#THE MOTHERFRICKING END MY FRIENDS 11K WORDS AND 4 DAYS LATER

[ifyoulovemeletmebinge]

We’re All Monsters

destiel au where everything in canon is used at the wrong time and oh also cas is a monster 

RATED M 

read it on ao3 here: 

Part 1 

Part 2

Part 3

The next time they see each other is that night. 

Dean spent the whole day avoiding the monster he welcomed into his house like a fucking pro, if he says so himself. He watched three different 80s action movies (because he needed some familiar blood and gore and explosion to distract from his own need to crush something), and he only left his room to play a few rounds of chess with Eileen while she took a break from research (he only won once after begging her to go easy on him), and now he is back in his room, after making one of the frozen pizzas he found in the fridge just for himself. 

He stuffs another big bite of a 4-cheese slice as the credits roll on the movie he’d paused earlier and just came back to finish now. It was past 10:30 at night. He hears a knock on his door. 

“‘Ome ‘n” he yells around a mouthful of cheese. He almost chokes on it when the door opens to reveal Castiel. He looks like a scared little child, but that’s not what made Dean choke. Castiel is wearing normal clothing. 

Whoa. 

That’s Dean’s flannel. His black, navy, and sky blue colored one that makes up the patterns on the cloth in a way that matches Castiel way better than it does Dean. He’s also wearing jeans, only socks on his feet. 

Dean balks because there’s no way this guy is half-abomination. He’s too cozy. 

“I apologize,” Castiel looks down, folds his hands together in front of him. “I didn’t think you were busy, I can--” 

“No, no I’m not busy--” 

“--come back tomorrow, I’m sorry--” 

“Cas.” 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“Stay.” 

Castiel blinks, shyly looks down and then nods. He closes the door behind him, and just stays there. Dean wipes his hands on a napkin and swings his legs off the bed. 

“What’s up?” 

“I wanted to let you know Sam allowed me to borrow some clothes,” Castiel looks down at himself sheepishly, tugs at the bottom of the flannel he’s wearing. “I will return them after tomorrow.” 

Dean’s nodding so fast his neck cracks a little. “Yeah. That’s—Cas, that’s fine. Wha-what’s tomorrow?” 

At that, Castiel actually smiles. Dean’s never seen this before. Granted, he’s known the guy for less than a day, and has been actively avoiding him, but anyways. Castiel’s smile shows gums and square little teeth. Dean feels his entire chest glow looking at it. 

“That’s the second piece of news I came to tell you. Sam and I have found something. He needs the day to acquire the correct ingredients for it, and we want to try it tomorrow. We think it will work.” It’s impossible, but it’s like his smile is growing even more with every word he says. Dean finds himself smiling too. 

“Man,” Dean clasps his hands together; a quiet clap. “That’s… I mean. That’s something, Cas. You’re-you’ve-how long have you waited for this?” 

Castiel’s smile falters, crooks and falls. He says quietly, “All my life.” 

Then he’s walking forward and sitting at the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean’s hand on the mattress is the only thing that separates them. 

“I need to tell you something else.” 

“A third thing?” 

“Yes,” Castiel looks down at his hand on the bed. He takes a moment while Dean holds his breath. 

Castiel puts one of his hands on top of Dean’s, covering it. Dean glances down, and this close, he can clearly see the scar on the back of Castiel’s hand. All the breath in Dean’s lungs rushes out at once. 

“Dean. After your father saved me, and I decided on what I was to do, I grew up with you. I followed you. I learned from you. I even saved you a few times. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if he’d killed me too, or if he hadn’t killed my father at all, what would have become of me—”

“Cas,” Dean interrupts hoarsely, spinning his hand around to grasp his fingers gently at Castiel’s wrist. “Whatever you think you know about my dad, it’s not true,” he shakes his head. “I’m absolutely sure the only good thing my dad ever did was accidentally let you live.” 

Castiel averts his eyes, frowns. “On some days, I disagree.” 

“Is today one of them?” Dean tilts his head to catch Castiel’s eyesight again. He shivers when blue meets green. 

“No,” Castiel answers softly. “Not today.” 

“Good. Because if there’s one thing you need to learn about being human is that you gotta learn to forgive yourself, man.” 

Castiel’s smile looks sad. “After all these years, I am still learning from you, Dean Winchester.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Castiel hesitates. “With how savagely my father was raising me, to kill and feast on others, on innocents, I kept my humanity in check by watching you live Dean. You taught me to be human.” 

Dean can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. 

As the seconds pass in silence, he can feel them inching closer, like tectonic plates moving after centuries. Their noses brush together and their lips are practically touching. Dean vision is reduced to alluring blue and widening pupils. He’s so afraid of what will happen if they collide. 

Dean tilts his head down, leaning their foreheads together, avoiding the kiss. 

“Cas.” His whisper is broken and defeated. 

“I understand, Dean. If I had never told you, would you—”

Dean interrupts him, pulling his head away and covering it with his hands. “I can’t answer that. I-I don’t know. That was before I knew. Before I knew what you were and how that relates to me. Damn it, Cas. I’m going against everything I stand for, everything I am, for you. And there’s no guarantee.” 

“How is that different than if I was a human you met at a bar?” 

Dean swallows. “It just is,” he argues gruffly. “You’d just be a human. But you’re not, you’re someone who knows too much about me. I don’t know you at all, Cas. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I don’t know if I should have killed you already or not.” 

Dean sucks in a breath then, regretting the words immediately. His throat feels thick. When he tentatively looks at Castiel, he sees he is taken aback, mouth agape. 

Castiel blinks. He stands up and makes his way to the door, his steps almost silent. Dean wants to reach out but his arms are frozen and still, and there’s something burning in his veins. 

“I felt for you.” Castiel whispers, hand on the doorknob. 

Dean looks up, meeting his eyes, feeling too much and not at all. He’s numb and exploding inside. He misses Castiel’s hand on top of his. He wants to feel his palm encase his hand again. Dean’s throat clogs up when he realizes, whoever he is, whatever he is, Dean wants Castiel. 

Castiel is staring at him, jaw clenched, and posture too tight. “If I may… ask you for another favor?” 

Dean can’t speak. 

Nonetheless, Castiel continues. “If tomorrow doesn’t yield the best results, I’d like you to make sure I’m gone, Dean. For good.” 

****

Sam is an organization freak. He has a whole corner of the basement scrubbed down and set up for the spell he’s going to try on Castiel. He has bowls (organized by size), and the vials of blood from the day before (organized by size). He also has extra needles (organized by size), some weed looking plants (organized by color), and other instruments for smashing and mixing (say it with me, organized by size). Dean stuff his hands in his jean pockets, fearing being yelled at because he might accidentally touch something he’s not supposed to. 

Dean doesn’t know this stuff. All he knows are his gun, his machete, and his beloved rocket launcher. All he knows is the thrill of the final swing, the force of the punch, the blood on his knuckles, the cuts on his temple, and the last drop of the beer at the end of the night. He’s been a hunter all his life. John used to joke with him that he “fell out of the womb hunting.” Eventually, Dean taught himself to laugh at that. Meanwhile, Sam got to play around with his magic, or whatever. 

Dean couldn’t complain, though. Because of Sam’s dedication and practice and knowledge they had saved many people over the years. People Dean wouldn’t think twice about shooting first and asking questions later. Sam had a talent for it, a knack. And Dean could see he thoroughly enjoyed it too, which was always a plus. You don’t want your younger sibling being unhappy because you dragged him back into something  he tried to run away from. Ultimately, Sam was practically the only family Dean had left. He’d do anything to keep him content. 

Thus why some of their hunting trips weren’t hunting trips at all. They were more like Dean-so-get-this-there’s-this-crystal-from-Colorado-that’s-supposed-to-heal-wounds-with-the-right-spell-could-we-go-find-it road trips. Dean grumbles for show, but he is always happy to be the Designated Driver. 

Looking around the basement, Dean furrows his eyebrows as he spies two notebooks, sitting atop one another on the table. Eileen appears from behind him, and Dean nods at her. 

She follows his eyesight, chuckles and then says, “He filled them with notes last night.” 

Dean can’t hide his surprise. “He had a lot to say, then.” 

Eileen shrugs. “He was trying to get all he learned from Cas somewhere concrete. Just in case.” 

“In case of what?” Dean turns to her, leaning down a bit. 

Eileen sighs, seeming a bit hesitant. “Sam told me the spell is for erasing memories. But he’s going to try and incorporate some additional spells to sort of… erase his monster side?” she scrunches her nose. She ends up mouthing and signing her suggestion,You should ask him, because Sam is in the room with them, meticulously drawing something in his corner. 

Dean frowns, but nods anyways. He doesn’t want to talk to Sam. Not right now, anyways, because Castiel is right there too, right next to him, sitting almost daintily in his dentist chair from the day before. His hands are wound together over his stomach (he’s still wearing Dean’s flannel), and his foot is tapping lightly on the air, like he’s impatient. 

He’s definitely avoiding Dean’s eyes. 

Dean does feel bad about how it went down with them last night. He doesn’t want to admit, not even to himself, really, that he wants to try something with Cas too. The history is too complicated, too filled with gaps, and secrets, and when he really looks at it objectively, it just doesn’t seem worth it. 

But, god. The way Cas looks at him, and the way he feels when he’s around. That’s not something he’s felt for a while now. It goes deeper than the night they were at the bar. That was lust filled, and drink dazed. Now, Dean is aware that Castiel knows him, has been with him all along, since the very first night they met. Dean is aware he doesn’t know this half-man, half-monster who knows him, but he is aware he wants to know. How fucked up is that? He’s pushing it down, deeper into the crevices of his chest, but he wants to know Castiel. He knows he does. 

He needs to make sure he can. Dean is still appalled at Castiel’s request. He is the best hunter in history, he knows his worth in the game, but he doesn’t think he can follow through with what Castiel wants. He just feels it in his bones. Dean can’t kill him. 

When Sam starts the spell, it takes all of Dean’s muscles working to make him keep still; make him wait. 

Sam has drawn a bunch of symbols on various pieces of paper. Perfect circles and diagonal lines and swirls and cross-looking things that come together in loopy images. He sets the pieces of paper down one by one on the table in a specific order to form a circle. Then he picks up the biggest bowl and puts it in the middle of the circle, within the paper circumference. He puts the rest of the smaller old wooden bowls around the bigger bowl, forming its own circle. 

With careful, practiced hands, he picks up the colorful weeds, undoes the string that holds the thin branches of leaves together, and drops them in their rightful smaller bowls, spreading them out. He picks up a sleek wooden smasher and flattens each weed in its own bowl, one by one. Dean holds his breath as he watches Sam do the next step. 

Sam picks up the smaller vials of blood, rips away the seal, and drizzles the contents over each small bowl, on top of the smushed weeds. Eileen probably senses Dean’s stress, because she hooks her hand under his forearm and holds him. He starts breathing again after the gesture. Sam finishes off with dumping the entire largest vial of blood into the main greater center bowl, covering ¼ of it. 

Sam pushes the extra instruments to the side, giving him more room on the table, and then he takes a small match box out of his back pocket. 

He turns to Castiel and looks him directly in the eyes. “It’s ready. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” 

“More than anything,” Castiel assures him, jaw set, chest puffed out. 

Sam sighs and nods. “Right. Okay. If this goes wrong, I suspect the worst that can happen is you losing your memory, which is what the notes we took yesterday are for. Unfortunately, that’ll be irreversible, but you’ll still be… you.” 

Castiel’s eyes flash to Dean’s for a second. “It’s worth a try. I have contingency plans, Sam. Do it, please.” 

Sam’s lips turn downwards in a frown, but he still nods. He wraps Castiel’s wrist with leather, tying him to the chair. Dean can see the stark contrast between the almost white scar on the back of his hand, and the dark brown leather. 

Sam steps away and fishes out a single match. He’s poised over the table where the spell is set up. He rolls his shoulders back, stands up straighter, closes his eyes and tilts his head up, mentally preparing himself. 

Dean admires how he’s in his element, and then Castiel speaks: “At any rate, I wanted to apologize for my inappropriate behavior during your lives, and to say that I am glad I met you all. Thank you for helping me, truly.” He’s looking at Dean as he finishes, and all Dean can do is swallow his feelings down. He’s fearing for Cas. For himself, too. 

“We’ll see you on the other side, Cas,” Sam grins, then strikes the match. Dean’s worldview is reduced to that flame. 

Sam starts quietly chanting, “Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

The papers start glowing immediately. As in, the drawings themselves start to shine a muted orange color, growing in reach upwards as Sam continues chanting, “Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

When the light is shining about at Sam’s chest, he drops the lit match in the center bowl. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

Castiel’s blood ignites in the bowl, red-orange. The temperature in the basement escalates. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

The center bowl is aflame. It catches onto the smaller bowls that surround it. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

Each small bowl lights up with the color of the weeds Sam smushed earlier. There’s a red, a green, a yellow, a blue, a purple, a white, and a black fire surrounding the main orange flame. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

The lights of the illuminated drawings start to move, curve to the center, closer to the main bowl. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

They connect to the orange fire in the middle, making a sort of cone shape; pointy end at the top. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

The colors start to darken, looking more pronounced. They are trapped inside the confines of the orange cone. Dean takes Eileen’s hand in his. 

“Dedisco. Dono. Dissulto.” 

It’s then that Castiel sucks in a gasping wheezing breath. His veins, visible on his head and neck and hands light up in orange hues from under his skin. He pinches his eyes shut and throws his head back, groaning. Dean wants to run to him, but Eileen keeps him grounded by squeezing his hand. 

“Dedisco! Dono! Dissulto!” Sam yells, then drives his palm straight down into the pointy end of the cone, like he’s stabbing his hand with it. It shatters the structure completely. 

Castiel gives out a last cry, his skin glows brighter than ever, and then he’s falling limp in the chair. The flames are doused out at the table, like Sam threw water at them. 

The room is cold again, and when Dean finally takes his eyes off Castiel, he sees Sam is smiling like he just heard the ice cream truck pass by. 

**** 

Castiel wakes up almost a week later. Of course, it’s exactly within the hour that Dean leaves his bedside to go make some mid-afternoon pancakes for himself. 

He’s in the kitchen, dripping a shit-ton of syrup on top of the large thick stack (he likes them fluffy) when he sees Eileen run in from the hallway. 

She signs, He’s awake. 

Dean is too tired to understand for a few seconds, and then she signs it again and points behind her, smiling. The lightbulb goes off in Dean’s head and then he’s running with the plate of pancakes and the syrup bottle still in his hands, giving Eileen a kiss on the cheek as he passes her. He hears her giggle. 

When Dean bursts into his room (he insisted they put Castiel in his room), he sees Sam standing next to the bed, hands on his hips, frowning down at Castiel who is sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed, head hung low and tucked in his chest. 

Dean doesn’t know what the fuck is happening, but he knows it shouldn’t be. He goes into Mom Mode. 

“Cas! Welcome back to the world of the living!” He sets the plate of pancakes and the syrup bottle on his desk, and then walks over to crouch in front of Castiel’s legs. Dean tries to catch his eyes, “Hey, man. What are you doing sitting up? Sam told me this spell should have killed you, take a breather, rest for a bit more. You deserve it, dude.” 

Sam shuffles next to him, silent, but Dean is not paying attention to him. When Castiel finally looks up, he squints and tilts his head at Dean. Dean beams. It’s so familiar, and he didn’t know he missed it so much. He’s smiling so hard it hurts. 

Then Castiel says, “Who are you?”

Dean’s stomach drops like an anvil. His head floats for a second, and when it attaches back, all he can think of is how he’s lost Castiel. Fuck, he’s lost him. Forever. 

Dean is feeling the burn in the back of his eyes, and he thinks he’s going to cry, but then he hears Sam from above him. Dean stands up and turns to his brother, who has one hand covering his mouth, and he’s… snickering. He is. Sam is laughing! 

Dean whips his head to Castiel, who’s switched his confused squint to a warm gummy smile. He’s chuckling. His eyes are bright and blue and shining. They recognize him. Dean breathes again. 

“Fuckin’ assholes!” Dean turns to punch Sam in the arm lightly, crossing his own with an angry huff. “I can’t believe you pulled that with me!” 

Sam is still chuckling, dimples showing. “I’m sorry, dude! It was too good not to.” 

“It was purely Sam’s idea,” Castiel defends himself. 

Dean puts his whole body behind his eye roll. “Don’t go having anymore of those, Samuel. They suck.” 

Sam claps him on the shoulder, and Dean irritably shrugs him off, making his brother smile even wider. “It’s Sam, and you love me anyways.” He turns to look down at Castiel. “Well, Cas--can I call you Cas?” 

Castiel nods, grinning. “Of course, Sam.” 

Sam is an excited puppy. “Welcome to humanity, Cas! We’re lucky to have you.” He saunters out of the room, still smirking to himself, leaving Dean with a wink. 

After Sam closes the door behind him, Dean sits down in the chair right next to his bed, the one he’d been occupying for the last week, watching Cas sleep, like he was perching over his shoulder. He’s right in front of Castiel, still sitting on his bed, hands clasped around his kneecaps. 

“So, it really worked? Sam cleared you? You-you’re…” Dean can’t finish the thought. His brain is racing. 

Castiel looks proud, maybe a little emotional. “I am. I am human now.” 

They meet eyes, and the world is suspended again. Castiel looks soft, and a little tired, but strangely, he looks the same. Dean knows he won’t be able to lift heavy things, knows he won’t crave humans anymore, but he also knows Castiel is still going to make tea and gently hand him the warm mug. He knows Castiel will still tug on the hem of his clothes, and he’s probably still going to wear that trenchcoat. Something in Dean’s heart breaks as he realizes Castiel is the same, apart from the blood running in his veins. Dean feels a little ashamed. 

Castiel breaks the stare, and clears his throat. “Thank you for helping me, Dean. You’ve saved my life, but I won’t say I am forever in your debt, because I now realize that it’s the same toxic sentiment that has dictated my life for the last 15 years. I won’t bother you anymore, but I offer my services, if you ever come to need them.” 

“Cas--” 

Castiel holds him in a serious stare. “I’ll go, Dean. As promised.” 

Dean grabs Castiel’s hand, the one with the scar, when Castiel stands up to leave. He forces himself to say, “I don’t want you to.” 

Castiel furrows his eyebrows, and after a moment, he sits down on the bed again. He lets Dean hold his hand. 

“I was wrong. Cas, I was so wrong.” 

“In what way?” 

Dean swallows. “We’re all monsters.” 

Castiel huffs. “Dean--” 

“We are,” Dean doesn’t let him speak, he needs to get it out before he gets too scared. “You may have literally been one your whole life, but you fought against it. You forced yourself to be better, and you were of service to people. You fuckin’... gave up your life to watch me! To protect me, and Sam! But you don’t actually know us. Especially me. I’m not who you’ve been seeing from a distance. I’m not who my father made you think I am.” 

Castiel nods, pursing his lips, eyes turning down at the corners. “Of course not, Dean.” 

Dean takes a shuddering breath. “I’ve done things in the past because I wanted to be violent. That’s all. They might have been monsters but I just wanted to be violent, and I shouldn’t be thought of as a hero because of that. In my own way, I’m just as much of a monster as you. Maybe I’m worse. I gave into it,” he mumbles.  

 Castiel squeezes his hand. “You were never a monster to me. And you were never a perfect hero. And you were never what your father made you seem. You are just a man, Dean. Just a human. That’s what I admired about you. That’s what I wanted to be. Imperfect, but pure of heart. And now, thanks to you, I am,” he smiles. 

“Cas, I’m sorry. I really am.” Dean doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, but he thinks Cas understands. He always seems to. 

“I know, Dean. I am sorry as well. I should have contacted you sooner. I’ve lived in the shadows for too long. I almost forgot my human side.” 

Dean grins. “Now you don’t even have a human side. You’re all human.” 

“I am.” 

“Maybe you always were, Cas. Thanks for not killing me 15 years ago.”

Castiel chuckles. “Anytime.” 

“So, what now?” 

“Now… I guess I make something of myself,” Castiel sighs. 

Dean smiles, feeling once again like he’s on leveled ground with Castiel. Feeling like they’re leaning against a wall at the bar again. Feeling like the moment Castiel hesitated to kill him. Feeling hopeful. 

“Well, you can’t do that on an empty stomach.” Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand, stands up and goes over to the plate of pancakes and syrup. He brings it back and puts the plate on Castiel’s lap. “You must be starving. Here, I made pancakes, I hope you like syrup,” he says sheepishly. 

“I don’t know if I do,” Castiel says slowly, shyly. Dean realizes what he said and almost facepalms, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment. 

“Right. Right. Sorry, yeah, duh—um. Why don’t you-uh. Just try it.” 

Castiel cuts a small piece, soaked in syrup, and pops it in his mouth. Dean bites his lower lip, watching as he chews, and he’s wondering if he put too much butter or flour and that’s why Cas doesn’t like it, but then Castiel’s face lights up. He blinks at Dean, reaches over and takes the syrup from his hand, and dumps more on top of the pancakes. 

Castiel looks into Dean’s soul when he says, “I love it.”

#BELOVED HANNAH <3333333333333333333 #A HAPPY ENDING FOR YOU BC YOUR METAS ARE SO DEPRESSING AND SO IS THIS SHOW #I HOPE THIS WAS THE MONSTER!CAS FIC OF YOUR DREAMS <33333 #THE MOTHERFRICKING END MY FRIENDS 11K WORDS AND 4 DAYS LATER #ok. now i gotta go do homework :(((( #my destiel fanfic #destiel fanfic