#If I can stop fucking dropping Enochian

[fandomqueen1000]

Supernatural: The Father hunt

Off to Uncle Bobby's

"Why the fuck can't I go as well?!"

Dean sighs. This argument had been going on for hours. 

"Jaybird-" "Don't you fucking well Jaybird me, I'm not a kid, I can handle a hunt, especially with you two along." "Yeah, but it's right near a lake, and we all know how you're terrified of bodies of water. Look, it's been a bit since any of us have even seen Bobby. Go on, let us work this case, and we'll pick you up after."

Jay flinches at the water mention, remembering all the times John had tried to drown her. It had been one of the few things that she couldn't just heal, so it happened more often.

"You fucking suck Dean." Jay says, finally giving in.

"Is it over?" Sam asks as he comes in to the motel room after a supply run.

"Yeah, it's over. Lucky freaking me. While you guys save lives, I'm stuck in a library." "Don't complain little sis, we both know you love libraries." "... Shut the fuck up Sam. Also, you're literally five months older than me, geez!"

                                -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jay sighs as she approaches the door. The boys had dropped her off than sped out like the devil was after them.

She knocks three times then waits for it to open.

"Is that you Jay?" "Hey Uncle Bobby."

Bobby wrapped her up into a hug. He hadn't seen the girl in ages, and was worried something happened to her. He loves all three Winchester idjits, but the girl had a place in his heart, always making the room warmer when she walked in.

"Sorry I haven't stopped by or called. Things have been pretty hectic." "I heard. John still missing." 

Jay nods, there was still no sign of John Winchester. Sam had been loosing his shit.

"That bastard. How Sam holding up, heard he lost his girlfriend."  Another nod. "He's holding it together and handling it okayish. Pissed that we haven't found Dad, but ah well."

Bobby smiles at the girl, hiding the worry rushing though his mind. After John Winchester lost his wife, his anger was pointed at three things: the mysterious yellow eyed demon, any monster he comes across and his only daughter. He could only hope that Sam's rage wouldn't do the same thing. 

"Come on angel. Go unpack in your room, then shall we cook dinner?" Jay smiles at the man who was more like a father than her own.

"Yeah, I'll go. I'll also cook dinner, I don't want a repeat of last time." "Come on, it wasn't that bad!" "You some how lit water, WATER on fire, which almost caused the entire place to burn down, mixed up nightshade and blueberries and put arsenic instead of garlic on the bread. I don't even know how you managed to do that!" "Can you make lasagne?" "That's what I thought."

Jay unpacks her bag, which held a few changes of clothes, her laptop, some books and a few hygiene products.

She flipped one of them over and it read: The complete enochian dictionary.

Since according to the bible angels were the natural enemies of demons, she hoped It would help her out, since some of those castings were supposed to be stronger. She also had one on all the angels that ever had existed, trying to find the right one to ask for help.

She looked up at her ceiling.

"I know this won't work, but I guess I may as well try. Um, hi angels? Fuck this sounds weird. Wait can I even swear when praying? Eh, never mind. Anyways, if you really are there, can you please tell me who the yellow eyed demon is? A-and if it's my fault... My dad, John says it is, but how could it be? I-I was just a kid!" Jay starts crying softly. "I don't know if any of you exist, let alone are listening, but if you are please help! I-I don't know what to do any more."

"Hey, ya coming kiddo? I'll get started on dinner if you aren't!" "Don't you dare!" Jay wiped her tears and gets up, knocking the book about all the angels to the ground. It falls open to the page about a fallen one, Azazel. "Hm." 

"I'm turning on the oven!" "No, wait!" Jay shoves a bookmark to mark the page and races down, just in time to stop a disaster."

                                -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So kiddo, how's Uni going?" 

Jay sighs. He was the only one who knew that she had been studying to get into the FBI Academy. 

"It's going well. I should be able to graduate in two years and then get into the academy, I just don't know how to break the news. Sam might have been happy, but now he's so obsessed but finding Yellow-Eyes, it almost scares me. Dean would be so upset, he'd think I abandoned him, and Dad... I don't even want to think about."

Bobby sighs, wishing he could help the girl. When he found out what happened, via Johns journal, he chased him off the property with a shotgun, almost completely getting rid of the one safe spot for Jay.

"Oh, by the way... what do you know about angels?"

That startles him. "Angels? Far as I know, they don't exist." "Well, maybe, but if demons exist, shouldn't they as well? And I have a few books. When I came across one a month or two ago, using one of their exorcism spells got him out much faster."

He still looked incredulous, so she continued. "I was flipping through on of my book and came across a fallen angel named Azazel. He looked a bit like Yellow-Eyes, and since he became a prince of hell, it would make sense for it to be him."

"Kiddo, that sounds... entirely impossible. Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. Either way, what we know is that he's a demon. Hell, we don't even know if angels exist, so, in all likely-hood, they aren't real. Maybe heaven is, but not angels. If they were, why haven't they ever helped out."

That was a bit of a harsh reality check. 

"Fine. But that doesn't mean I'm giving up." "I would expect nothing less. On a subject change, aren't they giving a lecture soon?" "Yeah, in a couple weeks." "Tell you what, you tell your brothers to take a few more cases without you, mention something about my cooking, and I'll cover for you and get you to the lecture." 

Jay looked at the older man in shock. Bobby also wasn't on the best terms with law enforcement, so that would be great.

"Ohmygodthankyousomuch!!!!!!!!!!!" She exclaimed in one breath.

She then ducked to the phone to call her brothers and explained that Bobby need her help for a few weeks, (and to cook dinner) so to pick her up in a few weeks instead of when they were done that one.

"Just be safe though ok? I'll see you in a few weeks." Jay turned back, a huge smile glowing across her face. "They said yes! That you Bobby, I can't wait."

After dinner, Jay went back up to her room, pretending to be tired.

"No, that book fall was a little too perfectly timed to just be fate, so I'm either in a book/show, or someone helped me out."

She reopened the book and stated to read.

Azazel was one of Lucifer's chief lutenists. When he rebelled, he told man the secrets of heaven and-

"Oh for fucks sake, what is with you people- er angels? Demons? Whatever, raping women. Like, jeez, give it a rest!"

He later became a Prince of Hell, and known for making deals. When Lucifer was locked away, he sot out ways to free him. Rumour has it, he was only truly kind to his sister, the Archangel, Jayel.

"Jayel? I've never heard of her. Besides, the only archangels are Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel and Raphael..."

"Boys, I would like you to meet, you're sister, Jayel, the last archangel." "Why is she so tiny?" "We all were Gabe." "Shut up Luc." "Father, why is she born so much later?" "Raph's right. There are already lower level angels as well." "Well Mike, it's because you needed a peace keeper. She'll develop her powers later." Jay tuns her head as a golden haired boy walks into view. "Hi Jayel, erm, Jay, no, Jaybird! I'm your big brother Gabriel. Don't worry, I'll always protect you..."

'What in the name of... I don't know any Gabriel, or Luc, or Raph or Mike. Who were those-'

"Jayel, the last archangel."

Jay tore open the book and read up on the mysterious Jayel.

Jayel is a subject of much debate for religious scholars.

Well that's an oxymoron if there ever was one.

She was said to be the last archangel, a symbol of hope and peace in heaven. She wielded the fires of heaven and was the peacemaker. It is also to be noted that since all the angels loved her the most, it is possible that her murder at the hands of Lucifer is why he was thrown to the depths of hell. But this is all purely speculative as there are no true mentions of her in the true bibles.

"Wait, that not right, Lucifer didn't- ahg!" Jay cried out, as a sudden migraine swept through her. "What the fuck? For real, am I in a book, 'cause this is feeling like one to me."

She shook her head and decided to pursue this later.

Then next few weeks were rather chaotic, filled with half babysitting Bobby and making food, finally, the day of the lecture had arrived.

Bobby just dropped her outside, because, well, FBI.

"I am not on the FBI most wanted list, I am not on the FBI most wanted list, I am not on the FBI most wanted list, I am now hoping no one is hearing me because that sounds really sus-" "Hi, are you hear for the lecture?" "Why yes I am, and no, I totally was not talking to myself!" "It's fine. We all do it."

Jay thanked the secretary and made her way to the lecture hall.

She took her seat in the second row, heart racing from pure excitement. The lecture was being done by SSA Spencer Reid, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Jason Gideon, SSA Elle Greenaway, SSA Jennifer Jareau and SSA Aaron Hotchner. The BAU. Her dream.

The six of them walked in and a hush fell over the room.

"Hello students, as I'm sure you are aware, I am SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is my team Doctor Spencer Reid, SSA Derek Morgan, SSA Jason Gideon, SSA Elle Greenaway and SSA Jennifer Jareau. SSA Penelope Garcia could not make it today. Reid?"

"Um, yes, hello. I'm Doctor Reid-" "You look to young to be a doctor, how old are you?" "And too skinny to be and agent!" 

He looked slightly disheartened, and his unit chief looked pissed, so I spoke up, which probably wasn't good idea, but hey, who cares?

"Age doesn't always matter, and if any of you had read any reports to do with Doctor Reid, you would know that he was a child prodigy, graduating high school at age 12, and university with Ph. D.s in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and B.A.s in Psychology and Sociology. Also, how someone looks is not a representation of their physical prowess. I'm five foot nothing and have been compared with a twig sometimes, yet can knock people twice my height and build out with a single punch and can shoot a bulls eye at 60 feet. Just because someone looks a certain way doesn't mean that they're not actually something else."

Hotchner raised his eyebrow and Reid glanced in my direction in appreciation.

"What's your name?" The unit chief asked. "Jaylin Campbell, though every one calls me Jay." I had enrolled in my mother's middle name just in case the Winchesters got on the most wanted list. Hey, you never know!

"Well Miss Campbell-" "Please call me Jay, I am not the biggest fan of my family." Well, no lie there. "Well, Miss... Jay, impressive dedication to your research, and you are correct about Doctor Reid, well done."

The lecture continued with little to no more interruptions, but Jay did notice at least one of the agents had their eye on her the entire time.

At the end, she went outside, but Bobby was going to be a bit, so she relaxed on a bench, rubbing her eyes as this had been the first moment of relaxation she had had in a while.

"Miss. Jay." Her head shot up. "Oh, hello agents!" she said, surprised that they were there. "What can I help you with?" "You said during the lecture that how someone looked was not a representation of their physical prowess, and used yourself as an example, is it possible for you to give a demonstration?"

"So, you want me to fight one of your agents." "Yes." "Which one?" "Damn, look at that pretty boy! Not even a moments hesitation!" "Shut up Morgan! And she's right, a study concluded that women who look meeker-" "Are actually hiding great amounts of strength." 

Agent Morgan jerked his head towards Jay. "Great, there's two of them. Hotch, please can we not hire her? I don't want another genius on the team!"

She furrowed her brow. "I'm unsure whether to be complemented or offended. Anyway, which one do you want me to fight?" "Agent Morgan."

She sized up the larger man, who glanced at Hotch, before throwing a punch, which was grabbed and used to flip him onto his back. "You're used to dumb opponents. I am not."

"Change of heart Hotch. Can we keep her?"

Jay heard Bobby honking. "Sorry, no can do. I barely was able to come in for the lecture, I'm constantly bouncing from place to place with my brothers, so I take most of my classes online. I probably wouldn't be able to do the academy." "Oh, are you nomads?" "Erm, kind of? Right now we're looking for our dad, who probably just got drunk and ran off somewhere and we'll find him in a month, or he's dead and we'll find his body in a couple years." "I thought you weren't close with your family." "Me and my brothers are kind of close, but my dad..." She drifts off. "We were never on the best of terms."

"And your mother?" She snorts. "Profilers really do catch everything." "That's not an answer." "Well mister boss man, she died when I was a week old, leaving me with a father who gets drunk and hates my guts and two brothers who prefer to bury all they feel until it comes up in a violent explosion. That a good answer?"

He looked slightly shocked, but hid that quickly.

"Any more questions? 'Cause my ride's here."

On the drive back she thought about the encounter.

"Bobby, we have to keep the boys off the most wanted list. I really don't want to go up against those guys."

#supernatural #dean winchester #john winchester #mary winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #jay winchester chronicals #jay winchester #derek morgan

[ragtimedrakes]

ok here's my tierlist like I promised

s tier:

hephaistos 1: i LOVE THIS FIGHT!!! my only gripe is the way cooldowns get misaligned depending on which transformation you get first. but it's sooo fun otherwise I love all the transformations I love snake <3 hephaistos 2: I <3 high concept. healing this was a blast athena 1: I wish I got to heal this (and athena 2) tbh... I think I disliked progging this but doing it for reclears the past couple weeks it's been really easy and smooth. I just don't like superchain 2b that mechanic sucks.

a tier:

hippo: hippo. I enjoy the water slide mechanic even if it pissed me off for my enochian timer. the stacks are fun hesperos 1: funny vampire man I like him. I think I had a lot of small gripes with mechanics but not enough to put him lower than this bc I enjoyed the fight. I think pinax is funny and I enjoyed the bloodsucker mechanic a lot. passing rot is fun hesperos 2: I enjoy the themeing of this fight a lot. I think act 3 is super mid but the rest of the acts are quite fun even if they're a little simple in hindsight? the thorns obscuring the mechanics is the only really hard part. that said I think curtain call is fun even if it's basically just a heal check carbuncle: tha buncle. stellar first fight of a tier it's just an impeccably designed fight. no notes kokytos: another good first fight imo. "limit cut" is fine I think it's fun. the second one is kind of pointless but whatever. I had a good amount of fun doing this on black mage specifically pandaemonium: this fight sucks bad in a good way. it hates you so bad it wants you dead this giant fucking spider HATES YOU. playing it on black mage makes me seethe like no tomorrow but whateverrrr I'm not thinking about that I'm over it. every mechanic in this fight is pretty fun except for what I call "stupid spinny thing" at the end because it's stupid themis: I love themis <3 my themis <3 honestly he's such a nothing fight to be completely real the only mechanics are like. dark and light + letter of the law. and dark and light is kind of mid. but whateverrrr he makes me happy athena 2: recency bias maybe but she's funnnnn. I like caloric a lot because I'm crazyyyy and I love these kinds of really precise movement mechanics. pangenesis is fun except for when I'm a 0 I hate being a 0. fuck that. honestly the more I think about it I could probably drop this down but I do genuinely like caloric. and I think gaiaochos is really fun. this fight is carried on its theming imo

b tier:

erich: my buddy erich you're a very easy fight but I love you. I still remember the stupid ass encounter I had on my first week raiding but I love you. hegemone: I enjoy this fight a lot but I don't think I can justify putting it in a tier. I'm sorry hegemone I saw your epic parasite worm... cachexia is really fun

c tier:

phoinix: oh my sweet awful fucked up bird. this bird hates you in the same way pandaemonium does but the difference is I was stuck in this stupidass fucking fight for months. FUCKING MONTHS!!!!!! it makes me so fucking mad. if I stop to think about this rationally I think phoinix is pretty fun it could definitely be b tier at least. but it's so fucking ass man agdistis: it literally took me a few minutes to remember her name. sorry girl. she's fine. I actually enjoy purgation a lot and I think the harvests are pretty fun mechanics on their own but the design of the fight sucks such ass. very sad

#vul plays ffxiv

[zac-of-all-blades]

So normally I don’t like magic classes- I’m very much a ‘triumphs of man/glory to the sciences’ type of player in any setting, but ever since I’ve been leveling BLM I just...I can now understand the heady rush of wiping away the sins of those who stand against you in an all-consuming, ever-cleansing conflagration that will put you down in history as a harbinger of terrible wroth and destruction.

#i am become death #destroyer of worlds #If I can stop fucking dropping Enochian #final fantasy XIV #ffxiv balmung

[deancasheadcanons]

Slightly Gayer

[ao3]

7.3k words post-15x18 domestic Dean/Cas (loosely) inspired by this artwork by skepticalfrog

Dean is sitting at the kitchen table drinking his coffee and halfheartedly scrolling through the news. He can’t focus because his eyes keep drifting over to the other side of the kitchen, where Cas is cooking breakfast and talking on the phone with Claire.

Cas looks different, is the thing. He’s wearing a pair of bright green boxer briefs and one of Dean’s old gray t-shirts, neither of which fit him right. Since becoming human, Cas exercises constantly, stacking his arms and legs with thickly corded muscle.

But he eats, too, and loves eating as much as Dean does, so his stomach juts out big and round from his muscular chest, several inches of tan underbelly visible out of the bottom of Dean’s shirt. The fabric is caught in the crease between his chest and belly, taut around the outline of his nipple rings. The sleeves are also too tight around his biceps, revealing the Enochian tattoos that extend from shoulder to elbow of each arm.

Dean knows what Cas looks like, of course he knows. He knows every inch of his perfect body. But the way Cas moves, Dean is still getting used to. Still studying.

Cas has the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, his hands occupied with making pancakes and eggs. He has his weight shifted to one hip, his butt sticking out even more than it already does, and he keeps waving the spatula around animatedly as he talks. He takes a drink of coffee, then scratches his belly, then gestures with his hand, flipping his wrist rather...limply.

He turns around to the kitchen island to plate the pancakes and catches Dean staring at him. He smiles and winks in his direction while continuing his conversation with Claire.

Dean tries to look back down at his phone. He makes it about five seconds before his eyes find their way over to Cas again. He takes a long drink of coffee and sets his mug down as he stands up. He strides over to Cas and comes at him from behind, wrapping his arms around his middle and burying his face in his soft neck. He kisses the tattoo that’s on the juncture of Cas’ collarbone and neck—Dean’s name in Enochian.

“I’ve gotta go, Claire,” Cas says, his voice as deep and gravelly as ever. “Tell Kaia I said hello. Yes. OK, bye.”

Dean squeezes Cas’ belly and presses long, slow kisses to his neck.

Cas turns the stove off and moves the eggs over to a different burner. His hands, now free, fold over top of Dean’s. He laces their fingers together.

“Claire said they’re thinking of coming by to visit in a few days,” Cas says, leaning his weight back against Dean.

“Mm. Good.” Dean continues his kisses.

Cas huffs a laugh and rubs his hand up and down Dean’s forearm. “Feeling affectionate this morning?”

“Always. C’mere.” He tugs at Cas to get him to turn around in his arms, then he fits his hands to his hips and presses his flat torso against Cas’ gut before leaning over and kissing him on the lips.

Cas puts a hand to the side of Dean’s face and the other on the counter behind him, supporting his weight against it. He moans into the kiss, pushing his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth and rolling his hips in an intoxicating rhythm.

They stop after a few minutes. Cas keeps his hand on Dean’s face, rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth across his cheek as he smiles softly up at him.

“What?” Dean asks self-consciously. He circles his own thumbs into Cas’ love handles.

“Nothing,” Cas replies, his smile widening. “You’re just very beautiful.”

Dean ducks back in for another quick kiss. Then, “You move differently than you used to.”

Cas tilts his head to the side, furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, uh, I don’t know. Your mannerisms...you’re more feminine. Gayer.”

Cas laughs and drops his head forward. His hand falls away from Dean’s face, and he flips it out palm up. “Well, Dean, I am gay.”

Now Dean is laughing. He pulls Cas closer to him and once again pushes his face against his neck. “You were just so stiff before.” He pulls back again and looks Cas in the eye. “I don’t like thinking that you were, I don’t know, holding yourself back. Repressed.”

Cas barks out a laugh. “Yes, please, tell me more about how I was repressed.”

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.” He squeezes a soft hip. “I’m starving, let’s eat.”

They sit perpendicular to each other at the kitchen table. Cas rubs one socked foot up and down Dean’s calf while they eat.

“Do I move different?” Dean asks with a mouthful of eggs.

Cas frowns at him, mug of coffee in his hand. “Is that a trick question?”

“Oh god, I do, don’t I?”

“Well, first of all, Dean, your voice is an octave higher than it used to be.”

Dean blushes and shoves more food in his mouth, avoiding eye contact.

Cas leans his elbows on the table, closer to Dean. “And you carry yourself differently. You’ve always been confident in your body, but you don’t posture anymore. You carry yourself in a more relaxed way—like when we’re walking, and you keep one hand in your pocket and the other holding mine. You don’t puff your chest out so much, and it makes you look more natural.”

“Gayer?”

Cas laughs again. “Yes, Dean, I think when you, uh, rub my lower back and kiss my temple while we wait in line at the grocery store or something, you definitely look gayer than you did before.”

Dean reaches over and tangles their hands together, swinging them back and forth playfully on top of the table. “Can’t help it,” he says gently. “If you’re near me, I gotta touch.”

They smile shyly at each other. Cas eventually moves Dean’s hand up to his mouth and kisses his knuckles. “I’m not too gay for you, am I? My mannerisms don’t bother you?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You’re fishing for a compliment.”

“So give me one.”

He scoots his chair closer to Cas’ and moves his hand under the table, spreading his fingers over one of Cas’ thick thighs and squeezing the soft muscle. “I’m fucking thrilled that you’re comfortable in your own skin, sweetheart. I love the new ways you move, and I love how you’ve made your body your own. I get distracted staring at you so much that I can’t even read one crap news article without looking at you.”

Cas takes a deep breath. A tear slips down his cheek, and he wipes it away delicately. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to hearing you say stuff like that to me. Not even in my most self-indulgent fantasies did I imagine...”

Dean laughs and tugs on Cas’ shirtsleeve, coaxing him over to him, patting his legs so Cas straddles his lap. Once they’re settled, Dean rubs soothing circles into Cas’ back fat and looks up at him reverently.

“I’ll always think you deserve better than me, but, uh,” Dean starts. “I guess if you want me instead of somebody better, then I gotta be the best version of myself. I’m sorry I wasn’t this me sooner.”

Cas presses their foreheads together. “You mean this gayer version?”

Dean laughs into a kiss. “Only took you confessing your love and dying for me to get my head out of my ass.”

Cas puts a finger to the tip of Dean’s nose. “No, actually, it took more than that. Seven months after I came back, Dean. It took you seven months.”

Dean winces. “Worth the wait?”

Cas sighs and kisses Dean’s cheek before climbing laboriously off his lap, grunting as his gut shifts. He pulls at the hem of his boxer briefs to get them down over his huge thighs; Dean pinches his butt as he walks away.

In the time it takes Cas to refill their coffee mugs, Dean’s phone rings.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean answers.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Sam asks.

As Cas comes back and hands Dean a mug, sliding his arm gently across his shoulders before making his way to his seat, Dean says, “Having breakfast with the love of my life. What do you need?”

“Eileen and I are going on a hunt, gonna take a few days. Can we drop Jack by later today?”

“What? The kid can’t stay by himself in the bunker?”

Cas flattens his lips and raises his eyebrows, silently chastising Dean. Dean throws his hand up and shrugs.

“He’s 4, Dean,” Sam says.

“He’s as powerful as God, Sam.”

Jack’s voice comes through the phone, sounding far away. “I don’t like staying here by myself. It’s lonely.”

“Of course you can stay here, kid,” Dean says loudly enough for Jack to hear. To Sam, he says, “But make sure you stop by the store on your way and pick up some food for him, because Cas and I are on a diet.”

“Seriously?” Sam asks.

“No,” Dean scoffs. “C’mon, dude. I’m sure the kid’ll be thrilled to get some real food instead of whatever rabbit food crap you and Eileen feed him.”

Cas snorts a laugh and tucks back into his stack of pancakes, pouring more syrup over them before taking a bite. Dean watches him, obsessed with the dainty way he holds his fork.

“You know, it’s gonna catch up to you one day,” Sam says. “You’ll wake up and suddenly realize you look like Cas.”

“Mm,” Dean hums, eyes still glued to Cas. “You mean I’ll be hot as shit?”

Cas winks at him.

“Yeah, I walked right into that one,” Sam mutters. “See you this afternoon.”

“Bye, Sam.” He hangs up.

“I don’t know why you goad him into judging our eating habits,” Cas says. “He asks about my weight every time I lift with him.”

“What? I’ll kill him.”

“No, it’s—”

“Where’s my gun? I’m gonna kill him.”

“Dean,” Cas says, exasperated. “He only asks because he doesn’t see me every day. You’d notice I was getting bigger, too, if you only saw me every week or so.”

Dean pouts at him, offended. “I touch you and stare at you constantly every day, of course I fucking notice. You’re big, Cas. And you take good care of yourself. Sam can mind his own fucking business.”

“I don’t need you to defend my honor to your brother, you insane man.” Cas stands and picks up their plates to take them to the sink. “And you need to limit the number of ‘fucks’ you say when Jack gets here.”

“Jesus, when did you become such a nagging wife?”

Cas turns away from the sink, sets a hand on the shelf of his belly, and says in a deadpan, “When I became pregnant with our third child.”

It’s a joke he stole from Dean, but Dean still lets out an embarrassing laugh like it’s the first time he’s heard it. He then joins Cas in the kitchen, hugging him from behind again and sneaking a hand up under his shirt so he can cup one of his pecs, teasing his thumb over his piercing. He kisses the shell of his ear as he mumbles, “I’ll clean up in here. I know you wanna go work out.”

Cas shuffles around in his arms and kisses him languidly. Even though they’ve been together for months and have shared at least a thousand kisses, a thrilling warmth washes over Dean’s body every time Cas initiates.

“What?” Cas asks gently when they break apart.

Dean kisses him again, squeezes his sides. “I just love you so much.”

Cas fights his smile and fails. He runs a hand up through Dean’s hair, which Dean is growing out, because Cas likes to touch it. “I love you so much, too.”

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, wrapping his arms around his back and holding him tight, nuzzling his face in his neck while Cas fists his hands in the back of Dean’s t-shirt. “Loved you for so long. Should’ve told you sooner.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” Cas squeezes him. “I should’ve, too.”

Dean clears his throat as they break apart. “We’ve turned into the biggest fucking saps. Go, go lift your silly weights.” He shoos Cas out of the kitchen and smacks his butt as he goes. “And hey! Don’t forget to walk your sweaty body through here on your way to the shower.”

Over his shoulder, Cas says, “Of course. I would never deprive you of that, Dean.”

When Dean finishes cleaning the kitchen, he heads to the living room where they’ve set up a workspace to help hunters out. Sure, it would be easier to do the job from the bunker, but Dean and Cas wanted their own space, a homier environment for hunters to stop by and rest. They have a room for Jack, a room for Claire and Kaia, and two extra bedrooms for anybody else who shows up—although, one of the rooms is half-full of Cas’ exercise equipment.

Dean has his eye on a rundown bar down the road, too, but not enough time has passed since they committed crimes to get a loan for their house, so he has to wait before they can buy it.

While Dean is doing research for a case that Garth is working on, Jody calls.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Dean answers, putting her on speaker.

“I’m three hours from your place,” she says, sounding tired. “Can you guys take the kid again for just, like, one week? Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Jody,” Dean replies, his posture straightening with excitement. “But you already knew that, because you’re already driving her over here.”

Jody laughs. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean. See you soon.”

Dean shoots a text to Sam: Raven’s gonna be here, too. ETA?

Sam texts back right away: Whenever we feel like it o’clock.

Bitch, Dean types.

Whore, Sam replies.

When Dean and Cas got together, they didn’t get the chance to tell Sam. They were on a hunt, and Sam was at the motel doing research while Dean and Cas ate dinner at a bar nearby. Cas was talking about the case and reached over and stole a fry off of Dean’s plate, and something about the gesture broke something inside of Dean. He blurted out, “I love you, too,” like a fucking idiot, causing Cas to nearly choke on the fry.

The truth was that Dean was in shock when Cas came back from the Empty, and he could not believe that this ancient unknowable being actually loved him. But then Cas was human, and ordinary, and he grew more comfortable around Dean as his body filled out. Easy warmth and affection radiated from him, like loving Dean was as natural to him as breathing.

And Dean knew that his own feelings couldn’t be buried anymore. They were clawing their way to the surface with each day that passed, until finally they burst free with an I love you, too over a stolen goddamn French fry.

They finished their meal quickly and quietly, then they walked out to the Impala together and Dean couldn’t wait a second longer than the nearly 13 years he’d already waited, so he pushed Cas up against the driver’s side door and kissed him.

“Oh,” Cas breathed between their mouths.

“What?” Dean mumbled.

“I didn’t—realize—when—”

Dean moved to kissing Cas’ softening jaw and neck so that his mouth was free to talk.

“I wasn’t sure you meant you loved me like this,” Cas explained.

Dean abruptly pulled away. “Oh. Uh, did you not—we don’t have to if you don’t want—”

Cas cut him off with a bruising kiss. “No, no, I definitely want.”

“Thank god.”

It had taken all of their willpower to get in the car and drive back to the motel, and Dean had barely put her in park before dragging Cas to the backseat and messily stripping clothes off. There wasn’t nearly enough space, so they ended up rutting against each other while making out like horny teenagers, and that’s when Sam knocked on the window.

Dean cracked it the smallest amount, his body still tangled with Cas. “We’re a little busy here, Sammy.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m gonna get another room so you guys don’t have to do...this...out here.”

“Sammy, you’re the best brother in the world,” Dean said stupidly as he and Cas struggled out of the backseat, holding their clothes half-on, shirts and overshirts and jackets in hand and jeans unbuttoned. Dean dragged Cas by the hand up to their room.

And so Sam (homophobically, in Dean’s opinion) started calling Dean “whore” instead of “jerk.”

Dean is typing on his laptop when Cas clears his throat from the hall. Dean looks up immediately, raking his eyes up and down Cas’ glistening, swollen body as he walks shirtless toward their bedroom.

“Hey, hey, hey, no, come back here,” Dean says, scrambling to get up, tripping over his own feet, then finally making it to Cas so he can squeeze his biceps and press kisses to his sweaty shoulder.

Dean moves his mouth down Cas’ collarbone and chest, hunching his body so he can get a better angle as he works his tongue around a nipple ring.

Cas cards a hand through Dean's hair. “Do you want to shower with me?” he asks patiently.

Dean reluctantly lets go of his nipple and straightens up. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

Their shower is just big enough for both of them, but it’s too difficult to do much more than wash each other’s bodies. They talk loudly to each other over the spray, which is why neither of them hear the front door open and Sam and Eileen announce their arrival.

Dean walks out to the kitchen wearing a towel around his waist and one around his hair. Sam and Eileen are making sandwiches while Jack sits on a barstool at the island reading a book.

“Oh, hey, guys,” Dean says. He grabs a La Croix out of the fridge and takes a long drink. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

Cas comes in next, wearing just boxer briefs, his wet hair dripping water onto his body. He greets everyone then puts a hand on the small of Dean’s back and kisses his cheek. He takes the La Croix right out of his hand and drinks it before giving it back.

“Cas, are your nipples pierced?” Eileen asks, shocked.

“Oh, yeah,” Cas says flippantly. He pats the tattoo of Dean’s name on his shoulder. “Dean talked me into it when I got this.”

Dean mutters, “Not like you needed much convincing.”

“So are you guys gonna bother putting clothes on, or…?” Sam asks bitchily.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for existing in my own house,” Dean teases. He settles against Cas’ side; Cas wraps his arm around his hip. “Maybe if somebody had told us when they would be here, we could’ve been ready.”

“Yeah, well, we were anxious to get here,” Sam says, looking pointedly at Eileen. “We have some news.”

“Uh-oh, this sounds like something I should be wearing clothes for,” Dean says.

“I’m pregnant,” Eileen says and signs. She makes a face like she’s sorry about it.

Cas sucks in a sharp breath. Dean’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, uh.” Sam sighs and throws a hand up. “We’re not totally sure how we feel about it, you know, never really planned on…”

“We don’t want to stop hunting,” Eileen finishes for him. “But if there’s a good reason to stop, this is it.”

“We can help,” Dean says quickly. He nervously sets his water down on the counter so he can sign and talk. “You know we’re always willing to take care of a kid. Especially a baby.” He looks over at Jack. “No offense, Jack.”

“I told them I would help, too,” Jack says cheerfully. “I would love a little brother or sister. And I can heal most injuries other than death, so if they keep hunting while Eileen is pregnant, it’ll be OK.”

“We’ll be here every step of the way,” Cas adds. “Whatever you need.”

“Yeah,” Sam says solemnly. “We know it’ll be OK, we’re just...I don’t know, I’m just not naturally maternal like you, Dean.”

“Come here, Sammy,” Dean says, walking away from Cas and putting his hand up on Sam’s shoulder to bring him down for a hug. “You’re already a great dad. You’re not gonna fuck the kid up, I promise.”

Sam laughs and squeezes Dean once before letting go. He frowns down at Dean’s bare torso and says, “OK, go get some clothes on, please.” Under his breath, he mutters, “I don’t understand how you and Cas even fit in a shower together.”

“Hey.” Dean points a menacing finger at him. “If you don’t lay off my boyfriend, he’s gonna use his massively buff arms to kick your ass.”

“No, I’m not,” Cas says in a monotone, flipping his wrist to blow Dean off. He kisses Eileen on the cheek as he leaves the kitchen.

“What? I’m not—I don’t care what Cas looks like,” Sam says. He opens the fridge and gestures dramatically to it. “I just think it would be good every now and then if you guys ate, like, one vegetable.” He looks Dean up and down. “Also the fact that Cas works out and you don’t, you look like a skinny little beanpole next to him. He makes you look ridiculous.”

Dean crosses his arms and pouts. “He likes how I look. Says it makes him feel big and strong when he picks me up.”

Sam and Eileen both laugh. Eileen asks, “He picks you up? What, like during sex?”

Dean blushes. He halfheartedly says and signs, “No, I mean, like, when I fall asleep on the couch and he carries me to our bed.”

Sam and Eileen laugh harder.

“I think it’s sweet,” Jack interjects. “I would never laugh at your relationship with Cas, Dean. You two love each other very much.”

Eileen rolls her eyes. “Yeah, perfect little angel over here has never said a mean word about anybody in his life. We get it, Jack, you’re better than us.”

Jack straightens his back and smiles, proud of himself. Dean passes by him on his way out of the kitchen and squeezes his shoulder in thanks.

“A baby, huh?” Dean asks excitedly as he rummages through his and Cas’ closet for some clothes. “We should plan on staying in the bunker with them for the first few months, you know, help them out and stuff.”

Cas scoffs from the master bath. “You just want to hold a newborn.”

“Yeah, so what?” Dean joins him in the bathroom, taking his towels off his head and waist and hanging them back up on the racks. He takes a piss while Cas stands at the sink messing with his hair.

Cas is wearing a pair of black joggers and a faded pink tank top, a denim overshirt sitting on the counter. A long chain rests against his chest between his big pecs, three rings hanging from them. Two of the rings are Dean’s old ones, and the third is a new one Dean picked out for him when they moved into their house together.

Dean checks his hip against Cas’, nudging him out of the way so he can wash his hands at the sink.

“Does it bother you that we can’t just accidentally have children?” Cas asks, turning toward Dean seriously, unaffected by his naked body.

“What? No,” Dean answers. “Why, does it bother you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

Dean grabs deodorant and pushes Cas’ arm up so he can apply it for him. “We got plenty of kids, honey.” He does the other arm. “And we’re old. I don’t need us to be the sole provider of a child for the next 18 years.” He picks up the denim shirt and helps Cas put it on.

Cas places a gentle hand on Dean’s bare hip and rubs his thumb in circles against his skin. “I just think...I think about how perfect Jack is, and how if I was still an angel and could’ve borrowed a female vessel for a while, then maybe we could’ve…”

“Jesus Christ, Cas.” He pats the slope of his belly. “OK, no more jokes about you being pregnant. It’s fucking with your head.”

“Mm, yeah.” He leans forward and presses a kiss to Dean’s mouth. “Now be honest with me, does this shirt make me look fat?”

Dean laughs as Cas expands his big stomach out and pulls at the fabric of the tank top to make it tight.

“You look perfect, sweetheart.” Dean jiggles his belly. “Fat and very gay.”

“Thank you.”

Dean puts on his usual jeans and flannel over a plain black t-shirt. He also has a necklace with a ring Cas gave him, but he wears it under his clothes and out of sight. He likes feeling it against his skin.

They eat a quick lunch with everybody before Sam and Eileen head out for their hunt. Cas and Jack go in the backyard to tend to Cas’ garden, which is full of beautiful flowers and absolutely no vegetables.

Jody shows up right when she said she would, and she passes Raven off to Dean before she’s even stepped in the door.

“I’m gonna spend the night here if you don’t mind,” Jody announces as she kicks her boots off.

Dean is cooing at the baby and tickling her belly with one finger. Right now she has dark olive skin and a head full of black hair and big gray eyes, but that could change any minute. Jody got her just a few months ago when she was trying to help her mom, a teenage shapeshifter, but the girl had a lot of complications and died during childbirth. She asked Jody to name the baby Raven after Mystique from X-Men.

Jody, claiming that she’s too old to raise a baby on her own, brings Raven over to Dean and Cas’ for at least one week per month.

“Dean?” Jody presses.

“Hmm?”

“I said I’m gonna stay here tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” He kisses the baby’s head. “Cas and Jack are outside. Make yourself at home.”

Under her breath, Jody says, “Give a baby to Dean Winchester if you want him not to pay attention to you at all.” She walks to the kitchen and puts on a teapot.

Cas barges in the back door and makes a beeline for Dean, his hands outstretched. “Baby,” he commands.

Dean frowns but hands Cas the baby anyway. He knows if he tries to hog her, he and Cas will have a petty fight about it later.

“Yeah, good to see you, too, Cas,” Jody says, still talking in a dejected tone, grabbing mugs out of the cabinet. “You look good, you been working out? Of course you have, look at you. Yeah, I know, I look good, too. New haircut. Thanks.”

“Hello, Jody,” Cas greets, turning toward her but keeping his eyes on the baby cradled in his arms. She looks impossibly small in his hold. “Your hair looks very nice.”

“Well, thank you, Cas,” Jody says smugly. “Would you like some tea?”

“Are you offering us tea in our own house?” Dean asks.

“You told me to make myself at home.”

Cas moves Raven up to his shoulder, spreading his long, thin fingers over her back to keep her in place with just one hand. With his other hand, he pulls out a barstool at the island and takes a seat. His tank top gets stuck between his underbelly and his lap, and Dean watches, transfixed, as Cas demurely lifts his butt off the chair and flicks his free hand against his shirt to unstick it.

“Dean? You OK?” Jody asks, amused.

“Hmm?” Dean whips his head toward her. “Yeah, sorry.”

“You looked a little lost there for a second, buddy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m very obsessed with Cas.”

Jody laughs. “It’s impossible to even make fun of you anymore. Like, if you’re going to be blissfully happy, at least act a little embarrassed about it.”

Dean walks over to Cas and puts his arm across his middle, presses his cheek firmly against the side of Cas’ chubby face and looks at Jody as he says, “No.”

“Jody, I would love a cup of tea,” Cas says, ignoring Dean. “Thank you.”

Raven fusses and nuzzles against Cas’ shoulder, so Dean reaches his arms out for her and says, “Too much muscle in your shoulder, she can’t get comfy.”

As Cas hands the baby over, he says, “Yes, because your bony body is so much better.”

“Do you guys even like each other?” Jody interrupts.

“No,” Dean and Cas answer in unison. They then look at each other and smile.

Cas asks Jody about the girls, which gets her on a long-winded rant, so Dean kisses Cas’ hair and heads out the back door with Raven. He walks across the porch and takes a seat on the porch swing and watches as Jack stands in front of a flower, says something to it, then moves onto the next flower and says something else.

“Are you talking to every flower, kid?” Dean calls.

Jack turns and tilts his head with a gentle smile. “I didn’t hear you come out here, Dean. Yes, I’m giving each of them longer lifespans.”

“Oh. Well, thanks.”

It’s mesmerizing, swinging back and forth and watching Jack tend to the flowers. Raven falls asleep quickly, tucked up facedown against Dean’s chest with her head turned to the side.

“See, I’m plenty easy enough to fall asleep on,” he mutters to her.

Jody comes outside a few minutes later, tea in hand. Dean scoots over so she has room to sit next to him on the swing. She doesn’t say anything, just takes a seat and drops her head to his shoulder.

“You know we can keep the kid longer if you need us to,” he says. “Cas has baby fever, so I’m sure he’d be thrilled.”

“Hm. I might,” Jody considers. “Alex is really attached to her though. I am, too, but. I don’t know. It’s different for me.”

“You never thought about having a baby again in your life, did you?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

Cas walks out next and stops right outside the door, staring straight ahead at Jack. Cas has both his wrists bent against his hips, hands palm out, straight-back posture making his gut look more pronounced than it already is.

“Hey, Jody,” Dean starts, his eyes on Cas.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think Cas is different? I mean, different than how he was as an angel.”

Jody snorts. “Um. That Cas looks like he would eat angel Cas for breakfast.”

“No, I don’t mean—” Now Dean is laughing, too. “Obviously he looks different. I mean, like, the way he’s standing right now. Don’t you think it looks a little…you know…”

“Gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, but only slightly gayer than he used to act.”

Dean balks at that. “What? Really?”

“Honey, I knew Cas was gay the second time I met him. Sure, he’s definitely more comfortable and open and maybe a little more, uh, effeminate now, but he’s always been pretty clearly gay. No offense, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Hm. Well, I’m paying attention now. Very close attention.” He surreptitiously licks his lips.

After a pause, Jody asks, “How did you live so many years of your life unaware of how horny you are for him?”

Dean puffs out a breath. “Shit, I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Like, I have a sleeping baby on me right now—one of my favorite things in the world—and yet it’s taking all of my willpower to keep sitting here with you instead of going to put my stupid hands all over him.”

Cas turns toward them then, offering a close-mouthed smile and a delicate wave of his hand, totally oblivious. “Jack is talking to the flowers,” he says loudly.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean says back, less loudly so as not to wake the baby. “Powerful as God, and he’s here talking to our fucking plants.”

Cas furrows his brow. “What did I say about cursing?”

Dean rolls his eyes.

They all hang out outside until Raven wakes up and cries for food, so Dean takes her inside and paces around the kitchen while he gives her a bottle. Cas walks through on his way to the bathroom, and Dean stops him with a, “Hey. C’mere.”

“What?” Cas asks, smiling as he closes the distance between them.

Dean leans to the side, keeping the baby steady as he kisses Cas on the lips.

Cas shakes his head when they pull apart. “You have zero impulse control.”

“See Cas, touch Cas. That’s how my brain works.”

His smile widens. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

Later, Dean is in charge of getting Raven down for the night, Jody is taking a nap upstairs, and Jack and Cas are out picking up takeout for dinner.

The four of them eat at the kitchen table, and Dean inhales his food quickly so he can relax and sling an arm over the back of Cas’ chair while everyone else finishes. He rubs and scratches at Cas’ back while they all talk, occasionally looking over to watch Cas eat. With how muscular he is, Cas would have to have a high-calorie diet even if he didn’t also just love food, but still he eats slowly and properly as he demolishes at least twice as much as everybody else.

Dean, itching to move and sick of being in the same spot for too long, eventually leans over and nips and kisses at Cas’ neck and face, forcing him to eat even slower. Every so often, Cas turns and pecks Dean on the lips in acknowledgment of his ministrations.

“Dean, you look smaller every time I come over here,” Jody says.

“No, optical illusion. It's 'cause Cas is getting bigger,” Dean responds. He pats a loving hand against Cas’ full belly. “He can’t help that he looks extremely cute like this.”

Mouth full of food, Cas turns his head and kisses Dean’s temple in thanks.

“No, I definitely think you’ve lost weight,” Jody continues.

“Yeah, I think you have,” Cas says. “Not that you weren’t skinny before, but you’ve lost weight since you stopped drinking.”

“Mm. Yeah, I guess.” Dean puts a hand on his own stomach, noting how flat it is. He ignores the heat rising to his cheeks at the basic knowledge that Cas notices things about him.

After dinner, Jack asks if they can watch a movie together in the living room, which they of course oblige. Dean can count on zero hands the amount of times he and Cas have told Jack “no” when he’s at their house.

Cas privately asks Jody if she wants a glass of wine, which she turns down. Dean sees the conversation take place as he’s turning the TV on due to his inability to take his eyes off Cas for even one minute.

Jack, god help him, picks some tragic foreign language film and sits cross-legged on the couch with Jody. Cas and Dean settle in sideways on the loveseat, Cas’ back up against the armrest and one leg hanging off the side so Dean can sit between his thighs and rest back against his chest. Dean rubs his fingertips against Cas’ knee and listens to him unwrap candy after candy, occasionally offering one to Dean.

After about 15 minutes, Dean turns his head and cocks an eyebrow at Cas.

Cas looks back at him, confused, as he puts another candy in his mouth. “What?” he whispers.

“You’ve had, like, 20 of those.”

Cas’ face changes into gay bitchiness as he unwraps another one. “Now who’s the nagging wife?”

“Can you two can it?” Jody asks at a regular volume. “I’m trying to hear what these sad French people are saying.”

Dean ignores her and whispers to Cas, “I don’t give a shit about you stuffing your face, babe, I just wish your hands were more Dean-focused.”

“Oh. Of course, Dean.” Cas tosses a wrapper aside and puts his arms around Dean’s torso, squeezing him firmly back against him.

“Mm, that’s better.” Dean snuggles down and bends his arm up to feel Cas’ bicep.

Jody shushes them again.

Cas presses a chocolatey kiss to the bolt of Dean’s jaw and moves one hand across his waist, teasing with the waistband of his jeans. Dean grabs his hand, stopping him.

“Not in front of the kid, dude,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not doing anything,” Cas says innocently, his lips still on Dean’s skin.

Jack pauses the movie and looks over at them with a smile. In a sweet, polite tone, he asks, “I don’t mean to be rude, but can you guys please shut the fuck up?”

Cas nudges his head against Dean’s in fake annoyance. “What did I tell you? What did I fucking tell you, Dean?”

Dean can’t stop laughing. “Yes, Jack, we’ll shut the fuck up.”

With nobody to talk to and with Cas carding his perfect fingers through his hair, Dean falls asleep within 10 minutes. He half-wakes up a little while later and finds himself curled up on his side with his legs pulled up to his chest, using his big boyfriend as a bed, his big arms a blanket, big pecs a pillow. Cas’ chest vibrates beneath his ear as he whispers something to Jody, but Dean doesn’t hear it. He balls his hand into a fist and nuzzles his face against Cas’ shirt like a baby and falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again, it’s because Cas is trying to carefully lift him up and take him to bed. He wraps both arms around Cas’ neck and his legs around his waist and hangs on tight as Cas stands, only one of his muscular arms wrapped around Dean’s butt to hold him in place.

“Wow, he really has you whipped,” Jody whispers to Cas.

Cas responds completely seriously, “Why else would I exercise so much if not for this?”

“G’night, Jody,” Dean mutters against Cas’ neck.

“Night, little baby Dean.”

Dean smiles, his eyes still closed. “I like that.”

Jody sighs. “Seriously. Impossible to make fun of him.”

Cas starts walking toward their room as he says, “Dean is an all or nothing person. So many years with so much shame, now he has absolutely none.”

“Hmm. Yeah,” Jody replies. “Night, Cas.”

Dean is fully awake by the time Cas lays him gently down on the bed. He gets up immediately, changes into pajamas and goes to the master bath to brush his teeth. Cas joins him at the sink, wearing just boxer briefs and one of Dean’s shirts. It barely covers his belly button.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable in that,” Dean mumbles with a mouth full of foamy toothpaste. “I don’t get why you’re still wearing my shirts to bed. I told you, you stretch them out and then I can’t wear them.”

Cas spits his own toothpaste into the sink and looks up at Dean through the mirror as he wipes his mouth. “Until the sleeves cut off circulation in my arms, I will keep wearing your shirts to bed.”

Dean pulls at the hem of one of the sleeves, pointing out where Cas snipped it with scissors. “Cheater.”

Once they’re in bed, Dean presses up against Cas’ side, throws one leg over him, buries his face in the crook of his neck, squeezes his butt.

“Finally,” Dean says against his skin. “I’ve been dying to touch you all day.”

Cas smiles and wraps an arm around Dean’s back, shoving his hand down his pants to grab his ass. “Yes, and you showed remarkable restraint by not touching me at all today.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

Cas hums, thinking. “You don’t like having your attention divided. If you can’t focus fully on me, it feels like you’re being deprived of something.”

“Yeah.” Dean rolls completely on top of Cas and kisses the pocket of fat under his chin. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. It’s not like I’m, like, completely obsessed with you or something crazy like that.”

Cas smiles into a kiss, putting his hand to the side of Dean’s face to pull him down to his lips. Dean groans in the back of his throat and rolls his hips.

“Do you want to have sex?” Cas asks between their mouths, like he almost always does, because he has a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about sex and is perfectly content with any amount of physical contact with Dean, no matter how little. So he leaves it up to Dean: a person who needs to touch Cas so badly all the time that he feels like he’ll die if he doesn’t.

“No, not with us on baby duty,” Dean says. “Let’s just make out until I fall asleep.”

“Mm, that’s exactly what I fell from grace for.”

Dean laughs and pinches his shoulder, kisses the corner of his mouth. “Hey, you knew me when you fell. You knew what you were getting yourself into.”

Cas’ face softens. He rubs the pad of his thumb slowly across Dean’s cheek. “I did. I was willing to give up everything without ever even knowing what your lips feel like against mine. So, excuse me for thinking every second with you now is just icing on the cake.”

Dean blinks. “You’re getting better at food metaphors now that you eat so much.”

Cas allows him to trivialize the moment. He just simply smiles up at him as he wipes a tear from Dean’s face.

So Dean closes his eyes and kisses him, slowly, until he falls asleep.

-----

Dean wakes up to the sound of Raven crying over the baby monitor. She only cried once during the night, when she shapeshifted into a fat pale baby with brown eyes and thin hair and needed a bottle and a change before going back to sleep. Now it’s morning, and Dean blinks awake to the sunlight streaming onto his face. He’s on his stomach, arms wrapped around a pillow under his head, his skin unreasonably warm.

He shifts and feels Cas’ heavy arm draped across his back, his chubby hip squished against his side. Dean shuffles and turns, picking Cas’ arm up and kissing his hand before setting it on the bed and standing up.

Cas is also facedown on the bed, but instead of getting up, he burrows deeper and mumbles sleepily, “Start the coffee, please.”

Dean pinches a sliver of his love handle and leans down to kiss his cheek. “I’ll bring you a cup. Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Cas snores softly in response.

It’s early. The house is dimly lit and quiet, and Dean takes his time changing and feeding Raven. When she’s done with her bottle, he puts her on his hip and carries her out to the back porch to listen to the birds. His phone rings.

“Yeah?” Dean answers.

“Hey,” Sam says. “So, uh.”

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“You know our new rule?”

“Not monsters until they act monstrous,” Dean says, his heart racing. “What happened?”

“Nothing too bad. It’s just that, uh, we think this pack of werewolves may have abandoned their, uh, young.”

“How old? How many?” Dean asks quickly.

“Twins. They’re small, Dean. Six months at most.”

Dean looks at Raven then at the garden in front of him. He thinks about Cas, about how wonderful of a father he is, about what he said yesterday. Then he says, “Well. Bring ‘em here if there’s no other option. We got the space.”

#destiel #chubby cas #15x18 #destiel fic #tf #my fics #my canon fics #i know i've changed some characterizations here but uh that's kinda the point of the fic #to demonstrate the changes in dean and cas were they to live their gay life together without shame! #anyway this is maybe my favorite thing i've ever written so um #please enjoy or i'll die

[castielle-deanna]

Destiel fanfic masterlist

My Destiel fanfics in decreasing word count order:

Hold me tight or don't (Explicit, words: 37,677)

Tags: Canon Compliant up to 15x13 // First Kiss // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker // Conversations in the Impala // falling!Castiel // New Relationship // First Time // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love //Art Embedded //soundtrack

Summary: With Jack’s soul now back, the four inhabitants of the Bunker are working on establishing a new routine. Between hunts, God’s wrath hanging over their heads and Castiel’s dwindling grace, the angel is not particularly eager to mention his deal to the Winchesters. With everything that’s going on, allowing himself to be happy sounds impossible anyway, right? Wrong…

With art by the fantastic @lizleeships

“Why now?” The angel asked quietly, taking a small step back.

Dean's fingers tightened on the tie he'd been holding onto as if it was a lifeline. “You said we were real. I want to believe it.”

“Even if it ends in pain?”

“Cas, everything I do ends there, eventually. There is always a bigger, heavier, smellier shoe waiting to drop. Holding back in fear of it doesn't make it any smaller, lighter or... or... “

“Less odoriferous?” Cas offered.

“Is that even a real word?”

“It is, indeed.”

“Sometimes you sound like you eat dictionaries and Victorian novels for breakfast,” Dean shook his head, grinning.

My unintended (Explicit, words:10,202)

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending // Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On // FUCK CANON! // Saving Dean Winchester - Retconning the finale - The fangirl business // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time Having Sex // Slow and Romantic Sex // Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester

Summary: At first, Castiel is ready to honour his part of the deal with the Empty, but then Jack shows up with distressing news...

With art by the fantastic @jeanne-de-valois

Cas heaves Dean into a bridal carry, struggling under his weight, but still he shifts slightly when Sam moves closer to help. He knows he needs to stop keeping Sam away, because it’s not fair, and it’s not what Dean wants anyway, but Sam accepts it and simply hangs back with a nod before he speaks again.

“I also know it’s not my business, but… do you think you could talk to Dean once he’s up for it? I’m not blind, or stupid. You two have to stop only holding each other like that when one of you is hurt or dead.”

Love me right (Explicit, words: 2,436)

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Porn with Feelings // Dean Winchester Wears Panties // Light Bondage // Panty Kink // Wing Kink // Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester // Light Dom/sub // Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester // Light BDSM // Dean and Castiel watch porn then recreate it

Summary: Dean asks to be tied up - who's Cas to say no to that? Written for a prompt by @winchester-reload on Patreon: "Thee Pink Panties"

“I want you to tie me up,” Dean blurts out one morning, closer to being asleep than awake still. He has no idea if Cas is even in the bedroom with him - for once, the angel is not curled around Dean with his whole body, their limbs entwined to the point where they can’t tell where one of them ends and the other begins, cliché as it is.

There’s no reply, so Dean lifts his head and blinks the grogginess away to look around. Cas is in the room, sitting cross-legged on the green couch by the wall with an open book in his lap but he’s staring at Dean with eyes so comically wide Dean would think it humanly impossible if he wasn’t seeing it with his own eyes.

“For fun,” Dean adds in hopes that Cas catches his meaning. The angel looks slightly less taken aback at that, but he still appears confused and tilts his head as if a slightly different angle would help with unraveling the mystery of Dean's words. “During sex, Cas.”

Rewind the exit (Teen And Up Audiences, words: 2,408)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Fix-It // Grief/Mourning // Angst with a Happy Ending // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Grieving Dean Winchester // Grieving Sam Winchester

Summary: "Rewinding the exit wound, I'm holding on to you 'Cause I need words like anyone, and I need love like everyone With those words I'm strong enough, and I need love like everyone." (Rewind the exit by Volbeat) Obligatory 15x18 fix-it.

The Bunker is haunted. It's haunted by two faint apparitions of humanity who mostly pass each other by in the corridors like ships in the night, silent and distant.

Dean prays. Every morning, every evening, and most waking hours between the two, he prays. He doesn't know if Cas can hear him, but the faith that he can is all Dean has, so it has to be enough.

It's not enough. Yet Dean clings to it, because if he doesn't have that, he doesn't have anything.

Bite me (Mature, words: 1,407)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence // Vampire Dean Winchester // Mild Blood!Kink (comes with the territory) // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: After Dean gets turned into a vampire during S06E05 - Live Free or Twi-hard, instead of going to Lisa's, he prays to Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Vampire!Dean having a Cas snack"

“I can get you through this, and then we’ll burn any other bridges as we get to them,” Cas says earnestly.

“That’s not how the saying… you know what, never mind. I don’t want to get through this! I told you to kill me!” Dean pushes Cas away, but the angel holds onto both of his shoulders to stabilise him until Dean shakes him off in defiance. “Fucking stubborn angel, why can’t you just do as you’re told?”

“Because I’ve decided to disregard stupid orders!” Cas shoots back, and his previous stoicism is gone entirely. His eyes flare faintly with the light of his grace as he shrugs off his trenchcoat and goes to work on loosening his tie.

I wanna get you back again (Mature, words: 1,176)

Tags: Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair // Canon Divergence // Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss

Summary: Dean breaks into the Empty to save Cas. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Come on and lay it down/I've always been with you/Here and now/Give all that's within you/Be my Savior"

“Am I wrong in assuming that our friend who has the fashion sense of a flasher wasn’t the only one in love?” Balthazar smirked.

“Huh?”

Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Bit slow on the uptake, aren’t we? You know what, don’t answer that,” he shrugged, rolling right over Dean’s indignant splutter. “I’m talking about Castiel.”

“I know!”

“So which part of my question was confusing then?”

“Fuck you, Feather Boa, the Empty is trying to push me out and you want to chat?” Dean scoffed, trying to stomp his way past him.

“Your trenchcoated boyfriend is that way,” Balthazar said dryly, pointing to his left.

Forward is just the way ahead (General Audiences, words: 1,091)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor // Baby Jack Kline // Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent // Tattoo Artist Dean Winchester // Single Parent Castiel

Summary: Tattoo artist Dean falls for client. Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Cas getting tattooed by Dean (or the other way around)"

“So,” Dean began, “It’s a simple black design, correct? Four rows of symbols?”

“Yes. It’s actually a warding-slash-protection spell in Enochian, the language of Biblical angels. There’s… well, there’s a story to it,” Cas chuckled.

“Is part of that story that you were named after an angel?”

Cas’ chuckle changed into full-blown laughter. “Yes. I have to say I wasn’t expecting you to know that. In fact, all my siblings have angel names, except for Luke, but only because they wouldn’t allow my parents to officially name him Lucifer…”

Waffles or kisses (Mature, words:1,026)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural)

Summary: Cas tries to make breakfast for Dean - it doesn't quite work out... Written for a prompt by winchester-reload on Patreon: "Great British Bake Off contestants with fewer clothes and lots of flour!" I have nefariously tweaked the prompt to allow me to play in the canon!verse.

“You look like one of the Great British Bake Off contestants, but with fewer clothes... and lots of flour, what the hell are you even doing?” Dean guffaws.

“Is that Dean?” A slightly tinny female voice comes from somewhere underneath the bowls, and it takes a moment for Dean to recognise it.

“Hi Jody!”

“Am I on speaker?”

“Yes,” Cas says, rolling his eyes. Dean finds that his behaviour is not unlike Miracle’s after the dog got caught chewing Sam’s 3rd pair of slippers to shreds, and the comparison draws another laugh out of him.

“Hi, Dean,” Jody says warmly. “Nice to hear your voice, though it would be even nicer if you were the one calling, rather than hijacking a conversation between Cas and I…”

Dean ducks his head as Jody’s “mom voice” tries to work its magic on him. “I’m not hijacking anything! Can someone explain why my kitchen and my… Cas are head-to-toe covered in flour?”

“I was trying to make waffles for breakfast,” Cas replies barely audibly, looking down, shoulders drooping.

With those words I'm strong enough (Mature, words: 703)

Tags: Dean Winchester Deserves to be Happy // Dean Winchester's Birthday // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Non-Explicit Sex // Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love // Dean Winchester Says "I Love You" // Pillow Talk // Dean Winchester Lives // fuck 15x20

Summary: It's Dean's birthday and Castiel doesn't waste a single second to wish him a happy one (Utter finale denial and slight sap below.)

“Where did you go, my love?” Cas asks, ruffling Dean’s hair, curling a longer-than-usual strand of it around his index finger.

“Thinking.”

“Uh-oh, that’s never a good thing,” Cas deadpans and Dean whacks his upper arm with very little force. “Ow.”

“Sarcastic asshole in one moment, drama queen the next,” Dean grumbles, and he fully intends to kiss it better, but before he could get around to it, he’s pushed onto his back and there’s a former angel of the Lord straddling him with a grin on his face.

Domestic (General Audiences, words: 462)

Tags: Domestic Fluff // Established Castiel/Dean Winchester // Fallen Angel Castiel // Suptober 2020

Summary: Middle-of-the-night Destiel chat. Just a lightning-quick ficlet as my first and possibly only entry to Suptober 2020. The prompt was 'domestic'

“Of all the human things, the constant need to urinate is the worst,” Castiel complained as he slid under the covers with a yawn.

“The worst?” Dean huffed in sleepy amusement. “Being shot is worse. Broken bones. A toothache…”

“They are worse, but they are temporary. Urinating is permanent. I will have to put up with it for the rest of my life.”

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #DeanCas fanfic #creativecaviar #fanfic masterlist #destiel masterlist #Destiel fic #DeanCas fic

[dothwrites]

Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash 

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush. 

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him. 

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone. 

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem). 

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.) 

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning. 

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair. 

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins. 

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot. 

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment. 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean. 

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish. 

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something. 

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant. 

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence. 

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor. 

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light. 

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile. 

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?” 

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.” 

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.” 

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day. 

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.” 

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth. 

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking. 

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was. 

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight. 

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass. 

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos. 

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word. 

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame. 

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean. 

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this. 

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that. 

---

It gets worse. 

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. 

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them. 

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression. 

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean. 

Sam chokes on nothing. 

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” 

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them. 

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.” 

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian. 

Sam snorts. 

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground. 

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.” 

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam. 

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts. 

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!” 

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book. 

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down. 

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.” 

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?” 

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks. 

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.” 

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?” 

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas? 

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.” 

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.” 

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles. 

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.” 

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.” 

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?). 

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.” 

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.” 

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly. 

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?” 

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened. 

“Another.” 

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper. 

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his. 

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?” 

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. 

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?” 

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more. 

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #canonverse fic #fluff #dothwrites

[laughablelament]

Knuckle Dusters (HBO SPN)

explicit wincest, tattoos, smoking, bottom dean

AO3 link

inspired by and dedicated to all you wonderful people sharing your hbo headcanons

--

Dean strolled out to the porch of the old cabin. Shook a Morley from the pack on the windowsill. He scanned the woods, digging in his pocket for his Zippo, wincing at the sting. He flick-clicked, lit up his smoke and leaned both forearms on the railing, studied the mojo Sam had just tattooed on his hands.

Scabby, shiny with the ointment Sammy had rubbed on to keep them from blowing out, eight sigils. Enochian. Symbols for blood and brotherhood and… Dean didn’t know. One on each finger, between his second and third knuckles.

“You’re not gonna be defenseless the next time Cas tries a beatdown,” Sam had said, mixing ash and blood and something Dean didn’t dare ask about into the ink. “They’ll be like knuckle dusters, and they’ll work on demons too.”

He took a deep drag. Puffed his cheeks on the exhale, too breezy for smoke rings. Trees rustled, frogs croaked, and katy-dids raised all kinds of racket. Dean turned his arms, looked over his growing gallery. He’d racked up a few witchy tatts since Sam took up with that demon whore. She was lying come-rag bitch but she knew useful shit. Kind of a shame he’d killed her so quick. Real shame he’d only got to kill her once.

He ran his finger over faded Roman numerals: May 2, 1983; July 19, 2006.

Lines from the Rituale wound in a ribbon toward his left wrist.

te rogamus, audi nos

Nice thought, if he could trust whoever was listening.

contremisce et effuge

That he could stand behind.

Creaking floor boards, slamming screen door, Dean nodded back over his shoulder and puffed his smoke. Offered Sam a drag but Sam passed.

“How’s it feel?” Sam asked.

“I’ve been to Hell, man, it’s fine.”

Sam moved up behind him, slid forward and wrapped Dean in his arms. “No, I meant… do you feel it?”

“I can feel that boner back there.” Dean himself had been half-mast ever since Sam got the needle in him. He squirmed his ass back and Sam chuckled. Started on Dean’s belt and tugged him backwards. Dean went along, shuffled his feet. Held onto the porch rail and his cigarette. Sam pulled his pants down; Dean arched. Sam’s knees thumped the floorboards behind him.

“Fuck yeah.” Dean sighed a cone of smoke towards the sky as Sam dove in. Wagged his tongue and licked in circles, put his back into it. Dean swayed, laid his forehead on his arms and shut his eyes. Shut it all out besides Sam’s marks aching on his fingers and Sam’s tongue digging in his ass. Spit-fucking, two days’ shadow scouring between his cheeks. Sam ate him wet and loose enough to get a finger in. Stretching, hooking, and screwing in him. Set him on fire.

Sam slapped his ass and pulled out rough. Dean jumped. Ash column fell off his burned-down smoke, singed the back of his hand. He flicked the filter to the driveway where it rolled and smoldered. Sam stood up. Came back slicker. Slid two fingers in Dean’s ass and felt around until his thighs shook and his dick leaked. He banged his fist on the rail. Wave after wave threatened to take his knees. Sam lit him up, wiggled in him, dragged thick fingers in and out.

Then Sam was pressing on the small of his back, and Dean breathed, and Sam’s cock blistered in him, not stretched enough, not wet enough. Dean squirmed against the sting and sucked Sam deeper. He groaned through his teeth when Sam pulled out, just the head inside, trickled cool lube on Dean’s split hole.

Hissing. “Shit, Sammy—”

Shoved in. Seized Dean’s hips and seesawed, knocked his teeth together. He gripped the porch rail and fucked back. Sam blanketed him. Covered Dean’s hands with his and Dean couldn’t help looking down at Sam’s companion ink, from the Rituale:

Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine.

Lord, free us from the devil’s snares.

Wasn’t that a fuckin’ joke?

Dean moved with Sam, moved against him until their rhythm started breaking down. Sam gave him a hand, heat and pleasure built. Obliterated him. Friction, sweat, and cuss words. Slapping skin. Sam yelled, Dean yelled. Knees went out, and Sam was all that stopped Dean from dropping cold. He shot all over his shirt, Sam’s hand, the chipped-painted floor. Got ahold of himself enough to milk Sam’s dick once before it slid out. Sam’s head laid heavy between Dean’s shoulder blades. Breath came fast and shallow. Come dribbled down Dean’s thighs. He eased them to their knees. Let Sam hang on him, arms hooked tight around him and spent cock rubbing up his back. He shivered as he petted Sam’s hand.

“Christ, man, whatever’s got into you today, we oughta get more of it.” He turned his head and nipped his brother’s jaw.

Sam dragged them down to a seated position, Dean between his legs. Damn floor was cold on Dean’s bare, wet butt. Sam lifted Dean’s hands and inspected his work.

“We should look for demon omens, huh?” Dean suggested. “Take these babies for a test drive.”

Sam thumbed Dean’s knuckles, kept clear of the fresh ink. “Let’s let them heal for a couple of weeks.”

“Couple of weeks?” Dean protested.

Sam squeezed Dean between his thighs. Belt and zipper jabbed Dean’s lower back. “Don’t worry.” Sam nipped his ear. Mumbled, “I can keep you plenty occupied.”

--

AO3 link

#hbo wincest #wincest #wincest fic #sam/dean #samxdean #bottom dean #laughable writes #there is no plot here kids #yet again

[thisisapaige]

Motel Memory

(For Suptober20. Day 24 Prompt: Family Business. Word count: 3893)

This concept just kinda picked me up and ran away. Kinda tempted to turn it into a fully fleshed out fic. We’ll see. For now I better let it go into the wilds down below and over here on this Ao3 link.

Hard concrete was underfoot, a hot sun beamed down from overhead, and a dry wind whistled through the empty parking lot. Peeling green paint on the building’s walls revealed the faded blue underneath. Dark, dirty windows revealed little of what was inside. The buzzing neon sign, however, in large blinking letters said it all: Motel Memory.

The grey landscape, manufactured by artificial hands, and the dying plants which dotted the silent road, their thin branches about to break, were a fair indication that Castiel was not standing on the lakefront anymore.  

Castiel was doing something there. What was it?

There was no life in this new place. The wind pushed back Castiel’s hair and coat but the trees remained still. The sign flickered but never went out. No matter how long Castiel waited, no cars passed on the road.

Castiel approached the motel entrance, his footsteps loud in the stillness. When Castiel opened the door and walked inside, a cheery bell announced his arrival. The merry jingle was a sharp contrast to the dusty, decaying lobby.

A blonde haired woman, somehow young and old at the same time, stood with her back to the door. She turned around at the sound. She stepped up to the counter, a wide bright smile on her face.

“Castiel, my dear,” she said, delighted, “I’ve been waiting for you!”

Still standing in the open doorway, Castiel asked, carefully, “For me?”

“Yes, yes.” She beckoned to Castiel as a signal to move further inside. “Don’t worry. You have a reservation.”

Castiel closed the door and stepped up to the counter. “I haven’t made any reservations.”

“Oh, no. You didn’t, dear.” The woman produced a book from under the counter. When she dropped it on the countertop, dust flew into the air. She opened the book to the last page and pointed at the final entry. “There you are. Right at the end.”

Castiel looked closer at the check-in book. An uneasy feeling swirled in his core when he saw his name. It was not his name as written in the language of humans but his true name in Enochian script.

“Who wrote this?” Castiel asked.

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just the clerk.” She grabbed a key off the wall behind her and held it out to Castiel. “Now I can finally close up shop.”

Castiel took the key, the cold metal smooth in his hand. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the beginning.” The woman placed a finger to her lips. “Actually, maybe before that?”

“Why?”

“Well, I had to take care of the family business, didn’t I?” She waved Castiel away, then pointed to the hallway on her left. “Enjoy your stay here at the Memory Motel. You’re the last client. Lucky you!”

“There’s no number on this key,” Castiel said.

“Oh, you’ll know which room is yours when you get there.” The woman waved Castiel away again. “Now go on, get.”

Castiel faced the hallway. He could not see through the dark. He turned back to the woman, ready to ask another question, but she was no longer there. It was as if never existed. In fact, once he stopped to think about it, Castiel realized he had not sensed any life from her at all.

Slipping the key into his pocket, Castiel walked down the hall.

Cas? Cas! C’mon, buddy, open your eyes!

Castiel looked behind him but all he saw was the dark.

Okay, but what did she do to him? Maybe--

Fucking witches, man.

Is he gonna be okay? Sam? Dean? Is he gonna be okay?

Castiel stopped at the end of the hallway. He scanned the area before him but he saw only garish wallpaper, wooden numbered doors, and endless shadows. There was no life.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

He continued down the hall. Castiel was no expert but, in his experience, door numbers often correlated with the floor and location of the room. Castiel was reasonably sure he was on the ground floor but every door was labelled with various numbers, seemingly at random.

Voices sounded from the door numbered 118. One voice belonged to an older man, the other a boy.

“Watch out for Sammy,” the boy said. “I know.”

“All right,” the man said. “And if something tries to bust in?”

“Shoot first, ask questions later.”

Castiel tried the key on the doorknob. It did not fit but the door swung open at his touch. The room was dark, all the windows shut tight and the blinds drawn closed. A boy sat in a chair, his back to Castiel, utterly engrossed in the cartoons playing on the small television. Another boy, his small fingers curled around the barrel of a shotgun, pointed the gun at the open door. Castiel stopped short.

The boy did not shoot first.

“Who are you?” the boy demanded, voice shaking. “What are you?”

With the television providing the sole source of light in the room, Castiel appeared as the outline of a shadow to the boy. Castiel, however, could see the boy in the gloom, could see the familiar pattern of freckles across his cheeks, could see the determined glint in his eyes, could see, with perfect clarity, that he was face to face with a young Dean.

“A friend,” Castiel said, “one day.”

“One day?” The gun shook in Dean’s hand. “You’re not getting Sammy!”

“I won’t hurt him. Or you. Never again.” Castiel held his hands out, palms open. “I will watch over you.”

“Watch over me? What do you think you are? Some kind of angel?” Dean scoffed but he did lower the gun. “Yeah right.”

The expression on Dean’s face was exactly as Castiel remembered, back in that barn. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Before Dean could reply, before Dean could close his mouth, Castiel took a step backwards and closed the door.

Uh, guys? Sam? Dean? Did he just shimmer?

I didn’t see anything.

Me either. But Jack does have the ability to see more than us.

Yeah? Well, see us a way to wake this asshole up. C’mon, Cas.  

There was no life in the hotel hallway, just the swirling patterns on the wallpaper and the long rows of doors.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Castiel continued down the hallway, skipping a few doors, ignoring the shouting from some, the noise of pleasure from others. There was not a single sound coming from the next door he chose, marked 503. The key did not fit but the door opened for Castiel.

Dean stood from the table, a table covered in empty beer cans and bottles, swaying slightly when he faced the door. His face flashed from anger, to relief, then back to anger. That was where it stayed.

“Oh, nice,” Dean said, his voice heavy, “so you just flap off to-- what?-- get a new wardrobe or something?” He grabbed a bottle from the table and drank what was left of the liquid. He wiped his mouth and leaned against the table, staring at Castiel. “Since when did you use doors anyway?”

Castiel shut the door behind him and entered the room. “You’re angry.”

“Newsflash, Cas! I’m always angry.” Dean set the empty bottle on the table with the others and stepped right up to Castiel, pressing an accusatory finger to Castiel’s chest. “In case you forgot, there’s an Apocalypse going on. Sam’s not-- we’re not--” Dean swallowed. “Then you just flap off on your own.”

“You said you were happy on your own,” Castiel said. “At the time, I didn’t realize your penchant for hiding how you feel.”

“At the time?” Dean dropped his hand but did not step back. His eyes flitted back and forth as he searched Castiel’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“It will take a long time, but--” Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The burn, the handprint, lay underneath. Castiel fought the urge to heal it. It was not time for that yet. “It will be okay. You will be okay.”

“Cas, what--”

Castiel closed the door behind him before Dean could say any more and before Castiel could say too much.

Damn it, Cas. I swear, you leave me again and I’m gonna drag you outta the Empty myself.

Dean, I hope you realize that Jack and I are coming with you.

Yeah!

No life. No life but--

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Door 1219 was already opened when Castiel reached it. Kelly Kline, sitting on the edge of the bed, did not notice Castiel at first. She smiled down at her swollen belly, humming a soft tune. Castiel remembered hearing that melody before, the one about the itsy bitsy spider, because Kelly herself taught him.

“Castiel.” Kelly Kline’s radiance emulated from her eyes. Her happiness. Her goodness. Castiel had forgotten. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I, uh--” Castiel cleared his throat. “I wanted to ask you”-- he gestured from her head to her stomach-- “ask both of you. Are you well?"

“I think so. Considering everything, I mean.” Kelly gasped and smiled wider, placing a hand against her stomach. “He’s kicking again.”

Castiel sat beside Kelly and held out his hand. “May I?”

Kelly nodded and Castiel placed his hand on her stomach. Castiel smiled at the feel of it. He knew then that this baby would become something wonderful. He was correct but not entirely accurate. The baby grew into something more than Castiel could describe.

“Have you chosen a name?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah. I think I have,” Kelly said. “Jack.”

The baby kicked, eliciting a surprised gasp from Kelly.

“I think he likes it,” Castiel said.

“I think so.” Kelly laughed. “Castiel. I know he’s good. He is.”

Castiel removed his hand from Kelly’s stomach. He tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “You may be right.” He stood and placed a hand on the door. “I’ll be back soon.”

Kelly nodded, already humming to her stomach again. Castiel took one final look before he opened the door.

Cas. You gotta wake up, man. You know Dean’s a mess without you.

We’re right here, okay? You took care of me. I’ll take care of you.

Still no life. Just an endless motel hallway.

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

Though the voices sounded distant now.

The hallway appeared darker than before. Castiel blinked and the shadows moved closer. The doors he left behind had completely disappeared. There was nowhere to go but forward.

The next door he approached was labelled 1302. Castiel did not bother with the key.

Dean lay on one of the beds, fully clothed, on top of the covers. His eyes opened the instant Castiel entered the room. Dean sat up, his back straight and stiff, and stared at Castiel with wide, watery eyes.

Dean climbed out of bed and slowly, carefully, approached Castiel, never breaking his stare. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

Castiel nodded. It was as good an explanation as any, considering Castiel did not have one at all.

Dean made a strange sound, like he had something caught in his throat. He made no effort to hide the tears which fell down his cheeks. Castiel reached out and wiped them away, but that only seemed to make Dean produce more.

“I’m sorry.” Dean turned his face and whispered into Castiel’s palm, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“You always save me, Dean.”

“Not this time.” Dean shook his head. “Not this time, Cas.”

Castiel pulled Dean into his arms. Dean sagged against Castiel, muttering apologies over and over again into his chest. Castiel held onto Dean because that was all he could do. Eventually, Dean quieted, his breaths slowed, and exhaustion weighed his body down. Castiel kept Dean from falling.

Wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist, Castiel pulled back the covers on the bed and set Dean down gently. Castiel tucked the blankets around Dean’s shoulders. After checking to make sure Dean was comfortable, Castiel turned to leave.

Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrist. “Don’t go.”

It would not take much to break free from Dean’s weak and sleepy grip but Castiel found himself returning to Dean’s bedside. Castiel knelt on the floor, letting Dean keep hold of his hand.

“Okay,” Castiel said, “but you should rest.”

“Can’t. Keep seeing-- keep seeing you--” Dean cut off with a shaky breath. “Miss you.”

“It will be okay.”

“Not without you, Cas.”

“Don’t worry.” Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand. “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Dean snorted. He burrowed further into the covers, his grip tight on Castiel’s hand. “Night, Cas. See you when I try to sleep tomorrow.”

After a short time passed, Dean’s hand went slack. He snored softly, the lines on his forehead smoothing slightly, and mumbled Castiel’s name.

Though it pained him to do it, Castiel let go of Dean’s hand. He stood at the door, watching over Dean’s sleeping form for a long time before he left.

You can’t just sleep your whole way through this apocalypse, buddy. Time to wake up.

Anything?

No. Nothing.

Castiel could hardly hear the voices. Castiel could see little more than one door at the time. He was in a hallway. He was in a motel. At least, he thought so.

Door 1415 opened as Castiel approached. Sam hovered in the room behind it, throwing a cardigan on the bed like it carried a disease. He sighed and pulled the elastic out of his hair, scratching at his head until his hair stood on end.

“Sam?” Castiel asked, closing the door behind him.

Sam jumped, then whipped around, shaking a finger at Castiel with each word, “Don’t you dare tell Dean!”

Castiel tilted his head, acting like he had not already. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Sam picked up his duffle bag from under the bed. “Well, we better pack up and, uh, never talk about this again.”

Castiel hummed. “Glasses suit you.”

“Cas! You--” Sam turned around, said glasses in his hand. Sam looked down at them. “You really think so?”

Castiel nodded.

“Huh.” After a moment of deliberation, Sam placed them in the bag. “Okay.”  

“Sam, I know that wasn’t the best way to experience it but…” Castiel took a deep breath. “You seemed happy with a wife and a home.”

Sam shrugged, his back suddenly to Castiel. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You deserve that. You deserve to be happy.” Castiel turned the doorknob. “I’ll check us out.”

Sam faced the door. Castiel caught a glimpse of the shine in Sam’s eyes before he left.

When he closed the door, Castiel heard Sam’s faint, “Thanks, Cas.”

There’s gotta be something you can do. Rowena, you’re our last hope.

Last hope? Come now, Samuel, I should have been your first hope.

Well, you didn’t exactly have a physical body before.

Oh, I’d never let a small thing like that stop me.

Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can you fix him?

Oh, don’t worry, Dean. Your angel is in safe hands. This is very old, ancient magic. Only a very skilled witch could do this. Or reverse it. Luckily, I am a very, very, skilled witch.

So he’ll be okay?

It will take some time, but, yes my dear boy. Your father will be in tip-top shape in no time.

Castiel stepped into pure darkness. The hallway had to be there but Castiel could not see it. He knew there were voices, somewhere, echoing around him, but the words were hard to understand.

All Castiel could do was move forward.

The doors were all closed. The key did not fit them. Soon, the doors faded, becoming hanging numbers and vague rectangles rather than something tangible.

All Castiel could do was move forward.

Castiel smacked into something solid, something like a wall, but he could not see anything but the darkness. The key was knocked out of Castiel’s hand. There was no clink, no sound at all, of it hitting the floor. It fell through infinite darkness, lost.

All Castiel could do was move forward but there was nowhere else to go.

He turned around, leaned against the solid darkness and stared into the gloom.

There was no life here.

Why isn’t it working?

I don’t know! It bloody well should!

Just keep trying, Rowena. It has to work.

Cas. Please.

You dick. You asshole. You wake up right now! You hear me, Cas? I am not losing you again, you hear me?

But Castiel heard those voices, did he not?

The echoing sound of boots on a wooden floor approached Castiel. He made no effort to hide from whatever was coming his way.

The blonde woman appeared in front of Castiel. She held the key in her hand.

“You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?” she asked.

Castiel felt tired. He forced his eyes to stay open. “Figured out what?”

“This place.” She swept her gaze across the darkness before returning her attention. “This emptiness. This Memory Motel.”

“I suppose not.”

The women held out the key. Castiel did not take it.

“It’s all crumbling away,” the woman said. “All the worlds. All the realms. God is taking down every last one.”

“This is one of those worlds?”

“Something like that.” The woman still held the key. “Did you enjoy walking through all those memories? Did you find peace being able to right those wrongs and say goodbye? There were so many for you to choose from and yet, you went and spoke to all those humans. One in particular.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, really. Just an interesting observation.”

Cas! Cas! C’mon, buddy, c’mon.

The woman looked up.

“You hear them, too?” Castiel asked.

“They are a very determined bunch of humans. And almost humans.” The woman stepped forward and took Castiel’s hand in her own. She pressed the key into Castiel’s palm. “Most people find their door on their own but I’ll help you. It’s right behind you.”

Cas!

Cas!

Castiel!

Cas! Cas, please!

Castiel turned around. In the darkness, a faint glow in the shape of a rectangle appeared. He raised the hand holding the key. A doorknob made of light shaped before his eyes. The keyhole shone.

“You know,” Castiel said, “there is this human phrase I've learned: ‘my life flashed before my eyes.’ They say it happens when they have a near-death experience.”

The darkness shimmered and shook. The doorknob brightened.

“I may have heard that before,” the woman said.

“Is that what is happening to me?” Castiel stared at the key in his hand. “What happens when I open this door?”

C’mon, buddy, wake up. We need you.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” The woman was right behind him. There was no life here. “No one knows until they walk through.”

I need you.

“The thing is,” Castiel said, closing his palm over the key, “I do. It’s nothing. It’s darkness. It’s the Empty.”

There was no life here.

There was only Emptiness.

Castiel whirled around and thrust the hand holding the key toward the woman’s heart. His hand went right through her. The key clinked against the ground.

The woman grinned. Her face twisted and stretched into a grotesque caricature of a human. Shadows crawled across her face.

“Oh, Castiel, I’ll be back.” The woman’s human veneer dissolved, leaving behind an empty shadow. “You can count on it.”

Castiel!

Castiel heard those voices. He did.

He cast his arms wide and raised his face toward the voices.

“I’m here!” Castiel shouted. “I’m right here!”

The shadows scattered in the light.

“Cas! Cas.” A hand touched Castiel’s cheek, gentle and soft. “Open those eyes for me, buddy.”

The touch chased the remaining shadows away. Castiel opened his eyes, blinking himself back into reality. Sitting on the edge of the bed Castiel realized he was lying upon, Dean looked down at Castiel, lips quivering.

“Thank fuck.” Dean swallowed. “You had me worried there, buddy.”

“I heard your voice.” Castiel made a move to sit up. Dean was ready with a helping hand. At the foot of the bed, Jack, Sam, and even Rowena watched Castiel with wary eyes. “I heard all your voices.”

“Well,” Rowena said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “I believe that this is another day of wonderful work from the most wonderful witch. I’ll be on my way.”

Sam grabbed Rowena’s shoulder before she could leave and gave her a sincere, “Thank you.”

Rowena fluttered her eyelashes as she searched for something to say. She settled on an eye roll before heading out the door.

“Cas!” Jack nearly leapt to Castiel’s bedside, his grip strong when he hugged Castiel from the side. “You’re okay!”

“Of course I am.” Castiel ran a hand through Jack’s hair. “I have to look after you, do I not?”

Jack squeezed Castiel tighter before letting go. His eyes were wet.

“Well, Jack,” Sam said, “I think it’s time we got some sleep.”

“Oh, I don’t need to sleep that much,” Jack said.

Sam raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Dean. He returned his attention to Jack, his stare steady. Dean did not seem to notice the significant exchange.

“But, uh,” Jack said, standing up and returning to the foot of the bed, “maybe I should now.”

“Good idea.” Sam wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders and led him out of the room. “Glad to have you back, Cas.”

Once the door closed behind Sam and Jack, Dean pulled Castiel into a tight, desperate hug. Dean trembled. Castiel could feel it all through his body. Castiel rested his hands on Dean’s back and waited.

“You gotta stop doing that,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear. Dean pulled back, just far enough to look into Castiel's eyes. “What happened to you?”

“I went somewhere. Somewhere else. Somewhere I had the opportunity to speak to people in my past.” Castiel licked his lips. He still did not fully understand what happened. He was still unsure if any of it was real, but he did remember how Dean grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. “I saw you.”

“Huh. I don’t know how to take that.”

“That’s okay. I’m not sure I know how to take it myself.” Castiel ran a finger over Dean’s jaw. “Or the fact that you called me an asshole.”

Dean snorted, then broke out into a fit of uncontrollable giggles. “Dude. You swore.”

“I can do more. Uh, shit. Damn. Ass. Fuc--”

Dean cut Castiel off with a kiss. Dean took his time, his touch gentle and soft. Castiel opened himself to Dean, accepting anything he wanted to give, and taking anything he offered.

When they parted Dean smiled. “I am such a bad influence on you.”

“Not all bad,” Castiel said.

Dean sagged against Castiel, resting his head against Castiel’s chest. Castiel secured an arm around him and wrangled them both into the bed. Dean burrowed into Castiel’s side and closed his eyes.

Lying there, with Dean sleeping in his arms, Castiel could almost ignore the shadows creeping at the edges of the room. Almost, but not quite.

Castiel listened to Dean's steady breathing as he slept. Castiel listened to the footsteps passing by the bedroom door. Castiel listened to Sam's whispers to Jack.

There was life here.

Castiel heard their voices. He did.

He focused on the life around him.

The shadows receded.

#suptober20 #destiel #destiel fic #spn #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #castiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #rowena macleod #deancas #my fascination with liminal spaces continues #some #angst #happy ending #enjoy! #writing paige #all those room numbers have a matching episode #in case you were wondering

[deansmom]

ao3 link

Dean finds him in the bunker.

Sam is with Eileen, doing something Dean doesn’t want to know about - maybe making little Sam’s or something.

He’s exhausted when he gets home. He barely has the wherewithal to take off his dirty boots at the garage door.

His shoulders ache and his neck cracks as he rubs it, a small groan escaping his lips. He hasn’t stopped smiling.

Dean hears the air kick on, the old vents in the bunker shaking with the effort to warm the place up, just as he opens his bedroom door.

And he’s just... there.

He’d wondered the whole drive home if Jack had done it. If Jack had managed to really bring everyone back.

And there he is. Castiel is just standing there in his suit, trench coat thrown across the bed. Looking the same as he did before the Empty took him.

He looks nervous. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cas looks terrified.

And fuck, Dean knows he’s not good at this, but -

“Did you know?” Dean drops his bag next to the dresser, his eyes never leaving Cas.

Castiel’s face contorts slightly, confused that this is what he chose for his opening line.

“I...”

He squints, and Dean is suddenly reminded that while Cas will never admit it, Dean thinks he needs glasses. It makes him smile despite how nervous he is now.

“Did I know what, Dean?”

Here he was, thinking there was a giant neon sign on his forehead, making him look like an idiot all these years. All these years that Dean’s just been working on the assumption that Cas couldn’t actually, y’know, fall in love with anyone, and worrying that everyone knew and he just -

Castiel really didn’t know.

Dean takes a step forward and reaches out to grab Cas’s hand, but thinks better of it. He should probably focus if he’s actually going to try to say something.

“I, um,” he shifts uncomfortably, a hand coming up to rub his neck again. “I’m not - I’m not good at this, Cas, ok? So like...” Dean licks his lips, nervously glancing at him, “Just, let me get this out.”

Castiel’s face has softened, but he clearly doesn’t know what Dean’s about to say and he’s not sure if the ache in his chest means he wants to cry or laugh about it.

“I...”

Dean has to look away for a moment. It’s embarrassing as hell, but sometimes it feels like Cas can see all the way into his soul (he probably can). Nobody knows him as well as Castiel does, and nobody in all his 40-something years on this earth can make him feel as vulnerable. Having that connection with someone means more to Dean than he’ll ever admit, he knows that, but still… it makes it hard to think.

“Look, I, uh, I really thought you knew...” he laughs a little bit, smiling to himself. “I mean hell, every fucking angel and demon never shut up about it to me, anyways.”

Dean takes a beat before going over to his bed abruptly, feeling antsy with it.

Maybe if he keeps moving, maybe if he makes himself a moving target Castiel won’t be able to see how fucking scared he is.

The thought makes Dean literally stop in his tracks because it’s the first time he’s admitted that, even to himself. He drops down onto his bed with the weight of the realization, and it’s all Dean can do not to laugh at himself. He’s scared.  

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

It comes out as more of a whisper than anything, and Dean sighs, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s feet.

“I don’t know, I just... I kinda always thought it would be me, y’know?” He finally looks up and catches Cas’s eye, smiling. “Last ditch, last night on earth thing. It’s my best line.”

Castiel huffs, slowly walking over to sit on the bed with Dean.

“I guess I just...” Dean keeps his eyes on their feet, hoping he doesn’t chicken out.

“I thought you knew... and I guess I thought that you just...” He shrugs, feeling dumb saying it now, “I don’t know. Didn’t love me or whatever.”

Castiel sets a hand on Dean’s thigh and almost all of the tension drains out of his body.

It’s kind of embarrassing how easily Cas can play him. Pluck all the right strings, strum all the right chords, and make Dean putty in his hands.

For years, he’s wondered if Cas knows, if he does it on purpose – the looks he gives Dean sometimes, the carefully placed hands when he’s upset, the way he heals him even. There’s a part of him that thinks Castiel isn’t doing it on purpose, and then sometimes he gives him this look and it’s just…

Castiel interrupts his train of thought with a sigh, “Dean...”

He looks up without meaning to and almost chokes on all the emotions he’s trying to sort through when he sees the look on Castiel’s face.

“I suppose we both were...” Castiel is so earnest and it drives Dean insane.

“Idiots.”

Dean let’s out a loud bark of a laugh, his forehead falling onto Castiel's shoulder.

“Yeah, I guess we were.”

An arm wraps itself around Dean’s back, half a second before he feels Castiel kiss his head.

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Dean mumbles.

His fingers have grabbed Castiel’s tie and he’s fidgeting with it, trying to keep himself busy so he doesn’t do something stupid.

It’s been omnipresent for years now. An immutable truth that Dean’s been running from for years, because, well...

Castiel has ruined him.

If he left and never came back, Dean wouldn’t survive it.

Sure, he’d try to keep going, if only because he knows that anything else would just hurt him. And he’s so tired, so fucking tired, of hurting Cas.  

He thinks about that for a moment before moving so he can meet Castiel’s eyes, “Hey...”

Dean sets a hand on his cheek without thinking about it. Castiel’s arm falls so his hand is resting on Dean’s hip instead of his arm.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Castiel huffs, amused. “If I had, would it have been received well?”

Dean thinks about it for a minute, his thumb absently running over the lines on Castiel’s face.

He’s had his mojo back for a while, but this isn’t a vessel anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. And at some point, over the last couple years, Castiel started looking Dean’s age.

It’s a good look on him.

“Cas,” he starts, his hand settling on the back of his angel’s head. “You remember what Hester said?”

Dean does. He remembers it vividly. Between that and the Mark, he’s had a hell of a time the last decade trying not to drown with the guilt of bringing everyone he loves down.

Castiel hums, the hand on Dean’s hip rubbing absentmindedly, “Vaguely.”

He hadn’t been himself back then. That Cas had scared the shit out of Dean.

“She said that the very touch of me corrupts...”

His voice is quiet, damn near soft even.

“That when you laid a hand on me in Hell or whatever...” Dean sighs, “You were lost.”

The hand that’s been playing with Castiel’s tie comes up to rest, open palmed, on his chest. Feeling his chest move out of nothing more than habit, nothing more than something Cas does to make Dean feel comfortable, grounds him.

“I don’t know when I fell in love with you,” he admits after a moment. “Over the years I’ve tried to pinpoint a moment -“ Dean chuckles, “The moment, I guess... when it happened.”

He’s smiling now, even though he’s terrified.

He has nothing to be scared of, he knows that now. But Dean’s never been good at this stuff - the feelings stuff. Vulnerability.

He’s spent his whole life trying not to get hurt out there fighting monsters. Dean still hasn’t figured out how to differentiate a broken heart from a mortal wound - they feel the same.

“For a while I thought,” Dean starts, stopping himself after a beat.

Castiel leans forward, his forehead coming to rest against Dean’s.

“For a long time, I thought it was that moment in Chuck’s kitchen...” He sighs, closing his eyes after a moment, “When you threw everything away. For me.”

“I did it because it was the right thing to do,” Castiel reminds him quietly.

Dean huffs, a couple tears spilling out, “Yeah, yeah I know.”

They’ve had this fight before. That Castiel has always been in control of his destiny, of his choices and Dean wasn’t to feel responsible for any of them. It wasn’t his fault. Castiel made all of his choices that Dean felt guilty for, all on his own. And he’d make those choices all over again, if presented the opportunity.

He sniffs, laughing when he feels one of Castiel’s hands wipe the tears away, “But, Cas, you... you had me.”

Dean opens his eyes up so he can look at Cas.

He’s crying too and Dean finds himself laughing again, both of his hands coming up to Castiel’s face. He wipes the tears away as they fall, his chest aching with how much he loves him.

“I think I was lost too,” Dean admits. “I think I’ve been in love with you this whole time. From the moment you touched me in hell, I think-“

Dean clears his throat, trying to collect himself.

“Damn it.” He tries to laugh but it comes out more like a sob, “I really didn’t want to cry.”

At that, Castiel actually laughs and he’s got that big, gummy smile on his face. The one that makes Dean feel like he’s a kid again and his first crush laughed at his joke. Makes Dean feel like he accomplished something.

“It’s okay,” Cas promises him. He looks like he wants to say more but he can’t come up with anything except, “It’s okay.”

Dean shakes his head, all the feelings he’s been trying to ignore for the last twelve years washing over him at once, “‘S not ok.”

He never imagined telling Cas any of this where he wasn’t dying. He never let himself imagine that Cas felt the same way. He never believed that this - it might turn out ok for Dean.

Castiel pulls Dean into a full body hug, pressing kisses all over his head when Dean hides his face in his neck.

“I love you so much you stubborn, infuriating man,” Cas says in between kisses.

It startles a laugh out of Dean and he tightens his arms around Cas.

Castiel uses his strength to move them so they’re laying together on Dean’s bed. The bed isn’t quite big enough for the two of them to fit comfortably, but Cas makes a good pillow.

Stupidly, in between the hiccuped sobs Dean can’t seem to stop, it occurs to him that he’s going to need a bigger bed.

What a bizarrely wonderful thought.

Castiel rubs his back through it, mumbling in enochian periodically. Dean’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or Dean but he doesn’t really care.

Cas is here. And he loves Dean.

After a little while Dean sniffs, his grip on Cas loosening. He hadn’t realized how tired he was.

The hand that had been running through his hair stills momentarily, “Go to sleep, Dean.”

He wants to, but he lifts his head up enough to look at Cas first. He’s definitely getting soft in his old age, because Cas smiles like he knows what Dean’s thinking before he gets to say it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean,” he promises. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Dean does.

  When he wakes up, he has no idea how long it’s been.

His neck aches from the weird angle and his face feels a little sticky from the tears and the drool (gross). Above him, Castiel is snoring quietly, his face soft.

Dean’s heart jumps at the sight.

Dean rolls over so he’s completely on top of Cas, groaning with the effort.

Jesus, he’s too old to be sharing beds like this.

For all the weight that’s shifted onto him suddenly, Castiel doesn’t even stir a little bit.

That’s okay.

Dean gave Cas a lot of shit for it over the years, but it just felt weird. Cas could see him in his most vulnerable state and, well... angels didn’t sleep.

Cas did in purgatory. Dean would watch him sometimes when he couldn’t turn his brain off.

He’s beautiful when he sleeps.

He doesn’t need to sleep, hasn’t since he was human, but Cas enjoys it. He admitted to Dean once after a couple drinks that it was the only time, he truly experienced silence... peace.

‘Heaven is peaceful, in a sense,’ he’d admitted, his eyes on the melting ice in his glass. ‘But it’s so loud, Dean. That much love and grief in one place, it’s... deafening.’

Castiel had said that Dean was the most caring human on earth. Dean wonders if he knows how much that isn’t true.

He knows that he cares too much, too deeply, it’s something he’s hated for years. Can’t separate himself from the job, can’t help but feel the heartbreak of people they meet on cases, to carry their grief with him.

But Castiel has the biggest, most forgiving heart Dean’s ever seen. Sometimes he’s jealous that Cas can feel so much, and not let it destroy him so completely. Not let it debilitate him.

He wonders if Castiel knows what a good person he is. Wonders if he knows how much he’s inspired Dean to be better, to be kinder, to not be so scared of feeling so much.

He presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek without thinking about it.

“You scare the hell out of me, man,” Dean whispers, tracing a finger over Castiel’s shirt. “I thought I was going to end up like Bobby for the longest time... a grumpy old fuck with nobody but a dog I barely liked to come home to at night...”

He sighs quietly, snuggling close to Cas again, “That was the best-case scenario... I never really thought I’d make it this long. Thought I’d die in a fight, too young and too little time on this rock. Hunters don’t really retire, you know?”

The heat kicks on again, the old system clunking to life around them.

“And then you brought me back to life... y’know, that night in the barn, I was terrified. I thought I was gonna shit myself for a second there-“ Dean snorts a little, “Bobby too. But then...”

He smiles against Castiel’s neck, “Every time you showed up it felt like I couldn’t breathe, man. Made me feel like everything was off kilter. I should’ve been scared, but I wasn’t... I couldn’t stop thinking about you when you weren’t around.”

Dean hooks his ankle around Cas’s, “It wasn’t until after Zach sent me to that alternate universe that I figured out why... that us, that Cas and Dean, they were... I don’t know.”

They’d been a thing, clearly, but it had freaked Dean out how much they fought. How much that Dean hated what his Castiel did. How guilty both of them had felt watching him.

“When it clicked,” he sighs, his voice still quiet. “You got scary again. I didn’t want to do that to you - to break you like that. You deserved better than that.”

He doesn’t say that the realization of how much he was in love with Cas freaked him out because for the first time, maybe ever, Dean felt like he had something to lose. Before Cas, dying was scary but it was whatever. If he died saving someone, it would be worth it.

After Cas?

Dying meant that he wouldn’t get to see him smile anymore. He wouldn’t get to hear Castiel’s laugh, the real one that makes Dean feel like putty. He wouldn’t get to introduce him to all the wonderful things about the world, about being human. Loving Cas made everything feel like it had a purpose, like he had something to live for, something to fight for.

Knowing that somebody cared about him who wasn’t under some sort of obligation to care, it just… it was impossible to wrap his head around for the longest time. And then when he did, when he was able to accept that Castiel cared about him… if he let himself think about that too much he’d be paralyzed with it.  

Dean grew up thinking he’d be lucky to make it to 30.

And the idea of one person, forever, or even just a life beyond that - beyond hunting, beyond monsters, beyond what the universe had planned out for him - was terrifying.

Now, he’s here on the wrong side of 40, and the love of his life sleeping underneath him.

Not only that, but Chuck’s not god anymore. For the first time in his life, Dean’s got some honest to god free will.

Huh.

He wonders if Cas remembers that night after his date, when he was human, and what they’d talked about.

He wonders if Cas remembers the idea of a bed and breakfast for hunters.

Wonders if he remembers Dean trying to describe his dream without outright saying, ‘And you’d be there, with me.’ Because he didn’t deserve Castiel then, and he barely deserves him now, but at some point, Cas became just as important as Sam. Maybe more, in a different way.

This love that Dean feels for Castiel is big and loud and messy, and it always has been. Even in the quiet moments of grief, it’s always felt like a siren going off in his chest. It’s bigger than anything Dean’s ever felt before... and until the other day, he had no idea that Cas loved him too.

They’re both so stupid.

Thinking about it now, it makes sense. Castiel loves so fully, it’s absurd to Dean that he didn’t see it. He knows Cas better than he knows anyone, better than Sam even, and Dean was so distracted by his own love that he didn’t see it.

And maybe that’s the difference - Dean’s love is loud and, in your face, and suffocating. It’s so loud that sometimes Dean can’t even hear it over his own screaming over it.

But Castiel? His love is quiet and deliberate, private even, and so purposeful that if he doesn’t want you to know, you’ll miss it. He loves with every fiber of his being and he gives people he loves the ability to destroy him so easily that it scares Dean.

Well... they might have that one in common.

Castiel was it for Dean the second he laid hands on him in Hell.

Dean was it for Castiel when he saw such a bright, pure soul stay so vibrant and defiantly good in Hell.

As soon as the realization hits Dean all over again that this, this right here, is everything he’s always wanted and been too scared to admit -

Castiel kisses Dean’s ear, “I know, Dean. You don’t have to say it.”

Dean pushes himself up so his arms are framing Castiel’s head. He needs to look at him when he says it.

“I love you, Cas. So much it scares me.”

Castiel just smiles, understanding radiating off of him, “Me too.”

His arms give out after a minute, sending Dean down onto his angel (or maybe Dean feels like they’re too far apart now that they can do this).

Dean huffs, a bit petulant, “Stay.”

“Okay,” Castiel promises, his arms coming up to wrap around Dean.

“Forever,” he requests after a moment.

An indelicate snort escapes Cas, but he just presses a kiss to the crown of Dean’s head.

“Of course.”

#deancas text #deancas fix it #destiel text #deancas #mackenzie attempts fics #otp: cursed or not #personal #this is sappy I've been trying to write this for WEEKS NOW lmao

[goldenraeofsun]

Symmetria

A 15x18 fix-it, set post-series

Also available on AO3

Dean doesn’t make an immediate trip to the Empty when all’s said and done with Chuck. He takes his time getting used to his new gig as capital D Death. Billie, of course, did not see fit to leave him a training manual. Instead Dean gets a squad of whiny angels (reapers, but still) to manage and a bajillion books to read, so he does his best to channel his inner Cas and get the job done. 

It’s nothing like that day old Death brought him along on Take Your Human to Work Day. For one, Dean's been to Heaven, so he’s not as torn up about reaping kids and good people. He can tell them with complete honesty, You’re gonna be in a better place. Heaven's awesome. No cryptic bullshit when Dean’s holding the scythe. 

For another, he’s also been to Hell, and Rowena herself set him straight on her plans for the place. Sending dead scumbags and murderers down to her is the highlight of his day. 

It’s still exhausting work, and he gets why Billie thought it would be a better punishment than killing him outright. He can never rest, never find peace, since there’s always a job to do. Death and taxes, and all that. 

Not that Dean wanted to kick the bucket before his little brother. But now Sam’s capital G God, so they’ll both be hanging around for a while longer. When Dean reaps him, Dean’ll give one of his lackeys the scythe, and they’ll both party it up in the Empty. 

Oh, and he’ll reap Jack too, since Dean can’t reap God without the Darkness. Balance, as those damn books keep telling him. 

“Hey.” Dean stomps his snowy feet on the welcome mat. He hikes his take out bags higher in his arms. 

Eileen signs hello. “How are things?”

Dean grins as they make their way to Sam and Jack in the kitchen. “Sent a Wall Street embezzler down to Rowena before I got here.” He knocks hard on the table with his knuckles to get Sam and Jack’s attention. 

Jack looks up from the textbook they both had been pour over, beaming. “Dean’s here.”

“Already?” Sam’s gaze darts to the clock above the oven. 

Dean drops the food on the table. “It’s Sunday dinner! I wouldn’t miss it since you’d probably starve without me.” He pulls out a chair and flips the book to his side of the table. He scans it with mild interest. “What’re you working on?”

“History!” Jack says brightly. “I’m learning about ancient Rome.”

Dean turns to Sam. “You know, you could just take him to see Caesar, right? Or I could. Rowena gave us an all-access pass.”

Sam bitchfaces at him. “That’s not the point, Dean.”

“The point is to learn critical thinking and rhetorical skills without supernatural assistance,” Jack says, and obviously those aren’t his words judging by the proud look on Sam’s face.

Eileen shakes her head, signing emphatically, “I don’t know if that counts if God is helping with your homework.”

“I’m just supervising!” Sam protests.

Dean snorts. "Uh huh."

Jack peers at the takeout bags with interest. “What did you bring for dinner, Dean?”

“Russian,” Dean says with a grin as Jack pulls out a container of pierogies. “Borscht, stuffed cabbage, and stroganoff. Plus some vegetable thing. I don’t know - it was all in Russian.”

Sam rolls his eyes since a little thing like a language barrier isn’t really a problem for them anymore. They’re all fluent in ASL from a snap of Sam’s fingers. He had first offered to restore Eileen’s hearing, but she politely declined. Being Deaf is part of her identity, apparently, just like keeping his stupid Jesus hair is Sam’s.

“This looks delicious,” Eileen signs as she gets to her feet to grab plates. Jack hops up too, making a bee-line for the cutlery drawer.

Sam tosses Jack’s homework on the empty seat at the table. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Dean says. He pulls the stroganoff closer for first dibs.

Sam narrows his eyes as he accepts a plate from Eileen. “You sure?”

“What?” Dean makes a face. “It’s true.”

“I think you can aim a little higher than fine,” Sam says exasperatedly. “You’re a universal constant who has Sunday dinner with two cosmic beings. Plus Eileen.”

“I do only come here for Eileen,” Dean acknowledges solemnly.

Eileen winks at him as she sits back down. Jack laughs.

“There’s gotta be something else you want out of this,” Sam says, gesturing around them.

The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have.

Dean swallows down the lump in his throat and dumps stroganoff on his plate. He deliberately does not look at the empty chair to his right, currently occupied by Jack’s homework. 

“It’s too soon,” he grunts.

“Is it?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got your reapers under control. I’ve created enough new angels to run Heaven without blackouts. Jack’s got a handle on his Darkness powers and settled in at school. There’s literally been no better time.”

Dean sighs. “What if something happens?” He looks at each of them in turn. “We’ve finally got something good going for us.”

Jack makes a face like he killed yet another plant without meaning to. “But is it really good without Cas?”

* * *

Dean has lost count of the number of times he’s replayed Cas’s final moments on Earth in his head. He has also lost count of his regrets. There were so many times he could have said something, done something. Been the loving man Cas talked about in his goodbye.

But he isn’t.

He can’t love Cas. If Dean did, he would have caught on a hell of a lot sooner. Wouldn’t have waited or held back. Wouldn’t have, for the first time in that moment, questioned whether Cas could feel something as human as that. For him, of all the mud monkeys on planet Earth.

Instead, he just stood there like a jackass and let Cas get taken away by black goo again.

Love is sacrifice. Cas hammered that point home like no demon deal, no trials, no soul bomb ever has.

But Dean’s a Winchester, and if their family is known for anything, it’s throwing sacrifices back in each other’s faces - spitefully, lovingly.

Sam and Eileen hit the books. Jack writes down all he remembers about his time in the Empty.

It takes two weeks to come up with a spell to take out the Empty, or, at least, temporarily cut it off at the knees.

Dean, Sam, and Jack head back to the Bunker. Technically, Dean still lives there, but he’s usually all over the country, carrying out his Deathly duties. He hasn’t spent the night since they took out Chuck. After the adrenaline crash, he just sat back with his brother-turned-God at the war table and wondered if this’ll be the rest of their supernaturally long lives. Neither of them said much.

They prep the spells in the kitchen before heading down to the dungeon - the most secure room in the Bunker. Dean, tense as a coiled spring, tries to keep up with the laughs and jokes, but Sam keeps shooting him knowing looks.

“You good?” Sam asks as they get ready for the last seps. 

Dean, his mouth dry, can only nod.

They prop up the bowl of ingredients on an old filing cabinet, and Jack stands by with Empty bombs (based on Kevin’s demon bombs). Sam bleeds into the bowl and reads out the Enochian.

The whole Bunker rumbles ominously, before the overhead lights pop out, one by one.

Dean almost laughs - or cries. Hard to tell in the dark.

Shadows bubble up from the middle of the floor, blacker than anything else in the room. Dean adjusts his grip on his scythe, waiting with bated breath as the tarry, otherworldly substance takes a humanoid shape.

It settles on a body and a face, and Dean sees red. He stabs it straight in its trenchcoated chest, right where its heart would be.

The Empty stares down at the blade, its expression turning to wry amusement. “I believe the saying is ‘deja vu’?”

“Shut up,” Dean hisses. He yanks his scythe back as, behind him, Sam snaps his fingers. A few of the lights repair themselves. To the Empty, Dean growls, “Wear someone else’s face.”

The Empty bristles like it’s almost offended. “No?”

Sam pulls Dean behind him before Dean can stab it again. “Hi,” he says loudly over Dean’s angry spluttering, “I know we got off on the wrong foot last time, but-”

“Wrong foot?” the Empty interrupts, head tilting.

Dean’s fingers tighten around his scythe. How dare that thing wear Cas’s face, do Cas’s thing, talk like Cas. Only Sam’s arm in front of his chest stops Dean from surging forward and finishing what he started. 

“Yeah,” Sam says with a warning look at Dean. “In Death’s library - well, old Death. Dean uses a hard drive to store all his books of fate now. Look, you’re probably still pissed I woke you up, but all we need is one thing, and then we won’t bother you again.”

“Oh,” the Empty says. Its forehead furrows in a way Dean had seen on Cas too many times. The burning ache of regret flares with a new heat, and Dean glares murderously at the Empty as it says, “That wasn’t me.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes. “What?”

The Empty clears its throat. “You met the old Empty. Billie and I killed it before she died.”

“The Empty can die?” Dean asks roughly.

It nods, its attention turning to Dean almost hungrily. “It was weakened from Jack’s explosion. Billie didn’t want to help me, naturally. But if the last Empty was still in charge, Billie’s final rest would have been far from peaceful.” It smiles. “I could also guarantee she would never have to see any of us ever again.”

“And who’re you?” Dean demands.

The smile drops off the Empty’s face. “You don’t know? After all this time?”

Dean swallows, a terrible, wonderful hope struggling to breathe in his chest. He tries, his voice almost a whisper. “Cas?” 

The Empty nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean turns to Sam for verification because there’s no fucking way Dean trusts himself anymore when it comes to Cas. But Sam’s face reads nothing but mingled relief and joy, so -

Dean lets the scythe drop with a clatter and strides forward on shaky legs. Cas tenses like he’s bracing for impact. “It’s alright,” Dean tells him in a low voice as he squeezes tight. Cas is real, alive (or alive as any of them are at this point), and back in the Bunker where he belongs. “I got you, Cas.”

Cas sighs, an exhale of bone-deep weariness. He buries his face deeper in the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean holds on even though it’s been way too long for a normal hug. But hell, Cas fucking loves him. Cas can deal with a little extra hug time.

Sam coughs pointedly as he steps up for his own hug. “It’s good to have you back, man.”

Cas smiles as he accepts a few manly back slaps from Sam. 

Jack rushes forward for his turn. 

“Jack,” Cas says reverently as he wraps his arms around him. “You’ve done so well.”

“Thank you,” Jack says, his voice cracking. “I missed you, Cas.”

Cas just shakes his head, overcome with emotion. “I’m very happy to see you.” He mutters a few words, too low for any of them to hear, as he disentangles himself from Jack’s arms. He looks around at the three of them. “I’d say you all are doing very well for yourselves.”

Grinning, Dean picks up his scythe and gives it a little spin. “Gee, what gave it away?” He sobers as Cas doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “But you already knew that,” Dean surmises.

“Chuck told me.”

Sam's eyes go wide. “Chuck?” 

“When he died, he was sent to the Empty,” Cas says shortly. “To me.”

Sam grimaces. “Sorry.”

Cas’s lips press together in a thin line. “It took forever for him to shut up. I suppose I should have expected it.” He sighs. “Chuck always did pride himself on being a storyteller.”

“And a dick,” Sam adds. 

 “Chuck told me about how you defeated him - his ‘greatest creations’,” Cas quotes sourly, “and about the cosmic consequences, which included a changing of the guard - God, the Darkness, Death,” he shakes his head, adding, “the Empty.”

“This was his plan?” Dean growls, his voice a mixture of anger and surprise. But his rage dies as Cas slowly shakes his head. 

“Not exactly, but he said he could appreciate the symmetry.”

“Of course he could.” Dean runs a hand down his face. “Jesus Christ, please tell me that’s the end of him.”

“I have complete control over the Empty,” Cas assures, “He isn’t waking up any time soon.”

“Oh,” Dean says awkwardly, “good. That’s good.”

Reluctantly, Cas tears his gaze away from Dean. He straightens, his mouth set determinedly, and asks Sam, “There was something you wanted?”

Sam shakes his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Not anymore.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “If you need anything from the Empty, I can give it to you.” He glances at each of them in turn. “As I told you once, I am always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“No,” Dean chokes out before Sam or Jack can get a word in, “No goddamn bleeding - of any kind. Just, no.”

Cas’s frown deepens.

Sam grins. “We were gonna ask the Empty to wake you up. So I guess… we’re good.”

Cas blinks a few times in confusion. “You wanted… me?”

Jack throws him an incredulous look. “You’re a part of us, Cas. Of course we wanted you here.”

* * *

Dean makes burgers for dinner. Even though none of them need to eat, they’re far too used to it to stop. By the stove, he listens with half an ear as Jack peppers Cas with updates on the new world order and high school. Every once in a while, Sam’s voice comes through with a few modifiers and anecdotes.

Jack turns in first, complaining about leftover homework.

Sam takes off next, saying he promised to buy bread and eggs on the way home to Eileen. He leaves Dean and Cas alone in the Bunker’s kitchen.

Neither of them say anything as Sam’s footsteps fade up the stairs to the exit. Dean steadily keeps his eyes trained on the half-empty beer bottle spinning around in his hands. Cas sits next to him at the table, happy as a fucking clam to sit in silence, staring at Dean like he’s a goddamn miracle.

It’s too much.

This is why Dean didn’t jump to bring Cas back to the land of the living. It tore him apart inside, like metaphorical hellhound claws digging into his gut. Sure, Cas deserved to be topside. Cas deserved to have his happy ever after like the rest of Team Free Will 2.0. What Cas didn’t deserve, was a man with his head so far up his own ass he couldn’t muster up three measly words when they mattered most. And Dean had no idea how to tell Cas any of that.

“Dean,” Cas breaks the silence first because for all he said in his big goodbye speech, Dean’s a fucking coward. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” he clears his throat, “so I didn’t anticipate the position I would put you in by showing up. I apologize.”

Dean turns to him, alarmed. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my - I should have - you were - son of a bitch.” He presses his lips together so he doesn’t go blurting something stupid like you were so wrong about me; it fucked me up for a while.

“It’s okay,” Cas says gently. “I’ve seen Jack and you and Sam. That’s all I wanted since I left. Truly.”

Dean sucks in a breath, his pulse spiking with fear. “That sounds like another goodbye. I don’t - I don’t think I can take another one of those from you.”

Cas blinks. “You want me to stay?”

Dean’s mouth works furiously before he demands, “You don’t want to?”

“No,” Cas draws out slowly like he’s concerned for Dean’s sanity, “but if my presence-”

“Stop,” Dean holds up a hand, “just ‘cause I don’t know what to say to you -” liar “- doesn’t mean you have to get exiled from the whole planet. You saved the world, the same as us. The very least you get is free rent for eternity.” 

“If you say so,” Cas says doubtfully.

“Jack would be real upset if you fucked back off to the Empty for the rest of time,” Dean adds. “He’s studying the Roman Empire and could use some help from someone who was there.” He takes a sip of beer, and fuck cosmic tolerances. He could drink a whole liquor store and not feel anything. 

The corners of Cas’s mouth twitch. “I was actually stationed in China during that time. I would be a minor help at best.”

“Then make it up,” Dean says with a grin. “It’s not like Jack will know the difference. And if his teachers call him out on it, Sam can wave his magic wand and make it true anyway. All hail President Clinton.”

Cas snorts. “That would be one way to help, I suppose.”

Dean drains his beer, a purely instinctual response, before he starts, “You’ve levelled up. Got a power upgrade as the Empty.” At Cas’s tentative nod, he goes on, “You could’ve said something, dude. Given us some sign. I - we all thought you died. For good.”

“I cannot come to Earth without being summoned,” Cas says heavily.

Dean makes a face. “Rules like that never stopped any of us before.”

“You could have performed the summoning ritual at any time - all the cards were in your hands.” Cas’s gaze drops to the table. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

Dean shakes his head vehemently. “That wasn’t the case at all.”

“But you said you don’t know how to talk to me,” Cas points out.

Dean swallows. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want you around. I didn’t know how to talk to you when you were cuckoo for cocoa puffs, when you had fucking amnesia. Hell, it was even weird when you were human. But things are… better with you here. No matter what.”

“Really?” Cas asks, the doubt clear in his voice.

“Of course,” Dean says gruffly. “You gotta know that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says as he gets up for another drink - old habits, “now you do.”

“Do you still believe this?” Cas presses.

“Never doubted it for a second,” Dean promises as he sits back down.

“Even after you sent me away?” Cas asks quietly.

“Hey,” Dean says sharply, “You made that choice to walk out that door.” But that old anger doesn’t survive long in the wake of the look on Cas’s face. Dean smiles humorlessly as he twists the cap off. It clatters to the table, the sound echoing around the empty kitchen. “But, yeah, that was me being angry over a bunch of shit that was out of our control. Not you. You just happened to be in my line of fire.” Dean takes a long pull from the bottle. “What a guy to fall for, huh? Blames you for everything that goes wrong and makes you think you’re better off gone.”

Cas freezes. “So we’re talking about it?”

Dean raises his eyebrows, half in surprise at himself. “Guess so.”

“Nothing has to change,” Cas assures him. “The only difference is you know about my feelings for you.”

“How long have you had them?” Dean asks with a casual air that’s one-hundred percent, Grade-A bullshit. 

Cas presses his lips together as he thinks. “Since you took me to that brothel.”

Dean chokes on his drink. “Seriously?”

Cas ducks his head, a surprisingly human gesture of embarrassment. “I didn’t know it then,” he says in a low voice, “all I knew was that I wanted to impress you. I had never felt that way about anyone before, except God.”

“Gross, man.”

Cas purses his lips. “Not like that.” He sighs. “But I suppose it happened the year I made that deal with Crowley.” He reaches for his own beer bottle, long emptied sometime in the middle of dinner. He spins it between his fingers contemplatively. “I told myself I made the deal to make the world safer for you, so you could live out your retirement in peace. But it was just a convenient ploy to keep myself busy. You didn’t need me for the first time since Hell.” He presses his lips together. “My love for you made me reckless and blind, as approximately 231,600 love songs could have told me, if I had bothered to listen to any of them.”

Dean chuckles. “It probably would have been better if you just had an emo phase.” At Cas’s frown of confusion, Dean waves it off, “Forget it. It’s water under the bridge anyway.” He sips his beer. “Since the Purgatory deal? That’s a long time.”

“Not for an angel,” Cas counters. “I’m extremely old.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Touché.”

“You’re not going to ask why I never told you before?”

Dean shakes his head. “You made that pretty clear in your little goodbye speech. ‘The one thing I want, is something I know I can’t have’,” he rattles off the phrase that had been bouncing around his skull for the past month and a half.

Cas bites his lip, a shade of hurt lurking behind his eyes at hearing his words parroted back to him. “I had always known my feelings were fruitless. Telling you was more of an act for myself than for you,” he says to the table, “but I didn’t think I would be around to know what that meant for us.”

“I get that,” Dean says haltingly, “but they’re not.”

“They’re not what?”

Dean forcibly lets go of his empty beer bottle because he’s going to shatter it if he says this next bit with glass between his hands. “Your feelings. They’re not fruitless. They’re, uh, pretty fucking fruity.”

Cas’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Is that a dated and offensive reference to homosexuality?”

“What?” Dean yelps, “No!”

Cas sits there, nonplussed.

“Your feelings,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “What you want. You can have it.”

Cas makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Dean mutters. “Even with all of history crammed in your noggin, you don’t get it. Fine.” He shifts in his seat so he can face Cas fully. “Let me clear things up for you. Just… smite me if I cross a line.”

“Dean,” Cas protests, “As the Empty, I can’t smite any-”

Dean cuts him off with a kiss.

As far as first kisses go, it’s passable. Cas clearly has some experience - he doesn’t go straight for the tongue, but he’s frozen for so long, Dean almost pulls away to check if he drastically miscalculated. But Cas exhales, tentative hands wrap around Dean’s forearms, and he pulls Dean in closer. Dean smiles against his mouth, small puffs of laughter escaping as Cas’s nose bumps against his. He cups Cas’s jaw in one hand, and Cas lets out a little sigh, melting the last few layers of Dean’s reservations about this whole business.

It’s the promise in the kiss that makes it awesome. This isn’t their end. For once, the world isn’t on fire, and they’re not playing catch up with an apocalypse.

It’s just them, Death and the Empty.

The Endgame for every human, angel, and demon on Earth.

Suck it, Chuck. That’s fucking symmetry.

#destiel fanfic #profoundnet #destiel #Death Dean #God Sam #Darkness Jack #s15 #15x18 spoilers #post 15x18 #post series #reunion #fanfic #rae writes fic #15x18 fix it #episode fix it

[notquiteaghost]

do you have any particularly strong headcanons for team free will that don't have much to do with canon? stuff like what kind of tea sam likes to drink or our cas keeping "junk" because it means stuff to him hc

oh i definitely do can i. remember any......

i think when sam was a kid he didn’t really find having a Not Normal home life alienating, up until his early teens when he started to be like. but what if we stayed somewhere long enough i could make actual friends. i want to join a debate club. i want to be a regular at a diner. and that was part of the reason he was such a ball of rage, because he still understood why they moved all the time but he was realising just cuz it made sense didn’t mean it was right. and then when he went to stanford he very desperately tried to pretend he did actually have a normal childhood & he spent a lot of his first semester watching films and looking up references and laughing at jokes he didn’t actually understand. i think jess was the first person he could drop that act around, because, hot take, i think she also had a Not Normal childhood in some way. military kid maybe.

dean & sam took roadtrip games to the absolute extreme. increasingly their own invention, incorporating motel and diner things. they’re actually hell to travel with now cuz they'll still play them but the rules are incomprehensible. if u see a florida license plate that’s points to a factor of 10 the further from florida u are but ONLY if the car's going in the other direction, bets on how long until they see another car and what make it'll be, making bingo cards for each other. calling in to radio stations from pay phones. dean trying to patch holes in sam's schooling with memory games and quizzes and stolen library textbooks.

and u talked abt a specific trenchcoat of cas' earlier so. my specific reasoning for the trenchcoat changing over time is after the first time it got destroyed it stopped being Jimmy's Old Coat and started being a thing cas made. so he COULD make it The Exact Same every time but he doesn’t. he’s on a quest to get it Just Right and with time what that mean changes a bit. the inside pockets have moved around a lot also. there’s special pockets now just for collection of objects and some enochian embroidered along the inner seams but not like spellwork just. important things. cas sure does get his head fucked with a lot.

#asks #tesselatingtoads #spn #yes sam and dean did turn most roadtrip games into calvinball. is what i was getting at.

[unforth]

Ko-fi Commission: Bewinged and Beloved

Fandom: Supernatural

Ship: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Canon divergence, wing fic, surprise Dean grows wings, so a little body horror, but mostly pwp wing kink, idek

Words: 1627

Read it now on AO3 or read more...

A horrible tearing pain seared through Dean’s back. Choking back an agonized scream, he fell to his knees, reaching instinctually for the source of the pain.

“Dean?” Cas exclaimed, dropping to his knees at Dean’s side. “What’s happened?” A strong hand supported Dean’s front and kept him from writhing on the ground. Dean tried to answer, but another burst of pain, like claws raking flesh, like knives buried in organs, like Alastair grinning and asking what he wanted next, reduced him to sobs. 

“Dean...I...I’m here, Dean…I’m…” Tracking what Cas did was difficult over the sudden, inexplicable assault on Dean’s senses, but he thought Cas embraced him - thought Cas wrapped arms around his back - thought Cas looked everywhere but at him - thought--

Fingers brushed over Dean’s rent back, and he tensed, a scream caught in his throat as a high-pitched whine...but there wasn’t any pain. The agony lessened, and Dean was able to support himself, to lean back, to look up and try to interpret the wondering look on Cas’ face.

“The fuck is going on, Cas?” croaked Dean.

“Wings,” Cas replied. Cas’ hands drew away from him and a wave of nausea pitched Dean forward again. Cas caught him easily, one hand cradling his back and easing the pain once more, and brought the other forward so Dean could see.

Cas’ fingers were coated with blood...and feathers.

“I heard it was possible,” murmured Cas, thumbs kneading at Dean’s back...at his gashes...at his wings??? 

“What was possible?” Dean arched his back into Cas’ touch. He wasn’t sure if Cas’ massaging hands felt good objectively, or solely in comparison to the excruciating rending feeling when Cas wasn’t touching him, but he had no desire to suggest Cas stop so he could find out.

“Um...I mean...I never really believed, but…” 

“Talk, dude!”

“Supposedly…” Taking a deep breath, Cas rubbed, and through his touch Dean felt how his body had changed: clothes shredded, blood smeared, appendages sprouted...he almost thought he could flex them, if he tried. He wasn’t ready to try...but maybe soon? 

“Theoretically, if a mortal is infused with enough angelic grace, they can manifest nephilic features. Halos. Glowing eyes. Spontaneous Enochian literacy. That kind of thing.”

“And wings?”

“Yes.” There was something in Cas’ tone that Dean couldn’t place; in their years together, he’d thought he’d heard the full range of emotions in Cas’ raspy, expressive voice, but this one eluded Dean. “And wings.”

“How the fuck much grace have you been using to heal me all this time?” Dean demanded. Now that the waves of pain had passed, he actually felt...kind of good? Cas’ fingers trailed over his wounds, presumably healing them with grace, and brushed through his feathers - holy shit, like literally h.o.l.y. shit, I have feathers...I wonder what color they are...fuck, what’s Sam going to say? how is this even real? - and Dean’s stomach swooped as pleasure dissipated his lingering discomfort.

“It, uh...it wasn’t caused by healing,” Cas mumbled. Disgruntled, Dean leaned up and glared at him. Just talk to me, asshole, he tried to communicate with a look. Cas replied with a sheepish shrug and a smirk. “You’re the one who insisted we bareback. You said it would feel better...and you weren’t wrong, it felt - feels - incredible - but it does tend to cause my self-control to slip.”

“Wait, wait...what?” Dean tried to sit up so he could glare harder - his snuggling up to Cas’ chest and leaning into Cas’ touch like a cat being pet really wouldn’t communicate the full extent of his irritation - but the moment Cas’ touch shifted from Dean’s injuries, his pain intensified again. Surrendering, Dean instead tried to imbue all of his what-the-fuck-ness into his voice. 

“Lemme get this straight. You’ve dumped so much come into my ass that I’ve angelfied?”

“It does appear that way,” replied Cas’ solemnly...but he seemed to be fighting down laughter.

Easy for him to laugh about this, fucking asshole...he wasn’t the one who’d suddenly sprouted goddamn wings.

“And you didn’t think to fucking warn me that this was a risk?” Damn, now Dean sounded shrill, and maybe slightly hysterical.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

He hated feeling out of control.

“I truly didn’t think it was actually possible; the only stories I’ve heard of it happening are apocryphal.”

He hated the incapacitating pain that had left them curled up on the floor together in a seedy motel room.

“However, if you turn around so I can better access the affected area, I promise I’ll get through this. Please?”

He hated the uncertainties of his life.

“...fuckin’...fine, Cas...do your thing...but we’re not done talking about this!”

But oddly, as Cas helped Dean turn, as Cas settled Dean between Cas’ legs, and stripped away the tatters of Dean’s clothes, and used grace to heal and clean and soothe...

“Of course not.”

...Dean entertained the possibility that he didn’t hate his wings.

Was randomly growing wings because he’d spent umpteen years soaking up Cas’ come fucking bizarre?

Yes.

Was it the worst thing that had happened to him this week?

Maybe? There were a couple runners up though.

Was it the worst thing to happen to him ever?

Not. even. close.

“Here - lean on this,” Cas suggested, producing a pillow as though from thin air and passing it to Dean. Tucking the pillow over his crossed legs, Dean leaned forward and let it support his weight, closed his eyes, and felt.

Cas’ fingers trailed over sensitive, sensitized skin. With the pain gone, the growth of his wings was clear and rapid: they sprouted from his back, emerging inch by inch, and as they extended, Cas worked.

He righted feathers, and ease tingled down Dean’s spine.

He cleansed blood, and pleasure warmed Dean’s gut.

He stretched strained bones, and Dean got hard.

God, this is hot…

...and God fucking damn it, why am I like this?

The wings were so new, so fresh, that every touch was electric, and Cas seemed to know exactly how to touch. 

“You’re doing fine.” Cas sounded affected too, with a lilt of his earlier inexplicable tone mingled with his increasingly obvious arousal. “You’re doing great, Dean.” Lips ghosted a kiss over the top of Dean’s spine as Cas rubbed over the top arch of Dean’s new wings, as Cas’ thumbs preened Dean’s feathers, as Cas’ erection pressed at the base of Dean’s spine.

It was fucking surreal.

It was fucking incredible.

Cas’ hands shifted away for a moment, and a whimper escaped Dean. There was more what-the-fuckery going on than he could process, but he knew he needed Cas to keep touching him, needed Cas to keep caring for his wings.

“Shh,” whispered Cas soothingly. “I’ll be right back, I swear, I just gotta…”

There was a flash of light - of grace - and a wash of cold air over sensitive skin, and a surge of pleasure, and Dean groaned. 

“...Cas...wha…?”

“Best way to treat the pain and help your body adjust is more grace,” Cas said. Dean groaned again; he knew exactly what that meant, and despite the surreality of the past few minutes, he couldn’t wait. Cas’ fingers returned, working at the base of Dean’s wings, and Dean tried to remember the times he’d played with Cas’ wings, tried to imagine what Cas must be doing based on things Dean had done in the past. Cas’ feathers were sensitive...Cas’ skin was soft...and at the bottom of his wings, there were glands…

“Oh, fuck,” Dean moaned. Bliss radiated outward from where Cas touched. Dean had known, from Cas’ reactions, that being touched there must felt good, but he’d had no fucking clue how good.

If this is what it’s like to have wings, sign me the fuck up.

“I know,” said Cas. “And Dean…” He groaned, stopped massaging to loop his arms beneath Dean’s shoulders and hoist Dean into a position that pressed rock-hard exposed cock against Dean’s crack. “...know you couldn’t have wanted this...know it’s a shock...I shouldn’t say…” Unable to stop himself, Dean rocked back, desperate for more pleasure and more touch and more contact, and Cas bit back a gasp. “...but that you get to feel this...that I get to do this for you...I’m so sorry, Dean, but I’m so happy…”

So am I. “Fuck me, Cas.” That’s a fuckton to unpack...but truly, so am I. “Please...please...please…”

Oil skimmed over Dean’s hole, the icy-hot feeling of it familiar, except now it was Dean’s oil, not Cas’, and that was somehow even sexier. With shocking ease, Cas lined himself up and slid into Dean’s body, and Dean trembled, filled, eager to milk Cas dry, desperate to bask in glorious sensation, eager to soak up every bit of grace he could, urgently in need of more.

“Please,” whispered Dean, rocking back to take more dick, but it wasn’t enough - something was missing - something--

Cas’ hands left Dean’s hips; his arms wrapped around Dean’s new wings, his fingers nestled amidst Dean’s feathers, and bliss rocketed through Dean so intensely he wasn’t sure he hadn’t come.

“I’ve got you,” Cas breathed into Dean’s spine, sultry breath shifting feathers gloriously. 

With a strained sob, Dean eased up and slammed himself back down. His vision whited out, need overcoming thought.

“Take what you need.”

And yeah, Dean growing wings was fucked, but as he fucked himself, up and down, up and down, Dean realized…

“...take such good care of you…”

...he’d never been fucked so good in his whole life…

“...my angel…”

...and he couldn’t wait to feel just how incredible coupling with his angel could be.

“...my Dean.”

#unforth writes #lemon #destiel #spn #wing kink

[lostinaseaoffictionalbliss]

Twisted Part 5

A/N: figured with it being V-day and all that I would post this sweet chapter today

Pairing: Sam x green eyed!fem!reader

Word Count: 1012

Warnings: dirty talk, implied smut

Sam laced his fingers with yours and walked out of the motel room once you had all your things together. The diner was a little bit of a walk, giving you some time to talk before you even made it there. "You said you're pre med. What courses are you taking?"

"That's right. You actually listened." You were surprised by that. Most of the time guys pretended to listen to what you were saying when in reality they didn't hear a thing and were looking at your chest the whole time. "Well this is my fifth semester and I'm taking a few classes. I'm in two psych classes, genetics, and physiology right now. Finished my other prerequisites already. So at the end of the semester I will have my interview. Hoping to go to Yale." You smiled.

"I did. I'm not like the boys you're used to." That was true. He was all man. Sam looked down at you. "That's really good. I'm happy for you. I know we don't know each other well, but I know how much work it takes to do what you're doing. I was pre law and had an interview for law school before I got dragged back into hunting."

"Dragged?" You looked up at him. "That sounds like a story. You can tell me if you want. No judgement. Just listen and be here." Something told you that he hadn't really talked about what had happened to him all those years ago. Maybe a little with his brother, but talks like that could be hard to have.

Sam opened the door to the diner for you and followed you over to a seat. "Yeah dragged." He sighed and took a seat across from you. "Our dad went missing on a hunt. Dean asked me to help find him. I took the weekend and went with him. Did a hunt, but didn't find our dad. When I came back, my then girlfriend, Jess…" He shut his eyes.

You laid your hand on his. There was pain evident in his voice and you wanted to show him support. "Take your time. No rush."

"A demon killed her. Same demon that had killed my mom when I was a baby. So I went back into hunting full time. Wanted revenge."

You frowned. "Shit. I am so sorry. That sounds awful. A demon?" 

And so while the two of you ate Sam explained all the monsters that existed. He even told the full story of losing his mom, his girlfriend, his dad, killing the demon responsible, losing Dean, getting Dean back, about angels, the apocalypse and stopping it, and everything in between. You listened to everything earnestly, eating your burger and nodding. You would wait until he was done to ask questions.

"Okay so angels are a thing. Lucifer is real and you can actually make deals at the crossroads. So,  how the hell do I keep these guys out of my space? I want nothing to do with any of them."

Sam paid for your food and chuckled softly. He found talking to you easy and had opened up about things he had never really talked to Dean about. "I'll help with that. Come on." He took your hand and went back to the motel.

That night Sam helped you pack up your meager things and take them back to your apartment. Once you were settled in he grabbed what he needed to protect your home. Luckily Dean had left their gear behind when he left for the bar. "Alright now salt your windows obviously. This will keep out ghosts and demons." He looked over your door and windows. "Lucky you there is a little catch that's iron over your windows. That will help too?"

You helped Sam put the salt over all the entry ways. "Okay so what else can I do?" You looked up at him.

He grabbed your small rug that rested in front of your front door. "Care if I paint the bottom?"

You shook your head. "Go for it."

Sam drew the devil's trap and put the carpet back. "Okay so that's all that can be done to keep ghosts and demons out. I'll put up a few enochian signs to keep out angels. Then if you want you can get a tattoo to protect you from possession. Until then have this." He held out a necklace with a charm on it.

"Thank you." You took the necklace and put it on. You stood up and kissed his cheek. "Least now I know I'm safe from some stuff." 

Sam turned his head and captured your lips in a kiss. "You're very safe now. I will keep in touch and make sure of it."

You watched as Sam used parchment paper to place enochian symbols behind photos and such on your walls. The muscles in his back and shoulders rippled. You groaned softly and pressed your thighs together. "Um are you almost done?" You licked your lips.

Sam turned and looked at you. He took in the way your thighs were clamped together, the lust filled look in your eyes, the way you drug your bottom lip between your teeth. His cock twitched to life in his pants and he moved closer to you. He tilted your head up and smirked. "Is someone wanting me to fuck them hard and leave them fantazing about my thick cock pounding their pussy?" 

You swore his voice had dropped a few octaves as he talked to you. It sent tingles straight down your spine and to your core. You nodded. "You've ruined me for other men already. Want you to ruin me more. I'll be thinking of you every time I use my vibrator from this day on." You just knew that you would never find someone else to fuck you the way that Sam had fucked you and was about to fuck you again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear." His lips claimed yours in a heated kiss as he laid you back against the bed.

***

Likes are great, but don't share my work. If you like this please reblog. My masterlist is in my bio

#supernatural #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fandom #spn #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x green eyed!reader #sam winchester x female!reader #sam x reader #sam x female!reader

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: God is Dead?

I might start updating twice a week because I am writing this story at BREAKNECK speed. this is my favorite chapter so far. enjoy! (special thanks to @friedchickenangelwings once again for sticking with me and my incessant rambling about this story at all hours during holidays)

Fic Summary:  Everything is the same up to the end of 15x20. Chuck has been “defeated,” but it was all a farce. When Jack absorbed Chuck, Chuck easily took over the 3 year old’s body and acted as if he were defeated. Chuck!Jack then had the Rusty Nail placed in the barn where Dean died, and with Cas gone, Dean didn’t fight it. Chuck did reimagine Heaven, but he’s fed the same lie to them all: that everything is perfect, they are free, they are in real paradise. Except it’s all an illusion insulated by blue skies and endless horizons. Because, just like the Good Place, people make Heaven into Hell for each other. And there’s nothing Chuck loves more than the natural order of tragedy. He “let it slip” to Bobby that he brought Cas back, when he really left him to rot in the Empty. Dean has to find his best friend before it’s too late, and he has to keep a happy face for everyone else, because Chuck is watching. Always watching. 

“You know?” Dean shakes his head. “What’s going on?” 

Charlie leans back against the bar. “Well, after Ash and I found each other-” they give a cute little nod of the head in sync, dorks, “through the frankly shitty wifi they’ve got up here, we got to talking.” 

“Yeah, we realized some shit just didn’t add up. Like angel radio.” Ash spins around and ducks into his backroom, coming back with a laptop that’s way more advanced than it was last time. Dean raises his eyebrows at it. “Yeah, man, it’s sick, right? Charlie upgraded my systems, it’s bitchin’.” he reaches past Dean’s shoulder to give Charlie a fist bump (enthusiastically returned) and Dean backs off. 

“Yeah, bitchin’,” Dean repeats with a grin. He’s too dumb for these people. But he sure is glad they’re on his side.  “Well, hey, show me whatcha got.” 

Ash nods and taps his temple. He mutters to himself and pulls the system toward him while Dean watches anxiously. Ash pauses and looks at him. “Dude. Gimme a second? This setup is a lil’ more complicated than your blackberry.”

Dean snorts and gives him space, followed by Charlie. “Dude. you’ve been dead too long. Blackberrys haven’t existed for like… ten years.”

Ash gives him a genial middle finger and Dean grins. Charlie sits up on the pool table and Dean leans against it next to her. “Listen, Charlie, I gotta. I gotta say sorry, again, for…” He clears his throat. 

“Dying?” Charlie asks lightly.

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Not your fault, Dean.” She shrugs, and she actually manages to look cheerful. Damn, Dean loves this chick. She puts her hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. “Seriously, Dean. Let it go! I have! Seriously, I got to spend a few years with my high school girlfriend watching Lord of the Rings - she was a cheerleader - and sneaking out to design some fucking world-altering programs with Ash! Being dead, for me, it’s kinda amazing.” She smiles at him. “Guessing you don’t feel the same though, huh?” 

Dean swallows. He doesn’t know how much he wants to say about that, but being dead… it definitely sucks. And not in the good way. “Guess it just feels like I got more to do. Now, at least.” Now that Cas is… and heaven is…

Charlie looks like she doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, they’re interrupted before she has to think of something.

“Eyo! Sorry, amigos,” he leans over backwards to look at them. “Found it.” 

Charlie jumps off the table and grabs Dean’s hand. After a few steps she shoves him with her shoulder until he bumps into Ash’s back. Dean bounces off his soft form and clears his throat. “Sorry,” he mutters, throwing a death glare back at his surrogate sister. She flashes him a smug grin before focusing back on the computer screen. 

Ash recovers from getting jostled in time to point. “Yeah, so, we got word on Angel FM that this Jack kid is goin’ real Jim Jones over here.” He holds a finger up at several paragraphs as he’s flipping through them. “Preachin’ all kinda love and peace and hippy commune shit, but if somebody even questions it, he snaps. Naomi no-likey,” He smirks up at Dean and points to a group of cuss-words even Dean barely uses. “Rough translation.” 

Dean shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like Jack.” Jack, especially Jack-with-a-soul, almost never got mad. I mean, he’d spent quality time with Lucifer without blowing up. The kid is level-headed to a fault. “Anything else?”

Ash frowns at him. “Y’know, going through angels’ personal phone calls is a lotta work.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. Got anything else?” 

“Ash, what about the human rumors?” 

Ash looks at Charlie and they have a silent battle of wills, but Dean’s too impatient to see who wins. “What human rumors?” 

They pause and come to an agreement. “Fighting. People fighting. Couples. Families. Friends. All over, since the reboot. People are happy, but… it’s like earth. People can talk - people can fight.” 

“And?” Dean raises his eyebrows. There’s something they’re not telling him, and he thinks he knows what.

Ash raises them right back. He’s not about to divulge. “Hombre, this ain’t earth. People are supposed to be happy. If they ain’t… like a glitch in the matrix, y’know?

Dean grunts. “Anything else weird on the radio? Anything at all.” 

Ash’s sigh sounds labored. He leans back in his chair and wobbles, obviously sorting through all the enochian bullshit he’s read over the past… whenever. “Meh… I got… I don’t know, God was singing?” 

“Singing? Singing what?” Dean leans in, intent. If it was Taylor Swift, Beyonce, maybe Lizzo… 

Ash cocks an eyebrow. “Folk shit. Indie music.” 

That’s what Dean was afraid of. “Shit.”

“Why? What does that mean?” Charlie grabs onto his arm. 

Dean’s worst fears, that’s what. “It means that ain’t my kid. It’s Chuck.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Ash stands up as Dean walks away, cursing every stupid atom that had decided to make this dumb universe. Although, he guesses, that was Chuck’s purview too. 

“He’s god! God before the reboot I mean, the dick who up and left and only came back to screw me and Sam over. Fuck, I thought we’d finally gotten out from under his thumb! Now, apparently, he’s just using my kid for his meat-suit.” Dean takes a deep breath. This is bad. Worse than bad-bad. 

“So… what do we do? How do we nuke God?” Charlie asks the question like it’s normal, just another Saturday afternoon. 

Dean thumps his forehead onto the nearest table. Sure, sure, good, great. They were back to square fucking one. “I don’t fucking know,” 

“Alright, break it down. We need more mojo, right? How do we get more mojo?” 

“Well, angels are the next best thing, right? Maybe if we get them all together, they’re obviously not psyched about folk-God, or whatever,”

Ash points at her like she’s a genius. “Alright, yeah!” 

“Guys, there aren’t enough angels left to even try.” Dean feels hopeless. There’s nothing to do. They are literally out of options. There’s no hope. 

“Well, where can we get some more angels, then?” 

Dean stands up. “I know a place.” His heart feels like it’s being squeezed like a lemon. It’s a crazy idea. It’s practically impossible. And probably suicide. And he’s gotta find a way. “We gotta break open the Empty.” 

“The Empty?” Ash looks skeptical. Dean smirks. 

“Yeah, angel/demon afterlife. We punch our way in there and we’ve got juice for days, man.” He spreads his arms out, asks the question. 

Ash glances at Charlie then back at Dean. He sniffs and nods. “I’m in.” 

Dean looks to Charlie, who scoffs. “Duh. Of course. So what, we get in and say pretty please help us kill your dad?” 

A warm feeling spreads through Dean’s chest. “Well, we’ll have a little help on the inside. Cas.”

“Castiel? The angel dude?” 

“He’s dead?” Charlie’s voice has much more concern than Ash’s. Dean nods in response to both questions. It still makes him feel like he’s swallowing glass to think about it. “What happened?” 

Dean looks down at his boots. It’s only the scene that keeps playing on repeat behind his eyelids. Cas crying, holding onto his shoulder, telling him… telling him goodbye. Telling him that. “He saved me.” he starts, expression guarded. “He made a deal.” 

Ash grunts and nods, ready to drop it. Charlie stays quiet too, but she clearly wants to say something. Dean’s thankful for the drop. He doesn’t know what he’d say if they asked more. All he knows is that he needs Cas back. And he needs to talk to him. He needs to tell him that - that he wants him to just stay fucking put, damn it. That he needs to stop dying on him. And that he can’t just go and say something like that and then leave. It’s a bitch-ass move. 

“Yo, Deano?” 

Dean jerks his head back up. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“How do we jail-break ‘em?” 

“Guessing we’re gonna need some serious magic shit. And since we can’t get to Rowena…” 

Ash breaks into a wide grin. “Pamela? I’ll give her a call.” 

Pamela is “busy,” so they have to wait for her to finish up with Jesse before she can come by. Dean has to hand it to her, it’s just about the most Pamela thing in the world to put off their realms-saving work for a heavenly hookup. Dean hangs around talking for a bit, filling his friends in on the latest on Earth, but he can’t concentrate. Ever since they’d decided the next thing is to get into the Empty, he can’t relax. He takes his beer and goes outside to wait, settling down on the Roadhouse’s front step to watch for Pamela.

After a bit, Charlie plops down next to him, a soft grin on her lips. He returns it half-heartedly before looking out across the clearing. She leans her head against his shoulder. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence before she turns into him. “So we gotta get into the Empty.” she sighs. Dean nods glumly. Just his fucking luck. Even heaven is ruined. But at least… at least they’ve got a shot. “And get Castiel.” 

Dean frowns and pulls away to look at her. Maybe it’s just his paranoia, but he hears some deeper meaning in her voice. “The guy died for me. I gotta,” he presses his lips together, hating himself for the half-lie he’s telling. Cas deserves better. Charlie just nods and watches, like she’s waiting for him to keep going. When he manages to talk again, his voice cracks. “We gotta get him, Charlie.” 

Charlie pulls him into a side hug. “I always said he was dreamy, that angel.” She points out. Dean snorts. He remembers. He’d blushed like an idiot after she said that the first time. 

“Yeah.” He mutters. Okay, so she knows. That he and Cas are… that Dean’s… good. Cas deserves recognition. He deserves someone to talk about him. For Dean to talk about him. But then Charlie just hasn’t spoken, and he feels like he needs some explanation. “I… there were other guys, before him.” He continues, clearing his throat. His mind wanders to Benny and Lee, Crowley. “But he’s… he’s it.” 

He risks a look at Charlie and she is just staring at him with a fond smile. She surges forward and kisses his cheek, squealing. “Yes, I fucking knew it, you bisexual dumbass! Bi, right?” 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I guess- wait, you knew?” 

Charlie looks around, like Dean’s a dumbass it was so obvious. “Well, yeah, dude. Game recognize game.” She motions between the two of them and he scoffs. That’s right. Gaydar. That would’ve been nice to have for the last, oh, 12 years? “We’ll get him back.” 

Dean pulls Charlie in for another hug and leaves her tucked under his arm until a motorcycle pulls up and Pamela gets off, shaking her hair loose like a blind slow-motion model in a porno. She grins at the pair on the steps like she can see them. “Take a picture, you two. It’ll last longer.”

“How did you-”

She throws a hand out in dismissal. “Please, I can feel ogling from a mile away.” She pauses, laughing at the embarrassed silence Charlie and Dean are sporting. “Nah, I’m just joking. I do the hair-shake for a reason. I deserve a good stare. Hell, it’s half the reason I own this motorcycle.” She throws her helmet in the general direction of the motorcycle and greets her friends. Dean can’t decide whose hug is more flirty, his or Charlie’s. 

“Alright, bitches. Let’s séance some shit.” 

tag list: (ask or dm to be removed or added)

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus

#sunset sound #god is dead? #chapter 3 #fanfic #deancas #destiel #my writing #dean winchester #castiel #charlie bradbury #pamela barnes #ash

[cajunquandary]

Catch Me, Cas

950 words

What began as some ask-box fluffy destiel clowning with @starrynightdeancas turned into this before watching 15x18.  THEN I ADDED MORE AND IT GOT SAD. 

Dean feels it coming on. The weight of the world balanced on his shoulders, slipping out of place just slightly. He knows he doesn’t have long before it happens.

“Suck it up, dry those crocodile tears. Be a man.” He hears John echoing in his mind even now, over a decade later. But the memory only weakens his resolve faster. The cracks dissolve and reveals chasms he tries so desperately to conceal, the ones he sets the world upon. But now, everything is out of balance.

Rational thinking flies out the window. The clench in his chest threatens to condense him violently, like a dying star becoming a black hole. His breath has shallowed and quickened, but numbness follows too swiftly for him to take much notice. The tingling in his fingertips and lips tips him off.

Oh yeah, he is about to fucking blow. He spouts some stinging string of foul words he knows will keep Sam away. Dean doesn’t mean any of them, but he can’t do this. Not now. Not in front of Sam. For good measure, he throws his cell against the bunker wall, hardly hearing it shatter behind him as he nearly sprints down the hallway towards his room.

Try as he might, the stuttering strides barely get him safely concealed behind the door before the dam bursts and the world comes down in a rain of hellfire. His eyes are closed tightly and he’s falling, falling.

Falling in his mind endlessly, back to the pit, every face he’s ever failed flying by him in helpless cries. He loses all physical sensation, or thinks he does, ready to hit the ground and wonder where he got those bruises from the next day.

He’s ready to hit hard. Enough to jolt his chest, jumpstart his lungs to work again, shock his heart into beating regularly. Ready to reach blindly for the half drank bottle he knows is there, until everything is drowned. Until he is drowned. Until he wakes in the morning with a concussion and a hangover.

But the ground doesn’t come up to meet him. Rather, a warmth envelopes him. The hyperventilating has only made the numb tingling spread further through his veins, but as he is pulled in tightly, Dean can twist his hands into a familiar shirt.

Dean doesn’t know it yet, but Castiel felt his anguish. The first moment the episode was triggered, Cas was on his way to catch his human. And Cas was glad, too. He caught Dean just in time. He fell into a heap with Dean on top of him, haphazardly propped up in the corner. At first, Dean pushes at Cas. He shakes and pulls and twists away, but Cas only grips him tighter. Cas knows that the fighting is pure emotion and instinct. As expected, Dean finally allows himself to be held.

Cas closes his eyes and presses a palm into Dean’s forehead before running his glowing fingers through the hunters short, soft hair. The light fades as his hand finished its trek down Dean’s neck and shoulder, only coming to a rest over the hunter’s protesting heart.

This is not a break Cas’s grace can fix, and forcing him to sleep only delays the inevitable. So, he does the only other thing he knows.

Dean is completely pressed into him now, hands so coiled in Cas’s layers that the angel worries about his circulation. Bigger fish, Cas, he reminds himself. Of course, it’s Dean’s voice reminding him. The warmth is melting away at all those walls Dean constructs to keep the nasty things at bay and it flows freely now. If he could muster a coherent thought between the ragged breaths, he might be ashamed at himself for being so raw in front of another being. But it’s Cas. And if he could rationalize, it would be okay.

Cas drops his head forward, allowing his lips to brush just barely against Dean’s scalp. The hunter quakes and chokes. Cas only holds him tighter and begins to mumble a steady stream of Enochian praises. When those run repetitive, he begins to tell the story of creation, and how he was there, and about the constellations he’s created, and some even named after Dean.

He finds comfort in knowing that Dean doesn’t understand a word. What are hours to an angel? Nothing. But these hours? Everything. Castiel breathes in the scent of him as Dean gradually relaxes in his grip. Over time, each muscle twitches then falls limp. Dean’s breathing levels out until soft snores can be heard just over the gently swaying stream of Enochian whispers.

Begrudgingly, Cas softly tucks Dean into bed. Before he returns to where he’s needed, Cas stops to admire Dean. Look there. See? That peaceful look on his face, the bliss, that’s what Dean deserves. If it’s the last thing he ever does, Cas vows to make sure that peace stays with the hunter always.

~

Sandwiched between Death and The Empty, Cas tosses Dean to the side. He can finally be at peace, having spoken his truth at long last.

When the darkness is sucked out of the room, Dean is on the floor. This wasn’t right. Cas was supposed to be there to catch him before he fell, to hold him and tell him it was okay, and now he’s…

He can’t be.

This can’t be.

Cas was always there to catch him.

.

.

.

It can’t be.

Not like this.

Not like this.

If a vice weren’t crushing his throat, he would choke out the words flashing neon bright and slicing deep with every pulse.

I love you, too. You stupid idiot.

Why.

Why did you--

Why would you--

I love you…

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0 @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

DESTIEL IS CANON:

@on-a-bender

*** Also I wrote this at 3am on no sleep slightly drunk and unbeta’d. Sorry.”””

#catch me cas #chris wrote something finally #destiel #dean winchester #castiel #angst #fluff #flangst #supernatural #15x18 #spn spoilers

[choruscas]

suptober day 03: demonic

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer)

-

Demonic possession was never the best thing, was it?

It consisted of black, lifeless eyes instead of blue, hopeful ones; of breathless smiles instead of gummy grins. Sharp tongues and lips instead of soft, kissable ones, coarse, graveling voices and words that sent shivers down his spine instead of the tender whiskey words that gave him goosebumps all over.

That’s what was happening to Dean: staring into the soulless presence of his fiancé, Castiel. The demon’s original vessel had managed to slice through his Enochian tattoo on his lower abdomen, causing the ink to falter and not work. Black smoke arose out of the man’s vessel and crevice of Castiel’s real body.

Nothing that Dean was looking at was the real Castiel. That’s what he told himself over and over again. Demon. Not human. Demon. Not the love of his life.

It probably hurt Dean worse to see the blisters bubbling on his ex-angel’s skin from holy water than it did the demon.

“Excorcizamus te—“ he chanted, circling around the demon that was possessing the sea. The sea that Dean drowned in everyday. His sea. He was his moon. “Omnis immundus spiritus-“

The love of his— no, the demon— began to twitch and shake, the fabric and coarseness of the rope rubbing against his wrists, carving rope burns into his skin. “You’re hurting him.” he smiled. And to Dean, it was probably the most terrifying smile he had ever seen.

There was nothing to the smile.

“Omnis s-satanica potestas,” the hunters lip quivered, stopping in his tracks. He was standing behind the chair, eyeing the cuts and burns across his arms and even on his neck.

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii...”

“Quivering there, aren’t we?” the demon pondered, looking up at Dean with serene eyes. It was almost too familiar.

Dean’s face looked fearful, and his hand tightened into a fist.

“What’s the matter?” he tilted his head. “Oh.” the demon’s face dropped and his eyes darkened from the shadows. “That’s because I’m wearing your pet’s meat suit, isn’t it?”

“Shut the fuck up, you sick bastard.” the hunter snarled, his jaw clenched and his teeth gritting.

“What are you gonna do? Exorcize me?” he asked, the same smile coming back on his face. “That’s right. The book is with Sammy. You don’t know the rest of the chant.”

“Yes I do...” Dean looked at him and saw the lifeless eyes staring back at him.

Dean’s fists curled up again. “Cas, are you in there?” he yelled, his whole voice echoing past the thunder crashing outside.

“What are you doing? That’s not gonna wo-“

The demon yelped in his seat and twitched and cocked his head.

“...Dean?”

The eyes.

Castiel hissed. “Dean— why... why am I tied up? What are you doing to me?!”

“Cas!” Dean kneeled forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and looking at him in the eyes. “Cas, baby— you’re possessed. I’m trying to get it out of you— fight him, okay?”

Castiel nodded, his eyes telling Dean everything he needed to know. He was terrified. “Use your fear as a weapon, okay, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean. I-I’ll try—“

The hunter nodded, licking his lips. He leaned forward to kiss the ex-angel but just as he was about to, Castiel twitched and cried out.

“That wasn’t very nice of you, Dean.”

The mentioned jerked back and fell on his ass, his elbows laying flat on the wooden floor.

“C-Cas! Fight him!”

The demon clicked his tongue. “He doesn’t wanna escape.”

“Yes he does!”

The rain began to pour louder and harder, lightning crashing all across the ground outside.

“You see, Dean... I can read every single one of his thoughts. And his thoughts about you? Oh boy, just wait ‘till ya hear ‘em.”

“You fucking liar.”

The demon cleared his throat, and did the best impression of Castiel he could. “God, Dean is so annoying. The way he puts his feet on the table and the way he has no manners for the others around him.”

It was spot on.

“Cas! Fight him!”

“The only reason I proposed to him was because he would be a sad, pathetic thing without me. I can’t wait to leave him and see the look on his face.”

“Stop it!”

“And oh... here’s a good one.” his voice went back to the demon’s, then back to Castiel’s. “Those pink panties he wears are so disgusting and girly. What a fucking joke.”

“That’s not true! Cas! Please!”

The rain from outside began pouring into the abandoned house, onto the ground. Dean’s face got soaked with both water from the rain and tears from his eyes. The smile from the demon wearing the love of his life’s vessel was lifeless, and it shook Dean down to his core.

“Omnis legio, omnis congregatio!” Dean screamed. “Et secta diabolica-“

Dean cried out Castiel’s name. “Ergo, draco maledicte!”

The water from outside leaked onto the roof and seeped into the paint that was drawn on the ceiling. The demon cocked his wrist and the ropes coiled around his hands were unloosened, and he threw Dean against the wall.

Choking out sobs, Dean screamed harder. “Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi!”

The demon stood up and began walking toward Dean who was pinned. Blood reeked through his white dress shirt from where the slice through his tattoo was, and the smell of sulfur tinged Dean’s mind with the word ‘demon’.

Twitching, the demon grabbed Dean’s neck and held him in the sky. “F-facias-“

He couldn’t breathe. “C-C—“ he choked out, trying to say his final words. “Ca— Cas, I-I love y-“

He dropped to the ground, his body limp.

Screams filled the whole room and smoke poured out from every crevice from Castiel. The sounds were deafening, and the ringing in Dean’s ears caused him to wince.

“AND STAY OUT, YOU FUCKING BASTARD!”

Cas.

“Cas!?” Dean’s head snapped up, his vocal chords slightly damaged from the yelling he caused and the grip that was previously around his neck.

“Dean...” Castiel said numbly. He fell to his knees before Dean, who was still laying on the floor.

“Angel— you did it...” Dean smiled, tears pinging around his eyes and causing his throat to feel like static.

“No, you did, beloved.”

They held each other tighter than ever.

“I love you more, Dean.” the cried out into his shoulder.

(tags below)

@potato-painter

#spn #supernatural #suptober #suptober20 #demonic #day 03 #day 3: demonic #destiel #deancas #possession