#holiday card from cas and dean

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Canto

Chapter Thirteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Reader's OC family, Ellen, Dean/Jo, attempted Reader/Cas, Pam/Lee, Sam, Cole/Reader's sister and Garth/Bess

Word Count: 5009

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining. MORE BACKSTORY AHEAD, story takes place currently in Dec 2017, flashback to Jan. 2004 in italics, all towns mentioned are made up, I gave the reader the best dad in the world (you're welcome), underage drinking, talk of bar hook ups, car accidents, injuries, character death, guilt, stupid brother-in-laws, unbeta'd

Special shout out to @thoughtslikeaminefield who helped immensely on sorting out the backstory for this chapter and the next, way back when I started outlining this thing.

Series Masterlist

You made your way through the harrowing process that was holiday travel, flashing your medical card at the TSA agent and going through the regular pat down deal before finally getting to your gate. It was mild in LA, but you brought your puffy coat with you on the plane because December in Nebraska was never that kind. It was also a free blanket once you reached cruising altitude.

You put your phone in airplane mode, popped in your earbuds and let yourself nap for most of the three hour flight home.

You didn’t go home often, your schedule never left you with much time off, especially over the last couple of years. Or, at least, that’s what you told yourself and how you avoided invitations from your family. Between the band and Bobby, all you would have to do is ask for time off and they would have given it to you, of course they would. But it’s not like they aren’t workaholics themselves.

The wind rattled the jet bridge as you made your way to the gate, dozens of strangers trudged along beside you as you felt the first hint of true winter air. You turned your phone back to normal settings and tried not to get caught in a young family’s way as you all followed the signs to baggage claim. You smiled as you heard the familiar buzz of the accentless plains’ speech in the surrounding conversations, you were really home.

You stepped out of the line of traffic to find a restroom and clear out the ridiculous amount of notifications you received while in the air. You had texts from both your mom and dad, your sister, Sam, Dean, Bobby and Ellen. You opened up the chat with your dad because he was picking you up and said you had landed and told him where to look for you because you knew he parked instead of waiting in the chaos of the arrivals area traffic.

You ignored your mom and sister because it was all wondering when you got in and you’d have time to reply on the drive home. You opened Dean’s message and it was a picture of a ‘Nebraska… the good life’ sign taken out of a car window. You sent a heart emoji and told him that you just landed, because no matter how tough he was Dean always complained about flying and you needed to give him proof of survival.

Sam’s message was a compilation of shots of Dean sleeping with random things propped on his head or shoulders, which meant Dean was probably driving the last stretch to their dad’s and Sam had been saving those for blackmail. You laughed, forgetting you were in public and rushed out a reply before saving them to your phone.

You read the message from Ellen but stopped yourself from fully opening it. You locked your phone and shoved it into your pocket. Right now nature’s call was more important than answering questions and you always had to be careful how you replied to your surrogate mother, she could always read between lines you didn’t know you’d drawn.

Twenty minutes later, you were greeted by a burly bear hug, compliments of your dad, that knocked the handle of your duffel out of your grip and rocked you on the spot. He smelled like engine oil and canvas with winter still clinging to his Carhartt, you held on tight.

“Glad you’re home, sweetheart,” he mumbled, breaking a way with a firm hand on your shoulder. “Got everything?”

“Yep!” 

He smiled his tight lip smile, where it was all in the eyes, and nodded. “Alright then, let’s get out of here.”

The ride home was uneventful, catching up, complaining about traffic, asking about the weather, all while you cleared through your messages and emails. You stopped for a late lunch and got the rundown on your older sister and four-year-old niece. 

“Any word from Cole?” you ask about the elephant in the conversation.

“Nothing she’s telling us. Figured you’d know more,” your dad sighed.

You tisk, “like she tells me anything.”

“Maybe she would if you called her,” your dad replied, eyebrows up and knowing.

You rolled your eyes, you and your sister were not close. After she got knocked up by a guy known for his charm, you pretty much never heard from her. You weren’t worried about her, she always had a tight friend group that was impenetrable. But when her husband suddenly dropped off the face of the Earth, you started to pay attention.

Your mom had generously kept you in the loop, whether you liked it or not.

You and your dad finished your meals and got back on the road. The town of Mills’ Crossing had roughly a population of one thousand people with enough villages and farmland surrounding it to make it feel bigger than it was. Your first trip to LA the summer before starting college was mind altering. Coming home was surreal, knowing everyone (to some degree) everywhere you went was almost alienating after so long living amongst droves of beautiful strangers.

You never sought that kind of attention.

Your parents lived in the same three bedroom ranch you grew up in on a quiet street with normal, working class people as neighbors. It was the exact opposite of your place now, where you were wedged in a neighborhood that was both overpriced and rundown and your neighbors came from every walk of life imaginable.

Luckily for you, you were charged next to nothing by LA standards of rent.

Your dad drove through town with the radio on classic rock, like always, unless he was in a mood and he put in a Maynard Ferguson cd or Tower of Power, blasting brass to wake up. Meanwhile, you took in all the things that had changed since you left, not that there were many. As you approached Hound Drive, a familiar apprehension crawled into your stomach, taking you back to a snowy night almost fourteen years ago.

“Come on! They’re not going to be there all night, and it’s not like we can follow them to another bar,” Jo whined at you as you put on your makeup. She barely needed any, which always made you jealous. But you didn’t want to rush yourself and look like you were still in high school. Bela had taught you a lot about maintaining a strict beauty regimen during your first semester and you were going to put those lessons to good use. So what if you were late.

You primped your hair and took one last look in the mirror.

You drove to the Roadhouse in your ancient Buick LeSabre, which still had a cassette deck. But you had upgraded it with an adapter so Jo slipped a burnt cd into your Discman and turned up the volume, Phantom Traveler’s latest recording blasted through the old speakers. The open road and the entire world were at your feet.

“I can’t believe they’re still playing around here,” you said, letting the drum beat add to your excitement.

“Dean says they’ve had some nibbles from labels, but he won’t tell me which ones,” Jo confided.

“How often do you guys talk?”

“Enough that my mom got me my own phone line for Christmas,” Jo admitted.

You shrieked. “Girl, I know that bill has gotta be ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but I’m paying for it. And it’s worth it. Can’t be as bad as his cell bill.”

You giggled. “Which one is the one you want me to talk to?”

“Castiel, Cas, he’s the quiet one with blue eyes. Not the guitar player, that’s Lee. He’s been eyeing the drummer, so don’t get any ideas there. Trust me.”

You tried to picture who she meant from the handful of times you’d seen them play, but came up empty. The parking lot was packed and you pulled your jean jacket tight against the falling snow as you made your way to the entrance, missing the California weather you’d been soaking up since starting school. A wave of smoke and stale beer hit you as you stepped into the bar, an old jukebox filled the dim space and you tried to act like you weren’t too young to be there.

Jo navigated the crowd and you kept pace behind her, scanning your surroundings until you found a group of guys who towered over both of you at the pool tables. 

“Dean!” Jo called over the cacophony at a guy in a vintage leather jacket drinking a beer. He was even more hot up close, almost casual until he spotted her and his entire face lit up.

“Here she is!” he called, stepping away from a long haired guy to drag her in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“This Y/N?” Dean asked, holding out his hand for you to shake. 

You shook it like your dad had taught you, firm and with eye contact. “Hey.”

Dean cupped your hand in both of his before turning and tucking Jo into his side and gestured to the guy he had been talking to. “This is Lee, and that’s Cas, Pam’s around here somewhere. What are you ladies up to?”

You nodded at the other guys, older than any of your classmates, but still welcoming. You couldn’t have known that your life would change in impossible ways that night. 

         Jo challenged the winner of that round of pool and you mingled, not sure what to do with yourself besides tease Jo and try and seem aloof. Apparently, the band were out for a good time and even though you were driving, you accepted a beer from their pitcher when they offered. It was crappy, but it was free and you weren’t about to play prissy to get something that tasted better.

Around ten o’clock, Ellen spotted you and you gave her a hug and asked about her shift. She eyed Dean with suspicion as Jo flirted with her cue in hand. You tried to keep Jo’s mom’s attention away from the budding romance, but other customers were more effective than your rambling about California ever was. You left her to work and got suckered into a game of pool.

“Cas, please, teach this girl how to shoot. Explain the physics of it or whatever, because I can’t watch Sammy win that easy,” Dean begged his friend, who you had learned was the keyboard player.

Cas rolled his eyes and circled around the table to your side.

“Not exactly subtle are they?” you conspired.

“No, but Dean always tells me my people skills are rusty, so this is him playing wingman,” Cas admitted. “Here, you want to brace the cue on your left hand.”

“I know how to do it, I just really don’t care if I win,” you said out of the side of your mouth.

“I won’t tell if you won’t, but it will be a lot easier if you play it up,” Cas admitted in his low voice, knowing you both were stuck in this setup while neither of you were particularly interested in one another.

“So, what? I just let you put me in position, cop a feel?”

Cas’ eyes sparked with amusement. “I’m fine with verbal instructions if you’d prefer.”

“Nah, it’s okay, let’s give them something to talk about.” You winked at him and saw the blush creep across his cheeks with his gummy grin.

“If you say so,” Cas whispered, stepping behind you to guide your arms.

The rest of the night was a blur. You started drinking soda around midnight, knowing your parents would kill you if you came home smelling like booze, even if they couldn’t enforce a curfew on you anymore. But Jo could sneak behind the bar like the thief she was and everyone else was getting sloppier for it. Knowing Ellen, she was keeping tabs, but as long as she had an eye on you both, you knew you couldn’t get into too much trouble.

Sam wasn’t much older than you, but being in a band and astronomically tall gave him sway into the not getting carded club. He asked you about school and you told him as much as you could, though most of your classes were just prerequisites at that point. He seemed really smart and thoughtful, but maybe it was just because he was less lewd than Dean or Lee.

Jo held her own, like always, keeping the men on their toes like the bartender she had grown up to be. It was no wonder she had made friends with them when they played there after their dad begged Ellen to give them a place to play. Stopping back on their latest self-scheduled tour had just lined up for your winter break and Jo’s night off.

At some point, you lost Jo and when you tried to go find her, Lee dragged you back to the tables with a game of ‘Never have I ever’, they didn’t even tease you for drinking soda. Dean appeared out of nowhere and stole Cas’ beer, before a very flushed Jo rounded the table and deposited a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels for them to split. That earned her a chorus of praise, but something told you she had been off stealing bases instead of just booze.

You smirked at her and bit your lips. She just nodded at you and mouthed ‘later’.

Later came with Ellen kicking everybody out, warning you to get Jo home to bed before she could put her to work closing the place up. You huddled in your car as Jo and Dean had their goodbye in the parking lot, Sam honking the horn on an old Chevy for Dean to wrap it up. You hoped they had done just that, curiosity ate at you as your car warmed up.

Finally, Jo dropped into the passenger seat with her dimples on full display.

“Oh my god, dude!” you balked.

“I know! Shut up.”

“Tell me everything and then I’ll decide if I will!” 

Jo smirked and turned down the volume on the radio. “He is such a good kisser, Y/N, you have no idea.”

“Uh, I couldn’t have guessed! God, you were out there for like twenty minutes.”

You pulled onto the side street and increased the speed of your wipers, the steady snowfall had turned into a cascade and you really needed to see. Jo continued about her rendezvous with Dean in the men’s room and how he’d fingered her against the stall door. 

“Oh my god, Jo!” You were impressed, guys were always talking about this shit, but apparently it was worth it to Dean to see Jo squirm.

“He was so into it, like obviously, he’s a musician, he’s got good hands, but it was like he liked doing it,” Jo continued. “Ugh, he better call me before they leave town.”

“He will, he’s got it bad, even I can see that.”

She beamed. “Yeah? What did Cas say? Did Dean tell him anything?”

You threw your head back and laughed, feeling the tires slip on the unplowed road. You righted the wheel and checked your surroundings, slowing slightly to keep steady.

“Cas didn’t say anything about you two, but I could just tell, okay? Call it bff intuition, okay?”

You made the turn onto Hound Drive, three blocks from Jo’s neighborhood, feeling the way your backend fishtailed with even the most careful of maneuvers. Jo continued her story, talking about Dean promising to take her out, just the two of them, about how big the backseat was in his car. And just as you made her promise to be safe, headlights blared on the wrong side of the road. You spun left to avoid a head-on collision, but the other driver wasn’t slowing down and before you even fully stopped you were T-boned directly into Jo’s door.

You woke up to the sound of the other driver screaming at you if you were okay. You couldn’t move your right leg and Jo hadn’t woken up. There was glass and blood everywhere. And even though the snow had gotten worse, you couldn’t feel the cold. The paramedics told you it was shock, they wouldn’t tell you if your best friend was dead or alive.

Your mom hugged you at the door, followed directly by your niece, Ada, running from the playroom shrieking your name. It felt good to be so welcomed, so loved. You held them both longer than they meant you to. Your sister gave you a sad smile, but hugged you too. And you told her honestly that it was good to see her. You hoped she meant it when she said it back.

You dropped your stuff off in your old bedroom and joined everyone in the living room where the Christmas tree was bursting with years of handmade ornaments. You could spot the new additions from Ada’s preschool. You wondered if you’d ever have little hands in your life to make macaroni art with. It wasn’t something you ever really thought about, but leave it to being home or the adorable company to stir up those nurturing instincts.

“Wanna play cards before dinner?” your dad asked, breaking you out of the daze of the tree’s lights.

“Obviously,” you replied and marched over to the pantry to fish out a deck and the coin jar.

Christmas Eve was magical, carols on the old stereo and lots of snacks. Your aunts and uncles and cousins came and went, making sure to leave time for everyone to get to church for the candlelight service. Ada fell asleep in your dad’s arms before the closing hymn of Silent Night sent you all back home to await spiritual and material gifts.

You opened presents at the crack of dawn, you could tell your parents had missed having little kids to cater to with the amount that “Santa” brought that year. But you couldn’t blame them, the coffee was bottomless and breakfast was to die for. Nothing could beat home cooking.

Just before ten, you had your dad drop you off at the Roadhouse and you let yourself in through the employee entrance. Ellen’s smoky voice greeted you before you even made it into the kitchen, “here comes Trouble!”

“Merry Christmas!” You called back, smiling, she was the one who had given you that nickname in the first place.

She tossed the towel she was wiping her hands with onto the counter and held open her arms. You stepped in to hug her and a piece of your heart thrummed inside your chest. 

“It’s damn good to see you,” Ellen whispered, though nobody else was there.

“Yeah,” you agreed, still holding her tight.

Ellen pulled back and looked you in the eye, dark eyes full of wisdom and sorrow. “You doing alright?”

You nodded and sighed. “Same old, same old.”

Ellen hummed, still watching you. “Okay, if you say so. Why don’t you wash up and we’ll finish up these trays?”

Every year on Christmas day Ellen opened the Roadhouse for a free dinner. She sent fliers to the nearest homeless shelter, veterans outreach center and local churches. She served everyone, no matter what and whatever leftovers she ended up with, she left at the firehouse for the night shift to enjoy. The bar itself was closed, it wasn’t about money, it was about something bigger.

Whenever you were home for the holidays, you helped. It wasn’t much, just chopping vegetables and serving the people as they came through, but it made you feel good to be able to do something. To be able to be there for Ellen on one of the hardest days of the year was the least you could do. Your family never questioned you ditching them and before Ada was born, your parents volunteered sometimes too.

Something about this year, you were grateful for it to be just you and Ellen doing all of the prep work. An old radio played the classics in the corner and you helped finish the green bean casserole. You worked in comfortable silence, every once in a while answering questions that came up about life and the band. The one you didn’t want to answer popped up just as the last tray went into the oven.

“So Dean’s seeing your friend, huh?”

“Ellen,” you groaned. You did not want to lie to her.

“What? Is that a bad thing?” she prodded.

“No, it’s just weird talking to you about it, I guess.”

“Girl, I’ve heard more gossip than you could shake a stick at. I’m just checking in on you all. It’s not like I get updates all that often,” she finished with a flawless guilt trip.

“Yes, Bela and Dean are an item,” you said in a confessional huff, crossing your arms over your chest and waiting for the interrogation to begin.

Ellen hummed again and bit her bottom lip. “Well, I guess that’s something. She good for him? I know he’s been going through it again.”

“He’s been doing a lot better. Sam and Bobby got him a therapist,” you sidestepped beautifully.

“No shit. Huh.”

“And we’re ramping up for a new tour. New album is all done, just waiting for clearance from the label and that’ll be on the market in a couple of months.”

“I’m sure that’s great, but I’m worrying about you as individuals, not as rockstars and company,” Ellen smiled sadly at you. “You know that, right?”

You melted inside and nodded, letting your defenses down. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Okay, well, let’s go move some tables while everything cooks,” Ellen said, guiding you out to the main room of the bar and grill.

The day became a whirlwind of small talk and easy smiles, faces you remembered but names you couldn’t really recall. Just after three Garth showed up with his wife Bess and little girl in tow to give you and Ellen a chance to sit down and eat yourselves. He had worked the bar through dental school and ran a small practice on the edge of town after settling down. He was always in a good mood and its genuineness thrived at the holidays. 

Ellen watched the small family fondly as she tucked into her mashed potatoes. “They’re expecting again, twins,” she confided in you.

“Good for them,” you said between bites.

A couple of older guys sat at the other end of the table, sipping coffee and talking about a mutual friend. They must not have had anywhere else to be and it made you mix of sad and proud that Ellen did this whole thing in the first place.

Nobody should be alone on Christmas.

“How are you doing? Still dragging your feet about putting more sandwiches on the menu?” you asked Ellen, changing the subject.

“Oh, I’ll do it eventually, maybe before the summer tourist season. I’ll have some more staff by then,” Ellen answered non committedly.

“But things are going good?” you pressed.

“Yeah, I mean, my back is still acting up, but can’t really complain,” she replied.

“You seen Cole around?” you asked about your elusive brother-in-law.

“Not lately, but I heard he wandered off on your sister, what a coward,” Ellen muttered.

“Yeah, well, we’ll see. He seems to get his mind on something and he can’t leave it until it’s sorted. Maybe missing Ada’s at Christmas will wake him the hell up,” you sighed.

Ellen gave you a knowing look.

“When do you want to head home? I usually wrap this up around five,” she asked.

“That works for me, no plans for the rest of the day, thank God,” you said before excusing yourself for the bathroom. The gentle croon of ‘Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas’ reverberated through the bar and the persistent ache inside you reminded you it still existed.

When you got back to the main room, Dean and Sam were there giving Ellen hugs and asking in hushed voices about what was going on. 

“You mean she didn’t tell you? I’ve been doing this for years, her too most years,” Ellen chided. 

“Hey, guys. Merry Christmas,” you said as they turned and hugged you in turn. Sam got to you first, hugging you to his chest with a quick clutch on the back of your head. Dean sauntered closer and you could tell by the look on his face it had been a hard day. You hugged him and could smell the whiskey on his breath, but trusted Sam to be the safe driver.

“You better eat now that you’re here, nobody gets served on Christmas, you understand?” Ellen laid out the law before corralling them towards the line.

Dean nodded and hid his face, shoving his hands in his pockets as you went behind the line to let Bess get off her feet. 

“Wow, Ellen, you’ve got all the fixin’s,” Sam pointed out.

“It looks amazing, thanks for letting us crash your meal,” Dean said softly.

She looked him over with her classic tough kindness. “Anytime, hon.--- Now don’t you worry about anything, let John rot in his own stubbornness, alright?”

Dean didn’t say anything, just hummed in agreement and turned his plate for you to add the gravy. You hadn’t thought you’d run into them since you were only home for a couple days, but something about being back and guessing what had been going through Dean’s mind made you feel oddly protective. And you couldn’t help but watch them both as they sat at a booth by themselves and ate in near silence. 

The remaining guests came through by themselves, occasionally two at a time. But just before Ellen was going to call it a young family came in with their three kids and little Gertie had somebody to play with as you dished up plates for them all. Ellen ducked into the kitchen for to-go containers, wanting to send some home with them before taking the rest to the firehouse.

Dean and Sam stuck around, wiping down tables and making sure everybody had a way to get to where they were going. Once Ellen had her truck loaded up, you turned to say goodbye to the boys.

Instead Ellen interrupted, “you’ll get her home safe? I’m wiped and would appreciate it.”

“Wha–I thought you were taking me?” you felt instantly guilty about pilling on to Sam and Dean’s Christmas.

“We got Trouble, it’s fine,” Sam answered over your head.

“Come here,” Ellen insisted, pulling you into another motherly hug. “Don’t forget to call me when you get back to California so I know you’re safe. That goes for you two, too!”

You held her tight and promised. “Love you.”

“Love you more,” Ellen replied, brushing the hair out of your face and thumbing your chin before pulling back to hug the boys.

You stood there next to Sam’s car and watched her pull out of the parking lot, the winter chill enough to keep you in the moment. 

“I guess we better get going,” Dean said to Sam more than to you.

“Yeah, did you still want to swing by St. Mary’s?” Sam asked quieter. Your mind spun on the idea of them going to church, but then you remembered what lay behind the aging brick building.

“Maybe we should ask her if she wants to go,” Dean said, looking you in the eye.

You swallowed and shook your head. “It’s okay, if you don’t mind dropping me off first. I know it’s in the other direction.”

“It’s fine, we’re not in a rush,” Dean answered for them both.

You climbed into the backseat, finding evidence of their cross-country trek strewn about. You pushed some wrappers off the seat and clicked your seatbelt. Sam turned down the music and double checked your parents’ address. Dean whisper-sang along with the radio while you asked them about their trip. 

It wasn’t a long ride, nothing in town was, but you hoped it was enough to even Dean out before going to see Jo. You told them you’d see them next week, double checked Dean would be back for the photoshoot to accompany his interview with Meg on the 31st, and that everyone would be going out for New Year’s afterwards. It felt ludicrous to be discussing LA excess after the humbling day you’d had, especially in the driveway of your parent’s home. Even if that was the life you all led, you didn’t want to look at it too closely.

“Alright, drive safe, talk to you soon,” you said, finally opening your door to find a familiar truck parked behind your dad’s.

“Tell your folks Merry Christmas,” Sam said. 

“Later, Trouble,” Dean added, watching you with something unsaid behind his gaze.

It turned out, Cole had shown up not long after you left, arms full of presents for everyone. And he and your sister had taken a walk to talk things out while Ada napped. Which was probably the only reason your dad hadn’t kicked him out on the spot. You sat down on the floor with Ada to open the gift Cole had brought for you while your mother’s favorite Christmas album played. 

It was a double sided picture frame, one side held Ada’s school picture and the other had a picture of the rest of your family from one of their camping weekends the previous summer. 

“I know you’re big time in LA, but figured you probably have a desk or something to put that on,” Cole said shyly. 

You felt the heat behind your eyes, but you wanted him to know where you stood, squarely on the fence about him still. “Thanks, I know just where to put it. Look at that big girl, huh, can’t believe it.”

“I am gonna be fibe Auntie Y/N. I’ve been big a long time already,” Ada said firmly.  You couldn’t help but laugh and hug her little shoulders. “I know, babygirl, I know.”

Tagging:

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@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

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@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

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@rockhoochie

Chapter Fourteen: Pomposo

#spotless series #dean/reader #dean/jo #dean/bela #flashback #rockstar au #fake dating #slow burn #character death #car accident

[catindabag]

TBOSAS on Crack ✨Character Info✨😌 (part 2)

⭐️❄️⭐️

If you haven’t caught up on my TBOSAS Crack!AU yet, read [this] first. AND for those who want part 1, you can read [this].

Felix “Class Pres” Ravinstill🎖️(AKA: Panem’s President If The Academy Was Running The Government)

He honestly won the position of ✨Class President✨ because of pure nepotism. And because nobody really wanted to run against him at that time. At least he’s very competent with his job, and everybody genuinely likes him.

His granduncle is the current ✨President of Panem✨. That’s why he uses the excuse of “My granduncle runs this country! I can do whatever I want” card if he gets in trouble.

Speech writing, dancing, throwing parties, and acting are his favorite hobbies.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls him “Philip Raven’s Bill” than “Felix” every class roll call. Luckily, he doesn’t really care.

He and Festus Creed are the ones in charge of choosing a ✨Class Team Building Game✨ every week.

His favorite banned song is ✨This is What Makes Us Girls✨💅.

He loves to collect rare and banned ✨Hello Kitty✨ merch for some reason.

He is the richest student next to Sejanus Plinth and Livia Cardew.

Half of his relatives are rich AF politicians, and the other half are a bunch of shady business tycoons.

He is aware that his family is corrupt AF. However, he was forced by his parents to ignore that issue if he wants to receive his weekly allowance from his Bichon Frisé puppy loving granduncle.

He has eight crazy uncles who are trying to assassinate/arrest one another.

Half of his uncles are a bunch of criminals, and the other half are in charge of the Capitol’s Peacekeepers.

His family reunions are known to be dangerously wild and deadly. Last year’s ✨Ravinstill Family Reunion✨ included two disastrous weddings, three failed murder attempts, and five funerals in less than a week.

He has a tendency to accidentally share his family’s secrets for free.

He was genuinely ashamed to introduce himself in front of the Tributes because of his family’s infamy and shady crimes against the Districts. He even pretended to be “Philip Raven’s Bill” when he first met Dill.

After being embarrassingly outed as a “Ravinstill” in front of the Tributes, he and the other Mentors decided to make an elaborate plan to delay and ultimately postpone the 10th Hunger Games (forever), just because he didn’t want Dill to hate him.

He always brings a red megaphone every class outing because half of his classmates (according to Livia Cardew) are a bunch of babies who can’t follow basic instructions.

He teasingly considers Lysistrata Vickers as his personal physician because her parents are currently working under his family.

He once ordered Androcles Anderson to steal one of his family’s prized Bichon Frisé puppies that were illegally bred by one of his criminal uncles.

Livia “Liv” Cardew 💅 (AKA: The Capitol’s Very Own Regina George)

Everyone is afraid of her family. Heck. Even D. Gaul is afraid of her powerful parents.

Her scary mother (Mama Cardew) literally runs and rules the largest and most politically powerful bank in the country.

Her proud father (Papa Cardew) is a glorified stay-at-home househusband.

Her mama once threatened President Ravinstill to legalize customizing one’s school and job uniforms. In truth, Mama Cardew just wanted her favorite employees to wear a dazzling gold and pink suit for the summer holidays.

Mama Cardew is the only living entity that Dr. Gaul doesn’t want to meet, intimidate, or argue with.

Livia will literally and economically ruin anyone’s life and reputation forever if they wear the same outfit as her.

Dean Highbottom is not allowed to give her a demerit because her mama will literally strangle him to death with his tax papers.

Livia is one of the richest students next to Felix Ravinstill and Sejanus Plinth. However, she openly brags that she is richer than those two idiots because their families are technically using her mama’s bank.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls her “Liver Cardew” than “Livia” every class roll call. She told her mama about this issue, but no deadly threats could stop the Dean from calling her “Liver” in front of everyone.

Her private car’s color is a blinding ✨Hot Pink✨ that sparkles under the sun. It is the only one of its kind because she promised to sue anyone who will try to replicate her idea.

Shoe shopping, gossiping, and collecting secrets for blackmail purposes are her favorite hobbies.

She has her own secret “burn book” that could destroy the reputations and careers of many high ranking government officials if they ever try to threaten her family with money.

Her favorite banned song is ✨7 Rings✨.

Livia once threatened a School Board Official that she will personally destroy Panem’s economy if they refuse to let her class have a ✨Pink & Pearls✨ theme party after their midterm exams.

She is the ✨mean girl✨ that her loser classmates fear, but ultimately need if they want their ✨TGIF Costume Parties✨ to happen.

Arachne Crane is the only classmate that Livia half-heartedly considers a true friend of hers.

Livia, Felix, Coryo, and Sejanus were the ones who petitioned to let the Mentors give their Tributes a private tour around the Capitol after the failed Arena Explosion Incident. And because she needed Facet to carry her diamond encrusted handbag when she goes shopping with him.

She genuinely bonded with her Tribute through gossiping and shopping.

She tried to hire Facet to be her official fashionista assistant because he claimed that he was an expert in jewelry and apparel designs.😌💅

She is the one who suggested to recreate/revamp the Hunger Games into a reality TV show called ✨Love Island✨😘. However, this only ultimately motivated everyone to create their own version of the Hunger Games with a “no killing” policy.

She and Arachne Crane also proposed to create another reality TV show called ✨The Real Housewives of Corso✨💅, which will feature the secret lives of the richest women of the most opulent neighborhood in The Capitol.

Palmyra “Palm” Monty ☠️ (AKA: The Academy’s Food Harbinger of Death)

Her family can hardcore survive almost any poisonous substances and are even frighteningly immune to cyanide poisoning.

Her mother, Mama Monty has been feeding her children expired foodstuffs since forever.

She likes to bring her mother’s accursed expired pies to school and feed them to her friends as a sign of ✨solidarity✨🥰.

In order to escape the inevitable death sentence of being unintentionally poisoned by Monty, her friends just pretended to be full all the time. Even the malnourish looking Coryo Snow and Festus Creed (the Foodie) have to lie in order to avoid eating “Monty’s Poison”🤢.

She was ultimately banned from feeding her classmates and teachers by the school after the infamous ✨End of The Year Class Party Incident✨that horrifyingly hospitalized half of the school because of her family’s deadly apple pies.

Cooking, baking, and feeding people are her favorite hobbies.

Her favorite banned song is ✨Cooking By The Book✨😂.

Her family only survived The 2 year Capitol Siege by the rebels because Mama Monty fed their enemies her notoriously deadly apple pies when they broke into Monty’s Mansion. However, the Monty children (plus Florus) all got war trauma after witnessing the rebels (censored) and die from food poisoning.

She is somewhat aware of her crazy “psycho” tendencies because of her childhood war traumas. However, nobody has the guts to arrest her or her unhinged mother. Even the powerful Ravinstills and wealthy Cardews refuse to mess with her “borderline insane” family.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly calls her “Palmolive Monthly” than “Palmyra” every class roll call. She was quite annoyed by it. So she took revenge by feeding the Dean expired crackers that hospitalized him for two weeks and a half.

She was the sole reason why both the Mentors and Tributes of the 10th Hunger Games survived and avoided the ✨Arena Explosion Incident✨.

After Felix and the rest of the Mentors notified The Academy of Palmyra’s shenanigans, she is now officially banned from entering the school kitchen or any public kitchen for that matter.

Unsurprisingly, it took 5 Mentors and 3 very confused Tributes to force her out of the school kitchen without getting poisoned or stabbed by her precious cooking knife.

Florus Friend is deathly afraid of her because of the infamous cheesy roll incident that almost killed him and his dignity.

Persephone Price is the only entity that Palmyra considers a “true danger to humanity’s existence” because of the ✨Maid Stew Incident✨.

She used to have a small crush on Festus Creed until Persephone Price heard the news and threatened to cook her.

Her District 1 Tribute, Velvereen was considered a real “walking miracle” by many people, just because she had the courage to eat “Monty’s Poison” without getting sick.

She was the one who proposed ✨The Hunger Games: Fear Factor✨ idea with a “no killing” policy. Unsurprisingly, Treech, Jessup, Brandy, and Coral were the only Tributes who supported her proposal.

Androcles “Andie” Anderson 🚨 (AKA: Panem’s Professional Kleptomaniac News Anchor Wannabe)

Most of his family are either on-site news reporters or news anchors. However, they all mutually dislike Lucky Flickerman and his annoying talking bird, Jubilee.

He is quite the successful kleptomaniac of his class. Fortunately, only Felix, Coryo, Iphigenia, Sejanus, and Lysistrata knew of his impulse control disorder because of the infamous ✨Cabbage & Pills Incident✨ that everybody refused to talk about.

He wants to become a famous investigative reporter like his mother in the future. However, Dean Highbottom and a few government officials would rather burn Panem to the ground before that happens.

Disguising, acting, reporting, and pickpocketing (stealing) the Dean’s morphling bottles to sell them later at the Capitol Black Market are his favorite hobbies.😈

His favorite banned song is ✨Stand Up by 1D✨😎.

Drunk!Casca Highbottom mistakenly call him “Andrew Keys Under Sun” than “Androcles” every class roll call. He just laughs at the Dean’s expense.

His mother is always up to date with every saucy Capitol gossip. And as a reporter, she is a danger to anyone and everyone’s reputation.

His scheming family only got filthy rich because his scary mama blackmails a bunch of rich government officials every other week for a living.

Urban Canville has an ongoing grudge against Andie because the klepto once stole his lucky scientific calculator.

He also once stole Livia Cardew’s very expensive ✨red apocalypse colored lipstick✨ and melted it down in the school kitchen to make fake blood in order to skip “boring” classes.

Dr. Gaul hates Andie in a more personal level because he once stole her pet rabbit mutt’s genetically enhanced carrots and fed them to his starving Tribute (Sheaf).

Coryo and Sejanus are responsible for listing every item Andie stole from his fellow classmates. Unsurprisingly, they are now adding and extending the available pages.

Felix Ravinstill greatly considers Andie as his right hand man who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. That’s why he was given the task to secretly steal a prized Bichon Frisé puppy from the President of Panem himself.

Andie and Felix have a long-standing ✨Bromantic Bros For Life Relationship✨ and everybody knows it (except for the Ravinstills).

His greatest accomplishment as a “professional kleptomaniac” was when he successfully stole President Ravinstill’s ✨presidential house keys✨ without anyone noticing.

He supports Coryo’s talent show idea with a “no killing, no gore, no cannibalism” policy because his Tribute (Sheaf) is good at dancing and acrobatics.

He, along with Coryo, Festus, Apollo, and Diana, were shamelessly responsible for emptying the school’s food pantry to feed their Tributes without further depleting their already depleted class funds.

He and Festus Creed should’ve already been expelled from school a long time ago because of their non-stop shenanigans. However, the Dean was too afraid to meet Andie’s mommy and her camera crew.

He and Sheaf genuinely became good friends after he got her a custom made rabid raccoon plushie to play with Wovey.

#coriolanus snow #tbosas #hunger games #president snow #coryo snow #crack post #lucy gray baird #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #random thoughts #bosas #abosas #thg fanfiction #thg fandom #suzanne collins #the hunger games #felix ravinstill #livia cardew #androcles anderson #palmyra monty #thg series #thg fic #crack ship #crack treated seriously #the capitol #panem #district #mentors #10th hunger games #shenanigans

[waywardnerd67]

Is This Real?

Title: Is This Real? Summary: Dean gets the surprise of his life when (Y/N) suddenly shows up on his doorstep. Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 2123 Rating: X - Explicit Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Smut Square Filled: Witches Spell Bingo Card: @spnchristmasbingo​ A/N: None

Check Out: 2022 Christmas Bingo Masterlist

For the first time since finding the bunker, Dean had it decked out for the holidays. At first, Sammy had grumbled about it, but eventually even he enjoyed reading by the Christmas tree in the library. Which is where Dean was currently enjoying a bourbon with Trans Siberian Orchestra playing in the background. With Sam out on a case with Eileen, he was left to get everything ready for their big Christmas shindig.

He was mid-drink when the iron door creaked open, “Sammy? That was quic–”

At the top of the stairs was the only person he loved more than Sam or Cas. She was gripping the railing and breathing heavily.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

He met her halfway up the stairs taking a hold of her arm and waist. His heart stopped as a low moan escaped her lips. They made it down the stairs and he sat her in one of the chairs.

“Wit-Witch… curse… fuck.” She panted, her hands going for his belt.

Dean immediately stepped away as she whimpered, reaching out to him. He pulled out his cell dialing Sam.

“Dean, this better be life or death.” He heard giggling in the background.

“Sammy, it’s (Y/N). A witch hexed her and… well she’s not acting right.”

The giggling stopped as Sam spoke, “What is she doing? Do you know what kind of hex?”

He looked over to see her hands running down her body and suddenly his jeans were a little too tight. Beads of sweat were running down the side of her face and her head fell back over the chair.

“Dude, I’m pretty sure it some kind of sex hex. She tried taking off my belt and now she’s touching her…”

“Alright! I don’t need to hear any more. Trying to get her into the shower room and run cool water over her. If you can get any info on the witch let me know and we’ll start looking into a few curses.”

“Thanks Sam and I’m sorry… to, ya know, interrupt your night.”

Dean ended the call, walking back over to (Y/N). Her hands clenched the hem of his shirt trying to push it up.

“Please… oh god Dean, the pressure is too much. Please, I need you.” She begged.

Dean let out a long breath, “Sweetheart, any other time I would be all over you, but not like this. Not when it’s not real.”

He was able to pick her up and carry her into the shower room. He turned the water to cool and placed her underneath it. He noticed her eyes were a vibrant green unlike her normal beautiful color. His phone vibrated against the sink and he quickly answered it.

“Tell me you got something.”

Sam let out a nervous chuckle, “From everything I can find without knowing who the witch is, says the same thing. Either the witch has to end the hex or…”

(Y/N)’s moan echoed off the walls as Dean turned around seeing the last remaining piece of clothing landing on the floor in a wet pile. Sure, he had seen her in her bra and panties while patching her up. He had fantasized a million times of seeing her naked. Now she was lying beneath the water cascading down her body as her fingers pinched her nipples.

“O-Or what Sam?” He gritted his teeth from his cock throbbing from the scene before him.

“You have to help her finish.”

The world momentarily stopped for Dean, “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“Yes and no. You could have sex with her and immediately break the curse. Or, you might be able to talk her through making herself orgasm.” There was a pause as Dean watched (Y/N)’s hand slip lower down her body, “Dean… I know you have feelings…”

“Not now Sam. First, we need to get (Y/N) right, hunt down the witch that hexed her and then deal with the chick flick moments. I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Before Sam could say anything he ended the call. Walking towards her, Dean sat far enough away that she wouldn’t be able to touch him, but could see him clearly. As much as he wanted to have sex with her, he couldn’t. Not like this. He wanted it to be real with her. He cared about her to damn much to just fuck her even if it was to save her life. However, he could guide her through it.

“Pretty girl, look at me.”

Her wide, panic filled eyes locked with his. Her bottom lip disappeared beneath her teeth as he unfastened his belt and pants.

“Sweetheart, I need you to touch yourself. I need you to show me exactly what you want me to do if we were to be together.”

A low whine came from her as she sat up, “I… I can’t. Need you. Can only be you Dean.”

“I’m right here, pretty girl. Touch yourself for me, please. Show me how you would rub yourself and tease yourself.”

Dean lifted his hips enough to push his jeans down around his knees. Giving him a brief moment of relief as his cock was freed from the restraints. He made the mistake of looking at her and a current of desire shot through him. (Y/N) was staring at him holding his length in his hand and her tongue darted out over her lips.

“Fu-Fuck me, Dean. I need you inside me.” She let out a shaky moan as she rubbed herself, “Oh god… need you to make me cum.”

He swallowed hard as he slowly started to stroke himself, “I promise sweetheart, I’m gonna make you cum. We’re both going to cum together, but I can’t… I can’t touch you. Not like this, not yet.”

“I feel so close. Need more. Need you. Shit… fuck…” Her hand was feverishly rubbing her clit and his hips were thrusting up against nothing.

Dean picked up his own pace feeling he wasn’t going to last much longer either. The warmth from his belly was spreading down his legs making them tingle. He focused on (Y/N)’s face trying not to stare at her getting herself off.

“Pretty girl,” He grunted, “Push two fingers inside of you. Feel yourself cumming on them. I need you to cum with me and I’m so fucking close.”

He was barely holding back from shooting his load all over himself, but he needed her to cum first. Not only to break whatever curse was on her, but because he was selfish. He wanted to see her cum and if this was going to be his own chance then he wanted to memorize every second of it.

“Dean! Oh fuck, Dean!” She cried out, pushing her fingers deep inside of her.

Her head was thrown back in pleasure as her spread legs shook. Fingering herself through the powerful, magic inducing orgasm wrecking through her body. Seeing her writhing on the floor had his own release exploding over his body.

“Fuck! Oh fuck…” He grunted, jerking off his cock.

Before the high of his orgasm could fade, Dean watched as (Y/N)’s body went limp on the floor and he quickly crawled over to her.

“(Y/N)? (Y/N)! Open those beautiful eyes for me, pretty girl.” He tapped her cheek firmly holding his breath.

Slowly, her eyes fluttered open revealing the beautiful (Y/C/E) eyes he fell in love with when he first met her nearly a decade ago. He pulled up his pants, securing them enough to pick her up and carry her to her room within the bunker. Laying her on the bed, he pulled the covers over her.

“T-Thank you.” She mumbled before her eyes closed and her breathing became steady, falling asleep.

Over the next few days, things between him and her were tense and awkward. They spent most of her time in the bunker avoiding each other except when they went out to find the he-witch that cursed her. Dean had enjoyed beating the crap out of him before (Y/N) ended him with one of her witch killing bullets.

Now, everyone was over for Christmas and Dean was no longer in the holiday mood. He was sitting alone in his man cave drinking whiskey from the bottle. The only lights on were the string lights around the ceiling and they were set for dim making it as dark as his mood was.

“Dean?”

Her voice had warm currents of electricity flowing over his skin, “Hey.”

“Sam and Cas were looking for you. Everything okay?”

He took another long drink from the bottle before she walked over taking it from him. He watched as she tipped the mouth of the bottle to her lips while taking a drink. Her tongue darted out, swiping the small drops left on her lips. He clenched his fist on his thigh as his cock begged to come out.

Her eyes darted down to his fist then shined with tears welling within them. His heart cracked.

“I can see I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll grab my stuff and head out.”

She started towards the door when he stood and grasped her wrist. Pulling her to him, Dean didn’t know how to tell her everything. That he loved her. He wanted her to move into the bunker forever. He wanted to wake up every morning beside her. Make love to her.

“Dean, please. You’re making this hard for me.”

He snapped out of his mind, “Making what hard?”

“Look, I don’t remember anything that happened when I was cursed. All I remember is I woke up naked in my bed here with you sleeping on my floor. I know Sam told me what happened when I arrived here and in the shower room. I know you must hate the sight of me. I don’t want things to be weird around us.”

He closed his eyes, running his trembling hands down her arms. He squeezed her hands trying to center his desire filled mind to find the right words.

“(Y/N), I don’t want things to be weird either, but I also can’t go back to the way things were.”

She sniffled, “I know. Which is why I’m going to leave and never bother you again. I’m so-sorry for always being a burden.”

“You’re not… why do you think you’re a burden? You’ve never been a burden.”

“I got tricked by the he-witch because I was in his bar drinking away my feelings for you. That’s why he hexed me so I would have no choice but face you. To tell you that I love you and want to be with you. I know you don’t want that. Not with me anyway. I’m just… I'm nobody.”

Dean swore he heard pieces of his heart shattering on the ground in between them. (Y/N) pulled away from him walking towards the door and he knew this would be the only moment he had to tell her the truth or to let her go once and for all.

“(Y/N), wait!” He caught her at the door.

“Please don–”

She never finished the sentence as Dean pressed her against the door and kissed her. His hands on either side of her face while hers gripped the hem of his flannel.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much that my chest hurts when you’re not here with me. I’m not good enough for you so I stayed away hoping you would find someone worthy of your love. After watching you be hexed, I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being with you, touching you, loving you.”

Tears were coming down her cheeks, “When Sam told me that you didn’t have sex with me to break the curse, I figured it was because I repulsed you. That you couldn’t be attracted to someone as damaged as I am.”

“Sweetheart, there is nothing about you that is repulsive or damaged. You are all that is good in this fucked up world. If I make love to you it won’t be when you are hexed and won’t remember it. I love you too much to take an easy way to get into your pants. I want to earn that honor to love you.”

He stared down at her as she searched his eyes, “You earned that honor the moment you swooped in and saved me from a pack of wolves. I’m yours.”

That was all he needed to hear before picking her up and taking her to his room. For the rest of the night, he spent showing her how much he loved her.

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#spnchristmasbingo

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[fanfic-corner]

do you have any destiel recs where cas being gay/only into men is a part of the story. It doesn’t have to be centered around that but still significant

hi anon!! I do have some gay Cas fics for you, but not too many, unfortunately! If anyone else has any recs they can share to help us out and make the list a bit longer, that would be fantastic!

Gay Cas Fics

Hell is a Place on Earth by pollutedstar (1.6k)

Mary knows logically that demons and angels are the polar opposites of each other, but she still finds herself startled that lights don’t flicker every time Castiel enters a room. She looks up, her eyes blurry from straining to read her husband’s writing in the dim light of a lamp. The angel stands silently, tilting his head, and she feels guilty for telling Dean angels watched over him. The pressure of those eyes are not for a child to bear.

Walk Through Fire For You by purple_charlie (2.3k)

Boyfriend.

The word still feels foreign in Dean’s mouth, still brings back echoes of John Winchester’s thinly-veiled (if even that) homophobia. "Man up, don’t be a sissy, I didn’t raise a fairy". It’s a swollen blister in the back of Dean’s mind, throbbing with pain whenever a stranger’s eyes linger too long on Cas’ hand in his, whenever a waitress double-takes at how close they sit in diner booths.

But here, dirty dancing with Cas in a warehouse full of other queer folks, Dean wants to shout from the rooftops- I’m Dean Winchester, I drive the baddest car in town, I lift heavy things for a living, and this is my boyfriend.

Cuffed to an Angel by mattzerella_sticks (72k)

Dean Winchester has a lot going for him: he's beloved by his students, he's finished writing his first book, and he's living comfortably in New York City. The only problem is... he's single. That wouldn't bother him much if his family wouldn't be visiting for the holidays. With cuffing season over, Dean has to face his family alone... or will he?

Castiel DiAngelo is a simple detective who hasn't really celebrated Christmas in over 9 years, holidays and family being a sore spot for him. But after taking Dean up on an offer, he finds that you can't really avoid the holidays.

Will these two be able to pull off a seminal holiday trope? Or will certain developments get in the way...

Four Letter Word for Intercourse by bendingsignpost (194k)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

I hope you enjoy them, anon, and I'm sorry I only have these four for you!! If anyone else has any gay Cas fics that they'd like to share, please send me them and I'll add them to the list :)

#destiel #supernatural #spn #lina lore #fic recs #castiel #gay castiel #ao3 #ask #anon

[dcforts]

[week #7: long summer nights]

this is the last of a three part beach holiday fic (tfw + wayward sisters) part one (#5 "holidays" 3k) part two (#6 "water guns" 2.8k) part three (3k)

It was four a.m. and Dean was awake. He let out a frustrated sigh and rolled on his back.

It was Cas’ fault. He wouldn’t be in this situation if the afternoon before he hadn’t come standing by Dean’s chair and asked for their hotel key card, saying he needed to get back to watch a show he always watched at six on Saturdays.

“Are you being serious right now?” Dean had asked, his sunglasses sliding down his nose.

Cas had shrugged and held out his hand.

And to be fair, Dean didn’t have to go with him, but it was hot, and he still felt a little tired from the early morning and the water fight, so he thought it could be nice to get cleaned up and take a walk in the little town before dinner.

And it was a good plan, only he’d made the mistake of laying down on the bed, start the A/C and turn on the news, while Cas took his time in the shower.

He was not sure what did it, if the monotone cadence of the anchor, the white noise coming from the bathroom, the faint buzzing of the A/C system, the otherwise stillness around him, but he’d stood no chance.

He’d fallen asleep and woken up four hours later with his face plastered to the mattress, his mouth open and a wet stain on his bedsheet.

So, of course now it was four a.m and he was awake.

He glanced at the other bed and found it empty and pristine as usual, so he grabbed his phone and sent, where are u?

That’s how he found himself walking towards the beach, passing small groups of people that were just turning in from the night out and shivering against the night breeze.

There was a little red boat upside down near the spot where they had planted their beach umbrellas in the past few days. It was easy to spot and even easier to spot Cas, standing next to it, looking out at the sea.

He turned to look over his shoulder before Dean even stepped onto the sand.

“What is it?”

“Can’t sleep,” said Dean, huffing. The sky was pitch black, no moon in sight, and too many town lights to allow the stars to show themselves and yet, with the smell of the sea and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore, Dean started to feel better about being out at this hour.

He kicked off his flip flops and laid down the towel he'd brought. Cas watched him do it, watched him sit down, leaving enough space for someone else to sit. Dean looked up at him, "You need an invitation?"

Cas shifted on the spot.

“I can’t stay,” he said mysteriously, “I have business to attend to.”

“What - What business?”

Cas didn’t answer, in his infuriatingly fashion. He thought about something for a long moment and then seemed to come to a decision. “You can come if you want.”

So Dean got up again, puzzled, and trailed after him down empty and quiet little streets. He adjusted his folded towel under his arm.

“Care to fill me in before we reach whatever destination you have in mind?”

Cas stopped short at an intersection and paid him no mind. He seemed to study the face of the buildings around them and then started walking again. “Cas, seriously?”

His eyes still resolutely ahead of him, Cas sighed, “Don’t overreact,” he said, which of course made ten thousand alarms go off in Dean’s mind, but before he could say anything, he added, “I’m here to see a witch.”

Dean almost tripped over himself. “Y- what? Wait, what?” he grabbed Cas’ arm to finally stop him and face him. This wasn’t funny anymore.

Cas seemed annoyed but resigned. He clearly wished Dean wasn’t there and regretted telling him that he could join him.

“I asked you not to overreact,” he said, “During my nights out, I noticed some carvings and symbols around the town. They’re benign,” he highlighted, “protective symbols, but they can only be the work of a witch. More than one, in my opinion.”

Dean was stunned, “And you didn’t think of sharing that information? You know, with your hunter friends?”

“There was no need to get you involved.”

Dean opened his mouth to object, but Cas was quicker to add, “I know these carvings. I’ve encountered them before. Trust me, they’re not dangerous.”

That wasn’t helping. Of course he trusted him, only Dean would feel better if between the two of them they had a blade, a gun, a sharp stick at least, anything more than just a beach towel and a hotel key card, “So, what’s your plan?”

A little wrinkle appeared in between Cas’ eyebrows. "There’s no plan. I only mean to talk to them. These spells need to be renewed every couple of days. Last night I kept watch, but no one came; I only assume they will show themselves now.”

"And you assumed right,” came a voice from behind them.

Dean’s blood froze in his veins. They had no idea about what they were dealing with, no way to contact the others, and what was worse, he was in his damn flip flops. He could die in his damn flip flops.

When he turned around, there was a young woman standing a few feet from them. She held herself tall and her expression was guarded, but she was wearing a summer flowy dress and beside her stood a little girl with big curious eyes. Together they didn't exactly seem threatening, wearing what looked like handmade bead jewellery, but Dean knew better than to judge a witch by her age and appearance.

“Hello,” said Cas, calmly. He tried to take a step towards them but the woman instinctively raised an arm as if to shield the little girl, so Cas stopped walking and held his hands up, “We were just admiring your work.”

“Thank you,” she said, but did not sound reassured, “We know you’re hunters. We’ve been watching you since you arrived, in your cars full of weapons.”

“We are what you say, but we are not here on business,” said Cas, and Dean noticed that he also moved slightly to partially cover him from view, to protect him like the woman had done with the girl. He told himself it was just accidental mirroring, “I’m Castiel. This is Dean.”

“There’s nothing here for you,” the woman said, “We haven’t had any trouble in a hundred and twenty years.”

“You and your family keep this town safe." The woman nodded. “We are not looking for trouble. As you can see, we are here on vacation.”

He gave her a little smile, gesturing towards their swim trunks and bare legs.

"We know. We've observed this as well and we judged you not a threat. Then why did you seek us?"

"I only wanted to offer my knowledge to you. I am an angel. I can teach you carvings and sigils that will make your shields stronger, permanent."

The woman's eyes widened in surprise and her lips twiched in disbelief and Dean was pretty sure the same feelings could be read on his face. After a moment she said, “I don’t know you. Why would I trust you?” which was exactly what Dean would have asked.

“You don’t have to. I have written them down. I will give them to you, and you can do with them as you please,” he said, fishing out of his pocket a folded piece of paper and holding it up. "Your magic is strong, but it needs constant tending: your family can't leave this place or the magic will die. I only want to provide an alternative. You may not feel constrained by it, but maybe -" he paused and Dean could not see his face from where he was, but the witch's eyes flickered towards the little girl by her side, " - someone else one day may."

She studied him for a long moment. When she let out a breath, her shoulders came down and Dean realized that up until that moment she'd been tense like a string. She'd been scared of them. Dean let himself finally relax.

“And you would offer your knowledge and expect nothing in return?” she asked.

Cas only shrugged.

“He likes to help,” interjected Dean in a fake annoyed tone. “It’s his thing,” he added, and when Cas threw him a look from over his shoulder, just to make sure he knew he was still pissed at him, Dean added, “It's a pain in the ass sometimes, actually.”

At his words, the little girl let out a giggle that broke the silence that followed and dissolved the last of the tension that was still in the air.

The witch’s features softened. She walked towards them and took the piece of paper Cas was offering her, keeping an eye on them as she unfolded it and briefly studied it.

From where he was, Dean saw drawings of intricate patterns and what he could only assume were Enochian spells.

“Thank you,” the witch said, folding it once more. Then she gestured for the little girl to step forward. “I’m Alinor,” she said, “And this is my daughter, Camille.”

The little girl hurried to take her mother’s hand.

“Hello,” said Cas and Dean gave a little wave.

She smiled shyly at Cas, “Are you really an angel?”

He nodded and she smiled brighter, “I have a book about you.”

-

Dean waited until they were on their way back to the hotel, with Alinor and Camille far behind them, to finally snap. He had really behaved himself, waited patiently through the cute meet and greet Cas had with his little fan and even struck a conversation with Alinor about holidays and the local delicacies. It hadn’t even been that bad, but still, in the back of his head he kept making a list with all the things he needed to bark at Cas.

Now, as he stomped next to him under a sky that was already clearing up, Dean didn’t even know where to start.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he settled with in the end.

Cas took a deep breath, as if he'd known it was only a matter of time before Dean spoke, “Dean, there was no need -”

“What if they were dangerous, what if they put a spell on you? Kidnapped you, bloody killed you!” he whispered furiously, trying to contain the hot anger that wanted him to shout - not ideal at dawn, in the streets of a little town.

Cas kept his tone calm, and that only exasperated Dean further, “I knew that you would tell Sam, and Sam would tell Eileen and it would eventually have spread. I didn’t want to ruin the holiday or cause unnecessary alarm. Perhaps even scare the witches in doing something to protect their town.”

“Alright, I get it,” Dean said, grabbing his arm to make him stop and face him. “I get it,” he hissed, forcing him to look at him in the eyes, “But I'm not talking about the others, am I? You don’t wanna tell them? Fine, I can do that. But you should have told me. This is about me and you, do you understand?” he exhaled, almost expecting to see smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I need to know what’s going on, even when you think it’s nothing,” he said gesturing between the two of them, “Cause me and you, that's different, yeah?”

Cas didn't reply for a long moment. So long actually that Dean started feeling uncomfortable under his gaze and tried to replay what he’d said in his head. Did he say something weird?

“It is,” Cas said in the end, the barest note of wonder in his voice, like he never expected to hear Dean say it.

“Cool,” Dean cleared his throat, wondering where the hell his anger had gone all of the sudden, “Glad that’s settled,” he said dumbly, thankful for the moment to be finally broken and still not sure about what had just happened. He knew there were other things he wanted to yell at him about, and wanted Cas to promise him or something, but they’d just flown right out of his head and he couldn’t for the life of him remember even just one, so he started walking again.

“It was nice anyway. What you did,” he conceded after a few steps, not without a hint of annoyance for admitting it, “Family business can be a bitch. I should know.”

Cas didn’t say anything, but when Dean stole a glance his way, he had his lips stretched in a little smile.

"Next time though, I'll let you help only one drunk get home safe or whatever, you choose, but then we spend the rest of the time just stargazing or something. I work enough during the day, you know?"

"Sounds good," said Cas, and Dean didn't have to look this time to know the little smile was still there.

They walked in silence the rest of the way.

When they arrived back to the hotel, it was just past seven, and that meant they had started serving breakfast, which was perfect for Dean.

His phone buzzed as he took a seat on the empty terrace. It was a text from Sam.

hey, you up?

yeah, im down at breakfast

“I thought you were joking. Is this your second plate?” was the first thing Sam said when he saw him, “It’s not even seven thirty.”

“Haven’t slept. Don’t ask.”

“Alright,” he said, taking the seat across from him with an amused smile.

“So, what’s up?”

Sam’s face changed at once. He looked troubled, the familiar spiral of worry making its appearance on his forehead as he took a sip from his coffee mug.

“Dean, are you – Look, I wanted to talk to you. I- I’m sorry about what I told you before leaving. I shouldn’t have put that on you. I thought it was good news, I thought it would make you happy, but – I should have known better. Eileen made me think that -”

Dean raised a hand and interrupted him, “Whoa, Sam. You got nothing to be sorry for.”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Yeah, well, apparently, you’ve been! And I didn’t even -”

“Sam,” he interrupted again, “I’m okay. Really.”

Sam studied his face for a moment. He took another sip of his coffee.

“And what do you -? I mean, have you thought about it?”

Dean let go of his fork, wiped his mouth and then said, “Yeah, I did. And I think I need to stay where I am right now.”

It felt so much easier this time around that he almost couldn’t believe how much time he spent freaking out over such a simple answer. Sam’s face crumpled up.

“Don’t – don’t make that face. It’s just that now I don’t want things to change. I’m good where I am. You – you are in a different place. And it’s fine. I just need to change at my own pace.”

“That’s not how I wanted this to go.”

“I know. And it’s gonna be weird, I know,” he sighed. Sam was still his little brother, and Dean was still the one who had to squash all his fears, even if he had those very same fears knocking on his brain. “But – this is how I need it to go.”

“I get it," he said and he tried a smile. He had his Sad Puppy Eyes down to a manageable three out of ten, “It could take a while anyway. Things could change.”

Dean huffed a laugh. It felt nice to know that Sam had his very same thoughts. He just nodded and resumed his eating.

“I’m very happy for you man,” he said, feeling much lighter. He didn’t even know that whole story had still been weighing on him, “I truly am.”

“I know.”

They smiled at each other for a moment. Then Sam asked, "You'll be okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said almost on reflex and then his eyes caught Cas coming in the breakfast hall and walking to the buffet table. He watched him as he grabbed a plate from one pile, "Yeah, I'll be okay, Sammy."

Sam followed his gaze and then brought it back on Dean, "So - why haven't you slept?”

Dean groaned, “I was around with Cas. Jesus, you don't wanna know. He's - unbelievable. Like, I'm pretty sure that at night he’s got this whole other life we don’t know about,” he said, making Sam snort.

Cas approached their table with his plate holding a single toast with peanut butter and jelly on top. He sat down, with a smile on his face that was like a deceitful image of innocence, “Morning, Sam.”

Dean moved his dirty stuff to make space for him, “Where did you go? I turned one second and you disappeared.”

“I was saying goodbye to Lindsay.”

“Who the hell is Lindsay?”

“The woman who works the night shift at the reception,” he said, like it was obvious.

Dean glanced at Sam who was looking between them trying to hold in a laugh, “See what I mean?”

“Yeah, I see,” Sam said, but his tone was thoughtful rather than playful. He pressed his lips together, and patted Dean's shoulder as he stood up with his mug, “I see," he repeated somewhat solemnly.

Dean was confused. He followed Sam's back as he went to get his coffee refill and not for the first time in the past three hours he asked himself if he’d said something weird.

“Everything's alright?” Cas’ voice called him back to the table.

Dean met his eyes, then returned his gaze on Sam, who was watching them from the distance, and then back on Cas’ expectant face.

He decided to stop asking himself questions.

“Yeah. Everything is alright.”

this was written for last year's event #deancassummerprompts21 organized by the lovely now deactivated bend-me-shape-me

there is a sequel! it takes place in the same universe many years after this (no real references to the holiday except for a little mention) but if you'd like to know what happens to dean and cas in the future there's your answer. <3 thank you for making it this far!

#deancas #destiel #deancas ficlet #destiel ficlet #deancassummerprompts21 #destiel fanfic #took me a whole year yes #publishing it in part cause im so tired of rereading it #i actually miss writing this kind of unpretentious little fics #just two guys going around at night

[motherofdragonflies]

A Very Prompty Christmas Day 6: Candy Canes

“So, uh…”

“Yes, Samuel?” Dean asked, all his focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now: this was the most precarious part of the process. One wrong move, one mis-timed breath, and it would all be over.

“I’ve been checking the newspapers, looking for anything unusual…”

“Uh huh,”  Dean said absently, holding his breath as his hands put the last two components into place. 

“...that might be related to the pagan origins of the holidays, and I think I–Dean? Are you listening?”

Dean slowly withdrew his hands. His eyes widened with amazement as the structure remained standing: he had done it. It had taken him three hours, but he had finally done it.

“DEAN!”

The sound of Sam’s voice made Dean jump, and one of hands jerked out, knocking the house of cards that he had so painstakingly built and sending the cards flying all over the map table.

 “What, Sam?” Dean snapped, rounding on his brother. “I was in the middle of something.”

Sam huffed and gave Dean bitchface number three–no, six. There was definitely some disappointment in there, that was definitely six.

“I think I found a case,” he said snippily.

“Yeah? You got a whole Bunker full o’ hunters, why you tellin’ me?” Dean grumbled. He slowly started gathering up the scattered cards, resigning himself to starting all over again.

“Because I thought we could work this one together,” Sam said, and there was a thread of something in his voice that made Dean look up. The bitchface had been replaced by Sam’s serious hunter face, but underneath was…was that hope? Dean nodded slowly and put down the cards he’d picked up, giving Sam his full attention, finally understanding what was going on and kicking himself for not figuring it out sooner.

They hadn’t had a lot of brotherly bonding time lately, he and Sam. After Cas…and Jack and God and saving the world yet again, Dean had withdrawn, taking solace in Miracle and whatever bottle of alcohol he could find. He couldn’t be around the other hunters, who were almost giddy with relief that it was finally over. He couldn’t be around Sam, who was radiating so much love and adoration for Eileen that it hurt to look at him. 

So he’d withdrawn, mourning in private, thinking bitterly horrible thoughts about why Sam got  to have a happy ending while Dean…about why everyone was so happy with Dean almost wished that the world had ended so he didn’t have to feel like this ever again.

When the booze ran out and when Miracle started to protest being locked up for hours on end, Dean had ventured out of his room, and day by day things had started the slow, painful journey back to whatever constituted ‘normal’ for the Winchesters. But the estrangement from Sam had remained, a gap that Dean couldn’t bring himself to close. 

But, once again, Dean was forcibly reminded that while Sam may have Eileen by his side, while he hadn’t had to watch Cas sacrifice himself, Sam was still hurting. He’d lost a son, and a friend, and for all intents and purposes, a brother, and the last one was all Dean’s fault. Now here was Sam, extending an olive branch in the shape of a case, hoping that with it he could get his brother back.

“Okay. What’s the case?” he asked, guilt washing over him as Sam’s eyes lit up and he eagerly slid into the chair across from Dean.

“All right. So, you remember when we worked that case with the pagan gods of the winter solstice?”

“I remember,” Dean growled.

“Okay, well, since then, I started keeping an eye on the papers and on police reports around Christmas time, in case something like that happens again, and I think I found something.”  Sam set his laptop on the table and opened it up, tapping out his password before spinning the device so Dean could see the screen. 

Squinting, Deen peered at the screen. “What am I looking at?” he asked.

“Police reports from Vigo County, Indiana,” Sam said. “There have been multiple reports of children being attacked in their homes by a strange man wearing fur.”

Dean looked up at Sam. “And?”

Sam leaned forward and tapped on the mousepad. Another window came up, this one a website that had a picture of a large man, his face painted black, wrapped in dirty pelts, a long, thin stick in his hand. 

“Belsnickel,” Sam pronounced. “He originated in a region of Germany as a kind of companion to St. Nicholas. According to folklore, he shows up a week or two before Christmas to find out which children had been naughty.” Sam tapped again, and a second image popped up, this one a scan of an old woodcut, showing a large figure in a fur coat in front  of a house, two small figures—children, Dean guessed—standing in the open door. The fur-coated figure, Belsnickel, had one hand extended in front of him, with something that looked like lots of small circles  drawn in the space under Belsnickel’s hand and the ground, as if he’d dropped them. The long switch was raised threateningly above his head in his other hand. 

“He appears after dark, and asks children questions or demands that they sing him a song in exchange for candies and cakes,” Sam continued. “If he’s satisfied with their answers, he allows the children to take the treats, but if they can’t answer or if he thinks they’re too greedy when they go for the candy, they get swatted with his switch.”

Another tap on the computer, and the police reports were back on the screen.

“Last night, police were called to the house of William and Miriam Lange after they heard their seven year old son Jason screaming at the front door of their house and found him covered in long, thin cuts. Jason said that a man in a furry coat with a scary mask had asked him if he had been a good boy, and then hit him with a long stick. There are three other almost identical attacks. All from families with Germanic backgrounds.”

“Okay, but what makes you think it’s a case?” Dean asked. “Maybe it’s just some guy off his meds running around attacking kids.”

“The Langes’ had a camera on their front door,” Sam said. “So did the Harlings. Police downloaded the footage. Here.”

A few more taps, and a video started playing. The image was dark, then a light came on from the top of the frame as a steel security door opened, a small hand and pajama clad arm holding it open. There was no-one else in the frame, the porch was empty.

What? 

The voice was young, and confused.

I don’t know any songs, I—

The arm jerked, and the hand suddenly disappeared from frame but the door remained open as the sounds of a child screaming in pain and crying out for his parents poured out of the speakers of Sam’s computer. 

Sam paused the video, scrubbing backwards and then pointed at the screen. “There. Do you see?”

On the screen, the arm of Jason’s pajama was split, a long cut across his forearm, blood clearly welling in the newly created gap.

Dean sat back and blew out a long breath. “Okay. Evil Santa Claus it is,” he said. “I’ll go load up the car.”

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

Sam had hacked into…something on the drive to Terre Haute, Dean didn’t really want to know, and had come up with a shortlist of families with young children in the area that had German backgrounds. They pulled up in front of the house of the first family on the list. The Horns had two kids, six year old twins Matthew and Matilda, and Matthew already had a reputation: police had been called to the Horn’s house on numerous occasions following complaints from neighbors about Matthew pulling up plants, breaking windows, terrorizing their pets. 

“This kid’s definitely on the naughty list,” Dean said. “Sure we shouldn’t just let his Bees-knees—”

“Belsnickel,” Sam corrected.

“---do his thing?”

“Dean,” Sam huffed, and Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “You got the jerky?”

Sam handed over the bag, and they settled in to watch the house. It was a nice looking house, Dean thought. The Horns had decorated for Christmas, with twinkling lights along the roof and the porch railings, and an honor guard of giant red and white striped candy canes lining the path from the front steps to the street. 

Dean regarded the sentinel of candy canes warily. When he’d stumbled into the kitchen that morning, there was a fifth door open on the advent calendar, and a tiny version of a red and white striped candy cane was inside. Based on the past couple of days, Dean fully expected the candy canes to come to life and beat the crap out of him, or something equally horrific. Whatever happened, the presence of nearly a dozen of the giant plastic canes was not a good sign. 

“Dean.”

Sam nudged him as the front porch light suddenly came on and the front door opened. Dean hadn’t seen anyone walk up the path, and the porch was empty. 

“Let’s go,” Dean said, climbing out of the car and hearing Sam do the same on the other side, the two of them hurrying up the path under the arch of the candy canes.

A high-pitched scream had them breaking into a run. Curled up in a ball on the front porch, surrounded by wrapped candies and tiny cakes was Matthew Horn, his body wracked with invisible blows that split his pajamas and his skin, while his twin stood in the doorway and screamed.

“Sam!” Dean yelled. 

“On it!” Sam called back. He leapt up onto the porch and scooped up Matthew, grunting as one of the blows meant for the boy landed across the back of his shoulders, and ran into the house, urging Matilda to get inside, slamming the door behind him. 

Outraged that he had been interrupted, Belsnickel shimmered into view, and that was Dean’s cue. 

Dean swung the iron rod that he was holding, cutting cleanly through Belsnickel’s ribs. The spirit disappeared, and Dean looked around, waiting for the spirit to reform.

He heard the whistle just as the switch landed on his shoulders, and even though the layers of canvas and flannel and cotton Dean was wearing, that hurt. Dean spun to see Belsnickel standing behind him: a tall, solid looking man with long, matted hair, a mass of filthy pelts secured over his body with a wide belt and a long pink tongue that lolled out of a mouth filled with yellow teeth. One hand held a long, thin wooden stick.

“Sam!”

Dean jumped back, sucking in his stomach as the switch swung towards him again, the thin hazel rod whistling through the air, missing him by a hair’s breadth. He lunged forward with the iron rod, stumbling as the metal disrupted the spirit’s manifestation and he disappeared again.

The front door opened, and Sam appeared but before Dean could do more than open his mouth he went flying off the porch, an invisible blow sending him crashing into the line of glowing candy canes. He felt one of them smash under him as he landed heavily on the ground and groaned.

“Dean!” Sam called, panicked.

“I’m fine,” Dean called. “Where is he?”

“I don’t—Dean!”

Belsnickel suddenly manifested in front of Dean, looming over him, the switch raised high above his head. He glowered at Dean, his dark eyes burning holes in his face. 

“You’ve been  bad,” the spirit growled.

“Sam!” Dean yelled, crawling backwards, wincing as the sharp plastic of the broken candy canes cut into the palms of his hands. 

Belsnickel brought his arm down in a fast, sharp movement, and Dean flung his arms up to protect his face, but the blow never landed: in the gap between his forearms Dean watched as Belsnickel looked at his empty hand in confusion, and then turned to see Sam standing behind him, the switch in his hands.

“No!” the spirit cried, hand outstretched, reaching for the switch (or Sam, Dean wasn’t sure), Sam bent the switch in his hands, the wood bending before succumbing to the pressure and snapping in two.

The spirit screamed and disappeared in a cloud of ghostly particles, and Dean and Sam let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

“You okay?” Sam asked, hurrying forward to offer Dean a helping hand in getting to his feet.

“Yeah,” Dean groaned, brushing shards of plastic off his hands and hissing. “Fucking candy canes,” he groused. “I’m telling you, that advent calendar is cursed.”  He looked up at Sam. “Good call on the stick, by the way.”

Sam had theorized that the Belsnickel was a Tulpa, created by the strong belief that the children in the area had in his existence, fueled by the stories their parents had told them. Dean had hoped it was just a pissed off spirit who had chosen to manifest as Belsnickel to enact his revenge. Either way, they had decided that the rod that the spirit carried was probably important to it, and that destroying it would either destroy the creature or at least weaken it long enough for Dean to salt and burn him.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He looked over his shoulder at the Horns, who were gathered on the porch, Matthew gathered in his mother’s arms while Matilda hid behind her legs, and the twin’s father pointed a rifle at Sam and Dean.

Shoulders slumping, Sam looked back at Dean. “You want to explain this one?” he asked.

Dean sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled and started up the path towards the house. “But Sam? Next time you want to do some brotherly bonding? We’re going to a bar,” he told his brother.

“Fine,” Sam agreed.  

~

Come back tomorrow for Day Seven: Christmas Spirit!

Day One: Advent Calendar

Day Two: Tinsel

Day Three: Ribbon

Day Four: Shopping

Day Five: Ugly Sweater

#spnxmasprompts #destiel #deancas fic #fix it fic #case fic

[licieoic]

"Holiday Card from Cas and Dean" - Digital Oil Painting

I couldn't resist... Wishing you the happiest of holidays this winter!

Please see the pinned post at the top of my Tumblr for my links if you'd like to help support me in saving for a safe place to live!

#holiday card from cas and dean #supernatural #destiel #deancas #dean x castiel #dean winchester #castiel #jensen ackles #misha collins #digital oil painting #happy holidays #thank you all for your support #licieoic paints

[lunar-buds]

If Cas was in the holiday episode in season 15 he and Dean would’ve kissed and then the rest of the season would’ve been trying to get him out of the empty

#they celebrated EVERY holiday guys #including valentines day and christmas #u telling me dean wouldnt be cheesy and make cas a valentines day card #bc he absolutely did and if cas was there he wouldve given it to him #also mistletoe in their christmas decorations #dean and cas had made up at that point #they were already stealing time to be alone #ur telling me dean (on a high from the celebrations) WOULDNT go for a kiss??? #cowards. the writers are cowards #also them celebrating fathers day and jack makes a card with all of his dads (and eileen and rowena) on jt. cas and dean holding hands... #im gonna just write a fic where everything is the same except cas is there for mrs butters ep and then it completely fucks with chucks plan #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #castiel #supernatural #spn #jack kline

[sobsicles]

claire's not expecting them to be at the door. she blinks at the sight of four men all huddled on the stoop with flowers and what appears to be bags of food flowing from their arms. jack is peeking above a bouquet, beaming at her.

"who's at the door?!" jody calls from the kitchen, her voice muffled by the sound of grease popping and the clanking of pans and spatulas meeting over and over.

"god," claire calls back, because she likes to think she's funny.

there's a beat of silence, and then jody's sticking her head out the kitchen. the moment she sees them, she breaks out into a grin and saunters over, shoving the spatula in claire's hand as she chatters away.

"what's going on out there?" donna asks as claire escapes back to the kitchen to poke at food jody is apparently willing to burn just because the winchesters decided to show their faces today of all days.

"judgement day," claire says dryly.

donna shares a look with patience. "haven't we dealt with that already a few times?"

"only by association," claire admits, "but i wouldn't put it past them to bring it along with 'em now. the boys are here."

"oh, isn't that nice?" donna chirps, already popping up from her chair. "i didn't know they were stopping by today."

"wonder how sam's doing," patience agrees, wandering out the kitchen right along with donna. claire can hear everyone cracking up and talking in the living room.

trust the winchesters to shake things up just by showing up. can't have one goddamn day, can they? well, that's not true. in their case, as far as claire is concerned, they're shitty for showing up and shitty for not. someone has to knock 'em all down a peg or two, so she might as well be the one.

"what did that chicken ever do to you?" kaia asks teasingly as she sidles into the kitchen and stops by the stove, hip-checking claire out of the way to take over.

"the boys are here," claire informs her.

kaia raises her eyebrows. "like, the boys as in the winchesters, or is this a milkshake pun?"

"i can only be so gay, sweetheart," claire says, shooting her a flat look.

"raise the bar a little. could be gayer. you can always be gayer," kaia teases, reaching out to sneak her hand around claire's hip, her eyes bright with amusement.

"you know what? you're right," claire agrees and immediately tries to cop a feel while kaia laughs and dances out of range.

jack appears in the doorway. "hello," he says, whispering for some reason. "claire, i need your help."

"no," claire says, not even glancing at him. she continues to try and put her hand up kaia's shirt, just to see her laugh.

"can i borrow twenty dollars?" jack asks.

"no. aren't you god?"

"yes, but i don't get paid to be."

"well, sucks for you. borrow money from cas," claire mutters, settling in behind kaia as she focuses on the food on the stove, swatting lazily at claire's roaming hands.

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from sam."

"he'll just borrow money from dean."

"borrow from—wait, why does it matter if it's from dean? just borrow from him."

jack huffs. "i can't. i need the money for dean. i have a card, and i read online it's customary to give money with a card. also, will you sign it?"

"you got dean a card?" claire asks, craning her head around to stare at jack skeptically.

"yes."

"don't tell me it's for what i think it is."

"mother's day," jack confirms unironically.

claire wheezes out a laugh. "oh my god."

"there's a pen in the catty on the fridge," kaia says, clearly amused.

"yeah. yeah, this is—yeah." claire chokes on more laughter and stumbles towards the group of pens in the magnet container on the fridge. she waggles her fingers at jack, clearing her throat, lips twitching. "hand it over, beanstalk. you're a fucking genius."

"oh! thank you," jack declares cheerfully, passing over the card. "so, can i borrow twenty dollars?"

"hell no," claire says. she braces the card against the fridge and swallows down a laugh. sam has already signed it. this just gets better and better. happy mother's day, old man, aka the secondary source of my mommy and daddy issues. you're going for gold with this double-whammy, she writes.

"but i need it," jack insists, staring at her with wide eyes.

claire shrugs. "tough break, kid. what, cas doesn't give you an allowance? is it just me, or are dads getting stricter these days?"

"i didn't think about it in advance," jack admits sadly. "i want to do it right for the holiday. it's mother's day, claire."

"i'm well aware. sorry to break it to you, kid, but last I checked, your mom's as dead as mine," claire tells him, her voice flat. he frowns and she forces herself not to feel bad. everything that sucks for him sucked for her first, so her sympathy levels are a little drained. "father's day will roll around eventually, and you've got a long line of those, so wait your turn."

"i've already done something for my mother today," jack says slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. "i visited her in heaven."

claire snorts derisively and passes the card back over. "must be nice."

"it was," jack agrees, completely missing the point. "i really can't borrow twenty dollars? i'll pay you back."

"nah," claire says. "who cares anyway? wait, why is dean the mom?"

"well, castiel is my father."

"ah, so it's about them having the hots for each other, then? really, kid, you coulda just made dean your step-dad."

jack blinks. "they have the...hots for each other? you mean sex. they have sex?"

"you know what?" claire points at him with her free hand. "i'm not gonna burst your bubble on that one. you've got enough issues on your own without wondering if mommy and daddy still have a spark, so I'm gonna leave that alone. i've got five dollars. take it or leave it."

"deal," jack says immediately.

money is exchanged, and jack looks like he's on cloud nine. claire's just stoked to see the expression on dean's face when he gets the card. it's a homemade card and everything, nothing like the two claire, kaia, patience, and alex got for jody and donna.

claire helps kaia finish up the chicken, which promptly gets set aside to wait on the rest of the food in the oven. sam wanders in at some point to drop off the food they brought. dessert, by the looks of it. pies and cakes that go in the fridge. it's kind of them, but claire would shoot herself in the foot before she ever admits it.

she lets kaia tug her into the living room where everyone is already at, rolling her eyes at how cheered everyone seems just because the winchesters happened to grace their doorstep. really, they all suck.

but also—and claire will never admit this, not even to save her own life—it's nice to see 'em again. it's nice that they've come to celebrate the day in jody and donna's name, giving them flowers and such. it's nice that they hang around for a bit and don't bring the world crashing down on everyone for the duration of their stay.

and, well, it's nice to see cas, too.

he perches up next to the couch that claire is squeezed on with alex, donna, kaia, and jack. kaia is practically in her lap, but claire is secretly glad for the excuse. while everyone talks and has conversations across one another, cas focuses entirely on her.

another thing claire will never admit is how reluctantly pleased by that she is. it warms her. stupidly, it turns soft and gooey in her chest that he automatically gives her his undivided attention over everyone else, even jack. but, then again, it's not cas' day, so she doesn't have to look too close to that feeling. it's mother's day, so it's not about him.

when the food is ready, they reconvene in the kitchen, and that's when they crack out the cards and gifts. claire is practically vibrating with laughter before jack has even brought his card out. before that, though, she smiles softly and strokes kaia's thigh under the table as jody and donna read their cards and chuckle at the messages, their gazes warm and their smiles sweet. they look happy. they deserve to be.

"okay, last one," claire announces, grinning at jack. she's starting to think she likes this kid if he's an agent of chaos like this.

and okay, maybe she hates him a little in abstract, but in detail, she finds that she does actually like him. you kinda just wanna put him in your pocket without meaning to, she's learned. there's too much to explore with the whole psuedo sibling thing and parents that aren't parents, as well as parents that are but didn't choose to be, only he did choose one of them, and it wasn't her. it's complicated, but underneath it all, there's a vibrant love there that she can't look directly at. sometimes, she despises that she's included in it; yet, just the same, she's thankful that she is.

"oh hell," dean mutters, swinging his gaze between alex and patience. "one of you...ya know? did we miss something?"

claire snorts.

"what? no," alex replies, grimacing. "i have no idea what claire's talking about. claire, what the hell are you talking about?"

"jack?" claire prompts in a wheeze.

"here you go," jack chirps, holding out the card to dean, beaming. "happy mother's day."

the expression on dean's face is somehow even better than claire imagined. she howls with laughter while sam buries his face in his hands, his shoulders jerking. cas squints at jack, and jody's eyebrows fly up at the same exact time that donna grins.

"is this a joke?" dean sputters.

"no, no, nope," claire chokes out, nearly fucking crying with laughter. "happy mother's day, dean."

"you gotta take it, man," sam agrees, clearing his throat and biting back a smile as he bobs his head dutifully towards the card.

dean fixes sam with a flat look and snatches the card. "you're all so fucking—sam, you signed it?!"

"happy mother's day," sam says, his mouth pinched, visibly trying not to laugh.

"do you like it?" jack asks earnestly. "i made the card, sam signed it first, and claire provided the money."

"i—" dean stares down at the card, then heaves a sigh and looks up at jack. it's clear to him that—out of everyone—jack is clearly taking this very seriously. he offers him a weak smile, then swallows. "yeah, s'great, kid. thank you. sam, you are dead to me. claire, i will be spending this on something you hate. cas, this is somehow your fault."

"yup, sounds like a mother to me," jody declares, holding up her beer with a smile.

"welcome to the club," donna agrees, holding hers up as well. "everyone else annoys the shit out of you, but you love 'em anyway."

dean sighs and clinks his beer to theirs.

#sobs adventures in writing #happy mother's day to all the spn moms!!! #dreamhunter #destiel adjacent #sort of? #look i just wanted to write something cute okay let me have this lmao #sobs says things #claire bear #jack jack #dean bean #cas bby #jody mills #donna hanscum #kaia nieves #spn ladies #sammeh

[hells-plaid-angel]

Imagine if you will,  Jack’s first Father’s Day post-canon (but with the Good ™ ending.) 

Dean would spend the days leading up to it giving Jack the low down on what father’s day was and why it’s important, making sure Cas was out when he did it. He thought the grumpy bastard could do with a nice surprise every now and then. They’re trying to do holidays with the kid now that they’ve slipped into semi-retirement and the world isn’t constantly on the brink of ending. 

While Cas is out tending to the garden at the ass-crack of dawn, Dean hauls his ass out of bed, wakes the kid and they make all the typical crappy Father’s Day gifts. They make macaroni art and try their hand at painting family portraits because Cas likes the cheesy type of stuff that comes from the heart. While they’re at it they make sure to do up a card and a gift for Sam. They saw less and less of him these days. He and Eileen were busy hunting and working to create a hub for hunters at the old bunker, but Sam was still a parental figure to Jack, so it made sense. 

Once the day rolls around Dean wakes up to Jack standing at the foot of his bed, almost pulls a gun on him, has several concurrent heart attacks and puts his weapon away when he realised it was just the kid. Cas would make a passing comment on how he’d told Jack it was a bad idea, but Jack had seen a bunch of T.V. shows that said breakfast in bed was a must.

At first, Dean was confused because, ‘It’s a nice idea, kid but you know Cas doesn’t eat, right?’ And both Cas and Jack look at him like he’s sprouted a third-head. It’s not until Dean looks at the two mugs Jack’s set out that he puts two and two together. Cas has gotten into drinking coffee in the mornings, Dean had the feeling it’s just so the two of them have some time set aside together in the mornings before they break off to do their own thing. One of the mugs, is obviously Cas’ because it has milk. It’s your classic ‘world’s number 1 dad’ mug, which Dean thinks is fitting but beside it is another. It’s black coffee, Dean’s coffee. The mug’s a little silly, it’s got a picture of Baby Yoda drinking from a mug and the caption like ‘Yoda Best Bonus Dad’. 

Dean’s brain breaks. For a solid ten minutes he doesn’t move because it’s never really hit him that he’s also Jack’s dad. After finishing breakfast he makes some excuse about needing to work on Baby, just to go outside and sit in the Impala for a  half-hour to continue his existential crisis until Cas inevitably comes out to get him. 

Cas knows Dean, he’s good at reading when he needs his time outs and when he’s upset but sometimes the reasons why don’t click well with him so he probably comes out and says something that both makes Dean laugh and makes his internal crisis so much worse like, ��Next year you can take mother’s day if that makes you more comfortable’. 

#Destiel #dean whinchester #deancas #destiel meta #spn #supernatural #supernatural meta #flash fiction #destiel fic #dean studies #Jack Kline #cas #castiel #dean and cas #Dean was always bi #headcanon #destiel headcanon

[deancaskiss]

For Day 12 of @drgarth and @starrynightdeancas (that’s me) B&B’s Holiday Advent Calendar Event

Make Christmas Cards // Glitter // “With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings”

For @floral-cas and @mjulmjul Winternatural Celebration, prompt: Silver

For @acklesology Winter Celebration, prompt: Favorite Relationship / Red + Green

Blinking his eyes open, Dean reached out to pull Cas closer, but his hand found an empty bed and cold sheets. That wasn’t right. He’d definitely gone to sleep curled up around Cas’ warmth, hadn’t he?

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Dean pushed himself out of bed and made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Cas often would slip out of bed when he couldn’t sleep and Dean would find him curled up asleep in the reading nook in the kitchen with a book on his chest. Hmmm, maybe he could get a glass of orange juice while he was in the kitchen. Yeah. That sounded good right now.

But as Dean stepped into the kitchen, all thoughts of orange juice and sleeping angels slipped from his mind. Eyes cataloging the explosion of glitter and sequins, Dean took one look at his husband and burst out laughing. “Oh sweetheart, what on earth are you doing?” Dean asked, leaning on the doorframe as the laughter bubbled up until he could barely breathe from giggling.

Red and green glitter was sparkling in Cas’ hair as if the angel had dumped the entire tubes onto his head. Silver and gold sequins were dotted over his cheeks and across his nose, and little clumps of silver gems were sticking to Cas’ eyelashes. A red marker trail snaked down Cas’ neck, and little stickers of snowmen and reindeer were stuck to Cas’ hands.

The angel was a complete mess, and yet he’d never looked cuter in his entire life.

“I was trying to make Christmas cards,” Cas pouted, shaking his head slightly. Glitter cascaded down his forehead at the movement, and Cas scrunched his face up at the sensation. “But I think I fell asleep on the table.”

Dean’s heart suddenly ached in his chest. God. Could his husband get any cuter?

Still smiling and laughing softly, Dean made his way across the kitchen and he gently ran his hands through Cas’ hair. A shower of glitter fell from Cas’ hair and landed on the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” Dean murmured, trailing his fingers across Cas’ cheek and brushing some of the silver and gold sequins from his face. “Although, I gotta admit, you look adorable right now.”

Cas’ sleepy eyes squinted at Dean in betrayal, but a second later Cas was smiling at him tiredly; fingers lingering against Dean’s forearm as he leaned closer. “M’ sorry I made a mess.”

God. Yep. Cas was absolutely precious.

Tipping Cas’ head back slightly, Dean tilted his head down and pressed their lips together in a kiss, ever-so-soft and slow. When he pulled back, Cas was grinning; his hand coming up to settle on Dean’s cheek and his thumb grazing against Dean’s lower lip.

“You’re covered in glitter now, too,” Cas murmured, eyes sparkling brightly in the dim light of the kitchen.

Laughing quietly, Dean kissed the tip of Cas’ finger. “Guess we’ll both need to get cleaned up, huh?” Guiding Cas up from his seat, Dean looked down at the cards he had been working on. “Let’s get some sleep and we can make these together in the morning, yeah?”

Yawning, Cas nodded and tucked his head into the crook of Dean’s neck. “I’d like that very much.”

Just as Dean was about to steer Cas towards the bathroom, he caught sight of the last card Cas had been working on. “With those holiday greetings and gay happy meetings,” Dean said out loud, tracing his fingers over the song lyrics on the front of the card. “Gay happy meetings. I think that sums us up pretty nicely.”

That made Cas laugh, his nose tickling along Dean’s throat. “Gay as in happy, Dean.”

“Mmmm,” Dean hummed. “Or gay as in very much in love with you,” Dean replied, settling his hand on the small of Cas’ back as he walked them out of the kitchen. They could clean up the mess tomorrow. Besides, right now, all Dean wanted to do was take his gay happy angel to bed and snuggle with him until they both fell asleep.

#b&badventcalendar #winternaturalcelebration #acklesology500 #destiel #spn #supernatural #becauseofthebowties #creativecaviar #deanncastiel #fromperdition #userdorksinlove #userbon #alivedean #archervale #emeraldcas #gardenercas #bluefirecas #scottstiles #bex writing

[muffinbeliever]

From the Winchesters

Dean and the reader have fun making Christmas cards to send out to their hunter friends.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1057

Warnings: just some good ol’ fashioned fluff

Square Filled: Sending Holiday Cards @spnchristmasbingo

A/N: i was bedridden for a couple of days but today i was able to knock out this little piece of writing. i really wanted to finish my christmas bingo, and i am determined, but it will mean that my stories will not be as long as they normally are. they'll probably be around 1k words, maybe 2k max. i do sincerely apologize for the inconvenience but hopefully with these shorter one shots i'll be able to get more out

Masterlist | SPN Christmas Bingo 2021 Masterlist

“Dean, we know like five people, and one of them is literally the King of Hell. Why are we sending them Christmas cards?” You asked, bewildered by your boyfriend’s weird antics. The two of you were currently sitting in Bobby’s living room, uploading an obscene number of photos from your phone onto Sam’s laptop. 

“Because, sweetheart. First of all, we have all these pictures that need to be shared with the world. And second, it’s the first Christmas where we all agreed to take a break from hunting and enjoy the holidays. So we’re doing it apple-pie style: Christmas cards, boozy eggnog, a tree, you know… the works!” He exclaimed, and you stared at him.

“We already do two out of three of those things every year anyway. What’s your point?” you asked, confused and he rolled his green eyes. 

“My point is that we have these amazing pictures of Cas in ugly Christmas sweaters that no one has seen except for us, and I think that is a Christmas crime!” He said dramatically, pulling up a photo of your angel friend looking disgruntled in a green sweater with Jesus knitted on with a party hat and a shirt that said ‘Birthday Boy’. 

“Cas will kill us if we send that out,” you said, wanting to defend the helpless angel, but your laughter betrayed you. 

“See?” Dean said knowingly. 

“Alright, alright,” you caved. “But only if we put funny pictures of all of us. I don’t wanna single him out like that. Then that’s just mean.” He nodded his head in agreement. 

The next hour was spent rifling through the collection of photos, laughter filling the room as both of you pointed out funny pictures. Eventually, you had settled on a silly picture of each of you to put on the card. 

Sam’s was a picture that Dean had taken years before, the younger Winchester brother passed out  on a motel room floor next to the Christmas tree after a long night of eggnog and Christmas movies. His mouth was wide open as he was caught mid-snore, his long hair covering half of his face. 

Your photo was taken last year, when you had gotten sick while hunting a witch. You had been sniffling and sneezing all day, resulting in a very red nose. As a joke, the boys had gotten you reindeer antlers and called you Rudolph for the whole day. You were laying in bed, a pout on your lips, as you stared grumpily into the camera.

Your favorite picture, though, was Dean’s. It was taken several years ago, right after a werewolf hunt. Even though it was only Christmas Eve, the three of you decided you had earned the right to exchange gifts early. You had bought Dean a pair of boxers covered in lots of little Dean faces wearing Santa hats. Honestly, you had thought he would hate it, so you also bought him a bottle of his favorite whiskey, but much to your surprise, Dean had loved the present, immediately rushing to the bathroom to change. He reentered the room grinning widely donning only the boxers and had sprayed shaving cream on his face as a faux Santa beard. You had forgotten this picture had existed until now. 

Dean had found a website that provided countless holiday card templates to play around with. And play around with them, you did. That was how Sam found you two: huddled over his computer, giggling like children. He sighed.

“If you’re watching porn on my computer again, I’m gonna kill you,” he threatened. You looked up at him quizzically. 

“Two things, Samuel. Number one, ew why would we watch porn together?” You asked, wrinkling your nose in disgust. “And number two, you gotta look at this.” You turned the computer around so Sam could see the work in progress.

“Classic Rudolph,” he snickered, and Dean smirked. 

“Wha— no! Hey! At least I’m not the one passed out on the floor like some seventeen year old girl at a frat party,” you said defensively. 

“Maybe not, but you were the one passed out on the floor at Jody’s last week,” Sam shot back, and a blush rose in your cheeks. 

“You were the dumbasses that spiked my drink! You know I’m terrible at handling my liquor,” you accused the brothers, shooting your boyfriend a glare when he had the audacity to laugh. 

“Sorry, sweetheart. You make it too easy sometimes,” Dean said with a shrug, kissing you on the cheek when you pouted. 

“Save it for the bedroom,” Sam said, shoving himself onto the couch. He planted his body firmly between the two of you. Grabbing the laptop from your hands, he began to click away at the screen, adding on the finishing touches. 

“So bossy,” you whispered across the couch to Dean. He chuckled.

“Us Winchester men are known for our dominance,” he said proudly, puffing out his chest. 

“Trust me, I know,” you stated with a wink. 

“Oh my god! I’m right here!” Sam cried out, earning a laugh from you and Dean. 

“You’re the one who put yourself there, Sammy,” Dean pointed out, and you nodded in agreement. 

“I— ugh. Whatever, here,” Sam said, shoving the laptop back to you before getting off the couch. 

“Where ya going Sam?” You asked, as he began to walk away.

“Somewhere away from you two,” he called over his shoulder. 

“Finally,” Dean said dramatically, throwing an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close to his side. Together, you looked at the finished product that Sam had perfected. The edges of the card were lined with cute little mistletoe patterns, each corner filled with a picture. In the center, there was a large ornament with the words “Merry Christmas, from the Winchesters” written in red cursive letters. 

“Not bad, Sammy. Not bad at all,” Dean muttered to himself. You had to admit, it was pretty good. There was just one minor problem.

“Dean,” you whispered, not wanting to upset him. He hummed in response to tell you he was listening. 

“I’m not a Winchester,” you told him. His eyes slid off the screen and onto your face, taking in your timid expression. He gave you a warm smile.

“Not yet sweetheart, but soon,” he promised, planting a kiss onto the side of your head. 

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine @bluedragonflylady

#spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #reader x dean winchester #dean winchester fluff #dean fluff #reader x dean #y/n x dean winchester #y/n x dean #supernatural fluff #christmas fluff #supernatural oneshot #muffinbeliever

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Christmas in the Bunker Pt.2: Twenty-Five Ugly Christmas Sweaters

This story will fill my Ugly Christmas Sweaters square in @spnchristmasbingo

Warnings: None. Just fluff and a tiny smidge of angst (to make the fluff feel fluffier! 😉)

Summary: Who doesn't love an ugly Christmas sweater? Dean Winchester, that's who.

Pairings: (Dean Winchester x Fem!reader), (Sam x Eileen), (OC - MJ - child), (OC - DJ - child) Other characters mentioned and technically in the story: Mary, Bobby, Cas, Jack, Charlie, Dana (OC), Benny, Jody, Donna, Claire, Alex, Patience, Kaia, Garth, Bess, Sam Jr, Castiel Jr, Ketch, Rowena

Word Count: 3455

A/N: So, when I got my SPN Christmas Bingo Card, I had an immediate idea for a little Christmas Series.

If you just want to read each drabble as an individual story, you can for sure do that. But they’ll all also be part of a series that takes place over the two weeks leading up to Christmas in the Bunker.

I’m calling them drabbles, but they’ll range between 500 and 2500(ish) 3500(ish)words, so - drabble/one-shot. I’m gonna try my very best to have them all out by December 25 at the absolute latest.

I hope you enjoy the series and I wanna wish every one of you a very Merry Christmas and the Happiest of Holidays!! 🎄🎅

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89 😍

Dean held his cards close to his chest and peered at his challenger across the table. His jewel green eyes were shrewd as he tried to penetrate into the mind of his opponent. Finally, he broke the charged silence.

"Do you have any threes?"

"Nope!" MJ called out happily. "Go fish, Daddy!"

The bright emerald eyes that matched his so perfectly were full of happy mischief as she bounced on the wooden chair she occupied in the library.

Dean threw his head back. "Aw, come on, kid - you're killin' me! Look at your pile of cards over there!"

He gestured to the towering pile of pairs that MJ had collected from him and from the pile in the middle of the table.

MJ shrugged and grinned. "Sorry, Daddy - fish!!"

Grumbling, Dean picked up a six of clubs, which of course matched nothing he had in his hand.

MJ scrambled up onto her knees in the chair before making her request. "Do you have any sixes?"

Dean's jaw dropped open. "That's the third time you've asked for the card I just picked up." He squinted at his curly-headed card shark as he passed over his recently acquired six of clubs.

"Can you read minds?" He turned to look behind him. "Or did you set up mirrors to trick me?"

"Nope. I'm just good at this game." MJ said nonchalantly, with all the innocent confidence of a well-loved, secure and happy four year old.

Dean smiled, finding an unending kind of happiness in seeing his little girl so bold and lively. More than anything he wanted to keep her this way, protected and safe; he wanted to keep all the monsters, both literal and figurative far from her.

After a few more fishing trips MJ smiled happily as she counted up her pairs. "I have twenty-two pairs. How many do you have?" She asked him.

Dean licked his lips and tossed his eight cards on to the pile with a sigh. "Four. I have four pairs." He shook his head at his pitiful haul. "You definitely win."

Apparently taking his mock sadness as real disappointment MJ jumped out of her chair and climbed up onto his lap, wrapping her skinny little arms around him.

"It's okay, Daddy. Maybe you'll win next time. You did really good."

Dean kissed the top of her head, feeling his heart constrict in that way it always did when this precious little creature gave him her love and affection so freely and openly.

She may have his eyes, but she was all Y/N on the inside.

As though summoned by his thoughts, Y/N came into the library with a bowl of fruit salad and a tray full of cheese and crackers.

"Snack time." She said as she set the food between them on the table.

Dean set MJ on the floor. "Okay, kiddo, put the cards away now. You can beat me at Go Fish again later."

Y/N grinned. "She beat you again, huh?" she asked as MJ whisked the cards away to her bedroom.

Dean picked up all the old lore books that were spread out across the table and started putting them back on the shelf to make room for the food. Sam would freak out if he saw the rare, obscure tomes so close to sticky fruit juice.

"Yeah." Dean answered. "Like three times in a row." He shook his head. "Kid's got skills!"

As MJ bounded back into the library the heavy metal door at the bunker's entrance screeched open and Dean glanced up to see Sam, Eileen and DJ returning from doing some Christmas shopping.

MJ ran up the stairs to meet DJ and grab his hand. The two cousins were only six months apart, MJ being born just half a year after DJ. And they'd been practically inseparable from day one.

They made an incongruous pairing. MJ had her father's eyes and freckles, and Y/N's button nose and small stature. DJ had ended up with all of Eileen's dark beauty and his father's towering height. But regardless of their difference in looks, they were joined at the hip and where you found one, you'd likely find the other.

MJ pulled her cousin along behind her. "Mommy, can I show DJ our snowmen?"

Y/N nodded. "Put your mittens on when you go out."

MJ frowned. "I can't do my boots." She complained.

"Okay, I'll come help you." Y/N said, ushering them forward.

"Help your Auntie, DJ!" Eileen called out after him. "Don't make her bend over!"

"Okay!" DJ yelled back.

Sam and Eileen walked through the war room and into the library and unzipped their winter jackets. Dean looked up at them again, about to tell them to dig into the grub when he saw what they were wearing under their jackets.

"What the hell," Dean said, his face scrunched up, "are those things?"

He extended his arm towards his brother and sister-in-law's very bright, very thick, Christmas themed sweaters.

Sam looked down at himself. "It's an ugly Christmas sweater."

Dean nodded slowly. "Uh, yes...it is. I'm glad you didn't make me say it." He frowned. "So, you know they're ugly?"

Eileen smiled. "Of course. That's the fun part."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, okay if you say so." He shook his head. "You're both crazy!"

"Who's crazy?" Y/N asked as she came back into the room, one hand on her tired back and the other resting on the swell of belly that was causing all the trouble.

Dean thumbed toward Sam and Eileen. "Your in-laws. They are wearing those hideous sweaters. On purpose."

"Oh!" Y/N cried in obvious delight. "They were ready?"

Eileen nodded and brought over a handful of bags to set on the library table.

"Yep, he had them all bundled up and ready for us. We already dropped off Mary and Bobby's. And Jody and Donna said to just keep theirs and the girls' with us and they'd change into them here."

Dean was staring in confusion as Y/N pulled out two matching hideous sweaters that were also identical to Sam and Eileen's.

"What are you talking about? What are these?"

Y/N beamed at him as she brought over one of the sweaters and laid it against his chest, smoothing it up to his shoulders.

"Ooh!" she said in excitement. "I think it's gonna fit perfectly!"

Dean backed up quickly, almost causing Y/N to lose her grip on the sweater.

"Uh, hell no." He said, looking at Y/N like she'd gone crazy. "I am one hundred percent not wearing that thing."

Y/N's brow wrinkled as she frowned at him. "What are you talking about, we're all wearing one tonight."

"Tonight?" Dean asked, choosing to skip over the part about wearing matching sweaters.

"Yeah," Y/N said as she brought the sweater back over to the group of bags on the table. "Everyone is coming over tonight to help decorate and put up the tree."

"Who is everyone?" Dean asked. "And why didn't I know about any of this."

Y/N shook her head. "Because you don't listen to me half the time. I told you a month ago that everyone would be coming this weekend to help with the tree and to have a bit of a Christmas celebration, since it's unlikely we'll be able to get everyone together on Christmas day."

"Who is everyone?" Dean repeated.

"Well," Y/N started ticking people off on her fingers. "your mom and Bobby. Charlie and Dana, Cas and Jack said they'd be home in time, Jody and Donna and the girls, Benny, Garth and Bess and the babies, Ketch and Rowena and then all of us, of course." She finished with a sweep of her arm.

Dean's eyes got wider as the list grew. "And what, you got sweaters for all of them? They all agreed to purposefully put on those hideous things?"

"Yes, and so are you." Y/N said firmly. "I found a guy in town who makes Ugly Christmas Sweaters by hand and I put in an order months ago, one for everyone."

She clapped her hands again as she leaned forward to give Eileen a hug. "I wasn't sure they'd be done in time. Thanks so much for picking them up." She said as she reached up on tiptoe to give Sam a hug too.

For his part Sam was trying desperately not to burst out laughing at the look of absolute horror on his brother's face. He'd been a little reluctant to put on the ridiculous thing as well, but he hadn't wanted to disappoint Y/N. And he'd suspected Dean's reaction to them was going to be worth it. He was not disappointed.

MJ and DJ came rushing back through the library, pink-cheeked from the cold. Before they could scamper off to one of their rooms, Y/N called them over.

"Come here you guys." She handed them their little sweaters. "Go put these on. People should start arriving in the next half hour or so."

Eileen scooped MJ up and put a hand between DJ's shoulders. "Come on, I'll help you get them on."

Y/N passed the remaining bags to Sam. "Would you just set these in our room Sam. Everyone can change in there when they come."

As Sam left, happy to help, but sorry to miss the argument that was sure to come, Y/N walked passed Dean and headed into the kitchen. Dean followed her.

"Y/N, you can't be serious. You don't really expect everyone, I mean, you don't really expect me to get dressed up in these...these things, do you?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I'm so sorry to burst your streak of wearing only the most trendy of fashions, Dean, but yes, I do very much expect everyone to wear a Christmas sweater to our Christmas get together."

She grabbed the big roll of plastic wrap and moved passed Dean again, to go cover up the food in the library. She patted his forearm on the way past.

"And by the way, you're the only one who seems to have a problem with it."

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead as he followed her back into the library. "No...I'm pretty sure I'm just the only one who's not too polite to tell you you're crazy and that this idea is too."

Y/N looked over at him as she reached the table and pulled out a length of plastic wrap. "Dean. You're making way too much out of this. It's just a fun silly thing."

She swore quietly as the plastic wrap curled in on itself and clung together, becoming immediately useless. She pulled out another strip as Dean came up beside her.

"I'm not making too much of this because one, I do listen to you and you never told me we were going to have twenty-five people here, and you for sure never mentioned we were all going to be wearing matching sweaters." He scowled at her. "This is not my idea of a fun evening."

The second strip of plastic wrap went the same way as the first and Y/N let out a little growl of frustration.

"Look, Winchester!" She said, as she swung around to face him, her usually unflappable temper flaring. "Just put on the damn sweater!"

She pulled out another length of wrap and let out a little cry of pain as she sliced her thumb on the metal teeth of the plastic wrap box. She stuck her thumb in her mouth and glared at Dean.

Feeling bad she'd cut herself, Dean reached for her hand to see the damage, but she pulled it away from, still glaring and just waddled away from him as quickly as her protruding belly would allow, off toward their bedroom.

"Y/N!" Dean called after her, "The conversation isn't over."

"Yeah, it is!" Y/N yelled back and seconds later he could hear their bedroom door slam shut.

***

Hours later, the bunker had been decorated beautifully by the troop of friends and family who'd come by to help.

The tree was up, evergreen boughs and sparkling lights were strung across the railings, Christmas music played through the loudspeaker system in the bunker, food and drinks lined the tables, and more yummy-smelling things were baking in the oven.

And every single person in the bunker was miserable.

It hadn't started out badly. There were hugs and greetings as everyone arrived. Everyone put on their Christmas sweaters and laughed about how ugly they were.

Even Dean had eventually put his on, feeling a little guilty now for making Y/N so mad. Who cared if it was stupid? At least everybody looked stupid together.

Y/N did so much for all of them; kept the bunker running, took care of both kids when all three hunters were out on a case, bandaged them up when they were wounded, cooked and cleaned, sat with each and everyone of them, adults and kids alike through colds and fevers, and she did it all with love, compassion, and humor.

She was very easy to love and everyone there did love her very much.

Which was why they were all so loathe to admit to Y/N how miserable they were.

The problem was that the sweaters were very, very thick. So, no one had wanted to wear anything under them. Unfortunately, they were also one hundred percent real wool.

And as the afternoon had become evening, and the decorating continued, everyone got very warm, and the warmer they got the itchier the wool got. So that now, the whole group was standing around ostensibly "partying" while actually just trying to scratch surreptitiously and ignore the slow torture that was the itchy wool.

Finally the kids couldn't take it anymore. They'd been told by countless adults around them that they would be fine and eventually the sweaters would come off. But they couldn't take it anymore and began to pull their sweaters off in protest.

Y/N saw this and stopped her own itching long enough to heave a giant sigh and give up the Christmas Sweater Plan.

"I'm so sorry, everyone. God, take them off before we all end up completely covered in hives. I get to be first though!" She said with a chuckle, but Dean saw she was slightly embarrassed as she left to change in their room.

When she left the room the men ripped their sweaters off immediately and the women left to find a place to change with a bit more privacy.

Dean followed Y/N to the room and knocked quietly on the door before opening it. Y/N had changed into a t-shirt and was gathering up everyone's clothes.

"I better get these back to everyone, otherwise we'll have some kind of nudist colony going on." She said, smiling but not looking at him.

Dean grabbed the giant pile of shirts out of her hands and tossed them on the floor just outside their door and closed it behind himself.

"Dean, you can't just throw people's clothes on the floor. They'll get dirty."

Dean was shaking his head. "Who cares, people will deal." He stepped up to her and pulled her into his arms.

"I'm sorry I was such a whiny little bitch about the sweater."

Y/N shook her head. "Speaking of..." she said and reached forward to pull his sweater off of him. He shuddered slightly as the wool left his skin.

Y/N tutted when she saw how red and splotchy his beautiful torso was. She rubbed her hands soothingly over his chest and tried to usher him out of the room.

"You should go stand under the shower for a few minutes, it will make your skin feel better. In fact, everyone should do that." She started to walk past him to suggest that to everyone.

But Dean took hold of her wrist and led her to sit on the end of the bed.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. I promise I've dealt with worse than itchy skin." He got down on his haunches in front of her. "Are you okay?"

Y/N waved away his concern. "Yes, of course. I'm just embarrassed. This was such a silly idea and I was so adamant about it. I just wanted to have a really memorable Christmas."

Dean frowned slightly. "All our Christmases are memorable. You always make them amazing."

Y/N smiled. "Thanks."

Dean frowned. "What got you so fired up about this one?"

Y/N waved away the question. "Oh, it's nothing, I'm just being stupid, it's my hormones probably. My moods are all over the place lately." She swept a hand over her belly, mentally telling the baby inside that she forgave them for making her so emotional.

"Okay." Dean said. "But it's something else too, I can tell."

Y/N ducked her head. "Well, first of all I feel bad because I did lie to you. You're right, I didn't tell you about the party or the sweaters because I knew you'd hate it. Well, the sweater part anyway and I know you're not fond of big crowds of people either."

"Well," Dean pushed out his lips, "I don't know if I'd classify our friends and family as a crowd, but okay. What is second of all?"

Y/N sighed. "It's stupid, even stupider than the sweaters." She rubbed her hand against his splotchy skin again.

He caught her hand in his and waited for her to continue. She shrugged.

"A few months ago, I...I had a nightmare." Y/N shrugged as though it was no big deal, but her face had gone pale and Dean could see the fear in her eyes.

"What was the nightmare?"

"You...and Sam and Eileen. You..." her voice trailed off and Dean was sure he knew what was coming. "You didn't make it home from a hunt."

A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. Dean reached up and brushed it away and then sat beside her on the bed.

"Y/N." Dean said simply, so sad to see her hurt and fear.

"I know it was just a dream, and it doesn't mean anything. I kept repeating our family motto over and over."

She paused and straightened her spine, quoting the motto they'd agreed to live their lives by years ago. "Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today."

She slumped back down. "But no matter how many times I said it, I just couldn't get the memory of the dream out of my head. And then I got it into my hormonal head that if we did something big and wild and fun, I could force the dream out. So, I threw myself into planning the sweaters and the get together and..." she trailed off and shrugged. "It made sense to me at the time, and then I just couldn't let it go."

She ran her hand across his chest again, happy to see it was slowly returning to it's normal color, some of his freckles appearing again.

Dean pulled her as close to him as her belly would allow and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I wish I could promise you..." he went quiet and Y/N felt bad for bringing on the guilt she knew he felt all too easily.

He pulled back and looked deep into her eyes and Y/N's heart picked up speed as it always did when her stunningly handsome husband was so near her and looking at her like he might devour her soul.

"I can't promise that nothing bad will ever happen. But I can promise you that no matter what, I will always fight with every breath in my body to get home to you and my girls."

Y/N felt tears spring to her eyes again, but this time they were happy ones. "Your girls?" she said, smiling. "Do you finally agree with me about this little one then?" She brought his hand to rest on her belly.

He smiled wide as he felt the baby kick hard under his hand. "Well, she's obviously a girl, she's already training to be a Rockette!"

***

Dean and Y/N returned to the library to see everyone had changed and the atmosphere was much brighter and a lot more festive without the Ugly Sweaters. Y/N apologized to everyone again as she entered, but everyone waved away her apology.

Charlie grinned. "They were fun for a while. Too bad they're kind of wasted now though. Maybe we can hang them on the walls or something."

Dean perked up. "No! I have a way better idea."

Half an hour later all the adults were enjoying hot chocolate outside, watching while Alex, Claire, Patience, and Kaia helped MJ and DJ build enough snowmen for all twenty-five Ugly Christmas Sweaters.

The snowmen didn't find them itchy one bit.

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[eepy-pleepy]

They were smart to get married on one of the most overblown, in-your-face, sappy romantic Hallmark holidays of the year. He’d have to work pretty hard to forget an anniversary like this.

Dean ducked another swinging paper cupid and glared at it. He shook his head.

“Man, if they only knew.”

A quick Google search had told him this was their paper anniversary, which was how he found himself pushing a cart through the office supply aisles of the local Target and, of course, overthinking everything.

A single ream of printer paper sat in the cart. He leaned over the handle and stared down at it, standing flanked by walls of colored index cards, post-it notes, construction paper, poster board, and tri-fold cardboard displays. Was this pathetic? Was he not thinking creatively enough? Why had he grabbed a whole cart for one damn ream of paper?

Dean scratched absently at his sternum but caught himself and stopped.

Was Cas, who was still learning and trying to understand the more ridiculous human sociocultural traditions, really going to skewer him for inadequate paper presence on their first wedding anniversary?

"Yeah, fuck it." Dean headed for the checkouts.

He walked past an aisle-facing display of folded sweaters — paused, and backed up. He petted the soft, almost fuzzy fabric of the nearest knitted sweater, then thumbed through the stack to find their size and held it up. The knit stitches sagged gently under their own weight. God, it was soft, and the stitch pattern reminded him of leaves.

Or feathers.

The sleeves were long, the cuffs would probably sit over Cas’ knuckles. Dean thought about a sleep-rumpled Cas pulling this sweater over his bed-messy hair, just his fingers peeking from the sleeves as he rubbed his eyes and yawned, and wanted desperately to hug him like that, soft and warm and still pliant with sleep, octopusing his arms around Dean and humming happily into his neck.

The sweater landed in the cart.

What? It was on sale.

~*~

FEBRUARY 14, 2022

5:33AM

Dean squinted at the bedside clock, stretched out his limbs until they quivered with it, then carefully rolled over.

Cas was curled up behind him, his head barely on the pillow and his sleeping face nearly obscured by the duvet. Dean smiled, groggy with sleep himself, and snuggled his nose into the soft, dark hair on top of Cas’ head. He closed his eyes and just breathed, then laid a careful kiss to his crown and retreated from the shared warmth of their bed.

He was careful with the door out to the garage. It tended to squeak extra loud in the barely-human hours of the morning. But it was the only place in the house that he could pull strips off of the packing tape roll without it sounding like a goddamn chainsaw.

He crept back into the warmth of the house, smoothing a hand over his chest and tucking his chin to try to see how lumpy the front of his t-shirt looked. It was pretty obvious there was something there. That was fine, he just needed to get to the front closet.

The new sweater was rolled up and tucked inconspicuously into one of their reusable grocery bags on the closet shelf. Stripping off his t-shirt, he unrolled the sweater, cut the tags and peeled the long sticker with the letter size off the chest, then pulled it on. He checked the lay of it over his chest. It was loose and textured enough to hide any suspicious shapes.

He grinned, smug, and snuck into the kitchen.

The electric kettle was too loud, so Dean settled for heating water in a saucepan on the stovetop, pouring it into the French press that was a wedding gift from Eileen. The glass carafe nestled inside of a gold anodized metal frame made of hexagon shapes, like honeycomb. Cas adored it. Dean thought it was pretty neat, too.

While the coffee steeped, Dean loaded their bed tray with some bags of mini powdered donuts (Cas had grown fond of them from his time at that Gas ’n’ Sip), a little carton of cream, two mugs, and packets of sugar (there are some road-life habits that you just don’t shake; like hoarding plastic silverware, moist towelettes, and sugar packets from wherever you can find them).

He slowly pressed the plunger on the French press until the screen reached the bottom, then added it to the bed tray. He felt like a circus performer keeping everything balanced on the way to the bedroom.

When he shouldered the door open, the bed was empty.

“...Cas?”

The light was on in the bathroom, the door closed. Dean slid the tray onto the chest at the foot of their bed just as the door opened.

“Morning, sunshi—“ Dean stopped.

Cas stood in the light spilling from the bathroom, wearing his trench coat. Something about it was wrong. The silhouette was different.

Then Cas raised his arms to the sides, and a set of paper wings crinkled and rustled as they extended, taped to his sleeves. Dean stared at several hundred paper feathers, meticulously arranged, mottled by handwriting, and tried to remember how to speak.

“Jesus, Icarus, did you fall into a library?”

Cas just gave him a look of fond exasperation, detaching one of the feathers and handing it to Dean.

Your broad and eclectic mix of pop culture references that demonstrates your vast imagination and your sharp intelligence. Your brain makes connections and associations that I, for all my thousands of years of existence, can but marvel at.

“Oh, no.”

Cas just gazed back at him, impossibly affectionate. Dean reached for another feather and tilted his head so he could read it without taking it from the wing.

The series of freckles on the back of your left shoulder that strongly resembles the constellation Ursa Minor. While it’s not entirely mine, I assisted in the development of Ursa Minor. Beautiful and profound that you should bear the little bear, too.

There was a lump in his throat. Dean’s fingers skimmed, catching snippets. … the best in people … love cannot sit surface … treat children with the same respect … selflessness and service …

“Cas,” Dean whispered. There were so many feathers.

“I may not have my wings anymore, Dean, but when I’m with you, I still feel like I can fly.”

“Jesus Christ.” Dean said, strangled. He set his forehead against Castiel’s and closed his eyes. He felt Cas set his hand on his chest.

Something crinkled.

“Dean.”

“Hmm?”

“Is there something under your sweater?”

“Your sweater. I got it for you.”

“But you’re wearing it.”

“Nothing past you. Take it off.”

Dean’s tummy twitched when Cas’ fingers grazed his warm skin, pushing the hem of the sweater higher and hesitating when his fingers felt plastic, then paper. Dean took the sweater all the way off.

There was a folded piece of printer paper taped to the middle of Dean’s chest. Cas touched the card, fingertips tracing the feather Dean had drawn on the front in black ink, along with the words To my angel. The little glowing vial of Cas’ grace was where it always was, looped around Dean’s neck and hanging over the card.

Cas set the vial necklace up out of the way on the shelf of Dean’s collarbone and opened the card. Visible through the long strips of clear tape attaching it to Dean’s chest, Dean had written It ain’t exactly paper, but this is for you. Happy One Full Earth-Circle Around The Sun Since You Signed That Certificate And Put On My Ring. xx Dean

Eyes narrowed, Cas tapped the first line.

“But this is paper.”

“Yeah, wrapping paper.”

“I’m supposed to…?” Cas ventured, making a motion to peel the card off. Dean nodded, then winced when the tape pulled at his skin. Cas stopped.

“No, just do it, just rip it, I only did this to myself,” Dean told him, and balled his fists when Cas yanked the card free like a wax strip. He breathed out.

Cas had gone completely still, openly staring.

There was a new tattoo in a vertical line over Dean’s heart, like a seam. Most prominent was Castiel’s name, in Castiel’s own handwriting, in Enochian. With it were several small, unfamiliar sigils.

“I worked with Sam and Rowena on it,” Dean said, brushing an errant lock of hair from Cas’ forehead. “It’s not just your signature, it’s protection. After what Billie did — It means no one can mess with my heart but you.”

Cas’ chin quivered. “Dean.”

“It’s no set of love-letter wings, but–“

His breath left him in a surprised rush as he found himself on his back on the bed, Cas shrugging out of the winged coat and climbing on top of him. He pressed just the most earnest kiss to the tattoo, shutting his eyes and keeping it there, firm. Dean watched a tear slide down the perfect straight line of Cas’ nose and onto his chest. He combed the hair back from Cas’ face.

“So you like it?”

Cas pressed his forehead into Dean’s skin. He was taking long, deep breaths.

“Cas?”

“Give me a minute.”

Dean smiled at the top of Cas’ head and kept brushing his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Cas pushed up into Dean’s touch, and then he was resting his chin on Dean’s sternum and looking up at him with glassy eyes. His eyelashes were sticking together, little spikes wet with saline.

“I don’t think there are words big enough for the way I feel about you,” Cas told him.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, drawing his thumb under Cas’ eye. “I know what you mean.”

Cas moved up so he could kiss his mouth, the warm weight of his body on top of him one of Dean’s favorite things in the world. Pressed together, their hearts beat against each other, gently felt, a call and response.

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you, too, Cas.”

And yeah, the coffee was probably cold by now, and there were still a zillion little love letters to try (and fail) to be cool about while reading, and Cas had a damn sweater to appreciate … but for now, there was the pink light of a new day, the pink lips of his husband, and the pink-tinged certainty that he could look forward to this kind of happy again, for years and years to come.

Read on Ao3

#destiel #destiel wedding #destiel wedding anniversary #valentine's day #deancas wedding #dean winchester #castiel #drabble #one shot #fluff #domestic fluff #dean and cas are married #fanfiction #destiel fic rec #short n sweet #Destiel: setting unrealistic relationship standards since 2009 #anniversary gifts #Dean is a hopeless romantic #Cas is worse #wren writes #ao3 #wren.txt #tooth-rotting fluff

[auroradean]

dean standing in front of the sickly pink card rack adorned with big red hearts at target

he usually doesnt splurge, sticks to gas stations and convience stores, and never ever pays mind to this holiday but this year its different

special

as he and cas have finally gotten their heads out of their asses and acknowledged this thing between them

it may be silly, getting a fallen angel a cheesy valentine card full of glitter and floof but dammit dean is happy

for the first time in his godforsaken life, hes happy. and maybe even definitely in love so hes gonna go all the fuck out

because cas is worth it

worth everything

and deans gonna spend the rest of his days proving it so. showing it any way he can

hes halfway to the self checkouts when he spots a little girl walk by carrying a giant stuffed elephant nearly as big as she is and before he even realizes his mouth is moving, hes asking her mom where they found it

she smiles, kind, and points dean to the opposite end of the store. says theres a whole 'shop' for the occasion.

15 minutes later deans walking out to the impala with both arms full, and a giant, wide goofy grin stretching from ear to ear

#destiel #destiel ficlet #woefulcas #saywhatjessie #princessjimmynovak #wanderingcas #sharkfish #deanismypatronass #tomhardysteeth #ducky tag #i may or may not have picked out a cheesy card for my wife today lol #and i may or may not be in the midst of writing my next update

[goldenraeofsun]

4:01 PM

Dean sips his whiskey and glowers across the bar at his own reflection. His wrist is burning like a brand, but it’s probably all in his head. The stupid timers don’t cause physical pain when they reach T-minus zero, Houston we have a problem. The numbers freeze, and that’s that.

Dean’s had counted down to nothing at exactly 4:01 PM, fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes of running into his soulmate, getting his number, continuing on his way to this bar, and telling the bartender to keep ‘em coming.

He refuses to look at the far corner of the room, the booth he had reserved like an idiot. Four PM, party of two, under the name Winchester.

On the bar by his glass, his phone is still lit up with Cas’s texts from the past hour.

Cas 3:11 I’m so sorry I have to move our appointment. My client just unexpectedly switched our time to 4pm.

Cas 3:21 I think I’ll be able to escape by 4:30. Can I meet you then?

Dean had responded with a thumbs-up emoji. He didn’t have it in him to say any more.

Cas 3:50 This city is impossible to navigate. How does anyone live here?

Cas 3:58 You were right, I should have rented a car.

Three minutes after Cas’s last text, Dean ran into his soulmate. Right on schedule.

As far as first meetings go, it hadn’t been as much of a shitshow as Dean had expected.

The dude was attractive, at least, and the first thing he did after bumping into Dean was apologize. But he was wearing a tailored suit and glued to his phone, so it definitely could have been better.

His soulmate would’ve run off none the wiser, except Dean had to blurt, “Wait!” because, despite his disappointment, Dean couldn’t let his soulmate disappear into the throngs of Michigan Avenue. Dean wasn't about to fall to one knee, but he also couldn't let his best shot just go.

The man stopped, irritated. His gaze refused to linger on Dean, instead fixating on a building at the end of the block.

Head swimming with too many thoughts to name, Dean couldn’t get the right words out. He gestured mutely to his wrist, pulling up the flannel to show him.

Eyes widening with understanding, his soulmate quickly tugged up the cuff of his sleeve, only sparing a second to verify his own timer stopped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice.” he said, distracted. “My name is James. Here,” he fished out a pen and something to write on from various pockets of his trench coat, “my number. We… should talk. Later.” He scowled, raising his other wrist to check at his watch. “I need to go.”

“Sure, man,” Dean said, mostly grateful he didn’t have to stick around and have some heart-to-heart with a stranger that was apparently meant for him. Whatever the fuck that actually meant.

“Thank you,” James said swiftly. Without another word, he took off back down the street.

Dean didn’t bother to watch him go. He had a barstool waiting with his name on it.

Sam will laugh himself silly once Dean tells him his perfect match wound up being some corporate suit. Dean once told him he’d rather microwave his own head than set foot in an office cubicle.

Sammy was the big soulmate skeptic in the family. He found his non-timer approved other half while he was protesting an illegal dismissal of a disabled employee. Three years later, when Sam bumped into Gabriel Crawford in a strip club at midnight on Dean’s birthday, he discovered Gabe was perfectly happy to let Sam live his apple pie life while Gabe continued to party like it was 1999.

Gabe made Sam promise to look him up if Eileen was ever down for a threesome.

Turned out, Eileen was.

Sam most certainly was not.

He still sends Gabe a card for the holidays, and usually Gabe sends him back candy samples from wherever he’s vacationing for the winter.

But everyone else Dean knew bought into the soulmates game, hook, line, and sinker. His parents were soulmates. Benny and Garth both settled down with theirs. Charlie and Aaron were holding out for theirs. Hell, even Jo had her weird thing with Bela Talbot.

Dean would’ve counted himself among their number - until he met Cas.

Well, until Cas messaged him on Bobby’s new ask-a-mechanic feature on the garage’s website. Cas had inherited a banged up 1967 Mustang and had no idea where to start with restoration. Apparently Gabe of all people was staying with Cas at his place in southern California, and he recommended Dean.

Why Cas couldn’t just look up a local place still baffles Dean to this day, but he has never been more grateful for Cas’s weird-ass logic.

Their relationship had stayed strictly professional until Cas’s actual car broke down on some random highway in California. Dean had tried to talk Cas through the repair himself, but it was no use. Cas either didn’t have the equipment for the fix, or Dean didn’t diagnose the right problem. Dean was about to hang up, when Cas had asked, clearly embarrassed, “Would you please stay on the line? I have this irrational fear of being murdered in the middle of nowhere where nobody can find my body for proper rites.”

Dean, almost surprising himself, didn’t laugh. Instead, he said, “Sure thing. Wanna put me on hold while you get in touch with Triple A?”

He spent an hour and a half on the phone with Cas, telling him stupid stories about the worst things people have done with their cars.

In return, Cas told him all about the stars that were just coming out in the darkening desert sky.

The week after, Bobby’s garage received a gift certificate in the mail. It was for a weeklong stay at the Chicago location of the five-star hotel chain Cas works for, in Dean’s name.

Those little chocolates on the pillows ruined Dean for motels everywhere.

At the bar, Dean signals the bartender for a refill. He glares down at his phone. The little rectangle contains his entire history with Cas, call logs, text receipts, everything.

He can’t look at it any longer. He shoves it in his pocket, and the receipt with his soulmate’s phone number crinkles in protest. With a sigh, Dean takes out the flimsy piece of paper.

James’s handwriting is neat, so Dean doesn’t even have the excuse of not being able to read a digit or two.

Maybe Dean will give him a call after his drink with Cas. Hopefully, once James finds out that Dean’s just a mechanic, lives in a shoebox apartment in Bucktown, and has never been to Aspen or the Alps, he’ll tell Dean to take a hike.

Dean flips the receipt over, and his stomach gives a sickening lurch. In pretentious curlicue lettering, the first words Dean reads are, The Nine Spheres.

James is staying at Cas’s hotel.

Fucking great. Dean crumples the receipt and shoves it back in his pocket. With his luck, James will probably want to meet in the restaurant on the first floor, the fancy-ass place with the steakhouse burger and truffle fries Dean would actually sell his soul for.

Dean actually dreamed about that burger, a few months after his Cas-sponsored stay. When he told Cas about it, Cas let out a bark of laughter.

In the next breath, though, he told Dean he does the same when he’s scoping out a new location and can’t stay at a nearby Nine Spheres.

Dean tips back his glass of whiskey. It’s stopped burning on the way down his throat, a good sign.

He was so stupid, thinking he could fuck with destiny, fate, or whatever shitty power up there decides soulmates.

Once Cas told him about his business trip to his neck of the woods, Dean had taken one look at the numbers on his arm counting down and did the math. He would meet his soulmate smack dab in the middle of Cas’s window in Chicago.

He could make Cas be his soulmate. Cas never brought up his timer, if it was still ticking, if he’d already met his other half. And Dean, coward that he was, never asked. If he didn’t know for sure, then there was that slim, slim chance that theirs matched up after all.

But no, Cas had to go and switch up their meeting time at the last second, and Dean had run into James instead.

His pocket buzzes with a new text. Mood lower than Cas’s voice register, Dean slides his phone out.

Cas 4:38 My meeting is over. Should I still meet you at the same place?

Dean 4:39 Yeah Hope its okay I got started without you

Cas 4:40 More than okay, considering my scheduling difficulties.

Dean 4:40 See you soon

Dean sighs and drains his glass.

Foot jiggling on the barstool and eyes trained on his hands clasped in front of him, Dean deliberately does not look around as the door opens.

And opens again.

And again.

Confused and irritated, Dean takes another look around. Above the bar, a chalkboard clearly proclaims Happy Hour from 4:30-6:30 PM. Dean ducks his head, scowling into the remains of his drink. He probably overlooked the sign before because of his single-minded quest to get shitfaced like a freshly-dumped senior at prom stuck next to the spiked punch bowl.

His phone obnoxiously tells him it’s 4:43.

That’s just great. Dean hops off the stool, meaning to ask the hostess if anyone’s asked for Winchester, when James pushes open the door.

Dean stops dead in his tracks.

James freezes, his eyes going wide. His trench coat swishes ominously to a stop.

Should Dean turn around? Pretend he didn’t see? Cas is going to be here any second.

Before he can make up his mind, James is walking towards him. “Hello,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to run into you here.”

Dean swallows. “Me neither,” he says honestly.

James scans the small crowd now gathered around the bar, brow furrowing in concentration. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

Dean lets out a silent exhale of relief. He musters up a weak smile. “No problem, man. I’ll leave you to it.” As he turns back around, James steps up to the hostess stand.

James says, his voice slightly raised to be heard over the din, “I’m a bit late, but is there a reservation for Winchester? For 4:30?”

Dean could not possibly have heard what he thinks he did. But the timing is right - for once. He spins around, practically losing his balance thanks to the booze he already drank.

The hostess scans her sheet of names, shaking her head. “There was a reservation for Winchester at four PM, but that’s it.”

James’s face falls. Shoulders slumping, he pulls out his phone, squinting as the screen lights up. “He said he was here,” he mutters.

He can’t be Cas. That would be crazy - like, dingo ate my baby, crazy.

“Could be at the bar,” the hostess says flippantly, tilting her head to the crowded area. “Most of ‘em don’t check in.”

James’s lips press together. “Thank you,” he says to the hostess, his tone clipped. “I’ll wait there.”

Dean steps in front of him before James can get lost in the throng of people. “I heard you’re lookin’ for me,” he says with a confidence that’s only 99% bullshit.

James blinks. “You?”

“Dean Winchester, at your service,” he says, spreading his arms wide.

“Dean,” he echoes, his gaze raking up and down Dean’s body, drinking him in with his new eyes.

“Gotta say,” Dean drawls as his heart pounds with nerves. Doubt niggles at the back of his mind like an itch he can’t scratch, but he’s already made his memory foam bed. Might as well lie in it. “Cas is the weirdest nickname for James that I’ve ever heard.”

“My full name is James Castiel Novak,” Cas says, flushing. “James - that’s what I go by professionally. My family calls me Castiel.”

Dean can’t hold back his broad grin. “Family, eh?”

Cas’s expression takes a swift dive from embarrassed to mortified. “And friends,” he tacks on. He takes a step closer, staring at Dean’s face in wonder. “But you’re also my soulmate.”

Dean laughs giddily. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t beat around the bush. Not your style.” He jerks his head towards the bar. “I think I see an open seat. You wanna have that talk now?”

Cas hesitates. “Would you like to go to Nine Spheres instead? I’ve had business dinners every evening I’ve been in Chicago so far, and, while the food has been good-”

“It’s not the steakhouse burger?” Dean finishes for him.

The corners of Cas’s mouth turn down into a slight grimace. “Last night, a client treated us to tapas. I woke up starving.”

Dean smiles. “You know I’m always down for that burger.”

“Excellent,” Cas says with relish as he pushes open the door.

They walk onto the street, and it’s almost offensively quiet after the noise of the bar. It’s a balmy Spring evening, the sun still relatively high in the sky.

“You don’t seem disappointed anymore,” Cas says out of nowhere as they reach the end of the block.

So Cas caught on to that, back when they first ran into each other. Dean shrugs. “I just got stood up by the guy I’d specially set up to meet me at 4:01. Wouldn’t you be?”

Cas clears his throat, asking hoarsely, “You wanted it to be me?”

Dean throws him a look. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Cas just shrugs. The light changes, and they step off the curb.

“Were you… disappointed?” Dean asks hesitantly.

Cas lets out a surprised laugh. “Of course not. I didn’t even think - well,” he falters, casting a sidelong look at Dean, “I’m not disappointed. Believe me.”

The automatic doors to Nine Spheres open, hitting them with a burst of perfectly conditioned air. Dean hasn’t stepped foot in the hotel since Cas paid for his stay, but it hasn’t changed one bit. The same tiered giant chandelier glitters overhead. Giant pillars bracket the concierge desk to the left and the enormous staircase to the right that leads up to the second floor rooms. The tiled floor, so polished Dean can practically see his reflection, stretches the length of the lobby.

Dean sticks out like a flannel-wearing sore thumb. “Cas,” he hisses, “hold on. I don’t think I’m dressed right for this place.”

Cas sucks in a breath. “No,” he says as Dean’s heart sinks, “I suppose not.” He jerks his head towards the elevator bay. “Room service?”

Dean blinks.

“I’ve called for the burgers on several occasions at other locations,” Cas assures him. “It tastes as good.”

Was Cas actually trying to convince him to go up to his room? What a dumbass. Dean laughs.

Cas colors, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Forget it,” he mutters. “We don’t-”

“You know, if you invite me up to your room,” Dean cuts him off, “you’re going to have a bitch of a time getting me to leave, right?”

Cas stares at him.

“Dude,” Dean says, “I’ve never stayed anywhere this nice in my life. Between the food, the water pressure, and the robe that felt like I was fucking a cloud, I had enough of a hard time leaving last time.”

“I’m glad,” Cas says stiltedly. “We strive to provide the optimal experience to all our guests.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “’M saying, add you to the mix, and they’re gonna have to drag me out of here, kicking and screaming.”

“And if I don’t want you to leave?” Cas asks in an undertone as he pushes the up button for the elevator.

“Then I guess we don’t have a problem,” Dean says, winking.

Cas’s responding grin falls as the doors close behind them and the elevator starts moving. He shakes his head. “It’s a shame there are cameras in here.”

Dean leans in closer, whispering in his ear, “Doesn’t bother me much. Whaddya say to giving the peeping toms a show, then?”

Cas bites his lip, and this close, Dean can see how his eyes have blown black with want. “I - I can’t.”

It’s like he’s been doused with a bucket of ice water. Dean steps back, shame filling him. That’s fine. He can regroup. Hopefully Cas will be more receptive behind closed doors. It’s not the first time this has happened, anyway.

“Dean, I have to work with these people every day,” Cas hisses, wringing his hands. “The last time an executive got… busy with a coworker in the pool, the mocking didn’t end for weeks. Not to mention her rebuke from upper management.” He throws Dean a desperate look. “I would like for you to be fully clothed by the time you meet my coworkers for the first time.”

Cas is already planning for Dean to meet his people?

The elevator dings, and Cas steps out. “Are you coming?” he asks hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean says quickly. As he follows Cas down the maze of rooms, he has to ask, “You were planning on introducing me to your coworkers?”

Cas’s cheeks pink. “Unless you were opposed to it,” he mutters as he stops in front of Room 1518. He sighs, making no move to insert his keycard. Instead, he lifts his head to meet Dean’s gaze squarely. “I’ve put in a transfer request to Chicago.”

“What?”

“It was before I knew you were my soulmate,” Cas says quickly. “I’ve never felt like I fit in in California, and my parents live in Pontiac. The Chicago office is decently large, and, well, I knew you were here,” he says, his voice going quiet near the end. He straightens. “So there were many reasons.”

“You’re staying?” Dean says, his mouth dry.

Cas bobs a nervous nod. “I hope that’s okay.”

Dean grins. “Sure is.”

Cas touches the inside of his wrist, his expression turning almost shy. “Of course, when I first pictured introductions, it was strictly as a friend. I don’t really know anyone else in this city well, and I’ve told you about my difficulty in social situations, so it would’ve been more for moral support than anything else. But after this evening -”

Dean interrupts his rambling. “Are there cameras in the hallway?”

“What- oh,” Cas says, his eyes flicking down to Dean’s lips before back up again. “Yes?” He points. “They’re all the way down there, though, so they can’t -”

Dean cuts him off with a heated kiss.

#destiel #fanfic #destiel fanfic #soulmates au #businessman Castiel #mechanic Dean #profoundnet #rae writes fic #i post something new every Sunday #this one kind of got away from me #but hopefully in a good way #deancas #deancas fanfic