medication and get a good night’s sleep and that’s it. But she could not deny that putting her feet back on the porch of Jody’s house was already relieving her bruised body.

She had taken the time to unload her two duffle bags from her trunk before going to the white door that she knew so well. Claire had noticed the other cars in the driveway leading to the garage, including Donna's and Alex’s parked there. Her own jeep was almost on the sidewalk because the driveway was so crowded. Almost. Her attention was brought back to the door when she heard the commotion inside.

In no time, the door swiveled open to let Jody and her big maternal smile appear. Her increasingly gray hair reminded Claire of the passing years, but nothing seemed to alter the warmth that this woman radiated around her. However, Claire barely had time to give her a smile back as Jody’s was already collapsing at the sight of her swollen face. Predictable.

Jody seemed stopped in her tracks. She detailed her daughter’s face, sought her words, rebuffed herself. Then, finally, she decided to sigh and gently shake her head, a fine reprobating smile on her lips.

"I hope at least that the muck that has crossed your path is in a worse state, young lady." She said, approaching and finally embracing her.

Claire clicked her tongue with amusement while giving Jody a hug with one hand, the other being occupied with a bag.

"A muck? What muck?" She teased while she rolled her eyes during the embrace.

Jody smiled more, this little proud though worried smile that mothers knew so well, before moving away. Claire finally had one foot in the house when a tornado of black hair came out of the kitchen to hit her shoulder.

"Ouch!" Claire exclaimed, dropping her bag on the floor to protect her now sore muscle.

Alex raised an eyebrow in return and crossed her arms on her chest with an accusatory look.

"Are you out of your mind?" Claire groaned while massaging her shoulder. "Did you forget to take your pills today or what?"

"Claire Novak." Alex replied as if she hadn’t heard anything. "Always there, giving me work on my days off." She pointed at the scrapes on Claire’s face before taking her hand to examine her arm.

Claire protested again while taking her arm back. She had to go through it automatically, every time it was the same drill. She had to go through Jody’s anxiety and Alex’s or even Patience’s sermons before she could really land somewhere in the house. Of course, she protested every time, but Claire could not long hide the feeling of gratitude that such a concern for her health provoked in her. Teasing, she bit her lip before answering.

"Don’t act like you don’t love practicing your lessons on my beautiful self Jones." She gave her a sarcastic wink, which Alex rolled her eyes at, not without the hint of a smile.

"I’m going to get some clean bandages. Put your flat butt on the couch, I’ll be right back." Ordered Alex before going up the stairs without another look.

Claire replied with her middle finger that Alex did not see and Jody reprimanded her immediately while she was already taking her bags to the vestibule. As Alex went upstairs to disappear into the bathroom, she crossed paths with Patience, who came down with a few books in her arms and Claire was going to end up believing that she was born with those damn books transplanted onto her palms. Claire gave her a v-sign with her fingers to greet her.

"Oh." Patience simply smiled as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. "I deduce that your last hunt was not easy." She said with compassion.

She remained at a certain distance, but Claire had learned that it was not out of apathy. Patience wasn’t a big fan of contact and Claire could totally handle it. She wasn’t really into affection either, she was just making exceptions with some people like Jody or Donna—it was impossible to not get in contact with Donna anyway—.

"The last four of them you mean." Claire sighed while taking off her shoes. Here, everyone was in slippers, orders for the main lady of the house not to mess up her meticulous work. "And don’t get me started about the quality of the last motel I slept in. Being a hunter is like being a super badass rock star, but minus the money and fame. It sucks."

At these words Patience raised an amused eyebrow and looked around her. When she had made sure that Jody had gone back to the kitchen, where there was some excitement now that Claire was paying attention to it, she lowered her voice and whispered in her ear as she passed by:

"I’ll see what I can do to unlock another credit card. At least try choosing a motel that puts chocolates under the pillow next time."

Claire smiled and watched Patience walk away towards the living room. There, she remembered it now. That’s why she liked to come home from time to time, because she liked to feel this sweet warmth tickling her ribs from the inside. Whether she had been there for two minutes or two weeks, and whether she disappeared on the road for months, she always felt integrated and useful when she came back.

Realizing that Alex had still not returned, Claire decided to go into the kitchen where Donna’s dismayed voice now distinctly came from. When she turned around the corner of the corridor leading into the room, Claire was greeted with a rather unusual spectacle. Donna opened all the windows in the kitchen while Jody put on gloves to pull out what looked like carbonized cookies from the oven. Smoke was escaping in large gulfs from said oven and gradually covering the kitchen in smoke and it was at this moment that Claire noticed Kaia standing on a chair, coughing while trying to deactivate the smoke detector before it came to life.

"I admit it!" Donna exclaimed while opening the last window before making wind with a rag. She wore an apron so neon green that it would make any binman jealous and Claire almost hurt her eyes by looking at it. "Maybe I misread the cooking time, but, goodie grief, Jody-o, can you even read what’s written in your cookbook? That’s a microscope I’ll need to decipher that!"

"Or glasses!" Jody said, throwing the rest of the cookies directly into the sink before turning on the faucet."Just admit that you’re getting old, Don." She joked.

"But still not old enough to kick your- Oh, howdy sweetie!" Donna exclaimed, finally noticing Claire walking cautiously in the kitchen and waving her hand in front of her face.

"Hi Donna." She replied, swallowing back a cough although the smoke was finally starting to dissipate thanks to the open windows.

Claire, however, barely had time to catch her breath as Donna had already crossed the distance between them to draw her into a narrow embrace. The sheriff was like that, enthusiastic and demonstrative with everything and everyone, the exact opposite of what Claire was most of the time. But all agreed to say that Donna was their most indispensable spark of joy in a mostly cruel daily life, including Claire.

Finally, Donna released her embrace and Claire offered her a small reassuring smile to which she had the secret by noticing the worried look of her friend.

"Shut the front door." Donna pouted, cupping Claire’s face with her hands, inspecting her wounds. "That’s why we need more cookies in this house. Jodes, lend me your glasses."

At these words, Claire distinctly heard Jody grunting near the sink.

"Yes, ma'am." Jody said, passing by Donna before slapping her ass for the joke. "Only if you promise not to set it on fire, either."

Donna adopted an incredulous and mocking expression that was probably saying, "are you kidding me?" before kissing Claire on the cheek one last time and following Jody into the hallway. Only then could Claire focus on the last person in this kitchen and not the least.

Kaia had just come down from her chair with the smoke detector in her hands, a happy smile on the edge of her lips. Claire gave her one back and a silence settled between the two girls, not one daring to approach the other. Despite everything, it was not an uncomfortable moment, it was simply a matter of enjoying the reunion with this unusual modesty that made their hearts beat timidly.

Claire could have told the exact moment when Kaia noticed her wounds when the girl frowned and gently bit her lip, worried. She swung from foot to foot, strangely uncomfortable to cause so much trouble to Kaia at once.

"See, you need me during hunts." Kaia joked gently, nodding at Claire’s wounded arm. "Maybe I should go with you next time."

Claire shook her head, amused.

"I’m doing fine, it’s not much." She said in a tone that was meant to be detached.

Then Kaia raised a bored eyebrow and took the time to put the smoke detector on the table before coming to stand in front of Claire.

"Go ahead and say you don’t want me while you’re at it. I’m listening." Kaia whispered.

This time, it was up to Claire to bite the inside of her cheek to repress a laugh before rolling her eyes. To prevent her girlfriend from saying more nonsense, she kissed her gently on the corner of her lips before taking her hand. As she withdrew, Kaia had this spark of pure joy in her eyes that fed the fire growing in Claire’s chest.

They both returned to the living room hand in hand with total ease and helped the others to set the table, not without Alex having applied first aid to Claire first. The house breathed of a family agitation that was not uncommon at Jody’s and it was a special feeling to feel completely integrated into this machinery. The discussions were natural, caring and although Claire enjoyed saving the world, she couldn’t help but keep coming back here. It was her place, her refuge.

The bellies began to grumble slowly when Alex finally asked the question that slowly insinuated itself into each of them.

"When can we start serving?"

Jody came from the kitchen with a bottle of champagne and started trying to open it.

"Sam and Dean should be here soon, they’re picking up Rowena on the road. As for Castiel and Jack, they called me to say that they had finished their case in Omaha, they will be there by 1:00 pm." She said, pulling harder on the cork. "That doesn’t stop us from starting the aperitif, if that... damn cork will open." She cursed.

Claire laughs softly from the couch, Kaia beside her and scolding her for having already eaten several petits fours.

"Oh, men. Never there when you need them, huh?" Claire teased.

Immediately, Jody raised an eyebrow and pulled a pocket knife out of her kitchen apron. She turned the bottle towards the wall so as not to risk hurting anyone, and, just like that, she sabered the champagne. The cork flew away in a resounding pop as Jody grabbed the first glass of champagne to fill it.

"Luckily, that’s not the case." She replied with a firm look to her daughters.

No one dared to contradict her, not that anyone in this house wanted to anyway. Claire moved back to the bottom of the couch, with Kaia’s hand still in hers as she watched her family engage in a new conversation. Alex and Patience were debating the university system while Donna added small comments here and there while helping Jody serve champagne. She had found her family in atypical circumstances, strange ones even. But as she contemplated this surrounding happiness, she knew that she wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

* * * @winchester-reload

I just love those girls so much, it had a good time writing about them! I’m also really proud of the OS I made for day 13 for Suptober 2019 (you can check my others writings about last year here). See you tomorrow!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

20 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Note

Oops, I will start doing this from now on, I must’ve missed the info! I also updated all my previous writings concerning the Suptober to add cuts after a few paragraphs. So if you want to read the whole story and access to the tag list, please click on “read more” :)

Could you ask the ficlet writers for the October challenge to start putting the text in read-mores after the first paragraph or two? It's nice to see them, but when there are so many in a row it becomes a massive block of text to scroll through... 💙

I have

I’ll say it again. FIC WRITERS, PLEASE PUT YOUR STORIES UNDER A CUT, please and thank you

#oops #i'm rambling #suptober2020 #my writings

70 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 12 - Rewind

The Winchesters had not kept many memories of their earliest childhood. When the fire broke out and the house burned down, all their possessions were gone except for a small box containing photos that John kept in the trunk of the Impala. Dean remembered seeing it for many years without John really pulling it out of there, warm in the false bottom of the car. On rare evenings, however, John took the time to take it with him to the motel room where they were staying before he plunged back into the past years.

Aside from a few pictures of his mother or him as a baby, Dean hadn’t seen much else. John jealously guarded the box as if he were afraid it would catch fire too. Fortunately, the years passed and with them, the fear of opening this box faded. Dean had been allowed to keep a photo of his mother, brother and himself in his wallet while he was already old enough to hunt. Later, John disappeared and the box returned to them.

Dean perfectly remembered the day Sam asked him to open the box with him. They had just returned to Lawrence to take care of a poltergeist in their old house and had briefly seen their mother’s ghost at the bottom of the stairs. This vision had been such a shock and, John not being around, Dean decided that a night to remember the good old days couldn’t hurt. Although they both had very few stories to tell in the photos, being too young to remember.

The years went by and the box followed them. It made a short stop at Bobby’s when Dean had to fix the Impala from top to bottom before following them back to the roads and finally landing at the bunker. Sam and Dean had taken the liberty of sharing a few photos to put in their room before carefully storing the box under the elder’s bed.

It was therefore not uncommon for Dean to dig up these photos, which he now knew by heart, during a lonely evening. They had taken care to weigh down the box with other memories over the years and now, other faces came to rub shoulders with those of the Winchester family. Nevertheless, these faces were still family members themselves.

Sighing and the outline weighed down by an invisible weight that seemed unable to leave him since months, Dean sat down on the edge of his bed and opened the box again with some relief. Going through these photos was like going back to his childhood. It was to go back in time and rewind the tape of his life to replay the best moments. With a small smile on his face, Dean contemplated another portrait of his mother holding a smaller version of him in her arms at the hospital. Mary was younger in this photo and she had always been radiant. Of course, it wasn’t like she had to endure the damage of time, Dean somberly thought. He carefully set the photo aside and took another.

This one was more recent, he had to be at least 26 years old and his brother four years younger. Dean remembered that Bobby had taken this picture in the backyard of his car wreckage while the two brothers laughed at a joke he had long forgotten. Sam still wore such short hair that it came into his eyes and Dean had this oversized leather jacket on his shoulders that had once belonged to his father and that he wore for years. Everything seemed simple and light at the time despite their already hectic life.

Dean gently nodded at his little brother’s childish face in this photo.

He knew that Sam kept his own memories in his room, lying on his desk or hanging on the cork board above it. In addition to a few other pictures from their childhood, one photo was different from the others. Dean had already noticed it, as it seemed to be much better preserved than the others despite the fact that it was at least a decade old now, as if Sam was taking special care of it. In the picture, one could distinguish a young blonde woman with a face dotted with moles standing beside Sam wearing a Stanford sweatshirt. Both seemed to be at a student party and held hands with a shy smile. Maybe then Sam sometimes had the same wish as him, to reverse the course of time to find the one he once loved.

Dean put the photo with his brother on the bed and went through some other memories before stopping at the photo they had taken at Bobby’s. "The last night on Earth," had he said before the camera went off with a quick click. He almost regretted having said those few words now that extinct faces were sitting on that photo in place of the usual smiles. Everyone was preparing for death that evening, and some found it.

Dean also lingered on Castiel’s serious face, ramrod straight in his eternal oversized trench coat. This angel who had sacrificed everything for them and who continued to do so day in, day out at their side. He briefly wondered if Castiel also kept pictures of his brothers and sisters somewhere, perhaps of his garrison even. But the angel was not on good terms with more than half of his fellows, and even if he was, he doubted that any of them would ever let themselves be photographed. As a result, Dean was pleased to know that they were probably the only family in which Castiel had several photos of him, some even showing him with a rare relaxed smile. Like this one where Sam was teaching him how to use a computer and the angel laughing at one of Dean’s jokes.

He also took the time to look at Bobby, the surrogate father whom he missed a little more every day, but that he was happy to find in this box whenever he needed it. Lost in his thoughts, Dean looked up at another picture in the box depicting him and Sam fishing with John. Dean moistened his lips with a nostalgic look for the photo, almost melancholic. He remembered that day when the three of them spent the afternoon at a pond in Oklahoma before taking out that huge pike out of the water and that they were showing in the photo. However, their faces were relatively closed in the picture which revived this bitterness in Dean’s chest.

He also remembered the night before when John was so drunk while looking at Mary’s pictures that he started crying in their motel room. Sam woke up to his sobs as Dean tried to comfort their father as best he could, but no appropriate words could come out of his mouth. He had felt so helpless in the face of his father mourning the death of a mother that he himself could not overcome, even years later. When John wasn’t at the motel, Dean was worried every day that he wouldn’t come back and walk through their room door. When he was there, the days were never the same: either John would take them out for a nice burger at the local diner, or he would drink until he couldn’t move.

Dean didn’t even count the nights he had to take care of his father in addition to his younger brother who barely understood what was going on. He did not consider having an unhappy childhood, he had grown up with Sam and it was the only home he needed to be happy. But he could not help but think back to those moments of solitudes that he had felt as a teenager when he saw other children growing up differently.

Dean sighed and tried to get ride of his dark thoughts. In any case, there was no point in bringing up the past like that, he already had too much to do with the present and his responsibilities. Moreover, he felt that he had not progressed that badly despite all the events of his life. Slowly, Dean put the pictures away and closed the box before putting it back under his bed. He barely had time to get up that he already heard Sam calling him to eat, Castiel having just returned. A pleasant smile stretched his lips.

Yes, he didn’t particularly want to live in the past. Not anymore.

* * * @winchester-reload

So, the original plan was to do Dean’s POV, then Sam’s, then Cas’... But I ended up with this idea rather than anything and I tried to include Sam and Cas too anyway. Hope you liked it, see you tomorrow for some ladies!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list

/!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

14 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 11 - Rock & Roll

Castiel had always loved music. Despite his many centuries on Earth observing Humanity, he had never taken the time to listen to anything in particular. He had attended celebrations in the Middle Ages and music festivals in more modern times. He had even heard a Reggae concert in the distance one day when he was harvesting honey in the countryside. But no, despite his fascination for this human invention, Castiel had never had his own music to listen to.

When he met the Winchesters, however, Castiel discovered another music field. Although Sam was—as usual—curious about several musical genres, Dean was constantly immersed in rock music. He knew the subject so well that Castiel was always relatively impressed when his friend quoted him bands and all their members with obvious ease. Finally, when Castiel lost his wings and was forced to travel by car, he began to enjoy sitting in the Impala and listening to Dean talk about his favorite bands while a cassette played in the audio player.

"Wait." Dean was surprised one day. "Seriously? You never listened to Led Zeppelin, even for fun?"

Castiel shook his head on the passenger seat as they drove towards the bunker, returning from a shopping spree at the local apothecary to restock their reserve.

"Shit." Dean replied, clicking his tongue. "But what do you do when you have free time?"

This time Castiel tilted his head to the side before looking at the road, adopting a confused expression that was so familiar to him. He took the time to seek the answer in his mind to a question that should not have been so difficult, he knew it.

"I watch the bees." He finally said with a small happy smile. He turned his attention to Dean. "Or I listen to your prayers."

At these words Dean let out an awkward little laugh.

"I don’t pray to you all the time Cas." Dean huffed, trying to hide the redness of his cheeks with a certain frustration.

"You don’t have to explicitly say my name so I know you’re thinking of me." Castiel smiled.

After these gentle words, Dean had to take a few minutes during which he tapped on his steering wheel to calm down.

"Anyway, the thing is, you have to listen to Led Zepp, they’re the best in classic rock, believe me." Dean resumed as he turned down the alley to the bunker garage.

"I believe you, Dean." Castiel replied automatically with another relaxed smile.

Two weeks later, Dean handed him a tape while stammering two or three explanations before disappearing into the library. On the label, Castiel could read "Dean’s top 13 Zepp Traxx". He felt a strange warm feeling spreading through his chest when he understood what it was. The first time he had read it on the tape player of his old Lincoln Continental, he had spent most of the time searching for meaning in the lyrics.

Ramble On and Immigrant Song were Dean’s two favorite songs, he remembered hearing him tell Sam about it during an innocent fight in the Impala. Stairway to Heaven was more complicated to understand and even after the third listening, Castiel was still not sure if he had grasped the main message. When he picked When the Levee Breaks, he couldn’t help but think of Dean over and over again. Finally, everything reminded him of Dean in these songs, because these tunes were each part of his own identity. Arriving at Whole Lotta Love, Castiel was smiling.

He did not know how long he kept this tape in his car, but now he had had time to learn each song by heart. As the words passed, so did the years, and soon Castiel and the Winchesters put whole apocalypses behind them, one after the other. Everything changed and yet everything remained deliciously similar in the small details.

Sam still loved to run in the morning to enjoy the silence and fresh air brought by dawn. Jack was expanding his collection of magnets while Sam and Dean were always careful to bring some back from all over the country. Dean was still the fastest when it came to dismantling and cleaning a weapon, but also to improvising meals when there were only three aliments left in the fridge. Castiel, on the other hand, became unbeatable on rock bands thanks to his now husband. Dean could literally spend hours playing music on his phone while questioning him about the title and the band and the Winchester had to admit that Castiel was starting to get good at it.

Finally, in the midst of all this change, Castiel also continued to slip behind the wheel of his Continental just to play the famous mixtape in the small cockpit. On those evenings, he would go to the garage plunged into darkness, only turn on the lights on the ceiling of his car and throw his head back on the driver’s seat to let himself be enveloped by the musical notes.

The first time Dean caught him doing this, it was mostly because he went to get something to eat for a night snack before getting in the mood to watch a movie with Castiel. Finding him nowhere, he ended up finding him in the garage, his relaxed face only illuminated by a warm light. He opened the opposite door as gently as possible before slipping into the car in his pajamas.

"Hey."

"Hello Dean."

Neither of them had spoken any more unless it was Dean humming his favorite music. Soon it became a ritual taking place at least once a week. Sometimes Dean would bring food supplies even though the angel didn’t need to eat, and other times it was up to Castiel to bring blankets to compensate for the broken heater in the car. When Dean decided that Castiel knew enough about Led Zeppelin classics, he made him a second tape on Metallica. It took Castiel a month to hold on to the essentials before Dean came into the car one night with another tape labeled "Dean’s favorite AC/DC".

Tonight particularly, they were listening to Bon Jovi as Dean squeezed a little closer to him in the front seat. The winter was rough outside, and although the bunker was heated, Dean still had cold feet. Both bundled up in a large blanket with Far West patterns, Castiel felt his companion gently sagging on his shoulder. When he no longer heard him whispering the words over the music, he turned his head and looked down to find Dean’s relaxed, sleepy face pressed against his shoulder. Discreet snoring came to mingle with the music that filled the car and Castiel took the time to lower the volume a little before kissing the top of Dean’s head tenderly.

If that was all it cost him to learn more about rock 'n' roll, then Castiel had all the time in the world ahead of him. He was in no hurry to outstripping his teacher in this matter, not this time. He was going to let himself be carried away.

* * * @winchester-reload

Okay, it’s totally not October 11 in my country but here it is! I updated it with the beta-red version. See you tomorrow everyone, all your arts/fanfics/edits are just so stunning, I’m never tired of seeing them!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

29 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 10 - Sweet Rides

Dean remembered the first day he was allowed to drive the Impala. It was during a cool autumn morning that he had slipped behind the wheel of the car under the eyes of his father. He was only 13 years old and John had taken them to an isolated vacant lot before giving his seat to Dean. According to his father, he had to learn to drive early if anything ever happened to him. A hunter had to be prepared for all eventualities. Dean didn’t complain, on the contrary. To drive the Impala was to become that fearless hero that was his father every time he went on the adventure of a monster hunt.

That day, however, John did not seem particularly in the mood. His last hunt ended badly and he returned to the motel with a dark, closed face. Dean had done his best to fuel a happy conversation as Sam cheerfully participated while reciting his latest list of high marks at dinner. Today, John still seemed grumpy but more open to conversation. He quickly explained the controls to Dean before guiding his feet on the pedals.

"Good. Now start the car." John said, wedging himself in the passenger seat.

Dean obeyed and turned the key with a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension. Immediately the engine purred under him and wrapped them in this powerful familiar vibration. Dean couldn’t stop a smile from coming on his lips as he squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles whitened. The following minutes were devoted to the succinct learning of the Highway Code while John guided him to make circles on the open ground. It was definitely one of the best days he’s had in weeks. The exhilarating feeling of freedom he felt at the wheel of the Impala filled him up as he felt more and more comfortable at driving.

John also seemed to relax next to him until a fine smile lodged on his face, which did not fail to boost Dean’s confidence. Taking a great inspiration, he leaned forward with concentration.

"Wait, look at that!" He exclaimed, pushing the accelerator pedal harder.

"Dean-" John began, suddenly more attentive.

In less time than it took John to get his hands on the wheel, Dean had already inadvertently driven into a ditch. The car lifted up briefly before diving into a cliff, then everything became quiet. John’s smile flew away as fast as Dean’s. Three months later, he was actually driving the Impala to the nearest hospital because John had been shot in the stomach. This time he cautiously avoided all the bumps and other ditches.

The second time he was allowed to touch a steering wheel without being in a life or death situation was when they were on vacation at Uncle Bobby’s. He and Sam were playing quietly in the junkyard when Bobby came to find them behind the wheel of an old car probably rusted to the bone.

"Come on, get your brat’s asses in the car. Dean, take us back to the garage." Grumbled Bobby as he got out of the vehicle that lifted when the man left his seat.

"You want me to drive that?" Dean marvelled at the sight of that tin can, wrinkling his nose with disgust. He was even surprised that it was still working.

"Oh, sorry, is it not good enough for you, Your Majesty? Do you want me to find you a Lamborghini sprinkled with the gratitude maybe?" Mumbled Bobby while crossing his arms on his chest.

Dean rolled his eyes before climbing into the driver’s seat while Sam sat in the back, laughing softly.

"Lamborghinis suck anyway." Dean muttered, waiting for Bobby to join him in the passenger seat.

However, he learned much more that day than with his lesson in the Impala with John. The manual shifts were certainly more complicated, but soon the merry band found themselves doing several turns around the field before returning to the garage as planned. The next morning, when another customer dropped his car off at the junkyard, Dean was already sitting in the driver’s seat.

A few years later, as Dean was barely in his senior year and Sam discovered the joys of puberty, Dean took the wheel of what remained in his eyes the best ride for him and his brother. It was the evening of the 4th of July and the firecrackers were already echoing in the city and around their motel while everyone celebrated this day with great reinforcement of patriotism. John had gone to celebrate the end of a case with a hunter friend at the bar across the street and probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. Also, seeing the Impala still parked in front of their room and Sam wailing in his corner about how much they were "still sitting there doing nothing while everyone was having fun”, had been too tempting not to give in.

Dean had stopped by the local grocery store—which, of course, sold a whole bunch of squibs and fireworks for the occasion—and then drove them out of town into a dark field. He ignored Sam’s protests when he pulled the fireworks box out of the trunk of the car and knew that he had made the right choice when he saw his little brother’s happy face as he lit the first rocket. Sam and Dean spent the night under the stars laughing carelessly. According to Sam, it was fortunate that the field did not catch fire and Dean redoubled his laughter at these words.

On the way back, the exclamations of joys had given way to a serene calm. Sam was the first to break the silence as Dean turned around the corner of their motel.

"Thank you Dean." He said.

After that night, the more the years passed, the more the rides accumulated. Dean still remembered that night when he drove to Stanford because his father hadn’t called him since a few days. He remembered that time when he got behind the wheel of what seemed to be his last moment on earth, on his way to the cemetery to face the Devil himself. Then there was this time he took a human Castiel into town to give him a taste of the burgers from this new diner. And finally, the day he learned Jack how to drive on a hot May afternoon.

His son had looked at him with big, hesitant eyes as he slipped into Baby’s driver’s seat.

"What if I do something wrong?" Jack asked anxiously. "What if I press the wrong button? Or end up in a ditch?"

Dean smiled softly at his words. Although the idea of seeing his Impala in a ditch did not please him, he could not help but think tenderly that it would not be the first time.

"Then I’ll also teach you how to fix a car," He said, shaking his head. "Come on, go ahead. Start the car."

Jack seemed to swallow back his anguish and took a deep breath before turning the keys on the ignition.

* * * @winchester-reload Am I forgiven about my day 9 with this sweet OS? Okay, good xD! See you tomorrow everyone, and thanks again for the great support :)

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

22 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 9 - Electric

(Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence. This is a dark one)

The crowd rose up around him, howling its rage and its need for violence. In addition to the smell of blood and cigarettes, he could feel this mixture of adrenaline and excitement filling the place, plunging this old abandoned shed into an atmosphere fit to an arena. And that was one. Not that Dean gives it any importance anymore. What mattered was not what it looked like, but what was happening there.

A new flash of light blinded him while the metallic noise of the audience striking with animosity against the protective wire fence rose in a sinister music to his ears. Here, everything screamed decadence and anarchy and he loved it, to be able to blend with the mass without ever being considered as the freak that he was outside. Being a monster was common in this clandestine universe, it was even greatly encouraged if one wanted to survive it.

As adrenaline pulsed through his veins like an intoxicating electric current, Dean clenched and loosened his fists with apprehension, eager to soon feel bones cracking under his knuckles. Tonight, he was going to be what he was built for, what others made of him year after year. Tonight, he was no longer Dean Winchester, he was nothing but fury and hatred.

* * *

Dean woke up early that morning from a night full of nightmares despite his exhaustion. His eyes were red and ringed, sunk into their sockets after hours spent watching the house of this supposed rugaru. He made a face at the memory of the bitter failure of that night. What was the point of being a hunter if he could not save lives? The rugaru had time to devour his whole family before Dean could intervene, all because he had not taken some essential parameters into consideration. It was a stupid rookie mistake that cost the lives of two little girls and an innocent woman. With his chest already on fire, he had remained lying down looking at the ceiling a few hours before deciding to go out.

It was a bad idea. He didn’t give a shit.

Dean had rushed to the nearest grocery store, had taken meager provisions for form and numerous bottles of alcohol. When he got back to his room—on the ground floor, thank God—, he had barely taken off his shoes that the neck of the bottle was already on his lips. And Dean had been drinking. He had drunk, drunk, emptied a whole bottle and had stretched out himself among the sheets of his unmade bed. In a flash of lucidity, he had turned on his cell phone. Because he couldn’t help himself. Because despite the argument with his brother since the beginning of the week, he was worried.

However, he had not texted Sam, especially not. He did not want his brother to deprive himself of a small respite once again because of his stupid decisions and existential crises. Things were not really easy between them and, if he was honest with himself, they were not anymore for some time already. This was another reason why he had no right to demand any support from him: Sam was better off without him and his carcass full of anger and sadness.

He had not written to Castiel either. He had prayed even less. His best friend had enough to deal with in Heaven, with all these angelic losses and the threat of a new rebellion hovering over the cosmic balance. If another war was coming, then Castiel was more useful up there than with his own pathetic self. In any case, even if he had sent him a quick message asking him how he was doing today, he already knew the answer. Bad. Just like him. It was like a sinister condemnation that kept coming back and pounding in his skull. This mixed with a growing guilt that was now forming one with him.

Then Dean had drowned his too-full-heart in alcohol before spending a good hour in the bathroom vomiting the empty contents of his stomach. He had not eaten at lunch, being too sick — and what was the point anyway? — before feeling this growing anger in his heart again at the end of the day. His telephone remained desperately silent and that did not help despite his desire to be alone. Somewhere deep inside him, maybe he was hoping someone would send a message first to inquire about his health, but nothing. Furiously, tired of turning between the four moldy walls of his motel room, Dean had grabbed his jacket and his car keys before going out towards the first bar.

He had found an enough ill-reputed one to accomplish what he wanted to do tonight in complete discretion. Kansas City was a big city with its dark sides and where no one would ever pay attention to him.

Diving into the noise almost drowned his thoughts. Dean had barely got off two shots before a man hit him on the shoulder. He kept a toxic smile of flowering on his lips knowing exactly that his plan had worked before turning his attention to man. The difficulty of the thing was to look lost and desperate enough to accept any proposal without inspiring too much pity. Dean barely had to pretend. Obviously, the guy turned out to be exactly what he was looking for: a recruiter for clandestine fights that were quietly organized at night in the premises behind the bar. The boss seemed to know since he said nothing more when he heard a few bits of their conversation. Dean had answered each of his questions in a neutral manner before the man finally told him to meet him at two o'clock in the morning behind the bar if he was interested, seeing "potential" in him. Perfect.

His instincts, although sore with alcohol, told him not to take the risk. But this rage… this rage that filled him a little more every moment, this anger that had come to mingle with his guilt and his despair screamed at him to go hit something. Something alive, something that can bleed and take his relentless violence. Dean was like that: he was violent, dangerous and unsavory. He knew how to destroy and that’s it. He knew how to torture and that’s it. It was surely for this reason that he had so much his place in Hell... He needed to be punished for his past mistakes.

At 1:45, Dean was on the sidewalk, facing the dark alley leading to the rendezvous point. His hands were in his pockets, his heart beating in a strangely calm way, still not drowned in vodka. Swallowing his conscience, repeating to himself that he deserved it anyway, Dean plunged into the alley. In the end, he found the meeting place quite easily.

Without him knowing why, the security guards at the entrance recognized him and, after long underground corridors, allowed him to enter what seemed to be a large abandoned shed isolated from the rest of the city center. However, the place was teeming with people, the crowd of junkies and thugs crowding around what looked like an improvised and slightly raised ring. Some whispered cheers, others insulted while two poor fellows were fighting in the square with their bare hands. Dean got closer. One of the men took a particularly violent blow which sent him to the ground. In a rule-bound sport, that was usually when the game ended. But there were no referees here, just a man shouting comments from the top of a high box, and the winner threw himself on his opponent on the ground to beat him. He did not stop until the poor fellow spit so much blood that he choked under him. With a smile of victory, the other stood up and shouted his victory while his opponent lay there half dead, being evacuated by two other men and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

The commentator then screamed into his microphone, asking for a volunteer in the crowd to come and try his luck in the ring. Dean sincerely thought that no one would be crazy enough to say yes when two other losers entered the ring and a new fight ensued. Once again, it was violent, disloyal and bloody. The more the blows resounded in the hangar, the more the crowd seemed to be in effervescence, screaming to animate the fight while the money of the gamblers was circulating from hand to hand.

Dean stayed away for the next two until the commentator announced the last fight. In the audience, a strong man with several metal teeth raised his hand in a raging cry, a smug smile on his lips. He stepped into the ring. In the hangar floated a semblance of hesitation, no opponent reaching the iron jaw. So, while Dean had been waiting all night for this very moment, he raised his hand, approached the ring under the laughter of others, and threw himself into the fray. His opponent looked at him with a mocking and evil look.

That’s how he ended up with this electric atmosphere around him as his heart sent waves of adrenaline into the rest of his body.

What did he have to lose? He came here to hit, no? So, hit or get hit… What was the difference? The only thing that could reassure him was that the opposite man seemed at least as guilty as he was. By the time he took off his jacket and his shirt, Dean was already crushing his fist into that idiot’s jaw.

Immediately, the screams and comments resumed around them, but everything was drowned in a muffled whistle when Dean took two more hits at a steady pace. His breath was taken away. Several minutes passed where the only thought that was imposed on his mind was to be in pain. In addition to needing to vent all this anger, he deserved all the bruises that were accumulating on his body. He deserved to suffer at least as much as he had made others suffer in his life. Blood rolled from his nose into his mouth and Dean spit on the ground.

When he finally seemed to begin to dominate the fight, his strong opponent, but little enduring, he felt a flash of terrible rage pierce his body. With his breath almost cut off by so much blind anger, Dean opened wide eyes filled with a terrifying thirst for blood. He was unrecognizable. The beast in him had awakened. He was no better than all the monsters he hunted, he was worse. In a moment of inattention, this violence took hold of him as effectively as at the time of Cain’s mark, a knee stroke flew into his brow arch and sent him to the ground. His opponent had risen.

Among the repeated violence that his body was undergoing, the man determined to beat him, Dean found it difficult to regain control over himself and a rumble escaped from his lips. What was going on? He became that thing that he swore he would never be again. In one last desperate rush, Dean managed to dodge another punch and rolled on himself, his chest in a vice of pain. Blinded by anger and pain, he succeeded in reversing the situation and projecting the iron jaw to the ground. In an instant, he had mounted his body and struck, struck, and struck until the face under him was nothing more than a bloody and deformed pulp. Dean screamed. Only then did the remaining hatred in his chest fade and he could breathe again, the blood flowing into his brain enough to tell him to stop.

The rest seemed blurry to him, his thoughts muddled and confused, drowned by the cheers and the cries of craze. He remembers, however, the same man who had come to recruit him in the bar coming to congratulate him at the exit, thanking him for the nice money that Dean had allowed him to win. He told him that he had it in his blood. Dean barely replied, not less agreed though.

Once back at the motel and the blood cleaned from his clothes, Dean was again alone with his thoughts. He immediately sent a message to Sam. He needed help. He needed his family to remind him that he was not just a wild animal, that he could exist beyond his rage. Currently he was just… empty. Dean already knew that his dreams would be filled with horrible nightmares tonight and he was tired of it in advance. After several minutes of internal fighting, Dean curled up on himself against a wall in his room. He did not want to sleep. What if the beast came back while he lowered his guard? He didn’t want to sleep. He was in too much pain to sleep. He needed to go back, to resist that dark part of him. Dean could never let it surface again, not like that, ever. He still felt his knuckles suffering, sending waves of pain into the rest of his hand like electric shocks.

He didn’t want to sleep…

* * * @winchester-reload This one was a bit depressing but I’m quiet happy with the general idea. Let me know what you thought about it :)

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

25 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 8 - Heartless

(Warnings: Past major character’s death and quick mention of disease / grief. It’s an happy ending tho)

September

When Castiel fell asleep in the operating room on the morning of September 14, he was prepared to never wake up again. He had never been a religiously committed man unlike his parents, and yet he knew that he had prayed before closing his eyes.

It has been more than 3 months since he entered the list of organ recipients to replace his heart tired by illness. Unfortunately, he had inherited a heart malformation from birth and had survived to the age of 28 without being too disabled, but the congenital heart disease had caught up with him midyear. After a whole series of tests and a permanent hospitalization, the doctors had been very clear: either he had a heart transplant or he had only a few months left to live.

The hardest part was seeing his friends and family coming to see him every day with a darker face as nothing moved on the side of the organ center. Castiel was aware that he was not a priority among the thousands of people in need of a heart in the United States, but he tried to remain optimistic for the people he loved. His fight was rewarded a few days ago when he was told he had found a match donor.

For medical reasons, Castiel and his family weren’t allowed to know who the donor was. It was obviously not the priority in the eyes of all, but Castiel had insisted on knowing more and he had simply been informed that a heart had become available following a fatal road accident in the nearby city. There was something macabre about celebrating someone’s death, but that person had been generous enough to help other souls struggling to live and he could only salute that gesture.

"Take a deep breath." The nurse intimated, securing a mask on his face.

Thus the day of the fateful operation had arrived and Castiel was terrified. There were so many things to consider, so many factors that could tip the scales one way or the other. After one last thought to his family and, surprisingly, to his donor’s family, Castiel did as he was asked.

* * *

October

The operation was a success. He opened his eyes after said surgery. There was nothing more to say except that Castiel was grateful every day for the new beating heart in his chest. It was with this heart that he could now embrace his loved ones, laugh with his friends and discover a world he thought destined to disappear beyond the doors of this hospital.

Castiel was still in hospital and in the recovery phase, but he was doing well and could be out very soon according to his doctors. He had seen the scar on his chest last week and he couldn’t help but cherish it. This mark was the sign that he had survived. The sign that he had the right to live longer and to continue to build his life away from the health problems that had accompanied him all his life.

He was currently distracted by the television channels in his room — the afternoon programs were truly deplorable — when the nurse came in to serve him his meal.

"Hi Clarence. How’s my hottest patient today?" She exclaimed.

Castiel turned his head towards her with a small awkward smile as usual. He stood up gently in bed.

"Hello Meg." He said politely. "I’m fine, my scar doesn’t even itch anymore."

Meg was definitely his favorite nurse and it seemed to be mutual. She had told him one day that she always arranged to be assigned to his room, for she liked their conversations, and Castiel could only agree with her. Despite her bad girl tease, Meg was now a good friend, always listening and present to support him in addition to being a good caregiver. Her honesty had helped Castiel to carry on in his fight against the disease and during his remission. They sometimes spent long minutes discussing their respective lives before Meg’s pager rang and she was called away. In addition, she sometimes smuggled him chocolate bars to make up for the hospital food and Castiel calling it "a survival aid".

"I hope so!" Meg said, setting up his lunch tray with a small smile." But at least it has the merit of giving you a little adventurous side. Did I ever tell you I have a thing for guys with chest scars?"

Castiel laughed softly, playing the game they both took pleasure in maintaining. Despite everything, it didn’t go any further than that: a game to brighten their days. Both knew how to settle for their already atypical friendship.

"At least twice a day." Castiel joked while leaning in his pillows. "Did anyone leave a message for me today?"

Meg could not help sighing and Castiel pinched his lips with sympathy.

They both knew what that meant. Castiel had insisted on registering on a site that put organ donor families and recipients in contact. However, the process was complex and if the family of his donor did not post any message on this site, then Castiel would have no chance to get in touch with them. Yet he was almost obsessed with this situation. He had this need, no, this irrepressible urge to thank the family of the one who had saved his life. It was something so important and, although he respected the choice of some to remain anonymous, he felt that he would not be able to leave this all behind until he had put a definitive end to this chapter of his life.

"No, Clarence, squat" Meg shook her head. "And even if they did, you know very well that you will not be able to contact them. The site does not allow any personal information or too intimate exchanges between families."

"I know." Castiel replied, abashed while planting his fork in the mashed peas. "But perhaps they will make an exception? I just want to know them and thank them for the gesture of their loved one".

Meg clicked her tongue while pushing the wagon towards the door.

"I know you want to do the right thing, you’re a damn angel with a halo over your head." She gave him a small grin of disgust that made Castiel smile. "But what if they didn’t want to meet you? They are probably—"

"Living a difficult situation and I would only remind them of their loss, yes, I know." Castiel mumbled without being able to help it. "But… Maybe that they also would like to know that the death of their loved one helped other people cope. It’s possible Meg. And maybe they just don’t know how to contact me or-"

Meg shook her head again with a little compassionate pout.

"Even if they knew, handsome, they couldn’t. It’s against the law. Medical confidentiality and all that crap." She sighed before she came to sit on the chair beside him and put her feet on his bed.

Castiel let out a groan of frustration.

"Yes… But there are necessarily registers somewhere, a way to find a contact." Suddenly, something seemed to light up in his eyes and he turned his hopeful face towards Meg.

"Oh no, don’t give me that look." She groaned, knowing that it was not good news.

Castiel ignored her.

"Could you have access to organ donor records? You told me the heart came from the next town."

"And just by doing that, I’ve already told you too much." Meg said, raising an insolent eyebrow.

"You must be able to find an address, right? There must be even a name or maybe a phone number. I mean, if it’s a medical secret then the information has to be somewhere. If I could just put my finger on a semblance of something, it would be…" He moistened his lips, thinking. " It would be incredible."

Meg grumbled again, throwing her head back with exaggeration.

"Let’s say I have access to this information, and I mean maybe. Just giving it to you could cost me my job, Clarence. Why is it so important for you to find the name of a dead guy?" She snapped.

At these words Castiel’s face slumped slightly. He remained silent for a moment, seeking the right answer to this question. Meanwhile, he felt his heart squeeze in his chest and the blood it sent to his brain was enough to formulate his next words.

"Because it is unfair that I survived among so many others." He said." My donor had relatives, maybe siblings, a dog, friends and all lost something too valuable to be replaced in this car accident. Yet that’s how organ donation works. Someone dies and allows others to live. But I know that, if I had died on that operating table, my parents would have liked to know through whom I would have continued to live. I feel responsible Meg."

Castiel took a shaky breath before gently biting his lip while his friend welcomed his words with contemplative silence. Television continued to gossip in the background, but Castiel no longer heard it, lost in his thoughts.

"And yet, you are not." Meg said gently, leaving aside her usual sarcasm this time.

Castiel nodded slowly.

"I know." He sighed again before returning to his plate. "I’m sorry, you’re right. I can’t ask you anything like that anyway, it was selfish of me."

Following this, only the noise of the cutlery against the ceramics as well as the television journalist was heard in the hospital room. Meg didn’t move, didn’t open her mouth either, while each of them thought about their commitments in this story.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, the nurse sighed dramatically.

"What the hell wouldn’t I do for those beautiful blue eyes." She said under her breath. "Okay, I’ll see what I can do about the address." She says while rolling her eyes before standing up.

Castiel turned his head so quickly towards her that he was afraid to break his neck.

"What?" He asked, stunned.

"But I can’t guarantee you anything, Clarence." Meg told him while sighing. "You don’t access their organ donor files like that, but… I may have a couple of people I could contact. But it’s just between us."

She glared at him, and Castiel nodded, mouth open.

"I... of course."

Meg swore softly.

"One more thing." She said." I’ll try everything, but if I don’t find anything, you have to promise me you won’t try to get a name anymore. Do we have a deal?"

Castiel closed his mouth in a discreet snap before taking his friend’s last words into consideration. Finally, he nodded again.

"I promise you." He said seriously.

"Good." Meg sighed. "You’ll owe me one, angel."

A smile appeared again on Castiel’s face, more tender this time, his heart still playing up its own behind the scar of his chest.

"Thank you, Meg." He whispered.

"Shuddup." She grumbled with a wink before her pager rang in the room.

In no time, she waved at him and disappeared in the corridor, taking the empty wagon with her. Castiel went back to his bed with a light smile on his face. Yes, Meg was a good friend.

* * *

November

Meg’s research had still not yielded anything even a month after Castiel left the hospital. Although he was now alone again in his large apartment, there was something exhilarating about being able to live normally as if he had not nearly died a few months ago. Finding a job at the florist in his town had been the first step in his new life as he slowly resumed a normal social life with his friends and family.

His own search had also given nothing and the inbox of the website that could put him in contact with his donor’s family remained hopelessly empty. Nevertheless, Castiel did not get the idea out of his head. He often dreamed of meeting these strangers, of the words he would say to them if they had the chance to do so.

It was during a cold November evening, while he was bundled up in a plaid on his couch in front of a TV show, that Castiel’s cellphone rang. It was not something particularly unusual, but the late hour of the evening immediately gave this call something special. When he reached out to his phone, he could see Meg’s name on the screen.

"Hello?" He said, picking up, his heartbeat accelerating.

"Hi Clarence." Meg, a net of excitement in the voice, hastily replied. "Tell me you’re sitting, handsome, I’d hate to hear you fall on your ass because of what I’m about to tell you."

At this, Castiel straightened up in the sofa, his heart going up his throat.

"I’m sitting." He simply said, his fingers tightening around his phone.

"Okay, because I have something for you!" Meg hummed. "The info cost me at least three boxes of chocolate and the promise of a date to the shady guy in the operating room. You know, the one who keeps wearing Britney Spears t-shirts under his blouses? He’d be doing karaoke parties with the girl from the fourth floor that I wouldn’t even be surprised at-

"Meg." Castiel impatiently cut her off.

"Yes, yes. All this to say that he knows who approved your transplant application. So…" She said with pride, leaving a second of silence to settle her effect. I know where your little heart comes from and how to reach out to the family!"

At once, Castiel felt the air blocked in his throat. These words, he had waited for them for months while everything gradually turned into a crazy and inaccessible hope. Suddenly, through a simple phone call, Meg had just remade his world.

"Are you certain?" He finally asked, with a short breath.

"Oh, Clarence, please! Don’t you trust your favorite nurse anymore?" Meg laughed immediately.

Castiel shook his head, a bit stunned. Meg resumed.

"I sent you everything by e-mail, you must have received it." She said with malice. "But remember: keep it under your hat pretty boy. You don’t know me."

"Yes, I... of course." Castiel stuttered, rising to rush towards his computer.

"Hey." Meg called him through the phone, her voice softer. "I know it’s important to you, but… take the time to assimilate the information, okay? You don’t have to contact them tonight."

Castiel knew she was right, but the excitement was in his chest. However, he took the time to thank Meg warmly and invite her to dinner next week before hanging up. A few minutes later he had his eyes fixed on a brand new e-mail in his inbox. Castiel took a great inspiration. He had waited so long for this moment that, now that he was faced with a fait accompli, he was almost afraid to go for it.

Finally, he found the courage to click on the screen. His eyes quickly passed over her friend’s introductory text before fixating on a name written in bold as well as a lot of personal information listed just below. Reading these few lines, Castiel felt his heart racing again.

Samuel William Winchester

Born: March 2, 1983, in Lawrence, Kansas

Died: September 13, 2006, in Des Moines, Iowa

Cause: Head injury, road accident

Blood type: O negative

Applicant for organ donation: Yes

Organ removed: Heart

The data sheet thus continued in a professional coldness that affected Castiel slightly as he felt his throat tightening. His donor was only 23 when he died. He read every piece of information carefully before he got to the part he was most interested in.

Contact person in case of problem: Dean Winchester

Donor affiliation: older brother

Castiel felt his hands become sweaty as his gaze slid over the address and telephone number of Dean Winchester. A heavy silence filled his apartment, Castiel still unable to detach his gaze from this decisive email.

That’s it. The family of his donor was only a phone call away and he could finally thank the entourage of his savior. However, with this crucial information came a bitter feeling that Castiel had not apprehended. He remained all night pacing in his living room, his eyes regularly returning to the phone number taunting him from the screen of his computer.

* * *

December

Three months. Three long months since his little brother had disappeared in a car accident, leaving him and their parents in the grip of nameless sadness. He could barely breathe most of the time thinking of that youthful face he would never see again.

Dean passed a tired hand over his face as he walked past the windows of an umpteenth shop decorated with trees and garlands. Celebrating Christmas seemed absurd, totally meaningless in such a context. What’s the point if he can’t see Sammy’s jaded face in front of his usual porn magazine that he buys especially for him every year, for the joke? His world has been tasteless for far too long now.

Mary managed to keep her head above water half the time, calling him every day to hear from him, to which Dean responded with as many reassuring words as he could. Everyone knew that most of them sounded empty, but they could only pretend to be okay these past few months. Dean was wondering if the pain would eventually go away. He was told yes. He doubted that. John, on the other hand, drank a little more every day and Dean felt guilty about leaving his mother with him all day, regardless of Mary’s reassuring words.

The ground seemed to collapse under his feet as Dean looked for a way out. The truth is, he didn’t know how to do it without breaking everything around him. His days passed one after the other in a sickly similarity: work, eat, reassure, start again. He no longer had his stupid little brother to listen to his stories, no one to share his Friday night evenings with and who would be there to support him in any situation. He had his friends left, but, honestly, no one could understand him like Sam did for 23 years.

An umpteenth sigh passed through the barrier of his lips when a rock-like music rose out of his pocket. Already worried that it was still his mother, Dean took out his cell phone. Unknown number. He raised an eyebrow and picked up.

"Hello?" He said in a hoarse voice.

The line remained silent and Dean frowned. He could hear a breath at the other end of the line, so he tried again.

"Hello?"

"Oh, uh, yes! Hello, sir, uh, Dean?" An uncertain voice immediately answered with a short breath and tangled words.

Dean raised an eyebrow. Had he given his phone number to anyone recently? Not to his knowledge in any case, he very rarely went outside the garage in which he worked. Curious, Dean turned into a quiet street to concentrate on his interlocutor.

"Who am I speaking with?" He asked with a hint of sarcasm.

The man on the other side of the phone seemed to take a breath before resuming in an equally nervous tone.

"I’m sorry, we don’t really know each other. I am aware that my call may be unwelcome, in fact I hesitated for a long time before contacting you." The man stuttered.

Dean sighed.

"Well, listen, if it’s to sell me something then I’m not interested, thank you."

"No!" The man quickly added. "No, I don’t want to sell you anything. I…" Another inspiration."My name is Castiel Novak. I live in Waterloo. I know this is going to sound weird, but… I received your brother Samuel’s heart."

Dean remained silent for a long time, trying to assimilate each of the words he had just heard. At the sound of Sam’s name, he thought he was dying a bit more. A kind of thud rose in his ears, so that he thought he had fallen into a pool while he was not paying attention to his steps. Besides, Dean wasn’t even sure where he was, now standing still in the middle of the street. Only a deep and sizzling voice gradually emerged from his torpor.

"I am sorry." Castiel went on after a long silence. "I’ve taken the liberty of contacting you, but I can assure you that I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than that." He seemed to be searching for his words for a moment." I know I could never thank Samuel for his gesture, but... your brother saved my life. I just wanted to let you know how grateful I was, even though I couldn’t replace what you lost. If there’s anything I can do to help, it would be my pleasure. However, I also understand that you would never want to hear from me again... But I can assure you that I will take care of his heart. Samuel really did a lot of good in my life and with my loved ones."

Castiel started to mutter, as if he was suddenly deeply embarrassed by this phone call. Dean was convinced that he had to send back the image of a man ravaged by grief right now, his arms swaying and his gaze lost.

"Sam." He finally replied in a trembling voice. Dean took the time to clear his throat before continuing. "He preferred to be called Sam."

"Okay." Castiel said after another moment of hesitation. "Well… Sam really is a hero to me, Dean, I wanted you to know that."

Dean nodded stupidly, no matter how Castiel couldn’t see him. He felt that the sky had just fallen on his head, he felt completely disoriented. Of course Sammy was a hero, the rest of humanity didn’t even know how lucky they were to be around him. Dean knew that Sam had donated his organs, he had even given everything he could, because he was like that. But knowing that the heart was beating in someone else’s body, giving them a chance to continue to live and breathe… It was something he hadn’t really thought about until then.

"I’m going to leave you, I’m sorry I interfered in your life like this." Castiel apologized again. "I will not call this number again, I promise. I hope everything will be all right for your family, sincerely."

Dean’s heart skipped a beat and his muscles began to move, pushing him to almost scream on the phone.

"No, wait!" Realizing that Castiel had still not hung up, Dean quieted down, a shiver in his voice. "I don’t even know how you found this number, but… Well, it doesn’t matter. You’re from Waterloo? Iowa?

"Yes." Castiel said. "I’m about a two-hour drive from Des Moines. I don’t know if you live nearby, but-

"Des Moines, yeah." Dean replied, stunned. How did this guy know so much about Sam, he thought that the organ donation was anonymous? "Would you be available to meet in the week?"

An umpteenth silence answered his question and, frankly, Dean himself did not know why he had asked it. Maybe he was holding on to a ghost, a hopeless, senseless hope of finding something that once belonged to Sam. But what else did he have to lose now?

"… Are you going to punch me in the face if I say yes?" Castiel asked with distrust.

Surprisingly, it snatched a small laugh from Dean who barely recognized the sound of his voice. He hadn’t laughed that easily in weeks now.

"No." He answered. "I just want to talk, if that’s okay?"

He didn’t know what to think of this situation, it was too surreal. Was he angry with this man? No, not really. Sad? Maybe, but nothing new. Curious? Certainly. There were so many questions that now turned in his mind, almost stunning him. Never before had he heard a similar story and, yes, he was driven to the unknown by the despair of that mourn which he had never ended. But to hell with it, he needed to feel Sam’s heart beating against his hand again.

"Okay, I’d love to, then. What’s your schedule?"

Dean felt a piece of his soul warming up.

* * *

January

Their first encounter had definitely been strange and completely atypical. They had arranged to meet in a café halfway between their two cities, and despite a tense start, Dean and Castiel had talking much of the afternoon. Dean had been biting his tongue all along so he wouldn’t ask the fateful question of "excuse me, can we stop talking so I can put my hand against your heart?". But Castiel had finally come to the point by asking him if he could tell him about Sam and things had been done naturally. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates and quickly, Dean was unable to stop the incessant flow of words about his little brother. He told him the most important thing, from his childhood memories to that weird tic that Sam had every time he was upset.

Castiel had then smiled softly at each of his anecdotes and, when Dean had finally been allowed to feel this pulsating heart against his hand, Castiel had not moved. Dean was almost certain that he had let slip a strangled exclamation, but Castiel had just contented himself with that sweet and understanding look. At the end of their appointment, they had agreed to meet again. They both needed it.

The month of February began on another encounter at the park this time, at Des Moines. The winter was still rough and persistent this year, so they had decided to go and enjoy a hot chocolate near the pond. Dean hadn’t told his parents about it, not yet, but this meeting with Castiel did him as much good as the first. When he returned home, he found himself feeling much lighter than before.

They did not wait until the following month to meet again, and their third meeting took place in Waterloo this time. Castiel had invited him to dinner at a restaurant he called "the best in town" and Dean could not possibly say no to the prospect of a good meal.

March hosted their first meeting in a private place. Dean had taken care to clean up the mess from top to bottom before Castiel rang his doorbell and, seeing the huge bouquet of flowers that his friend had brought him, an easy smile spread over his face. Easy. It was the right word to define Castiel. Everything was easy with him, obvious and sweet. He never judged him, no matter what topic of conversation he decided to share with him. Castiel listened and supported and Dean had not felt so free and understood since at least 6 months now. One evening, he even wildly wondered if Sam’s heart had not completely taken possession of Castiel to make him this radiant and exceptional person. Until then, Dean had never known anyone but his brother who could read him like an open book.

In April and several appointments later, however, Dean understood that it was not really a fraternal connection he shared with Castiel. He learned to dwell more on the looks and gestures exchanged. Everything was crazy, insane, but once again, everything had always been crazy between them, and this from the first day.

May marked the beginning of a mental breakdown for Dean. He was definitely falling in love with his now best friend and that terrified him. What if he was wrong? What if the fear of losing sight of the only thing that still connected him to his deceased brother led him to feel faked feelings for Castiel? He had no right to be wrong here, he could not make his friend suffer, for he was too stubborn and miserable to properly analyze his own feelings. His cowardice pushed him away from Castiel — "to avoid making him suffer," he said — and the deep despair that this created in each of them was almost as hard as a second mourning. Almost.

Despite his best efforts not to hurt his best friend, June began with a considerable argument. Castiel felt rightfully unfairly rejected, and Dean could not bring himself to pronounce the words that burned his throat. However, neither of them expressed themselves more when Castiel, after a final overwhelming exclamation, brutally kissed Dean’s lips. The latter greeted him with a sob before deepening their kiss. No, Dean did not only love that beating heart in his chest… He had fallen in love with so much more.

July and August passed at an alarming speed as each of the two men discovered another facet of the other. Castiel had met Dean’s parents and Dean had not seen his mother so happy for a long time now. However, the one-year date of Sam’s accident was fast approaching and Dean could not ignore the weight it added to his shoulders. Little by little, Sam’s heart had become Castiel’s one in his eyes and his boyfriend was gradually filling the void that he felt deep inside him, but this dammed month of September was now taunting him every day on the calendar.

"Would you like to put your head against my chest?" Castiel once proposed as they both prepare to go to bed.

Dean froze, air jammed in his lungs.

"What?" He asked, stunned. He wasn’t sure if he heard correctly.

Castiel smiled softly, as always, before taking his hand in his.

"Just tonight." He replied, as if that explains everything.

And without really understanding how, Dean nodded and lay down with Castiel. Docilely, he had let his companion draw him to himself until his ear rested against the scar of his chest. Some breathing later, Dean was able to discern the beats under the mutilated skin and the world stopped spinning. He remained there for hours, his eyes open but lost in nostalgia and stifling emotion. He was alive and well, determined not to disappear. Not this time. When Dean began to cry silently, Castiel simply hugged him harder to comfort him, without a word. This was so precious to him. It quickly became their favorite position, Dean kissing the scar whenever he could.

September passed by in a bitter sweet atmosphere that neither Dean nor Castiel regretted sharing together. One evening in October, bundled up under the duvet to fight off a new winter, Dean could not take his eyes off the blue gaze smiling back. He thought of what his last months had been, what he had lost, but also what he had found. In front of him, Castiel squeezed the hand on his chest while breathing the same warm air as his partner. Their heart rate was calm and painless.

"I love you." Dean huffed at the bend of another tender smile.

At his words, Dean felt Castiel’s heart miss a beat under his palm and maybe, just maybe, was this the way his brother told him how happy he was for him.

* * * @winchester-reload

I hope you enjoyed it! I would really like to develop other moments like their first meeting or the evolution of their friendship until they become a couple. However, I had only one day to write and I had to make choices :). I am proud of this work but also rather doubtful of the final result so, if you liked it, please take the time to leave me a quick review in the comments. It would mean a lot to me. Thanks again for reading to the end, see you tomorrow!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

121 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 7 - Domestic

The moment you feel at home is when you start decorating the house. Dean had been repeating this to Sam ever since they had officially established their headquarters in the Men of Letters bunker. First of all, he began by displaying his favorite weapons in his room: his sawed-off shotgun, the machete he had made in Purgatory, a grenade launcher, his father’s fighting knives, his first stake… Quickly, the souvenir albums had left Baby’s trunk to weigh down the drawers of his bedside table.

Sam ended up imitating him by putting his clothes in the closet first, then his computer pouch in the desk, and finally he ended up storing countless books and tapes in boxes by his bed. Dean had obviously taken over the kitchen as quickly as possible and built his famous "Dean Cave" while Sam could spend whole nights devouring every book in the library or archives.

Castiel had also inherited a room — although it was rarely occupied — and was particularly fond of the calm of the infirmary, watching over one of the two brothers when necessary. Jack, for his part, was in the only house he had ever known and cherished every wall in this underground lair.

However, everyone agreed that the refrigerator was undoubtedly their favorite part of the bunker. The Men of Letters' was not a simple American fridge with two doors, nor even a fridge with a minibar option. No, their refrigerator was absolutely gigantic, with several doors dug directly into the wall and at least two meters of metal in width.

Of course, the food gets everybody to agree —especially when Dean felt like making his own handmade burgers— but that wasn’t the only reason this family was particularly fond of the fridge. It was not so much what was in it that found grace in their eyes, but what was on it.

The first person to hang anything on it was Sam. Tired of having to repeat to his brother to buy vegetables, he had then written a precise shopping list before hanging it with a magnet on the door containing the beers, certain that Dean would fall face to face with it before the end of the day. In response, Dean had hung another post-it on a lower door saying, "Here, rabbit man."

Soon after, Jack felt confident enough to hang one of his drawings, then another. Castiel had happily added the menu of this Chinese restaurant on the outskirts of Lebanon where the Winchesters loved to order after finishing a case. Dean had pinned a few handwritten recipes and Sam was again the first to put a picture of the four of them in the library, playing board games. Months later, Dean solemnly hung his wedding announcement with Castiel below the date of their first kiss, lovingly scribbled on a piece of paper. Little by little, the fridge was filled with memories and post-it notes, a fresco of their lives spread out among the gates of the metal surface.

It was past midnight when Sam decided to have a pick-me-up to continue his search among the archives. He proceeded as usual to his reserved part of the refrigerator when a bright yellow post-it attracted his attention. He knew every photo on this fridge so well that the slightest new element was now popping into his eyes and he came closer to read what it was saying.

"I’m sorry. Can we talk?"

It was definitely Dean’s handwriting. Sam frowned, the cogs of his brain creaking in his head. He hadn’t had a fight with his brother recently, it was barely if he’d seen him for the last two days. Jack had been on vacation with Jody since the beginning of the week and Castiel had left the bunker for… oh.

Dean and Castiel had a fight five days ago. Sam had not really understood the reason for the argument, the two of them shouting at each other behind closed doors before they remained silent for hours. This was the reason why Dean had been locked up in his room since Tuesday and that Castiel only came back from time to time to wander like a lost soul before leaving for an indefinite period. This message was therefore not addressed to him, Sam realized. It was a cry for help from his brother to Castiel. Although the angel did not need to drink or eat, it was true that he particularly liked to look at the refrigerator whenever he could as a reminder of why he called this place "his home".

Sam pinched his lips and decided not to interfere. It was something between his brother and his best friend and he would be there if they asked him for support, but not before. Although troubled, Sam grabbed a beer and a few cherry tomatoes before leaving the kitchen.

To his surprise, the first post-it did not stay on the refrigerator very long. The following day he had been replaced by a note written with much more careful writing despite the austerity of the words.

"You said everything you had to say and so did I."

A cold anger sweated in Castiel’s words. Sam was still in the kitchen when Dean made his entrance, heading for the food first as usual. He was also present when his brother’s eyes fell on the note and he froze to read it in silence. A few seconds later, Dean unpinned the post-it before wrinkling it and throwing it in the trash. He returned to his room without even getting the breakfast he had come to fetch.

"I’m an idiot. Please pick up your phone." Said the following note three days later accompanied by a photo of Dean and Castiel wearing reindeer antennas for Christmas that they had celebrated with family two years earlier. Sam recognized Dean’s trembling hand behind every word.

Sam soon found himself opening the refrigerator more often than usual simply to find out how his brother and Castiel were progressing in their fight, worried about each one of them. Dean was still as silent as a tomb about it and he hadn’t seen Castiel for a week now. Whatever happened between them, it was by far the longest argument the couple has had to date.

Dean’s last note remained unanswered.

When Sam opened the fridge door one morning to take milk, the post-it had been replaced by another still written by Dean.

"Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word, Elton John"

Sam could not help a small smile from appearing on his face. Dean had always been more gifted with music than words, but the mere fact that he chose Elton John showed something fragile and sincere. Sam hoped Castiel would get the hint. Just below this post-it was pinned a photo of their fingers intertwined, the bright wedding rings to their fingers, as well as a large black feather.

Indeed, the next day, Dean’s note was still there, but this time accompanied by a second piece of paper with an address.

"716 E Montana Ave, 1312, Baker. Room 17. You’re the One that I Want, Grease."

Not more than an hour later, Dean had gathered his belongings and was already finding an excuse to Sam when this one cut him off. They exchanged a look which they alone knew the secret before Dean nodded and fondly patted his shoulder. The next minute, the Impala’s engine was growling in the garage before moving away, leaving Sam free to go and have breakfast with Jack in the kitchen.

When Dean returned two days later, it was with Castiel next to him and a weight off their shoulders. Sam sent them a simple, gentle smile before going to hug his brother and Castiel. When he got up to bring them beers, he noticed that the post-its had not left the refrigerator. However, no one ever removed them afterwards.

The family simply added other memories as life slowly resumed in the bunker.

* * * @winchester-reload Hi! Here’s a short one for today with my favorite couple. Please, let me know if you enjoyed it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

69 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 6 - Mask

(Warnings: Alcohol drinking (consensual tho))

Dean almost cursed his brother for dragging him into this Halloween party just to abandon him ten minutes later for the pleasure of Jessica Moore’s company. Even though they’d been married for two years, those two were still disappearing to go get laid somewhere and Dean really didn’t want to be around when that happened. It wasn’t for him, thank you. And really, a Halloween party? He was over 30 and he didn’t even know that adults were still celebrating this kind of thing like any other Saturday night.

But he was apparently wrong considering the crowded dance floor of that theme bar. Everyone had played along, zombies moving their bodies among vampires, witches and werewolves. Some had opted for more classic costumes such as the nurse near the bar or the clown close of the toilet and from whom Sam would surely stay away. As for the DJ, he was on stage in his pirate disguise, giving the microphone to the beatboxer alien from time to time. The atmosphere was still friendly and it’s not like Dean had anything else to do with his October 31st evening, but he didn’t particularly want to meet anyone tonight.

His Batman costume didn’t seem to be as popular as he would have liked and the only girl who had noticed him all night long — a kind of giant pumpkin stained with blood, nothing very appetizing really — had mixed him up with "this guy from Avengers". Yet his mask was proudly on his face, his eyes surrounded with black make-up, and his cape flew according to his movements as his ears pointed towards the sky. Dean spent $50 on that suit and it wasn’t to be mocked by an uncultivated pumpkin.

Leaning against the bar isolated from the dance floor, Dean sighed, grateful to have at least some alcohol to comfort himself with. He had decided to swallow a few more drinks before going back to his apartment to watch TV when, suddenly, someone came to pull him out of his morose thoughts by bumping into him.

"Oh, really sorry." A low male voice apologized. "I should have looked around before I came down here."

Dean turned his surprised gaze to a man wearing a pretty convincing cowboy suit. Though judging by the wide headscarf on his eyes, he certainly personified an outlaw, a bee pin as a sheriff’s badge. Dean raised his eyebrows, moving to make room for the stranger.

"No harm done." He replied with a casual smile, tightening his grip around his shot of Alabama Slammer.

The cowboy came to take the place next to him before ordering as well, his blue penetrative gaze back on Dean.

"Very successful, the Batman." He said, obviously open to make conversation.

The stranger glanced at him for a moment, from top to bottom, and Dean could not restrain a feeling of pride taking hold of him. He smiled more while turning completely towards his new companion.

"Finally, someone with actual knowledge in this bar!" Dean exclaimed with amusement. "I swear, the next person who calls me 'Captain America' gets hit".

"What, someone dared to make that comparison?" The cowboy marveled in a laugh.

"Oh, you have no idea what I’ve heard." Dean lamented before drinking his shot further, savoring it more than the previous ones. He focused his attention on the cowboy and arched an eyebrow. "Your costume is really cool too, a true rodeo pro with that."

Another clear laugh escaped from the stranger’s mouth, surpassing the music that resonated further on the dance floor. The cowboy’s order finally arrived to him as he answered.

"Me, I don’t know. But William Brooks was certainly a fine gunfighter, that’s right." He replied before dipping his lips in his glass of pure vodka.

Dean eye’s widened, his smile growing bigger and bigger. There were so few people who knew that name, it couldn’t be a coincidence. Of course, for a huge fan of old western movies, the comparison was obvious, but he had to be sure.

"William Brooks as…?"

"Buffalo Bill, exactly."

Dean uttered an exclamation of joy.

"Awesome! Buffalo Bill is one of the best outlaws of his time, his adventures are amazing!" He said as he looked into the cowboy’s blue eyes.

"I know, he is my favorite mercenary!" This one replied in an equally cheerful tone.

Dean felt his night was suddenly changing. Maybe if the cowboy stayed here and talked to him, he might consider staying longer and enjoying the party.

"Dean" He said, raising his glass to the cowboy.

"Castiel." He replied with an easy smile.

They clinked their glasses before swallowing them bottoms up. Finally, without either of them really realizing it, hours —and the shots— flew at an incredible speed. What Dean thought was another tasteless evening turned out to be a very good time as he and Castiel talked. Sam and Jessica even came to him around 1:00 in the morning to tell him that they were going back home and Dean had just said goodbye to them before returning to his exciting conversation with Castiel about the best horror movies. Castiel, to tell the truth, seemed rather cowardly, but he listened to each of his words with particular attention which did not fail to warm Dean’s heart.

Neither of them particularly wanted to dance, happy with their own part of the bar and the distant music as the place gradually emptied. Around 1:30, however, their harmony was disrupted by a third person who was obviously already well drunk. Without being invited, a man in his forties, dressed in a chicken costume, came to interfere in their conversation with a lot of hearty laughter and inappropriate remarks, clearly hitting on Castiel while royally ignoring Dean yet less than a meter away from him.

When the man asked Castiel for his number for at least the sixth time of the evening, he rolled his eyes. Despite all the more or less subtle refusals from Castiel, the man did not seem to get the message and the good mood of the cowboy was gradually flying away as the stranger became touchier. Dean had held himself back until now, not wanting to make a scene and risk embarrassing Castiel, but when the stranger passed a hand stinking of cigarettes around his friend’s shoulder and that Castiel flinched, he decided that it was going too far.

Dean grabbed the stranger’s arm and push him away from Castiel, the man stumbling before catching himself at the bar.

"Hey, man. Get lost. I won’t tell you twice." Dean growled while standing in front of Castiel.

"Wow, easy pal!" The stranger replied, raising his hands in front of him, frowning. "It’s just a fra… fri-friendly discussion here."

It was more than obvious that the alcohol had reached what was left of his brain. Dean did not move an inch.

"Why don’t you go make friends somewhere else, pal?" Dean said in an icy voice. "Get out of here."

Eventually, the man grumbled, but walked away without further ado. Dean turned back to Castiel who raised an eyebrow in his direction. Dean pinched his lips. Great, did he just ruin his chances with him just because he wasn’t able to contain his emotions? Well done Winchester.

"Okay, so it’s not just a costume, is it? You’re a real caped crusader." Castiel finally joked with a happy smile on his face.

Dean relaxed and laughed with him, returning to his place near the bar.

"That’s it, keep laughing. Somebody had to save you from that ambush cowboy." Dean replied, returning to his empty glass.

"Save me, eh? Who says I wasn’t ready to draw at all times?" Castiel pouted.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"No offense, but you could barely aim straight with all the vodka you’ve been drinking." He teases softly, smiling at Castiel.

"Mmh, point for you." He mumbled.

And Dean couldn’t have put it better. Castiel did not stop at this drink and Dean was truly impressed that his friend had not yet vomited the contents of his stomach on his shoes. On the contrary, Castiel seemed to be a happy drunk and, although his words were increasingly incoherent, he also became more tactile. Dean didn’t mind, laughing at his friend’s behavior. He couldn’t really blame him for overstepping his bounds, even a skilled party boy like Dean was sometimes fooled by alcohol.

However, around 3:00 in the morning, the bar began to kick out the last customers and Dean found himself with a drunken Castiel completely slumped against him on a bench in the streets of Chicago.

"And it was just crazy because… because his dog wasn’t even white, you know? And then…

"Cas?" Dean gently cut him off, with a small smile on his face. "I think it’s time to go home. Do you live around?"

Castiel pouted. Dean could not help but think that, even when being completely drunk, Castiel was no less pleasant and attractive. The headscarf had still not left his eyes, blocking his face and hiding it from Dean’s curious gaze. Only two orbs of a brilliant blue continued to stare at him with an absent look, almost swallowed by the black of the pupil.

"… Mmh, maybe?" Castiel mumbled before slumping a bit more against Dean, sleepy.

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking around for his car.

"Okay… Okay, I’ll walk you out, right? What’s your address?"

Once again, Castiel grumbled before shrugging and stared at the pavement with intensity, as if it was whispering all his secrets to him. Dean bit his lip and swore inwardly. It was out of the question for him to leave Castiel alone outside in such a state or to take the risk of calling him a taxi.

"Well, come here buddy."

Dean grabbed Castiel by the waist and guided him to the end of the street. The journey to his car was not easy, but in the end he managed to put his companion in the passenger seat before taking the wheel. Fortunately, the alcohol had already somewhat faded in his system but he took the time to drive slowly. Dean glanced uneasily at Castiel from time to time, now leaning against the window and observing the landscape in silence. He had become mute, which gave Dean time to think.

What the hell was he doing? Driving a completely drunk stranger home was like the beginning of a very bad situation. Was it considered kidnapping? Dean nervously licked his lips after another look at Castiel. They didn’t know each other that well yet, and the last thing Dean wanted was to scare his friend.

But at a closer look, he had no other choice. Castiel was unable to take care of himself at the moment and it was not an option for Dean to take the risk of putting him in danger. What if he ran into the other jerk at the bar and took him home? No, Dean didn’t want to think about it. At least he had a warm bed and painkillers waiting for him at home.

When they reached their destination, Castiel was even more apathetic than when he left the bar. He kept mumbling anecdotes that Dean was supposed to understand as he was helping him up the three floors to his apartment.

A bunch of encouragement and much patience later, Dean finally closed the door of his home behind them. Castiel immediately took an interest in his AC/DC key ring for a minute before looking around. He seemed to frown under his mask.

"Pepper?" He suddenly called.

Dean frowned too. Was Castiel looking for someone? Dean lost some of the color on his face. Was it his girlfriend? His wife?

"Who is Pepper?" He asked without being able to help himself.

Castiel seemed confused for a moment before shrugging and mumbling.

"Goldfish."

This time, Dean really had to hold back a laugh at the stupidity of the situation.

"Okay, well, I’m sure Pepper is doing just fine. Now you’re going to go wash up and go to sleep." Dean sighed by dragging him further into his apartment, shaking his head.

When they arrived in the bathroom, it was more than obvious that Castiel was equally incapable of doing anything without help. Dean sat patiently on the edge of the tub while his friend stared at him with fascination, complimenting every little detail with a slurred voice. Finally, Dean knelt before him and began to take off his boots. Castiel did not protest, so Dean did the same with his socks, his long black leather coat, his belt, his gloves, his hat and everything else until the cowboy was only in jeans and shirt in front of him.

However, the headscarf was still in place and Dean hesitated before removing it. The piece of fabric was large and covered at least the entire upper part of Castiel’s face, hiding what he perceived to be prominent cheekbones to go with his square jaw. He swallowed. Castiel was simply focusing on an invisible spot near Dean’s ear when he finally decided to untie the knot behind Castiel’s face to remove the mask.

If Dean had believed that Castiel’s eyes were mesmerizing until then, it was nothing compared to the irresistible portrait that had just appeared before him. Dean held his breath for a moment while he allowed himself to admire each piece of skin offered to his sight, Castiel totally oblivious of the red appearing on the cheeks of his host.

He didn’t know after how long he was able to get out of this state —"No kidding, stop looking at people like that, Dean, you’re gonna scare him" he told himself— but he managed to get rid of the costume and make-up in turn before escorting Castiel to his room.

His friend was now more than silent, letting himself be pushed around when Dean laid him out among the blankets. The effect was almost immediate: barely wedged in his pillows, Castiel closed his eyes and his face relaxed. He fell asleep a few seconds later after turning to his side. Dean smiled softly, unable to prevent this urge of tenderness from growing in his chest at this sight. As a precaution, he decided to leave an empty basin and painkillers on the bedside table before letting Castiel sleep.

He’d take the couch tonight.

* * *

Dean awoke to the sweet sound of someone puking his guts out in the bathroom. He sighed. He had not had enough sleep to his liking and the filtering light in his living room kept coming to attack his eyes. Aware that he could not go back to sleep anyway, he decided to go and check on his guest. Dean more or less effectively dragged himself to the barely opened door of his bathroom before gently knocking against the wood.

"…Cas?" He called out in a hoarse voice. "Is everything okay?"

The bathroom became silent a moment after his words before a barely human grunt resounded. Dean sympathized with him.

"I know." He replied gently. "The towels are in the right cupboard if you want to take a shower. And, uh, I should have clean toothbrushes in the first drawer. Take your time."

Another grunt, this time softer, rose again from the bathroom and Dean closed the door before moving on to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he heard the shower turn on.

When Castiel was finally able to appear in the kitchen with a slightly more presentable face, though still sick, Dean had already had time to prepare the coffee and a pancake batter.

"Morning sunshine." Dean joked, glancing behind him and trying not to look at his friend again for hours." Was yesterday’s rodeo a little too much for you?"

Castiel stared at him with wide eyes before coughing. Dean turned around, raising an eyebrow.

"I, uh… Hello." A silence. Dean smiled kindly as Castiel looked everywhere but in his direction. "Okay, this is going to be really awkward, but, uh... did we… you know?"

Dean adopted a confused expression before blushing until the roots of the hairs, mortified. He really had to learn to choose his words more carefully if he wanted to stop finding himself in these kinds of awkward situations.

"No!" He hastened to rectify. "No, by rodeo I meant... Well… You drank a lot yesterday and I didn’t know where you lived, so I drove you here. The only thing that happened was you calling for your goldfish." Dean let out a little laugh. "But you slept in the bed and I slept on the couch. My sore back is proof."

Castiel seemed to relax a little before finally getting closer. He still seemed a bit embarrassed, probably because of everything he had imposed on Dean the night before, but at least his shy smile had come back to illuminate his face.

"Thank you. I would have hated not to remember that if we had spent the night together." He replied by looking up at him, and Dean could already say that it was not really a joke.

"Oh." That was the only intelligent answer he could come up with.

All this had the talent of relaxing the atmosphere while Dean served a large cup of coffee to Castiel, throwing him soft glances from time to time. His friend took the cup between his fingers before blowing gently on the surface of his coffee.

"I don’t know how to thank you." Castiel said as Dean went back to his pancakes. "If I invite you next time, do you think you can forget all the embarrassing things I probably did yesterday?"

Dean felt a pleasant sensation in his chest as a fine smile bloomed on his face. Castiel seemed almost in the right place in his kitchen, drinking coffee as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. He nodded slowly, feeling his zygomatic pulling his lips up.

"Yee-haw cowboy." Dean huffed.

Castiel shook his head, amused, while Dean was simply delighted to learn that there would be a next time.

"On one condition though." He quickly added.

"Yes?" Castiel asked, curious.

"Undisguised this time."

And just like that, this wonderful laugh was back, filling the room with a light and warm atmosphere.

"Deal."

* * * @winchester-reload Hello! Again, I wrote more than I should have written for this story but I’m pretty happy with the result, even though it gave me a hard time. Hope you enjoyed it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

62 notes · View notes

naitiaclo960writings · 4 years

Text

Day 5 - Daydream

Castiel sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time since he got back from his break. Don’t get him wrong, he loved that part-time librarian job he got on the campus of his university. Mainly because it helped him earn a little extra money, but also because this work pushed him to meet a whole bunch of different people in an environment that he liked.

If one had to stick to the classical patterns of students, Castiel certainly belonged to the nerds club. He was rather reserved and always immersed in a book, in his revisions or, why not, absorbed by a game on his phone. Fortunately, Castiel did not wear glasses and did not know how to recite all the decimals of Pi to perfectly fit the cliché, otherwise, he was convinced that he would have far fewer friends than now. That was the sad reality around here…

However, he continued to be greedy for new encounters, convinced that each person possessed a unique beauty that he longed to discover. All this, however, contrasted with his unrecoverable shyness, prompting him to babble in situations where he was under social pressure. Thus, this work was perfect for him: he did not have to go to others, it was the whole university that came to him. Some came to renew their student cards, others came to borrow books or ask for advice on their homework and the rest just liked to go to the library to have a quiet place to indulge in their extracurricular activities.

To top it all off, his work did not require too much effort. Castiel was mainly in charge of restocking, setting up new books and welcoming students. As a result, he had enough free time to get bored and start imagining the life of every person passing the threshold of the library. Austin Southwest Institute of Technology was not particularly large, but it had enough students for Castiel to have not yet managed to learn all the faces yet.

There was one person, however, whom he found himself waiting for impatiently every day. It was obviously irrational, this boy did not pay him any particular attention, only making small talks a few minutes before leaving to sit in a corner of the library with a headset shouting classic rock in the ears for hours. But whatever the nature of their exchange, Castiel was dying to see even the hint of a smile addressed to him on the wonderful face of Dean Winchester.

Castiel sighed with spite. Damn it, he was ridiculous. He was no better than those starry-eyed girls drooling in front of the school jocks.

…Was Dean a sportsperson by the way? It was clear that he looked pretty muscular under his over-sized shirts. One day when it was particularly hot outside, Castiel even had the privilege of seeing him in a t-shirt, his muscular arms exposed to the sun filtering through the windows and… Okay, Dean was definitely athletic. In fact, Dean seemed perfect in every way, which was embarrassing because he knew very little about the dude…

The first time he had met him—if you could call it a meeting—was three months earlier, at the start of the school year, when Dean came to ask for his library card. That smile in his voice had been immediately communicative and Castiel had stuttered like an idiot after each of his jokes. He was still blushing when he thought about it…

Talking about a crush might not be too much in this case, but Castiel felt so helpless in the face of this situation. If he’d been a little braver, he’d have asked Dean on a date a long time ago. Instead, he spent his days hoping to see him at the corner of a shelf and daydreaming about a potential early relationship with him, even if it was a friendly one.

Still, Castiel was sure that being friends with Dean wasn’t complicated. He always seemed cheerful and friendly, never out of conversation and above all, very devoted to others. Sometimes he would lean on Castiel’s desk to talk for at least fifteen minutes, talking about everything really until another student complained that he was making too much noise. These were undoubtedly the days Castiel preferred. Although Dean was very inconspicuous and attracted a lot of glares when he laughed at Castiel’s jokes — although he did not see why his words were funny —, Castiel could not bring himself to gently call him to order. His laughter was too captivating for that.

"Cassie?" A voice suddenly echoed behind Castiel.

This one was taken away from his delusions and turned around. Balthazar, another two-year-older student also working at the library, appeared and saw the absent look on his colleague’s face.

"Okay…" Balthazar sighed. "I’m not going to ask you what you were thinking about because the conversation is going to revolve around that Winchester boy and annoy me again. So…” He turned around to point to a wagon, ignoring Castiel’s jaded pout. "We received this week’s order. It’s your turn to put them in the shelves.

"It’s always my turn to put them in the shelves." Castiel deplored, moving towards the wagon, while rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Don’t forget those on the reserve either." Balthazar gave him a mocking smile before coming to take his place at the reception, taking out his phone without any more consideration.

Castiel shrugged and set to work. Among the shelves, it was more difficult to have a view of the entrance to the library and therefore of Dean’s arrival. But after a quick look at the clock, he realized it was already past 4:00 p.m. Castiel pinched his lips, unable not to feel this hint of disappointment at the idea that Dean would probably not come today. Suddenly, his already boring day was turning into a really bad day.

He was still dreaming of everything he could have talked about with Dean today when his foot tripped over a piece of warped linoleum and made him fall to the ground in a big crash. The books he carried in his arms were scattered on the ground while Castiel grumbled, attracting the curious glances of several students. Great… When was the day supposed to end already? Shameful, Castiel began to rise slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground, before hearing a slight embarrassed laugh.

However, he knew this sound far more than any other in this library. Biting his tongue of apprehension, Castiel raised his eyes to the source of laughter. Dean had just knelt beside him, his own affairs in his arms and looking at him with uncertainty.

"You’re okay?" He simply asked, and Castiel could not help shaking his head foolishly.

"Yes, no, it’s okay." He blushed slightly, growling inwardly. "I was distracted…"

Dean hummed softly and put down his notebooks before he began to help him pick up the books. Castiel remained stupidly motionless for a moment before imitating him, swallowing loudly. What could he have done to deserve such a humiliation today? However, Dean did not make any more fun of him and Castiel allowed himself to relax gently, glancing at Dean from time to time.

"I hate this alley too." Dean went on with a compassionate smile. "I must have stumbled at least a hundred times on the damn floor. It’s a shame, the books are rather interesting around here, but it’s at our peril." He let out a little amused sigh.

Castiel smiled back, grateful to the reassuring tone of the other student. However, he did not have time to reply that Dean resumed.

"Oh man!" He exclaimed, bringing a book to himself before smiling at the cover. "They seriously wrote a whole book about the Pi value? Damn it, my little brother taught me at least the first ten decimals of this thing."

Castiel suspended his movement before raising wide eyes to Dean.

"Really?" He asked, in disbelief, while tilting his head slightly.

This time, it was Dean’s turn to appear embarrassed and, if Castiel thought that his smile was the most beautiful expression of his face, it was only because he had never seen his cheeks turning red before. Dean raised his eyebrows toward him and scratched the back of his neck distractedly before resuming his task.

"Yeah, he loves math…" He mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Castiel felt a laughter rising in his belly without ever passing the barrier of his lips. Dean Winchester knew Pi’s decimals. He could not prevent a dumbstruck smile to come up his face.

"I think it's... cool." Castiel said after a while.

These few words had the effect of relaxing Dean somewhat, who smiled back at him after a shy look.

"Me too." Dean admitted, nodding. "He’s four years younger than me, but he’s got the brains."

Castiel lapped up everything Dean said like a thirsty man. Every detail about Dean mattered to him, and just the proud tone he used in speaking of his younger brother was enough to reinforce the emerging affection Castiel had for him. With a light heart, he lowered his eyes again to pick up the last books when his attention was drawn to a piece of paper flying close to him. Frowning, he intercepted it and nearly lost his breath when he discovered what was on it.

Some would have lingered on the beauty of the drawings before their eyes, the confident features and the shades of gray reflecting volumes to perfection. Some were wonderfully detailed and others more quickly executed, giving them a certain charm. Honestly, Castiel would surely have looked into all this himself if he had not immediately recognized his face on each of these drafts. He remained frozen in front of these miniature representations, his eyes jumping from one drawing to another. He recognized himself on each illustration: him storing books on a particularly high shelf, him bored at the desk or helping Jack with his human sciences’ homework as every Tuesday. The majority of the drawings appeared to be made from the same angle, but each breathed a surprising delicacy.

"Whoops!" Dean suddenly exclaimed. "I think that’s mine."

When he tried to take the piece of paper back, Castiel withdrew out of reach and continued to examine the sketches. Dean blushed more and more, biting his lip with mortification. Finally, in the face of Castiel’s silence, he let out an embarrassed little laugh that could not hide his anguish.

"I… Yeah, uh… My brother is more of a scientist, but… I prefer to draw." He muttered before swallowing with difficulty." "But I can assure you that I am not freak with a weirdo obsession!" Dean added in haste. "It’s just that… the light is super good here and… Uh…"

Castiel nodded slowly before turning his gaze of admiration to Dean. This one swallowed again, playing nervously with the zipper of his leather jacket. Castiel felt exhilarated, the fragile hope at the bottom of his chest never ceasing to send bursts of happiness into the rest of his body. When he offered Dean a big, hesitant smile, he saw Dean’s shoulders relaxing slightly.

"I find it very successful. No one had ever drawn me before." Castiel confessed, sincere.

Dean let out a deep sigh that amused Castiel a bit more.

"Okay, great, because I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest." Dean joked, not without a look still somewhat shameful, like a child caught in the act.

The two of them gathered the rest of the books and Castiel returned his drawings to Dean. At this precise moment, their looks crossed and none broke eye contact, their fingers brushing around the piece of paper. Finally, Castiel carefully followed the ridge of Dean’s nose until he reached his full lips soon joined by a piece of pink tongue that slowly moistened them. Castiel took a deep inspiration to try to stay composed, having the unpleasant impression that it did not work at all in front of these green and piercing eyes.

"Do you know which other place has great light?" Dean suddenly asked, Castiel’s attention jumping instantly from his lips to his eyes.

"Tell me?" He replied, bending his head to the side again.

"Bobby’s café three blocks from here, on the main avenue." Dean smiled with a pout that twisted Castiel’s stomach in all the right ways. "Tomorrow, 5:00 p.m.? I think I really need to practice my shadows…"

And although Castiel wanted to contradict him on the quality of his drawings, he felt his throat tightening to Dean’s words. Was it a date? Because it sounded dangerously as such and Castiel could not wrap his mind around it right now. He was probably in the middle of another one of his daydreams, wasn’t he?

"Of course, if I can help…" The words left his throat by themselves and Castiel was almost sure to gain a few more colors.

"Great!" Dean exclaimed, his lips stretching out in another dazzling smile. "Wait, take this in case you can’t find the address."

Immediately, Dean took a pen out of his bag to come and scribble on the paper with his drawings. When he handed it to Castiel, he noticed a telephone number with Dean’s first name beside it accompanied by a smiling smiley face. Castiel remained foolishly in front of the paper, his body having apparently stopped consulting his brain to make him ridiculous.

"T-Thank-"

"Gee, I have to go!" Dean cut him off, checking his cell phone. He put a warm hand on Castiel’s shoulder before he started to walk away. "I’ll pick you up tomorrow after work, okay? We’ll walk together to the café. See you later!"

And just like that, he was gone. Castiel was still trying to figure out what had happened. Dean asked him out on a date, handing him his telephone number to give him the address before telling him that he would pick him up directly from the library. Dean who secretly drew him from God knows how long or even used a nickname at the end of their conversation. Oh and, also: Dean Winchester asked him out on a freaking date.

When the reason of his daydreams was definitely out of sight, Castiel looked again at the piece of paper before feeling a broad smile covering his face. He sighed before folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. It was good to have dreams.

* * * @winchester-reload Some more tooth-rotting Destiel fluff for you, hope you enjoyed it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

45 notes · View notes