#offbeatwrites

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

weird age

(for dean’s 44th birthday celebration hosted by @chocolatecakecas !)

Twenty-four is a weird age.

Maybe, if Dean had friends, he would feel some kind of abject jealousy towards his peers, with degrees and families and jobs, but he doesn’t. In the past few months, he’s gotten really into a cheesy soap opera that seems to be on every crappy motel television in the Midwest at every hour of the day. It’s called Dr. Sexy, and Dad would hate it, but he and Dean are on the outs right now and Dean’s been hunting alone (and driving a 1984 slate grey Chevy truck that he didn’t not steal), so he can watch the show as much as he wants. 

On Dr. Sexy, the patients are all ages, but a lot of them are in their early twenties, and a lot of them are like him. Lonely. Estranged. Drinking too much. Arguing with their fathers. Dean doesn’t have any kids like some of the patients (as far as he’s aware), but he is driving to nowhere, like most of them are.

Today is his twenty-fourth birthday, and Dean spent the morning ganking a ghoul before grabbing a greasy diner burger and a gas station six-pack. Now he’s slouched on the latest springy motel mattress, beer in hand, Dr. Sexy on the television. No one has called--not Dad, not Sam, and Mom, well, Mom’s been dead for almost twenty years now.

On the television, the latest patient is a middle-aged woman who got in a serious car wreck, and while Dr. Sexy himself is talking about the prognosis with a nurse that he’s having a thinly veiled affair with, the patient’s son grasps his mother’s limp hand.

Dean drains the beer and switches off the television.

********

Forty-four is a weird age.

If he's being honest with himself, Dean didn’t expect to get here, let alone past his early twenties. If he had had dreams of middle age, he’s not sure he would have dreamed up watching his brother, his brother’s girlfriend, a toddler who looks like a teenager and was briefly God, and an angel attempt to make him a birthday cake in the kitchen of an underground bunker.

(He’s pretty sure the cake is supposed to be a surprise, but the bakers aren’t making any great effort to be secretive. Or quiet.)

The past twenty years have been full of the unexpected. Dean’s dad eventually bit it, and Dean died a time or two himself. He’s helped prevent a handful of apocalypses and been an archangel puppet. And he’s had his own soap opera-worthy love story with the aforementioned angel. It took over a decade of deaths and arguments and resurrections and reconciliation and rescue missions and half-baked confessions, but he and Cas finally figured it out. They’re settled.

They’re all settled.

Dean looks at his family, who have all remembered his birthday and are turning the kitchen into a bomb site as a result, and decides to let the cake stay, in their eyes, a surprise.

In the meantime, he’s going to go watch some Dr. Sexy and have a beer.

#offbeatwrites #deansbirthdaybash #chocolatecakecas #IT'S HIS BIRTHDAY #HE IS THE BIRTHDAY BOY #<3 <3 <3

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

just fully posted a fic on ao3 while sitting next to a stranger on the train. anyways stream all the lights in the abandoned city!

#offbeatwrites #hello world!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

This trip to the supermarket is the first time in nearly two weeks Dean’s left the bunker.

He didn’t mean to stay underground so long, but it was easier, he figured, to just say no to whatever meager hunts came up or going for a drink or anything else. And then the days of easiness piled up, and now it’s been fourteen days since he’s seen sunlight.

(The main reason he agreed to get the food this week was so that Sam would stop looking at him like there’s something wrong. Nothing is wrong. Dean is fine. If he wasn’t fine, would he be gripping the Impala’s wheel so tightly?) 

It’s with this line of thought that Dean hits the figure standing in the middle of the road with his car.

He slowed down, noticing just in time, but not enough for the front of the car not to tap them, and his brain stops for a second as he remembers that maybe he should get out and check on the person he just hit with his car.

(Maybe he’s not as okay as he’s been pretending, but it’s not his fault. If Cas hadn’t—If Jack was—If Dean could—)

(Well.)

Dean’s gonna say something like Sorry or You okay? but those words die on his lips when he sees scuffed black dress shoes. Slacks. A dirty tan trench coat. A loose blue tie. A shock of familiar dark hair. 

The figure is sitting up. The figure is fine. The figure is Cas.

Cas who is, last time Dean checked (and he checks every fucking day), dead.

Cas who is sitting right in front of him.

Cas who he just hit with his car.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, voice rougher than usual, like he’s been coughing or crying or both, and Dean just stares. 

Cas stands up, tries to dust himself off. It doesn’t do much. 

“I’m on the way to the supermarket,” Dean manages to say, and then mentally curses himself. What kind of follow-up is that? I love you, Cas told him, and the best he’s got is I’m on the way to the supermarket.

(What he wants to say is, I love you, too, and that’s why I’ve barely left my room for two weeks, but now I’m on my way to the supermarket, I’m on my way to the supermarket now because I love you, and you’re here, and how fucking absurd and insane is that, will you go with me to the supermarket?)

“Can I come with you?” Cas asks.

“Yes.” No—Dean stops himself. Pauses. “Wait. Are you…” He remembers last time. Cas’s voice. I’m hurt. Please let me in. “What was the last thing you said to me?”

“Can I come with you?”

“Before that.” Dean almost feels like he doesn’t need to double-check anymore, because that’s Cas, alright. His Cas.

“Ah. Goodbye, Dean.”

That one hurts. “Before that, too.”

“I love you.” 

Cas isn’t crying this time. Billie’s not knocking on the door. They’re not outrunning God himself. 

“You told me,” Cas continues, “Don’t do this.”

“I meant…” Dean swallows. “I meant don’t die.”  He’s told Cas not to do that before, but Cas doesn’t listen very well. To anyone.

He’s got things to say. Questions to ask, like how did you come back? Did I just wish hard enough? Words to whisper, or maybe shout, maybe shout as loud as he can, like me too, you changed me too. 

But for now, Dean just gestures at the Impala. “Let’s go.” 

And Cas, risen from the dead, gets in the car.

#happy pride dean just hit cas with his car #offbeatwrites #does this make any sense? no and I'm cool with that

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Every time is different.

The first time, he hadn’t died, he was just taking on a new vessel, letting Jimmy Novak’s soul stretch to fit the cosmos, but it felt the same as coming back to life: the awareness. The overwhelming nature of the human senses pressing in before he could tuck them away with his grace. 

The actual first time, and the second time, it doesn’t feel like much. A snap of an angry angel’s (or fallen angel’s) fingers, and he’s gone. A moment later, he’s back, reformed with his vessel. 

(The second time, the Righteous Man asks if he’s God. Castiel thinks perhaps God wouldn’t die so much.)

The third time, Castiel chooses his death and goes willingly to the water. It’s the only way to protect the people he loves, and--

Well that’s definitely new.

(Every time is different.)

He comes back after that with no memories of the people he loves, but he follows along with what seems to be his place in the world, the power crackling at his fingertips finally unlocked with the help of some old friends.

(One of them, more than a friend. The acquisition of human emotion is complicated. And profoundly unexpected.) 

The fourth time, Castiel (well, Cas now) feels it the whole way through. He’s human, and it’s a bitter exercise in trust when the demon’s knife digs in. Waking up from that is unexpected, but then again, the person who bargains for him, who tells him never do that again, is Dean Winchester, and Cas is the one who first brought him back to life. 

A lot happens after that. Enough years pass without getting stabbed or blown up or dragged into a reservoir by Leviathans that he gets oddly comfortable. Maybe too comfortable, but after Dean nearly kills Cas with his own blade and then doesn’t, backs away...

Cas starts to feel invincible.

He’s forcibly reminded that he’s wrong, very, very wrong when Lucifer’s angel blade slices through both his physical body and his grace. The last thing Cas is cognizant of as his grace pours out is Dean. 

Cas bargains his way back to life this time, because God isn’t particularly interested in bringing him back, and he’s gone somewhere Dean, or anyone else, for that matter, can’t go, and the Empty agrees, on the condition that when he lets himself be truly happy, he’ll go away forever. 

It seems only fair, Cas thinks, and when he returns, he’s fairly certain that moment of true happiness will never happen. There’s arguments, there’s danger, there’s the knowledge that fate was never on their side, there’s Jack (alive and dead and alive again and overwhelmingly trustful of Cas, an angel who has fallen apart so many times that he often wonders if he got stitched back together wrong one of those times), and then Dean’s blame and an argument and Cas leaves and comes back and then--

Well. 

We came to an understanding, so spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after "gripping him tight and raising him from Perdition?" They did what they were told. But not you. Not the "one off the line with a crack in his chassis."

Cas wants to be hurt. He’s an angel. God is supposed to care about him. But he doesn’t. God is cold and unfeeling, only wanting to use them as his pawns. The difference now is that Cas sees that the fact that he did get stitched back together wrong, that he’s got that crack in his chassis, that he feels, is a good thing. It’s a strength. 

It allows him to save the people he cares about, one last time, so that they can save the world. 

I cared about the whole world because of you, he says.

I love you, he says. 

And that’s it.

The darkness takes him, one last time. 

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

Except.

Except. 

Well, Cas is awake right now, and it’s morning. He’s dimly aware of sunlight filtering through the window, of a warm quilt, of a mason jar full of flowers on the bedside table. He keeps waking up like this, because he forgot that the person he loved enough to die for is extraordinarily stubborn, and the Empty isn’t actually a place where no one can go, apparently. 

There’s noise downstairs, and Cas is fairly certain it’s his family (his family). Dean, making pancakes in a stupid Kiss the Cook apron (Cas has kissed the cook, actually, that’s something he does now, now that they’ve all saved the world). Jack, pouring too many chocolate chips into the batter. Sam, nursing a hangover and Eileen making fun of him. The promise of a sunny day ahead. 

It’s not all easy, it never has been, but now they’ve all got a chance to figure things out. No more apocalypse, no more uncaring God, no more wondering if he’s broken.

For the first time, I feel, Cas had said, years ago, and another angel come to earth had replied, it gets worse, but what she didn’t know is that it also gets better. 

Cas goes back to sleep. 

He knows he’ll wake up. 

#offbeatwrites #no like. I DID cry while writing this. #cas I love you so much #help #<3 #IT'S CAS DAY

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Whenever a hunt gets tough, it always starts fucking raining, because of course it does. Dean is practically knee-deep in mud, wondering if figuring out whatever has been terrorizing the forest in Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska is actually worth it. It’s just been him, his gun, and Cas for the past three hours, and they’ve gotten nowhere but deeper into the woods.

And, of course, Cas isn’t bothered by the rain because he’s a goddamn angel. 

(Maybe Dean shouldn’t call him a goddamn angel, but, well, God has always seemed to hate the Winchesters, so what’s one more thing?)

Cas plods on in front of him, dragging his trench coat through the mud. Dean can practically hear him squinting as he says, “I think we’ve lost the creature, Dean.”

“No shit,” Dean mutters, and of course Cas can hear him, because he stops and turns around, glaring at him.

“Contrary to popular belief, it’s not my fault that it’s raining,” Cas says. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get back to the Impala.” They could’ve used the Angel-of-the-Lord express to get here, but Dean doesn’t exactly love getting zapped, and he didn’t ask Cas to come on this hunt, anyways--Cas had just appeared in the passenger’s seat and Dean had nearly driven off of the highway and turned himself into a human pancake.

The trek back seems even longer, and by the time they get to the car, Dean is soaked through and longing for the motel shower that awaits him fifteen miles down the road. He slides into the driver’s seat and cranks Baby’s engine, and Cas gets in on the other side. 

“Let me,” Cas says, reaching out and laying a hand on Dean’s shoulder. All of the mud vanishes in a moment, and Dean’s jeans are actually comfortable for the first time in hours. 

Dean turns to look at him, and Cas is looking back. 

Maybe now would be a good time to ask why Cas decided to come on this hunt, why he always seems to have Dean’s back. Dean opens his mouth, question on the tip of his tongue--

And then whatever they were hunting in the forest slams into the Impala’s windshield.

#offbeatwrites #yes i was trying to make all my june drabbles connected but then i had this idea so nevermind! #it's raining here today and i am not a fan so neither is dean

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

do-over

While everyone else watches ball drops and sings Auld Lang Syne and drinks cheap champagne and whatever else you’re supposed to do at New Year’s Eve parties, Dean is elbow-deep in monster guts, because the universe has decided that he never, ever gets to observe holidays the normal way. He misses the countdown to midnight, too, passed out on the thin motel mattress from exhaustion. 

(At least he didn’t have to spend half an hour trying to scrub the aforementioned monster guts off of himself under the shower’s weak stream. Cas is helpful like that.)

“It’s a new year,” Cas says at breakfast, looking at the newspaper that he grabbed when they walked into the diner. They’ve found another case, a haunting that they’ll have to take care of tonight, so they’re stuck in Random Podunk Town, USA, for the day. 

Dean nods and shoves a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yep.”

“We missed New Year’s Eve.” Cas isn’t eating, just attempting to drink some of the world’s worst coffee. It’s alarming, even by Dean’s coffee standards.

“I didn’t know you cared about stuff like that.”

“Well, you do, don’t you?” Cas is doing the fucking head-tilt routine and the squinty eyes, and Dean is about to disappoint him with one of the many idiosyncrasies of human beings.

“I’m supposed to care,” Dean says. “Big difference. New Year’s Eve is supposed to be this awesome night, one last crazy party. That’s not how it’s ever happened to me, and it never will.”

“You sound like to you care.” Cas stops squinting, thank god, but now he’s giving Dean that I know you better than you think I do look, like he’s x-raying Dean’s brain. “You could have a do-over.”

“What, like celebrate tonight?”

Cas nods.

“Yeah, uh-huh.” Dean rolls his eyes, decides to focus his attention on buttering his triangle of toast. 

“Okay.” Cas picks his coffee mug back up, leaving Dean with the sinking feeling that Cas is definitely not going to drop this.

***********

Cas disappears around lunchtime with the promise of pizza. Dean waves good-bye, although most of his attention is on the clunky travel laptop, trying to figure  out the next case. They’re sort of between apocalypses right now, which is a relief but also means that the next big thing could strike at any moment. 

Dean has gotten used to things being upended. His life has always been chaos, and when it’s calm, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He never feels like he can just walk through a place, treats everyone else like civilians. And they are, aren’t they? They have no idea about the horrors that lurk, and the people that try to keep them lurking instead of out in the open. 

Also, most people haven’t died before, so that’s something.

Cas returns with the pizza about thirty minutes later, along with a suspicious number of grocery bags. 

“Apparently,” Cas says, setting the pizza box on the table next to the laptop and then turning his attention to the bed, with its ugly brown paisley comforter, emptying the bags onto it, “The New Year’s stuff goes on sale after New Year’s Eve.” Cas picks up a pair of glasses shaped like the new date that Dean’ll write wrong for at least a month. “These are odd.”

“Did the cashier think you were odd?” Dean shuts the laptop; he’s found a couple of leads, but if nothing materializes post-ghost he’ll just call Sam for next steps. 

“I told her we were celebrating late because we got caught up with work.” Cas is now examining a plastic champagne glass. “The grocery store didn’t have champagne, but I thought you’d like beer better anyways.”

Dean snorts. “Tell me she didn’t ask what our jobs were.”

“I said we work in wildlife control.”

“You’re dressed like an accountant. Or a beige Matrix character.”

“I don't know what that means. Wildlife always need to be controlled, Dean, even on a holiday.”

“Okay, fair.” Dean gets up and looks at what's on the bed: party hats, crowns, streamers, noisemakers, novelty napkins. “How many people are we supposed to be celebrating New Year’s with? Is the ghost coming?”

“I was thinking we could handle the ghost first, and then celebrate. We could watch a movie--I’m sure there’s a cowboy film you haven’t shown me yet.”

“Maybe we should watch Matrix. There’s trench coats.”

Cas glares at him. “I was also going to say that I know of a New Year’s Eve tradition.” 

“Oh.” 

Cas smirks, and Dean feels a slight dislike for ever trying to teach him how to play human on TV. This is also the closest they’ve gotten so far to talking about whatever is going on and has been going on, really, for years now. 

Well, it is a new year. Maybe some new things will happen.

At the very least, Dean will have to take a picture of Cas in a party hat. That will certainly be new.

#offbeatwrites #happy new year!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Today is the worst day of Dean Winchester’s life.

It’s a beautiful day at the start of summer, the air warm with a slight breeze running through it. That same breeze is making the leaves of the tree he’s laying under shake, dappling the sunlight, disrupting the shade. He’s seventeen, there are months of homework-free days spread ahead of him, he’s with his best friend, and he’s miserable.

The best friend in question is currently eating ice cream—Dean already finished his, so he’s laying in the grass underneath the tree, head flopped to one side to look at Cas. Dean keeps watching Cas’s tongue dart in and out of his mouth as he licks the cone (strawberry), and it just makes the ache in his chest worse.

This is the last time that he and Cas are going to hang out this summer, and Dean isn’t sure what he’s going to do. For every summer as long as he can remember, he and Cas have spent long, sun-kissed days ruling their small town. There have been trips to the library, wading through the creek, dozens of ice creams, skinned knees, short-lived crushes, fireworks…

But Cas’s parents got divorced during the winter, and his dad moved a few hours away. As part of the custody agreement, Cas has to spend the summer at his dad’s house, which means Dean won’t see him and Cas will probably make new friends. He’ll realize that his life is happier without Dean, and Dean will have to deal with the realization he had a couple of weeks ago, when Cas started packing for his summer while Dean was sprawled out in the purple bean bag chair in the corner of Cas’s room: he’s got one summer crush that’s never been short-lived.

And it’s on the person who’s leaving.

Cas finally makes it to the cone and carefully separates it with his fingers. Dean keeps watching as he finishes eating it. He feels like he should say something, anything, but the best he’s got is don’t leave, and he’s already said that one a lot. 

Cas lays on the grass, too, after he’s done, inches away from Dean. From this distance, Dean can see every variance of color in Cas’s blue eyes, can tell that his hair isn’t completely black all the way through. He should stop looking, but he can’t, as if he’s trying to memorize all of Cas’s features. 

Cas elbows him gently. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Dean shakes his head and turns his gaze up to the shaking leaves of the tree and the slivers of sunlight he can see in the gaps. 

“You know,” Cas says, after a prolonged silence, “I don’t want to leave, either.” 

“I know.”

“And I’m going to miss you, too.”

“Not in the same way,” Dean says, and then he wishes he could bury himself in the grass. He wants to be anywhere else, but there’s also nowhere else he would rather be. 

“Dean, look at me.”

Dean doesn’t want to, because Cas will see the blush that’s taken over, but he can’t say no, so he looks.

Cas doesn’t seem upset.

If anything, he seems lighter.

“Yes in the same way,” Cas says, practically in a whisper, and his hand finds Dean’s in the grass. Their fingers fit together perfectly. 

Dean thinks his heart might explode.

“You’ll call?” Dean asks.

“Maybe I’ll write.”

“You should call, too.” 

“Okay, I’ll call.” Cas squeezes his hand. “And I’ll be back.” 

They stay there for a long time, underneath the tree. The silence is comfortable, because there’s nothing else that needs to be said. 

(And when they eventually walk home, Dean learns that the taste of strawberries has lingered.)

#offbeatwrites #this is ridiculously sappy but as per usual #I have the right <3

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

simple thing

(author’s note: I’m trying this thing where I write ten drabbles in the month of June to get back in the practice, so here’s # 1! let’s see if I make it!)

The fact that it’s not some big realization is, perhaps, a big realization in of itself. 

It’s a perfectly normal afternoon, the kind at the start of summer where it’s pleasantly warm and you want to be outside. In a few weeks, it’ll be hotter than blazes and nowhere will be pleasant, not even inside with the fans on the highest setting, but right now they can enjoy this. 

This is a typical activity--a cafe. Dean’s drink is long gone, and he’s long past focusing on his book. Cas, on the other hand, still has half of his lemonade left and is immersed in whatever tome he got at the bookstore earlier; Dean thinks it’s some sort of literary analysis. It would make sense, seeing as Cas is an English major and has been worrying himself to death about what to write his honors thesis on. 

Dean isn’t sure what, exactly, makes him realize it. Maybe it’s the stillness of the afternoon, the city emptied of most of its college students, only a few stalwarts with leases and summer jobs like them remaining. Maybe it’s the fact that his best friend’s company is so easy to be in, like breathing. Maybe it’s the way that the gentle summer breeze is ruffling Cas’s unruly hair or the way he squints at his book in concentration. 

Whatever it is, though, isn’t important. What is important is that Dean’s just realized that he’s in love with Cas.

Cas glances up from his book, meeting Dean’s eyes, a soft smile playing on his lips, and then looks back down. 

Dean’ll tell him, when the time is right. But for now, they can just enjoy the afternoon together. 

#offbeatwrites #destiel drabble #emmy? writing something other than a longfic? it's more likely than you think #if this sucks i am. out of practice #LET THEM BE SAPPY YOUR HONOR

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

for day one of @sobernatural ‘s 2k celebration: “you did what?” // acceptance // blue

A month ago, taking Cas and running seemed like a good idea, or, at least, it seemed like the only idea. The other option was to just send Cas out into the world on his own, a freshly grace-less former angel in a hoodie, and Dean couldn’t do that.

(He’d thought about it, for a second, though, so maybe this was his punishment for considering leaving Cas behind. That’s what it would have been, even if Cas had been the one leaving.) 

And maybe it’s still a good idea. It’s just the two of them, picking occasional fights with the rare specter, trying to stay away from the powers searching for Cas, and Dean, calling Sam and trying to keep the peace, watching crappy TV and hitting every diner in the more obscure parts of middle America. 

(He feels like everything is starting to fall around him, but then again, it always has been.)

But all that has stopped. They’re at a standstill, because Cas has gotten some kind of cold or sinus infection. Dean’s not sure, and they can’t really go to the doctor, since Cas is technically a different person, but Dean’s been plying him with tissues, cough medicine, painkillers, and a lot of water for the past three days. He can’t tell if it’s helping.

Dean sits on the edge of the motel bed, sinking the mattress down, the springs old and creaking. Cas cracks his eyes open, revealing a sliver of blue. He needs a shave. 

He needs a shower. 

Hence Dean waking him up.

“I don’t want to,” Cas says, his voice creaky and rough from coughing and disuse. 

“It’ll help you feel better.”

“That’s what you said about the cough medicine.”

“Well, I didn’t say it was magical. I just said it would help.” Dean offers a hand to Cas. “C’mon.”

Cas didn’t really come with pajamas (it occurs to Dean that maybe they could go shopping, now that Cas wears different clothes every day), so he’s been wearing random sweats and an old undershirt that Dean dug out of his closet. Cas shoves the covers back feebly, and Dean thinks that maybe he should find something clean in his duffel for Cas while he’s in the shower. 

Cas bats Dean’s hand away and fumbles his way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. A minute later, Dean hears the water start, and he grabs his key (this motel is old-school and still uses physical keys, not cards), heading to the front desk to request new sheets and raid the vending machine for cold water again. 

When Dean gets back, the water’s still running, but it’s ‘been less than fifteen minutes, so he thinks nothing of it.

Five more minutes pass.

Ten.

Fifteen.

Cas is gonna be upset if Dean checks on him, Dean knows that, can tell that Cas doesn’t like being human but won’t say it. It wouldn’t offend Dean, being all fragile and breakable is the worst.

(Last week, before Cas got sick, Dean had to teach him how to reset a broken nose. It wasn’t fun.) 

But he has a feeling that the water’s gone cold, which means Cas isn’t in the shower because he wants to be.

Dean hesitates for a moment at the bathroom door before pounding on it. “Cas? You okay?”

No answer.

“Cas?”

Silence.

“I’m coming in, dude.” Dean eases open the door to find, as he suspected, Cas huddled in the corner of the shower stall and the water still running. 

“I couldn’t get up,” Cas finally says, voice barely audible over the shower’s spray, and Dean wonders if maybe Cas did answer him a minute ago but he couldn’t hear it. 

“Let me help you, then.”

“You don’t need to help me.”

“Yeah, I do.” Dean opens the shower stall and turns the water off before offering Cas a hand. He tries not to look (but also not-not to look) as he pulls Cas up to standing. 

Cas pushes past him feebly, and Dean calls after him, “There’s clean clothes on your bed.”

He waits about five minutes for Cas to be clothed again before exiting the bathroom. Cas is sitting on the bed, rubbing his eyes, wet hair sticking up in every direction, and when he sees Dean, he averts his gaze. 

“Cas,” Dean says, sitting opposite Cas on the other bed. “Talk to me.” 

“You don’t need to help me.”

“I already told you that I do. You’re—“ Dean stops. Best friend is close, but not quite there. Brother? Completely wrong, Cas is nothing like Sam. Less than a year ago, Dean’d almost let the word love spill out, begging Cas for his life, and he guesses that’s—“You’re you,” Dean finishes lamely.

“And me is…you would say that I suck.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I mean, the slang. I suck.”

“Cas—“

“I’m not useful anymore.” Cas has a bit of blanket in one of his fists, squeezing it. “We’ve spent half a week here, vulnerable, just because I got sick.”

“I’ve been sick before.” Dean shrugs. “Doesn’t make me less useful. And you don’t have to be useful. You can just—“

Cas interrupts him. “You said you needed me.”

“…What does that have to do with this?” Dean feels his pulse quicken as he thinks of the crypt and the angel tablet and Cas slipping out his angel blade, poised to kill. 

Poised to kill him. 

“You need me, and I’m not useful.”

“I didn’t—“ Dean stares at Cas, bewildered. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re not a weapon or something. You’re—“ He’s stuck again. “You’re you. That’s what I meant.”

“And I’m an angel. Or, at least, I was.” Cas’s grip on the blanket grows tighter. 

“You’re more than that. I mean…” I wish I could tell you what I mean, Dean thinks. He’s not even sure that he’s accepted it himself. Because he knows how this works—acceptance, in his line of work, of someone’s importance to you means that they can be used against you. Means if they’re gone, you’re gone. 

(In his heart, he knows it’s too damn late to escape that. But he can pretend.)

“I mean that you don’t have to be an angel to matter,” Dean finally says. “You just matter to me.” It’s lame, and not quite right, but it’ll do for now, because Cas’s brow smooths, just a little, and he lets go of the blanket and grabs one of the new water bottles. There’s this chasm between them, unspoken, but it’s getting smaller, bit by bit. 

He hopes. 

Maybe one day, he’ll know how to say what he needs to say—what Cas needs to hear. 

#offbeatwrites #it's sappy I know #one thing about me is. I'mma fix season 9 #sobernatural2k #sana congrats bestie! <3 <3 <3

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

It’s stupid, really. 

It’s less than a week, and Cas is an adult who votes and pays taxes and mostly remembers to put the trash out on time and he’s lived alone before, so it shouldn’t be so difficult that the apartment is empty, sans him.

Except that it’s the first time since he and Dean moved in together that either of them are spending a night away, so the emptiness of their cramped one-bedroom with its weird yellow linoleum in the bathroom feels vast and unending. 

Dean’s visiting family, and he’s been texting Cas all day, updating him on his drive to Kansas and sending Cas pictures of his mom’s garden. They’re supposed to talk later, before bed, too. 

And yet the loneliness remains. 

Cas makes dinner (spaghetti, jarred sauce, Dean’s the cook here), does the dishes, and then tries to sweep the kitchen before he realizes that the dustpan has decided to go missing. It’s not in any of the usual places (hidden behind the trash can, in the bathroom, shoved between the washer and dryer in their postage-stamp sized laundry room), which leads him to checking under the couch and on the top shelf of the storage closet. 

The dust pan is there. 

And a loaf of bread. And a jar of peanut butter. And a jar of jelly. And on the jar of jelly, a sticky note (green and obviously stolen from Cas’s desk) with Jam is unsettling, right? written on it in Dean’s untidy scrawl. 

Cas fishes his phone out of his pocket and shoots a text to Dean: Why is there sandwich stuff in the closet? 

You forgot to buy sandwich stuff at the supermarket this week, comes back Dean’s response.

I could have had something else for lunch. 

Uh-huh. Dean would be smirking at Cas if he was here, as if to say, gotcha. 

Don’t forget to sweep the kitchen, Dean adds, double-texting. 

You planned this, Cas replies. 

What, me? Never :) 

Maybe it’s not so stupid, really, Cas thinks to himself as he takes the things to the kitchen, already planning to have a PB & J for breakfast tomorrow (who says they’r just for lunch?), to miss someone you love. 

Especially when they love you back. 

#offbeatwrites #okay okay I get it it's super cheesy #I'm just like. in a small acts of love moment rn #I'm feeling it

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

For the past four years, Dean Winchester and his best friend Castiel Milton have worked side-by-side in the Mirage's High Limit Lounge in the heart of the Las Vegas Strip. With Dean dealing the cards and Cas pouring the drinks, they've seen various characters come and go, and, of course, couples. Now it's almost Valentine's Day, and with the fact that they're both single on their minds, Cas comes up with an idea: they decide to plan fourteen days of classic Vegas activities to get out of their heads and into the world for a moment.

And if they happen to realize they're in love?

Well, that's just the magic of Vegas.

That’s right folks, this year’s Valentine’s serial fic has started posting! For every day leading up to and including Valentine’s day, I will be posting another part of this story! Be prepared for a lot of cheese, epic amounts of sincerity, and me shamelessly plotting a Vegas trip via a Supernatural fanfic!

You can read chapter one here! 

#offbeatwrites #this is what I was posting excerpts from!

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

It’s always so loud in his dreams, and maybe that’s why Cas has trouble sleeping. At night, the bunker is pitch-black and completely silent, and while he’s exhausted every morning, at least he’s not haunted by endless visions of that which came before. 

He wishes this was easier.

The adjustment to being human has been like trying to claw his way out of a pit. It wasn’t enough to find out that they managed to save the world, after all, no more apocalypses and no more uncaring God, and it wasn’t enough to find himself awake in the Empty, rough hands he knew well wrapped around his wrists, pulling him to some semblance of safety. He’s not sure what will be enough. 

Right now, as he lies in bed, he contemplates his newfound humanity and freedom, and as he does, he notices small sounds in the silence. Most notable is Dean breathing beside him, fast asleep with his face mashed into his pillow. Dean still sleeps like the dead, still gets grumpy when you wake him up. Now, after a tear-stained welcome back, Cas is privy to those habits, among others. And there are other things, besides the man beside him, that Cas is privy to now. Everything is sharper, deeper, and it’s an adjustment, and it’s not easy, but it has to be worth it. 

It has to be. 

Slowly, the quiet, punctuated by Dean’s breath, lulls Cas back to sleep, and for once, he doesn’t dream at all. 

#pb100 #profoundnet #prompt: quiet #I am in the mood for This #offbeatwrites

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

shaved ice

(installment 2/10 of my june drabble series--read part one here <3)

The sun beats down--albeit dispassionately. It’s inanimate, if you don’t count the production of gas that keeps it heating everything. Of course, Dean didn’t come to the park to generate a mental soliloquy about the sun and its inner workings. For the most part, he tends to be concerned with the fact that it’s the sun’s fault that summer has turned from balmy to scorching. At least there’s one balm--shaved ice. 

They’d started out having a walk in the park, but when the afternoon sun started to beat down, Cas suggested finding some shade, and the nearest group of trees happened to be near the shaved ice stand. One benefit of a park that used to be a golf course? There were plenty of little places like this dotted throughout, perfect for those seeking refreshments on a hot day, like families with kids or high schoolers taking a break from their summer jobs or college students on dates--

Which could be them.

But it’s not. 

Sure, Dean had a startling realization at a coffeeshop last week, that he was in love with his best friend, but he hasn’t said anything about it. He’s been looking for a chance, don’t get him wrong, but it just...hasn’t come up. Their usual pizza and movie night? Too casual. Driving to their university’s campus to work at their respective summer jobs (Dean in one of the engineering labs, Cas in the library’s archives)? Too rushed. Taking a walk at the park and stopping for some shaved ice? Too...

Well, maybe the truth is that Dean is too scared. 

Dean gets grape and Cas gets watermelon, and there happens to be an empty picnic table under the big stand of oak trees, so they sit somewhere that’s not the ground to partake in their snack. Cas is seemingly oblivious to Dean’s inner crisis, scooping watermelon flavored-ice into his spoon. 

About five minutes later, when Dean is focusing more on that than his own shaved ice and manages to spill half of it, Cas already has a stack of napkins that he swiped from the stand, as if he knew this would happen. As they clean up the mess, their eyes meet for a brief moment. 

Dean should say it. 

But instead, he keeps holding it in. 

#offbeatwrites #i am hashtag doing my best

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

for day three of @sobernatural ‘s 2k celebration:  "don't do this" // young dean // pink

“Dean, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Dean turns around. Mrs. Wall’s tenth-grade English classroom is nearly empty, and he’s only got ten minutes to make it across Edmond Memorial High School for chemistry. If he skips that class again, Mr. Morris is going to give him detention, and that’ll be...

Yeah. 

“Uh, sure?” Dean likes Mrs. Wall alright. He’s only been at this school for a month (longer than the last one, which was two weeks, but shorter than the one before that, which was a month and a half), but she’s the chillest teacher he has, and when he didn’t have any school supplies, she gave him a notebook and a pack of pencils, no questions asked.

“What are you planning on doing with your future?” Mrs. Wall props her chin on her hands. She’s middle-aged, blonde but starting to go grey, hair done up like she never got the memo that the eighties ended five years ago. 

“...I’m sorry?” 

“I know, I know, big question to ask a sixteen-year-old.” She laughs. “I’ve just been wondering. When you came to my class and I saw your education record, I was concerned about you keeping up with the other students, but you’re very bright. We have several different after-school clubs through the English department that you might enjoy.”

“That’s nice,” Dean says, swallowing back his desire to get to be a part of something like that, like he was almost part of homecoming this past fall. “But I can’t. I have to help my dad after school. The, uh, family business.”

“I guess the family business is why you’ve moved so much?” Mrs. Wall looks very sad all of a sudden. 

“Yeah.” Dean knows what she's imagining, because he's heard it all. He's faked enough phone calls to Sam’s schools, navigated his way through his share of appointments with concerned school guidance counselors, to know what people think. Where they think his and his brother’s bruises and cuts come from.

(And in some ways, they’re right. But not all the way. No one could imagine half the things they’ve seen.)

“If you didn't have to move around, what would you want to do?” 

Dean stares at her. “What?”

“What do you want, Dean?”

No one’s ever asked him that before. Not what do you want, Sam? or Well that’s what Dad wants or Mom would have wanted--

(Dean reminds himself that he doesn’t get to know what Mom would have wanted.)

He wants a place to live, not a long-term motel room or the back of a long, black car. He wants to never have to steal food again. He wants shoes that don’t have the soles worn through. He wants Sam to go to one high school for the whole four years. He wants his dad to stop. Just...stop.

“I don’t know,” Dean finally says.

“Well, when you figure that out,” Mrs. Wall replies, “Let me know. And I’ll see what I can do to help.” 

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

A week later, the Winchesters move again, and Dean decides it might be time to give up on high school. 

#offbeatwrites #sobernatural2k #I saw young dean and was like. oh time to deliver irreparable psychic damage to MYSELF #<3 #also fuck John winchester. all my homies hate John winchester.

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Of all things that make Dean realize he’s in love with his roommate, it’s tea.

Dean’s never really had any opinions about tea, strong, weak, or otherwise, but Cas (the aforementioned roommate) seems to love it and has monopolized half the kitchen counter in their tiny-broke-college-student apartment with his kettle and mugs. Dean just kinda lets it happen, seeing as Cas didn’t complain when he filled the lone bookshelf with his record collection.

It’s been the end of a long day, thanks to work and a midterm exam, and Dean is ready to gulp down some reheated pizza rolls and then crash by the time he gets home near midnight. The apartment is quiet and dark, only the light above the stove in the kitchen is on, meaning Cas is asleep. Dean tries to be quiet as he makes his way towards the fridge, but then something catches his eye. It’s a sticky note on the stove with an arrow on it. The arrow points to Cas’s tea kettle, which is full of water, and there’s a mug next to it. Dean can’t imagine who else the arrow would be left for, so he goes to inspect the mug.

It’s Dean’s favorite mug out of Cas’s massive collection, one that’s shaped like a spark plug, and next to it is a little box of tea with a bear in pajamas on it, the flavor simply reading “sleepytime.” Next to that is a note in Cas’s scrawling, slightly disjointed handwriting.

hope your exam went well! catch some zzzs!, it says, and Cas has drawn a cartoon face that Dean thinks is supposed to be asleep.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters to himself, the pizza rolls he came in here to nuke forgotten. It’s a box of tea with a bear in pajamas on it that’s making everything fall into place all of a sudden. It’s the middle of the night and he’s exhausted and he’s in love with Cas.

Dean makes and drinks the tea, and as he falls asleep, he wonders if the small gesture is an indication that his roommate might’ve had a similar revelation. Before he can contemplate that too much, though, the little bear in pajamas takes him off to dreamland.

(He dreams of Cas.)

#offbeatwrites #i Know. i know it’s sappy #i am just feeling saptastic #also my dad has a spark plug mug and whenever he drinks coffee out of it he calls it his ‘spark plug juice’ #sleepy time bear supremacy

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

Now, don’t everyone get excited all at once, but I’m going to be posting another chaptered fic! I haven’t in a while, but I’ve been super inspired by this storyline and I can’t wait to share it with everyone! 

The first chapter of Happy Hour(s) will go up on August 25th, and updates will be every Thursday after that! 

But if you’re still wondering what on earth this fic is about...

When Cas Milton’s parents died in a car wreck, the obvious, logical choice was to drop out of college and pick up a job as the bartender at the local karaoke bar. Five years later, Cas is practically a permanent fixture at Happy Hour(s). He knows all the regulars and they know him, and he’s also served the hundreds of other one-time customers. He doesn’t remember most of them, until, one ordinary night, someone extraordinary shows up. 

Dean Winchester’s just moved back to his hometown of Lawrence, Kansas from New York City. His dad was right about his writing career being an ill-fated disaster, and now he’s picking up a mechanic job at a local auto shop. When a blind date lands him at a karaoke bar called Happy Hour(s), he’s a bit more interested in the bartender than he is the girl he’s here with. 

With loss, laughter, love, and some super cheesy music, Happy Hour(s) is more than a bar. It’s a home to those who frequent it, and over the years, it’s become Cas’s home.

It’s about to become Dean’s. 

If you like cheesy eighties romcoms, karaoke, love stories where nothing goes quite right, and incredibly awkward descriptions of people dancing, then Happy Hour(s) is going to be the fic for you! 

#offbeatwrites #also like. okay. this fic is also sort of a love letter to my time in germany because the karaoke bar is based on the one my friends and #I always go to #and you might just see us. as OCs. in the background. as an Easter egg. #maybe