#expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

Claire Novak's (Surprisingly) Not-So-Lame Day

2k

this fic is written for @dean-has-great-taste as part of @starrynightdeancas' gift exchange. thanks sophie for organizing this, it was a lot of fun <33 and i hope you enjoy this, gen!!

*****

How did Claire find herself joining Dean, Cas, and Jack for an excursion to the mall?

Well.

Cas had texted her yesterday, with an extreme amount of emojis and emoticons that took some time to decipher, asking if she wanted to go shopping with him, Dean, and Jack. Apparently Jack needed new clothes and they needed a gift for Eileen’s birthday coming up, and maybe they could go bowling or something afterwards.

And normally she would’ve said no way because hanging out with old guys was lame and she didn’t like little kids, but she needed an excuse to get out of Jody and Donna’s weekend plans of cleaning out the garage. Plus, Kaia needed to study for a test—she actually enjoyed school, the weirdo—and had requested no distractions.

So that’s how she found herself sitting in the back of the Impala next to a carseat, listening to one of Dean’s old cassette tapes (which wasn’t too bad, but she’d never admit it).

“What’s that?” Jack asked, stretching against his carseat straps to jab at one of the pins Claire wore on her leather jacket.

“It’s the lesbian flag,” she told him. Cas looked back at them from the front seat, smiling.

“This one?” Jack pointed to the rainbow pin on her pocket.

“It’s the pride flag.”

Jack considered that for a moment before announcing, “I want one. And this one.” He pointed to the mothman pin on her lapel, then the big-eyed, green alien. “And this one... and this one, and this one.” (Alex said she had more pins than leather on her jacket, but sue her, she liked making her clothing her own).

Jack, it seemed, also liked… unique clothing. The kid was wearing rain boots even though the sun was out and overalls with embroidered flowers. He dressed weird, there was no way around it. But so did Cas, so there was probably no hope for him, poor kid.

“Okay,” she decided. “I know where to get you some.”

Jack beamed and swung his legs. “Don’t kick the seat,” Dean told him, and Jack pouted at him.

Claire was surprised Dean even let a carseat in his precious Impala. Pulling out her phone, she asked, “Can we listen to my music?”

Dean started to respond with a “Hell no,” but Cas spoke up first, “Of course.”

Dean spluttered as Claire connected to the bluetooth connector Sam had finally convinced Dean to install. The old man didn’t realize it was the 21st century, apparently.

“I wanna listen to Gaga!” Jack said, leaning over to look at her phone.

At first she thought that was some baby talk, then she realized Jack was into pop music. Ugh. But it would annoy Dean, so...

Leaning in conspiratorially with Jack, she let him scroll through her phone and choose which song to play. When “Born This Way” started filtering through the car, Dean groaned.

“Really?” he asked, sending her a glare in the rearview mirror. Mission accomplished.

Jack clapped along and Cas turned the music up louder. “Great choice, Jack,” he said.

Dean, for all his grumbling, didn’t turn down the music, and Claire caught him glancing at Cas, who tapped his fingers on his thigh to the beat. Dean looked like he was fighting back a smile and Claire rolled her eyes. Dude was so whipped.

When they parked at the mall, Cas grabbed Jack’s hand before he could sprint across the parking lot. “You have to look both ways,” he reminded him gently, and Jack nodded.

“Claire’s gonna buy me pins,” he said, jumping onto the curb.

“Yup.” Claire pat her jacket pocket. “Good ol’ credit card fraud.”

“Woah, now,” Dean started to protest.

“You and Sam are the ones who taught me!” Claire reminded him.

“We’ll pay for them,” Cas said, opening the door to the mall. Jack skipped inside, his rain boots squeaking on the tiled floor.

“We’re doing what now?” Dean asked Cas, taking his hand. Gross.

“Come on, Jack,” Claire said, catching up to the toddler. “Let’s go get you some style.” Over her shoulder, she called, “Meet up with you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Cas called.

“Don’t get kidnapped,” Dean added.

As they distanced themselves from the old geezers, Jack grabbed her hand, and Claire startled a little. “Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked.

Someone passing by gave them a smile, and Claire realized people probably thought Jack was her younger brother. She let him hold her hand anyway. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite? Mine is the bon-ta-sore-us.” He sounded out the word carefully.

“Don’t know. What’s the one with the spiky horns?”

“Ti-ce-a-tops?”

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“That’s my second favorite!” He started jumping from one colored tile to the next. “And the T-Rex. That’s Dee’s favorite. And Dad likes the steg-a-sore-us.” He peered up at her. “Did you know he got to see dinosaurs? Right in front of him!”

“You know what that means, right?” He shook his head. “He’s super old. He’s basically a dinosaur himself.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “He’s a dinosaur,” he repeated in a hushed whisper.

“Yup.” Spotting Hot Topical, she headed that way. “You should tell him that.”

Inside the store, Jack let go of her hand to grab a stuffed cat. “Claire! Like yours!”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Yeah.” So, she still had the Grumpy Cat Cas had bought her. She wasn’t cruel enough to throw it away when the guy was trying so hard to make up for walking around in her dead dad’s body. Plus, the stuffed animal was kinda cute. Not that she was going to tell anyone that.

“Here ya go,” she told Jack, finding a box of pins at the register. She brought the box down to his level and Jack ran over to look inside.

“I want a Doc McStuffins pin,” he said, plunging his hand into the box.

“I don’t know if they have those.”

As they rooted through the box of pins, she heard familiar voices and looked up to see Dean and Cas walking inside.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“I like this store,” Cas said and Dean rolled his eyes. Among the pleather and black, Cas’ dingy old trench coat—over a Winnie the Pooh sweatshirt instead of a suit—and Dean’s ratty flannel and boots only looked more ridiculous. She took it back—even Jack dressed better than them.

“You guys don’t have to be in here,” she told them.

“What, we’re too old?” Dean asked defensively.

“Yeah, actually.”

Cas poked at a toy and it squeaked. God, could they be any more embarrassing?

“Dad!” Jack called, holding out a rainbow pin. “Look, they have soo many.” Cas joined Jack in going through the pins and Claire asked Dean, giving his outfit a meaningful look,

“Was the Army Surplus store too trendy for you?”

“Did they kick you out of Sephora for buying up all the eyeliner?“ Dean shot back.

Touché. In a truce, she held out a pin with the bisexual flag. She wasn’t really sure what Dean identified as, if he even gave it any thought, but guessed it was close enough. “For you.”

Dean rolled his eyes but took it. “I’m not weighing down my jacket with this crap, though.”

“No, ‘course not, that would mean having any sort of style.”

“Can I help you with anything?” asked an employee with two nose rings and jewelry up and down their ears— so cool. Claire saw the way their eyes flicked between them, probably thinking they made a weird group, and she took a step back, trying to silently communicate that yes, she was shopping with them, but no, she was not as lame as them.

“Just looking,” Dean told them.

“I like your drawings,” Jack said and the employee looked down at their arms which were littered with tattoos.

“Thanks.”

“My dad has a drawing. It’s Enochian.”

The employee—Wren, by the name tag—looked at Cas with new respect in their eyes. “Language of the angels. Sick.”

Cas looked pleased. “Thank you. It’s come in handy more than once.”

The employee went back to looking confused and, starting to walk away, told them to call if they needed anything.

“Do you want anything?” Cas asked Claire, and Claire looked through the box. She grabbed a pentagram pin and, seeming to copy her, Jack grabbed another one, clutching several pins already in his fists.

“You like bees, right?” Claire asked Cas, spotting a “Save the Bees” pin. She held it up for him.

Cas’ eyes brightened. “That’s a wonderful message.” He glanced back at Dean and frowned. “Dean, they’re not going to bite.”

Claire looked over to see Dean shying away from a few emo teens. “Look like it,” Dean muttered, joining them. Jack lifted up his hands, asking to be hoisted up. Dean set him on his hip and Jack showed him the pins he’d selected. He held a dinosaur pin to Dean’s collar.

“Do you want one, Dee?”

“He’s too lame,” Claire piped up. Not for the first time, she noticed the healed over piercing mark on Dean’s right ear and pointed to it. “Looks like he used to be cool, though.”

“Yeah, guess so,” Dean said dryly. His hand went to his earlobe. “Pierced it myself, in high school.”

“I think you’re still cool,” Cas told him, and Claire fake-gagged, making Jack giggle.

Cas took the pins to the cash register where Wren rang them up. Dean added the bisexual flag pin and Claire threw in a pair of spiky earrings, because, hey, they were paying.

“15.36,” Wren told them, dropping the pins into a bag.

“My dad’s a dinosaur,” Jack told them, trying to see over the edge of the counter. Wren raised an eyebrow, Cas looked surprised, and Claire stifled a laugh.

“Claire, help me,” Jack said, grabbing the bag from Cas as they exited the store. Moving to the side, Claire helped him attach the pins to his overalls. A smiley face, a pride flag, a grinning Stitch, a sunflower, a dinosaur, and the pentagram. The pins clacked as Jack tugged at his overalls, trying to look at them all. Overall, a chaotic look, but it kinda matched his vibe.

“Lookin’ good,” she told him, and Jack beamed.

“I’m like you!”

Alright, she wouldn’t take it that far, but, “Yeah, close enough.”

Cas attached the “Save the Bees” pins to his trench coat pocket and it ended up crooked. Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “Let me.”

She reattached the pin and stepping back to look it over, decided, “You could actually make that coat look cool if you added more stuff to it.”

Cas looked down at himself. “Thank you.”

“Nothing’s gonna save that sweatshirt, though.” Couldn’t let his ego get too big.

“Dean said he liked it,” Cas said, glancing back at Dean, who was shooting an evil eye at Claire. He quickly wiped it off his face and draped an arm over Cas’ shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s uh… Charming.” He guided Cas away from Claire. “Don’t listen to her, she still thinks sarcasm is a personality trait.”

“Screw you, old man,” she called. Jack skipped after them and she checked her phone to see Kaia had texted her: How’s everything going? They drive you crazy yet?

They’re so weird, she texted back. Then she added, They’re not too bad.

“Come on, Jack,” she said, hurrying to catch up with him, Dean, and Cas. “Let’s go get our ears pierced.”

“Yay!” Jack cheered. He grabbed her hand and tugged her down the mall.

“Woah, woah, you’re not doing that,” Dean protested like the wet blanket he was.

“You can get yours pierced too,” Claire told him, and he faltered,

“I don’t want, we’re not—“

“You know you want to.” She let Jack lead her away and Dean called after them,

“We're never bringing you shopping again!”

Grinning, she turned to shout over her shoulder, “You know you love me!”

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #established dean/cas #claire novak #toddler jack #dadstiel #fic #spn #expectingtoflywrites #im gonna post this on ao3 as soon as i figure out a summary lol

[expectingtofly]

prologue and chapter 1 out now on ao3!

[ posting every thursday ]

summary:

Castiel’s grace weakens every day, Leviathan pursue him on all sides, and he’s become a third wheel to a growing companionship between Dean and a vampire.

Welcome to Purgatory, a place of exhaustion, violence, and regret.

At one time, Castiel would have called himself a righteous, avenging angel. Now, tormented by his sins, he sees himself as a failure. A year apart has created a growing chasm between himself and Dean, and now a vampire drinks Dean’s blood and leads the way to an escape portal.

Castiel’s starting to think that spending an eternity in this depraved place won't be enough penance for all his transgressions.

Perhaps there’s no escape for him after all.

excerpt: Castiel waited to confront Benny until Dean’s breathing steadied out—the mere fact Dean could sleep around a vampire....

“What is your motive?” He crossed his arms where he stood, felt incredibly puny in his hospital clothing, dirty trench coat. Not imposing like he wanted to be. “Why are you traveling with Dean?”

And drinking from him, he wanted to add, but the very words made his stomach twist.

Benny reclined back on his elbows and shrugged. “Wanna get out of this hellhole.”

“I’ve been to Hell. This place, while horrible, is nothing compared to that pit.”

“Well, I’ve been stuck here for the past… I don’t know. According to Dean, ‘bout fifty years. Seems like an eternity. So yeah, I’d like to leave. Just happens that my goal and Dean’s match up. Get Dean to the portal, hitch a ride out of here.”

“You help him, he helps you.”

“And you…  fit somewhere in that equation. Still haven’t figured out how.” His eyes slid to Dean’ sleeping form, and Castiel tensed. “He wouldn’t leave without you.”

“Foolish,” Castiel said.

Benny raised his eyebrows. “Think you should show a little more respect, angel. He risked his damn life to go after you.”

“Which is exactly why it was a foolish decision—”

“Can you guys shut up?” Dean muttered, eyes still closed.

tagging some mutuals and my tag list :)

@xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007 @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel @castielelcucuy @naturallyathief @hermajestieship (ty for beta-reading <3) @satansbootycall @halevetica @thiscastielhasflown @one-more-offbeat-anthem @rambleoncas @tootiredmotel @joharvele @fagmeat @you-cant-spell-subtext-without @profoundcastiel @slasherdean @headust @myaimistrue @gentledomcas

let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for this fic :)

#deanbenny #deancas #cw blood #feel free to ignore this if this isnt your thing :) #though this is dean/benny #it's also dean/cas #for the ~drama~ and the ~pining~ #purgaytory #angst #pining #expectingtoflywrites #blood brothers

[expectingtofly]

When Castiel heals him, Dean feels warm. 

First, the simple press of two fingers against his forehead, then, warmth pouring outward, rushing through his veins, heating him from the inside. Torn skin knitting back together, warmth enveloping the pain until it dissipates. 

Dean closes his eyes at the pulse of Castiel’s grace in his skin, tendrils wrapping around his soul, tying him and the angel together. Heat flickers in his stomach when Castiel pulls his fingers away and their eyes meet. A small flame unfolds, widens, inside his chest, a breath he wants to take but which stays trapped inside his lungs. A beat of a moment between them before they are turning away. 

He wants to clutch Castiel to himself, wants bare skin against bare skin, wants to feel warmth radiate from Castiel’s body, seep into his own.

When he feels he has let Castiel down—often—when he feels he isn’t good enough for him, he refuses to let Castiel heal him. Castiel gives so much of himself and Dean wants to reach out, reciprocate, offer something in return. What does he have to give? 

But he can never resist for long. Castiel insists and he gives in, stops clutching a gash along his arm and holds the wound out, watches Castiel hover his hand over the ragged skin, watches Castiel’s face furrow in concentration. And all Dean has to give is himself, inadequate as it seems. 

Even after Castiel pulls his hand away, Dean feels the traces of his grace—shimmering heat in his veins—then the warmth ebbs, and he feels more stark and empty than before.

A long, tiring hunt. A vengeful ghost, defeated. Broken glass crunches under Dean’s boots and his heart beats in his palm. He looks down at his hand where a thin, burning line crosses from wrist to fingers, deep red dripping to the ground. 

He feels Castiel stand at his side. Wordlessly, Dean holds his hurt hand out, palm up, and wordlessly, Castiel extends his hand to hover over Dean’s. Their hands are a mere breath apart as light floods from Castiel’s palm, and the warmth is instantaneous. Pooling in Dean’s palm, wrapping around his wrist, trailing up to his elbow.

The small flame in his chest sparks suddenly fierce and fiery when Castiel’s fingers, then the heel of his palm, brush against Dean’s own.

The glow of Castiel’s grace fades, only a bloody trail left behind on Dean’s palm. They stay still for a moment, silent, their hands still apart, then Dean lifts his hand to meet Castiel’s, slides his hand to interlock their fingers together. 

He exhales when Castiel squeezes his hand in reciprocation. Warm, secure, like he knew it would feel. Not the airy, graceful warmth flowing over his skin, not the shifting, ebbing warmth in his veins, but a secure, solid, physical warmth. 

He stares at their hands slotted together, then looks up to see Castiel watching him, smiling. Dean returns the smile, clutches his hand tighter.

Tag list below cut

@becky-srs @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @gmotheemo @prayedtoyou @spnwaywardone @letsjustdieeveryone 

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future destiel fics :)

#deancas #destiel #mini fic #angel grace #healing #cw blood #Inspired that s15 moment #you know the one #when they were so maddeningly close to holding hands #finally wrote something under 1k! #this never happens #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

dean/cas fic

~2k

also posted on ao3

How to Say I Love You with Socks

Another movie night in the Dean-Cave. Dean and Castiel took up their usual spaces on the couch, Dean on one end, Castiel on the other. Close, but not close enough. Dean didn’t know how to change that. He was just happy they were together and alive. Their lives had been chaos lately—rushing from hunt to hunt, Castiel running low on grace. This night was their first chance in weeks to take a breath.

Halfway through The Untouchables, though, Dean realized Castiel didn't look quite so relaxed. He had pulled his knees up to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs.

“You alright, Cas?” he asked.

Frowning, Castiel pulled his eyes from the TV. “It seems that since my grace is diminished, I can’t regulate my body temperature as well.” A shiver hitched his shoulders.

“You’re cold,” Dean realized. Grabbing a blanket, he slid closer to drape it over Castiel’s shoulders. “Here.”

Contentment spread across Castiel’s face as he wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled at Dean. “Thank you.”

Dean realized his hand was still resting on Castiel’s back and he pulled it away. “Of course.” Tearing his eyes away from the sight Castiel made, cozy and warm, he retreated back to his side of the couch.

When the movie ended, Dean let the credits play, not wanting to hasten the inevitable moment when they both got up and went to their separate rooms. In the black screen he could see their reflections, two shapes on either side of the couch, wide distance between them. There was always so much space between them, but he was too hesitant to close it, afraid he'd cross a line, ruin a friendship, a happy night.

Sighing, he turned off the TV and the room went silent. They headed back to the hallway where the doors to their bedrooms stood.

“Goodnight,” Castiel said when they reached Dean’s door. He started to walk away, still holding the blanket around himself, and Dean realized Castiel's feet were bare.

“Wait a moment,” he said. Going into his room, he rummaged through his dresser. “Take these,” he said, returning to where Castiel stood in the doorway and handing him a pair of his warmest socks, thick wool. “Put them on.”

Dutifully, Castiel did so. “They're very warm," he said with a happy sigh, looking down at his socked feet.

“Keep them,” Dean said. They stood there for a moment longer in the doorway, until Dean stepped back. "Well, goodnight," he said, wishing he knew how to put into words what he really wanted to say.

“Goodnight.”

Maybe it was Castiel's content sigh that Dean was thinking of when he was running errands the next day. Maybe he was thinking of the words he hadn't been able to say last night or any night. Maybe that’s why when he saw a pair of fuzzy socks, he decided to buy them.  

He felt sheepish putting the socks on the cashier conveyor belt. “They’re for my niece,” he lied when the cashier picked them up to scan them, feeling like he, a grown man, should have an appropriate excuse for buying yellow socks covered in tiny bees. The cashier only gave him a glance, seemingly not interested in the slightest.

He felt even more embarrassed when he found Castiel in the map room back at the bunker and gave him the socks. But Castiel's reaction was worth it.

“I love them,” Castiel breathed, taking them from Dean. Quickly, he pulled off Dean’s wool socks and pulled on the new ones. Dean had to smile at the way he wiggled his toes in the yellow socks and smiled up at him.

An urge filled him to bend down and press a kiss to Castiel’s lips, but instead he contented himself with patting Castiel on the shoulder. "You're welcome."

There had always been something unspoken between him and Castiel. Something unbreakable tying them together over the years as they grew closer and grew apart, fought and found their way back to each other. Castiel had once called it their “profound bond," but Dean didn't know what that meant in practical terms. He had tried calling Castiel a friend, had tried calling him a brother. Neither of those words seemed enough.

The next time Dean saw a pair of fuzzy socks, he bought them… and the time after that, and the time after that, and so on. He created a whole family of aunts and nieces and a mother and cousins with which to explain his purchases to cashiers. Castiel soon had a whole drawer designated for socks. Striped socks, polka dotted socks, fluffy socks, fuzzy socks, red socks, blue socks.

Buying them for Castiel seemed such a small gesture, but they always made Castiel smile. Maybe it wasn’t so small after all.

And maybe Castiel understood what Dean meant when he gave him a new pair of socks. Because one night when their movie ended and they made their way back to their rooms, Castiel paused in the hallway. “Can I… Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Dean forgot how to speak for a moment, nodded quickly. “Yeah, of course,” he managed.

They didn’t speak as they lay down and pulled up the covers. His heart pounding, Dean turned off the lamp on his nightstand and settled down. He could feel Castiel's arm against his, felt Castiel shiver.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“A little,” Castiel admitted and shifted, his socked foot brushing Dean’s foot, soft cotton.

After a moment’s hesitation, Dean wrapped his arm around him. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said, sliding closer to Dean. “Much better.”

They began sleeping next to each other every night, moving closer and closer until they lay in each other’s arms. After years of yearning looks, they had progressed to something more tangible, though Dean didn’t know what to call this new development. He didn’t know what would happen if he tried to voice it, tried to give it a name. Castiel still shivered when he walked through the bunker. Dean bought him more socks.

Socks made of wool and cotton, socks that shed, socks that soon became threadbare around the heel, socks stained with blood after hunts.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said after one such hunt where they discovered a vampire nest. He dropped his hand from where he’d held it over Dean’s arm. The gash from Dean’s elbow to wrist had stitched itself together slowly, the angry, red scar fading somewhat, though it still stung fiercely. “I wish I could do more.”

“You did more than enough,” Dean said, taking his hand as Castiel pulled him to his feet. His chest still felt tight, his hands shaky from the close call. Castiel had used his depleting grace to take down two vampires going after Sam, and Dean saw the exhaustion in his eyes, thought they must mirror his own.

Sam walked through the barn, counting how many vampires they had killed. “You guys good?” he called. When Dean nodded, he stepped outside the barn, out of view. Dean realized he was still holding Castiel's hand, slick with blood.

“Are you sure you're alright?” he asked, looking back at Castiel. Castiel nodded and a smudge of blood on his chin drew Dean’s eyes. Hesitantly, Dean wiped at it with his thumb. Then he let his hand stay there, cupping Castiel’s face, his eyes trailing over the soft lines of Castiel’s mouth.

“Dean,” Castiel said quietly, and Dean realized he was holding his breath. Before he could lose his courage, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Castiel's, a feather-light touch. The tightness in his chest unfurled when Castiel lifted a hand to his face and pressed their mouths closer together, soft but insistent.

“We should’ve done that years ago," Castiel whispered when slowly they broke apart and met each other's eyes.

Dean let out a shaky breath. "Yes, we should've."

Sam called for them to hurry up and, still breathless, Dean let go of Castiel's hand. Castiel looked down at his clothes, trench coat dirty and bloody. “These were new,” he complained, pulling up his pant leg to gesture to his socks—light blue dotted with stitched white clouds, now stained dark red.

Dean laughed, his head light. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

Socks Castiel wore on movie nights, socks Castiel tried to get Dean to wear, socks Castiel picked out, pointing to different ones in the store and Dean placing them in the cart. Holiday themed socks, movie themed socks, socks with tiny animals, socks with garish, gaudy colors that Dean pretended to hate. Castiel didn't shiver anymore. Dean kept buying him socks.

“How much of our budget is going towards socks?” Sam asked them when they returned from the grocery store with yet another pair. (Had Dean realized before now that grocery stores sold socks? No, but it seemed he was now a magnet for them.)

“Credit card fraud, Sam,” Dean said, restocking the fridge. “It’s other people’s money.”

“And these are special,” Castiel said, sitting down at the kitchen table to pull them on. “They’re ‘spa socks infused with lotion.’”

“Spa socks?” Sam asked, looking at Dean, not bothering to hide the smile on his face.

“Shut up,” Dean said. He was pretty sure Sam knew about him and Castiel—there was a particular look in his eyes when they came into the kitchen together in the mornings, when they left for long rides in Baby. He didn't mind that Sam knew, but he didn’t want to speak of it yet; this blossoming offshoot of the bond between him and Castiel still felt so new, so light. He was almost afraid it would collapse like a pyramid of cards if he spoke too loudly, tried to define it. He told himself he was just happy it existed.

Mismatched socks, blue and green stripes on Castiel’s left foot and corgis on his right, as he and Dean walked through a Walmart. Castiel refused to throw out any socks, even when he lost one to the dryer, or wherever socks disappeared to—hence the mismatched pairs. Or maybe he mismatched them on purpose; maybe he hadn’t figured out adult humans always match their socks. Either way, Dean never mentioned it because it was, he had to admit, a pretty adorable habit.

He was looking down the store aisles, trying to figure out where the toilet paper was, when Castiel said, “Wait, look!” and veered off to the left.

“What?—oh.” Dean caught sight of the rack of socks Castiel was headed towards. “Cas, you have an obsession.”

“That is completely your fault.” Castiel stopped in front of the rack and scanned the footwear.

Dean was about to point out a pair— actually, Cas might already own those, he thought—when Castiel inhaled sharply. “Look at these.”

Dean turned to see what he was pointing at. Slippers. Large, plushy, yellow and black striped slippers with eyes and antennas to show that they were bees. Bee slippers.

They were atrocious.

Castiel reached out and squeezed one of the slippers in his hands. “There’s two pairs, we can match.”

The smile he turned on Dean was teasing, to show he wasn’t expecting Dean to say yes. Which was smart, because Dean was not going to say yes.

But then Castiel added, “That is something couples do, isn’t it? Match with each other?” and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

Castiel had called them a couple. Had spoken of them, together. Dean hadn't realized how badly he'd wanted to hear them, their relationship, acknowledged. And suddenly, when spoken aloud, this blossoming thing, this growing relationship between them, didn't seem so tenuous, in danger of collapse. It felt weightier, like it was built to last.

Castiel dropped his hand from the slippers, and Dean knew a few years ago he would’ve told Castiel that only nauseatingly cute, annoying couples wore matching slippers. Now he knew what he really wanted to say, knew exactly what to call the bond between them.

He pulled the slippers off the rack. “Yes, they do,” he said. “When they’re in love and want everyone to know it.”

"In love," Castiel repeated, blue eyes searching Dean's.

Dean smiled. "Yes."

A tiny part of him wanted to curl up in embarrassment when they brought the slippers to check out, but a greater part of him prompted him, instead, to lace his fingers with Castiel’s and kiss him on the forehead. Castiel smiled up at him. The bee slippers eyed him from the plastic shopping bag. The cashier said, “That’ll be $21.39.”

And when Dean and Castiel padded into the kitchen the next morning in their matching, beady-eyed, lopsided antenna slippers, Dean didn’t even mind the stifled laughter they were met with from Sam.

“You’re just jealous,” Dean said, threading his arm around Castiel’s waist and pulling him close. “They’re very comfortable.”

“And very warm,” Castiel added. He tapped his slippered foot against Dean’s, like the bees were kissing, and Sam pretended to gag. Smiling, Dean tapped Castiel's slipper back, then kissed him for real.

Tag List: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @xojo @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @marvelnaturalock @letsjustdieeveryone

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[expectingtofly]

Relief

dean/cas fic

3k

also posted on ao3

“Dean? Dean! Can you hear me?”

Dean slowly came to, his head pounding. Disoriented, he opened his eyes and saw only blurry shapes, blinked and realized Castiel and Sam were crowded above him.

“What—?” he tried to ask.

“Thank goodness,” Castiel breathed. He was clutching at Dean's face, his palms warm, and Dean felt his face redden at the attention. "You were out for so long—" Seeming to come to himself, he pulled his hands away from Dean's face.

Dean looked around, trying to get his bearings. Trees... nighttime... they had found a vampire nest, way more vampires than they had expected...

“Is it over, did we kill them?” Dean tried to sit up.

“Woah, take it easy, Dean.” Sam put a hand on his shoulder. “They’re all dead.”

“What happened?” Dean asked, letting his head drop back on the ground.

“You’re an idiot, is what happened,” Castiel answered. “You went after three vampires at once, we told you to wait for us—”

“Alright, alright,” Dean protested, trying to wave Castiel off. His hand felt too heavy and he let it drop at his side. It was coming back to him. Not the smartest choice he’d ever made, but it had turned out well enough—he was alive wasn’t he? He saw the worry in Sam and Castiel’s eyes and decided to keep that thought to himself.

“Dean, you can’t keep doing this,” Castiel said and, shit, how long had he been out? Were those tears in Castiel’s eyes? “You could’ve been killed.”

“I know.” He realized Castiel was clinging to his hand. “I’m sorry,” he added for appearances’ sake and squeezed Castiel’s hand. “I’m alright, though. I’ll live.”

Castiel’s eyes softened and Dean’s skin warmed at the look in his eyes. To be honest, Castiel gazing at him always set his heart pounding, but there was something else in Castiel’s eyes now. A mixture of deep relief and something else—Dean hoped it wasn’t angelic fury directed at him for once again nearly getting himself killed. But before he could move, or speak to defend himself, Castiel leaned down and kissed him on the lips.

Dean froze, instantly too aware of everything—the cold, hard packed ground under him, Sam’s presence next to him, his hand still wrapped in Castiel’s.

Castiel pulled back. The soft look in his eyes was gone, replaced with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” He trailed off, his eyes searching Dean’s face.

Dean could only stare up at him. He finally kissed me. He kissed me? What the hell?

Castiel pulled his hand from Dean’s, and Dean blinked, startled out of his dazed thoughts. His heart sank when Castiel dropped his eyes to the ground.

Sam cleared his throat. “Um, alright,” he said. “Come on, Cas, help me get him up. He’s still out of it.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, pulling his eyes from Castiel and forcing himself to speak. “I can get up on my own.” Sam wouldn't hear any of it, already grabbing his arm to help him to his feet. The forest tipped wildly when he was upright, and Sam wrapped an arm around his waist to support him. They walked back to the main road slowly, Castiel following behind. He reached out once to touch Dean's arm, then dropped his hand. Dean couldn’t look at him.

“Backseat,” Sam said when they reached the Impala and Dean didn’t try to argue. He lay on the backseat and stared at Baby’s roof, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened. Was he still unconscious? Was he dreaming? But it had felt too real. He shut his eyes against the slow rocking of the car as Sam pulled onto the road.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he heard Castiel say quietly in the front seat. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Don’t worry, Cas. It’s fine. He’ll come to his senses in a bit.”

“He’s angry with me."

I’m not, Dean thought.

“No, he’s not,” Sam answered, as if he’d heard Dean’s thoughts. “He’s just… confused.”

Confused? Dean thought harshly. Alright, maybe confused. Confused because he’d never dared to hope that Castiel liked him like that. Confused as to why he hadn’t been able to kiss him back.

When they reached the bunker, Dean insisted he could walk on his own, but Sam hovered nearby him anyway all the way to his room.

“I got it,” he said, pushing open Dean’s bedroom door before Dean could. Dean gave him a dirty look, but truth was, his brain felt like it was rattling around in his skull.

He sunk onto his bed and nodded at Sam. “I’m good.”

“Okay, um, get some rest.” Sam hesitated in the doorway and Dean stared at the floor. “Listen, about Cas—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He raised his head to look at Sam, daring him to say more.

Sam seemed to fight for words, but he only said, “Fine. But you’re gonna have to talk to him about it.”

He shut the door and Dean swore inwardly. Like hell he would.

Too tired to even kick off his boots, he lay back on the covers and stared at the ceiling. It was too much to think about.

*

He woke to his bedroom door creaking open. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Castiel peeking inside.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel stepped into the room. “Did I wake you?”

“No. Yeah. It’s fine.” Dean sat up slowly. Any dizziness had been replaced with a harsh pounding in his temple.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.”

“I can help—” Castiel reached out two fingers and Dean shook his head, a movement he quickly regretted.

“Save your grace,” he managed. “I’m good.”

Castiel dropped his hand. Dean pressed the base of his palms to his eyes, trying to ignore the way his heart was racing now that Castiel was in his room. Man up, he told himself and looked at Castiel. He hadn’t turned off the light before falling asleep and it seemed too harsh now, making him squint. Castiel snapped his fingers and the room went dark.

“Thanks,” Dean said, the darkness easing the pounding behind his eyes.

Castiel nodded. It was easier to look at him now in the soft yellow light from the hallway, his face shaded in shadows. There was still blood on his trench coat. He was fiddling with his sleeves, a nervous, unfamiliar action. “Dean, I—”

“Did Sam call the police chief?” Dean interrupted. “Tell him about the bodies we found at the vamp nest?”

“Yes, he did.”

“That has to be one of the biggest nests I’ve seen in years.” He was rambling, hoping to stave off whatever apology or explanation Castiel was preparing to give.

“You should’ve been more careful,” Castiel admonished. Dean sighed in relief. This, he could handle. Bickering. “My grace isn’t as strong as it once was, I can’t even heal you fully now—”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Cas. I’m not your responsibility.”

The words sounded too harsh even as he spoke them. Castiel looked at the floor and Dean started to hate himself for always saying and doing the wrong things.

But when Castiel spoke, his voice was soft. “You once were, when I rescued you from hell.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“I still… care about you.”

Dean froze. Castiel took a step closer to him and his skin thrummed at the memory of the sensation of Castiel’s lips on his.

He crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know. We’re family, we have to care about each other.” He forced a laugh. “Bet you wish you’d never gotten involved with the Winchesters.”

“That’s not true,” Castiel replied. He opened his mouth to say more and Dean said,

“I’m tired, Cas.” He looked up at him and hoped Castiel understood. I don’t know what this means, I don’t know what to do.

Castiel’s shoulders slumped, but he only nodded and turned to leave. At the doorway he paused, and Dean’s heart sped up, then Castiel left and shut the door behind him.

For the second time that day, Dean stared at the ceiling and felt miserable.

He could walk into a vampire nest and never flinch, but let one angel kiss him and he went into shock. He wasn’t angry that Castiel kissed him—in reality, he’d imagined it plenty. Came so close as to wish it would happen. But he never thought he’d be so lucky. Didn’t dare believe Castiel felt the same way towards him—even if Sam always was telling him to get his head out of his ass and look at the signs.

How long have you felt this way? he wanted to ask Castiel. Did it happen when you walked into that barn, the first time I saw your face? He knew that’s when it had happened for him—he’d stared into two gorgeous, blue eyes and had known he was irrevocably screwed.

Why hadn’t he ever taken the plunge and admitted his true feelings to Castiel? Maybe because he was more of a coward than he wanted to admit. Maybe because he was scared Castiel would reject him. Maybe because he was scared Castiel wouldn’t reject him. Because if for once he got to be happy, then what? He knew well enough what it meant to love someone in the life he led. How every evil force in the world tried to use the people he loved against him.

Sam was the one person that Dean would throw the world away for—and it was only right, Sam was his younger brother, Dean had to take care of him. But he couldn’t afford to love someone else that much. So many times he had lost Castiel, and he’d never known how to bear it. If he couldn’t do it when he called Castiel a friend, how could he ever bear to lose him if they had something more?

*

By the next day he was back in fighting shape, or at least that’s what he told Sam to convince him he could drive. Castiel was gone; Sam said he had angel business to attend to. Dean thought that was for the better. He spent several hours driving Baby aimlessly, focusing on the lines of the road and not at all the memory of Castiel kissing him, or the disappointment in his eyes when Dean didn’t kiss him back.

It wasn’t a great distraction, but it was better than staying in the bunker where Sam eyed him constantly and Dean grew tense, afraid Castiel would return without warning.

“Alright, this has gone on long enough,” Sam said a week later when Dean stood up from the map table, announcing he was going for yet another drive.

Dean paused, half out of his seat. “What?”

Sam gestured to him. “You, moping around.”

“I’m not moping,” Dean protested.

“I thought you liked Cas. Like, really liked him.”

Of course Sam would get straight to the point. Dean sat back down and shrugged.

“Cut the bullshit, Dean. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” Dean threw up his hands. “Ask Cas. He’s the one who started this whole fucking mess.”

“You know, I really thought that you two were finally gonna put a stop to all the pining and staring and longing—”

“Okay, shut up,” Dean said. “It isn’t like that.”

“Then what the hell happened?”

“I don’t know!” Sam watched him and Dean huffed. “I don’t know. I, I panicked.”

“You hurt his feelings. You wouldn’t even talk to him after.”

“It’s better this way. Less feelings involved, less chances of people getting hurt.”

“You really think it works that way?” Sam leaned forward. “Dean, whether you own up to it and tell Cas or not, you’re still in love with him.”

Love? Dean started to protest again, but Sam cut him off. “Stop torturing yourself, Dean. You finally have something good coming your way and you won’t take it. This life we live… you never know what’s gonna happen. When our luck’s gonna run out. You gotta take any chance you get, right?”

It seemed Castiel felt that way. He’d taken a big chance. And yeah, Dean felt miserable for crushing his dreams. For crushing his own dreams. But it had to be done.

“That’s the point,” Dean said. Pushing back his chair, he stood. “I might die tomorrow, Cas might die tomorrow. Better for us both if we don’t get too attached.” He walked away before Sam could try and argue with him further.

*

Two more weeks passed before he saw Castiel again. Despite everything, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at the familiar whoosh of wings when Castiel appeared in the bunker’s garage, startling him and Sam as they prepared to go after a werewolf pack. It seemed like years since he saw him last.

Castiel wavered a little and put a hand on the Impala to steady himself. “You alright?” Sam asked.

Castiel nodded. “I’m afraid flying takes a lot out of me.” He glanced at Dean, and Dean quickly looked away. He listened to Castiel update Sam on the angels, though the blood pounding in his ears made it hard to hear. He hadn’t realized it’d be so hard to see Castiel again. Everything in him told him to fix things between them. But how? If he was lucky, with enough time, they could go back to how things used to be. Not that things had ever been simple between them.

Sam explained to Castiel where they were going and Dean tuned back into their conversation.

“I’ll come with you,” Castiel offered, still not looking at Dean.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Dean slammed the trunk shut. “Let’s go.”

For once, Dean was happy to see a pack of werewolves because it meant he could focus on the fight and not Castiel’s presence by his side. He lost himself in felling the werewolves and only when the last one crashed to the ground did he register sounds of struggle behind him. Whipping around, he saw Castiel across the room fighting off two werewolves. At any other time, it would’ve been no contest, but Castiel seemed dazed and weakened. He fell to the ground and one werewolf leapt at him.

“Cas!” Dean yelled and started running. The other werewolf turned and snarled at him. Dean shot her in the head, bringing her to the ground. Grabbing the werewolf crouched over Castiel, he threw him aside and shot him in the heart.

“Fuck, Cas,” he swore, turning back to him. “You stupid—” His words caught in his throat.

Castiel lay sprawled on the ground, his eyes shut and his waist covered in blood. "No, no, no." Dean dropped down next to him. Castiel’s head lolled to the side and Dean grabbed his face. “No, come on, Cas, wake up, please!”

“What happened?” Sam yelled, running over and skidding to a stop.

“One of them got him, he couldn’t fight them off.” Dean pushed Castiel’s trench coat aside to reveal a deep gash on his stomach. “I tried to get to him—”

“He’ll be okay, Dean, he still has his grace.” Sam’s words rang meaningless in his ears as Dean stared at Castiel’s waxen face. No, not like this, not now.

Blood continued to pour from Castiel’s wound, snapping him out of his stunned daze. He put pressure on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, his stomach turning. “Please, Cas,” he begged. His words turned into a prayer, repeated over and over in his head almost unconsciously. Please, I love you, please.

Then Castiel’s eyes opened.

Dean could’ve cried from relief. He swore instead, sitting back, his hands shaking.

“Hold on, Cas,” Sam said, stopping him before he could move. "You're hurt." Castiel looked down at his side. Feebly, he lifted his hand over his wound and healed himself. Dean watched the gash knit itself together, leaving behind bloody smears.

Dropping his hand, Castiel let Sam help him sit up. He looked around at the dead werewolves, and Dean tried to catch his breath.

“Cas, you son of a bitch, you should’ve told us, about your grace—” His voice shook and he cut himself off.

Castiel looked at him, then dropped his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was so weak, I thought I could—”

Suddenly, Dean didn’t care about any explanation. Reaching out, he grabbed Castiel and clutched him close to his chest. He buried his face in Castiel’s shoulder, gripping his trench coat, and tried to focus on the fact that Castiel was breathing, that he was alive, that he hadn’t lost him.

He felt Castiel’s hand rest hesitantly on his back. He clenched his eyes shut.

Sam had been right. Whether he told Castiel or not, Dean was in love with him. He could either refuse to let himself feel that way—he’d tried for so many years—or finally own up to it and tell Castiel, and maybe even find out his feelings were reciprocated.

Either way, he cared about Castiel, and either way it would hurt like hell if he ever lost him. There was no escaping it.

Consequences be damned, he let go of Castiel enough to pull back and look in his eyes. Then he kissed him. For one heart-stopping moment, he feared Castiel would push him away, or simply freeze like he had done before. He’d deserve it. But then Castiel kissed him back, gripping his shoulder and Dean felt dizzy with relief.

When they pulled away, he searched Castiel’s face. He hated how guarded Castiel's eyes were, as if Castiel was afraid of what he would do now. Berate him, act as if this never happened.

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said. Castiel nodded, his eyes serious. “I’m sorry,” Dean said, and he meant it.

Castiel touched his face. “You should be.”

Dean let out a laugh and took Castiel’s hand in his own. “Yeah, I know.” He gazed at Castiel and the next words came easily. “I love you.”

Castiel’s face brightened, a smile spreading across his face. “I love you too,” he said.

“Fucking finally,” Sam muttered. Dean flipped him off, even though he was right, and helped Castiel stand.

“No more almost dying, alright?” he asked. His heart was still thudding in his chest.

Castiel still clung onto his hand. “I’ll only promise if you do too.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Castiel nodded, and Dean knew that they both knew they had no control over any of it, whether they lived or died. But for now, Castiel was alive and holding onto his hand, and Dean had finally said I love you, had heard the words repeated to him. He was certain of that much, and it was enough.

Tag list:

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#destiel fic #expectingtoflywrites #hurt/comfort #first kiss #spncreatorsdaily #sam is basically a relationship counselor #emotionally constipated dean #cw blood

[expectingtofly]

completely, perfectly, incandescently happy

803 words

also posted on ao3

despite reading the book in high school, I didn’t see Pride and Prejudice (2005) until last week and oh boy what a movie. as soon as Darcy walked into the ball with a scowl on his face, I was done for. ofc, it seems I can’t appreciate any media now without relating it back to destiel so please enjoy this piece of fluffy nonsense I came up with :)

Dean had already sworn Castiel to secrecy. Twice. The bunker was quiet because Sam and Jack were out running errands, which meant they didn’t have to worry about any witnesses. The Dean Cave door was shut and locked.

No one was ever going to know Dean Winchester willingly watched a chick flick romance movie, not if he could help it.

As soon as Sam’s car had left the garage, he and Castiel had retreated into the Dean Cave and put on the movie—but only after Dean put up the appropriate amount of resistance. In truth, he was kind of curious, and Castiel had wanted to see it, so he didn’t take much convincing.

Either way, against all odds, Pride and Prejudice was now playing on his TV.

Dean could lie and complain that the movie was just as sappy as he’d anticipated and that he’d been half-asleep since the opening credits… but he didn’t want to talk over the dialogue.

Okay, yes, he’d admit it, he was paying attention to the plot. And maybe—though he��d deny this to his dying day—just maybe, he was actually really enjoying the movie. He didn’t know how much of that had to do with the fact that both Keira Knightley and Matthew Macfadyen were extremely attractive, but he was going to blame his feelings on their faces and not on the idea that maybe he didn’t hate romances as much as he pretended to.

They were nearing the end of the film now. Lizzie couldn’t sleep so she went for a walk outside, moping about Darcy. But who should be walking over but Darcy himself? Striding across the moors, coat blowing in the wind, music swelling, fog and everything—

“Fuck, he’s hot,” Dean found himself saying aloud. He was laying with his head in Castiel’s lap, and he felt Castiel’s fingers slow their movement through his hair. He looked up to see the slightest frown creasing Castiel’s brow. “Objectively, I mean,” he added.

Castiel smiled a little. “He is very attractive. Objectively.”

“That’s kind of what you did,” Dean said, looking back at the TV. Darcy was still walking towards Lizzie—how long did it fucking take to walk a few feet? Not that it wasn’t incredibly dramatic, hot, and, okay, fine, romantic. “When you first showed up in your vessel and walked into that barn.”

“Except Elizabeth has the decency to not to shoot at Darcy.”

“Okay, touché.”

Darcy had finally reached Lizzie’s side. Time for a sappy love confession. Dean was only half-listening, his mind still stuck on seeing Castiel for the first time. The way Castiel had approached him, looking at him with eyes bluer than anything, his hair tousled—or, Dean would say tousled, if he was in a romance movie. Holy fuck, was his life a chick flick romance? A grimy, violent, bloody one, but still.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul,” Darcy said, drawing Dean back to the present. Dean scoffed, because that line was sappy. Not because he needed to scoff for appearance’s sake and to hide the way his heart might be melting. Gross.

“I doubt my entrance was as “hot” as Darcy’s,” Castiel commented, lifting his hand to make air quotes.

“What?” Dean pulled his eyes from the screen where Lizzie and Darcy were staring at each other. Just kiss already, for fuck’s sake.

He realized Castiel was still talking about their first meeting on Earth. “Wait, are you kidding me?” He sat up to look at Castiel. “You had your trench coat billowing in the wind and everything. And you were staring me down the whole time, all serious and intense. Not to mention you flashed your wings and pulled a knife out of your chest.”

Castiel grinned. “It was very dramatic. But in my defense, I was trying to impress someone.”

“Oh, really?” Shifting, he draped a leg over Castiel’s, pressing their sides together.

Castiel rested his hand on Dean’s thigh. “Yes.”

“Who, Bobby?” he asked because he wanted to hear Castiel say it.

“No, someone else.” Lifting his hand, Castiel traced Dean’s jawline. “Someone a lot more attractive than Darcy.”

Dean rolled his eyes because he was essentially legally required to roll his eyes at anything sappy, even if he was fighting back a smile. “Well, you also scared me shitless, so good work with that.”

“But it was hot, correct?” Castiel pressed.

“Yeah, it was. Extremely.” And maybe this movie had cast a spell on him because he added, “You bewitched me, body and soul.”

“That’s very sappy,” Castiel said with a smile as he took Dean's hand and intertwined their fingers together.

Dean tugged him closer. “Don’t you dare ever tell anyone I said that.”

And they were kissing by the time Darcy and Lizzie had their first kiss.

Tag List:

@becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @spnwaywardone @spooky-spooks-and-all-the-spooks @letsjustdieeveryone

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

#domestic fluff #dean and cas are saps #when lizzie said we're so similar we're both so stubborn #dean and cas felt that #spncreatorsdaily #shameless use of movie quotes #bisexual dean #expectingtoflywrites #pride and prejudice

[expectingtofly]

dean/cas fic

1.3k

inspired by this adorable artwork

also posted on ao3

The Ranger and The Tourist

Dean loved his job. One of the obvious perks was getting to be outside all day. He’d loved the outdoors since he was young and being a park ranger meant he got his fill of it. Aside from that factor, though, was the benefit of working at a large national park where tourists came from all over and sought him out with questions. 

Like these two women from… somewhere. He didn’t remember where, actually. The point was, they were both very attractive and very receptive to his (slightly exaggerated) park ranger stories, which he’d been regaling them with for the past ten minutes.

He was in the middle of one such story when he heard someone clear his voice and say, “excuse me,” behind him. Rolling his eyes good-naturedly at the women, Dean turned to see who’d interrupted him from shamelessly flirting on the job.

Bright, blue eyes looked back at him. They belonged to a young man wearing a backpack, a camera slung across his neck, a crinkled map in his hands. His boots were caked with dirt and his dark hair was disheveled, but he was easily more attractive than both the women combined. Suddenly, Dean became much more invested in helping this poor tourist.

“Sorry, ladies, duty calls,” he said to the women, prompting frowns. As they walked away, Dean turned back to the attractive tourist. “What can I help you with?”

“I, um, I think I’m lost.” The man squinted at the map he was holding, then up at Dean. Those really were some gorgeous blue eyes and a ridiculously deep voice that was doing things to Dean’s stomach.

Keep it professional, Dean thought, though he toed that line often enough. “Where're you trying to go?” he asked.

“My brother and I were trying to follow this trail.” Blue Eyes pointed to a spot on the map and Dean moved to his side to see.

"Looks like you've been here before," he commented. The map was deeply creased, some trails highlighted and marked with a pen.

"Oh, no," Blue Eyes answered quickly, looking flustered, "I was just trying to plan our hike, I don't actually know what I'm doing."

“Well, for starters, it’ll probably help if you hold the map this way.” Dean took the map and turned it around, trying to hide his amusement at how comically confused the man was. He pointed at a spot on the map. “You’re here. And you’ll wanna go this direction.” He traced a line upwards on the map and glanced at the man to see if he was paying attention. 

His eyes serious, Blue Eyes nodded. Though Dean was used to tourists who couldn’t tell up from down, he’d never met one who made it so damn attractive as this one. In such close proximity, Dean could see the five o’clock shadow across his jaw, as well as dirt streaked across his arm. “Did you fall off the trail or something?” he asked.

Blue Eyes frowned, then looked down at the dirt stains on his pants and reddened. “My brother thought it would be funny to trip me.”

Dean laughed and Blue Eyes smiled a little. God, what a smile. Realizing he was staring, Dean pulled his eyes from Blue Eyes and pointed across the clearing where they were standing. “If you go through there, you’ll see another marker for the trail. Can’t miss it.”

He handed back the map, about to ask if he could help with anything else (please, please, please) when Blue Eyes asked, “Is this a trail you would recommend, Ranger Winchester?”

Dean startled a little before remembering he wore a nametag on his uniform. “Oh, um, yeah, sure.” Blue Eyes stared at him steadily, waiting, and Dean composed himself. “Yeah, it’s a good trail, pretty flat. If you want something more challenging, you can take this one.” He pointed to the map again, found the yellow line and traced it up. “There’s an overlook where you can get some great photos.” He gestured to Blue Eye’s camera and the man nodded. Dean hoped he wasn’t sending him out to get lost again. Though, he wouldn’t mind getting asked to help again. “You can call me Dean,” he added as an afterthought.

“I’m Castiel,” Blue Eyes said, smiling at him. “Cas for short.”

“Cas,” Dean repeated, that smile making it difficult for his brain to form words.

Cas studied his map. “So, the Flint Ridge trail, the one that crosses through the alders?”

“Right. Wait.” Dean frowned. “How do you know that?” That wasn’t a detail on the map. Most tourists had no idea what trees surrounded them on the trails.

Cas’ eyes widened, the flustered look returning his face. “Oh, uh…” Dean looked him over again. He’d thought the muddy boots and crinkled map marked this guy as a clueless tourist who’d gotten in over his head. On second thought, though, maybe the boots were just worn in and Cas was a more seasoned hiker than he was letting on. 

“You’re not lost, are you?” Dean asked, putting it together. 

“I, um,” Cas stammered. “Well, no." He looked back down at the map. "I may have lied, a bit. This isn’t exactly my first time here.” 

Dean bit back a smile at how embarrassed Cas looked. “Why are you asking for my help then?” He crossed his arms. “I do have actual work, you know. You’re distracting me from my very important job.”

“I’m so sorry—” Cas looked actually panicked now and Dean laughed. 

“I’m just fucking with you.” He patted Cas on the shoulder. “I don’t have anything better to be doing.” He wasn't sure his boss would agree, but it was true on his end anyway.

Cas let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, alright.”

“But seriously, why’re you asking me for help if you already know this park?”

Cas seemed to weigh his response, “It was a dare? My brother Gabe bet me $10 I couldn’t get your number.”

Now it was Dean’s turn to be flustered. Looking to the right, he saw another hiker standing a few feet away watching Dean and Cas with a wide grin. He waved and Dean looked back at Cas in time to catch him rolling his eyes.

“So,” Cas said, turning his blue eyes back to Dean. Dean realized he still hadn’t said a word. “Is there a number you can give me? I mean, to call in case I get lost again?”

Dean swallowed. “Well, um, I could give you the number for the park service, but they get so busy... maybe it’s better if I give you my personal number—you know, in case of emergencies.” Handing out his number was extremely unprofessional, but seeing Cas smile again was worth it. 

“I would appreciate that,” Cas said, and Dean pulled out a pen and wrote his number on the edge of the map. “Thank you for your help, Dean Winchester.” 

“No problem. Feel free to call anytime.” Anytime, immediately, please.

“But only for emergencies, right?” Cas asked, folding up his map, his mouth twitching with a smile.

Dean nodded. “Right, official park stuff only. Like if you want to know where to get the best burgers in town. That sorta stuff.”

Cas’ smile widened. “You should probably come with me and show me in person. I wouldn’t want to go off alone.”

Dean grinned. “I can do that.”

“Well, thanks again.” Cas gestured to the map. “For everything.”

Dean nodded and with a wave, Cas walked off to join his brother. Dean watched him before turning back to see other tourists milling around the clearing. He’d almost forgotten they were there, that he was supposed to be working. He glanced back at Cas and Gabe heading towards the Flint Ridge trail. Cas looked back at him over his shoulder and Dean felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out to see a new text:

Will tonight at 6 work?

Dean smiled. God, he really loved his job.

Tag List:

@becky-srs @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo @marvelnaturalock @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @aelysianmuse @gmotheemo @prayedtoyou @spnwaywardone @letsjustdieeveryone 

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my other random destiel fics :)

#destiel fic #park ranger dean #tourist cas #spncreatorsdaily #fluff #meet-cute #i wrote this months ago and forgot all about it #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

Proposal in the Produce Aisle

dean/cas fic

~2k

also posted on ao3

It all started when Dean and Cas were on a case. The woman they were questioning seemed more interested in Cas than in talking about her dead cousin, and Dean was growing increasingly more annoyed (and a little bit jealous).

He was one second away from grabbing Cas and kissing him in front of the lady, when Cas took his hand and told the woman, “Oh, by the way, this is my husband.” Which threw Dean for a loop. Because he and Cas were only dating, definitely not married. But he brushed it aside because Cas didn’t really mean it; he was only saying it to make this woman back off.

Then, the following week, Jack asked Dean, "When did you and Castiel get married?" and Dean stared at him for a solid ten seconds, waiting for the punchline. But Jack only looked back at him, perfectly serious.

“We’re not married,” Dean finally answered, slowly.

Jack frowned. “Oh. Are you going to get married?”

“I don’t—I... um...” Dean floundered, eventually settling on, “that’s none of your business!” It came out a lot more harshly than he meant it to, but Jack didn’t look offended, only confused.

He seemed about to ask another personal question, so Dean fled the room with a rambling excuse about needing to go on a milk run, they had run out of beer, he hadn’t driven Baby in a while… Married? What the hell?

“Settle something for me,” Dean said, barging into the kitchen where Sam sat.

“Fuck me,” Sam muttered into his coffee cup. He looked up at Dean. “What is it now?”

“Jack thought Cas and I were married.”

Sam stared at him blankly. “Okay.” 

“We’re not.”

“Okay,” Sam said again.

Dean threw up his hands. “Isn’t that weird? Does everyone think we’re married?”

“You do act like an old married couple.” Sam set down his coffee cup. “What’s the big deal, though?”

Dean sat across from him and buried his face in his hands. “Cas called me his husband the other day. Is this an angel thing? Maybe they don’t understand what marriage means.” He lifted his head from his hands. “Right, that’s probably it. I’ll sit them down and explain.”

“Or,” Sam suggested, “You and Cas can just get married already.”

“Not helpful.”

“Well, why not? You’ve been together for forever.”

“Why not? Because…” Dean racked his brain. “Because I don’t want to get married. I’m not going to be some old married sonuva—”

“Does Cas want to get married?”

“I don’t know! We don’t talk about this shit.”

“Well, there’s your first problem.” Sam stood and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Looks like you and Cas need to talk.”

Again, Dean thought, not helpful. 

But Sam’s words rolled around in his head all day, and Dean couldn’t help watching Cas, trying to remember if Cas had ever shown an interest in getting married, if he’d ever dropped a hint that he wanted Dean to propose. He was pretty sure Cas had done none of those things, which should’ve been reassuring. But now there was another question gnawing at Dean: Did he want to marry Cas?

They had been together for several years; maybe marriage was the next step. And Dean couldn’t deny he’d felt a secret satisfaction hearing Cas call him his husband and having Jack assume they were married. Despite what he’d told Sam, he wasn’t that opposed to getting married. Not to the right person. And he was pretty certain he’d never find anyone more right for him than Cas.

He had to find a way to broach the subject, but he couldn’t just ask out of the blue, hey, Cas, wanna get married? He had to first determine whether marriage was even something that had ever crossed Cas’ mind. Which meant strategic, vague questioning.

He put his plan into action one night while he and Cas sat in the Dean Cave, watching Dr. Sexy, M.D. Well, he was watching Dr. Sexy. Cas was engrossed in a book about… Dean glanced at the title. Growing and Propagating Wild Flowers. Never in a million years would he have ever thought his life would come to this—dating not only an angel, but an angel interested in gardening. Even stranger, the way both of those features were now incredibly sexy to him since they made up Cas. 

Sliding closer to his angel boyfriend, he bumped their shoulders together, and, absentmindedly, Cas pulled a hand from his book and placed it on Dean’s thigh. Much as Dean now wanted to interlace their fingers, lean over and kiss the soft, warm skin under Cas’ ear, it was time to bring up the topic pinging around in his brain.

He cleared his throat, “Um, funny how the characters in this show never get married.” He glanced sideways at Cas. 

Cas shrugged, turning a page before answering. “Funny.”

Looks like he was going to have to be a little more straightforward. “You ever think Sam will get married?”

Cas looked up at him. “To Eileen?” Tilting his head, he stared off into the distance thoughtfully, then nodded. “I hope so. I think that would be good for him.”

Dean nodded and Cas looked back down at his book, conversation over. For fuck’s sake, Dean thought.

Edging closer to the truth, he said, “I always told Sam I didn’t see much point in being married. Ya know, being a hunter and all. Never saw myself settling down.” That wasn’t quite what he wanted to say. What he meant was that he’d never thought he could get married, not with the life he lived. He’d never dreamed he could be this happy. Now he’d found someone who made both of those things possible.

“I never thought much about marriage when I was in Heaven.” Cas didn’t look up from his book. “Angels don’t get married to each other.”

“Oh.” Dean looked back at the TV. Well, fuck. That said it all, didn’t it? Cas was an angel; he didn’t understand human practices like marriage. It didn’t mean anything to him. Dean didn’t know why he felt disappointed—he had his answer, and now he didn’t have to worry that Cas was secretly waiting for a proposal.

“Why all this talk about marriage?”

Dean startled. “What?” He realized Cas was studying him. “Uh, I don’t know. No reason, it was just a random thought. I hope Sam gets married too.”

“Oh,” Cas said. “Alright.” Was that disappointment in his tone? But Cas didn’t say anything else and Dean dismissed the idea.

There, he thought, we did the talking, Sam. Got everything sorted out.

***

A week later, he was pushing a cart through the grocery store, following Cas who was scanning the produce aisle for the obscure vegetables Sam had requested. 

“I think it would be much more sustainable if we grew our own produce,” Cas said, pausing to grab a head of lettuce. He scanned the row of vegetables. “Where are the rutabagas?”

“I have no idea. I don’t even know what that is.” 

“Oh, well,” Continuing down the aisle, Cas launched into an explanation of rutabagas—how they’re grown, methods of cooking—all incredibly in-depth considering he couldn’t even taste food, and Dean pushed the cart after him, finding himself paying attention even though he had never once been interested in vegetables. 

While grocery shopping was Cas’ weekly chore, Dean had taken to accompanying him, telling Sam that someone needed to keep Cas in check—the angel could spend hours at the grocery store, coming home with obscure items not on their list just because he thought they looked interesting. But, in truth, grocery shopping had become Dean’s favorite part of the week. Watching Cas compare prices, squint at the items Jack scrawled at the bottom of the list, choose between two oranges as if it was a life or death decision. He smiled now, watching Cas snatch up what Dean was assuming was a rutabaga, and triumphantly hold it in the air. 

Maybe because choosing vegetables was so decidedly banal and normal compared to their usual end-of-the-world lives, and he needed a break. Maybe because he just liked spending time with Cas outside of killing monsters and saving the world. Maybe because he just liked being with Cas.

Halting in front of a row of apples, Cas asked, “Why are there so many varieties? Do they really taste so different?”

“Um, maybe?” Dean picked up a bright red one, then dropped it back on top of the others. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever tried that many.” 

“Dean, if I could taste food, I would try everything.” Cas grabbed a produce bag. “We should get one of every kind and then you can decide which is your favorite.”

He began grabbing apples and stuffing them into the bag, continuing to talk about the garden they should plant—which would now include, apparently, an orchard of apple trees—and suddenly, it hit Dean just how in love he was with this earnest, dorky, little angel. And suddenly, I love you didn’t seem enough to express how much he wanted, needed, to have Cas by his side forever.

“Will you marry me?” Dean blurted out, interrupting Cas’ garden plans. 

Cas looked up at him, hand stretched out to grab a green apple, surprise on his face. Dean's face heated. He had never considered himself a romantic person by any means, but proposing in the produce aisle was a new low.

“You want to get married?” Cas asked slowly.

Dean nodded and realized it was true, he did very much want to marry Cas. He hadn’t been entirely sure before, but now he was completely certain. Which meant his heart was pounding as he worried Cas would say no.

“Dammit, Dean!” Cas dropped the bag of apples into the grocery cart with a bruising clang. Dean startled. Not the reaction he was expecting. “I wanted to propose to you!”

Not the answer he was expecting either.

“W-what?” he stammered.

“I didn’t think you’d want to get married, because when I called you my husband that one time you looked so shocked. And then I overheard you talking to Jack, but you were extremely cryptic about getting married one day, so I asked Sam, and he said you were wondering if I wanted to get married, so I thought maybe there was a chance, but you never brought it up. I thought I might just propose to you anyway, but now you’ve done it first!” He took a deep breath, his spiel ended, and Dean’s brain spun, trying to catch up. 

He moved aside to let someone grab a bunch of bananas. So Cas had wanted, but Dean had acted… “I thought you wouldn’t want to get married because you’re an angel.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw their fellow shopper give them an odd look.

“I live on Earth now,” Cas said. “I ride in cars and eat food. And I’m dating a human.” The shopper looked full on worried now, and she pushed her cart away hurriedly. “Why would you think marriage is where I draw the line to human practices?”

“Right,” Dean said, letting out a breath of laughter. He shook his head. “You were asking Sam? Why didn’t you just ask me if I wanted to get married?”

“Why didn’t you ask me?”

Fuck, Sam was right. “We’re shit at communicating.” 

“Yes,” Cas said, smiling. “But will you marry me?”

“You haven’t answered my proposal yet.”

“No, you first.”

“Yes,” Dean said without hesitation.

“Yes,” Cas said. Pushing the shopping cart aside, Dean grabbed him and kissed him. Absently, he thought he heard the cart bump into a display and knock something over, but he was more occupied with the way Cas was whispering “I love you” in between kisses.

“I love you too." On second thought, proposing and kissing in the produce aisle might be the most romantic thing he’d ever done.

Pulling away to look at Cas, he said, “I didn’t get you a ring, I wasn’t expecting to do this right now.”

“Me neither,” Cas said. 

“Sorry I ruined your proposal.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.” Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and smiled up at him. “This is perfect.”

Dean shook his head because somehow he’d ended up engaged to the easiest to please angel, but that thought made his chest warm. Engaged. 

He pulled Cas’ arms from around his neck, lacing their fingers together. “Come on, fiance. Let’s hurry up and get home so we can tell Sam and Jack.” Looking for their cart, he saw it had knocked down a display of salad dressings. “Oops.”

Cas snapped his fingers and, in a blink, the display was back to normal. “And so we can have engagement sex,” he clarified.

“Exactly.” Dean kissed Cas again. “And that is why I’m marrying you.”

“Because I know you too well?”

“Because you’re perfect.” 

Cas beamed at him. “You’re perfect too. Fiance,” he added.

Dean kissed Cas again, and then Cas was pushing the cart down the aisle, telling him they still had thirteen things on their list, so hurry up, and Dean couldn’t stop smiling because he was going to get married. 

“Let’s go, fiance,” Cas called.

Dean followed him. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you call me that.”

Tag List: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @xojo @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @marvelnaturalock

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be added to or removed from my tag list for future destiel fics :)

#destiel #fic #fluff #spncreatorsdaily #marriage proposal #dean and cas are in love #but they still don't know how to use their words #sam provides brotherly advice #dean and cas go grocery shopping #domestic fluff #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

My Darling, My Dearest, My Dear

1k dean/cas fic

also posted on AO3

The thought first strikes Dean one night while he’s watching Dr. Sexy M.D.

Dr. Sexy and Dr. Ellen Piccolo call each other “babe” about a hundred times in one episode and, while overdone as most aspects of the show tend to be, it makes Dean realize something.

“Hey, Cas,” he says as Castiel returns to their bedroom from a shower. “Why don’t we have pet names for each other?”

“We’re not pets?” Castiel says, standing in his underwear as he rubs a towel through his wet hair.

“No, pet names, names couples give each other.” Dean turns off the TV and throws the remote on the nightstand. “Like babe, or sweetheart.”

“Oh.” Castiel drapes his towel on the desk chair and climbs onto their bed on top of the covers. “I don’t know. Should we give pet names to each other?” He sits in front of Dean, straddling his legs.

“Well, why not?” Dean reaches out to grab Castiel’s hips and pull him closer. “We’re a couple aren’t we?”

Castiel smiles. “Yes, we are.” He kisses Dean, then tugs at his shirt. “Off.”

“Alright, alright.” Dean pulls off his shirt. “Impatient angel.”

Castiel takes Dean’s shirt and tosses it to the side. “Slow human.”

Dean sighs. “We’re not off to a very good start, are we?”

Their efforts at choosing pet names end there, both of them focused on the more pressing matters at hand, but the following morning they resume their efforts with greater vigor.

“Pass me the salt, babe,” Dean says. “No, that doesn’t feel right.”

Castiel hands him the shaker. “Here you go, honey.”

“That’s too cute.”

“We’re never going to come up with one if you keep saying that.”

Dean rolls his eyes and tosses salt onto the scrambled eggs he’s making at the stove. A stifled laugh makes him spin around to see Sam standing in the kitchen doorway.

“How long have you been standing there?” Dean demands.

Sam pushes himself off the doorframe and walks over to the coffee pot. “Long enough to wonder what the hell is wrong with you two.”

“We’re trying to pick pet names for each other,” Castiel says before Dean can shoot him a warning look. “It’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“Doesn’t Dean call you buddy?” Sam sits at the table with his coffee mug.

“That’s not much of a pet name,” Dean says. “I can call anyone that.”

“You can, but you won’t,” Castiel frowns at him. “Sugar,” he adds.

“Nope.” Dean scrapes the eggs onto a plate and sits at the table across from Sam. “Pass me a fork, Angel Eyes.” He looks at Castiel expectantly and Castiel only stares blankly back at him.

“Is that a reference to something?” He hands Dean a fork and sits next to him.

Dean groans. “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly?” Castiel shrugs. “Why do I even bother showing you the classics?” He digs into his breakfast. “Sunshine.”

“Flower.”

“Dear,” Sam suggests.

“I’m not a fucking housewife,” Dean says. “How about Baby? No, that’s just wrong.”

“I’m not your car, Dean,” Castiel says.

“No, but you ride like—wait, no, I can drive you—”

Sam clears his throat loudly and Castiel shakes his head. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It got the point across. Lovebug. Shit! None of these work!”

“You’re trying too hard, Blondie,” Castiel says.

Dean points at him in excitement. “I knew it! I knew you remembered the movie!” Castiel grins.

But Blondie doesn’t seem to do the trick, so they continue trying new names as the day progresses. They even enlist the help of Jack, who googles pet names and rattles off a list which includes such monstrosities—Dean’s phrasing—as pookie, boo, and main squeeze.

Things go quickly awry when Jack tries to explain the word “bae,” causing Dean to grow more distraught. Castiel insists “Love” is suitable, but Dean refuses on principle, saying he’ll be damned before he sounds like one of those stuck-up British Men of Letters.

They dive into other languages: mi amor, cariño, mon petit chou chou. That last sends Jack into peals of laughter when he learns its translation.

“Why can’t I call you Angel?” Dean asks as Jack continues laughing. “It’ll have two meanings, it’s clever.”

“But then what should I call you? Human? That’s too strange.” Castiel looks over Jack’s shoulder at the laptop screen. “Baby Daddy.”

“No,” Sam speaks up from across the map table where he sits with his laptop.

“Gotta agree with Sam on that one.” Dean sits next to Jack. “Partner.”

“Mate.”

“I don’t think you guys are meant to use pet names,” Jack says.

“Jack has a point,” Sam agrees.

Dean waves him off. “No, no, we’ll figure it out. What do you and Eileen call each other?”

Sam reddens. “We don’t call each other anything. We’re not even dating.”

“Jack, tell Sam to stop being a wuss and ask Eileen out already.”

“Sam, you should stop being a wuss and ask Eileen out already,” Jack parrots.

Sam shuts his laptop and leans back in his chair. “So I’ve heard.”

“How about something in Enochian?” Castiel suggests, moving to stand behind Dean and wrap his arms loosely around his neck.

“Will I be able to pronounce it?”

Castiel sighs. “Probably not.”

“Then I don’t see how that’s helpful, honeybear.” Dean leans his head back to look at Castiel.

“That has potential.”

“It really doesn’t,” Jack says.

They continue experimenting with different names throughout dinner, deciding if one pet name doesn’t do the trick, several might, along with a healthy dose of adjectives.

“Thank you for making dinner, my glowing, cheerful, obstinate honeybee,” Castiel says.

“You’re very welcome, my winged, dorky, uptight loverboy,” Dean replies.

“Those words make sense individually,” Sam says.

“Maybe Jack was right,” Dean admits as he pulls back the covers on their bed that night. “Why do we need pet names anyway? So we can act like some TV couple? It’s gonna take a whole lot more than nicknames to make that happen.”

“Nicknames have to happen naturally anyway,” Castiel says, getting into bed next to Dean. “We can’t force it.”

“Right.” Dean puts his arm around Castiel and pulls him closer. “Goodnight my fluorescent, iridescent sunbeam from Heaven.”

He knows Castiel is fighting back an explanation of why those words don’t make sense together so Dean kisses him as a distraction and settles onto his pillow. “Night, Cas.”

Castiel nestles against him. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Who needs pet names when he has an angel who says his name like that?

Tagging: @spnwaywardone​ @good-things-do-happen-dean​ @becky-srs​

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in my destiel fics :)

#deancas fic #spncreatorsdaily #dean and cas try to choose nicknames for each other #sam dean and cas are jack's parents #sam and jack are done with dean and cas' domestic shit #very fluffy and very silly #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

Morning Confessions (or, Waking Up Next to An Angel)

~1.3k dean/cas fic

also posted on ao3

Dean woke first in a haze of warmth and contentment, then in a slow realization of where he was and who he was with. Opening his eyes, he looked at the angel pressed up against him. Castiel’s head was half-buried in the sheets, his arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, and the sight caused a warmth in Dean's chest, an instinct to pull Castiel closer.

Along with the instinct, however, came a flush of guilt at how much he enjoyed these quiet moments, enjoyed them as much as the flurry of kisses and clutches and gasps that preceded them.

“We can’t do this again,” he’d said two months ago, the morning after their first night together. After their second, he’d amended the statement: “This doesn’t mean anything, alright? We can hook up every once in a while, but that’s it. That’s all this is.” Castiel had nodded and that was the last they spoke of it.

Castiel’s eyes were closed in faux sleep; he always stayed the whole night—a fact which created a mixture of emotions in Dean, none of them in keeping with the cool, unattached manner he tried so hard to maintain around Castiel. He’d even mentioned it, told Castiel, “You don’t sleep, you don’t have to lie here all night.”

Seeming to blush—though Dean doubted angels could be embarrassed—Castiel had said, “I don’t mind. I want to watch over you.”

And Dean didn’t want to admit how much he enjoyed the warmth of Castiel’s body against his all night, how much he relished waking up to the angel still next to him.

In the quiet of this morning, before he rose and left the motel room, spent the day trying to pretend nothing had happened between them, Dean studied Castiel: his soft, dark eyelashes, the curl of hair around the curve of his ear. The eyelashes fluttered, then blue eyes gazed up at him.

Dean’s breath hitched and he hastily looked away. He stared up at the ceiling, pretending to be engrossed by the dark water stain above their heads.

Whoosh.

Dean startled at the sudden absence of the heat of Castiel’s body against his. He looked to see the blankets settling down in the spot where Castiel lay a moment ago.

Damn flighty angels, Dean thought. Then the sound of water running made him realize the bathroom door was closed, light coming through the gap at the bottom. Frowning, he sat up to get out of bed, then swore. Castiel stood by the bed in his way, naked.

That sight, as always, was enough to render Dean speechless for a long second. He glanced back at the bathroom, the door now open and the light off, and back at Castiel. Only Castiel wasn’t standing in the same spot anymore.

The sound of wings made him turn to see Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, now almost fully dressed, pulling on his trench coat.

“What the fuck?” Dean managed.

“I, umm,” Castiel tapped his fingers on the bedspread, then pulled his hand away and smiled at Dean. “Do you want food? I can get you breakfast.” With another whoosh, he was gone, leaving Dean staring at the opposite wall.

Then Castiel was dropping a takeout bag on the table with a thump. Dean blinked and Castiel was standing by the bed again saying, “I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I grabbed five different varieties of bagels and—”

“Woah, woah, Cas.” Dean grabbed his arm. “You’re giving me whiplash. What the hell’s going on? Why’re you flying around everywhere?”

“I, um... I suppose I’m… nervous.”

“Nervous?” He didn’t know Castiel, “stoic angel of the Lord,” could get nervous. “And your wings are going haywire?”

“They’re not haywire,” Castiel replied, sounding annoyed. He straightened his shoulders. “I need to tell you something.”

Dean took a deep breath. In his line of business, that was never a good thing to hear. Angel or demon problems? A new apocalypse? Steadying himself for the inevitably bad news, he said, “Alright. What?”

Another whoosh, and Castiel was sitting on the bed next to him. “Fuck! Cas!” Dean exclaimed, nearly falling out of bed. Castiel grabbed his arm to steady him. “You wanna give me a warning next time?”

“Sorry."

Dean huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. Castiel traced the floral pattern on the comforter. The serious furrow in his brows should’ve made Dean nervous, but he found himself studying Castiel’s profile instead. His jawline, his dark hair tousled from all his flying around, probably. He had the sudden urge to touch Castiel’s face, the nape of his neck, to run his fingers through Castiel’s hair, but he kept his arms crossed and studied the comforter himself.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Castiel said quietly and Dean’s heart sunk. He had known this shaky thing between him and Castiel couldn’t last. Castiel was an angel; he had the world at his fingertips. Why would he ever be content with Dean?

Castiel continued, “I think this, our sexual relations, means more to me than it does to you.”

It took a few seconds for those unexpected words to register. Dean blinked. So... Castiel had caught feelings. Another apocalypse seemed easier to deal with than the way that realization made him feel.

In a rush, Castiel touched his arm and angled his body to look at him.  “I know that wasn’t part of our agreement. You said no strings attached. And I thought I could do that, and if not, I could hide my true feelings, but it seems I can’t, after all. I thought… I thought you should know.” He dropped his hands into his lap and Dean’s heart thumped in his chest. He wondered if Castiel could hear it.

“You want more,” he said slowly. “Like a relationship.”

Castiel nodded sadly.

“Maybe,” Dean started, then stopped. He didn’t know how he planned on ending that sentence. But the look Castiel turned on him, the wide hope in his eyes, urged him to say what had been building up in him since the first time he woke up next to Castiel. “Maybe we can have more than just..." He gestured to the crappy motel room, themselves, trying to encompass the transience of their hook ups. “This,” he finished lamely.

“Really?” Castiel asked, studying him. “You want that?”

More than anything. To hold Castiel's hand, to feel his arms around him every night, to wake up to him every morning. Everything he wanted to say got caught in his throat; the words seemed too heavy, too great to say aloud.

“Yeah, yeah, I do," he managed.

A smile spread on Castiel’s face and Dean hastened to add, “But no one can know, alright? I mean, maybe Sam can know, but no one else.” No, that wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted: to call Castiel his, to let everyone know this angel had chosen him. “This can’t be public knowledge. Dean Winchester doesn’t date, much less have a boyfriend.”

“I’m your boyfriend now?” The excitement in Castiel’s voice made Dean’s heart jump.

“Oh, um.” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to be?”

"Yes." Castiel took Dean's hand in his own and held his gaze, his eyes serious. "I would like that very much.”

"I would like that very much too," Dean echoed since words were still escaping him, then Castiel leaned forward and kissed him, and there was that warmth again filling Dean's chest, perfect comfort and ease overwhelming him. He lifted a hand to Castiel's face, hoped he could press onto Castiel's lips everything he couldn't put into words.

When they slowly pulled away, Dean was breathless and Castiel was smiling at him. Nestling closer, Castiel leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder. It didn’t make sense, Dean thought, the way this angel felt towards him. He was half-convinced this sudden, new relationship was all a dream. But even if it was, even if he did suddenly wake, he knew he’d wake to Castiel watching over him.

The thought made him smile and, looking down at their hands, he intertwined his fingers with Castiel’s. The happy sigh Castiel made said it all.

Tagging: 

@spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @xojo

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in future destiel fics :)

#destiel fic #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #fluff #boyfriends #cas actually likes to fly everywhere but he usually tones it down to not freak out the humans #falling in love #soft and sweet #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 10: your choice

I’ve been wanting to write a destiel fic based off the song “Fortune Teller” by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss for forevvverr so I decided to finally go for it:

Dean, Sam, and Eileen are at the beach when they go to get their palms read. Cue an attractive, charming fortune teller and a palm reading Dean wants to dismiss, but can't seem to shake.

Words: ~3k

Read on AO3

Thanks to @bend-me-shape-me @helianthus21 and @pray4jensen for creating this challenge :)

“This is bullshit, you know that, right?” Dean asked, leaning on the counter in the small, dark shop Sam and Eileen had dragged him into.

“Come on, live a little, Dean,” Sam said, holding Eileen’s hand. Dean rolled his eyes. They were at the beach on vacation and had been roaming the boardwalk when Eileen pointed out a sign reading, Fortune Teller, $5 Palm Reading. Learn Who You Are and What Your Future Holds. Dean had hardly glanced at the sign before Eileen pulled Sam into the shop, causing Dean to reluctantly follow.

Inside, the small shop was littered with crystals and charms, incense and candles. Too many candles, Dean thought, looking around. This place was a fire hazard. At the back of the small shop was a thick, deep red curtain which would probably go up in smoke quickly enough if a candle fell over. Dean could hear murmured voices behind the curtain where the fortune teller presumably sat. Probably a woman in flowy clothes and long hair, waving her hands around a crystal ball, muttering shit about auras and futures.

Dean looked over his shoulder at the sunny, crowded boardwalk where the ocean crashed out of sight and people chattered and walked past, then back at Sam and Eileen who were looking at one of the tapestries blanketing the wall.

“I dated a hippy in college, remember?” Dean said. “Weirdest chick ever. She thought she could read palms too. Read mine and said we weren’t destined to be together.”

“Well she was right, wasn’t she?” Sam said and Eileen fought back a smile.

Dean flipped Sam off and the curtain parted to let out two women in bikini tops and shorts. They were laughing and staring at their palms as if they could read what the fortune teller had seen there.

“I told you!” The one said to the other. “‘There’s fortune to be made in your future’—I just started selling Pampered Chef stuff, remember?” Give me a break, Dean thought.

“Our turn!” Eileen said, pulling Sam to the curtain. They disappeared behind it and Dean sat on a tasseled, purple round ottoman that could've been either a place to sit or part of the decoration. Incense burned on a table to his left and the strong smell made him feel almost dizzy. He picked up a ridged, orange crystal on the table—a sign promised it would promote “relaxation and peace in mind and spirit.” Dean turned the crystal over in his hand. What a bunch of hooey.

He heard Eileen laugh from behind the curtain. Dean liked Eileen and thought she was great for Sam, but he was starting to wish he hadn’t given in when Sam and Eileen begged him to come with them to the beach. For one, no matter how well he got along with both Sam and Eileen, he was designated third wheel. And, two, he suspected Sam and Eileen had only invited him along out of pity—why else would they want him around on a vacation to celebrate their recent engagement? Meanwhile Dean had ended a two year relationship a month ago. He was happy for Sam and Eileen, truly, but watching them be all nauseatingly cute with each other didn’t exactly make him feel great about the current state of his love life.

Sam and Eileen emerged from behind the curtain, and Dean tossed the crystal onto the table and stood. “What’d the fortune teller say? Either of you guys gonna die an early death?”

“Jesus, Dean, that’s dark,” Sam protested.

“He said we make a good pair,” Eileen said, taking Sam’s hand to study his palm. So the fortune teller was a guy, not the witchy woman Dean had imagined. One aspect of this shop that was not ridiculously cliché. “My lines promise excitement and Sam’s promise dependability.”

“He called you boring to your face?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just go and get your palm read.”

“Nah,” Dean started.

“Come on, Dean, it’s fun and,” Eileen looked over her shoulder at the curtain and signed something.

“What?” Dean asked. Though he’d picked up some sign language since meeting Eileen, he’d learned mostly single words, insults he could then aim at Sam behind his back to Eileen’s amusement.

“He’s attractive,” Sam said, “according to Eileen.”

“Well, I’ll be the judge of that,” Dean said. Eileen smiled encouragingly at him as he walked to the curtain. Trust Eileen to try and set him up with the fortune teller. She and Sam had been pointing out other beachgoers the whole week long, but Dean wasn’t having any of it. He’d decided he was content staying single for the rest of his life, thank you very much. With the exception of Sam and Eileen’s relationship, love was as much a sham as fortune telling. Or so he was trying to convince himself.

Pushing the curtain back, Dean stepped into the back of the shop and blinked in the gloom lit by only candlelight. A dark haired man sat cross legged on a wide carpet; he looked up as Dean entered and smiled. Alright, so Eileen wasn’t kidding, this guy was attractive. But he was also barefoot and wearing all linen, so Dean wasn’t going to lose his head.

“Hello,” the fortune teller said, beckoning for Dean to sit down. He was surrounded by more candles and, on the walls, tapestries and hanging beads. No crystal ball, though. “And what’s your name?”

“You can’t just read my mind?” Dean asked, sitting down across from him on the floor. Would it kill the guy to put some chairs in this place?

The fortune teller laughed, a low, pleasant sound. “I’m not psychic.” He held out his hand, palm up. “I only read palm lines.”

Realizing the fortune teller was waiting, Dean placed his hand in his. But the fortune teller didn’t look at his palm yet. He held Dean’s gaze—his eyes were a light blue—and Dean found himself relaxing despite himself.

“It’s Dean. My name,” he said.

“You’re a skeptic,” the fortune teller said.

“I thought you couldn’t read my mind.” The fortune teller smiled and Dean gestured to the space around them with his free hand. “This is a little over the top, don’t you think? The candles, the incense,” he gestured to the fortune teller, “the clothes.”

“People come here expecting something and I comply,” the fortune teller said. He didn’t sound offended. “They wouldn’t trust me if this place looked like a doctor’s office.”

“No, guess not.”

The fortune teller bent his head to look at Dean’s palm and Dean asked, “You have a name?”

The fortune teller looked up at him again. Shit. He really was attractive, hippy clothes and all. “Castiel.”

Dean snorted and Castiel smiled like he knew what Dean was thinking. “That’s amusing?” he asked.

“No, no, just, uh, it fits. Very new agey. That your real name or is it part of your whole persona?”

“None of this is a persona. It’s all real, it’s all me.”

“So you were born with this… gift, or ability, or whatever, to tell the future?” He was all too aware of Castiel still holding onto his hand and only half admitting to himself that he might be stalling.

Castiel looked thoughtful. “I can’t predict the future. I can only study the way lines cross on your palm,” he softly traced the lines on Dean’s palm and something fluttered in Dean’s chest, “and make assumptions and predictions based on what those lines typically suggest.”

“You make educated guesses.”

Castiel smiled. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t be revealing trade secrets.”

Castiel tilted his head in a way that was incredibly disarming. “Are you going to go out on the boardwalk and discredit me?”

“Might open up my own shop next door and steal your business.”

Castiel laughed and the sound stirred something in the base of Dean’s stomach. He watched as Castiel studied his palm again, curious despite himself at what Castiel would see there.

“You feel kind of warm,” Castiel said. Dean reddened, but Castiel didn’t look up at him. He traced one long finger over a line curving at the base of Dean’s thumb. A small fan on a bookshelf behind Castiel swung slowly side to side, making the bead curtains hanging from the walls sway and softly rattle. Dean could feel the slight breeze in the warm room as the fan pointed his way. Castiel’s loose hippy shirt dipped at the neckline to reveal a brown corded necklace hanging between his collarbones. Muffled chatter rose behind the curtain and the fan softly whirred and Dean wondered if Castiel wasn’t a hypnotist as well.

“You’re in love,” Castiel said, letting go of Dean’s hand.

Dean blinked and pulled his hand back into his lap before Castiel’s words registered. He laughed. “Sorry, buddy, but I think you got me mixed up with my brother. The sasquatch that was in here last?”

Castiel only smiled serenely and shook his head. “You might not know it yet, but you will soon enough, I think. You’ll know when you look into your love’s eyes.”

Dean stared back at him, then broke the gaze. “Well, alright then.” He stood. “I still think this is all bullshit.”

“You can pay for my bullshit in that jar there.” Castiel pointed to a low table behind Dean where a jar stood next to a small sign reading $5.

“Right, forgot you actually make a living off this crap.” Dean threw a five dollar bill into the mouth of the jar and started to pull back the curtain. “Nice meeting you anyway.”

“Nice meeting you too, Dean.” Castiel smiled up at him, his hands folded in his lap.

Dean walked out of the shop to meet Sam and Eileen standing in the sunlight on the boardwalk. “What happened in there?” Sam asked. “You took forever.”

“He took his hippy time. Guess he was having trouble reading my palm.” After sitting in that dark room, the sun outside seemed even brighter and more glaring.

“What’d he say?” Eileen asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean said, suddenly embarrassed. “He was making it up.” He started walking down the boardwalk.

“Dean, what’d he say?” Sam asked as he and Eileen caught up with him. “Something bad?”

“No! You know he can’t actually tell the future, right?” Sam and Eileen watched him expectantly and Dean sighed. “He, uh… he said I was in love.”

Eileen frowned. “In love?”

“Like I said, bullshit.”

“You think he meant with Lisa?” Sam asked.

“No, guys.” Dean stopped walking abruptly and Sam and Eileen turned around to look at him. “He didn’t know what he was talking about, he told me himself, he makes all this shit up.” He started walking again. “Probably gave me some generic fortune to get back at me for giving him a hard time.”

“You gave him a hard time?” Sam asked. Eileen touched Dean’s arm and Dean looked at her.

Attractive? she signed and Dean sighed.

Yes, he was attractive, he signed back. Eileen grinned and Dean rolled his eyes.

* * *

That night, Dean waved goodnight to Sam and Eileen as they went into their hotel room down the hall. He unlocked the door to his room, paused on the threshold and stared into the darkness, then shut the door and went downstairs to the boardwalk on which the hotel stood.

The ocean surged loudly and he leaned on the boardwalk railing to watch the dark waves catch the moonlight as they piled on top of each other and crashed into foam.

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets against the night chill, he continued down the boardwalk. Lamp posts cast orange circles of light which diffused softly into shadow before meeting the next circle of light. Farther down the boardwalk, clusters of multi-colored lights formed the shapes of a ferris wheel and other rides.

You’re in love. What the hell did the fortune teller mean by that? Dean wasn’t in love, not with anyone, and not with Lisa as Sam had suggested. It was true that Dean had loved Lisa—their relationship was the longest he’d ever been in, and they’d even started talking marriage. But, slowly, for reasons Dean didn’t really know how to express, he had realized she wasn’t the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. And so he had broken things off last month.

Maybe that was a stupid thing to do. He and Lisa could’ve been happy together, happy enough. He didn’t know what he was holding out for.

He paused on the boardwalk before he reached the more crowded, night-life area. Nothing like seeing people having a good time, paired up in couples, to make him feel lonely and miserable. Standing under a lamp post in its orange glow, he drew his hand from his pocket and studied his palm, trying to see what Castiel had seen. He could still feel the light pressure of Castiel’s finger tracing the criss-crossing lines.

You’ll know when you look into your love’s eyes. Castiel must have pulled that from some sappy romance movie. The ones Sam and Eileen made Dean watch with them, where two people caught each others’ eyes across the room and, in a heart-stopping instant, knew they were destined for each other.

Shaking his head, Dean shoved his hand back into his pocket. That shit didn’t happen in real life; it hadn’t happened with Lisa or anyone else, and Dean wasn’t going to put any stake in Castiel’s palm readings, wasn’t going to bank on true love and all that cliché shit. A salty, chilly breeze tugged at his collar and blew through his hair as he headed back to the hotel.

* * *

The next afternoon, Dean leaned forward in his beach chair, resting his forearms on his thighs. The sun shone overheard and glared on the waves. Behind his, Sam, and Eileen’s chairs, a family sat with a radio blaring music, and to their left a couple threw a frisbee back and forth.

Sam and Eileen were both reading, because of course they were. They were disgustingly perfect for each other. Even their palm readings were complementary. Not absurd, like Dean’s had been. Dean decided he was going to leave Fortune Teller Castiel a bad review online, if hippies even used the internet and had websites. Castiel sat in a dark room all day, trying to act mysterious, taking people’s money, spewing nonsense, but he didn’t know shit.

Three women walked past his chair and one of the women glanced at him. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she kept walking past. Dean stared down at his feet and pushed them into the warm sand. You’ll know when…

Abruptly, he stood. Sam and Eileen looked up at him over their respective books.

“I’m going to go grab food,” he said and grabbed his shirt hanging over the back of his chair.

“Okay,” Sam said, looking back down at his book.

You alright? Eileen signed and Dean nodded. He pulled his shirt on and walked off to the boardwalk.

I’m great, he thought, I’m just going to give Castiel a piece of my mind, tell him where he can shove his fortune telling.

Making his way through the crowded boardwalk, he reached the fortune teller shop and stepped inside the dark, acrid smelling interior. Pulling off his sunglasses, he saw the curtain was drawn back a little, inviting customers. Determined, Dean marched over and pulled the curtain aside.

“You’re full of shit,” he started to say, stepping into the room where Castiel had read his palm the day before. But then Castiel looked up from where he sat on the floor and their eyes met and the words died on Dean’s lips.

He stared at Castiel for a good while, forgetting everything he had planned to say.

“Dean,” Castiel said, smiling, bringing Dean back to himself. “I was hoping to see you again.”

“You,” Dean stammered. Such blue eyes, why hadn't he seen it before... “It’s you…”

Castiel stood. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Dean breathed. He broke his gaze from Castiel’s eyes and fiddled with his sunglasses in his hand. “I, um...”

“Did you come for another palm reading?” Castiel asked. He reached out and Dean gave him his hand without realizing what he was doing. Castiel lifted his own hand next to Dean’s and studied both of their palms.

“What do you see?” Dean asked, looking not at their hands, but at Castiel. His heart was pounding.

“I see… a dinner date. You tell me all about yourself, and then we take a walk on the beach.” Castiel looked up at Dean, a playful smile on his face.

Dean let out a breath of laughter. “You read all that in our palm lines?”

“I might have embellished a bit.” Castiel took a step closer to Dean and smiled up at him. You’ll know when you look…

“I came back here to tell you something,” Dean said. “What you read in my palm lines, it was true.”

“It was?” Castiel’s brow furrowed a little. He started to let go of Dean’s hand, but Dean took Castiel’s hand in his own.

“It was just like you said.” He couldn’t look away from those eyes. “I thought you were only making it up, but dammit, you were right.” The last words fell off his tongue soft and quiet.

Castiel studied him, then slowly smiled. “I so hoped I was right.”

Dean felt a warmth rush through his chest. He looked down at their hands, then back at Castiel. “You missed something in our futures.”

Castiel tilted his head a little. “What?”

Dean ducked down to kiss him and felt Castiel smile before kissing him back. He hadn’t needed his palm read to know it would feel so right.

When they pulled away, Dean asked, a little breathless, “Do I get that last palm reading for free?”

Castiel laughed. “Only if you ensure that what I saw comes true.” He intertwined his fingers in Dean’s and Dean nodded.

“It’s a deal.” And he kissed the fortune teller again.

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

I’ll be writing more destiel fics even with this challenge over so let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list:)

#destiel fic #supernatural #fortune teller cas #fluff #the song called for a crystal ball but i switched it to palm reading bc hands #sry not sry #also beach vacation bc the winchesters need one #real life au #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

The Archer and The Squire (a destiel Robin Hood AU)

!! now finished !!

Rating: Mature

Word count: 84,674

Tags: Robin Hood AU, Medieval Time AU, fluff and humor, first kiss, first love, touch-starved Castiel, sharing a bed, historical accuracy with a little leeway

Read Chapter 20 on AO3

Read from the beginning on A03

Summary

It’s the year 1192. Prince John is in power, the Sheriff of Nottingham does his dirty work, and tales are spreading of an outlaw called “the Hood” who not even the Sheriff can stop. Amidst the turmoil, Castiel is resigned to his life as a squire in Nottingham Castle. He keeps his head down, does his work, and tries to forget about his life before becoming a squire.

So when Gabriel, Castiel’s best (and only) friend, invites him to sneak into town for a May Day celebration, Castiel goes along reluctantly. Then Castiel meets a charming, yet mysterious archer who he just can’t get out of his head, and who makes him wonder if life outside the castle might be worth exploring. Expect archery competitions, secret identities, robberies, and romance.

Tags below the cut:

@spnwaywardone​​ @good-things-do-happen-dean​

Let me know (message, ask, comment) if you’d like to be tagged in posts for my other random destiel fics :)

#the archer and the squire #expectingtoflywrites #spncreatorsdaily #it's done!! #this has been a looong process #i cant believe i finished it #my posting days are going to feel like something's missing now #but at least i have a million other projects to keep me busy

[expectingtofly]

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 8: Hope

The angels have fallen, Heaven is broken, Castiel burns through a grace that isn't his own. Everything seems hopeless, but Dean is determined to help his homesick, heartbroken angel and give him a home on Earth.

Words: ~1.5k

also posted on ao3

Hope in the Form of One Small Bee

Dean is worried about Castiel. The angel has been holed up for days in the room he and Dean share in the bunker, hardly speaking, hardly moving. Dean knows a thing or two about hiding away in his room, but in those hopeless days he distracted himself with music, with drinking, with crap TV and horror flicks. Castiel lies on their bed in silence, curled up in one of Dean’s old T-shirts, and the sight makes Dean want to crumple.

Sam says, talk to him, but Dean isn’t good with words, he knows that. So he invites Castiel on a drive. He even offers to let Castiel get behind the wheel, but Castiel only shakes his head and sinks in on the passenger side. They drive with the windows down, fast, because Dean hopes Castiel might find some resemblance in it to flying. But Castiel’s shoulders stay slumped as he stares out the window, and when they return to the bunker he retreats to their room without a word.

Sam says, give him time, but Dean is worried, scared, and that makes every quiet day stretch on interminably. He finds himself spending hours in the library, staying behind when Sam goes on errands and cases because, if Castiel does leave their bedroom, Dean doesn’t want him coming out to an empty bunker. Seated in one of the library’s leather armchairs, Dean reads more than he has in years, pores over dusty, thick volumes on angels: their wings, their powers, their grace. None cover how to help a homesick angel.

Even though he knows angels don’t eat, he feels compelled to bring Castiel food, hopes a familiar meal might spark a happy memory. Castiel takes the peanut butter and jelly sandwich Dean offers him, but when Dean returns an hour later, there’s only one bite missing and Castiel says, thank you, but it doesn’t taste like anything.

Sam says, it can’t be easy, losing his home, his family. Using a grace that isn’t his own. Being an angel among humans. Every night, Dean sinks under the covers, wraps his arms around Castiel and holds him close. Sometimes Castiel nestles up against him and Dean believes his angel will become his old self again, and sometimes Castiel doesn't move, as if Dean isn’t there, and Dean feels hollow inside.

When he whispers, I love you, and presses a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, Castiel whispers, very softly, I love you too, and Dean hopes it means he hasn’t failed this angel who he loves, but doesn’t know how to help. Castiel never cries. That’s an answer Dean can’t find in any of his books: Do angels cry?

It’s when Dean is on an errand, Sam convincing him to leave the bunker for the first time in days, that he realizes it. He stares at a stuffed crochet bee—yellow and black stripes, two antennas, small black eyes, white wings, thin line of a smile (one stitch out of place but it adds personality)—and realizes Castiel doesn’t have any belongings. Even his clothes, the suit and trench coat, are originally another’s.

This reminded me of you, he tells Castiel and feels silly holding out such a trivial thing, offering a stuffed animal to an Angel of the Lord. But Castiel takes the bee from him and gazes at it. This is for me? he asks, tracing the bee’s smile. It’s yours, Dean says.

Castiel looks up at him with a small smile of his own that creates a flutter of hope inside Dean. Thank you.

This, at least, is something Dean knows he can do—give Castiel things, material things he can hold in his hands, that will ground him to Earth. He buys Castiel a fluffy, blue blanket—its color the closest approximation to Castiel’s eyes he can find—cotton shirts with pockets and stripes, a yellow bath towel. He places books on the nightstands in their room: westerns with amber and rust covers, a children’s book about a boy and his dog which he thinks Castiel will appreciate because the dog is named Sam. A small plant sitting in a teal pot, its curling green leaves tinged yellow down the center. A mug which says, Morning, Handsome, and which he tries to hide from Sam when he makes tea for Castiel every morning and night (because even if Castiel can’t savor the taste, seeing him sit up to hold the mug and breathe in the steam, drink in the warm liquid, gives Dean a similar warmth inside).

They’re yours, Dean says, repeats. All yours. He hopes it is enough.

Castiel takes every item in his hands when Dean returns from long shopping trips, turns them over and studies them. In the days that follow, Dean finds him bent over his books, turning the pages slowly, sees him returning from a shower wrapped in his yellow towel. In the morning, Dean wakes as Castiel rises to water his plant and trace its leaves with his finger. The stuffed bee takes up permanent residence on their bed and Dean pretends to grumble—You’ve left me for him. Castiel hugs his bee defensively and Dean can’t help but smile.

Castiel wears his new shirts—they are very soft—and sits on the floor in the laundry room, reading, waiting for his clothes to emerge clean and warm. Sometimes, Dean catches Castiel watching through the dryer’s glass door as his stuffed bee tumbles inside in a rough imitation of a bumblebee’s corkscrew flight. Castiel’s quiet listlessness, the droop of his shoulders as he pulls his bee out and holds it against his chest, fills Dean with an anxious doubt. How can warm cotton and yarn ever replace the light and warmth of Heaven that Castiel sunned under for millennia?

His name is Buzziel, Castiel says one night as Dean pushes the bee aside to take the angel in his arms. Dean hugs both Castiel and this strangely named bee. Buzziel? he asks, stressing the -iel. Is he an angel bee?

Castiel nods and Dean watches him run his finger along Buzziel’s wings. And Dean realizes that no matter what he buys Castiel, an angel will always miss Heaven.  

I’m sorry, Cas. Castiel doesn’t speak and Dean learns angels do cry.

Sam shows Castiel a video of Marie Kondo and the earth-bound angel spends hours folding his new clothes into neat bundles and organizing them in his new dresser. He frowns down at his plant, at its wilting leaves turning brown at the edges. If I had my grace I could heal you. Dean introduces Castiel to nature documentaries and they watch for hours and hours. Most shows are slow and plodding, but Dean finds comfort in the weight of Castiel leaning against him, the way Castiel holds Buzziel on his lap, his rapt focus.

They watch a documentary on beekeeping and Dean points to a bee seated on a purple flower. There’s Buzziel. Castiel smiles so he starts naming every bee on the screen, Samiel, Bobbiel, Jodiel, hoping to keep Castiel’s smile on his face for a little longer. He feels the hollow space in his chest filling with something like hope, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge for fear it will disappear and leave him emptier than ever before.

When he wakes one morning, it seems his fears are realized because the space next to him is empty, save for Buzziel staring at him with his crooked smile.

He and Sam search the bunker and just when he grabs the keys for Baby to search outside, the bunker door creaks open and Castiel walks down the stairs. There’s dirt on his bare feet and he’s holding his plant. She needed sunshine.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief, pulls Castiel close, hears the crinkle of leaves. I thought you left. He holds Castiel at arm’s length to look in his eyes. I know this isn’t Heaven. But I’ll buy you anything you want. Anything to make this feel like home.

Castiel stares back at him, his eyes serious, his hands around his potted plant. Heaven isn’t my home anymore. My home is here with you, he looks over Dean’s shoulder at Sam, and you.

And Buzziel, Dean says. Castiel smiles. And Buzziel. A relief Dean hadn’t dared hope for fills the bleakness inside him and he pulls Castiel close, feels the warmth of the sun on Castiel’s clothes, his bare arms and dark hair, a reassurance that Castiel will be alright.

Thanks to @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21 for creating this challenge, and I just have to give credit to this week 3 fic by @wingtrap for sparking the idea for this fic :)

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my spn fics :)

#spnstayathome #deancas fic #destiel #set sometime in season 9 #i need to stop writing sad cas fics #and let this angel be happy for once #maybe next week #fingers crossed #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

The Cost of Happiness

1.6k

implied/off-screen major character death

also posted on ao3

(I told myself I wasn't going to get all sad and write about the Shadow coming for Castiel,,,, but here we are. whoops. settle in for some angst)

So it was over. Well and truly over. Jack had saved the world as Castiel always knew he would. The world would be different now, more peaceful, quieter. 

Castiel began to smile at the thought, but the expression faded from his face before it was fully formed. 

Not over, not everything, not quite yet. He closed his eyes and breathed in. It would soon be time, he knew it.

At the sound of footsteps, he opened his eyes. He knew who was approaching before Dean entered the room. 

“Dean,” Castiel said, standing. He was going to miss saying that name. 

“There you are.” Dean walked forward, before his footsteps faltered and he paused. “Are you...” His eyes roamed over Castiel. "Are you okay?”

Castiel started to nod, then he realized what Dean was really asking. 

Are you happy?

Ever since he had told Dean about his deal with the Shadow, the knowledge of his fate had weighed heavily between them. In unspoken agreement, they had pushed away any thought of it to focus on the here and now, on protecting the world, on Jack defeating God. 

But now it was time. The deal hung between them now, ominous, thick like fog. It wasn’t right, that happiness could be so foreboding. Such a cruel trick by the Shadow.

Castiel sighed and stepped closer to Dean. “I’m tired.”

“Yeah, me too.” Dean looked relieved, though still a little wary. Castiel stopped in front of him and studied him, though, truly, he didn’t need to study Dean’s face to recall it. It was ingrained in his mind. The line of his jaw, his freckles, his so very green eyes, this body Castiel had rebuilt, the face he’d gazed at for hours when he first met Dean, as Dean slept. 

“I’m so proud of Jack,” he said, pushing those early memories away. "He did it. I knew he would.”

Dean nodded, smiling a little. "He was incredible.”

Castiel mirrored Dean’s smile. He felt a deep relief that he hadn’t felt in ages, maybe ever. Jack, Sam, and Dean were safe. The world was quiet. What more could he want? He was the happiest he could ever be. 

“And, Dean, I’m… I’m happy.”

Dean’s smile vanished. “No,” he whispered. Castiel didn’t fault him for his reaction. He felt a similar panic starting to rise in his veins. That after all this time, the one thing he should fear was happiness. He could feel it, the Shadow. Sinister and foreboding. He spread his fingers wide, felt the chill seeping into the room.

“Fuck, Cas, no.” Dean looked around the room, as if expecting the Shadow to appear suddenly, quickly, and snatch Castiel away. Castiel knew it would come slowly, menacingly, taunting. Instinctively, he reached out and touched Dean's arm, fingers trailing over his sleeve, before dropping his hand to his side. 

Dean swallowed, returning his eyes to Castiel’s, and Castiel looked beyond his face to his soul. So bright, so precious, so fragile, yet so incredibly strong. He felt in awe at the sight as always. 

He couldn’t forget how it shone, he couldn’t, but in the Empty, in deep sleep, he wouldn’t remember a thing. 

He was supposed to be happy now, but instead he felt a sadness weighing on his shoulders that made him want to crumple. Maybe happiness always came with such sorrow.

Pushing his shoulders back, he tried to put on a brave face for Dean’s sake. "I can feel its presence. It’s close.”

Dean looked scared, genuinely scared, and Castiel knew it was an emotion that did not come easily to him. “Cas, it can’t, not now, you can’t go.” 

In a rush, he grabbed Castiel’s hand and Castiel looked down in surprise. He studied their hands, held together, then raised his head. Dean’s eyes were red; he was crying, and the sight sent a pang through Castiel’s chest. 

He had not expected Dean to look so broken.  It will fade,  he told himself. Dean will be able to move on, have a happy life, maybe even start his own family. Tears pricked his eyes and he blinked them away. “I don’t have a choice."

“You had a choice—“

"Yes, I did, and I do not regret the deal I made. I saved Jack’s life, and because of that, he saved the world. You and Sam are alive. You can live your own lives now, you’re free. You can be happy.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t, I can’t.” He gripped Castiel’s hand tighter. "We need you, I need you.” 

I need you. Castiel had heard him speak those words before. Words that brought him back from the brink, that made him hope there could be more between them, that Dean could feel more.

Wheeling around, Dean scanned the room and Castiel followed his eyes, expecting to see the snaking, black, metallic ooze curl from the corners of the room. 

Nothing yet, but Dean yelled, “You sonuvabitch, come out here! We need to talk! You can’t have him, we’ll make a deal!” He began to pull his hand from Castiel’s and Castiel grabbed it with both of his own.

“Dean, no—“  Dean turned back to look at him, at their hands, his face registering surprise. “It’s a deal that brought me to this place,” Castiel said. "I won’t let you or Sam or Jack sacrifice anything else.” Dean started to protest and Castiel squeezed his hand, silencing him. “You will be happy without me. I’m not... needed anymore. I’ve made peace with this. It’s my time to go.”

“Not needed—?“ Dean started and his voice broke. “Cas, that’s not all you are to us, you're family.” 

Castiel waited for him to add our brother, like he’d done years ago—the words that had told Castiel where they stood, the words that he had accepted quietly though he'd felt such a deep disappointment. 

But Dean didn’t call him a brother. He only clung to Castiel’s hand, tears running down his face. 

“I know,” Castiel said and realized he himself was crying. Tears slid down his cheeks to his neck, an unfamiliar sensation. “I know, and you’re my family too.” Maybe he meant to say all of you—Sam, Jack, Eileen—but he said you and looked in Dean’s eyes and knew it was what he meant to say, wanted to say. 

He took a shaky breath. There were so many other things he wanted to say, before he ran out of time. “I have felt close to you since I first saw your soul in hell. We’re bonded together, tied to each other.” Dean was shaking his head and Castiel wanted to reach out and wipe the tears from his face, but he forced his hands to remain enclosed around Dean’s. "I thought it was my mission to take care of you, but it was you who helped me. You taught me about free will, about family, about sacrifice—"

“Cas, please,” Dean begged. For what, Castiel didn’t know. To stay? To leave quietly?

“Thank you, Dean. For everything. I’m truly happy.” He waited for the words to spark something, anything, but the room remained silent, the Shadow yet to appear. 

It’s trying to torture me, he thought. To draw out this moment as long as possible. “Tell Sam and Jack—”

“No.” Dean shook his head, more determined now. “No, because you’re not going. I won’t let you.”

“Dean.” He never knew it would be this difficult to leave him. Maybe he’d known.

“Cas, I love you.” 

Castiel stared at him. Dean set his jaw and looked back, his gaze resolute. 

Was there more? As family, as a brother. 

“I love you,” Dean repeated, and this time his eyes went soft, his expression tender, tears steadily trickling from his eyes. 

I love you. And suddenly it rushed over him, the realization: Dean meant it, truly, in every way Castiel had hoped he could, in every way Castiel felt for him.

Something sparked in his chest, a warmth that spread throughout all his limbs and, oh. 

He was happy. This was happiness. 

“Dammit, Dean,” he breathed, gazing at him, but there was no anger in the sentiment.

Untangling their hands, he grabbed the back of Dean's neck and pulled him down, kissed him deeply. Dean let out a noise of surprise before sinking into their kiss, wrapping his arms around Castiel to draw him closer. 

Wet, salty, desperate, their bodies pressed flush together—this was happiness. Despite the threat looming over his head, Castiel felt a smile pull at his mouth and he pressed it to Dean’s lips.

It was the cold, prickling sensation on the back of his neck that told him it was time.

Slowly, he pulled away from Dean. The look in Dean’s eyes, of love, of grief, made Castiel feel lightheaded. This deep emotion, so new, so young.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said quietly. His voice shook. “I’m so sorry. For everything, for not being there for you, for not being able to stop this, for not telling you…"

Castiel could see black shimmering matter swirling on the floor behind Dean, forming a figure. “Don't be sorry.” Intertwining their fingers once again, he resolutely focused his gaze on Dean.

He pulled back every memory he had of them together: seeing Dean through his vessel’s eyes for the first time, hearing Dean’s prayers in the night, watching his chest rise and fall as he slept, feeling the thrum of the Impala’s wheels beneath them as they drove, touching his fingers to Dean’s forehead to heal him, to feel his grace twine with Dean’s soul. There were other difficult, complicated memories that rose to mind and sent a pang through him even now, but he pushed those away and focused on the ones where he had been truly content and at peace. Happy. 

“I love you,” he told Dean. Reaching out, he touched Dean's face, and Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

It’s time, the Shadow hissed in his mind.

A shiver ran down Castiel’s spine, but he kept his gaze on Dean. “And I’m so happy."

Tag List:

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#destiel fic #spncreatorsdaily #angst #the angstiest thing i ever wrote #implied/off-screen main character death #but ya know #you could always envision a happy ending if it makes you feel better #bc i sure am #love confessions #crying #i wrote this in 2 hours so excuse any typos #expectingtoflywrites #first kiss

[expectingtofly]

SPN Stay At Home Challenge

Week 9: Undercover

After mysteriously returning from Purgatory, Castiel decides to take a break from being an angel and become a hunter. Dean is less excited about the idea, especially since he doesn't quite know where he and Castiel stand in their relationship. But he and Castiel take a case and shenanigans ensue, including, but not limited to...vampires, snakes, dramatic widows, and Castiel wearing Dean's clothes. 

(taking place sometime around 8x7/8x8 if Castiel had tried out the hunter thing for longer)

Words: ~5k

also posted on ao3

When Angels Wear Flannel

“I can’t believe you fell into that gross swamp,” Dean said, opening the door to their motel room. “Way to go, making us look professional.”

“It was a river and it was slippery,” Castiel said, walking inside in squeaking shoes. His clothes were drenched in mud, leaves, and maybe even blood.

Dean took a step back to avoid getting any of the crap on himself. “You almost fell on the body.”

“I was trying to see the bite marks on his arm!” Castiel peeled off his trench coat and brown water dripped onto the floor.

Dean grimaced. “First step to being a hunter, don’t mess up the crime scene. And take that off in the bathroom, you’re getting gross river water everywhere.” Castiel held his trench coat to his chest to stop it from dripping and went inside the bathroom. “Hurry up because we need to go talk to the wife of that dead river guy.”

“I don’t have any clean clothes,” Castiel’s voice came from the bathroom.

Dean looked through the police report he had gotten from one of the officers at the river. “Do your angel power clothes cleaning thing.”

He could almost hear Castiel’s eye roll. “I told you, Dean, I’m trying to not use my powers. I’m a hunter now.”

Dean rolled his own eyes. “You should’ve thought of that before you fell in the river.” He heard Castiel huff. Dean had gone along with Castiel’s plan to become a hunter because he thought it wouldn’t last a day. It’d been a week now and Castiel was still asking to come on cases. Dean had to admit, though, he didn’t mind too much. Sure, Castiel wasn’t much help, but Dean just liked having him close. After Purgatory, he was scared to ever let Castiel out of his sight again.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Just borrow my clothes. I didn’t bring an extra suit, though, so we’re going to have to go casual.” He rummaged through his duffel bag and pulled out an extra pair of jeans. His fingers hovered over his shirts and he settled on a milky blue flannel, pretending it was the first one he saw, not the one that best matched Castiel’s eyes. Going to the bathroom, he found Castiel washing dirt off his arms in the sink.

“Vampire, right?” Castiel asked. “Because of the blood loss?”

“Right.” He handed Castiel his clothes and Castiel wrinkled his nose. “What’s that face for? These are fine.”

“It’s just…” Castiel held up the flannel shirt.

“You’ll look like a lumberjack, I know. Get dressed.”

***

They drove to the neighborhood of the wife whose husband had been found in a river this morning, half-submerged in mud. He’d been declared missing a week ago and had only been found now, nearly drained of blood with two small puncture marks on his wrist. The police didn’t know what to think, which usually meant a supernatural-related death, so Dean and Castiel had taken the case.

“Alright, we’re reporters, writing a story about the death of this woman’s husband.” Dean parked in front of the widow’s house—or better, mansion. He looked up at the large, three story pristine white house and its wrap-around porch and manicured lawns.

Castiel held open the police report on his lap and fiddled with the sleeve of his—Dean’s—shirt. “Helen Roylott. 42 years old. Herpetologist.”

“She studies herpes?”

“Reptiles.” Castiel buttoned and unbuttoned the cuff of the sleeve.

“Roll the sleeves up.” Castiel started to and Dean leaned over. “Like this.” He took Castiel’s arm and rolled up the sleeves for him.

“This is a very comfortable shirt,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfy. I’m going to need it back.”

Castiel looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled. “Maybe I should wear clothes like this more often.”

“Uh, no. We’re not going to wear matching clothes.”

“But it makes me look more like a hunter. I could pass as a Winchester now.”

“You’re forgetting that you still look dorky.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes and Dean finished rolling up his sleeves. He sat back. “Okay, be polite, act sad, try not to trip over your own two feet.”

He didn’t bother looking at Castiel, knowing the bitch-face he’d see. He got out of the car and started towards the house, checking to make sure the business card he’d grabbed was the correct one. Castiel did look strange wearing Dean’s objectively normal clothes, though in an adorable sort of way, Dean had to admit. Adorable? Gross, Dean thought, shaking his head.

He rang the doorbell and in a few seconds a woman in a long, silky black robe opened the door. She looked at them over a lacy black handkerchief which she held to her teary eyes. “I suppose you’ve heard the news,” she said without introduction. She leaned on the doorframe and slumped her shoulders. “It’s simply tragic.”

“Umm, yes,” Dean started. The woman, who he was assuming was Helen, dabbed an eye and looked over Dean’s shoulder at Castiel. “We’re from the Gazette,” Dean said. “We wanted to ask a few questions about your husband’s death.”

“Ah, the greedy press,” Helen said with a sigh. “Oh well, you must do your job.” She stepped back, motioning for them to come in.

“Nice bathrobe,” Dean commented as he walked past her.

She brightened. “Oh thank you. It’s real mink fur.” Dean tried to keep the smile on his face.

They stood in a wide foyer with a curved, marble staircase. Helen shut the door behind Castiel and touched his arm. “And what’s your name, darling?” she asked, her voice echoing in the wide space.

“Um,” Castiel looked at Dean for help. “I’m Arthur, this is Conan.” Dean sighed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Helen pointed to a room off the foyer. “You two have a seat in here. I’ll tell my maid to bring some tea.”

Dean and Castiel obediently went into the sitting room off the foyer. A purple sofa lined one wall and faced two matching purple armchairs. Hearing Helen’s footsteps fade, Dean turned on Castiel. “Arthur? Conan? What the hell?”

Castiel sat on the sofa. “I was improvising. I think I did quite well.”

Dean shook his head. “We need to work on your aliases.” Walking up to the fireplace, he looked at a large painting hanging over the mantle. It was a portrait of, he assumed, a younger Helen. She wore a looping ring on her finger which, he realized as he peered closer, was a silver snake. “Creepy,” he muttered.

He heard Helen tapping back—she must be wearing high heels under her robe, he realized—and sat next to Castiel.

Helen came into the room still dabbing her eyes. She settled herself onto one of the armchairs and sighed. “I’m so sorry you never met my late husband George. He was such a kind soul.” She gestured to her portrait over the fireplace. “He commissioned this for me, such a dear.”

“Yes, very nice,” Dean said. “So, Mrs. Roylott—”

“Call me Widow Roylott,” she said. “I’m afraid that’s what I am now.”

“Alright,” Dean said, shooting Castiel a you-see-this-crazy-bullshit-too-right? look. “Your husband went missing May 12th, correct?”

“Oh, let me see. Yes, it was the night of May 12th. We retired to bed and when I woke up that morning, he was gone. I assumed he was at work. It was only that night when he did not return that I began to panic.”

“Is there anywhere he might have gone after work?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps he went to the golf club with his friends, though no one ever mentioned anything to me. Thank you dear.” A maid had walked into the room and set a tray with tea cups and small pastries onto the table in between the seating.

Widow Roylott took the tea cup the maid poured for her. “You two are the first reporters to show up here,” she said. “I was expecting more pesky intrusions, though, I must say, I wouldn’t mind if all reporters were so handsome.” She peered over her tea cup at Castiel and winked.

“Thank you,” Castiel said. He glanced at Dean. “I wouldn’t mind my job so much if all the widows were so beautiful.”

What the fuck? Dean mouthed at him and Castiel frowned. Flirting? Dean thought. The Cas he knew would’ve frozen up at a compliment, or taken it too literally and made everything even more awkward.

“Oh, you’re too sweet.” Widow Roylott leaned forward and touched Castiel’s arm. Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the small cookies on the tray. “Such a nice jacket,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

Having had enough of this bullshit, Dean spoke up, “He’s taken.” It wasn’t true, but hopefully it would shut this absurd widow up. Then again, maybe he was the absurd one for getting jealous.

Castiel looked confused. “Um, right,” he said. “I have a boyfriend. His name is Dean.” Dean nearly choked on the cookie he was eating.

“Oh, the good ones are always taken,” Widow Roylott sighed. “Well, give me a call if Dean ever dies of mysterious circumstances.” She leaned forward to grab a cookie off the tray and glanced up at them. “I’m only joking!” She laughed.

Dean cleared his throat and stood, “Can I use your restroom?” He’d be damned before he drank out of a teacup and this conversation made death by vampire look merciful.

Widow Roylott waved her hand. “Yes, Charlotte, please show him the way.” Dean followed the maid, Charlotte, and looked back at Castiel. Ask questions, he mouthed.

As he left the room, he heard Castiel ask Widow Roylott, “So you study reptiles?” Dean rolled his eyes. About the case, idiot.

“Second door on the left,” Charlotte said, pointing down a long hallway.

“Thanks.” He headed in that direction and waited until Charlotte had disappeared around the corner, then backtracked and went up to the second floor where he started trying different doors, trying to find the master bedroom,

He wasn’t going to lie, hearing Castiel say he had a boyfriend named Dean gave him a small satisfaction. Only problem: he and Castiel weren’t dating. Yes, Castiel was back from Purgatory, yes, they were on a case together, and, yes, Dean was damn glad to have him back, but, at the same time, he and Castiel were most definitely not together. Did Castiel think they were? He sure didn’t act like it. This was the first time since Purgatory that he and Dean were together alone for an extended period of time, and they’d fallen right back into the easy, teasing, ignore-any-feelings relationship they’d had before.

And, yes, Dean supposed he hadn’t done much to change that, but Castiel was...different. Everything was different now and he didn’t know where they stood. Not to mention, he was still trying to wrap his mind around Purgatory, where Dean had actually thought that, for once, he and Castiel were on the same page about their feelings for each other. But then Castiel had chosen literal monster hell over returning with Dean—and if that didn’t say something about Castiel’s feelings, what did?

Dean shook his head and tried two tall french doors. They opened to reveal a large room with a wide poster bed. The closets and dresser drawers were open, revealing their contents. It seemed Widow Roylott was in the middle of packing. But what was strangest of all was a large, empty glass tank in the corner of the room. Dean walked up to it and peered inside. It smelled like disinfecting solution.

He poked around in some of the drawers. All women’s clothes. Then he noticed several cardboard boxes stacked in one of the closets—there were three closets in total. He opened a box and found men’s clothing. So Widow Roylott moved on quickly.

As he crouched down to look in another box, something under the bed caught his eye. Reaching under the bed, his fingers touched something dry which nearly crumbled at his touch. Delicately, he pulled it out, then yanked his hand away and stared down at what he’d found. A long snake skin.

“Well, look at the time,” Dean said, walking into the sitting room. “Looks like we better get going, right Cas—Arthur?”

Castiel and Widow Roylott looked up at him. He was momentarily surprised to see Castiel in his own clothes, forgetting for a moment that Castiel wouldn’t be wearing his trench coat. He and Widow Roylott were bent over a box of what, Dean couldn’t tell, resting on the glass table between them.

“Oh, umm, yes.” Castiel stood. “Nice to meet you, Helen.”

So they’re on first name basis now, Dean thought. He put his hand on Castiel’s back and half-pushed him out of the room. “We can come back another time to complete our interview,” Dean said to Widow Roylott. “Or maybe just send an email, talk on the phone.”

“An email will have to do,” she said as she followed them into the foyer. “I’m moving this weekend. I’m afraid this house holds too many memories.” She produced her handkerchief to again dab at her eyes.

“Are you bringing any snakes with you?” Dean asked. “I’m assuming you have some, being a…” he forgot the word and improvised, “Reptilian.”

“Herpetologist,’” Castiel said quickly.

Widow Roylott’s eye twitched. “Oh, no, I don’t keep snakes here. I like to keep my work and home life separate.” She opened the door and put on what seemed to be a forced smile. “Well, adieu, my darlings. And thank you for your visit and sympathies.” She patted Castiel on the shoulder and shut the door behind them.

“Creepy, creepy, creepy,” Dean said, shuddering as they walked down the pathway back to the Impala.

“She had an impressive collection of rattlesnake rattlers,” Castiel said.

“That’s what you were looking at? Gross. Ew.” Dean pulled out his keys and unlocked the car. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to mention it, but he couldn’t help say, “Looks like you two got along well together.”

Castiel frowned. “I was only trying to work the case. Isn’t that what you do? Flirt with the women to earn their trust?”

“What? No! It sounds so creepy when you say it like that.”

Castiel shrugged. “Did you find anything in her house?”

“Yeah, a snake skin.” Dean got in the car. “Under her bed. It was massive. And a big tank. I don’t care what she says, she’s keeping a snake there. Or multiple.” He shuddered again.

“Why would she lie about that?” Castiel asked, shutting his door.

“Because having a big snake tank in your bedroom is freaking weird. Did you learn anything from her?”

“I learned the latin names for different kinds of rattlesnakes.”

“Very helpful,” Dean muttered. He glanced at Castiel, wondering what the whole “boyfriend named Dean thing” was about. He cleared his throat. “You know, Cas, that we’re not dating, right?” Castiel looked at him and Dean hastened to say, “I mean, I know you’re back now and we’re going on cases together, but—”

“I know, Dean. I was only lying when I said I had a boyfriend.”

“Named Dean.”

“It was the first name that came to my head.” He looked at Dean. “That is the number one skill of being a hunter, right? Lying? I think I’m becoming a very good hunter.”

Dean shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. Not the answer he was expecting, though a much easier one to deal with. “Alright, to that golf club Helen mentioned, I guess. Maybe our vampire is a golfer. Long as he doesn’t collect snakes.”

***

“Well that was a bust.” Dean took a drink from his beer. No one at the golf club had seen Mr. Roylott on May 12th or since. Dean had even asked the owner of the bar in which he and Castiel now sat, but he had never seen Mr. Roylott, which wasn’t a surprise. Dean couldn’t see mink bathrobe Helen coming to a dive bar.

“Maybe the vampire was only passing through when he killed Mr. Roylott,” Castiel suggested.

“Sam did say there haven’t been any signs of a vamp nest around here.” Dean shrugged. “I don’t know, man, I don’t know where to go next from here.”

Castiel ran his finger down the condensation on the neck of his beer bottle. “Does this happen often? That you and Sam can’t solve cases?”

“Not often. But, yeah, sure. Sometimes you just have to call it quits.”

Castiel wiped his hands on his—Dean’s—jeans. “Why did you buy these clothes?” The way he changed subjects so quickly gave Dean whiplash. It was like his mind ran a million miles an hour and Dean had to run to keep up.

“I don’t know. I liked the color of the shirt, I guess. Jeans were on sale.”

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “I wear the trench coat and suit because they were the last thing Jimmy Novak ever put on.”

“We can go shopping for clothes for you, if you want,” Dean said.

“I don’t know.” Castiel looked down at Dean’s shirt. “Maybe I should get new clothes.”

“I like the trench coat.” Castiel looked up at him and Dean tried to amend, “I mean, it’s kinda your look, right?”

“I think I need to try something different.” Castiel stared at his still full beer bottle.

“Alright, what’s with this whole hunter thing?” Dean asked.

“Being an angel...” Castiel seemed to search for words. “It’s overrated. Besides, I’ve been an angel for millenia. I want to try something new.”

“Hmm.” Guess he had a point. Finishing his own beer, Dean grabbed Castiel’s and Castiel stood up from his chair.

“Teach me how to play darts. That is something hunters do, right?”

“Well, this one does, at least.” Dean stood and grabbed the darts from the dartboard on the wall. He handed them to Castiel. “You go first. You get three tries at a time. Try to hit a section with the highest number, or the bullseye for the most points.”

Castiel squinted at the board, and Dean thought that if he scanned the room quickly, he might not even recognize Castiel in this outfit. He didn’t understand why Castiel felt the need to change his identity. Did this have something to do with him? Was this the angel equivalent of getting a new haircut after a breakup?

Castiel threw the dart at the board and it landed in the bullseye. “This isn’t very fun,” Castiel remarked.

“You’re too good at it,” Dean said. “Try not using your angel voodoo.”

“I wasn’t! I can't help it."

It wasn’t so much the clothes that was bothering Dean about Castiel. It was that Dean had felt the closest he’d ever felt to Castiel in Purgatory. Now he didn’t know what was going on between them. The frustration of not knowing who Castiel was or what he wanted was only exacerbated when Castiel wasn’t even dressing like himself and was trying to act like someone new.

Castiel threw another dart and it landed right next to his first. “Son of a bitch!”

Dean had been in the process of grabbing his beer bottle; at Castiel's exclamation, he nearly dropped it, splashing beer onto his hand, and swore. Castiel turned to look at him, smiling.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked.

Castiel tried to look innocent. “What?”

“You don’t say that, I say that. Pick your own catchphrase.”

“Fine.” Castiel turned back to the dartboard. Dean shook his head. He needed his angel back, now.

***

“Sam said he’ll be here tomorrow,” Dean said, looking down at his phone as he sat down on the motel bed. “Maybe he’ll be able to help with this case.”

“Okay.” Castiel sat down at a small table in the corner of the room.

Dean set his phone down and ran a hand over his face. “Well, I’m going to sleep.” Castiel nodded. “You gonna sit there all night?”

Castiel shrugged. Dean pulled back the covers on the bed and lay down. He started to turn off the light, then glanced at Castiel. The angel was staring down at his hands, or maybe at Dean’s clothes which he was still wearing. “You can lie down here, if you want,” Dean said. Castiel looked up at him. “It’s got to be more comfortable than that chair.”

Castiel studied him, then nodded and came over. Dean slid over and Castiel untied his—Dean’s—boots and set them down on the ground. He laid down under the covers, still in Dean’s jacket and clothes.

Dean turned off the light and they lay there in the dark. It was more comforting lying next to Castiel than Dean wanted to admit. In Purgatory they’d slept close for safety—so they said, though he and Castiel might have abused the excuse. Benny mercifully turned a blind eye to the fact that Dean and Castiel were practically sleeping in each others’ arms.

He could feel his own jacket against his arm and Castiel shifted, pressing his arm closer against Dean’s. Dean took it back; lying here next to Castiel wasn’t so much a comfort as it was torture. He’d been itching for a chance to take Castiel into his arms ever since Castiel returned. But he hadn’t when Castiel first appeared—bloody, dirty, tired, but alive —and he worried he’d lost his chance. Maybe Castiel had taken his stunned, stilted response as proof that whatever they’d had in Purgatory was over.

Because they had had something. Dean might have put on a brave face in Purgatory, might have continually promised Benny and Castiel that they would get out, that they would live, but deep down he’d been the most terrified he’d ever been. So terrified, he said things he’d never said before to Castiel because he feared, more than dying itself, dying without ever saying them.

“Listen, Cas,” Dean said, staring up at the ceiling. His words were loud in the stillness of the room. “I said some things in Purgatory.”

“You want to take them back.”

It hurt to know that’s what Castiel immediately assumed. Dean remembered a moment in Purgatory when several Leviathan attacked, nearly overpowering him, Castiel, and Benny. He remembered how Castiel grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet after they’d killed the last Leviathan. How, still shaking from their near deaths, Dean clutched Castiel’s hand, said, “I don’t want to ever lose you, I love you.” How he pulled Castiel into an embrace and felt a rush of relief as Castiel wrapped his arms around him, held him close.

“No,” Dean said.

A click, then the hum of the air conditioning. Dean turned his head to look at Castiel. Castiel didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I don’t think it’s wise. Us, together. Right now. Not with everything I’ve done.”

“Cas, I don’t care about that shit. Yeah, you messed up, but so have I, a thousand times. If anyone should be using that excuse, it should be me.”

Castiel shook his head. He started to speak, and then he was gone.

Damn angel, Dean thought. Castiel had said he wasn’t going to use his wings.

Rolling over, he stared at the neon red numbers on the alarm clock until they wavered in his vision when he looked elsewhere. So everything they’d gone through in Purgatory meant absolutely nothing. But he knew that already, didn’t he? Castiel had stayed behind. Castiel wasn’t fueled by the same consuming need to be together, always, which had urged Dean through Purgatory, had kept him searching, praying, hoping.

A memory rose. Stopping for the night in their search for the portal and sitting next to Castiel, exhausted. Leaning against Castiel’s shoulder and shutting his eyes for a moment, too afraid to put down his guard for any longer.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” Castiel had said quietly, and Dean had thought he known what he meant.

***

Dean woke to his phone ringing. Half-sitting up, he groped for his phone on the nightstand, found it, and answered it. “Hello?”

“Agent Russell?” the voice said. “Police commissioner Anderson here. You should come down to Mrs. Roylott’s house. You’re going to want to see this.”

As if this case couldn’t get any weirder. Dean hung up and looked around the room. Castiel was still gone. Worried, he checked his phone to see if Castiel had texted him, but of course he hadn’t.

Dean thought briefly of praying to him, telling him to come back, but decided against it. Praying to Castiel had become a habit in Purgatory, one he wasn’t eager to pick back up again. Those prayers had been fueled by desperation, were probably what Castiel was referring to when he gave Dean a chance to take his words back. I love you, I need you, I can’t go on, come back, please.

Dean swung his legs off the bed and heard the motel room door open. He looked over his shoulder to see Castiel walk inside and turned away before the relief he felt showed on his face.

“Good morning,” Castiel said, shutting the door. He held up a brown bag. “I brought you breakfast.” He was still wearing Dean’s clothes, albeit without the boots. He seemed oblivious to that fact, as well as unconcerned that he had disappeared last night without warning.

Dean stood. “We need to go. Something happened at that widow’s house.”

“Oh.” Castiel set the paper bag on the table. Dean opened his duffle bag and pulled out something to wear. “My clothes are still dirty.”

“Then keep wearing mine.”

Castiel came over and grabbed one of Dean’s shirts out of his bag, a dark green flannel. “Can I wear this one?”

“What’s wrong with the one you have on?”

“I like this color more.”

I’ve created a monster, Dean thought. He’d be lucky if Castiel didn’t steal every piece of clothing he owned.

He headed to the bathroom to change and thought of asking where Castiel had been all night. Instead, he said, “I want that shirt back.” What he really meant, he supposed, was I want the old Cas back. The one who’d held him in Purgatory, the one who always came when he called. The one who—Dean knew—despite the fights and betrayals, despite never saying the words aloud, loved him too.

***

Police cars and an ambulance crowded the street outside of Mrs. Roylott’s house. Dean and Castiel got out of the Impala and flashed their badges at the police officers trying to keep curious bystanders at bay.

The police commissioner turned to look at them as they walked over. “Well, agents,” she said, “looks like your work here is done.”

“Why? What happened?” Dean noticed the large tank he’d seen in Mrs. Roylott’s bedroom now standing on the lawn.

“Mrs. Roylott is dead. Snake bite. Same thing that killed her husband.”

“Snake?” Dean asked.

“Last night, the coroner found traces of venom in Mr. Roylott’s body. We’ve arrested the maid for being an accomplice in the murder. Says Mrs. Roylott released the snake while Mr. Roylott was sleeping, then drained his body to get rid of the venom. The maid dumped his body in the river.”

Dean blinked. “Wow.”

“If the snake hadn’t gotten loose from the basement last night and killed Mrs. Roylott, she’d be halfway to Costa Rica right now banking on a life insurance check. Excuse me, will you?” The police commissioner turned to talk to another police officer and Dean looked at Castiel.

“Guess we should’ve seen that coming.”

“No vampires?” Castiel asked.

“Nope. Just a deranged lady.” He spotted people coming out the house transporting a large snake. Its tongue flicked the air and Dean shuddered. Everything about this case was wrong. Castiel was trying to act like a hunter in Dean’s clothes, the monster of the week turned out to be a creepy snake lady, and Dean, for once, wanted to be with Castiel, had even said as much, but Castiel had said no.

Dean turned from looking at the snake. “Alright, time to go.”

As they walked back to the Impala, Castiel complained, “When am I going to get to solve a case?”

“That’s your takeaway from this?” Dean asked. “That lady sicced her pet snake on her husband.”

“I should’ve been able to tell there was something off with her. I’m an angel, Dean. I should be good at hunting.” He opened the door to the passenger side of the Impala and sat inside.

Dean got in the Impala and pulled his door shut. “Give it a few years, you’ll learn.”

Castiel sighed. “Maybe I am a better angel than hunter.”

Dean didn’t respond to what seemed an obvious fact and Castiel huffed. He pulled off Dean’s jacket and threw it onto the back seat.

“You don’t want to be a hunter anyway,” Dean said. “It’s a shitty life.” He started the Impala and glanced at Castiel staring moodily out the windshield. “So...you gonna quit, go back to Heaven?” Castiel shrugged. “Sam and I don’t mind having you around.” Please don’t leave.

“I’m sure the angels don’t want me,” Castiel said. “So I suppose I’ll stay with you and Sam.”

Good to know; Dean was Castiel’s last choice. Relieved all the same, he smiled at Castiel. “We like angel you just fine anyway,” he said.

Back in their room, Dean packed up their things as Castiel threw his dirty clothes in the wash. Dean met him in the motel’s laundry room and found Castiel pulling his trench coat out of the dryer. He shook his head as Castiel pulled it to his face, smiling.

“Ah, nice and warm,” Castiel said. He pulled his trench coat on over Dean’s clothes, which created an odd-mismatched look. Still, it was better than nothing; Castiel looked marginally more like himself. Dean found himself hoping that he and Castiel could start over. Forget all the years of tiptoeing around their desire for each other, forget the tortured, confessional year in Purgatory. Maybe Castiel would come around. Dean had, hadn’t he?

“You are planning on returning my clothes, right?” Dean asked.

“Mmhmm,” Castiel agreed noncommittally, smoothing his sleeves. “Maybe instead of coming on cases, I can man the phones for you and Sam.”

“Right, you can be our secretary,” Dean said and Castiel nodded eagerly, not catching the sarcasm.

Dean rolled his eyes and shoved the rest of Castiel’s clean clothes into his duffel bag. “Come on, let’s get going.” As Castiel walked past him, he had the urge to pull Castiel close and feel the familiar texture of the trench coat, the warmth of Castiel’s body against his. He settled for putting his hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“Can I drive?” Castiel asked, looking up at him.

“Not a chance.” Maybe he hadn’t ever said enough, even in Purgatory. He knew there was plenty he wanted to say now, wanted to do, wanted to prove. “But if you really like the shirt, you can keep it.” It still wasn’t enough, but he’d find a way. He wasn’t going to lose Castiel again.

Thanks to @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen for this challenge!! These have been such good prompts and I’m writing more than I have in ages so thanks for the inspo :) 

Tagging: @spnwaywardone @good-things-do-happen-dean @becky-srs

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my destiel fics!

#spnstayathome #destiel fic #hunter castiel #castiel wears dean's clothes #spn fic #expectingtofly writes #this started out as just a silly fic #and then it became angsty #whoops #inspired by the adventure of the speckled band by sir arthur conan doyle #touch starved dean #purgaytory #idk why the widow is so extra #she just is #expectingtoflywrites

[expectingtofly]

SPN Stay at Home Challenge

Week 7: Thunderstorm

Thanks again to @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, and @pray4jensen for creating this challenge!

I wasn’t expecting to write my version of the Missing HoursTM of Season 9 Episode 6 but here we are...

Dean rescues Castiel from his failed date/babysitting job and they go for a drive in the night, trying to come to terms with Castiel's newfound humanity.

Words: ~3k

also posted on my ao3

Just For Tonight

“Shit, I can’t see a damn thing.” Dean leaned forward as if getting closer to the windshield would help him see better through the dense, dark sleet of rain pounding the highway outside.

He glanced at Castiel but the angel—no, human, he had to keep reminding himself—didn’t speak, only stared out the window. He’d been silent the whole drive since Dean rescued him from his failed date/babysitting job. Dean wanted to ask if he was alright, but that seemed a ridiculous question. Of course he wasn’t.

Wind blew a smattering of rain onto the windshield and, giving up driving in such a storm, Dean eased Baby to the right of the highway, headlights illuminating the white line marking the border to the shoulder.

They sat there silently for a moment, he and Castiel, staring out the windshield at the night, at the steady stream of water pouring from the heavens, thick lines like hippy strings of beads hanging over a doorway.

Rescuing Castiel from his miserable night, Dean had never seen him look so...drained. So defeated. Not knowing what to do or say, Dean had taken matters into his own hands and done what he knew best. Drive. He’d taken long, winding roads out of town, found the highway, and headed east. He’d passed exits for motels, ignored the flashing lightning and the thick clouds crowding out the stars, the rumbling thunder. Didn’t speak, just drove. And then the clouds had let loose a sudden outpouring, smothering the faint moonlight.

Dean tapped the steering wheel in a staccato mimicking the rain and glanced at Castiel, who sat slumped against the door, his head resting on the window. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Castiel sit without ramrod posture and at the sight a fear surged in him, a fear which had settled in the pit of his stomach when he first saw Castiel working in the gas station.

Castiel was still wearing the same jeans and white shirt he’d been wearing then and the unfamiliarity of his outfit only increased Dean’s worry that he didn’t know this Castiel, that this newly human Castiel was someone else entirely than angel Castiel. Dean stared back out the windshield.

“Wish you had your wings so you could zap us out of this storm,” he said. He was struck by a flash of regret at “wings,” but the rest of the words fell off too fast to stop them. Fuck. He clenched the steering wheel and waited for human Castiel to...he didn’t know what. Curse him out, leave the car and disappear in the storm, tell him to shut up and think for once, for one goddamn moment, before he spoke.

But Castiel only said, very much like his matter-of-fact angel-self, “They would be very convenient right now.” He shifted, hunching his shoulders slightly as if remembering what used to rest on them.

Dean wished Castiel still had his wings just so he could zap away and leave Dean to his self-loathing. He was always saying the wrong things, imagined a scale in Castiel’s mind with one side labeled “Reasons to Put Up With Dean,” and the other, “Reasons to Leave Dean’s Bullshit.” The scales were tipping dangerously now.

Trying to change the subject, Dean tapped the window to his left. “Sam and I would play this game when we were kids where we’d race the raindrops on our windows.”

Castiel pulled his head from the window to look at him, his head tilted in the “I don’t understand” manner of his. So human Castiel still did that.

Dean tried to explain. “We’d each choose a raindrop.” He pointed to a raindrop resting at the top of the window. “And whoever’s reached the bottom of the window first won.” He traced the raindrop’s course as it slipped down the window and broke at the bottom, turning into a trickle.

“But there’s no skill involved,” Castiel said, sitting up. “The winner wins entirely by chance.”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point. It’s just some game kids play when they’re bored to death on a long car ride.”

Castiel sighed and sunk into his seat. “I suppose I should start learning more about human things, the games they play.” He sounded so sad about the prospect that Dean didn’t say anything else, figuring he couldn’t make things worse if he kept his mouth shut. He fiddled with the heat controls, caught the low whine of the heat turning on and pouring through the vents.

Castiel crossed his arms. “Do I…” He stared out the windshield. The rain struck the hood of the car so fiercely it seemed likely to dent. “Do I seem different to you without my wings or powers?”

“No,” Dean answered quickly because it seemed like the right answer considering the alternative. “Why? Do you feel different?”

Castiel shrugged. “My wings were a part of me. Imagine losing your arm or leg.”

“Oh.” He’d never realized how significant wings were beyond practical use. Castiel had never spoken of them when he was an angel.

“And without my grace...” Castiel turned his hands palms up and stared at them. The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m essentially a ‘baby in a trench coat,’ as you would say.”

Dean winced. One of the idiotic things he’d said which threatened to tip Castiel’s scale permanently towards, “Stay Away At All Costs.”

Plucking at his jeans, Castiel frowned. “I’m not wearing the trench coat anymore though, so I don’t even have that.”

“Cas, I didn’t mean that stupid shit.” Castiel dropped his hands onto his lap. “Besides, I said that a long time ago. You shouldn’t listen to anything I said back then. Shouldn’t listen to any crap I say now if we’re being honest.”

The rainfall lightened for a moment, then resumed its drubbing. Castiel leaned back against the seat and his shoulders sloped down once again. Dean studied him. If he hadn’t known Castiel was now human, would he have guessed? This Castiel was sadder, quieter, but that wasn’t strictly a human trait. Of course he’d be grieving losing his grace. And he still looked the same, still acted the same...only now there was a somber air about him, a heaviness to his movements. Some smoothness, airiness inherent to an angel, gone.

Maybe he wouldn't have been able to tell Castiel was human, but he would’ve known something was off. At the same time, though, he would’ve known with certainty that this person sitting next to him was still Castiel, not a possessed body and certainly not Jimmy Novak. Dean knew this because sitting here with Castiel didn’t feel strange or uncomfortable like sitting next to a stranger would. It felt completely natural.

“Buddy, come on, you’re breaking my heart.” Castiel looked over and Dean gestured to him. “No one thinks any less of you for not having wings or powers. You may not be wearing the trench coat and all, but you’re still you, just without all the bells and whistles.”

God, that was stupid. Why couldn’t he explain anything right?

But Castiel nodded solemnly. “I suppose that might be true.”

Maybe his stumbling words had been good enough, at least to outweigh “baby in a trench coat.” Dean smiled at Castiel, which was a mistake, because then Castiel looked at him with those piercing eyes that never ceased to make him weak in the knees.

Dean swallowed and looked away. He leaned his arm on the window sill, felt the cold from outside seep through his sleeve. Where did he and Castiel stand? After purgatory, he had thought...but they’d never put a name to anything and now with the whole mess with Sam and Ezekial and Metatron—he and Castiel couldn’t be together. Not now.

He’d tried to make that clear. Hadn’t he tried to help Castiel go on a date earlier tonight? And he couldn’t forget that Castiel had slept with that reaper, that bitch who’d then tricked him and tortured him—instinctively Dean clenched his hand into a fist—but, regardless, it seemed Castiel had moved on. And Dean was trying too. Trying being the key word.

“Are you sure I can’t come back to the bunker?” Castiel asked, so quietly Dean almost lost the words in the storm outside.

He looked at Castiel and hesitated, hoping to find a way to soften his immediate answer. But something in his face must have told Castiel anyway because Castiel sighed and looked out his window.

“I’m sorry, Cas. After Sam is better—”

“I know.” Castiel fiddled with his sleeve. “I just...miss you.”

Dean waited for him to finish the sentence. Miss “you guys” or “you and Sam,” but Castiel let the single you hang in the space between them, suspended between the rattling rain and a crack of thunder.

Dean looked down at his hands. “I miss you too,” he said.

He heard the slide of Castiel’s clothes across the bench seat and saw Castiel’s knee bump his. He raised his eyes and Castiel’s eyes searched his. Dean wondered what Castiel saw in them, how he could gaze for so long. Wondering what they revealed, he nearly drew back, but then Castiel lowered his eyes, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Dean thought about pulling away, telling Castiel he couldn’t, not when he knew that in a few hours he’d have to leave Castiel at that gas station, drive away and leave him standing there to manage being a human alone. But instead he put his hand to Castiel’s face and kissed him back.

Rain pounded the roof and windows around them, making the car seem somehow smaller. Surrounded as they were by dark and rain, they could be anywhere. Baby might be sitting at the bottom of the ocean or settled in one of the dark clouds up in the sky. It didn’t matter when all Dean could think of was Castiel leaning into him.

Castiel slid his hand up Dean’s thigh and now, reluctantly, Dean pulled away. “Cas,” he started, “you know we can’t be together—”

“Just for tonight,” Castiel said and took Dean’s hand, slid his fingers in between Dean’s. Dean looked down at their hands and knew it was selfish. Knew he’d only feel worse leaving Castiel in the morning, knew his resolve would have to be that much stronger to drive away. But for now, he let himself be weak.

They kissed, again, deeper. Dean touched Castiel’s shirt, the feel all wrong, he wanted the trench coat, but it didn’t matter now anyway because Castiel unbuttoned it and shrugged it off his shoulders, leaving his skin bare to Dean’s hands. He shivered under Dean’s touch and the familiarity of it all swelled in Dean’s chest into something akin to shame. For leaving Castiel time after time, for knowing he’d do it again.

Castiel tugged Dean’s jacket and Dean pulled it off, his elbow hitting the steering wheel. Castiel took it from him and dropped it onto the floor of the car.

“The backseat,” Castiel said. He clambered over the seatback and Dean followed, feeling almost guilty at how eager Castiel was. He sat heavily on the backseat, drawing his legs over the front seat to the floor. Castiel straddled him and Dean touched his side. “This is new.”

Castiel looked down at the Enochian symbols inked across his skin. “Now the angels can’t find me.”

Another reminder that he was human. Dean took Castiel’s face in his hands and lifted it to look in his eyes. There wasn’t anything he could say, so he kissed him instead and hoped that might be enough.

…

Dean held Castiel close, warm, bare skin against his, and they lay and listened to the rain slowing, drops hitting Baby less intensely, more sporadically, than its former constant drumming. Thunder rumbled low in the distance and then it was quiet save for stray rain drops smacking the roof and the low hum of Baby’s engine.

Castiel lay with his back against Dean’s chest and Dean felt the rise and fall of his breathing. Looking out the opposite window, he was relieved to see it was still dark outside. They still had a few hours.

He pushed his nose into Castiel’s hair, breathed in the scent of him. Maybe there was something else essentially angel that was gone now that Castiel was human. Not that sex with him wasn’t as incredible as always, but Castiel felt more vulnerable now. More mortal, if that was something that could even be sensed. Dean had never worried so much about Castiel before. Living on his own, working, meeting people. If the events earlier tonight had proven anything, it was that Castiel was still woefully unsuited to being human.

Castiel shifted, lifted his head from Dean’s arm and looked out the window above their heads. Dean thought he was going to comment on the rain stopping, but he reached out and tapped a spot high up on the window. “That one’s mine.”

Dean tilted his head back and looked at the rain speckled glass. “This one.” He pushed himself onto his elbow and pointed to a drop, his hand bumping Castiel’s.

They watched as the raindrops meandered down the window, Dean’s hitting another drop and gaining speed, then changing course, turning to the side, and slowing. Dean tapped the glass to shake his raindrop from its reverie and Castiel pushed his hand away. He pointed at his raindrop inching to the edge of the window. It disappeared from view. “Mine won!”

“You cheated,” Dean said, smiling at Castiel’s genuine excitement.

“I did not. You’re the one who tried to cheat.” He settled back down and Dean rested his head on the door. He looked at Castiel, dreading when they’d have to part in the morning. Pushing it from his mind, he traced his finger over Castiel’s back, between his shoulder blades. Castiel shivered a little and Dean wondered if that’s where his wings had sprouted, wished he had shown more interest in them when Castiel still had them.

“What did your wings look like?” he asked. Castiel looked up at him and he added hastily, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to—”

“I don’t mind.” Castiel shifted on the seat, the leather squeaking. “It’s hard to explain in non-angelic terms.” He was silent for a moment. “I suppose they would’ve looked black to you, and shiny.”

“With feathers and everything?”

Castiel nodded. “You’ve seen, in a way, when I’ve shown you their shadow.”

“Like when we first met and you were showing off.”

Castiel smiled. “Yes, like then.”

A car passed them on the highway, first a whirring, then a spray of water smacking Baby’s windows.

“We should get going,” Dean said, trying to sound indifferent, as if he wasn’t always the one putting a stop to moments like this, pushing Castiel away when that was the complete opposite of what he knew they both wanted.

Castiel nodded, his hand resting heavily on Dean’s stomach. Light from a passing car shone through the window and spotted Castiel’s skin with raindrop shadows.

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

“Even if I had my wings, I wouldn’t have “zapped” us away out of the storm.” His fingers raised momentarily to make air quotes and Dean smiled a little. Angel or human, he was still undeniably Castiel. “I would’ve wanted to stay here with you.” Castiel ran a finger over Dean’s chest. “I wouldn’t mind being human if it was always like this.”

Dean blinked quickly at the sudden sting of tears. Dammit, Cas, he thought. How could he leave this very sad, very human Castiel? When everything, his very identity, had been taken from him? But Dean had to.

He tried to reason with himself that this was for Castiel’s benefit: Castiel was human now; he didn’t have to be entangled in Winchester problems. But Dean saw the scale tipping out of his favor.

Leaning down, he kissed the top of Castiel’s head and knew it wasn’t enough. Castiel wrapped his arms around him, pressed his forehead to his chest, and with a deep regret, Dean let himself settle into this moment for a little longer, let himself pretend nothing existed beyond this moment, beyond the rain-streaked, fogged windows and warmth of Castiel’s embrace, the touch of their rain-freckled skin.

Tagging @spnwaywardone

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in my spn fics!

#spnstayathome #supernatural #destiel #deancasfic #angst and pining #season 9 episode 6 #this was supposed to be all fluff #but then it became all pining and angst #story of my life #expectingtoflywrites