#gabriel only wishes god gave him more strength because another fuCKING RIPPED ARM AND I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL MAKE SURE YOUR VERY ATOMS WILL BE

[fernsensei]

au where gabriel's forced to cooperate with v1 and v2 for whatever reason

#maybe the humanity never died and to ensure heaven's power the council decides to take the two most powerful machines of humanity and make> #>them work for them #idk #v1 and v2 for rent LMFAOOOOO #i like the idea how v1 doesnt give a shit and acts like a savage crow 80% of the time #and v2 tries to demonstrate itself to the angels as the 'smart one' #it fails miserably since it; as a matter of fact; too acts like a savage crow 80% of the time #gabriel only wishes god gave him more strength because another fuCKING RIPPED ARM AND I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL MAKE SURE YOUR VERY ATOMS WILL BE #ultrakill brainrot fase again. yay! #ultrakill #v1 ultrakill #v2 #v2 ultrakill #gabriel ultrakill

[chipper9906]

Bound To You

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings will change as the story is updated

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 4,180

Overall Word Count: 4,180

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In progress (1/?)

Summary/Preview:

Dean should be scared. The being in front of him was terrifying by all means and yet for some reason, as he stared into the creature’s eyes, Dean felt a warm sense of comfort wash over him. Because those dazzling, glowing blue eyes were so familiar, the pain in its eyes mirrored with Dean’s. Which is why, when it reached out one long, dripping black hand out to him, Dean reached out, too.

Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.

“Yes.”

* * *

Faced with death, Dean makes one last ditch effort; praying to an Angel he knows wont hear him. Deans prayers are answered when a vessel-less Castiel forces himself out from the Empty, taking possession of Dean's body in order to heal him. Castiel's grace is running finite however, charged down after saving Dean's life. Now Castiel resides within Dean's mind, too weak to survive a transfer to another vessel, leading them to a desperate search for a way to rebuild his body. Time is of the essence, with Castiel's grace burning out with every passing day...

Link To Fic

OR

Click Below To Keep Reading

Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

It was in his heart.

Dean knew it the second that dumbass mime looking Vamp shoved him into the post. That awful sharp, burning, pinching sensation of something sliding into his flesh. If the Vamp didn’t finish him off there and then, he’d be gone not long after anyway. There was no way to patch this up. No way to keep him alive until the paramedics arrived - even in the off-chance Sammy got any signal out here in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere and called an ambulance.

He was going to die.

Fuck. He was going to die.

And that scared him.

There’s a flash of silver in front of him, Sam’s machete sliding effortlessly through the Vamp’s neck in one clean cut. Dean flinches instinctively away from the spray of blood, the last few spurts of blood gushing from its neck, the last of the creature’s heartbeats as the signals are cut. Its head slides off, seconds before the lifeless body collapses to the ground in a heap.

Sam’s talking to him. Going through the next steps of action to get the civvies out of here. ‘He doesn’t realize’, Dean thinks to himself. He didn’t see it, did he? Sam thinks he’s standing by this post of his own volition.

God, how he wished that was the case.

“There’s…. there’s something… in my back.”

His arms feel impossibly heavy as he lifts them, gesturing with his thumb to his back. Sam still looked confused – not that he could blame him. Dean could already tell that rebar was so far in his back that none of it was visible.

Sam shuffled towards him almost cautiously, shooting Dean a look close to denial as he placed his hand on Dean’s back. Dean inhaled shakily as the pain blossomed from the contact, barely resisting the urge to shove his little brother’s hand away. If he had the strength left to do that, that is…

Dean could see the moment it all sunk in on Sam’s face. As he pulled his hand away from Dean, confirming that the all too familiar warm, thick wetness he felt coating Dean’s back was what he knew it to be. The crimson redness of it glared back at him, his brother's blood spread across his hand and spilling from Dean’s body with every passing second.

“Wait here,” Sam instructed him, his voice already beginning to shake. Dean would have laughed if the pain wasn’t so horrific. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere. “I’m… I’m gonna go get the medkit-,”

“Sam-,” The raw panic in his big brother’s voice brought Sam to a grinding halt. His big brother, the man who’s stood by his side ready to take on anything that was thrown at them… sounded scared.

And that scared him more than anything else.

“Sam, I don’t – I don’t wanna be alone. Please, just… please stay.”

Sam didn’t think of the damage it must have inflicted on him. Didn’t think of where the rebar was, of what vital organs it had surely ripped apart. He just… he needed to stop the bleeding. He needed the first aid kid, he needed to call an ambulance, get his brother to the hospital, let the Doctors save his life. He needed… he needed to do something.

“I’ll be right back,” Sam assured him, a bit more confident this time. “I promise, Dean. You’re gonna be fine, I won’t… I won’t let you die. Not like this.”

“Sammy-,” Dean tried calling out for him, but Sam was already halfway out the barn doors, flinging them open so harshly that they clattered together when they swung back. Dean dropped his head back into the post with a harsh ‘thud’. He knew by the sound that the contact should have made his head hurt, but there’s nothing. All he can focus on is the feel of the nail sat snugly in his chest. Feel his heart struggle as it tries to beat around the piece of metal pierced through its chambers, feel the beginning of a wheeze as blood begins to pool in his lungs.

He didn’t have long.

In the back of his mind, he realizes he can’t feel his legs.

“Sammy?” Dean tries desperately to call out again. His voice is weak and harsh, much too quiet to be heard past those heavy barn doors. The attempt sends him into a fit of wheezes and coughs, and he feels a thick layer of blood sneak up his windpipe and into his mouth, spitting it out into the ground with a pained grimace.

He didn’t wanna die alone. He’s died many times before, countless times if you counted all the ‘experiments’ with Gabriel… but in all of them, he was never alone. Sammy was always there, his last source of comfort as the last of his life ebbed away. A familiar, comforting face. His little brother, whilst understandably distressed, alive. Sammy was still alive - in every time he’s died - and that helped him to go peacefully. To know he had at least died doing his job right; Keeping Sammy safe.

Now there was no one. He was fading away now, the blackness starting to creep into the corner of his vision, slowly creeping in with every passing second, with every fading heartbeat. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Cas?” The name slips from his tongue without his permission. Dean grimaces again with the effort, placing a hand over his chest where he knows the rebar sits just beneath the skin, through the cracked ribs underneath. “I know… I know you’re gone… I know where you were taken, but… I’m gonna pretend you can hear me, okay? I hope you can hear me…”

The following set of coughs set his lungs ablaze. More blood pushes its way up his throat, gritted teeth stained with red. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so fucking sorry. You gave yourself up for me, let yourself be taken just so I could have a chance and… I messed it up. I said we were gonna make your sacrifice mean something, and now… I’m… I’m dying, Cas.”

It was getting harder to talk now. His mind felt fuzzy and his body felt heavy. He wanted to sink into that darkness, let himself be taken by the tidal wave of drowsiness washing over him, and just… rest. He didn’t do that, though. Instead, he fought.

“I wish you were here,” Dean admitted to the empty barn. “Maybe that’s cruel of me to say; To want you here, just so you can watch me die. It’s… I wish I could’a said goodbye to you right, Cas. To tell you… tell you all the things you deserved to hear, just like you did for me… But you’re gone and now… now Sammy’s gone and I… I don’t wanna die alone, Cas. I don’t wanna die alone. I… I don’t wanna die.”

Saying it out loud seemed to make it sink in even harder. A tear from his blurred vision spills over, slipping down his face and dropping to the ground where it mixed with the pool of blood that had formed on the ground, the flow from his back growing steadily slower.

“Cas… I don’t wanna die… Please, Cas… I… I don’t… I don’t want to die…”

Something was shifting out of the corner of his eye. The blackness of his vision had changed, taking shape; a writhing, inky, gooey sludge that was steadily growing. Except… except that wasn’t his vision…

It seemed to have formed in mid-air, no more than five feet in front of him. He had only seen it once, and it had been from one of the worst memories of his life. He was already scared of dying before, but the sight in front of him gripped his dying heart in a vice-like grip of dread. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him after. If he’d somehow gained enough good karma to secure a place in Heaven, or if he were heading back down to Hell…

That’s when Billie’s words came back to him.

‘Come along now, Dean. It’s time. The Empty… It’s waiting.’

He knew Billie was dead. Cas made sure of it, his last act on this Earth. Yet, the proof was in front of him. He wasn’t going to Heaven or Hell. Whatever Reaper that came to reap him was going to toss him into the Empty, just as Billie promised she would. The Empty. That place of nothingness.

“No…”

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. After everything… this is what he gets? Eternity in nothingness? At least even in Hell, he knew what was waiting for him down there - even if he’s lucky and Rowena decides to take pity on him… But the Empty? That was unknown territory. Cas didn’t talk much about his time there - and for good reason. It sounded… awful.

He supposed the only saving grace was that maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see Cas again.

Dean was barely able to hold his head up now, feeling his consciousness slipping away. Something deep inside the darkness shifts and, to Dean’s horror, steps out from the portal. No doubt about it, it was a leg. This tall, menacing form was pulling itself out from the blackness behind it, looking almost pained, struggling to free itself from whatever material the Empty was made of. Whatever was trying to get out - The Empty wasn’t happy about it escaping.

If his heart wasn’t already about to give out, it probably would have anyway at the sight of the creature once it had finally pulled itself free. It must have been eight feet tall, maybe nine. The dark slime-like substance of the Empty was oozing off the form – or was it made of the slime? Two massive appendages began to sprout from the beings back, unfurling agonizing slowly. They were… they were wings. Dean could just about make out the tattered feathers, sparse and few in between and absolutely coated in the tar-like substance. It… it kind of reminded Dean of that nature documentary Cas made them sit down and watch, the one with the impacts of oil spills on nature. Those seagulls covered in oil, their wings… broken and ruined.

Dean should be scared. The being in front of him was terrifying by all means and yet for some reason, as he stared into the creature’s eyes, Dean felt a warm sense of comfort wash over him. Because those dazzling, glowing blue eyes were so familiar, the pain in its eyes mirrored with Dean’s. Which is why, when it reached out one long, dripping black hand out to him, Dean reached out, too.

Dean didn’t know if it could talk. It didn’t need to, anyway. Dean knew what it was asking, and he answered the silent request without a second thought.

“Yes.”

The world around him flares white. Dean closes his eyes reflexively against the blinding light and then…

There’s nothing.

Nothing but a soothing, deep voice that Dean never thought he’d get the privilege to hear again.

‘Rest, Dean… I have you.’

Dean listens.

Finally… he rests.

* * *

 Castiel awakens, seeing the world through a pair of forest green eyes. They blink wearily, glancing around his new surroundings. Bodies laid at his feet, all with their heads sliced clean off and resting close by their respective corpse, lying in pools of their own blood. Odd, colorful masks were haphazardly places across their faces, no doubt having shifted during their owner’s decapitation. The wooden panels of the barn that surrounded him were creaking in the evening's chill, groaning low as its foundations are tested. A nest, it would seem. Another hunt, perhaps? Though, one that had clearly gone wrong.

That’s when the pain of the rebar through his Dean’s chest hits him.

He shouldn’t even be able to feel it, yet he does. It’s enough for him to gasp out at the sensation in a ragged voice that’s not his, yet not quite Dean’s either. It’s deep and rough, but not as grating as his own voice. It does more damage than good, and he begins hacking up a mouthful of Dean’s blood, something he knows full well he can’t be wasting.

His grace was twisting painfully inside him, a flickering, pulsating wisp of energy that was already desperately reaching out to the damage it sensed within Dean. Cas holds his grace back, knowing it would be pointless to heal Dean whilst a piece of metal was still skewered through him. With an exhausted grunt, Castiel reaches out to the pole behind him, placing his palms down on the support beam he was leant against. His teeth are gritted, grinding harshly together as he prepares himself for the agonizing pain this next move would make. Castiel lets Dean’s eyes flutter shut, sucking in a deep breath of air that makes his functioning lung rattle and his deflating lung collapse even further.

The scream that rips through him as he pulls himself off that rebar almost doesn’t sound human. How Dean had coped with this pain, he has no clue. There’s no relief as the last of the metal exits Dean’s body, only a disgusting squelch of muscle and flesh. To Cas’s surprise, Dean’s legs do not hold him when he stands. He crumples to the floor in a heap, knocking the wind out of him completely. It seemed the rebar itself was the only thing keeping Dean upright…

Castiel didn’t have time to focus on that now. Dean was just about on the edge of life and death, holding on for longer than most would. If he didn’t hurry, there would be a reaper standing by his side in just a few seconds.

Castiel gathered up as much of his grace as he could, pulling it all together. It eagerly followed his command, desperate to heal the broken man that had provided them with shelter. Even now, holding all of his grace within himself, he knew…

It wouldn’t be enough to heal him completely. But maybe, just maybe… it would buy him time. It would keep Dean alive.

And that’s all that mattered.

* * *

 Sam practically ended up skidding into the Impala as he brought himself to a stop, chest heaving with the exertion of sprinting to the car as fast as his legs would carry him. His hands shake uncontrollably as he shoves the keys into her trunk lock, the warm wetness of Dean’s blood coating his hand glinting at him in the moonlight.

The medkit was sat neatly where it always is, placed for easy access in emergencies like these. Injuries were often in their line of work, after all. He snatches the green box hurriedly from within the clutter in Baby’s trunk, slamming it closed so hard he can already hear Dean bitching at him from here.

He freezes at the sight of Dean’s blood smeared across the surface of the medkit, standing out against the unnaturally green plastic, staining the white cross atop its lid a startlingly bright red.

What was he even planning to do? He could handle a gunshot, a knife wound… but… how could he fix this?

He needed more than to just ‘do something’. He needed…

He needed a miracle.

“Jack? Jack, I… I know you said you weren’t going to be hands-on. I get that, but… It’s Dean. He’s hurt, he’s…” Sam’s voice gives out, thick with tears that were threatening to spill over. “He’s dying, Jack, and I don’t know what to do… Please, if you can hear me, I need your help. Please.”

The howling wind of the night is all that responds to his prayer. Sam searches around in the darkness, hoping to see Jack’s smiling figure appear somewhere nearby with a wave of his hand.

There’s nothing.

He wants to get angry. He wants to punch and kick at something, scream up to the sky about how unfair this all was. He doesn’t do any of those things, though. The fear had him in a hold too tight to do much else than shake and silently weep at the thought he was going to be alone. In the span of two weeks, his entire family was gone; A boy who was practically one of his kids, his best friend,  the one person he thought he’d finally get to settle down with, and now… the universe had to take his brother away, too?

His grip on the medkit is so strong that his knuckles had turned a milky white with the force. Sam stares down blankly at his own hands as he shuffles back through the barn doors, already thinking about how he’s going to have to find a way to get the civvies out of here and come back to… to bring Dean’s body home.

When he tears his gaze away from the supplies in his hands, he can only stare in utter confusion at the empty space where his brother used to be, the rebar that had gone through his back still dripping with Dean’s blood. Sam’s eyes drop down, landing on the sight of his brother's crumpled form on the floor.

“Dean!” Sam exclaims, rushing to Dean’s side and dropping down hard on his knees next to him. The medkit is discarded to the side as he quickly shoves his fingers down Dean’s collar, pressing them into his throat.

Somehow, he feels a pulse flutter against his fingertips. It was weak, so soft he could almost have imagined it, but it was there. Dean was still alive.

“Oh my God…” Sam mutters in disbelief, feeling a spike of adrenaline go through his body at the realization. He quickly grabs hold of his brother's shoulders, gently turning him over onto his front to get a look at the damage to his back.

There was… there was light.

He could see it flaring deep inside the hole running through Dean’s back. The light was flickering and fading, a strange mixture of blue and white that Sam knows he’s seen before. Right before his eyes, Sam could see Dean’s body knitting itself back together. It was painfully slow, and the glowing light inside Dean was flickering and fading the more Dean’s back was being stitched together. Dean was… he was healing.

The light gave one last pathetic flicker before going still, fading away into nothingness with a few blinks. To Sam’s horror, the hole in his brother's back still remained. No longer as deep as it once was, but with a slow stream of blood still oozing out. Sam let the medical side of his mind take over, pulling the medkit open and yanking out the gauze still in its plastic wrapping. He ripped the plastic off, pulling open the lid of the disinfectant with his teeth before soaking the gauze in it and pressing it over the wound.

His fingers fumbled around for the pack of suture needles and the roll of surgical thread, trembling hands struggling to push the thread through the infuriatingly small hole of the needle. He peels the gauze away from Dean’s back, wincing at the suction of the blood keeping it stuck to his skin.

Sam makes quick work of the stitches, pulling the wound tight as close as he can and snipping away the ends of the thread with the kit's small pair of scissors.

“Okay…” He mumbles down to his brother's unconscious form, sliding his arms underneath his body and pulling him into his chest. “Okay, Dean… I’m gonna get you out of here…”

Sam grunts with the effort of placing his brother into a fireman’s hold, the extra weight making him stumble around as he gets to his feet, the adrenaline pumping through his body likely the only reason he’s still going.

“Okay… Okay, okay… Can’t call an ambulance… Too many bodies, no reception on my cell…” Sam looks wildly around at the chaos they had left behind. “Okay… just… just going to have to get you in the car… get you to a hospital… come back for the others once you’re safe…”

Sam’s feet are already dragging him towards the Impala before he has time to finish his thoughts. He pulls her keys out from his pocket with his free hand, the other resting securely across Dean’s back to keep him in place, careful not to touch the entrance to the wound. He unlocks her doors, swinging open the back door and meticulously placing Dean down across the back seats, making sure he’s resting on his front to avoid any further damage to his injury. And, with some luck, gravity will help to slow down the bleeding…

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam promised him, even though Dean couldn’t hear his words. They were more for him, really.

He swung the door closed, racing around to the front of the Impala and throwing himself into the driving seat. The keys were shoved into the ignition, twisting them harshly until the Impala’s engine roared to life. Sam quickly threw the gear into drive, releasing the handbrake and slamming his foot down on the gas pedal. The Impalas wheels screeched against the dirt, throwing up rocks and other debris behind them as she lurched forward.

The dirt quickly shifted to tarmac, the sickly yellow glow of the highway lights passing by in a blur. Sam found his gaze frequently lifting to the rear-view mirror, looking for his brother. Making sure he could see his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath.

Looking for any sign it wasn’t too late.

“Just hang on a little more, Dean. Please, for me, just… hang on.”

 * * *

 The Impalas tires squealed against the tarmac as Sam stepped on the brakes, swinging her in front of the hospital's entrance. He was probably breaking a few driving laws parking here - and had likely broken a few more on the way over - but quite frankly, he couldn’t care less.

“Help me!” Sam yelled to the shocked looking hospital staff that were stood by the hospital’s entrance, a few with cigarettes hanging loosely from their agape mouths. Sam ducked back into the Impala without waiting for a response, already working on pulling his brother out.

Thankfully, when he turns around, it’s to see the medical staff rushing towards him with a gurney. They group around the Impala, squeezing through her doorframe as they gingerly pull Dean out from the backseats, placing him down on the gurney. They’re rushing towards the Emergency Department entrance before he can even blink, and Sam rushes over to match their pace, sprinting alongside his brother.

“What happened?” One of the staff asks him as they push through the doors. People scramble to get out of their way, a few extra members of staff rushing over to help.

“We were attacked-,” The excuse rolls easily off his tongue from years of experience. “-Bunch of guys in masks broke into our barn. My brother tried to fight them off, but they shoved him into one of the beams. It… there was a rebar sticking out and he landed on it. I… I think it went right through.”

The medics shared a look that Sam recognized immediately. It was a look that said, “this man shouldn’t be alive right now.” A look that said, “he shouldn’t be alive right now, but it won’t be long before that’s not the case anymore.”

It wasn’t too surprising to see the medical staff wheel Dean towards the surgery ward. It also shouldn’t have been a surprise that one of the medical staff pressing a hand against his chest, stopping him from following them into surgery. Yet, he still looked down at the greying, balding man like he was insane.

“We’re going to do all we can for you brother, Sir. I promise you we’ll do everything in our power to keep him alive. But I’m going to need to ask a few questions to get a better understanding of the situation, okay?”

“Yeah…” Sam answered numbly, looking right past the man and to where his brother was disappearing beyond two heavy, off-white doors. “I just… I think I need to sit down…”

The doctor – or was it a nurse? He wasn’t too sure -  takes him by the arm, and Sam lets him lead him down the hallway to where the wall is lined with old rickety chairs adorned with faded cushions, sat upon by many stressed loved ones as they awaited their fate. Sam dropped down into one of the chairs, staring blankly at the cracked and peeling wall opposite. He’s vaguely aware of the man sitting in the chair next to him, clearing his throat to get Sam’s attention.

“So, Mr…?”

“Winchester,” Sam answers without really thinking.

“Winchester-,” The man continues, pulling out a small notepad and blue pen from within the pockets of his lab coat, clicking the top of the pen and placing it down on the notepad. “Start from the beginning.”

NEXT CHAPTER --->

#Destiel #destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #castiel/dean winchester #CasDean #fix it #fix it fic #supernatural spoilers #fluff #angst