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sarahsmi13s · 1 year

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Sirens vs Soulmates

(not my gif)

jake ‘hangman’ seresin x floyd!hunter!reader

characters: jake seresin, y/n floyd, robert floyd, dean winchester, sam winchester, bradley bradshaw, the dagger squad, castiel, oc! jimmy (he’s the medical examiner

warnings: THIS FIC IS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, language, death, suicide, depression, insecurites, cheating, SMUT, blood, legal age drinking, knives, guns, cannon violence, soulmates, i’m sorry if i missed any, please let me know and I will add it to the list

word count: ~12.6k

a/n: this is a supernatural/top gun crossover fic, this was inspired by @fandomxpreferences and this post and i hope i did the idea justice

lightly proof read

while this could be considered a soulmate au, it’s not as obvious as some

like mentioned in the warning, this fic contains sensitive themes, reader discrection is advised

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

Dean yanked open the car door, letting your head drop. “Fuck!” You hissed when the movement startled you awake.

“Get up, we’re here,” he gruffed out, adjusting his suit jacket. You sat up, flipping him off as you rolled your neck, trying to release the tension caused by your awkward sleeping angle.

You got out of the car, stretching your back and checking your badge. “NCIS Special Agent Gibbs?” You arched an eyebrow at both Winchesters. “Are you trying to get us caught?” “You don’t even know our names yet,” Dean retorted defensively.

Sliding your badge into your jean pocket, you held out your other hand for theirs. “Well, show me.” Sam chuckled and slapped his badge into your hand. You opened it and looked over his credentials. “NCIS Special Agent Sam David?” You pronounced it ‘David’ and not ‘Da-veed’. He nodded, “Helps to keep it a little less suspicious.” You hummed and held your hand out for Dean’s.

He arched a challenging brow, hoping you would drop it. But you pressed and arched a brow right back. He held your eye contact, his eyes cutting as he squinted hoping to intimidate you. You held it, eyes squinting slightly as you held your chin high.

Finally his resolve broke and he rolled his eyes, fishing his badge out of his jacket pocket.

“That wasn’t so hard was it.” You smirked and opened it, “NCIS Special Agent Dean Shepard.” You scoffed and tossed it to him. “Wow, okay. Let’s just get these autopsy results before real NCIS Agents get here.”

You walked ahead going right in with the brothers trailing behind you.

Flashing the badge to the receptionist, “NCIS Special Agent Gibbs. My partners and I are here to talk to the ME. He knows we’re coming.” You made sure to add authority to your voice to show you wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer and that you meant business. Sam and Dean flashed their badges and you were immediately brought back.

“I was wondering when NCIS was gonna show up. Who’s in charge?” Dean stepped forward, “That would be-” The ME shook his head, “No. You’re not in charge.” He looked at you, “You must be Agent Gibbs?”

You fought a smirk and walked forward, “Yeah. That’s me.” You gestured to the latest victim, a young Naval aviator, “Cause of death the same as the other victims?” He nodded, “Yup, gunshot to the temple, gun residue on his dominant hand.” “So why were you waiting on NCIS if you confirmed it a suicide?” You crossed your arms. “Because none of these sailors have a history of depression or suicidal tendencies. And I already told you over the phone Y/N, that I found high levels of oxytocin in all 4 sailors. We both know it’s a siren.”

The brothers shared a confused look behind you.

Sam spoke first, “Hold on, so you know each other?” You nodded, “Went to high school in Wyoming together. Our fathers were best friends, and they went on hunts pretty often.” Sam scoffed, impressed by you. Dean smirked, also impressed but a little upset you didn’t tell them you knew more than you let on.

“You didn’t think to tell us you knew what was happening?” Dean asked, hands on his hips. “Honestly, Dean, I'm surprised you didn’t make the siren joke beforehand. Cause if you had, I might have said something.”

You turned back to your friend, “Jimmy, do you know where sailors and pilots usually like to hang out? Let off some steam?” He nodded, “Yeah, The Hard Deck. It’s the bar closest to the Air Base. You’ll be greeted by a sea of khaki when you walk in.” You nodded, “Thank you, I’ll keep in touch.”

All three of you left and went to the car.

“You’ve got friends in high places Y/N,” Sam said, a smirk on his face as he opened his door. “Oh you don’t even know the half of it.”

Dean turned to you once you slid into the backseat, “How do you have great relations with these people? Everywhere we go, some agent or officer is trying to arrest or kill us.” You shrugged, “I just have a way with people I guess. I try to work with the law instead of against it.”

“You just tell people you’re hunting monsters?” You shrugged, “When you’re in rural areas, they have folklore, use that to your advantage. But in others you just have to either work with the law or let them get themselves into trouble and save their ass.”

Dean rolled his eyes and drove to the bar.

******

When you pulled in you shucked your jacket and gun, but held onto your badge.

“Hey, your gun?” Dean questioned, not seeing it in your waistband when you adjusted your white shirt. You shook your head, “I don’t need it. This is a bar full of Navy personnel, and I’ve had my fair share of bar fights. I think I’ll be fine.”

Dean looked at Sam, thinking maybe he could talk some sense into you. But Sam only shrugged and laughed. “Dean, we literally pulled her out of a bar fight the first time we met her. She’s fine.” Dean grumbled, not pleased with the fact that you just went in places unarmed considering you knew what lurked in the shadows.

****

You walked in, giving polite nods to the older officers that were in the room and going right up to the bar.

Penny noticed you and came over, “Hi, what can I get you?” You smiled at her, pulling out your badge, “Not drinking tonight. But is it possible if I could ask you a few questions?” She did a quick once over of the bar, “Of course, what do you need to know?” You pulled out the photos of the dead sailors and pilot. “Did you see any of these men here in the past few weeks?” She frowned, “Yes, I did. They were regulars, nice guys -a little cocky- but nice. Shame what happened, they never once gave the impression of being depressed.”

She wiped down the table out of habit. “Why is NCIS looking into suicides?” You leaned against the bar, “Well, we think it may not have been suicides.” She nodded, humming a little, “Anything I can do to help?” You nodded, “Did any of them leave with someone the night they died? Someone they didn’t arrive with?” Penny shrugged, “I’m not sure. Except Lieutenant Crole did leave with a woman pretty early in the night. She came over to him and they hit it off.” “Did you catch her name?” “Haley? Hannah? Something like that.”

“Penny, m’dear,” a voice drawled next to you. “Could I get another round?” You looked over to find a taller man around 6 foot -maybe- with tan skin, sun bleached hair, and striking green eyes. He noticed you looking and smirked at you, “And, uh, whatever she’s having can go on my tab.” You huffed out a laugh, holding up your badge again. “Sorry, cowboy, I’m afraid I can’t tonight.” He frowned a little, “Shame, maybe some other time.” He winked at you and something stirred in your chest.

Penny came back with a tray loaded with bottles. She smirked a little at the interaction happening in front of her, “Hangman, this is Agent…” You held your hand out for him to shake, “Gibbs.” Jake gave you an amused look and shook your hand, “Like the show?” You sighed, smiling a little, “Yeah, like the show.” “Well, let’s hope you’re not as rough around the edges.” You hummed a little, “Rougher.” “Now you’re teasin’ me.”

“Agent Gibbs was asking about those sailors,” Penny prompted him. “Oh the ones that committed suicide?” “Well, we’re thinking it may not be suicide. Did you know any of them?” He shrugged, gathering the drinks, “Knew of them, didn’t know them personally. But some members of my team did.” You eyed the drinks, “Here, let me help you.” You grabbed a few and followed him over.

You both sat the drinks down. “Thanks for the help.” “No problem Lieutenant.” You wiped the condensation on your jeans as you turned around and began to go meet Sam and Dean at the bartop.

“Who’s your friend?” You heard someone ask from behind you, making you stop. “Oh, this is Special Agent Gibbs with NCIS,” Hangman introduced with a smirk, knowing he roped you into the little group.

You turned and nodded to the group, “Hi.” You felt extremely shy and out of your element all of sudden, being under the eyes of at least 7 or so pilots.

“Agent, this is my team. The guy with the pornstache is Rooster, next to him is Phoenix, that’s my best friend Coyote, they’re Payback and Fanboy, and that little wallflower over there is Bob,” Hangman introduced the group by their call signs.

You scanned the group as he did so, waving back when they waved. But when he got to Bob, your stomach turned. “Shit,” you huffed out quietly.

If Hangman heard you, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Agent Gibbs is here investigating the deaths of those sailors and Lieutenant Crole.” “The suicides?” You pulled your eyes from your brother and nodded at the man introduced as Fanboy, “We’re thinking it may not be as simple as it looks. 4 in the course of a month, all in the same fashion… We just want to cover our bases.”

You pulled out a card, “If any of you know anything, you can contact me here.” You dropped it onto the table allowing them to do whatever with it.

“Hey, Floyd, weren’t you close with Petty Officer Chase?” Phoenix asked her backseater, leaning on her pool cue. Bob looked down at his cup of peanuts, “Yeah, I was. We were on the same carrier for a deployment I was on.” You looked at him, “Would you be comfortable answering some questions?” Bob looked up holding eye contact with you and he nodded, but you could see it in his eyes that he wasn’t happy.

You walked over to an area that was close to the group but secluded enough that they wouldn’t hear.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He hissed out, pushing his glasses up. “I’m supposed to be asking the questions here Robert.” “Okay, ask them.” “Do you know who he left with the night he died?” “Y/N, this isn’t the type of case you think it is.” You put your hands on your hips, “Robby, Jimmy found raised levels of oxytocin in their system. It’s exactly what I think it is.” “Just because they had sex before they died doesn’t mean it’s a monster.” You tossed your arms out to your side, “Who offs themselves right after sex, Bob?”

He placed his hands on your shoulders to try and get his point across, which caught the attention of the two brothers at the bar. “Shit, Dean-” Sam got his attention and Dean looked over, “Son of a bitch.” They got up and headed your way.

Bradley clocked the two hunters, seeing the looks on their faces and following their line of sight. “Hey, Hangman, they’re headed towards Floyd.” “Son of a bitch.” They put their cues down and cut off the Winchesters.

Jake and Bradley were toe-to-toe with Dean and Sam.

“Lieutenants,” Sam greeted, nodding to them but his eyes were looking around Rooster at you and Bob. Both tried to walk around the pilots but they stepped with them. “We can’t let you do that,” Jake said, holding intense eye contact with Dean, matching the determined expression. “That’s our teammate and he’s in a very serious conversation with someone.”

Dean pulled his badge out, frustrated, “Yeah with our boss.” Sam called out to you, holding eye contact with Bradley, “Y/N? Everything okay over there?”

“Bobby, you know I’m right,” you managed to say before Sam caught your attention. You turned, seeing both brothers staring down the two pilots. “Yeah, I’m fine Sam.” Bob turned you around by your shoulder, “You’re working with the fucking Winchesters?” “Who I work with is none of your business.”

You sighed, “Look, I’m not gonna ask for your help. I know this isn’t the life you wanted. But you need to let me do my job.” He rested his hands on his hips, huffing out a defeated sigh. You smiled, “Just watch your six, okay? And keep an eye out for your team.” “Don’t do anything stupid.” You chuckled and walked towards the four men, “No promises Robby.”

When you walked over, you had to fight the urge to laugh seeing the men staring each other down.

“Do we have a problem?” You asked, crossing your arms and arching a brow. They stepped away from each other. “No, Agent Gibbs, no problem here,” Rooster said, going back to the pool table. You looked at Jake, expecting an answer from him as well. “Everything’s just peachy, Agent.” He walked past you, winking as he passed.

You rolled your eyes, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you shook your head. You looked at Sam and Dean, and pointed to the door, “Outside.”

Once you were outside, you threw your arms out to the side. “What the hell was that?” Sam scoffed, “He put his hands on you. We didn’t need you getting-” “He’s my brother. He wasn’t trying to pick a fight.”

Dean held up a hand, “Wait, you have a brother?” You nodded, “That’s what I said.” “And he’s in the Navy?” You nodded, “Yeah, joined right out of high school.” “He left you?” “Dean, he doesn’t want this life. Our dad wasn’t going to hold him back from what he truly wanted to do. He just made sure that he could protect himself.” He scoffed, “Must be nice.”

You rolled your eyes, “Let’s just go to the motel. Gather intel and I’ll try to figure out if any of the victims had anything in common with each other. Then I’ll go and try to spot the siren in the bar.” “Why you? Why not one of us?” Sam asked. “Because my uncle told me all about that one time you both encountered a siren and nearly killed each other. I’m not letting you anywhere near this one.”

You got in the car without another word and they followed.

*******

Sam hung up the phone. “Okay so that was Petty Officer Langdon’s commanding officer and he said that Langdon didn’t give any sign of being depressed, if anything he was overly confident and very sure of himself. But that can often be a defense mechanism, so we can’t be sure he didn’t talk to family or friends about how he was feeling.”

You groaned, rubbing your face. This was going to take a while if you didn’t have someone on the inside. You threw your head back and blinked at the ceiling, “Okay, we need to get in contact with the families of those we can and talk to their coworkers.”

Dean swirled his beer in the bottle, “You know. People tell their secrets to bartenders all the time, maybe that Penny is our siren.” You nearly laughed, “I already looked into it, Penny’s been running that bar for three years. She's got a daughter and is currently in the process of getting married to a naval captain. But nice try.”

You got up and grabbed your things. “Okay, I’m gonna turn in, tomorrow I’ll get stuff together and talk to the families. You both can talk to the coworkers.” “Since when are you in charge?” Dean asked. “The moment I found out my brother was here.”

*******

You walked into Sam and Dean’s motel room, “Okay, that went better than I thought.” “Well, you seem to be the only one,” Sam huffed out, rubbing his forehead. Dean slammed the fridge and leaned against it and drank from his bottle, “Yeah, turns out, guys don’t talk about their feelings. Especially military men- feelings aren’t really their thing.” You scoffed, “Feelings aren’t your thing either Dean.”

He rolled his eyes, “What did you find out?” You sat on the back of the couch, crossing your arms, “Sailors may not tell their friends about their problems, but they tell their siblings.”

“Turns out, each of these sailors experienced a pretty bad break up a few months ago. All at different times of course. They were all cheated on, while on deployment,” you explained. “They confided in their younger siblings, saying that being gone all the time made it hard and that they felt it was deserved. Really sad honestly.”

Dean nodded, “So, we just need to keep an eye on those moping or showing out at the bar and follow them when they leave.” He shrugged, sitting his drink down, “Sounds simple enough.” He started to change.

You arched a brow at him, “Where are you going?” He paused, “The bar.” “Well, good luck because it’s Sunday and the Hard Deck’s closed on Sundays,” Sam smugly said with a smirk. Dean tossed his hands out to the side, “There are other bars aren’t there?” “Not sailor bars,” you said, looking down at your boots.

Dean shrugged off his jacket, “You guys are no fun.”

*******

“Hey Bob?”

Bob lifted his head from his book, “Yeah Hangman?” “You seemed pretty close with Agent Gibbs the other night,” Jake lifted a suggestive brow, playing with the pencil in his hand. Bob’s brow furrowed and he pushed his glasses up, “How do you mean?” Jake shrugged, “Oh I don’t know. She called you ‘Robert’ and you called her ‘Y/N’, I’d say that’s pretty close.”

Bradley laughed from his seat, “Why do you care so mu-” His mouth dropped, “Oh shit, you’ve got a thing for an NCIS Special Agent!” Bob’s eyes widened. “Did you see her? Those jeans fit her in all the right ways-” “She would kick your ass, Bagman,” Rooster howled out another laugh.

But the jab only made him smirk, “Well, maybe I like ‘em that way.”

That made the WSO cringe, “Gross. I don’t need to know about your preferences, Seresin.” “Are you datin’ her Floyd? Cause if you are I’ll take my eyes elsewhere.” “No, I’m not dating her. We grew up together, she’s like a sister to me.” He started reading again.

Jake shared a look with Bradley, who just rolled his eyes.

********

You watched your flair bottom jeans slide over your lace underwear in the mirror, “Damn my ass looks great in these jeans.”

Sitting on the bed you grabbed your cowboy boots and slipped them on.

“Hey, Y/N- WOAH!” Sam covered his eyes with his hand. You looked up at him, confused for a moment before realizing you still only had a bra on your top half. Dean walked in, “Nice bra.” “Thanks.”

You dug in your bag for a silk, sage green button up.

Once it was slid over your shoulders, you told Sam he was fine to look.

“So, what’s the plan?” He asked, hands on his hips. You buttoned the shirt and tucked it in, “Well, we go to the Hard Deck, and we watch for anything suspicious.” You fixed your hair and touched up your makeup. “I’m gonna keep my eye on my brother and-” “Lieutenant Seresin?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised as his voice took on a lilt.

“Well yeah,” you slid your hands into your back pockets. “He’s just as much at risk as any of the others. Why’d you say it like that?” Dean scoffed, “You don’t think we noticed the way you both were looking at each other the other night.” You rolled your eyes, “I don’t know what you think you saw. But we’re here to work a case, not get laid.”

Dean chuckled as you walked past him to get your things, “Sounds like you need to get laid, Y/N.” You glared at him, “Shut up.”

You slid your gun into your purse, “I’ll see you there.” You adjusted your shirt how you wanted it and grabbed your keys. “Oh, will you make sure to go get those samples? I called Jimmy earlier, he’s expecting you guys.”

********

Jake was sitting at the bar, talking to a girl.

He couldn’t help but to think, This girl is perfect. She understands me, likes the same music I do. Likes the same drinks I do. She likes pool.

But something was off.

She wasn’t you.

Jake wasn’t sure what it was, but he couldn’t stop thinking about you. While he hadn’t shown it, he felt this sense of clarity when he met you. This connection. Call him crazy if you want – but he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Which is why he was nearly bursting at the seams when he saw you walk in.

He was so enamored with you that he didn’t see the girl switch their beer bottles. “Hey, Lieutenant, how about a game-” “Hey, look, this was fun and all, but I don’t see us going any further tonight. Both of these drinks are on me,” Jake slapped a fifty on the table. “Get yourself whatever with the change.”

And just like that he was walking away from the bar and towards you.

*****

You looked around, looking for anything suspicious when Hangman entered your field of view.

“What do we have here? Agent Gibbs, good to see you again,” he sent you an award winning smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling just a little. “Lieutenant Seresin,” you looked him up and down, those khakis hugged him just right. “See something you like?” You smirked, “Yeah, the bar.”

You let your fingers brush his bicep as you walked past adding a little swing in your step, drawing Hangman’s eyes straight to your ass.

He quickly followed after you, saddling up right next to you at the bar. “Penny, m’dear,” he grabbed the woman’s attention. “Can I get another beer and uh- whatever she’s having goes on my tab.” She nodded, wiping out a glass and looking at you, “What can I get you?” You smiled, “Bourbon, neat please.”

Jake’s brows lifted and he smirked, “A woman after my own heart. So, I take it you aren’t on the job?” “I’m always on the job, Lieutenant. But I thought no harm can come in letting loose for a bit.” Jake barely suppressed the groan when you called him ‘Lieutenant’, and you apparently heard it because you smirked.

Penny brought your drinks by and Jake sat down.

“So, any luck?” He asked, sipping his drink. You sipped yours, shaking your head a little, “Nothing yet. But we’re doing what we can.” “Anything I can do to help?” You looked at him. “Agent-” “Y/N, you can call me Y/N.” He smiled a little, “Y/N, I may not have known these men but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Their families deserve the truth.”

You smiled at him, “Well, Lieutenant-” “Jake, you can call me Jake,” he said with a small smirk. “Jake,” you tested it out and he smiled. “Tell me what you know, or what you heard about them before their deaths.”

*******

You and Jake spent some time talking about the sailors and you mentioned them being cheated on.

“Oh, yeah, I think I heard Lieutenant Crole say something about that. He came home to find her and some other guy.” You nodded, “Yeah. He took it pretty hard according to his brother.” Jake nodded, “It sucks. Not being able to start a family. Worried that when you come home they won’t be waiting for you, or they will be, just in the arms of someone else.”

You frowned, eyeing him in concern, “You sound like you speak from experience.” He frowned and shook his head a little, sipping his drink, “My mom was in the service, Marines. My dad cheated on her a lot…” It was silent for a moment before Jake cleared his throat, “Which is why I’m not one for settling down, at least not for a while.” You nodded, “I can relate. Being away all the time isn’t easy. Sometimes I get so wrapped up in a case I forget what’s waiting for me at home…”

That wasn’t a lie. You did get wrapped up in cases, get personally involved. You had a significant other at one time, and they were great. But you had a really close call one time and they couldn’t take the constant worrying, so they left. Only to turn up dead because a werewolf had gotten to them to get back at you.

You quickly moved past the subject to continue talking, moving on from the sailors to yourselves.

********

A few hours later, you and Jake got into a competitive game of darts.

“Okay, if I get three in a row, you let me take you out?” Jake offered, nodding towards the dart board. You hummed, looking over his face, “That’s a big bet.” He shrugged, “I’m confident.” You smiled, “Okay, I’ll bite.” He smirked at you and readied a dart. “But if I get three in a row, I get to see what you’re hiding under those khakis,” you looked at him through your lashes, bringing a sultriness into your tone.

His brows lifted in amusement, “Well, what if we both get three in a row?” “Then everyone wins.” You winked and could see him shudder slightly before he covered it with a smirk.

He threw the darts, landing three in a row.

Jake looked down at you, “Where would you like to go?” He smirked and went to collect the darts.

You took them from him, rolling them in your hands slightly. He arched his brow, waiting for your response. You smiled and turned to the board, throwing each dart.

All three hit the middle.

You turned back to Jake, your hand flattening on his chest, “Why don’t we discuss it in the morning-” You got on your toes to talk in his ear, “Lieutenant.” You could have sworn he whimpered, but he definitely brought his hands to grip your hips.

You turned to look in his eyes, “Meet me outside.”

Jake nodded obediently and nearly kissed you when you mumbled the command against his lips.

******

After Jake bid his farewells to the squad, he immediately placed you in his truck and took you to his on base house.

As soon as you were in the door, Jake was pressing you against the wall. Your hands were immediately in his hair, pulling him even closer to you. He brought a hand up to cup your face and the other wrapped around your waist as he hoisted you onto your toes.

He pressed his lips to yours slowly, completely contrasting the way both hastily came into the home. Your lips worked together and it was sweet, but you needed more.

You pressed your tongue against his lips, moaning when he granted you entrance. You pushed your chest up, needing a better angle. He slightly pulled back from the wall and moved his hands to your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze and silently telling you to jump. You did and his massive hands supported your thighs as he pushed you back against the wall.

He pulled back to let you both catch your breath, but he was going right in and kissing your neck.

He found your sweet spot fairly quickly, drawing another moan from your throat. Jake chuckled against your skin and nipped at your jaw, “Keep making those sounds and we won’t make it to the bedroom.” You moan again, head falling to the side to give him more room.

Jake smirks before pressing his hips up and pushing his hard-on against your center. “Fuck,” you whimpered out, griding down against him. “Jake, fuck-” Your lips finds his again, “Take me to bed.” “Yes, ma’am.”

As he walked down the hall towards his room, leaving you free access to his neck.

He made quick moves to get to his room.

Once he was in there he tossed you on the bed, “Darlin’, I almost took you in the hallway. But I don’t think my friends would appreciate that.” He shut and locked his door before turning back to you while unbuttoning his khaki shirt. The sight his green orbs landed on was one he would remember for a long time.

You perched up on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning the satin shirt and exposing the matching lace bra. “Fuck, Sweetheart,” Jake’s voice dropped and a rasp had settled in his throat. You could practically see his eyes dilate when you let the fabric fall off your shoulders and toss it to the floor.

You smiled at him as he walked over to you, “Like what you see?” He gently gripped your jaw as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, “Why don’t you look and find out?” He moved your line of sight to his crotch, letting you see just how strained his khaki pants had become. “Look what you’ve done to me, pretty girl,” he brought your eyes up to meet his eyes.

He smirked as your brows furrowed and you whimpered, feeling your hands make their way up his thighs. “I think I know what you want? You wanna stuff that pretty mouth of yours, don’t ya?” You nodded, your eyes doe-like as you licked your lips. “I need words, Sweetheart.” “Yes, Lieutenant. Please.” Jake let go of your jaw, “Take what you want.”

You slid onto your knees, still wearing your jeans and your boots.

Your fingers worked his belt as your lips pressed kisses against the outline of his cock.

The deep groan that left Jake’s throat went straight to your cunt, making you press your hips back hoping to create some sort of relief- using the tightness of your jeans to try and create friction. “Oh, don’t think I didn’t see that Princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

You opened his belt and popped open the button, pulling the zipper down with your teeth.

Reaching up with your arms and following with your body, you pushed his undershirt and uniform shirt up his torso to give you more room to work. You kissed along his hip bones, his Adonis belt, snapping his underwear band against his v-line with one hand and palming him with the other, before finally reaching in and pulling his cock out.

“Fuck…” You whimper out, lightly running your fingers over his shaft. “You’re cock is fucking pretty,” you looked up at him through your lashes.

Jake nearly came right there, despite knowing you were far from it- you looked so innocent right then. And all Jake wanted to do was ruin you.

He sucked in a short breath when you licked his tip, blowing air on it afterwards. “Shit, Sweetheart,” his hand moved to the side of your face, thumb gently rubbing your jaw. You flattened your tongue, running it up the underside of his cock.

Jake watched you gather a little more saliva on your tongue before watching it drip off your tongue and onto his dick. “Your mouth is just watering isn’t it, Darlin’?” “Yes, Lieutenant.”

There was that name again. “Come on, don’t keep us both waitin’,” Jake hummed out, moving his hand to gently thread in your hair.

You got the hint and took him into your mouth. The content growl that left his lips had you moaning around him. “Fuck, that’s a good girl.” Your eyes snapped up to him, as a whimper left your full mouth.

His eyes lit up in realization, “Oh, you like it when I tell you you’re a good girl?” You nodded as best you could before bobbing your head on his cock. “Fuck, well, let’s see if my good girl can take any more of my ‘pretty cock’.”

He watched your eyes widen and dilate with lust. Holy shit, he wouldn’t last if you kept doing that.

The word ‘my’ sent a whole new wave of arousal through you, and your loud moan was muffled by his is dick. You inhaled deeply through your nose, bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, and took what was left into your throat.

“OH FUCK,” Jake moaned out, not expecting the sudden action, but loving it all the same. His grip tightened in your hair, “Stay right there. Hoooly shiiit.” You swallowed around him and his hips jutted forward, making you gag.

He pulled you off, “Shit, I’m sorry.” You pouted, shaking your head. “No, it’s okay,” you caught your breath for a second. You wiped off the spit from the corner of your mouth before taking him in your hand again.

As you jerked him off, you rested your head against his thigh and your other hand came up to massage his balls. “Jake,” you looked up at him again, blinking seductively at him. His large palm was resting on the back of your head. “Yes Sweetheart?” You positioned your head to be right in front of his cock again.

“Fuck my face.”

He barely wasted a second shoved his cock in your mouth again, his hand gripping your hair again to keep you still. Your hands gripped his thighs and you were moaning and gagging around him.

He was groaning out praises as tears welled up in your eyes and his cock hit the back of your throat everytime.

Jake felt himself getting close, his chest was most likely as red as it felt, and he had to pull away.

You whined and tried to chase him. His hand moved to your face, sliding his thumb into your mouth, “Darlin’, I’m not gonna last, and I want to be in you when I cum.” He removed his thumb and kissed you, pulling you to your feet.

You pushed the khaki shirt to the floor and he laid you down on your back, not breaking the kiss as he laid on his side and used his leg to hook around yours and them open.

His skilled hands went to your jean button and undid it, pulling the zipper down and sliding his hand into your pants. “Oh~” Jake’s voice dropped as he moaned against your lips. “You got lace down here too, pretty girl?” He latched onto your neck, kissing and nipping at wherever he could reach.

One of your hands wrapped itself in the comforter and the other held the back of Jake’s head.

You were trying your best to stay still, but his fingertips were barely giving you any relief as the grazing over your clothed lips. With only a little bit of pressure, he had your hips twitching off the bed.

He chuckled darkly in your ear, “Oh, is my good girl desperate?” He applied more pressure to your clit through your underwear. You nodded, wiggling your hips to give yourself some relief as a whimper left your mouth. “Does she need my fingers? Are you feeling empty, pretty girl?” You nodded again, biting your bottom lip.

Jake's hand stopped.

No movement. No pressure. Just gone.

“I need words, Princess.” A whine left your lips and you buried your head into Jake’s neck.

You had never gotten this worked up before, and you certainly were never like this with previous partners before. But you liked it.

“Please, Jake. I need you, Jake. Please.”

He smirked, kissing your forehead, “That’s a good girl. Don’t make me tell you again.” He swiftly moved your underwear to the side and ran his middle finger through your now exposed lips. You moaned out in relief and your head fell back, “Yes, sir.”

Jake’s dick jumped when the title left your lips. He let out a groan and his head fell forward and attached his lips to your chest, placing his ear right next to your mouth and hearing every sound that left your mouth.

His experienced digits ran over your pussy and rubbed your clit, collecting the arousal that pooled there.

When he collected enough, he brought them to your chest and neck, rubbing your own juices on your skin. He moaned contently and licked it up, moving his hand back down to your cunt.

“Jake, fuck,” you chest heaved and he could feel your pulse thrumming against his lips. “You taste delicious, Sweetheart,” he sucked a mark on your neck before pulling back to look you in the face.

“Oh, sweet girl, you look so fucked out already. I’ve barely touched you.” “Jake, fuck, please,” you whined, your eyes locking on his green ones. “Please what Princess?” “I need your fingers, please.” He smirked and kissed you hotly, pushing his middle finger into you.

You exhaled through your nose, moaning into Jake’s mouth as his digit massaged your walls. “That feel good?” “Yes, it feels s’good.” “You’re doing great,” he brought his free hand to the back of your head, holding it up as he kissed you again, his thumb now drawing figure eights on your clit.

He picked up the pace, making sure to curl his finger everytime. “You’ve been s’good for me, darlin’. Think you can take another one?” He asked against your lips, stilling his hand. “Mhhmm,” you whimpered out, but remembered he wanted words.

“Yes, I can take another one. Please.”

Jake smiled, “Thatta girl.” He pushed on your head to look down at where he was finger fucking you. He kept his eyes on you as he eased another finger into you. “Shit~ Jake,” you groaned, your voice shaking a little.

You turned your head to look at him, but he nudged you with his nose. “Eyes down here, sweet girl. I want you to watch me ruin you.” His eyes darkened when you whimpered and did as you were told.

He started off slow, letting you get comfortable and used to the new stretch while scissoring his fingers. But when he felt your clit twitch and your slick begin to coat his hand, he picked up the pace.

When your moans got louder and your chest started to get red, showing off the bruises he had put there, he couldn’t help but rut his hips in search of friction. You feel it, his cock dragging against your hip.

Blindly, you moved your hand in between your bodies and gripped him.

He groaned in your ear, “Fuck, sweetheart, what-” “Jus’ wanna help, sir,” you kept your eyes where he told you, watching his fingers slide out just to get pulled back in your clenching walls. You used both your saliva and his precum as lubrication as you tried your best to move your hand in sync with his.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” his own hips began to thrust up. “Are you close, sweetheart? Please tell me you are. I need to be inside you- Fuck!” He latched onto your neck again, trying to keep himself at bay. “I’m close, Jake. Can- can I-” “Yes! God yes, fucking touch yourself, pretty girl.” Your hand that had found its home in his sheets moved to your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles.

He started grunting in your ear, trying to be quiet. “Let me hear you, Jake.”

Jake immediately obeyed, letting the breathiest yet most obscene moans come out of his mouth. “I can feel your pussy squeezing around my fingers. Come on, just a little more Sweetheart.”

His words and the loud, gruff moans in your ear sent you over the edge. Your clit pulsing under your own fingers and your walls fluttering around Jake’s.

Jake had to flex to hold himself back at the moan you let out. Your back arched off the bed, booted heels pressing into the mattress as you probably ruined that pair of underwear.

He pressed kisses to your head, neck and shoulder as you came off your high, giving you time to compose yourself. “How was that, Darlin’?” You chuckled, “Good, so fucking good.”

Smiling, he kissed your lips and pulled back to get off the bed, dragging you with him.

You smiled, sitting at the edge, pulling off your boots as you watched him toe of his dress shoes and start stripping. You lifted your hips up and slid your jeans off before turning onto your hands and knees to get back to the middle of the bed.

“Stop.”

You stopped, your cunt clenching around nothing at the tone of his voice. You felt his hand press down on your back and you realized what he wanted you to do.

Straightening your arms out, you arched your back, presenting your ass to him.

A growl rumbled deep in Jake’s chest, his rough hands groping at the globes of your ass and he huffed out a breath as his callouses got caught on the lace. You moaned at the feeling and pressed back into his hands.

“Doll, as much as I’d loved to fuck you like this. I need to watch you fall apart,” he groaned, one hand gripping your hips as the other unclasped your bra. You whined a little, sitting up a little to let the bra fall down your arms.

His large hands wrapped around your ribs and helped lay you down on your back.

Once you were situated and comfortable, Hangman sat back on his heels, taking in the sight in front of him.

His hands rested on your hips, thumbs moving back and forth on your skin. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Y/N,” he breathed out before pulling your panties off. You giggled, “I think you’ve made that obvious.”

He furrowed his brow but followed your eye line to his cock, realizing what you were insinuating. He braced himself on his forearms, looking you directly in the eye. “No, I mean it. You’re fucking breathtaking. From your looks straight down to the way you hold yourself. I don’t think I’ve ever met a girl like you before. And I don’t think anyone will ever hold a candle to you.”

You felt a twist in your chest as a genuine, full smile pulled at your lips. Looking straight into his eyes, everything felt right, felt clear. And Jake felt the same, he felt like he was on cloud nine – a feeling he only felt in his plane.

Reaching up, you met his lips.

“Make love to me Jake,” you whispered against his lips, missing his eyes when they closed as he huffed out a breath.

He shifted his weight to one of his arms, using his other hand to line himself up with your entrance. He pressed forward, pushing in slowly and watching your face to make sure everything was okay.

He fully seated himself inside of you, letting out a shaky groan when he did. “Holy- you feel perfect.” His right hand came up and cupped your breast, goosebumps forming on the heated skin as the cold metal of his class ring made contact with your flesh. Jake lowered his head and wrapped his lips around your nipple, his tongue circling it.

Your left hand came up and held the back of his head again. “Fuck, Jake, s’full. I need you to move. Please.” Jake kept his hand on your boob, using his thumb to spread his spit around, causing even more goosebumps.

He leaned back, moving his hips slowly but with intention, hitting a spot inside you that you had no idea was there. “Oh shit,” you moaned out looking down at where your bodies were conjoined. Where you could feel every vein in his cock as he slowly thrust into you.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he said, voice gentle but demanding. When you didn’t look up, he moved his grip from your chest to your chin. “Pretty girl~” He cooed, watching your eyes flutter to him. “I want you to look at me. Can you be a good girl and do that?” You nodded, “I can try.” He smiled and kissed your nose, “Good girl.”

A pathetic whimper left your mouth and Jake felt you clench around him.

His hand moved the side of your head and he picked up his thrust, still watching your expressions to make sure he wasn’t hurting you.

“Jake -fuck- faster,” you moaned, bending your legs at the knee to adjust the angle. He picked up his pace, his hips slamming into the back of your thighs and his pelvic bone stimulating your clit.

Hangman’s grunts and moans were loud, turning you on more than he thought they would. He never thought his sounds would do anything to anyone, but here you were proving him very wrong.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing my cock so well, Princess,” he groaned, throwing his head back as your ankles crossed behind his back. His green eyes had basically become black as you held eye contact and a series of short whines and moans left your throat.

Jake angled his hips upward and hit a spot that pulled a guttural moan from your throat, and had your entire body spasming. He had been concerned that he had hurt you but the way you used the leverage of his waist to grind down on him told him you were reaching your peak again.

You threw your arms around him, pulling him as close as you could. He rested his forehead on yours, his eyes clenching shut at the endorphins flooding his entire system as he felt his resolve breaking.

You could feel him shaking with pleasure just as much as you were, his hips stuttering every time you clench around him. “Jake, I’m close. I’m so close.”

He nodded against you, “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.” He moved his left hand to rubbed your clit and his moans got louder in your ear. “Ooooooh fuck,” he panted, giving you a few hard thrust before continuing his fast pace.

He panted more, his breath fanning over your face as his eyes squeezed shut.

Jake’s face of pure pleasure and his vocalness, mixed with his ministrations, sent you over the edge. Your body shook, back arching, head thrown back as he worked your clit through the intense feeling. You moaned out his name, nearly screaming. “Thatta girl. Cum on my cock, I got you.”

His hips stuttered and his eyes opened slightly, “Fuck, where do you want it?” “Inside me. Cum inside me-” Jake’s pace picked up as his face fell into your neck, groans and pants were directly in your ear.

“Cum for me Lieutenant,” you panted, arms wrapping tightly around him as his few final thrusts jostled your body.

He finished with a loud groan, his entire body tensing and shaking as his arms wrapped around your body. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my…” Jake panted into your neck, nuzzling into it.

Your chests heaved together as your hand scratched the back of his head. “That- that was-” “Amazing,” he chuckled breathlessly into your neck. “I don’t think I’ve came that hard in my life.” You hummed, “Me either.”

He gently pulled out of you, apologizing when you hissed a little bit.

He got up and slid his boxers back on, “I’ll be right back.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

He came back with a warm rag and gently cleaned you up before tossing the rag in his laundry basket. He went to his drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers, “Here, put these on.” As you did that he went to his closet and got a hoodie.

Jake kneeled on the bed and slipped it on you. You giggled a little at the extra length on the sleeves. He chuckled, kissing the side of your head before turning off his lights, the only light being the moon from outside. “Come on, lay with me.”

So, you did.

You laid there all night, talking about anything and everything. Eventually you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

********

Your eyes shot open, your chest heaving slightly because of the nightmare you just had.

You felt a pressure on your waist, making you look down to find a muscular arm. You followed it up to find Jake sleeping peacefully next to you. You smiled at him, his face was so relaxed.

The soft snores that left his mouth made your lips quirk into a smile, but then a deep frown settled on your face.

Jake was peaceful in his sleep, not having to worry about what went bump in the night. The only thing that plagued his sleep was flashbacks, things that were a real danger to everyone – things that people believed in and knew happened in life. Not creatures that lurked in the shadows or you made deals with.

You would never sleep peacefully, not anytime soon anyway. You slept with one eye open and a loaded gun under your pillow. Your dreams were filled with monsters and demons, death and pain. When you did have good dreams, they often turned sour if you slept too long. Turning from having a lovely family to walking in to find them either gone or dead because of your previous life.

You could never have the life you dreamt of as a kid, you never believed it was in the cards for you once you started hunting outside of your home state – especially when you began hunting with the Winchesters.

So, despite the weight in your chest –the little girl that just wants a family– that begged you to stay, you managed to pry yourself from Jake’s arms and the comfort of his bed.

The moment your feet hit the floor, you felt sick. Like your body was telling you that you had to stay. But your brain knew better and your heart felt inclined to agree, because your mind had always known what was best for you – right?

You quickly changed, dropping the hoodie he lended you right where you had fallen asleep.

It was hard to breathe as your hand pulled open his door and shut it behind you. You leaned back against it, questioning your decision of leaving.

This was just a one night stand, right? It was just a hook-up, nothing more.

So why was it so hard to leave?

You pushed yourself away from the door, checking around to make sure Jake’s housemates wouldn’t see you.

You figured you were in the clear by the time you passed the kitchen.

“Oh God, Y/N. You didn’t-” “Fuck! Robert, what the hell?” You turned, eyes wide as you looked at your brother standing in the kitchen with a coffee. You gulped, adjusting your shirt to cover you more.

He sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back, “Which one?” You blinked, “Excuse me?” “Rooster or Hangman?”

Your heart lurched at the second one but you had to play it off. “It’s none of your business.” “I’d like to know which pilot is gonna be pissed at work today, waking up to an empty bed isn’t normal for either of them.” “Well, sucks to be you Robby, I have to go.” You found your purse and left, leaving Bob in the kitchen by himself.

********

Not an hour after you left Jake woke up.

Something didn’t feel right and when he opened his eyes to find you gone, he knew that’s what it had to be. He balled the hoodie up in his hands, sitting cross legged on his bed, just staring down at the article of clothing.

He wasn’t sure why you left –or why you leaving affected him so much. He felt hurt, embarrassed.

Jake had let himself be vulnerable with you; told you his dreams and how he didn’t think he would ever make it as far as he had. He’d never even told his closest friends the things he told you last night.

And he felt that you were vulnerable with him, putting your heart on your sleeve, just for him to see.

But maybe he was wrong. And he hated it. He never liked being vulnerable, being vulnerable got him hurt.

He let out a laugh, a condescending laugh aimed mostly toward himself. “You really fuckin’ thought- God Jake, you’re an idiot.” He threw the hoodie and got out of his bed.

He got dressed for work and went to the kitchen, finding both Bradley and Bob chatting over breakfast.

“And he emerges!” Rooster announced upon seeing him. Jake just rubbed his face and rolled his eyes. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Jake felt a pang deep in his chest, but he refrained from a snarky comment.

Bob suddenly connected Jake’s bad mood to your escape barely two hours ago. But Jake was way more torn up than he thought he would be.

“I see your date already left.” Bob watched Jake’s nostrils flare at Rooster’s comment. But he didn’t snap, he simply grumbled out, “Well, guess you both lucked out on some chick overstaying her welcome here.”

Jake hated the way he just referred to you, the phrase bitter on his tongue.

Rooster scoffed, brows raised in amusement, “‘Some chick’? Hangman I watched you leave with one very Special Agent Gibbs last night.” Jake’s lip quirked up into a snarl at Rooster’s choice of words, but he didn’t speak.

His roommates watched him go about his morning not making any comments about his sexcapaped or how he charmed her while offering them tips.

*********

Jake was more of an ass than usual today. Constantly having something snarky or egotistical to say to anyone, having more of a bite than usual.

“What is up with him today? I thought we were past this?” Fanboy asked Rooster during their break. Rooster shrugged, honestly a little concerned himself, “I don’t know. I think his hook-up leaving without a note is affecting him more than he thinks it is.”

They didn’t know Hangman could hear them, or how right they were. But Jake was just going to put up more walls, hoping they were strong enough for when he inevitably saw you again.

***********

You barely left your motel room, choosing to lay in bed and feel sorry for yourself.

“Hey! Y/N,” Sam used his key to come in, his face scrunching up in confusion when he didn’t see you at first. But then it fell when he saw you curled up under the covers of your bed.

He came over and knelt by the bed, “Hey, you okay?” “Is one ever okay in this life, Sam?” He furrowed his brows, you’d never shown doubt that this wasn’t the life you wanted. You told both of them yourself that you’d wanted to hunt since you were a teenager and that you took up local cases in college. As far as anyone in the hunter world was concerned – you were born for this life.

“I don’t know. I guess that’s up to whoever you ask,” Sam gave you a sympathetic smile. You shifted, laying more on your side to face Sam.

“What was it like? When you were at Stanford, away from all of this?” He sighed, “Honestly?” You nodded, “As honest as you can give me.” “The thoughts never left, the instincts to check every dark corner and under the bed were still there,” he looked into your eyes, seeing you hanging on every word. “But,” he started again. “It was nice to feel normal for once. I had a glimpse of what was out there. It was nice.”

You sat up, propping yourself on your hand. “Do you regret coming back? Do you wish that you would’ve just told Dean to fuck off that night?” He sighed, “Sometimes yeah. But how would I know if things turned out differently? Maybe Jess would be alive, maybe she still would have died, but I’ll never know.” “Does that not bother you?” “As a Winchester you stop being bothered by a lot of things.”

You brought your knees up, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your chin on your knees, “I guess it’s just not in the cards for us.” “I wouldn’t say that. Maybe it’s all a matter of circumstance.” You turned your head, looking at Sam with tears in your eyes, “Is it worth it? Getting out? Chasing a life that you thought only existed in fairytales…”

Sam blinked, his eyes studying you. Never once had he believed you would think about getting out. You’d always shown this intimate knowledge and this passion for hunting and helping people in a way no one else could.

So he wondered why you were questioning everything all of a sudden.

But before he could voice it, your phone rang.

You quickly answered it, “Agent Gibbs.” Sam moved to sit on your bed. “Y/N, we got another one. A pilot, Lieutenant Junior Grade Parson,” it was Jimmy. “Oxytocin levels were high and cops said his friends saw him leave the bar with a girl.” “Okay, thank you for letting me know.” “Okay.” You hung up and looked at Sam.

“We,” you scratched your forehead. “We have another body. Lieutenant Junior Grade Parson, he was a pilot.” Sam nodded, “Okay, Dean and I will go check it out.”

He got up moving to leave, but he turned to you.

“Hey, if you need to talk-” “Thanks Sam,” you smiled gently at him, laying back down. He gave you a tight lip smile and left.

Outside, Dean was waiting for him.

“Where’s Y/N?” Sam glanced back at your door. “She -uh- she’s gonna stay in for a little bit. We both know she didn’t come home until this morning, she needs to get over her hangover. But we have another body, we need to go to the ME’s office.”

Dean nodded and uncrossed his arms to get in his car, “Alright, let’s go. We couldn’t go get the vials last night, might as well get the fresh blood.”

*******

They pulled into the ME’s office.

“Sam, Dean, glad you could make it. I take it you’re here for the blood?” The brothers nodded, “Yeah.” “Where’s Y/N?” “She stayed out last night. We aren’t sure what she was doing but she didn’t come back until early this morning,” Sam told him.

Jimmy just nodded and went to go get the blood from the storage area.

But he came back empty handed, “They’re gone. All of the vials are gone.” “The blood is gone?” Dean asked with a brow raised. “Who could have taken them?” Jimmy shrugged, “I don’t know. No one else is allowed back there except for me and- son of bitch!” Sam stepped forward, “Who else has access, Jimmy?” Jimmy put his hands on his hips, “My assistant.”

*******

You nursed a beer as you sat in the little kitchen of the motel room.

The ache in your chest and the pit in your stomach hadn’t gone away. As hard as it was to believe, you missed him. Missed the feeling of being under him – being around him.

Your phone rang. “Floyd.”

“Y/N, we gotta go to the bar.”

Your chest fluttered with hope before it filled with anxiety. Going to the bar meant seeing him again, and you couldn’t say with confidence that you wouldn’t run to him and spill everything. Your true line of work, monsters – all of it.

“Did you get the vials?” You asked standing up. “No, Jimmy’s assistant is the siren. She took the vials before we got there,” Dean grumbled. “Get changed, we’ll meet you there.”

*********

Jake played pool with Coyote, not really trying his hardest.

“Okay, what the fuck is up with you?” Javy asked. Hangman furrowed his brows, “What are you talkin’ about?” His friend sighed, “You’ve been a bigger ass than usual today, and now-” He gestured to the table. “-you act that you don’t give two shits about this game. What the hell dude?”

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose, “‘Yote, look, nothing’s going on. I just-” The bell chimed and it pulled Jake’s attention to the door.

And all the walls he built came tumbling down.

He watched you walk over, a clear drive in your step as your eyes were set on Bob.

But when you got over and looked up, your confidence faltered and your eyes widened. Your eyes locked on Jake’s and they didn’t want to leave.

“Agent Gibbs,” Bob spoke up. “How can we help you?” You blinked, stumbling over your words as you tore your gaze from Jake. “Uh, yes. Yes, did any of you know Lieutenant Parsons?” The squad nodded, “Yeah, he’s a pilot in the TOPGUN program, why?” You sighed, “He was found dead on the beach this morning.”

The group was silent, processing the information given to them.

“He left with a girl, not too long after she began talking to him,” Bob started. He had watched a girl emerge from the bathroom and walk right up to the young pilot, say a few words before sipping his drink and handing it back for him to sip from. Then he got up and followed her out, he thought it was just a coincidence but now that you were here, he learned it was exactly what you had told him it was.

“Did you see what the girl looked like?” “Blonde, tan, maybe 5’6”.” You nodded, “Did anyone know the Lieutenant personally?” “Hangman, you were pretty close with Parry weren’t you?”

Payback's voice drew Hangman out of his thoughts. “Oh, yeah, yeah I knew him pretty well. He went to school with my sister.”

“Did he say anything to you recently?” Jake swallowed when you addressed him, suddenly feeling nervous. “Yeah, he said his best friend sent him videos of his girl back home. Let’s just say they weren’t friends after that.”

You nodded, “Thank you. I’ll let you guys get back to your night.”

“Agent?” You turned, “Yes, Lieutenant?” “Can I talk to you, alone?” Jake nodded toward the deck door. “Of course.”

You followed Jake outside and he leaned against the rail.

“Jake, look-” “Why did you leave?” Your breath caught in your throat, your bullshit excuse dying on your tongue. “Because I can’t let you get hurt.” “You leaving hurt, Y/N. I thought…” He shook his head and rocked on his feet as he looked at the sand.

You took a cautious step forward, “Thought what Jake?” He scoffed, standing up straight, “That last night was more than just a hook-up.” “It was, Jake. That’s why I had to leave…” His nostrils flared, “That makes no goddamn sense. We pour our hearts out to each other and you just fucking leave? I bare my heart to you and you throw it away!”

“I can’t let you get killed because of me Jake! Everyone that I let into my life dies!” You finally shouted back. “What do you mean?” “Jake, with my line of work-” “Being a federal agent? Yeah I know that’s dangerous but-” “No! God! Jake, there are things in this world that you don’t understand! Things that only live to cause pain and suffering. Things that go bump in the night. I’m not NCIS Special Agent Gibbs,” you threw your badge down. “I’m Y/N Floyd. I’m a hunter. I hunt monsters.”

Jake blinked at you, his stomach twisting in knots and his heart felt full of cement. “You hunt monsters? Like werewolves, vampires, the fuckin’ boogieman?” You threw your arms out, the weight of that secret being lifted off your chest, “Yes!”

Foolishly, you hoped Jake would understand and let you go, and maybe that pit in your heart would go away.

But he laughed.

Right in your face.

“You really think I’m stupid enough to believe that? That you can just say some outlandish bullshit and I’d believe you?” His throat burned as he said the words, because he wanted to believe you. The look in your eyes was the same one he saw last night as you both told the other about how much having a family mattered to you. But what you were saying was ridiculous. Monsters? Those weren’t real.

He bit his lip and shook his head, “God, and to think I thought you were different.” He watched your heart shatter and he felt his crumble. He pushed it away and shoulder checked you before walking back inside, leaving you there as rain clouds rolled in.

Bob watched Jake walk in and right toward him. “Your sister needs a reality check, Floyd,” he said right in the WSO’s ear before getting another drink from the bar.

*******

You sat at the bar, drowning yourself in bourbon.

“Whoever the guy was, he’s stupid to stand you up,” a male voice said from in front of you. You looked up to see a bartender, a rag thrown over his shoulder. He was tall, with tan skin and striking green eyes, his blond hair styled perfectly. “Hi, I’m Evan.”

You downed the glass, grimacing as you swallowed, “Wasn’t stood up. I -uh- just got a lot going on.” “I can see that,” he leaned on his forearms. “Wanna talk about it?” You shook your head, tapping your glass on the table, “You wouldn’t understand. But I’ll take another round.”

He gave you a sad smile and poured you another glass. “Just cause I might not understand doesn’t mean I won’t listen.” You scoffed, sipping the amber liquid, “It’s a lot to hear, trust me.”

Evan sighed, his tactic wasn’t working, just like it failed to work on Jake the previous night.

A loud cheer drew your attention to the aviators at the pool table, and you caught eyes with Jake. That’s when it clicked, why nothing worked on Jake the previous night and why it wasn’t going to work now. Evan couldn’t lure you in with his words before putting you under his spell – he just had to go straight for the kill.

Before you turned back around, Evan took a sip of your drink, sitting it back down with the side he drank from facing you.

You turned back with tears in your eyes, but you didn’t touch the drink. “Hey, Sweetheart, it’s okay, he’s an idiot.” You cut your eyes at him, “Don’t call me that.” The way he said it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He nodded, “Got it. Apologies.” You downed the rest of your drink and Evan smirked.

Suddenly you felt light headed. “Oh, I think you’ve had too much, let me get you home.” Evan rounded the bar before you could say anything. You felt like you should protest, that this wasn’t the guy you needed to take care of you. But you couldn’t resist and followed him out.

****

Jake had watched you leave with the bartender he didn’t recognize and he felt a deep pull in his gut that told him you were in trouble, but he shook his head and went back to playing pool.

Phoenix must have noticed it too because when Penny helped Fanboy deliver the next round she asked when she got a new bartender. Penny shook her head, “I didn’t hire a new guy.”

Jake's blood ran cold and he met Bob’s eyes before both were ditching their cues and booking it out the doors.

They ran into Sam and Dean on the way out. “Where’s Y/N?” Jake asked. Dean shrugged, “Inside, we told her to meet us here.” “No, she just left with some guy.” Sam perked up, “What does he look like?” “Like Hangman,” Bob said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “It’s the siren. We have to find them, come on.”

Jake moved to follow Bob to his truck when Dean stopped him, “You have to stay here.” Jake squared up, “Like hell I’m staying here. She needs me.” “I can’t let you get hurt.” “I don’t give a fuck if I get hurt! She might die! I’m going.” Jake ripped his arm out of Dean’s grip and got in Bob’s truck.

Dean looked up at Sam, “I don’t think we have much of a choice Dean.”

******

You sat on the couch of your motel room, the siren walking back and forth, twirling the brass blade.

“You know Y/N. You’ve had a lot of hardships when it comes to love. You just can’t get it right can you?” He squatted in front of you, “You’ve tried to have the ‘apple pie life’, but you just can’t give up hunting- can you? It got your last partner killed. And this last one, well he just didn’t believe you.”

He pulled you up by your hands, “You’re never going to achieve that life, Y/N. You’ll never have it. No matter how hard you try. So why don’t you just end it now? End it for me, and I’ll help you create that life in another world.”

The siren pressed the blade into your hand. “Do it.”

Tears ran down your face as you looked at the knife; you didn’t want to, but your body was telling you to plunge that blade straight into your chest – you couldn’t control yourself.

But just before you could, the door swung open with Jake, Sam, Dean, and Bob running inside.

Evan grabbed your shoulders, pushing the blade towards your heart. “Fucking do it, Y/N.”

“Y/N don’t!” Bob’s shout made you jump and the blade moved and you stabbed yourself in the side. You fell to the ground, knocking into the coffee table. “Shit!” Bob ran to catch you so your head didn’t hit the ground.

Jake watched the blood pool on the carpet and stain your brother’s hands. He glanced over to where Sam and Dean were fighting with the guy. That’s when he saw the guys face in a mirror, seeing the siren’s true form. “Holy shit…”

He looked to see where you were struggling against Bob, trying to pull the blade from your side. “Y/N, no you’ll bleed out. Stop. Stop!” You cried, “I can’t, Bob! I need to do this! Just let me.”

The blade wasn’t in all the way, but it was in enough that ripping it out could cause serious damage.

“Seresin! A little help!” Bob shouted, spurring Jake into action.

Jake immediately was at your side, pinning your arms down, placing his knee across your hips. “Bob, pull the knife out slowly and then I’ll put pressure on it.” “Jake-” “Rob! We need that blade!” Dean’s gruff voice sounded and more punches were thrown.

Bob sighed, extremely conflicted. “Bob,” Jake’s gentle voice echoed. “I’ve got her. I promise.” And Bob believed him.

Gently removing the blade, Jake grabbed a blanket to put pressure on the wound. “Come on, stay with me.”

“Y/N, use the gun on the floor!” The siren sang, and you easily wrestled out of Jake’s grip and grabbed the weapon.

Jake’s eyes widened and he lunged for you, gripping onto your wrist. “Y/N, Y/N no! You can fight this, c’mon. Fight him.” You sobbed underneath him, “I can’t. He’s right I’ll never-” Jake looked you directly in the eye, “Shut up. He’s not right, whatever the fuck he said to you isn’t right. You get to decide what’s right about you, not some freak of nature. You, Y/N Floyd, get to decide how you live your life. Whether or not that means falling in love is up to you.”

Hangman watched your eyes lose the glossiness that had settled over them, and you blinked a little bit. “Fuck, that was weird.” Jake chuckled in relief, you were back, “There she is.” You swallowed, keeping eye contact with the man above you, “Is it dead?” He shook head just as the blade slid on the ground, followed by a beat up Bob. “No, the bastard is very much alive.”

You tilted your head, confused, “Then how-” “Son of a bitch!” You sat up, glancing to see Sam unconscious and Dean trying to fight against the monster. “Shit,” you scrambled up and towards the blade.

Jake watched you pick up the blade and leap over the couch, stabbing the creature in the chest and twisting the blade before ripping it out.

“Holy shit.” Jake scrambled up and over to you. “That was badass, Sweetheart.” “Thanks,” you breathed out, feeling light headed. You swayed a little, causing both Jake and Dean to reach out and steady you. “You okay, kid?” Dean asked, looking at your wound. You nodded, “Yeah- yeah, I’m-”

Before you couldn’t finish your sentence, you fell limp into Jake’s arms. “Y/N!”

*****

A few hours felt like an eternity to Jake as he waited by your bedside for you to wake up.

Bob sat on the other side, leg bouncing nervously as he watched the rise and fall of your chest. “Floyd, she’s gonna be okay,” Jake reassured. “How can you know?” Jake shrugged, reaching out to grab your hand. “I just feel it.”

About 30 minutes later, your eyes fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl,” Jake drawled next to you, sleep lacing his voice. “How long have I been out?” “A few hours. But you’ll be fine. This fella-” Jake sat up, stretching his back. “-Castiel, I believe is what Dean over there called him. He patched you up real nice.” You chuckled, but then realized what Jake had witnessed.

“Oh my gosh. You must have so many questions.” He nodded, “I did but Bob and your friends helped sort everything out, so I have a bit of understanding.” You nodded, smiling a little at him.

He smiled back and kissed your knuckles, “I’m sorry for not believing you before.” You shook your head, “I wouldn’t have believed me either.” You squeezed his hand, “But would you believe me if I said that I didn’t want to leave?” Jake nodded, “Yeah. Would you believe me if I said that I didn’t believe in love at first sight until you walked into the bar?” You smiled, “Yeah, because I was the same way.”

“Y/N, good you’re awake,” Cass’s gruff voice pulled your attention away from Jake. “Hey, Cass, thanks for fixin’ me up.” He nodded curtly before sitting down on the bed. “I have some questions.”

You nodded, “Shoot.”

“Did you break out of the siren’s spell before you killed it?” You nodded, frowning a little, “I did, why?” “How?” You squeezed Jake’s hand, “Jake pulled me out, I don’t really know how that worked but he did.” Cass nodded. “And I never felt fully under the spell, like my body was doing it but my mind, heart, whatever, was telling me to stop. It was weird.”

Cass nodded again, “That’s because you found your soulmate.” “I’m sorry, what?” “Jake, he is your soulmate. Siren’s have little power over soulmate bonds as strong as yours, that’s why he was able to pull you out of the spell.”

Jake looked at you, smiling like a fool.

“That explains why I’m so comfortable around you.” “And why my heart felt heavy after I left.” Jake pulled you in for a sweet kiss.

When you pulled away, you mumbled against his lips, “That’s why I’m questioning everything I thought I knew.” “What do you-” “I’m gonna stop hunting. Right here, right now.” “You’d give that up for me?” “Yes!” “I couldn’t ask you to give that up.” You shook your head, “You’re not. I’ve wanted to get out, but I thought it was never possible. That I could never have the life I’ve dreamt of, but these past few days have turned what I thought I knew on it’s head.”

“I think you’ve been spending time with us too much,” Dean chuckled out. “You deserve this, Y/N,” Sam smiled at you and Jake. “Are you sure?” They nodded and you turned to Jake, “That settles it, I’m staying here.” Jake smiled, “And I know the perfect place.”

**********

thank you guys for making it to the end! i hope this crossover was accurate

i have plenty of ‘x readers’ in the drafts so if you want more let me know

and my asks are open, feel free to request what you would like to see next

feedback is greatly appreciated!

tags <3: @milesdickpic @luckyladycreator2 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

<3 love ya babes

#jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x fem!reader #floyd!reader #supernatural #x reader #supernatural/top gun maverick #crossover #dean winchester #sam winchester #top gun angst #soulmates #sirens #sirens vs soulmates #hangman angst #tw: suidice

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cannibalizecastiel · 2 years

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okay who wants a sneak peak of the vampire dean fic...

[ ID: While Cas was looking away, Dean felt like he was finally able to take him in, properly. His hair was starting to dry into these big curls that he guessed before this had been somewhat kept at bay by Cas’ grace. Cas’ hair was longer these days too. It was nothing like the rats nest haphazardly contained with Jimmy’s hair gel like when they first met though, it was something of his own now. He wondered how that felt to Cas, having a body of his own for the first time, no passenger along for the ride. He wore it well, Dean thought, pulled his gaze up and down the length of Cas’ body again, wrapped in Dean’s clothes, still faintly smelling like Dean himself. That thought made him wanna press his face up to Cas’ neck, inhale his skin.

He stared at Cas’ big square hands, something else he thought of as Cas’ alone. Jimmy didn’t have these when they first met, he was sure of it. Jimmy had those delicate kind of hands that only come with sitting behind a desk. Cas grew into these hands– soldier's hands, working man’s hands– all by himself. They would never be marred with callouses, chapped and cracked like Dean’s. Cas’ touch would always be soft with his grace like a vibrant living creature swirling under his skin.

“Dean,” Cas said, and he tore his gaze away, guilty somehow. He felt caught. “Are you hungry?”

Dean shook his head instinctively, forcing himself to stare at his boots propped up on the coffee table in front of them. Even as he did it he could hear the sound of Cas’ heartbeat thrumming in his ears, and felt his mouth watering. He swallowed it down.

“Dean.” Cas warned, voice rumbling and deep like a storm.

“Yeah.” Dean said breathless, and he felt a hot shiver of excitement run through his body. His gums tingled and ached, teeth pushing through the sensitive skin. It was more than food, nourishment, it was a fucking drug.

“Tell me what you want.” Cas said, each syllable carefully enunciated.

“Man,” Dean pushed himself upright, aware of how close they were sitting, the way Cas was pulling off the flannel– his flannel. “You know Cas. I need…” And even then he couldn’t fucking say it.

Cas pulled down the collar of his henley and Dean shook his head. He couldn’t do that again, pressed in so close to his body, taking it all in, so much at once, he wouldn't be able to stop. Instead he pulled Cas’ arm across his body, rolled the sleeve up to the elbow.

“This uh. This is safer.” Dean said, his voice rough.

Cas nodded, his other hand pawed at Dean’s thigh, then rested on his hip. “Do it.” He said, hushed.

Dean took a few steady breaths, felt his teeth push fully through his gums, the hot feverish rush that came before every feeding flow through his body, and haze his vision. He pressed his lips to the base of Cas’ wrist as if preparing himself, breathing in Cas’ clean scent, feeling his pulse. He realized after a moment how achingly like a kiss this was, over such a vulnerable part of Cas’ body, and that pushed him over the edge. He sunk his teeth in deep and listened to Cas hiss above him. The blood flooded into his mouth, hot and thick, almost choking him before he could swallow it down.

Cas’ hand gripped the corner of Dean’s flannel at his hip, eventually finding its way to the bare strip of skin above his pants, the hard rise of Dean’s hipbone and his soft fleshy side. His nails dug into the skin and Dean focused on the heat of his hand, the five pinpricks of pain. He pushed back, sinking his teeth in deeper, swallowing it all down, squeezing his eyes shut. Cas’ arm flexed under his grasp which made a sudden spurt of blood shoot into his mouth, filling his mouth, dribbling out the sides down his chin.

Cas’ blunt nails raked across his back, trailing heat behind them. Dean remembered the handprint on his shoulder, the way it radiated heat like that for weeks after. He was thankful that his body hadn’t healed it over, that it would stay, like the private inside of his ribcage, the marker of Cas’ touch, of his grace.

Cas was making these soft little encouraging sounds that Dean could just hear over the rush of blood. For the first time, he flicked his eyes up to Cas’ face, watched the way his pink mouth dropped open on a sharp inhale. Cas just stared him down, eyebrows scrunched together, mouth hanging open, obscene in a way that he couldn’t even realize. Dean couldn’t take it anymore and forced his eyes shut, slowly retracting his teeth until he had the courage to back off. ]

#no idea when this will be done #like 30k into it now and not much has happened plot wise just a lot of homosexual blood drinking <3

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norestwithoutlove · 3 years

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“If jimmy came back from the dead, what do you think he’d say when he finds out Dean and cas are together and have kids”

(i was asked this on twitter and shared there. but i know not all of you follow me there i thought i’d share on here too. this is how i answered)

sorry this one took a while to answer. i wanted time to think about it because i never even considered the thought before. a lot of people say to me "imagine if jimmy had never died in tbah" and kind of miss the point of the fic. like yeah, it’d be great. it’d be great if none of the people we loved had died. yeah, “imagine if jimmy had never died” misses the point - but this question doesn't. and i think it's what a lot of bereaved people wish for, anyway. just a chance to say everything, one last time.

where to start.

i think if jimmy came back for a day (and the thought makes me cry)... he'd knock on the door of the big white house. or they'd just find him sitting in his old armchair in the living room like nothing had happened at all. but something has happened, something massive and irreversible, so maybe him knocking on the door would fit better.

jack's probably the one to open it. he frowns and thinks he recognises the face smiling back at him, but it's older than he's ever seen it, and he's not so good with faces, so he's not sure. jimmy smiles and says hello, does castiel still live here?

and jack says “yes, why?”. jimmy still smiles. his smile is wider, warmer now. he says he's travelled very far. he says he's an old family friend. could he come in? it’s raining outside. it’s raining - and though jimmy stands under the porch, it’d be mean to leave him out in it. jack pulls open the door and says if jimmy is selling anything, they probably wont need it: they have everything they need in this house. jimmy smiles and says he's glad. he treads slowly down the hall, looking around him, like he's trying to savor it. he runs his finger along the crack in the mirror that has always been there, at least since jack arrived. he smiles to himself, but it’s a little sad.

he stops at a photo of dean and castiel playing on the tire swing they made when they were kids. his eyes pinch at their corners. jack says, “what are you smiling at?” jimmy says, i was there when that was taken. jack says “oh. that's my father”. and he points to castiel. jimmy turns to jack and smiles so wide tears wring out of his eyes. he asks, really? jack frowns and says “of course”. why would he lie about that? jimmy says, i hope he doesn't miss his own dad too much. jack says “sometimes he and dean get sad about it”. jimmy pauses. castiel and dean are friends? he asks. jack nods seriously. “best friends,” he answers. “everyone knows that.” jimmy takes a gentle hold of jack's shoulder and squeezes.

jack says “that's how dean squeezes my shoulder, too”. jimmy asks, you see him often? he asks it with a hopeful smile. jack nods with a frown, very serious. jimmy laughs and says, you know, you frown just like your father. funny thing, family resemblance. jack shrugs and says “maybe, but i was adopted”.

jimmy falters. he blinks. he glances down the corridor again, and his eyes light on a different picture, taken decades after the one on the tire swing. he treads slowly towards it. jack follows after him, speaking. “i just think,” he frowns, and it's still castiel's frown, “if you really were close family friends with castiel, you'd know he adopted his children.”

jimmy has stopped in front of the photograph and he stares at it, lips parted in a ghost-smile. family, friend. family, and a friend, jimmy corrects. that’s what i meant. i’m old family, and an old friend. jack watches him. “that's them on their wedding day,” he supplies. jimmy smiles. soft tears, tears like a gentle autumn rain, are on his cheeks, now. yes, he says, it is. a little late, considering, but maybe... he trails off. timed perfectly. a heavy footfall sounds on the stairs, a thunder to match the rain outside, and claire calls to jack, “dude, you said you'd get me a snack! it’s not rocket science! what’s the holdup?” but she stops short at the sight of the old man in the hall. claire's better with faces than jack.

hello, jimmy smiles, but claire is already yelling for her dads.

it's a sunday afternoon. dean hadn't planned on being awake and active. he’d been napping while cas did a grocery run. but claire screaming to high heaven is a surefire way to set elanor into confusion. he groans and rolls out of bed, rubbing his eyes. he picks elanor up and carries her down the stairs in one arm. “claire,” he grumbles, “you know cas is out fuelling your damn addiction to lucky charms. what is it?”

he stops short at the foot of the stairs. his mouth is open and his eyes are glassy. elanor keeps asking “daddy are you okay? who’s that man?” and it takes dean a minute to stop staring before softly putting elanor down and telling her to go get her brother, jacob. “tell him there’s food in the kitchen, or something,” dean says, and jimmy hasn’t stopped staring or smiling warmly at him and his eyes are leaking autumn rain. “but there isn’t,” elanor says, and dean answers “so lie. there’s someone i—” but he can’t finish the sentence. and elanor shakes her head with serious disapproval and climbs back up the stairs.

dean steps toward him, trying to stammer out his name, but the tears strangle his voice and before he knows it he’s wrapped tight in jimmy’s arms, taller than him by far, now, but feeling eighteen again. feeling eighteen again and like he’s just finished yelling at jimmy that he doesn’t need a father, never needed a father, that he coped just fine without one, anyway. all of those things were lies when dean said them. he wants to say they were lies, wants to tell jimmy now that he needed a father, always needed a father, didn’t cope without one but that also, when he needed one most, jimmy was his father. he wants to say thank you. thank you, thank you, thank you for everything and sorry for every angry answer and scowl and bitter lie, please know dean didn’t mean them, he was just hurt and afraid. but jimmy already knows this. knew that, even then, and besides, the words won’t come. he just holds onto jimmy tight and thinks he probably did fall asleep in his bed and this is another one of those grief dreams, another one of those grief dreams that’s gonna throw him off for weeks but one he wants to savor forever.

he’s soaking jimmy’s shirt with tears. the guy smells like his old cologne. and blueberry pancakes. dean cries a little harder, afraid to let go.

“are you proud of me?”

it’s the first thing he’s managed to say to the old man. “are you proud of me?” he keeps asking, over and over again, and jimmy holds him tight and answers yes, yes, every time. yes.

and then cas comes home. cas comes home dripping from the rain from the walk to the front door and drops the damp brown paper bags onto the floor and apples roll onto the floor and he’s staring at his father and can’t speak, just like dean couldn’t speak, and can’t breathe. and jimmy is sat at the kitchen table with his grandchildren just like castiel mourned he would never be able to, and jacob is showing jimmy one of his paintings and elanor is holding his hand and claire has just made him a cup of tea, and jimmy smiles at castiel. “i see you got my last letter,” he says. and castiel steps into the kitchen and sobs that he’s sorry he never got to reply. and jimmy says that he’s sorry, too. cas shows him the little saplings they all planted for tu b'shevat, standing in a line on the windowsill. jimmy loved growing things. and cas asks how long jimmy has with them. when he’s going… back. to wherever ‘there’ is.

and jimmy says he has until the rain stops. and castiel wishes it would rain forever, that all of kansas would be blanketed in it, a second flood, torrenting about the land, and them in their own ark, the big white house, bobbing about on the water, sharing food and stories and laughter and lost time, stolen time, time which was stolen from them. aren’t his and dean’s tears a substitute enough for rain when it stops, anyway? their tears are sure as rain in autumn, and not likely to ease soon. he wishes the rain would never stop.

but it has to, eventually. all things do. no matter how blessed.

#tbah #to build a home #obviously we cant consider this canon but #honestly if jimmy could come back and see dean and cas together...#i dont think for a minute he'd be surprised #maybe unable to stop smiling but #he'd probably not even reference the fact that for a while it seemed impossible that dean and cas would ever get together #instead he'd say he was sorry he couldn't make the wedding #and they'd cry and say yeah. me too #oh and the kids !!! the kids would love him of course #i can see jacob getting so attached to him #sticking to jimmy's side like glue #eventually cas takes down the poetry book he wrote for jimmy #places it in jimmys hands #jimmy flips open to the dedications page - sees cas's handwritten note to dean in it #the note that says 'often in my mind and always in my heart. remember you were in his too'#and he smiles and looks at dean who's looking down and trying not to cry #but jimmy knows dean and presses his hand to the back of dean's neck before pulling his son and his son in law toward him for a hug #and he says youve made excellent fathers #and they say we learnt from the best #we learnt from the best

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marxandangels · 3 years

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okay okay I’m giving in to peer pressure

“You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell and I can throw you back in.”

Dean visibly recoils and his affect shifts abruptly. Fear rolls off of him, acrid. This reaction is understandable; Castiel does not intend on following through on this threat but it is a viable one. Castiel senses Dean’s heartbeat accelerate, the sweat glands on his palms going into overdrive. His pupils dilate, he shifts into a more defensible stance, and his hands curl into fists. Castiel knows Dean’s body better than he does himself. He has touched every electron, trawled through him to mend and smooth and heal. He brought the breath back to this body, whipstitched his soul to it. He knows that Dean is marked by him, a handprint. He hasn’t seen it and it’s covered by his clothes right now but he can sense the brightness of it. Castiel owns that handprint and it thrills him. If he concentrates, he can follow the trail of every neurotransmitter chasing their way through Dean’s brain, every movement of the smooth muscle in his stomach. And Castiel does concentrate, his whole focus narrows down to Dean Winchester like a ray of sun in a magnifying glass, revelatory and dangerous. He is suddenly much more present in his vessel, the functions of the rest of him churning away on autopilot. Sensations slam into him, overwhelming and disorganized and intoxicating. It’s too much but he doesn’t turn away. Before he can process the impulse, Castiel presses forward, crowding Dean up against the counter until he can almost feel Dean’s heartbeat against his own chest. Dean smells like sweat and soap and bourbon. He is warm and... and something has changed. Shifted. Dean is still afraid but it’s colored with something else. He wants. He wants. His chest heaves with breath and his eyes flash down to Castiel’s mouth, his own falling open. And then his lips are on Castiel’s and he knows nothing is burning, there is no fire, but the contact is blistering. Castiel wrenches away on instinct, almost flies away entirely but stops himself, only pulling back a few inches. He knows what a kiss is. He knows what it means. He knows that he needs to leave. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches Dean’s pulse jump at his throat, senses the blood rush as if it’s his own. Dean is saying something but he doesn’t bother hearing it.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do that again.”

Dean lets out a huff of breath that might be a laugh or disbelief, Castiel doesn’t care. Dean kisses him again and no, there is no fire, but every point of contact between them is smoke pointing towards burning. Kissing is new to Castiel but it’s intuitive and Jimmy Novak’s muscle memory guides him. Castiel usually senses time from very far away, it ticks away slowly and irrelevantly and he only pays attention when he needs to. Here with Dean, he feels every millisecond of it in every touch: Dean’s hands at his waist and the back of his neck, Dean’s brash tongue and teeth, Dean’s hair gripped in his fingers, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean Dean, Dean, Dean. Castiel has never wanted anything except for his mission, the righteousness of battle, the glory of his Father’s will. But Dean, who will die in merely a blink of the universe, annihilates Castiel until he is made up of only want for him. Dean tastes like the molecules that Castiel knows, that he created. He is returning to them, greeting them, and they are welcoming him home. Castiel kisses down his neck to his throat, to his pulse that most clearly crystallizes his vitality, and holds it, holy, in his mouth.

“Dude, stop, you’re gonna leave a mark,” Dean gasps out, pushing ineffectively at Castiel’s shoulders.

Castiel reluctantly pulls back just enough to speak. He looks up at Dean who is watching him with wild eyes. His skin is rubbed raw from Castiel’s stubble and his lips are swollen and red. “Yes. That was the idea. Dean, I have touched you, been with you, seen you, felt you, more intimately than anyone else has or ever will. I remade your body, I blessed it with the will of my Father, marked it as gift to humanity. This pulse under my tongue, I returned it to your body. It is mine just as much as it is yours.”

“Jesus Christ. Fuck, that is so hot. You are insane But yeah, okay. Yes, have at it. Give me a hickey.”

#spn #hickeynatural #I made this

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minaslittleone · 3 years

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The Sarahs as plant mums (AHS & Ratched)

Like many people I've become an avid plant mum over the course of the pandemic (much to the chagrin of those in my life who have to hear every time one of my babies sprouts a new leaf), which got me thinking - what kind of plant mum would each of the Sarahs be?

GIF: illuminated-blue

Billie-Dean Howard

Image: winterkindfotographie

Billie-Dean is much more partial to flowers than she is to caring for a whole plant. She is definitely the kind of person who always has fresh flowers in her home but also takes the time to trim and rearrange the bouquet as she places it in a vase, rather than merely unceremoniously compacting the existing arrangement into a vessel. She also definitely has a secret cut flower food recipe (passed down to her by the ghost of a Victorian housekeeper whom she met while filming a special of her show at a mansion in the UK) which keeps her cut flowers looking immaculate for a full week. If her schedule permits it, her favourite thing to do on a Sunday morning is to stroll the farmers markets and choose individual types of flowers and foliage to bring home and arrange herself from scratch. She finds the process of trimming each of the stems and finding the perfect position for each individual bloom incredibly cathartic.

Her favourite flowers are bright and cheerful. She is particularly drawn to things like tulips, gerberas and lillies, but finds softer more delicate blooms like carnations frustrating and overly dramatic, she definitely appreciates a bit of tenacity in her flowers. She also has no time for strongly scented blooms, and particularly despises the way roses seem to emit a sickly sweet odor after only a few days. Billie finds scents and perfumes in general to be quite cloying and overwhelming as smell is one of the ways she is often viscerally affected when she makes contact with ghosts. She unfortunately associates most strong smells with encounters and so sweet smelling blooms hold little appeal to her, she much prefers fresh neutral scents. The one exception is lavender which she does find soothing. After a particularly taxing week it is not uncommon for her usual bright cheerful blooms to be replaced by simple posies of lavender and rosemary as she recenters herself.

Lana Winters

Image: toms-cacti

Lana is undoubtedly a plant serial killer. Which is totally unsurprising since whenever she gets fixated on a new story she often forgets to feed herself, let alone feed and water her plants. That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate them though. She loves the way little office plants bring life and vitality to her workspace, that is until they inevitably whither and die from lack of water, or from being burried under piles of paper but that doesn't stop her trying.

Eventually Lana discovers that she and succulents are well suited. It actually makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it - they're both a little prickly on the outside (but only to protect the softness underneath) and both are stubborn to a fault. Lana is particularly fond of the slightly larger cactus she keeps on her desk (which is incidentally the first plant she managed not to kill) and often finds herself talking to him to help work through the flow of her ideas or to overcome writer's block. Spike (as she creatively named him) really is a very good listener and a talented editor to boot.

Still there are times when Lana wishes she had a greener thumb and could expand her collection beyond succulents. As much as she loves Spike and his prickly friends, she really wishes they would grow just a bit quicker so she could experience that new leaf joy even just once. She completely dissuades herself of those feelings though when she returns from a week long book tour to find a weird bump on the top of Spike. Her first thought is that after all this time she's finally managed to kill him and that she really is as terrible a plant parent as she had feared. However, those fears completely dissolved the following morning when she returned to her office to find that Spike's bump had begun to open into the beginnings of a beautiful pink flower. For a minute she could only stare on disbelief, not quite comprehending what was going on however, that quickly gave way to a giddy childlike grin when she realised that she must be doing something right. That, and her little man really did look very cute with his flower top hat.

Cordelia Goode

Image: chickadeegreen

Cordelia doesn't just have a green thumb, she has ten green fingers. She absolutely adores plants and having living things around her, especially since the greenhouse has always been her place of peace and sanctuary. She finds it incredibly cathartic pottering around the greenhouse when she gets a few spare moments away from all her duties as supreme/headmistress/mother to a house full of girls. Most of the plants she keeps in the greenhouse are solely for practical/ medicinal purposes but she does keep a few plants in her room and office which she finds soothing. She is particularly fond of philodendrons and pothos with their easy going nature and relaxed growth pattern. She loves the way they seem to make themselves at home anywhere and every time she spots new leaves unfurling it makes her smile. She tries to make an effort to see the beauty in their imperfections and use them to remind herself that everything doesn't always have to be perfect.

Since her supremacy the plants in her personal spaces have thrived unlike anything anyone has ever seen, seemingly feeding off Cordelia's magical aura. Any time any of the plants in the greenhouse are waning she will take them to her office for a few days of rehabilitation after which they will always be positively bursting with life. It is not uncommon for her to find new additions appearing in her little infirmary if Mallory or Misty have noticed that a particular plant is in need of a little TLC.

The flip side to this is that any time Cordelia over taxes herself, while she may be an expert at schooling her features and hiding it from her girls, it will show in her plants. After too many late nights dealing with running the academy or too many days spent funneling all of her energy into everyone around her (and subsequently completely neglecting herself) the plants in her office (and room) will start to lose their vibrancy as well. The first victim is usually the heartleaf philodendron on Cordelia's office bookshelf (the first plant she allowed herself to bring into the space after ascending to the supremacy) which seems to be particularly attune to her moods, especially when it is feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy sapping her magic. Conversely it's the monstera deliciosa in the corner of her office that seems to be the first to wilt when its physical stress or exhaustion plaguing the supreme. Zoe now automatically takes stock of the plants in Cordelia's office every time she enters, knowing it's the only true indication she's likely to get that the supreme herself might be in need of some TLC.

Bette and Dot Tattler

Image: geopsych

Bette has always been drawn to flowers, she thinks they're terribly romantic. From bouquets of flowers from gentleman callers to sweet cottage gardens behind white picket fences, teeming with blooms of assorted colours, Bette thinks flowers are a beautiful symbol of normality. She desperately wants to have a garden or even a window box that she can tend to, however that particular desire is not entirely compatible with living in a trailer.

What she does have though is a small collection of African Violets sitting on their kitchen windowsill. They were a present from Jimmy after Bette's first performance singing in the freakshow. Though she might be completely tone deaf she is fiercely determined, so after months of practice she had finally managed to learn "dream a little dream of me" enough to hold the tune (with Dot gently humming it alongside her to keep her in pitch). A few days before Bette was due to perform Jimmy had quietly pressed a note into Dot's palm after dinner asking which type of flowers Bette preferred so that he could get her a bouquet for her first performance. Dot's heart warmed at that, seeing the man that she loved so tenderly care for her sister. Later that evening she had pressed a note back in reply that Bette loved anything pink, cheerful and romantic, however she also ached for flowers the she could keep beyond the length of time a bouquet would last. So maybe a flowering plant would be better. Jimmy of course bought both, handing Bette a beautiful posie of assorted pink coloured carnations along with a terracotta pot of African Violets. Bette had thrown her arm around Jimmy's neck and squeeled with excitement at the sight of her flowers while Dot had offered him the warmest, proudest smile as she mouthed "thank you" against the backdrop of her sister's excited ramblings.

Given how long Bette had pined for flowers and how excited she had been to receive them it is unsurprising that she is a devoted plant parent. She waters her flowers once a week like clockwork, adding water to a saucer underneath the pot and letting them drink the water up through their roots just like Paul had shown her. Apparently African Violets don't like to get their leaves wet. Bette would even go as far as to take her flowers out for some sun if she felt the conditions on their windowsill weren't right at their current campsite. Her little pot of flowers really did bring her so much joy.

Dot may not have shared her sister's passion for flowers (finding them mostly to be needless and frivolous) but in the end she was the one who responsible for the expansion of her sister's flower garden. When Paul had originally shown Bette how to care for her flowers he had also mentioned that they could be propagated which had fascinated Dot. The idea you could just take a leaf and it would grow roots and become a completely new plant was amazing to her. But convincing Bette to let her try it out for herself definitely proved to be battle. Bette certainly wasn't keen on allowing her sister to chop into her precious flowers while Dot couldn't see why her sister was being so protective, the little plant certainly had plenty of leaves to spare, especially if it could give a whole new plant. Unsurprisingly the disagreement escalated to a pair of very raised voices which is what ultimately drew Jimmy into the argument. After managing to calm down both sisters Jimmy revealed to Bette that the tiny pot plant had originally been her sister's idea because she knew how much she wanted to have flowers of her own. Dot confirmed that she does know how important the flowers are to Bette and that she would never want to hurt them, she was just excited at the possibility of being to make more of them for her sister and be able to give her the windowsill full of flowers that she had always dreamed of. Bette couldn't help but relent after that. A few months later and Dot has become quite the propagation expert, to the point where their windowsill is beggining to fill up with juvenile plants as well as fresh cuttings just beginning to take root. Bette smiles every time they catch her eye, not just at the beauty of the flowers that she spent so long pining for but also for how they symbolise her sister's love for her. While they may still bicker bitterly from time to time, Bette knows that no one will ever love her as much or as fiercely as her sister does. Dot still has no real interest in the flowers themselves. She does still find propagating rewarding, especially watching her little babies start to grow and flourish. But mostly she just enjoys watching the way they make her sister smile.

Sally McKenna

Image: jeremiahsplants

Sally is obsessed with carnivorous plants and you can't convince me otherwise. She definitely discovered them on Instagram and loves all the funny shapes and crazy colours that they come in. Sally would never be content with a plant that looks like a plant - no her plants need to look like vicious little aliens. The fact that they're natural born killers is also a nice little bonus. She loves how they subvert the natural order of things - insects should eat plants not the other way around.

When she first discovered plants online Sally got really upset that she'd never be able to go out and buy any of her own. It was Iris who mentioned that maybe she would be able to order some online - big mistake. Sally is nothing if not obsessive and her room now rivals Poison Ivy's lair with the number of plants she has crammed in there. The sheer number of babies in her collection doesn't mean that she neglects them though, no Sally is absolutely an A level obsessive plant mum - only the best for her babies. When she discovered that carnivorous plants prefer distilled water to tap water she started ordering it by the gallon, and as the best lit positions in her room started to fill up she definitely ordered grow lights so that none of her babies suffer. The grow lights also give off a slight purple glow which makes her room look like a rave which is absolutely a feature and not a bug.

Sally has also been known to go hunting for food for her babies, especially since her collection has grown and she worries there isn't enough to go around. Iris and Liz frequently find her collecting dead flies from window ledges to take back to her growing brood. She offers them to her babies with tweezers as a mother bird would to her chicks. The last time Iris had an exterminator spray the Cortez Sally accused her of trying to murder her babies with poison and absolutely ordered fruit flies online (intended for feeding pet reptiles rather than pet plants but meh) to keep her collection going until she could be absolutely sure that the offending toxins had dissipated.

It goes without saying that Sally has a separate plant Instagram account which she updates on nearly a daily basis with photos of new growth or just progress on her collection. She definitely has a great eye for plant photography and for making her babies come to life on the screen. One of her favourite things to do is film feeding videos with her largest Venus Flytrap "Fang" (who incidentally has his own Instagram account: @Fangstagram). Watching plants move so quickly will never get old to Sally and she has definitely been known to tease some of her smaller flytraps into snapping shut just for her enjoyment. She tries not tease them too much though, they are her babies after all.

Audrey Tindall

Image: savannahs-succulent-garden

Like Lana, Audrey is another serial plant killer, but for complete different reasons. Audrey, bless her, kills her plants with far too much kindness (and water). She so desperately wants a house full of the beautiful lush plants she sees all over Instagram so she tries her darnedest to be the best plant parent ever. Her problem is that every time she sees leaves starting to yellow or wilt she assumes it must be from lack of water (rather than the fact that their roots are already rotting from far too much).

Initially she fell into the trap of picking up plants she thought looked cute on Instagram or in the garden centre, without really knowing much about caring for them. Needless to say this didn't end well (multiple times). She thought she had cracked it when discovered the subset of house plants refered to as "hard to kill". Unfortunately, most of those plants are very resistant to neglect but not to Audrey's smothering type of plant parenting. Finally she discovered peace lillies which do actually like to have wet feet and appreciate all of her affection. She's slowly collecting other spathiphyllums in all shapes and sizes now that she's feels confident she's got the hang of them. She gets so excited every time one of them grows a new leaf or flowers - such a proud plant mum.

Now that she's growing a little more confident with at least a subset of house plants she will occasionally post photos to her Instagram. She's still pretty insecure about her plant parent abilities though and it doesn't help that she will occasionally get haters telling her she's doing it all completely wrong. She tries not to let them get to her but sometimes they really do get her down - all she wanted to do was share the joy that her plant babies bring her and she's doing her best to do right by them. After one particularly brutal bout of trolling it's actually Sally who defends her. Audrey has been following Sally's plantstagram since she first started getting interested in plants so the fact that Sally even acknowledged her kinda blows her mind. Sally tells people in no uncertain terms to back off Audrey or she will set her carnivorous babies on them. The two strike up a fast friendship after this and through Sally's guidance Audrey eventually begins to grow more confident as a plant mum. For her birthday Sally definitely sends Audrey her first baby Venus Flytrap with the absolute insistence that it be named "Audrey II".

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Image: swordsintheforest

Ally has never really seen the appeal of house plants nor does she have the time (or the headspace) to look after them. She does however have a fully stocked herb garden growing in window boxes in the kitchen to have everything within easy reach for cooking. She also loves the fresh clean smell of the basil and rosemary wafting through the house on the breeze if she leaves the windows open, particularly if it has rained. She may even admit that she's beginning to see the appeal of having the greenery around the place from an aesthetic standpoint as well.

Given how busy Ally is juggling being a senator, running a restaurant and being a single mum (plus whatever wink wink nudge nudge cult stuff she's up to on the side) it's not really surprising that it's Ozzie who's taken to caring for the herb garden most of the time. He's always been such an inquisitive kid and Ally loves watching the way his face lights up over simple things like flowers and new growth. Ozzie is particularly obsessed with propagation and there is always at least a handfull of his experiments on the windowsill. Whether it's an avocado seed he's trying to get to sprout or basil cuttings he's trying to root, he always has some new scheme in the works. Ally usually just smiles and ruffles his hair (so proud and glad that she has such an amazing and we'll rounded kid after everything that he's been through). As long as he leaves her enough basil to make pesto with, she's happy for him to play to his heart's content.

Wilhemina Venable

Image: leafyleafs

Plants have never been of any interest to Wilhemina, she considers them to be unnecessary sources of dirt and clutter. They serve no practical purpose so she has no time for them. At least until she becomes the somewhat unwilling recipient of one. As far as office secret Santa presents go, she supposes, the lilac coloured orchid is actually quite inoffensive. However she can't shake the feeling that it must have been bought for her as some kind of challenge, that someone at Kineros is secretly watching to see how quickly she will kill it because someone like the imperious Ms Venable is obviously incapable of the kindness or tenderness necessary to keep something as beautiful and delicate as an orchid. What she doesn't know is that it was actually from Mutt, because while he is usually too coked out of his mind to show it, he is actually quite fond of her. And he knows her well enough to know that she would never accept a gift from him directly so each Christmas he rigs the office Secret Santa to get her name so he can her something (and also partly because he doesn't trust some of the interns not to get her something crude on a dare given the anonymous nature of the gift). He also knows her well enough to realise that she would appreciate the elegant beauty (and obviously the colour) of the orchid but would never cede to the frivolity of buying something like it for herself.

Despite the good intentions of the gift, Wilhemina can not fathom the idea that it was genuinely meant for her enjoyment. Obviously someone is toying with her but she will not be beaten. Wilhemina Venable may not know the first thing about orchids but she will be damned if whoever gave her the wretched thing manages to get a laugh out of it at her expense. So she learns. Mina is nothing if not fiercely independent and resourceful so she scours the internet for information on orchid care and reads everything she can find. And of course she succeeds (because anything else would be unacceptable to her).

After six months her little orchid is still alive and thriving in her office and privately she would have to admit that she has grown quite attached to it. Compared to other plants she finds it to be quite neat and tidy, and there is something elegant and refined about its arching growth habit which she finds quite beautiful. Over the course of her research she has of course come across the tremendous variety of orchids available. She of course is drawn to all of the different tones of purple blooms but also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to some of the darker, more gothic varieties. She tries to tell herself that it is merely an aesthetic appreciation, that they hold no actual allure to her, but she keeps finding herself drawn back to them. She almost buys herself one on *so many* occasions but the idea of doing something so frivolous just for her own pleasure and enjoyment is so terrifying to her that she always chickens out. Eventually she caves though, buying an indigo coloured orchid on sale at the grocery store, abruptly rushing home with it before she can change her mind again. She spends the entire rest of the day second guessing the decision but the next morning when she opens her eyes to the delicate purple blooms tenderly placed on her night stand she can't help the gentle smile it brings to her face or the warmth that settles in her chest.

After that her collection slowly grows. She still struggles with buying things for herself simply for pleasure but she is getting better, and the sick guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to appear less and less each time she does it. So her collection of orchids grows, mostly including those with particularly dark blooms or interesting and unusual shapes (though there are definitely a couple of lilac and lavender coloured blooms in there as well). She also begins to expand to other dark leaved plants as well, like certain begonias and definitely a ZZ raven. Like with the orchids, all of her new acquisitions are thoroughly researched and she is determined to succeed in their care.

Mutt will sometimes catch her glance fondly at her little desk orchid as he passes her office. He is genuinely glad to have given her something that seems to bring her such contentment. If only he knew the true extent of the gift he had given her.

Mildred Ratched

Image: bidoctor

Mildred has no idea about plants of any kind. Or at least she didn't before Gwen. Her childhood certainly wasn't filled with simple pleasures like planting flowers or playing in a vegetable patch, and any indoor plants or flower arrangements were merely things she was forbidden to touch and harshly punished if she damaged. So inevitably these things inspired a far greater degree of anxiety and tension in Mildred than they did joy or contentment.

But Gwen loves gardening. She had memories as a young child of helping her father in their backyard, returning of an evening covered in mud, much to her mother's dismay. Gwen's strong nurturing nature made her a very capable gardener and she derived a great sense of contentment from it. On some level Mildred wished she could help Gwen as she pottered through their garden of a weekend but she wouldn't have a clue where to start. In fact, the nasty voice in Mildred's head whispered, she would be so much better off without you, you'll just ruin everything, you're far too useless to be of any help. So as Gwen worked Mildred would watch, pretending to pay attention to her novel but really trying to find the pattern and reason to Gwen's actions so that maybe, someday, she wouldn't be quite so useless.

Mildred did, however, enjoy accompanying Gwen to the nursery when she went to collect supplies for their garden. Mildred may not have the faintest idea what any of the plants were called or how to care for them but she did find it peaceful to walk through the rows upon rows of different shades of green. She was continually fascinated by how many different shapes, sizes and colours they seemed to come in. Sometimes Gwen would catch her staring curiously at a particular plant but Mildred would always decline when Gwen offered that they could take it home with them.

One particular Saturday in spring Gwen found Mildred tenderly righting a small yellow marigold which had been knocked over by other nursery-goers as they riffled through the display to choose the brightest and most beautiful blooms. The poor little plant was somewhat lopsided and some of its leaves were slightly crushed from where it had lain, still there were the beginnings of golden yellow petals starting to peak from within the confines of its buds. Gwen watched as Mildred delicately unkinked the worst of the damaged leaves, fingers ghosting over the flowers that had yet to bloom. This time when Gwen suggested that they take the battered little plant home with them Mildred suddenly became very interested in a thread dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she muttered "Wouldn't it be easier to just choose one that isn't crushed? One without so much damage?". Gwen gently reached out, linking her pinkie with Mildred's, cursing that anything more would have been unacceptable in public. She gently squeezed Mildred's slender finger in her own until her gaze lifted to meet Gwendolyn's. "Never" she breathed. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all". She felt her throat tighten and eyes begin to burn as she watched Mildred's eyes begin to glisten and that *damn* dimple on her chin begin to quiver. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to look after it", Mildred's gaze dropping again to the poor bruised little plant. Gwen squeezed their intertwined fingers once more, coaxing Mildred's eyes to meet her own. "I can show you, if you'd like?" Mildred's teeth began to worry her bottom lip as she considered. "What if I can't? What if I kill it?" "Sweetheart, you won't and I'll be there with you every step of the way. We can do it together." Mildred seemed to consider this offer, turning back to gaze tenderly at their little friend, before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Ok" she murmured, "together".

After that, every time Mildred and Gwen returned to the nursery Mildred would inevitably leave with a battered looking plant that she was determined to rehabilitate. Gwen, true to her word, patiently guided Mildred through the basics of plant care and Mildred, unsurprisingly, quickly became very proficient. Her tiny, dextrous fingers, used to dealing with needles and surgical instruments, were incredibly adept at staking and repositioning bent and battered plants as she helped them to heal. Soon enough, one end of their porch became entirely dedicated to Mildred's patients, so much so that Gwen began affectionately referring to it as Mildred's ward. And in spite of her initial fears Mildred had become quite the proficient gardener, with her little rag-tag bunch of plants, all twisted and pointing in slightly odd directions, forming the most beautiful and beloved garden Gwendolyn had ever seen.

#sarah paulson #lana winters #cordelia goode #bette and dot tattler #sally mckenna #billie dean howard #audrey tindall #ally mayfair richards #wilhemina venable #ahs #mildred ratched #ratched #ryan murphy #plant mum

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apatheticanvas67482 · 3 years

Text

Even When You Hide

Happy @starrynightdeancas celebration day to @firefly124! I got really busy over the last couple of weeks, so its not as good as I wanted it to be for you, but I hope you like it anyways. (also I had to abandon my sketches and normal art style today due to technical difficulties, so the art is a bit rubbish, sorry, if i get round to finishing the other one in my normal style when i get home to my computers, I will send it your way) BUT ANYWAYS I hope you love it (the fic not the art, hides) and I think Sophie is the dopest for putting this whole thing together.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss

Based: Somewhere after 10.03, when Crowley give Cas grace and Dean is cured of Demon-ness, and 10.18, when Cas gets his grace back. I did not mention the Mark of Cain though.

Song: I See You - Missio

Word count: 2.2K

I see you when you're down And depressed, just a mess I see you when you cry When you're shy When you want to die I see you when you smile It takes a while At least you're here I see you

It had been 25 minutes since Dean had sent Cas to pick out the paint for his room. He put down all the sheets and lined the sockets and skirting boards with tape and was now sitting at the foot of the bed, tapping his foot to a silent beat.

Dean hadn’t known what to get the angel from the store so there were currently 12 pots of paint, all different colours, sitting on shelves in the garage. He chewed on the inside of his cheek absentmindedly, picturing the scrunch of Cas’ eyebrows and the tilt of Cas’ head as he scowled at the cans.

‘Dean. What does it matter if the room is winter blue or baby blue?’ Dean could almost hear him ask it - the gravel of Cas’ voice rumbled in the back of his mind. Dean shook his head, smiling, and headed to see what the hold-up was.

What he found was a mess.

“Fuck. Shit!” Pots of paint were scattered across the room. Most were broken open, stripes of paint led away from a large metal cabinet that had toppled over onto the Impala and cast the tins in all directions.

“Cas!”

Dean ran forward, holding his breath. The cabinet had smashed right through Baby’s windshield, fracture lines spanned what was left leaving chunks of glass suspended in the laminated frame. The bonnet had been completely crushed, practically folded in half, and the corners had torn into the paintwork. Dean would be seething except he couldn’t breathe. He threw his weight behind his shoulder, forcing it under the shelves and straining until black dots danced in his vision.

“Cas!” Dean collapsed, his efforts futile. “Cas! Where the hell are you?!”

And then he heard it – the quick and broken, but quiet sobs of an angel. Dean whirled around o fast his neck cracked and then he crawled, actually crawled on his hands and knees, towards the sound.

Behind the impala, Cas was perched on the balls of his feet with his trench coat pooling around him. Dean had never seen him cry before, not like this. There was a streak of paint that ran from just under his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Where his tear tracks converged with it, the drops turned blue and fell to the ground like grace. Dean watched, transfixed for a moment, before scrambling closer.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice louder than he meant it, startled Cas out of his fugue state. His hands, which had been moving, stilled instantly as he looked back at Dean with wide shiny eyes.

“I don’t want to go, Dean.” The cracks in Cas’ voice tugged at Dean’s soul. He didn’t understand.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

Cas’s eyes only grew larger as the hunter reached out, “Dean, please don’t make me go.” His arm hung in the air, terrified of doing the wrong thing. He knew Cas couldn’t fly anymore but it had never stopped feeling as though their conversations were timed, except Dean couldn’t see the numbers on the clock. He was always waiting for Cas to vanish. “I want to stay.”

Bile rose in the back of Dean’s throat and his hand dropped like dead weight between them as he realised what Cas was saying, what he was thinking. He thought back to months before. ‘You can’t stay.’ He’d said, the same bile rising in his throat as now. He looked at Cas in his human clothes, that goddamn hoodie., and watched as Cas’ heart broke. Watched as the hurt played openly on his features, defences down. And then, he’d looked away. Dean remembers looking anywhere but into his best friend’s eyes, knowing that if he did his resolve would surely crumble. Now, all he wanted was for Cas to look at him, but the angel had gone from a deer in the headlights to refusing to lift his head higher than his shoulders.

“I can fix it, I promise.” Cas’s hands started moving again. His fingers shook as he tried to slot several pieces of broken glass back together. Small cuts littered his palms, bleeding freely as Cas worked.

“Cas. Cas, why-” Dean swallowed around the lump of panic still tuck in his throat, “Why aren’t you healing? Is it the grace? Is it failing?” His hands had found there way between them again. They hovered uselessly over Cas’ own. Cas was shaking his head, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was in answer to his question.

“Cas?” Dean didn’t know what to do, until he did. Taking a shaky breath, he allowed his panic to consume him for one second more before he tabled it.

“Cas,” His voice was gentle but solid, “Cas, stop it. Please,” - Dean stilled Cas’ hands with his own. He turned them palm up and, careful not to catch any of the cuts, unfurled the angel’s trembling fingers with is thumb – “Just stop.”

Cas was still refusing to meet his eyes, but he’d stopped shaking his head. He stared down at the pieces of glass and Dean followed his gaze. He recognised them as the broken remains of a small glass statue of an angel. Sammy had presented the thing to a few years ago after he’d nabbed it from some rogue crossroad demon’s second-hand shop to bully Dean with. ‘A guardian angel to save me from your moping when Cas is away,’ Sam had said, and Dean had shoved it deep down inside Baby’s trunk. That was until they moved into the bunker and Dean had felt some strange compulsion to place the glass angel atop the recently toppled shelves. Cas had been there, tilting his head at him. ‘Present from Sam,’ He’d practically growled before running away.

“Hey,” One of Dean’s hands left Cas’ in favour of poking him gently in the cheek. Cas jerked backwards slightly, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. He was still crying but less so. Dean nodded, “I need you to listen to me. You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere. Ever. Again.” He waved his free hand at the mess around him. “All this, none of it matters,” Dean moved his other thumb in circles, steeling himself. This moment is what all his years watching chick flicks in secrecy had been preparing him for. “You, Cas, are what matters. To me.”

Dean held his breath for one, two, three seconds. Cas hiccoughed, blinking one, two, three times as the last of his tears fell from his cheeks.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Dean whispered into the space between them, a little afraid of anything louder.

“I didn’t want to waste m…” Cas looked lost, “It.” Dean waited.

“When Metatron took my grace from me, he left me human. Except I’m not human. Jimmy though, Jimmy was human, fragile. Without my powers, I’m,” Cas struggled with his words, he looked away. “I’m a baby in a trench coat.” Fuck. “I am nothing. And I can’t go back to that. I can’t keep steeling my kin’s grace from them, reducing them as I have been reduced. I can’t.” He dropped his head to his chest once more. “But I also don’t want to die.

“Castiel.” Dean swerved back into Cas’ eyeline as he spoke, “You are not nothing,” Cas stared at him, not believing.

“You are not human. You’re not Jimmy. But you’re not your grace either.” Dean was going to make him understand how wrong he’d been sitting in Eve’s diner. “You’re not your vessel and you’re not your powers. When I look at you-” The hunter swallowed, “When I look at you, I just see… you. I see you, Cas.”

He looked down at their hands, feeling dizzy. He couldn’t believe how mushy he was being or how much he didn’t mind. He felt like Colin Firth. “As for the rest of it, we’ll figure it out. We always do. The grace situation… Well,” Dean smiled, small. “We’ll make it up as we go.” Dean lifted Cas’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into a single cut. After a moment, grace began to shine beneath the skin and the wounds pulled themselves closed. Beaming now, he leant back and ran his thumb over the soft new skin, turning their hands so their finger interlocked.

“Dean, I-”

“I made a mistake,” Dean interrupted, “I have made so many mistakes. But, kicking you out like has to be one of the worst. No explanation, no assistance, no nothing. It’s the wrongest I’ve ever been in my life. Gadreel gave me an ultimatum but that’s not an excuse. Doesn’t even come close to justifying what I did. I should’ve told you what was going on. Maybe if I had tried, for even a second, to communicate, we could have avoided a lot of pain. I should’ve – I should’ve done a lot. But I didn’t, and that wasn’t good enough.’

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not.” Dean broke eye contact then.

“Okay, well” Cas squeezed his hands, “I forgive you then. How’s that?”

Dean huffed out half a laugh. His next words caught in throat as he looked back at Cas. He was so close to him. Dean supposed he always was. Dean’s eyes caught on Cas’ mouth where he had worried at his bottom lip. It was red and sore and wasn’t healing. Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was tipping forward, eye slipping shut. When they met in the middle, he barely felt it. He touched his lips to Cas’ like he had to his hands, his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage. Dean didn’t realise he hadn’t been breathing until Cas’s lips moved against his own and he gasped for air. He leant against Cas’s forehead breathing far too heavily for such a chaste moment. They sat there just breathing in each other’s air for one, two, three seconds. Then Dean surged forwards, pushing of his feet so he was kneeling up over Cas. He dropped the angel’s hands in favour of holding his head in his own, pressing desperate kiss after desperate kiss to Cas’s mouth. Cas leant backwards under him as they kissed, moulding to fit the curve of his body. His dropped hands had twisted their way into Dean’s flannel, pulling him closer.

As Dean’s lungs screamed for breath, he pulled slowly away. Cas’ head dropped to rest against his sternum and Dean allowed himself to bury his face in his hair. His hands had settled at the base of Cas’ neck and began tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin there.

“C’mon,” He leant back and pulled Cas with him. Leading him by hand past the impala and a few scattered paint cans. He stopped by one - one of the only ones not broken open - and leant down to pick it up. ‘Dusty Cyan’. Perfect. He tucked it under his arm, and flashed Cas a smile.

I'm alone with you You're alone with me What a mess you've made of everything

I'm alone with you You're alone with me And I'm hoping that you will see yourself Like I see you

The next day found them huddled close together leaning over Baby as Dean taught Castiel how to hammer dents out metal without causing more damage and replace a windshield.

“D’you want to know something?” Dean cracked open his beer. Cas hummed from where he was bent over working a dent out of the open bonnet. He was wearing one of Dean’s ratty old Bon Jovi shirts, damp with sweat and motor oil and chewing on his lip distractedly – and distractingly. “Sammy got me that angel to tease me about you.”

Cas looked up then, “About me?”

“Yeah.” The hunter coughed, wondering what had possessed him to open his mouth and start yet another chick flick. Maybe he should be worried about how much of a sap he was becoming. It was Cas’ fault, obviously. “Cuz I always complain when you’re gone.”

Cas turned around and leant back on Baby, his shoulder brushed Dean’s. “You may want to begin coming up with some alternate topics of conversation.”

Dean laughed, “You think so?”

“I have been reliably informed that I’m not going anywhere.” Cas looked at him. “Ever. Again.”

Dean shoved his shoulder, smiling wide when Cas shoved back pressing him back into the Impala’s frame and leaning into his space.

“It’s why I put it up there in the first place instead of shoving in the back of some cupboard.” He poked Cas in the ribs. “Because it reminded me of you.”

“Me.” Cas echoed.

“You,” Dean smirked, “Dumbass.”

Cas growled and silenced him with a kiss for the ages. Dean let himself be taken over by the angel, surrendering the kiss to him and just basking in the feeling of Cas pressed up against him. He didn’t need some glass statue, he already had his guardian angel exactly where he wanted him, and he had proved to be far from fragile.

I see you in the dark At the dawn of something new I see you

#dean winchester #castiel #destiel #hurt/comfort #cas is hurting #dean is there #i hope this wasn't too angsty and had enough comfort in there for you #fanfic #kat scribbles #literally in this case #userstarry #writing challenge #mentions of death #feelings of worthlessness #baby is also there haha #fuck #not literally in this case #first kiss #starrynightdeancas gift exchange

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drivingsideways · 3 years

Text

For @the-ever-present-julie, based off this tumblr post.

Five times Dean and Cas kissed and never talked about it, and the one time they did and still won’t talk about it.

Five.

It's not like Dean hasn't thought about it before.

That first month after he crawled his way out of his grave? He'd never told Sam or Bobby, but that entire month, hell, more like three, he'd been convinced that it was all just one of Alastair's tricks. That Alastair had moved on from the crude, visceral pleasure of blood and guts and shredded flesh to this—letting him dream, and then, right when he'd let himself believe it, that the impossible had happened, Alastair would take it away.

The sick fuck.

But two could play that game, alright?

Dean- Dean was good at this. Dean knew Alastair, like calling to like in the putrid depths of hell. Dean would find a way to trip him up, it was like that time with the djinn. Find the thing that didn't fit, the thing that was impossible to explain, and then tug at that thread until it all unraveled.

Well, he didn't have to look too far.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, who made his ears bleed, and his stomach swoop—well— come the fuck on, there was no possible way his mind could have generated this. This was Alastair, through and through, Alastair who had put him on the rack and taken more pieces out of him than he'd known existed, who'd worked him over and over and over, and somewhere along the way learnt enough about Dean that he'd—

The handprint buzzed and ached and tingled and Castiel's blue, blue eyes had looked right through him, and said things like you don't think you deserve to be saved, and if I tell you something, will you keep it a secret, I'm not a hammer, and no, this would not be the thing he let himself believe, this would not be one more way that Alastair broke him. In the backseat of his car, Anna had fitted her palm onto the scar, her delicate, smooth palm too small for it, the whorls of her fingers caressing the edges, and it had been electric, and all wrong, because it wasn't her mark that Dean carried on his friggin' re-hymenated body (it wasn't her who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and Dean's body knew it in a way that Dean wasn't going to think about, let alone—)

That sonuvabitch Alastair would not break him with a fairy tale that innocent people told their children, angels watch over you, but his mother had not been innocent in all of this, had she, she had sold Sammy to the Devil, and Castiel had laid a hand on his shoulder (but had not touched his mark, why hadn't—) and had looked at Dean with something like sorrow, and didn't seem to mind when Dean called him Cas, brought him down to his level, and fuck, here he was again, out of options, out of luck, out of fuel, and his brother was someone he didn't recognize.

The sickest thing was how that was the part that had felt real, felt painful in a way that Alastair could have never devised. Dean's soul was putting himself in the hands of a demon bitch, and there was fuck all that Dean could do about it. This was how he broke then, in the words of a prayer, the first he'd ever said, and he hadn't known whom he was praying to, but it had been Cas who showed up, eyes bluer than any summer sky Dean had ever seen, face striated by the colours of a vending machine, and said, faith is a good sign, Dean. What was it a sign of, Dean would have liked to know, and it wasn't faith, not by a long shot, but what could a creature like Castiel have known of desperation? Castiel who stood close, too close, but had touched him only twice, who'd said, it's not blame that rests on you, it's fate, and yeah, that was fucking Winchester Gospel for you, cursed from the start, the two of them, before they were in the womb, born under a bad sign.

But Cas had helped, and Dean had begun to think—but of course, Cas left, and there was only poor, stupid Jimmy Novak, and then Cas was back, but not really, Cas was a stranger, and Dean didn't know when he'd stopped thinking of Cas as a stranger, and just, strange—

Dean had laid one across Castiel's marble-face that didn't shatter, tried, because what else could he have done? This is real, this is the only thing that's worth it and even before the disappointment of having Cas leave could sink in, the handprint had buzzed and ached and tingled as Cas pressed him against a wall and pressed a palm against his lips and then bled on the floor, for Dean, (whom he didn't serve) and Cas had said, I'll hold them all off, go save him, but of course it had been too late, because that was the story of Dean's life, too late, too late.

Cas comes back, and oh look, Cas has learnt what desperation means, after all. There's something wild in his eyes, that he tries to hide but doesn't succeed when he says, we need God, it's not theological, it's strategic, and if Dean had a moment to take a breath, he would have wanted to sit Cas down, and say, listen man, I understand it, but this is a road to nowhere, you're only going to waste your time, you gotta stop loving what can't love you back, and yeah, that'd have been hypocritical of him, but so what, that was pretty low down on Dean's laundry list of sins.

But it's the Apocalypse, and as it happens Dean's got his own shit to deal with, and Cas isn't his responsibility, so what if he just died for Dean or whatever, alright, Dean owes him, but not like that.

And now it's the end of the world, their last night on earth, and Dean's not too late to make Cas smile at him, confused but fond, and Castiel's smile is nothing like Jimmy Novak's. Cas is nothing like Jimmy Novak who'd just been a naive man in an ugly suit, and well. He'd promised Cas a good time, and Dean's not got a lot to give Cas, by way of thanks or comfort or anything, and what had Cas said that time? Everything on earth is pain, but that's only cause he doesn't know, the good parts, the best parts, and before Dean can chicken out of it, he's pressing Cas up against the Impala, and Cas is letting him, goes willing, pliant, staring at him, eyes wide, and Dean sees the moment it happens, the small hitch of breath he takes, that Cas, who doesn't need to breathe makes, and his eyes dart to Dean's lips and flash up again, and Dean's kissing him, and it's—riding a comet—

Cas doesn't know how to kiss.

But that's fine, that's a-ok, because Dean does, and Dean can show him, and Cas is a quick learner, zero to six hundred in twenty seconds or less, and now it's Dean who can't breathe except in loud, panting gasps, Cas's warm, strong hand wrapped with his around their dicks, not enough slick, a little too rough, too painful, perfect, perfect, and Cas is eating his face, teeth sharp and painful on Dean's lips, eyes still wide open and unblinking, the freak, but his gaze is hot and ferocious, and Dean's eyes flutter shut again on a moan, because Dean's burning, has been burning all this time, he realizes, for this, for—

Cas rips his sleeve off, jacket and shirt, both gone, and then his hand is there, and Dean's coming, wet, thick and nasty all over an angel's hand, he should be going to hell for this, except Cas hadn't let him stay there, and hadn't thrown him back, and this was real, Dean shuddering, face hidden in the crook of Cas' neck, trembling, his knees giving way, but Cas' got him, the hand on his shoulder slipping lower, around his back to hold him up, holding him in place, and Dean should— he should—

Four.

He wakes up alone in a motel room, and there is a tomorrow, and then the day after, but no Cas, and then there is two thousand fucking fourteen, and Cas is still there in the ruins that Sam and Dean made of the world , jesus fucking christ on a candy stick, Cas is still there.

Cas is broken, because Dean did that to him, and Cas kisses him, once, open mouthed and filthy, and then draws back and says, the day I decide to stay, make sure I don't, please, if you ever cared even a little, promise me, and then Cas goes off to die with even-more-of-an-asshole-future-him, because that's just how he rolls.

Three.

He shouldn't.

If that mook Zach's little thought experiment had taught him anything, it should have been this- that Cas was off limits.

That he shouldn't keeping finding ways to keep him close.

He shouldn't keep finding ways to kiss Cas, but that's exactly what he does.

The world's ending around them in slow motion and they are fucking.

They're fucking in dank, stinking alleys, blood running down Dean's chin, and Cas licking it up, and feeding it back to him, tongue practically molesting Dean's tonsils, fingers squeezing his neck, rubbing against each other fully clothed, until Dean's coming in his pants. They're fucking on stained bedsheets of grimy hotel rooms, lights flickering, crackling, every electronic instrument in a five mile radius gone haywire, the smell of ozone and jizz making Dean dizzier, as Cas pounds him through four successive orgasms, each more spectacular and painful than the last, Dean's body a limp rag after. They're fucking squeezed together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean hunched over Cas, occasionally knocking his head on the roof, but he can't stop, won't stop, nothing has felt this good, a thick fat dick inside him, filling up his empty places, and Cas slack-mouthed, and eyes closed under him, hands wrapped around Dean's biceps so tight that Dean's gotta wear long sleeves through the hottest summer in three centuries, so that Sammy won't ask.

Sam knows, of course he does.

Cas isn't subtle when he turns up, dishevelled, hair sticking out in five different directions, looking pissed off and tired; shrinking, somehow, but still with that crackling power about him, and not looking at anyone or anything except at Dean, like all the roads he's taken looking for God have only led him straight back to Dean. Sam's taken to clearing his throat awkwardly, and hot-footing it out of hearing range the moment Cas appears, and just as well, Dean doesn't have it in him anymore to be quiet, sprawled wide open on the bed, hands twisting in the sheets as Cas fucks him fuck, fuck, fuck, jesus fuck, if he hadn't already gone to hell, surely this would send him there, profaning this holy thing of god, whose tongue was made for songs of praise and worship, and is instead all the way up Dean's ass, dragging an orgasm out of him.

It's alright, he reasons, on the days Cas is gone, and Sam is there, but gone.

Cas and him, they're not so different after all. They're both the disappointing sons of deadbeat dads, and Cas is losing his wings and his faith at approximately the same speed that Dean's losing everything and everyone, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and there's no way to fix it, no way to undo it, and he's going to have to kill the love of his life, and if this is his consolation prize, he's going to take it.

(Dean loves taking it.)

Dean will take it and he doesn't want to talk about it, and hey, apparently, neither does Cas, so that's peachy, that's perfect, and Dean shouldn't, but he does, and Cas lets him, and he does, right until Sam gets thrown into the pit, and Dean doesn't.

Cas' grace knits him together, once more, and then he's gone, and so is Dean.

Two.

Cas comes back.

But he's more of a stranger than he'd ever been, even in that barn, what feels like a lifetime ago, and he won't talk, and sure as fuck won't listen, and his blue gaze when it meets Dean's is cool as lake water, as if Dean doesn't know what Cas sounds like, strung out of his mind with pleasure, from having Dean hold him down with a binding sigil and fuck him raw.

As if they'd never been friends, and perhaps they hadn't, that was just what it was like in the war, and the war was over, and so were they.

Cas is all impatience, and anger, and sullen resentment, brittle in a way that scares Dean if he really thinks about it, because it's Cas, and something's wrong, Dean can feel it deep in his bones, just like he knew with Sammy, but he—

Look, if Cas wants to reach him, he knows how to call.

But then it's too late (again) and there's a war (again, or it was never over, why is it never over), only this time it's Cas that Dean needs to kill, really kill, and fuck if he knows how, but in the end, all he can do is watch as Cas walks into the water, and all that's left of him is a stained, torn trenchcoat.

Dean keeps it.

He can't look at it, can't stand to, that entire year, but he keeps it.

And then Cas comes back (again), but then he's gone (again) and what had Dean expected, really?

And Dean's tired, ok, so tired, so tired and sick and done, and the war is still on—maybe he shouldn't have left Cas, maybe he should have tried harder, maybe he should have called, maybe it wouldn't have all gone to shit, if Dean hadn't screwed it up once again, hadn't failed—

"Cas" he says, squinting against the sun on his face, up at where Cas is perched on the roof of the Impala. "Why are you covered in bees?"

The air is filled with a humming that Dean's only 90% certain are the bees.

"They like me, Dean," says Cas, as though that were a reasonable explanation, and fuck knows, maybe it was, in that fucked up noodle of his. "They wanted me to stay with them."

Shit, fuck.

Dean rubs his hands over his eyes.

"You maybe want to come inside and talk?"

Crazy or not, they needed all the help they could—

Cas hops down from the car, and the bees rise up in an angry, buzzing cloud before settling back.

"Lose the bees first", says Dean, and then regrets it, when Cas stands before him naked as a new-born.

"Dude!" yelps Dean, "Come on! Where the fuck are your clothes?"

"I—", says Cas, sounding lost and forlorn as he stares down at himself. "I'm not sure. The bees didn't like them."

And fuck, like this, Dean can see that Cas is just skin and bone, pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, hip bones jutting out—

"Well, mojo them back from wherever you left them", Dean growls, "There's a sandwich in it for you."

Cas looks up, hopeful.

"Peanut butter?"

"Sure", says Dean and hopes to god the vending machine has something that resembles a sandwich. "But get some.." he waves his hands, not looking at Cas, because it hurts to see him like this.

There's nothing like a sandwich in the machine, so he ends up instructing Cas to wait for him in the room while he makes a quick run to the nearest store. He picks up some orange juice and bananas while he's at it, along with the bread, peanut butter and jam.

"This is very kind of you, Dean" says Cas, as he sits (fully clothed, in his hospital scrubs and trenchcoat), his hands in his lap.

"So, what, you need to eat these days?" Dean queries. "You look like you've just spent six months on a fad diet".

Cas looks away, up at the ceiling.

"The grace is more useful for other things" he says, "There's so much to do. So many creatures in pain. I forget to."

"Listen", starts Dean, because he can guess where this is coming from, hell, it isn't like—

"Is my sandwich ready?"

Dean slides it across the table, and watches as Cas wolfs it down.

There's a bit of jam that gets stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Dean gestures at it, and then, when Cas looks confused, reaches out to—

Cas flinches.

Dean freezes, hand stuck awkwardly in mid-air, throat closing up.

He leans back, withdrawing his hand.

"You've got some jam smeared at the corner of your mouth, like a goddamned three year old, Cas".

"Oh", says Cas, and it vanishes.

Dean swallows the guess you don’t mind wasting your mojo on that then, that sits on his tongue, and Cas finishes his sandwich, suddenly quiet, staring down at his sandwich, though it wasn't like he'd been saying anything before, but it's a different sort of quiet between them now, filled with all the things that Dean wants to scream at him, and can't.

Cas doesn't touch the bananas, but slurps the orange juice, loudly.

Dean watches as Cas licks his lips, tongue darting out to taste the last of it.

When he looks up, Cas is looking at him.

He feels his cheeks heat, caught out.

"You’re sweet", says Cas, suddenly. "Sweeter than all the honey in the world".

And before Dean can process it, he leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's; a butterfly of a kiss, and then he's gone, in a quiet whoosh, and Dean's left alone, and when he wets his suddenly parched lips, he can taste the faint bitter-sour flavour of canned orange on them.

One

Well, Dean's not making the same mistake twice.

There's no way he's gonna leave Cas behind.

Where's the angel, he asks, as he hacks his way through Purgatory, where's the angel?

Cas, he prays, c'mon man. Don't do this to me.

Cas, please.

Once he gets slashed by something, some kind of hellbreed that seemed half werewolf, half vampire, and it's pretty bad, but somehow he manages to lose them, holed up high up in cave he'd discovered in some time ago. The view's spectacular from the ridge or would be, if the hills and valleys and forests weren't teeming with things that were out for his blood, and Cas'.

He manages the staunch the bleeding. The gash isn't too deep after all, but he's gonna have to stay put for a couple of days. But then the chills start, and he thinks, shit, shit. Starting a fire is a sure way to get killed, no way he's gonna be able to take on anything more dangerous than a field mouse right now, and fuck, he's exhausted, suddenly, and ok, this wasn't good, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet his face—

He's warm.

Cocooned in the softest of embraces, safe, untouchable.

"Mom?" he whispers, "Is that you?"

A hand brushes over his forehead, light and gentle.

He struggles to open his eyes, which seem to be refusing to cooperate.

It's not mom.

"Cas" he rasps, bleary eyed, throat drier than a desert. "Cas?"

"Shh" says Cas, "You're safe now. Rest, Dean."

And it's true, Dean can feel it, cradled here in—Cas' wings, he thinks, sleepily, unable to hold on to the thought. Those are Cas' wings he can feel, sheltering, soft, warm.

"You found me", he mumbles, "I've been looking for you."

"Shhh", Cas rumbles, "Don't talk. It's alright."

"Cas."

A feather light press against his mouth, and then another, and then a third.

"I'm here", Cas whispers, "Dean. Rest now."

But when he wakes up, he's alone.

If it weren't for the healed gash, skin smooth and untouched, every aching muscle restored like he'd been checked into a fancy spa for a month, he'd have been certain he dreamt it.

Then they get topside, and he wishes it had only been a dream, and not one more thing he'd have to forget.

(Plus One)

Sam's here, finally.

Bobby had been right, time sure passed different around here.

Sam's here now, and it's perfect.

Almost.

Cas isn't around.

Or he's everywhere, but nowhere where Dean can see him, reach out and touch him.

When he asks around, he gets vague answers.

Ellen says, oh, I think Jack and Cas are in some other planetary system this week.

Two weeks later, by Dean's counting, Rufus says, you just missed him, boy, he was here helping fix my roof not half-hour ago.

Jack says, looking embarrassed, uh, I sent him on a mission, to, um, uh, Andromeda, and then, uh, I have to go, nice seeing you again, Dean, and vanishes before Dean can whup his ass for lying to his family.

Dean gets into the Impala; tells Sam he's got a supply run to make.

"You've got like a 100 cartons of beer, Dean", says Sam.

"Not beer, Sammy."

Sam gives him a long look.

Dean shrugs, look, it wasn't like Sam didn't know.

Sam nods, once, lips quirking a little.

"Good luck, then" he says.

Dean flips a finger at him.

"C'mon, Baby" he says, as he pulls onto the road, "Take me to him."

Baby's never let him down.

Of course, Cas has gone and set his feathery ass down somewhere on the highest mountain that Dean has ever seen, the top of it half hidden in a swirl of clouds. There's only a narrow trail, no way to take Baby up, so he parks her under the shade of a leafy tree of some species he's pretty sure isn't found on earth, and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist.

Jesus, but Cas could be a real dick, and it wasn't like Dean didn't already know that, but, wow.

The trail is narrow, though not very steep, and the foliage dense for most parts, as he begins to climb. There's a river or a small waterfall somewhere, he can hear the sound of it, a muted roar. Up and up it goes, through plants and shrubs- or things that look like plants or shrubs, he can't be sure of anything here, he's realized. Occasionally, a small woodland creature of indeterminate origin will cross his path. Some of them stop and stare. One or two get experimentally close, while he stands as still as possible, and lets them acclimatize themselves to his scent. The foliage isn't dense enough to block out all sunlight, and every now and again the path will emerge onto an outcrop of rock and grass, probably intended as a rest-stop for the weary. Dean's only slightly out of breath, though the air gets cooler as he goes higher. But the sun is warm enough for a sheen of sweat to form, making his t shirt stick to his spine.

He sinks down onto a convenient grassy knoll and takes a few breaths. Clouds float lazily over the valley below, that stretches out farther than his eye can see. The river he's hearing winds through it, clear and blue, through acres and acres of green and violet, and brown and red. He turns his face up toward the sky.

Was it possible to get sunburn in Heaven?

Well, he was going to find out.

He turns his head a little.

He's about half way up the mountain, he estimates.

Given the position of the sun, he's been climbing about three hours.

Making me work for it, huh, buddy? Dick move, Cas, gotta tell you that.

Something rustles in the grass near him: a tiny grass snake, slim and green.

Snakes in paradise, wow, wasn't that theologically wrong or something?

But it gives him a beady eyed look and slithers over his outstretched palm and then away, unbothered, leaving behind a fleeting sense of dry leather.

Dean sighs.

"Cas?" he says, softly. "You're waiting for me, right?"

He doesn't know what he'll do if Cas isn't.

The thought makes his heart triphammer in his chest, fear gripping it.

What if he was too late, again?

But he's got to believe that he's right about this.

That he's here because Cas is ready, finally, to let Dean find him.

In those years after Purgatory, they'd never managed, somehow to make it work.

Every time Cas left—every time Cas came back—it got harder, somehow, to say, don't go, please, I need you, forgive me, stay.

Dean- he'd just become angrier and meaner, falling deeper and deeper and this was a grave that even Cas couldn't pull him out of. And then, when he'd been ready-almost—that second time in Purgatory, it had seemed like Cas wasn't ready, though surely, he knew, why else had he stopped Dean—

But the joke was on Dean, because Cas hadn't known, and then it had been too late. Cas was slipping through his fingers one more time, beatific in his joy, as he threw himself into the pit for Dean, and Dean had known, had known, that it was the last time.

When it was all over, he had waited.

Hope was a thing with feathers.

He had waited for Jack to bring Cas back to them, to Dean.

But Jack hadn't.

No way that Jack hadn't sprung Cas from the Empty, there was just no fucking way that would have happened, so that meant that Cas didn't want to see Dean.

And alright, maybe Dean deserved that, maybe that was his penance, and he would do it, gladly.

He wouldn't complain, and he'd go through the rest of his life with a piece of him missing, and it was what it was, there were things you couldn't undo, there were sorrows that had to be borne.

On the bad days, after a hunt that went wrong- there were, after all, still some of those—he'd lie in bed, every tendon and muscle and bone aching, and when he closed his eyes, he'd try to will himself back there, to that cave in Purgatory, the safety and comfort of Cas' shelter, and the sweet press of his lips against Dean's.

Sweeter than all the honey in the world.

He blinks awake.

Apparently he'd taken a nap, though given that the sun was still steadily beating down on his face—and yes, you could get sunburn in heaven, thanks for nothing Jack—it hadn't been too long.

It takes another two hours, and he's almost giving up hope, wondering whether he's going to end up just spending the night alone on this mountain after all, when he breaks through a particularly dense grove and finds himself in a middle of a garden.

The garden- in flagrant, dizzying bloom around a cobbled stone path that leads to a small wooden cabin nestled against the wall of the mountain- has an occupant.

Dean feels like his breath was punched out of him.

My true form is as tall as the Chrysler building, Cas had once said, the lying liar that he was, because he's probably twice as tall. He's all iridescent wings that span twenty feet either side, and a dozen wheels spinning in different directions and something that looks like blue flames trailing the edges of his wings, and Dean is—

Jesus.

Cas turns toward him at that, and Dean senses his-shock?- before the almost unbearable brightness dims slowly, coalescing into a familiar shape.

"Not quite", says Cas. "Hello, Dean."

Dean's feet seem locked to the ground, and Cas doesn't make a move toward him either.

"Hi", Dean breathes out, the air rushing out of his lungs with the word. "Cas."

Cas has switched out the trenchcoat and suit for comfortable looking pair of white linen pants and a loose short tunic of sky blue, that match his eyes, and there's what looks like a week's worth of stubble along his jaw.

"Heaven can't afford a razor?" is what Dean says next, like the idiot he is.

Cas' eyes crinkle. "I've been told it makes me more attractive".

What, who- no- fuck.

Dean's already up in Cas' space before he realizes it.

"Who told you that?" he rasps, and up close he can see the flecks of grey in the stubble, and at Cas' temples, and yes, it made him breathtakingly hot, but damned if Dean was going to— "They were lying, just so you know."

Cas is smiling at him.

"Dean," he says, softly.

Dean reaches out to run a finger against his jaw, going against the grain, ends up with his fingers resting lightly against Cas' cheek, just under his ear.

"You’re a dick" he says, softly, "you know that?"

Cas nods.

"I've been" starts Dean, and then finds he's out of words, takes a shuddery breath instead, furiously trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

Cas's hands cup his face, warm and sure, and he draws Dean's forehead down to his.

"I know", Cas says, softly. "But I would do it again if it meant I saved you. I would do it all again."

"I should have told you," whispers Dean, "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough."

"Dean", says Cas, softly, "You've always been enough."

Above them the sky starts turning a fiery orange as the first of the suns starts to set.

Cas' wings- which he hasn't tucked away- take on a metallic shine, but they feel warm, and safe, just like Dean remembers.

Dean kisses him, softly, once, then again, then again.

"Sweeter than all the honey in the world", he whispers, glad that there's nobody to hear this but Cas.

"You don't even like honey", says Cas, after a moment. "You never let Sam put any in your tea."

Dean draws back.

"You don’t remember", he accuses, genuinely horrified.

Cas' brows draw together in a frown.

"What?"

"You kissed me! And said—well you said what you said! Back in the day when you were all crazy!"

"Which time?"

Dean groans, thumping his head onto Cas' shoulder.

Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and tucks him closer in his embrace.

"I remember" he confesses, quietly, after a moment. "But I thought you'd want to forget it."

"Cas", Dean, sighing, as he turns to nuzzle the soft, tender skin beneath Cas' ear, placing a small kiss there, as he presses closer. "Let's never talk about this again, ok?"

#spn #supernatural #destiel #dean x cas #gosh i hope this one makes you feel a bit better #<3 <3 <3

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expectingtofly · 3 years

Text

One Hell (Heaven?) of a Situation

2.6k

also posted on ao3

thanks to @callenofthenorth for beta-editing :)

15x20 Coda, Crack and Fluff, Jimmy and Kansas are in Heaven

I have no good explanation for this. I was in the middle of writing a "serious" coda... then the stuff about Jimmy and Kansas came out and this happened instead

Dean opened his eyes to a bright, blue sky.

“What the fuck?” he muttered, realizing he was lying on the ground outside. Sitting up, he looked around, trying to get his bearings, then everything came flooding back to him. The vamp mimes, that fucking piece of rebar, piercing pain—he looked down at himself and frowned. These were not the clothes he’d been wearing on that hunt.

“Fuck,” he said aloud as it hit him. “I’m dead.”

Getting to his feet, he stared at the building he’d ended up beside. The Roadhouse? He thought his Heaven was setting off fireworks with Sammy. Then a familiar figure stepped out onto the porch and called, “Dean!”

“Bobby?” Dean asked as he approached the porch.

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” Bobby asked, pulling him into a hug. “Thought you had several more years in you.”

“Yeah, well, bad luck.” He really was gonna have to come up with a better story for how he got here than death by glorified rusty nail.

Pulling away from Bobby, he looked at the lit windows of the Roadhouse. Was that "Dust in the Wind" playing from inside? “What memory is this?”

“It isn’t one.” Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. “Heaven’s completely different now. Jack changed everything. Everyone’s together, we can go wherever we want, do whatever we want.” He gestured to the Roadhouse door. “Turns out that means a lot of parties inside.”

“Shit, alright.” Dean smiled. “Way to go Jack.”

“Wasn’t just his idea, though. Castiel helped.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat, or would’ve if it was still beating. He stared at Bobby, afraid he hadn’t heard him right. “Cas helped?”

Bobby grinned. “A week ago, or something like that—time passes strange here—Jack showed up and introduced himself. Brought Cas with him.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean interrupted. “A week ago? What the hell? Why didn’t Jack bring Cas down to Earth? Sammy and I, we were going crazy—” He cut himself off. He didn’t want to remember his last days on Earth. The way he and Sam had poured through books of lore, trying to find a spell, something, anything, to bring Cas back. The long, sleepless nights, the way his eyes burned as he scanned yellowed pages, the fear that they might never get Cas back, that he might never get to give Cas a reply… Even after defeating Chuck, returning to run-of-the-mill monster hunts, nothing had seemed normal. Nothing had seemed right.

“I don’t know,” Bobby said, frowning. “Cas said he had work to do here first. He’s inside—”

The words hadn’t left his mouth before Dean was wrenching open the door to the Roadhouse and rushing inside. Calls and greetings rose around him, but he couldn’t pay them any attention, too intent on scanning the room.

There, in the corner, sitting at a table near a stage where a band played. The angel he never thought he’d see again. “Cas!” Dean called and rushed forward.

A woman at the same table nudged Cas’ shoulder, and Cas turned from watching the band. His eyes met Dean’s, then widened, and a look of horror crossed over his face.

“Wait, wait!” he exclaimed, lifting his hands up in defense, and holy fuck—Dean skidded to a stop in front of the table, the words, I love you on his tongue. That was not Cas’ voice. And the man in front of him was not Cas.

He was Jimmy.

Dean stared at him, the joy and relief that had urged him forward giving way to shock and disappointment. If he’d paused for one second before running over, he would’ve realized in an instant that the man in front of him wasn’t Cas. There were several giveaways. For one, the polo shirt and khakis Jimmy was wearing. Two, his arm around the woman sitting in the chair next to him—his wife, Dean was assuming.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean managed, realizing he’d been staring with his mouth open. He shut it and tried to not look as betrayed as he felt.

“I live down the road,” Jimmy said, looking affronted. “Well, not live, because I guess we’re all dead—”

“Where’s Cas?”

“He’s, um,” Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room. “He was here a moment ago, but I don’t know where he went.”

Dean blinked at him, then turned to scan the room. “Anyone seen Cas leave?” he called desperately. He got a mixture of noncommittal sounds and shrugs. Just his luck. The one time he was finally ready to tell Cas how he felt, and Cas was nowhere to be found.

Bobby reached his side. “I see you’ve met Jimmy. Again.”

“Yeah.” He stared at Jimmy, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “This is one hell of a situation.” Which was ironic, considering he was in Heaven right now.

“It’s not my fault!” Jimmy protested. “I wasn’t expecting Castiel to show up looking like me! Besides, I thought angels didn’t go to Heaven when they died.”

“Well, Cas is special,” Dean spluttered. “He gets to keep his vessel, I guess. And if anyone deserves to be in Heaven, it’s him.”

Tearing his eyes from the imposter, he turned to Bobby. “What the hell is going on?” he muttered. “Why is Jimmy in my Heaven?” It wasn’t that he hated the guy; it was just incredibly difficult to look at him—Jimmy having the same face as Cas and all.

“Like I said,” Bobby explained patiently, “it’s not your heaven. It’s everyone’s. Case in point, your dad has a house not five minutes from here.”

“Fuck.” Sam was gonna love that. “Wait.” He scanned the room again, slower now. There was Ellen, Jo, Mrs. Tran—fuck, he was gonna have a lot of explaining to do about Kevin. “Where’s mom?”

Bobby grimaced. “Her and John split up, pretty hairy situation. She’s doing well now, though, much better off without him. Do you know a stuck-up British guy by the name of Ketch?”

“You’re joking. Not him and mom… Together?” Bobby nodded and Dean swore under his breath. “This place isn’t what I was expecting at all.”

“If I might add,” Jimmy spoke up and Dean looked at him. “Castiel has been creating quite the disturbance since he got here. Heaven was… peaceful before him. Not so much now.”

“What’s he talking about?” Dean asked Bobby.

“Well, turns out Cas isn’t such a fan of John—”

“He nearly started a fight!” Jimmy interjected. “This is Heaven, for Heaven’s sake!”

Dean couldn’t help but grin, and Bobby returned the smile. “Come on,” he said, leading Dean away from Jimmy. “Cas will turn up soon enough. I’m sure Jack will too. There’s a lot of people here who are happy to see you.”

“Right, yeah,” Dean said, trying to hide the fact that, at the moment, the only person he wanted to see was Cas. He let Bobby lead him to the bar where Ellen smiled and waved at them. “Icarus-Borne on Wings of Steel” filled the air and he frowned. That sounded pretty good for a cover band.

He glanced at the stage and stopped in his tracks. “Is that… Kansas?”

Bobby nodded. “They all died when their tour bus crashed. I would say it’s a shame, but I’m enjoying the live music too much.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. First Jimmy, now Kansas. Heaven was… interesting, to say the least. Overwhelming was another way to put it. If only Cas would show up, he could start to appreciate it all.

Cas? he prayed silently. I’m here, buddy. I wanna… I wanna see you. He waited for the sound of wings, but none came, and disappointment sunk in his chest.

He made his way through the Roadhouse, greeting old friends, making up a badass story for how he died—thirteen vamps, an epic car chase, and liberal use of his grenade launcher—but his smile felt forced. Where the hell was Cas? Maybe he was angry Dean had stayed silent during his love confession. In Dean’s defense, Cas had thrown a lot at him all at once. He’d been in a state of shock for days after. Even now he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing up.

“Jimmy,” he called, returning to the table. He caught the way Jimmy rolled his eyes before looking up at him.

“Yes?”

“Cas, he’s been alright, hasn’t he? I mean, did he, um, has he said anything about me?”

Jimmy’s eye twitched and his wife laughed. “What has he not said about you—that’s the real question,” she answered.

“He won’t shut up,” Jimmy added. He gestured to Kansas, to the bar. “All this, it’s been for you. Giving Kansas a gig here, the free, unlimited liquor. He acts like he’s designing Heaven for everyone, but it’s painfully clear it’s all for you. He even brought in the Impala, which he won’t let anyone near, by the way.”

Baby was here? Obviously. She was as good a car as cars got. Of course Cas understood that. “So, he’s not mad at me?” he pressed.

Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh and looked at his wife. “This is the nonsense I had to put up with, the whole time Castiel was possessing me.” He looked back at Dean. “No. Not that I know of. Did you two really not get together on Earth? After all this time?”

“We’ve been busy,” Dean protested. “Saving the world, defeating God—we haven’t exactly had time for heart to heart talks.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the truth wasn’t something he was proud of. All these years and he’d never worked up the courage to tell Cas how he truly felt. But now he had a second chance, if only Cas would show.

“Well, hopefully you two can talk it out soon because if I have to see Castiel stare at you longingly across the room one more time, even if it’s not through my own eyes anymore, I’m gonna request a transfer to hell.” With that, he turned back to his wife, and Dean stammered for a snarky retort. Unable to come up with one that preserved the last shreds of his dignity, he slunk away.

Joining Jo and Charlie at the bar, he listened as Charlie told him about the recent larping tournament she had organized. He paid attention, nodding and laughing at the right moments, but his eyes kept searching the room for any glimpse of a trenchcoat.

The door to the Roadhouse opened and Dean turned expectantly, his heart racing. Rufus raised a hand in greeting as he stepped inside and Dean sighed.

Please, Cas, he prayed. I have so much to tell you.

His eyes returned to Jimmy again. Same hair, same face, same eyes as Cas. But so different. So human. Cas, though… Cas was gorgeous—the way he stared at Dean so intently, the way he carried himself, the way his eyes glowed with angelic strength, such blue eyes, and his hands, holy fuck...

“For Pete’s sake!” Jimmy exclaimed and Dean startled, realizing he’d been staring for who knew how long. Jimmy jabbed his finger at a door on the back wall. “He’s hiding in there.”

“W-What…?”

Jimmy looked heavenwards—well, at the ceiling—for a long moment before meeting Dean’s eyes. “Castiel panicked when he heard you were here, something about not expecting you so soon—”

Dean stopped listening, already shoving his stool aside and rushing to the door. The doorknob didn’t budge so he knocked. “Cas? Cas, are you in there?”

A long pause, then a muffled, “Yes.”

Dean leaned closer to the door to hear better. “Cas, what the hell, man? What are you doing in there?” He waited for a response, but none came. “Cas?” he pressed, afraid the angel had flown the coop.

The door opened slowly, and Dean took a step back. Cas stood with one hand on the doorknob, an embarrassed look on his face. “Hello, Dean.”

The sound of those familiar words, in that familiar voice, made Dean weak at the knees. He forced his voice to be steady as he said, “Hi, Cas.”

Cas studied him. “You died so soon.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Yeah, sick joke, right?”

“How did it happen?” Cas started to ask, but Dean waved his hand.

“Not important. The better question is, why have you been avoiding me?” His voice faltered at a sudden fear that he wouldn’t like the answer. Maybe Cas had had too much time to think since the night he died, maybe he was regretting everything he’d said, maybe Dean’s silence had spoiled the moment—

Cas ducked his head, studying his shoes. “I wasn’t sure… I never expected to see you again. I thought my death was final. Then Jack awakened me and brought me from the Empty, and...”

“And?”

“And I wasn’t sure how you would react to my reappearance.” Cas raised his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “I said a lot of things before I died, and I don’t know how things stand between us now.”

“Then let me speak.” He glanced over his shoulder to see everyone watching them. In all the times he’d pictured this moment, he’d never imagined having an audience, let alone background music courtesy of Kansas. But he’d be damned if he went one moment longer without telling Cas the truth.

Focusing on those blue eyes again, he took a deep breath and said, “You were wrong.” Cas frowned a little and Dean continued, “You can have me. I love you, Cas—have for years now. I just never… I never knew how to say it.” Cas watched him, face serious, eyes intent. So undeniably Castiel. “I love you. So goddamn much. Please say it’s not too late. Please tell me you’re not having second thoughts.”

A smile slowly spread over Cas’s face. “It’s not too late, Dean. I’ll always love you.”

Relief rushed over Dean. Before he could think twice about it, he stepped forward, grabbed Cas’ tie, and pulled him in to kiss him. He felt Cas’ hand rise to his cheek, then Cas was kissing him back and people were cheering, but Dean ignored them all, wrapping his free arm around Cas to pull him closer.

“I thought you didn’t love me back,” Cas whispered, pushing his forehead against Dean’s when they broke apart after seconds, or maybe years. Time in Heaven was different, after all.

“I can’t believe you hid in a closet to avoid me.”

Cas laughed a little. “Not my finest moment.”

“I almost confessed my love to Jimmy; I thought he was you.”

“Oh, yes. I suspect his being here is going to cause some confusion.” Cas pulled away to frown at Jimmy over Dean’s shoulder. “And he was not supposed to tell you where I was.”

Dean laughed. “I’m just so glad you’re here.” He kissed Cas again, deeply, slipping his hands under the worn fabric of the trenchcoat. Cas’ fingers slid along his neck and in his hair. Finally, after so long...

Though his mind was spinning, he caught Jimmy’s voice rise above Kansas playing “The Wall,” “First I had to hear all of Castiel’s thoughts about Dean while he possessed me, now I have to share a Heaven with them—”

“Get a room!” Jo called. Dean waved her off as Cas pulled him into the supply room. He’d make a comment later on the irony of hiding in a closet. Right now, he nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to keep kissing Cas while fumbling to pull the door shut behind them. Time to start enjoying the afterlife.

Tag List

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @spookyskeletonsandallthezombies @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @famouspsychicpizzabandit @madronasky

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my other destiel fics or removed from the list :)

#i read so many posts about jimmy and cas in heaven #that they're all melded in my mind #but if i accidently took someone's idea and ran with it #lmk and i'll give credit where credit is due #i find this whole jimmy thing endlessly amusing #i now accept jimmy and kansas in heaven as canon #crack fic #fluff #destiel #dean and cas are idiots #expectingtofly writes

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 3 years

Text

New World CH. Two

Title: Problems

Words: 2,572

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of rape and death (no actual rape or death)

A/N: Here’s chapter two! Hope you enjoy!

If you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write for you!

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Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Daryl Dixon Masterlist

Walking Dead Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

[Y/n]

When you woke up the next morning, Adeline had managed to starfish in her sleep and you laughed softly, brushing her hair out of her face. You heard a groan come from behind you and you whipped around to see a sleepy Sam sitting up.

“Jesus, Sam, don’t scare me like that,” you said.

“Sorry,” Sam said with a yawn. You just shook your head and looked around.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Probably outside getting food. You know how he is in the mornings.”

“Good to know that hasn’t changed,” you said with a laugh. Sniffing the air, you smelled eggs and pancakes.

“Seems you haven’t either,” Sam teased.

“Oh hush.”

“We still have your things from before we got separated. Dean brought them into the tent last night while you were sleeping.” Sam pointed to the corner of the tent and you saw a duffel and a backpack.

“Thanks.”

“Get dressed then come get breakfast. We still have people to introduce you to.”

“Alright. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Sam gave you a smile before leaving the tent. You quickly got dressed and when you were putting on your shoes, Adeline woke up.

“Mommy!” She launched herself at you and you caught her with a grunt.

“Hey, baby,” you cooed as you picked her up. Adeline buried her face in your neck and clung to you.

“I missed you,” she said, sniffing lightly.

“Oh, baby, I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to her hair and set her down. Wiping away her tears, you looked her in the eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed and we can go get some breakfast, yeah?”

“Okay.”

You kissed her forehead and helped her pick out an outfit for the day. Once she was all ready to go, the two of you walked out of the tent and to the campfire where breakfast was being served.

“You’re up, good!” Carol said. She came up to you with two plates full of food and handed one to you and the other to Adeline. “I was just about to see if you were awake or not.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you said to her with a smile. “Do you know where my brothers are?”

“They’re over by the house, talking with Rick and Hershel.” She started walking away and you followed her to the fire.

“Hershel?”

“The owner of the farm.”

“Ah, okay. Makes sense. What are they talking about? Or is it a need to know thing?” You asked.

“Now that Sophia’s found, they’re trying to see if Hershel will let us stay on the farm.”

“I hope they do. It seems like a relatively safe place,” you said. “A place where these kids can grow up.”

“I agree. Now why don’t you two go sit down and enjoy the food. I’m sure that the others would love to get to know you better.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Carol poked Ada’s nose, making her giggle and you smile, before she walked away.

Stomach growling, you sat down and ripped into your food. Moaning quietly, you didn’t see Lori piling more food on your plate or your brothers coming out of the house. Nobody complained about you getting extra food and you jumped when you felt a hand on your head. Reaching for your knife, Lori stopped you before you could stab Dean.

“Woah, easy sweetheart. It’s just me,” Dean said.

“Sorry,” you said with a sheepish grin. “Morning.”

“Morning,” he said to you. He gave you a kiss on the forehead before sitting next to you, placing Ada on his lap. “Sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s okay. Guess I’ve just been a bit tense.”

“How did you make it all alone?” Dale asked. “Don’t want to offend, but you’re a small little thing. All by yourself all that time?”

“It helped that I already knew how to use a gun and how to fight hand to hand with and without a knife. I already knew how to make traps and hunt so if I was successful I had something to eat. Slept in trees if there wasn’t any shelter around. I’m also light on my feet and know how to get around without being spotted.” You shrugged and shoved more food in your mouth.

“She took me down pretty easy,” Daryl said through a mouthful of food. “I didn’t even know she was there ‘til a knife was at my throat.”

“Atta girl,” Dean said with a grin.

“Thanks,” you said to Dean. To Daryl you said, “I am sorry about that. You snuck up on me and I panicked.”

“Thought I was a geek?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I knew you weren’t one of them.”

“You were worried about people?” Rick asked.

“Yeah. It was about a month ago I think. Time is a blur so I don’t remember exactly when I saw them, but there was a dad and his two daughters. Four men came along and did, uh, things to the girls. They were maybe fifteen or sixteen, just kids, and made their dad watch. Didn’t even kill him. Just left afterwards. Two of them didn’t do anything but one of them looked like he wanted to.” You swallowed harshly. “Heard your footsteps and thought you were part of their group.”

“What made ya follow me?” Daryl said after a moment.

“Your voice, the tone of it. Your actions too. They would’ve started sweet-talking me, trying to lull me into a false sense of security. You didn’t do that.” Looking at him with a small smile, you turned back to your food.

“That’s awful,” Carol said quietly. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not the worst I’ve seen. But thank you.”

“You done with your food, [y/n]?” Lori asked you. You nodded and she took your plate.

“I’m gonna introduce you to Hershel,” Rick said. “C’mon.”

“Don’t leave mommy!” Adeline said as she tried to get out of Dean’s hold.

“I’ll be right back, baby. Don’t you worry.” You brushed her hair back and Adeline nodded slowly.

Sam took your plate from you and pushed you towards Rick lightly.

“Hershel is a veterinarian. He’s been helping heal any wounded. He helped save Carl, my son, and T-Dog,” Rick said as he led you to the house.

“What happened to Carl?”

“He got shot,” Rick said. “One of his men was hunting a buck and didn’t see Carl approaching it. Bullet went clean through the deer and hit Carl. He almost died but Hershel saved him.”

“Any lasting consequences?”

“Not so far. We’re still making him take it slow, but he should be alright.”

“Good.” You let out a sigh and Rick opened the door to the house.

“After you.”

---

“Hershel, this is Sam and Dean’s sister, [y/n]. Daryl found her and Sophia in the woods while searching for Sophia yesterday.”

“It’s nice to meet you, [y/n].”

“Nice to meet you too. I heard about what you did to save that little boy’s life. And I am really grateful you’re giving my daughter a safe place to stay.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Hershel said. You shook your head.

“The worlds gone to shit, excuse my language. It might have been the right thing to do, but most men wouldn’t have done it. Whatever you need, just ask.”

“I appreciate it. Have you met my daughters yet?” You shook your head and he introduced you to Maggie and Beth.

“Patricia and Jimmy are doing some chores around the farm, but I’ll make sure to introduce you to them before dinner. For now, you can use the shower if you’d like. We have hot water, but go easy on it. Maggie, could you show her to the bathroom?”

“Yes. Follow me.”

You followed Maggie up the stairs as she led you to a bathroom.

“Feel free to use whatever shampoo and soap you’d like. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you, Maggie,” you said. “I do really appreciate you letting me use your hot water.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll leave you to yourself.”

“Alright.”

She left, closing the door and you started stripping with a sigh. Turning on the water, you didn’t have to wait long until it was hot. When you stepped under the water, you let out a groan of satisfaction and started washing yourself. It felt good to massage and clean your hair, not having shampooed since the world went to shit. You went as fast as you could, not wanting to use all of their hot water accidentally.

Stepping out when you were squeaky clean, you toweled off and redressed before walking out of the bathroom. It felt weird being in a house that wasn’t run down and even though you knew it was safe enough, you still wanted to get back outside.

“That was a quick shower,” Maggie said when you got to the living room.

“Didn’t want to use all the hot water. I’m known for long showers,” you said with a laugh.

“Me too. Wish I had the resources to do it again, but we gotta live with what we got. Your brothers are outside and so is Adeline,” Maggie said.

“Thanks.” Before you left, you turned to her. “I hope we can get to know each other better. You seem like a good person.”

“I was thinking the same thing. After you get settled, we can talk?”

“I’d like that.” You both smiled at each other and you walked outside. When you got to the camp, everyone was tense and you could tell that something was wrong.

“What happened?” You asked, picking Adeline up.

“Glenn just told us that the barn is full of walkers,” Carol said.

“It’s what?”

You walked with everyone to the barn and looked inside with Shane after handing Adeline over to Sam.

“What the fuck?” You said to yourself. Walking backwards with a shake of your head, you looked at Rick.

“You can’t tell me you’re alright with this,” Shane said to Rick. “You have Lori and Carl to think about here. There’s the girls too.”

“I’m not okay with it. But we’re guests. This isn’t our land!”

“But it’s our lives man!”

“Be quiet,” Glenn said, glancing worriedly at the barn.

“We can’t just go about our day and forget about this,” Andrea said.

“I agree. It’s too dangerous. Something could happen and it isn’t right,” you said to Rick. “I know this isn’t our land but we can’t just let this go.”

“We gotta go in there. We’ve got to make things right or we need to leave. We can go to Fort Benning.”

“We can’t leave, Shane!” Rick said.

“Why?”

“Because this is a place where these kids can grow up,” Carol said. “[Y/n] agrees with me too.”

Shane looked exasperated and shook his head.

“A place where the owner keeps walkers in his barn?”

“Look, we need to figure this out, but arguing amongst ourselves isn’t going to do any fucking good!” You said angrily. “This needs to be a calm conversation. No accusing, no yelling.”

“You just agreed with me and now you’re taking his side?” Shane said to you. “If you’re gonna do that, you should just stay quiet. Don’t need the opinion of someone who just got here.”

“I’m taking no one’s side right now. Yes, we need to deal with the walkers, but we also can’t just up and leave a safe place without talking about it rationally! And it doesn’t matter if I just got here or not, I’m here now so keep that in mind.”

“Just let me and Rick talk to Hershel,” Sam said. “Let us figure it out.”

“What are you gonna figure out?!” Shane yelled at Sam. You flinched at his booming voice but steeled yourself and shoved a finger into his chest, anger in your eyes.

“Don’t you dare yell at my brother like that,” you said coldly. “I don’t care if you’re angry, you don’t get to do that.”

Shane looked at you and he huffed angrily before rolling his eyes and looking away. Adeline was starting to get a little anxious and reached for you. Taking her in your arms, you tried calming her down.

“This is his land. If we clear out the barn I’m going to need to talk to him.”

“Hershel sees those things as people,” Dale said. “Sick people. His wife, stepson. People he cared about.”

“You knew?” Rick asked him.

“I talked to Hershel yesterday.”

“And you waited the night?” Shane accused.

“I thought we could survive one more night. And we did! I was waiting to say something this morning, but Glenn wanted to be the one to tell.”

“If Hershel thinks those things are alive, he’s crazy, Rick!” Shane yelled.

At that moment, the walkers started banging on the barn doors, trying to get out. You took a step back and Sam pulled you slightly behind him as you all looked warily at the barn.

“We need to take this conversation somewhere else,” you said. “If we keep arguing here, they’re going to get out and cause trouble.”

“She’s right,” Daryl said. “’Sgo back ta camp.”

Shane stormed off and the rest of the group followed close behind. You stayed at the back of the group with your brothers. Sam was silent for a minute but kept opening his mouth to say something.

“You don’t have to defend me against Shane,” he said.

“If he talks to you like that then I will. You’re right, we need to talk to Hershel about it. But he also has a point, Sam. We can’t just let this go.”

“I know. When did you get so grown up?”

“I’ve always been more grown up than you, Sammy,” you said with a laugh. You walked past them and towards camp. Sitting down, you started comforting an anxious Adeline, and Carol came up to you.

“Thank you for defending me,” she said. “You don’t even know us that well but you still did.”

“Even though I’ve never met y’all, you took care of my daughter and brothers. I’ve been on my own out there and it’s hell. A safe place is what we need right now and I’ll keep defending you even if that asshole thinks I shouldn’t.”

Carol laughed softly and pulled you close. “Thank you,” she whispered. After a second, she let go and went to the stables.

Looking around, you scanned the horizons, looking for any threats. The barn full of walkers made you super uneasy and on edge. Your hand never left your knife and you tensed when you heard someone walking up to you. Turning, you saw Dean and you relaxed a bit.

“Hey,” you said with a smile.

“How are you feeling?”

“Uneasy,” you said honestly.

“Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

“Has it always been like that?” You asked Dean. “The two of them yelling at each other?”

“A little bit, yeah. But it has gotten worse.”

After a minute of silence, you looked at your brother. “Do they know about what we did before the world ended?”

“They do. The only ones that don’t are Hershel and his family. He’s a bit religious and doesn’t have the same view on walkers as we do, so we thought it might be best not to let them know just yet.”

“I think that’s a good idea.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead x reader #supernatural x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #daryl dixon #The Walking Dead #supernatural

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samofnazareth · 3 years

Text

Want by sixtysixseals (me! read here on ao3!)

“For so long, since the beginning of time, my objectives were clear. Follow orders, receive revelation, pray to our father, look over my charge—” and here he spares a glance at Dean, who’s sitting across from him on one of Bobby’s rickety kitchen chairs, elbows on his knees, hands toying with his silver flask. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, perhaps, or consternation or concern—after a year in this body, Castiel still can’t decode the minutiae of human expression, even with Dean. Especially with Dean.

“—now all that is meaningless, moot. I don’t know why I should continue. Or how.”

“Well, buddy, I’m not very good at giving advice, and I’m even worse at following it,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his cheek, “but it sounds like now you gotta make your own objectives. All your life, your fate has been decided for you by… different higher-ups. God. Archangels. Zachariah. Whatever. Now you got the chance to break free from all that. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

Castiel nods, but he still feels heavy, like a boulder at the bottom of a river.

“Let’s start here,” Dean says. “What do you need?”

This question is relatively simple. Castiel fights well in the arena of duty.

“I need to stop the Apocalypse. And to do that, I need to find my father.”

Even though Castiel knows every word in every human language, Castiel doesn’t know how to say: I’m scared shitless. Nor does he know how to say: even though I feel heavy as a stone, I also feel like an untethered raft in a storm. Nor does he know how to say: my entire existence I’ve flown towards this fate and I’m afraid I won’t know I’ve chased it off a cliff until I’m halfway to the ground.

“Well, then, we’ll help you,” Dean says, breaking his train of thought.

“What?”

“What, you thought we’d let you do this solo? You’re with the Winchesters, now, Cas. Can’t shake us easy.”

“Dean, no. I wouldn’t—I am not asking you and Sam to stray from your current obligations. This is something I can do alone.”

“Well, you’re not asking, but I’m telling. We’ll go with you.”

All at once, Castiel has been offered a reason to smile in the form of a man at his father’s kitchen table in the half-dark of dusk.

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean continues. “Alright, we got duty out of the way. Now—what do you want, Castiel?”

And what a question that is, with Dean’s cheek muscles twitching against unfamiliar earnestness and the collar of his shirt rubbing at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. What does Castiel want? What would an angel of the Lord ever want that he does not already have—the grace of God, the force to destroy evil, an all-encompassing and imperforate union with the Host? Castiel wanted those things before, even though he already had them. That want, too, was once a duty to fulfill. He still wants those things, but he also wants—God, he wants—

“I want a drink.”

Dean laughs, short and loud and slightly bitter. He passes the flask to Cas. “I hear ya, buddy.”

“Shit. What else do you want?” he asks once Castiel has emptied the flask. And what a question that still is, with Cas’s vessel going hot from the drink and Dean’s tan, freckled hands everywhere in his vision: around the neck of his silver flask, worrying his bottom lip, tapping out a soundless drum break on the table.

“I want to eat.”

“What else do you want?” Dean asks with his mouth full of the last bite of Cas’s sandwich. “What else do you want?” Dean grumbles after he’s tripped through a passage from one of Bobby’s few books in Enochian. “What else do you want?” Dean whispers as they lie close together on the hood of Dean’s car when the stars are bright in their thousands. Cas doesn’t answer this question, not directly; he merely allows his body to move to what it’s calling for.

“Wait—what the fuck?” Dean says against Cas’s lips after they’ve been pressed to his for a few seconds. He pushes Cas’s shoulders, hard, and scrambles off the car. “What the fuck?” he says again.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and the metal under his back feels cold, and the distance Dean’s put between their bodies feels like lightyears after Castiel’s aborted attempt at a kiss. Worse than Heaven’s torture chamber, this: a wild, merciless gaze punishing you for falling to the temptation of taking exactly what you want.

“Dean—”

“I’m just gonna forget that happened, okay, Cas?”

A second passes, and Castiel blinks out of the rust-lot behind Bobby’s with a rustle of feathers.

Once he’s gone, it takes all of Dean’s strength not to hurl on his car and instead fall to his knees to cough up the bile gathered in his throat. So that’s what Castiel’s wanted all along, he thinks: a quick piece of Dean’s human hide. Dean leans his back against the wheel of his car and grips his head in his hands, imagining he can rip thoughts out of his head from the roots of his hair. Why on God’s green earth would Dean ask Cas what he wants? He’s an angel, Dean, and you’ve forgotten what that means. It was only a kiss, Dean, and you didn’t even use tongue. You only wish you were disgusted, Dean. And finally, inevitably, a voice from his memories that slams through his skull like a foghorn: Think long and hard about what you really want, son.

Sammy had been at Bobby’s for the weekend. John had returned from a hunt earlier than expected. Dean had thought about what he really wanted, then, lying flushed with shame and deliriously awake on a hard motel bed. He’d thought about it the next day, when he’d spotted the trucker at the gas pump and driven out of there so fast John had joked about whiplash. He’d thought about it with Cassie and Lisa, with Ben Braeden and Adam. He’d thought about it when he met Jimmy Novak’s family. He thinks about it now.

In his desperation, he almost calls out to Castiel again. Because Dean knows exactly why he asked Cas what he did when Cas had turned his face towards his, when Dean’s heart had leapt up and his fingers had itched to touch: it’s because he’d hoped beyond conceivable hope that Cas wanted the same thing.

He breathes through another bout of nausea. By the height of the evening Dean feels steady enough to drag himself back to Bobby’s kitchen. Bobby is reading in his study—good thing, too, or else Dean might’ve yakked into the sink. Instead, he grabs a near-empty bottle of jack from under it.

“’Night, Bobby.”

“’Night, boy.” Dean is halfway up the stairs when Bobby adds, “Say, wasn’t that Castiel with you earlier? I’m usually great with Biblical Hebrew but this inscription’s giving me a headache. Guy must’a had too much Manichewitz…”

Dean falters on the steps, but only for a second.

“He left.”

And if that sounds as pathetic to Bobby’s ears as it does to Dean’s, Bobby doesn’t respond.

That Dean can make it upstairs to a real bed is a small miracle. Despite the now-empty bottle of jack at the foot of his bed, Dean still falls asleep thinking about exactly who he wants.

#deancas #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #destiel #destiel fic #spn #mine #writing #my writing

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worksongdean · 3 years

Text

i’ll never let go

based off this song x

They’re a couple hours into the wedding, first dances and father/daughter/son dances giving way to an open dance floor. Dean and Cas are entwined, slowly rocking side to side with their arms wrapped around each other. They had been quietly talking for a few songs, but their soft spoken words had fallen away as they simply basked in their love for one another. Dean hasn’t really been paying attention to anything around him, vaguely aware of other couples dancing around them. He’s pretty sure Sam and Eileen are a few feet away, taking a moment for themselves in between Crowley watching and general chaos control. Dean briefly thinks he should be worried that Crowley will take this opportunity to try for the mic again, but pushes it aside in favor of burying his face in his husbands neck. His husband. The novelty of that phrase makes his breath catch and he’s not quite sure it will ever go away. As he loses himself in their gentle swaying, Dean slowly becomes more aware of his surroundings, just enough to register the song that has begun to play over the speakers. It’s another slow song, but not one he recognizes. He goes to zone out again as the gentle plucking of guitar strings fill his ears, but pauses when he hears the lyrics of the first verse.

I swear to God, when I come home

I'm gonna hold you so close

I swear to God, when I come home, I'll never let go

Like a river, I flow to the ocean I know

You pull me close, guiding me home

Images of every time he’s lost Cas spring unbidden to his mind, causing him to unconsciously tighten his hold on the man in his arms. Briefly he feels a pang in his heart, but it’s quickly replaced by a sense of safety. He knows it’s never going to stop hurting, the memories of Cas leaving him, unwillingly or not. But he knows now that no matter how many times he’s lost Cas, he’ll always come back to him. “Just like a river to the ocean,” he thinks with a smirk as he listens to the singer close out the first verse before launching into the chorus.

And I need you to know that we're

Fallin' so fast, we're fallin' like the stars, fallin' in love

And I'm not scared to say those words

With you I'm safe, we're fallin' like the stars, we're fallin' in love

Dean’s breath catches in his throat again. He thinks of every time he wishes he had said something, had told Cas just how much he meant to him. Of every time the words got caught in his throat, like he was forbidden from speaking about how he truly felt. Years of self-hatred, of being told that what he was was wrong and disgusting, that his feelings somehow made him less weighing on him until he felt like he was choking. It wasn’t until the man, the angel, in his arms had told Dean that he loved him, that he loved the whole world because of him, had looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world, that Dean began to believe that maybe this wasn’t wrong. That he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t until they had fallen through a rift between worlds, their arms wrapped around each other not unlike they were right now, inky blackness releasing it’s grip on Cas as Dean hauled him up to crash their lips together, a near constant stream of i love you’s whispered between kisses, that for the first time Dean truly felt safe enough to let those words fall from his lips.

I swear to God, I can see

Four kids and no sleep

We'll have one on each knee, you and me, hmm

The beginning of the second verse causes a small smile to grow on Dean’s face as he picks his head up from where he had been nuzzling into Cas’ neck and rests his chin on his shoulder. His gaze wanders to the tables dotted along the edges of the dance floor, spotting Jack sitting at one along with Patience, Alex, and Krissy, the four talking animatedly about something or other. He only has a moment to wonder where Claire is before he spots her, the image before him making him soften as tears well in his eyes. A few feet behind Cas, Claire is swaying on the dance floor with Kaia wrapped in her arms, the two dancing almost as close together as he and Cas are. Claire’s eyes are closed and a soft smile graces her lips, but almost as if she can feel him watching her, she opens her eyes to meet his gaze. For a second he thinks she’s going to shy away, try to act like he didn’t catch her with her guard down in a way he’s never seen before. Instead her smile grows just a fraction as she inclines her head to him in acknowledgment. Dean’s smile grows as well as he returns her nod before closing his eyes once again. He remembers the scared and broken young girl he met so many years ago, a girl that reminded him so much of himself. Warmth fills his heart as he thinks of the young woman she’s grown to be, grateful to have even had a fraction of a hand in helping her along the way. They may not have gotten along at first but he’s glad they were able to get past what had happened with the mark. He’s even more glad that Claire had finally been able to forgive Cas. He knows how much Cas cared for her and how much he tried to do right by her, and slowly but surely they had made progress. After watching their father/daughter dance earlier, he knows better than ever that they’ll be alright. Dean also knows that he and Cas will never be able to replace Jimmy and Amelia and that they would never dream of replacing them, but he hopes that wherever Jimmy and Amelia are in heaven that they know that he and Cas tried their best.

Listening to the second chorus, Dean thinks that he’ll have to ask Charlie the name of the song. He had been just a little reluctant to let her have full control over their wedding playlist, but as the singer dips into a final verse before breaking into the bridge, he finds he’s glad they let the redhead pick the music.

I swear to God, every day

He won't take you away

'Cause without you, babe, I lose my way

Oh, I'm in love (I'm in love)

Oh, I'm in love (Fallin' like the stars)

Feeling something nudge the side of his head, Dean picks his head up off Cas’ shoulder and opens his eyes to find Cas already looking at him. The softness of Cas’ gaze and the small uptick of his lips causes Dean’s heart to stutter for a moment as he returns his husband’s look. One of Cas’ arms comes down from where he had them wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, reaching to the small of his back where Dean’s own arms were wrapped around him. Grabbing one of Dean’s hands, he brings it up to his lips and places a small kiss on the knuckles, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. Dean feels his breath catch a third time as he stares at the man in front of him. Slowly leaning forward, he presses his lips to Cas’, feeling more than hearing the sigh that falls from his husband’s lips as they melt into the kiss. As the final chorus ends and the song fades into the next, Dean knows that nothing could or will ever take Cas away from him again. To hell with “Til death do us part”. They could have this, forever.

And I need you to know that we're

Fallin' so fast, we're fallin' like the stars, fallin' in love

And I'm not scared to say those words

With you I'm safe, we're fallin' like the stars, we're fallin' in love

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rusty-tetanus-nail · 3 years

Text

Never Look Away

Summary: Dean and Cas are forced to redefine their relationship as a decade old secret between them finally comes to light.

Dean jumps up, strangely offended.

“Okay, first of all, you’ve seen my browser history. Your true form doesn’t even make my top 10 weirdest things I’ve jerked off to, so that's a load of bull..."

Notes: This is the result of listening to Never Look Away by Vienna Teng for 10 hours gay.

-------

Careful not to wake him, Dean traces the outlines of Cas’s body illuminated by the reddish hues of the morning sun with his fingers. He can hardly believe it’s only been a year since they defeated God and pulled Cas out of the Empty with the promise of a love returned.

So much has changed in such little time. With the illusion of free will no longer binding Dean to a greater destiny and with Cas and Dean’s own feelings out in the open he finally allowed himself to want all the things he denied himself for so long, always prioritizing other people’s happiness over his own. Now he has it all. A house, a job, a family, a life, Cas. It was so hard at first, to stop looking for hunts and letting go of Sam so he too could start his own life with Eileen by his side, but in the end Dean had been too tired to fight his own desires any longer and gave in.

Fuck the voice of his father telling him his only purpose in life was to watch out for Sammy and fuck the man John wanted him to be. He helped save this world so he gets to live in it in whatever way he wants to and what he wants is to live his cheesy apple pie life waking up every day next to the man he loves.

Cas stirs in his sleep and Dean watches the translucent wings flutter against the light seemingly drinking up the morning sun. They used to be pitch black back when they first met. A beautiful sight, yet not quite fitting the man Cas would eventually become.

Then they burned and Dean could barely stomach to look at them knowing how much the culmination of all of Dean’s mistakes had hurt Cas so irreparably. And now the wings are whole again and even more awe-inspiring than before. Something about Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty or maybe a blessing from Jack has restored them leaving Dean with the desperate urge to touch the intangible. Watching one of the smaller eyes on Cas’ wings slowly flutter open Dean wonders if it would be rude to ask about the colour change and chuckles. The way the wings shimmer with all the colours of the rainbow is just so wonderfully, blatantly gay.

“What’s so funny?” Cas mumbles half asleep as a couple more eyes flutter open searching for the source of Dean’s amusement.

Dean leans over, one hand caressing Cas’ jaw and kisses him softly good morning.

“I just love you so damn much.” He whispers only inches away from his husband’s mouth and rests his forehead against Cas’.

Cas moves back to study Dean’s face questioningly. The familiar stare is so much more intense now that Dean can take all of Cas in without suffering through the burning sensation that always accompanied laying his eyes on something filled with angelic grace.

Dean swallows hard. Having all of Cas’ eyes so solely focussed on him and him alone is such a major turn on. He must be doing it on purpose. It’s unfair how such a simple action has so much of an effect on Dean.

“I don’t understand how that’s funny.” Cas says, one eyebrow raised.

“Then come and find out.”

Dean’s mind is already too far gone to care for the conversation and he pulls Cas closer by his shirt desperate to embrace the parts of Cas that he can actually touch. Now fully awake, Cas reciprocates the action enthusiastically pressing their lips together earnestly and climbing on top of Dean to explore his body with his hands and mouth. Not for the first time Dean curses his past self for not allowing himself to be loved by Cas years ago. There’s so much time they have yet to make up for. Luckily they’re both more than willing to try.

Dean’s musings are cut short when Cas’ attentions move downward as Dean’s legs get pushed apart and Cas presses against Dean’s growing erection.

“Fuck, Cas!” Dean groans and sees new galaxies forming inside Cas’ body. Always good to know that Cas enjoys this as much as Dean does.

The prodding stops and Dean lets out an embarrassing whine.

“Not yet.” Cas teases with a grin, all of his eyes’ attention once again on Dean alone. The bastard. Dean has half the mind to hit him upwards with his knee in retaliation, but soon gets distracted by Cas intertwining his hands with Dean’s and leaning down slowly to kiss the sensitive spot on Dean’s neck. He gasps and moves his neck so Cas can take him apart much easier.

In their closeness Cas’ celestial body engulfs Dean in his entirety and he is left again, breathless, by the unfathomable sight of his lover’s true form. Stars and skies in colours not named by men expand and swirl inside the translutient depths of the oceans and galaxies that make up the angels body as the golden halos’ luminescence submerges them both in it’s light. Dean would lose himself in the sight if it weren’t for the thousands of eyes, holding the knowledge of millenia, watching him unblinkingly in a way that is so Cas, so human, that Dean can’t see anything else but his stupid socially awkward self-sacrificing husband.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Dean blurts out, giving voice to his thoughts.

Cas flinches away as if burned, his true form doing much the same. He wavers back against the bedroom wall as far away as possible from his vessel and curls in on himself. At least Dean assumes that’s what Cas is trying to do. Cas' true form, once taller than any skyscraper, has shrunk significantly with the absence of grace powering him up, but is still far too large to fit completely inside a house let alone a room.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks sitting up.

Cas turns away, his eyes fluttering across the room looking for an escape. Dean gingerly places a hand on Cas’ shoulder and is relieved when he’s not pushed away.

“Hey, Cas, buddy. Whatever it is, you can tell me. I know it’s weird coming from me, but let’s not do this again. No more unnecessary secrets. Please.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand into his and nods. One slow measured breath and he starts talking.

“Dean, I- I know you can’t help seeing me this way, but I dislike it when you comment on my appearance.”

Cas’ vessel is still turned away, but out of the corner of his eyes Dean can see Cas, the real Cas, watching his reaction with interest.

“Well, uh, okay, if it makes you uncomfortable I can stop.” Dean starts awkwardly. “But let me assure you there is absolutely no reason for you to feel insecure about the way you look, you’re-” Dean trails off. You’re mind blowingly gorgeous and sometimes your beauty is so overwhelming that I’m scared I’ll cry if I look too closely.

At Dean's words, Cas finally turns to face him.

“I’m not ‘insecure’, Dean.” Cas bites out emphasizing his irritation with air quotes. “In fact my true form is counted as one of the most attractive among my brethren.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. No argument there. Cas is by far the prettiest angel he’s ever seen.

“And I am well aware that you find my vessel visually pleasing, but Dean, what you’re complimenting is not me. It’s Jimmy Novak.”

“Uh, Jimmy’s a good looking guy for sure, but the one who’s beautiful is definitely you.”

Instead of being reassured by Dean’s words Cas just sighs resignated.

“It’s kind of you to refer to my inner beauty, but we both know this is not what you meant. You see Jimmy’s face and call it beautiful. I don’t begrudge you for this but don’t like being confused with him.”

Oh Cas definitely has insecurities. How can he even think Jimmy fucking Novak is anywhere near as attractive as Cas himself?

“No, I meant exactly what I said. You, the you you, are fucking hot.”

Cas’ frowns, unhappy with Dean’s reply.

“It’s okay. I understand. It’s hard to keep Jimmy’s body and I seperate. There’s no need for you to backtrack to make me feel better. Let’s just stop arguing about this.”

“Oh no Jon Snow. Not so fast. Let me put this in terms even you and your insecure ass will understand.”

Dean takes Cas’ face into his hands and stares deeply into his eyes. The staring is a habit from back when Cas was still fully juiced up. With the angel grace making it near impossible to look at Cas’ true form without feeling like his eyes were on fire, the vessel's eyes were the only place Dean’s own could safely escape to.

“Your true form is incredibly attractive. Very sexy. Wings and all. If I could hit that, I would. Inner beauty not required.” He speaks slowly as if to a child. Apparently it was the wrong thing to do as Cas slaps Dean’s hands away unable to suppress his irritation any longer.

“Dean, you’ve never seen my true form and I can assure you if you had, its inhuman nature would stop you from ‘hitting that’.”

Dean jumps up, strangely offended.

“Okay, first of all, you’ve seen my browser history. Your true form doesn’t even make my top 10 weirdest things I’ve jerked off to, so that’s a load of bull and second of all…”

Dean grows quiet. What does Cas mean with Dean’s never seen his true form before? Wasn’t the ability to see angels part of being the Michael Sword or something? How could Cas not know? And even if he didn’t, they’ve known each other for over ten years. It must’ve come up at some point.

Dean rifles through his memories desperate to find the right one, but draws a blank and visibly blanches.

Cas had no reason to believe Dean could see him. Back when they first met, Cas made some assumptions and Dean didn’t correct him, not trusting the self proclaimed angel an inch. And then it’s always been the vessel Dean’s been talking to, never the one puppeteering it. At first out simple necessity, then out of pure habit.

Determined to rectify their decade old misunderstanding Dean makes his way through the bedroom and sits down right in front of what Dean assumes must be the angel equivalent of Cas’ face or maybe his hand. Either way the body part has enough eyes to have an honest conversation with and has been observing Dean and the vessel talk this whole time.

This is Cas. The real Cas. And it’s high time for Dean to stop averting his eyes.

Cas squirms under his stare.

“Dean, childishly staring at an empty wall won’t solve this.” Cas argues from behind Dean and Dean has to suppress the urge to turn around. The voice might be coming from the vessel, but the one talking is the angel in front of him.

“That’s not what I’m doing.” Dean says, looking directly into one of Cas’ bigger eyes. Cas freezes momentarily at the direct eye contact and then his eyes swirl around frantically trying to find whatever it is that Dean’s looking at. Dean's stomach tightens. It hasn’t been fair to make Cas feel as if he’s invisible just because it’s easier for his stupid human brain to talk to the vessel.

Dean reaches out attempting to touch the nervously fluttering wing next to him, but as expected his hand moves right through it. He smiles sadly.

“I’m sorry, Cas. It seems there’s something I’ve neglected to tell you. I thought you knew, but that’s not an excuse.” Dean pauses. “I’ve always been able to see you.”

There’s a storm brewing inside Cas, a tension. One wrong move and a star could explode setting off a supernova that is held at bay by nothing but a shimmering skin made of light and colours. His husband is nervous at the possibility of being seen, Dean realises and has no choice but to confirm Cas’ worry.

“When you were still full of grace I couldn’t look directly at you without fearing for my eyes, so I got used to looking at your vessel instead, but I’ve always known and seen the real you.”

Ever since Dean could remember gigantic and intangible creatures taller than skyscrapers with wings that could pierce the heavens have been watching him from a distance, their countless eyes following his every move. Scary, yet unimaginably beautiful. As a child Dean would try to describe them and ask what they were, but apart from his mom there was never anyone trying to hear him out.

“Children and their imagination.” Adults would say and ruffle his hair whenever he tried to ask about them and by the time he was four he realised that he’s the only one who could see them.

Then his mom died and all his questions and curiosity were left behind in the ruins of their broken home. Dean learned quickly that John had no use for children and their imaginary friends. He needed to grow up and become a soldier for his family’s sake. So he followed the orders, and pretended not to see these watchers following him around.

Later, when Dean was a teen and John was gone most of the time, Sam often dragged him to libraries and Dean would do his own research on the creatures in secret, too scared to ask anyone for help. John made it pretty clear he didn’t want Dean talking about them and Dean feared that if he told someone and didn’t have proof of their existence Dean would be sent off to a mental ward for seeing things that were simply not there. In the end it took dying and coming back to life to find his answers.

Despite having seen these creatures all of his life, when they summoned the one named Castiel, Dean needed a moment to figure out what he was seeing. He’s never been this close to any of them and the proximity was overwhelming. Dean was suddenly acutely aware just how Pamela's eyes could've been burned out so easily by the creature's visage.

In an attempt not to suffer the same fate as her, Dean averted his eyes and spotted a man entering the barn, his body connected with small tendrils to the large creature around him. A puppet, Dean thought, one he could touch and subsequently kill, so without another moment's hesitation Dean took the first shot. And then the second, a third. Neither the puppet nor the creature were faced by his attempts to fight, merely curious. As if Dean was nothing more but an ant trying to fight a giant.

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” The puppet finally said, inhuman in everything but his appearance and so Dean stabbed him as a thanks for the introduction. Next thing he knew, Bobby was down and the guy began claiming to be an angel.

“There’s no such thing.” Dean said, but the voice of his mother telling him that angels were watching over him thought differently.

The man’s body straightened and the creature, Castiel, stood up, his form ending far beyond the barn’s roof and he spread his wings. Bolts of lighting exploded into an array of mesmerizing fireworks and Dean was left breathless before the angel. His terrifying beauty nesting deep inside Dean’s heart and he knew he was lost.

“No, you must be lying.” Cas says as his body trembles under Dean’s stare.

“I’m not.” Dean replies, leaving no room for debate and moves closer to Cas, who seems to be trying to escape through the bedroom wall. “So believe me when I say that you’re fucking beautiful and only thinking about you watching me with your many many eyes is enough to make me hard.”

Cas sputters incoherently and his body changes colours rapidly, eventually settling on a pinkish sort of hue. Oh. That’s new. Dean grins.

“Cas, Huggybear, are you blushing?” Dean teases, taking immense amusement in this new discovery. Cas swirls him around in an attempt to make Dean look at his vessel again, but with a true form as big as Cas’ it’s not hard to find a new part of Cas’ body to focus his attention on.

“No.” Cas growls defensively. “Stop looking.”

“Make me.” The reply is a bit cliché but Dean isn’t trying to win an Oscar. He’d much rather film a porn instead.

In the blink of an eye Dean is encased possessively in Cas’s wings and pushed onto the bed with urgency. Fuck yes.

#supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas #trueform!cas #time to sleep

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