#so was dean calling him cas the start of his defiance? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ltleflrt · 3 years

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5 and 23? if you want!

I sure do! :D

5. Over a beer bottle, 23. Through a song. (Also on AO3)

Girls night is in full swing. The coffee table is strewn with makeup boxes, manicure supplies, and margarita glasses. They’re on their second 90s chick flick--Bodyguard, despite Dean’s very loud endorsement for Legally Blonde “for Sam”--and everyone with hair long enough is done up in curlers, including Sam.

The Japanese face mask Claire very carefully applied to Castiel’s face is starting to make his skin tingle pleasantly, and his feet are warm in Dean’s lap. Luckily the glittery purple polish Dean had so carefully applied to his toes is dry, because Dean has had enough to drink that he’s getting touchy feely, and he’s been alternately massaging Castiel’s feet and hugging them against his belly.

With Jody and Donna squeezed into the recliner together, Kaia and Claire and Alex sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, and Sam on the floor with Eileen in his lap, Castiel thinks he should feel guilty for taking up the whole couch with Dean, but no one’s complaining. Except Claire, when she reaches for her glass on the coffee table. She wrinkles her nose at the bottom of the glass.

“This bitch empty!” she proclaims before swinging her arm back with intent.

“Claire Novak, if you yeet that glass across the room, I will ground your ass,” Jody warns from the recliner.

“I’m twenty-six,” Claire counters defiantly, but she lowers the glass. “You can’t ground me anymore.”

Castiel is pretty sure Jody could absolutely enforce a grounding if she decided to do it.

“Looks like we’re all empty,” Alex says, giving her own glass a disappointed inspection. She shares a meaningful look with Claire and Kaia, and all of them suddenly chant “1-2-3, not it!” in unison.

“Well I ain’t moving,” Donna announces cheerfully, as she snuggles closer into Jody’s side.

Jody hooks an ankle around one of Donna’s. “Guess I’m not either.”

“I’m pretty sure my legs are asleep,” Sam says as he wraps his arms more firmly around his wife. Eileen snuggles closer into his chest, and from Castiel’s vantage point he can see her eyes are open and she’s paying attention, even if she looks ready to start dozing at any second.

“Y’all are lazy,” Dean grumbles before he gently nudges Castiel’s feet out of his lap. “I’ll get you your damn drinks.”

“I’ll help,” Castiel announces as he tugs the foam separators from between his toes, and swings his feet to the floor. It’s a challenge to navigate the coffee table and all the limbs stretched across the floor with the warm buzz of alcohol making his movements sluggish, but he manages without stepping on anyone.

By the time they’ve mixed drinks, the girls have claimed the couch. Dean bitches about losing his spot and being too old to sit on the floor as he hands out drinks, but it’s good humored and he smiles when he turns back to the kitchen to pick up more. He ignores the appletini Castiel mixed for him, and goes to the fridge to grab a beer bottle.

“That’s against the rules of girls night,” Castiel points out.

“Those sugary drinks are going to give me a bastard of a hangover,” Dean says as he tosses the bottle cap in the trash. He takes a deep swig, and sighs in pleasure. “Yeah, that’s the good stuff.”

He catches Castiel staring at his mouth, and a smirk tugs at his lips. Closing the space between them, he wraps a hand around Castiel’s hip, tugging gently until their lower bodies are gently pressed together. “You see something you like, angel?”

“No,” Castiel says, but clarifies before Dean can pout at him. “But I see something I love.”

A slow, sweet smile spreads across Dean’s face. “Yeah, what’s that?”

Castiel reaches up and runs the tip of his finger down Dean’s rouged cheek and across his bottom lip which is shiny and pink with lip gloss. The eyeliner and mascara Alex had applied for him makes the green of his eyes even more pronounced. “Yes. It’s you.”

Dean leans in, and Castiel’s lips part in anticipation. But before they can connect Claire shouts at them to hurry the hell up, and to come help them pick the next movie. Dean straightens, but he doesn’t let go of Castiel, guiding him into the living room with a firm grip around his waist.

“Don’t turn it off yet, Whitney’s singing!” Donna says as they enter the living room. She sits up, and starts singing along. Badly.

Laughing, Jody joins in. And then Alex. Kaia starts to sing, and after a long suffering sigh and a poorly hidden smile. Even Sam sings along, as he rocks Eileen back and forth to the music.

Dean’s eyes glint with mischief when he glances at Cas, and then he starts to sing too, just as the chorus kicks in. He lifts his beer, and sings into it like a microphone. His arm tightens around Castiel, keeping him tethered to Dean’s side.

“And I---- will always love yooooou!”

No one is on key, and Castiel’s half suspects they’re doing it on purpose. He knows Dean is, because he’s heard Dean sing seriously before.

When the drum beats dramatically, Dean kicks out his leg and really starts hamming it up. His body sways dramatically, pulling Castiel back and forth with him as he wails into his beer bottle.

And then the song slows down again, and Dean’s eyes catch on Castiel’s. He sings the last few words without looking away, and even though he’s still being silly, Castiel knows that underneath it Dean is completely serious. Castiel leans in and claims the kiss that had been cut off before. Dean tastes like beer and raspberry lip gloss, and Castiel loves him so much in this moment that it leaves him feeling even drunker than he was from the three margaritas he’s already consumed.

“Hey! No beers on girls night!” Claire calls from the couch.

Without pulling away from the kiss, Dean lifts the hand holding his beer, middle finger held up in defiance.

#oops i ficced #destiel #stonelions

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satanisnotapogostick · 3 years

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ok re: the s11 scene in the cage when they get in a fight w lucifer and cas gets possessed. sam's whole deal in that scene is fucking wild bc, like, he's rationalizing *so* hard. and like if he were to just be like 'yeah I'm not letting lucifer possess me bc that guy sucks and I'm scared of him and he'll probably use the opportunity to torture me again so, pass' that would be so eminently reasonable and sympathetic. but that's not what he does!

ok so reading the transcript again he does end with that sort of reasoning (although disguised in a 'I trust my family' speech) but he starts with something that's very different. if you go back and rewatch it's really being played like 'logically I would be convinced but there has to be a reason why it's wrong so I have to work backwards to find one'. which he does. like, lucifer doesn't restart the apocalypse once he's out. and once castiel says yes sam's whole deal is mostly like 'yeah that's a reasonable if risky strategic decision and we need lucifer on our side'. and like, wouldn't he be more able to help with the darkness anyway if he had his true vessel

and like my read on the situation is that sam is very much not using 'I really really don't want lucifer in my mind and body' as a self-aware justification, he's reaching for something else (because he thinks the former isn't enough?) and honestly I think it's 'dean says it's bad so I have to twist the situation into making him right'

anyway it's like. he doesn't make a bad call but it's p horrible to see sam's own basic safety not be enough that he has to like Construct a whole edifice of backwards-working logic to make his defiance be about something else. also I would like to know if sam is self-aware or not here of the mental gymnastics he's doing here

#also this is my first time looking up the specific writer for an spn episode in suspicion #it's dabb lol

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sidecarghost · 3 years

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Cas buys a Sexy Painting of Dean

Destiel Modern AU fluff inspired from post about clueless art collector that bought a huge painting of Dean Winchester and the Impala.

Castiel purchases the painting of the beautiful man leaning against a muscle car from the artist Crowley. Crowley gouges him on the price but that is not of import to Castiel. He would have paid any price the artist requested to be the exclusive owner of the painting of the beautiful man.

Castiel hangs the piece above his tv. And he finds himself drawn into gazing into the green eyes of the man in the painting over and over again. Then strange things begin to happen in Castiel’s home that elude any rational explanation. In the morning, Castiel finds his coffee mug filled with freshly ground and brewed coffee. Castiel also finds his lacy underwear have been pulled out from storage bins and placed on the top of his other underwear in his dresser drawers. And in the evening, when Castiel lies down in his bed his blanket wraps tight around him, even though he never reaches for it.

Castiel knows he should find his household objects becoming sentient or being moved by an incorporeal presence disturbing, but it does not disturb him at all. If anything, Castiel is comforted and feels more confident and at ease than he has in a long time. The attention and care fills an ache in Castiel he never knew was there. So he looks forward to his blanket clinging to him like an octopus, and he snuggles right back into it whenever it reaches for him. And Castiel hums his approval over the coffee that has prepared itself for his consumption.

***

And Castiel lets the tv turn on to episodes of Dr. Sexy at random times and puts his work away to watch the trashy show. He feels laughter over jokes he doesn’t understand. And the laughter feels joyful so he smiles. A few times a joke lands for Castiel and he will chuckle, when that happens the other laughter becomes even stronger, as though responding to the joy of a shared joke. Castiel enjoys his new friend too much to be afraid of him, and because he thinks his friend would like it, Castiel falls into the habit of wearing his lacy panties (that had magically moved out of storage) around the apartment without bothering to put anything else on.

When Castiel is working in the office, he finds himself longing to be home. He feels alive again once he crosses the threshold into his apartment. As he hangs up his trench coat and removes his shoes, his phone’s music app turns on and a Taylor Swift song begins to play. Castiel sings along, because he’s familiar with the song and he wants to show off that he knows the words of the chorus to the song his friend had picked.

Castiel finds dinner already prepared and set out on the table. After Castiel takes a seat at the table, his phone buzzes and Cas picks it up to read the screen. An unknown number has texted him, and the message says “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable eating dinner without those itchy clothes on?” Castiel smirks and texts back a string of emojis to his friend. His friend has bubbles appear and disappear a few times. Finally a response comes through saying, “Buddy, I have no idea what any of that means.” Castiel smiles over the message, changes out of his suit, and into a pair of lacy orange panties. Castiel assigns the unknown number to a new contact in his phone that he names “Friend,” then he savors his every bite of the meal and makes sure to praise his friend’s cooking skill.

Castiel has been watching the gradual change that had been occurring to the man in the painting. The unreadable expression of the man has softened by now, and he looks happy and peaceful. Castiel wonders if he has lost his mind, or if his painting is much more than just oil and canvas. An magical force that could move things invisibly was one thing, but what if his friend was someone he could touch, hold, or love. Castiel never believed in the occult before, but it was something his brother Gabriel seemed to believe in. So he thought he’d start his research from the previously ignored ramblings of Gabriel’s texts.

Castiel scrolls through texts from his brother to find a certain TikTok video he remembers his brother sending him. There had been a ghost haunting a house, and some people got Internet famous for uploading their bizarre video of confronting the spirit. Castiel finds the ghost haunting TikTok video and clicks through to find out more about the people that posted it.

Castiel learns that the content creators of the video call themselves the Ghostfacers. In other videos, they describe many of the signs of a potential haunting that Castiel has experienced. The video describes how some times ghosts remain tethered to the world of the living through cursed objects, and the longer Castiel watches the more he believes that his painting could be such a cursed object. Castiel clicks through more videos until he reaches one where the Ghostfacers advise anyone being haunted to burn the cursed object and send the ghost on to the afterlife.

Castiel stares at his phone for a long time after that last video. He is lost in thought for a long enough time that the remnants of daylight have faded and the cityscape glows in defiance of the darkened sky. Castiel is not a spiritual person, and he has never been sentimental before. But Castiel feels like the painting, cursed or not, is very special to him. He feels a profound bond to the green-eyed man. Castiel would sooner engulf his own body in flames than burn that painting.

Castiel approaches the painting worrying that he may have caused the man in the painting anxiety, if he had been listening to the videos on his phone. Castiel stares into the green eyes that appear to seek his own out, then Castiel presses his lips to the canvas and loses himself in a heated kiss with the man in the painting.

#Destiel fic #spn modern au #human castiel #Ghost Dean Winchester #gumbelievable writes #Destiel fluff

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avyssoseleison · 3 years

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Mafia son!Dean x Bodyguard!Cas | 1.6k

The slight up-tilt of his chin may be promising, but the set of his shoulders sure isn't. Because, straight and strong enough they may look they are slim, almost slight, in contrast to the shoulders of Dean’s former bodyguard. Comparatively slight, anyway.

In any case, they are gonna get Dean killed, quicker than anything else, that's for sure. His new bodyguard’s body will drop faster than the bodies of his predecessors, either because he won't he strong enough to hold himself in a fight or because he might just be good enough not to go down, but still not strong enough to also protect Dean, and then be killed by John afterwards. Whereas the others ones – the five guys who were ripped to shreds one way or another while trying to protect Dean this year alone – were all bulk and brute, this guy is understated, almost elegant. For all that Dean knows, his grace might be deadly – but it also might not.

Regardless, Dean doesn't want him as his bodyguard. Doesn't want him around him day and night, watching over him like a hawk and looking out for something he might be unable to do anything against. He doesn't want him to die because he caught a bullet for Dean or maybe took a knife to the guts, like the guys before him. Doesn't want him to allow Dean to be captured again or die because he runs his mouth too much.

Maybe John can set the guy up as a sniper or a counselor; something out of the line of fire might be more suited for someone like him. He could still be around the mansion, still be of help to Dean – just in a different way.

“Dean.” His father's deep, impatient rumble stirs him from his thoughts as he reaches the foot of the stairs of the main hall, and directs his gaze from the bodyguard-not-to-be towards John, who is standing right next to him and has been talking to him and instructing him for the past few minutes without so much as glancing Dean's way. Now, John is glaring at Dean, probably annoyed by his absentmindedness, and beckons him to come closer with a single slant of his eyes.

So, Dean goes. Without dragging his feet, although he feels like it, he straightens his back and marches up to John and the other guy, whose eyes are now fixed on him. Some dark, inexplicable part of Dean’s being revels at that, rebels against that, and compels Dean to drop his gaze – not in response to John's, but to that guy's – and that's... the opposite of everything he has ever learned. The opposite of what he is and what he should be.

Which is why he narrows his eyes instead and gives him a once-over that hopefully conveys every ounce of derision he has been able to muster up in the brief amount of time that they've shared the same air. When he comes to a halt, it’s close enough to his father to be considered obedient to his command, but still out of reach from that other guy.

“Yes, sir?” Dean asks as soon as both of his feet are firmly upon the ground, and he thinks he can see one of the bodyguard's eyebrows twitch at Dean's address just so. At that, Dean raises one of his own in a challenge. Maybe keeping him far from the mansion and the family might be a good idea, after all.

“This is Castiel, your new bodyguard,” John states curtly, as if Dean didn’t already know that. As if he hadn’t been told by some of his own confidants. “He has been screened and searched thoroughly already, so will start right away. As someone who has been trained in close combat and weapons for many years, I expect him to be more useful than your last bodyguards.” The corners of his mouth lift up the tiniest of bits. “If not, that is his own loss. If you are harmed in any way, he won't be paid – and if he dies because of his own incompetence, his relatives won't receive any compensation.”

“I have no relatives to compensate anyhow,” Castiel replies, in a monotone way that suggests this isn't the first time he has mentioned this. But Dean doesn't focus much on what he says, rather than on the how. Because for someone who, still comparatively, is rather slight for a bodyguard, his voice sure is deeper than any of those that came before him. Not just deeper, but more authoritative, richer, darker -- sexier, for sure.

It sends a small shiver up Dean’s spine.

“I don't want him,” Dean growls suddenly, so that he doesn't sputter. At once, all of him feels tense, on edge – and the amusement in the face opposite of him only aggravates that.

“Oh?” Castiel asks, that same amusement also tinging his voice.

“I don't want him as my bodyguard,” Dean asserts once more, well-aware of how stubborn he sounds.

“It doesn't matter if you want him,” John says, “because I already appointed him as your bodyguard, and that’s final.”

“But, Dad,” Dean objects, “just look at him! How the hell is he s'pposed to protect me any better than the other ones could? You know that all the other ones died 'cause they shielded me, and the last one 'cause he... was too weak. Why would you expect him to be any better? You know how Alas--”

“Son,” John cuts in, deep and dangerous, “I won't have any discussions on this. As I already said, he is well-trained and better than any of your former guards or you could ever hope to be. You surely don't want me to tell him to demonstrate how skilled he is first-hand? See how efficient he is when it comes to breaking an insolent jaw?”

The dark glimmer in John’s eyes is familiar. It shows that it’s a promise, not just an empty threat, that he won’t hesitate to have Dean thrashed right here and there, should be not shut the fuck up and do as he’s told. It’s just as scary as it was when Dean was just a kid -- when John still dealt out those kinds of punishments by himself, instead of having his underlings do the dirty work for him.

Humbled now, Dean dutifully drops his gaze as he feels the fight ebb out of him and heat sting his cheeks. “No, sir,” he says, quietly.

He usually doesn't step out of line like this, especially not in front of strangers. But, something about this Castiel just riles him up. For a reason he can’t put into words, he doesn't want him as his bodyguard, feels like he should fight back against it. Weirdly enough, he also doesn’t not want him around -- he just doesn’t want him in the line of fire. Which makes little sense, seeing as that would be his job and Dean doesn’t even know him, but it is what it is.

Though, like John said, that’s not his call, anyway.

Despite expecting Castiel to maybe chuckle or show any other signs of pleasure in the way Dean was reprimanded for his sake, he reverts back to his earlier stoicism. He watches Dean, albeit only briefly, and then looks at John as he speaks again.

“That's what I thought. So, get him acquainted with your rooms now. He has only been given a rough overview of the mansion, as he doesn't need to know the blueprints, so he doesn't know the structure of your part of the building yet. Show him everything he needs to know, and then come down for dinner. Zachariah will be our guest tonight.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, still not quite looking up at him.

John once more sniffs at that, nods towards Castiel, who nods back almost imperceptibly, and then steps away. Without another word and accompanied by the heavy sound of his boots, he leaves the room and Castiel and Dean to themselves.

Dean feels the flush persisting on his cheeks, and finds his fingers to be curled into fists. He doesn't even remember consciously forcing them into their rigid form, and he wouldn't dare to lift a finger against his father, anyway.

So, he loosens his grip, shakes his head, shakes off this conversation and his own defiance along with it, and blinks up at Castiel, who is watching him intently. Staring at him, in fact, silently and inscrutably, as if searching for something in Dean’s shamed face.

Dean can’t stand that heavy gaze on him.

“C'mon, then,” Dean says with a shrug devoid of ease, resolutely looking towards the door that leads from the main hall to the part of the building that belongs to him. He will be safe there, for the time being. Both of them will be. From John, from bullets, from each other perhaps, once Dean can tell him to just stay in one corner and leave him alone. “I'll show you my rooms.”

Castiel moves as Dean does, already in tune with the few steps that Dean makes away from him. For a moment there, he lifts his hand as if wanting to reach out, maybe to touch Dean or pull him back from his hasty pace, but he does no such thing.

Instead, he falls into step beside him, a warm presence by Dean’s side, a shield against the brute force that just left them behind.

“I am looking forward to it,” Castiel replies with a weird, almost warm inflection to his voice, and, strangely enough, it doesn't sound mocking at all.

#miriam writes #destiel #deancas #mafioso!dean #bodyguard!cas #spn #fanfiction #this story is actually three years old i just never bothered posting it lol #i only gave it a light edit because i mostly just wanted to get it out of my drafts so some parts might not flow so nicely #anyway enjoy #abuse cw

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carryonmywaywardcaptain · 4 years

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Imagine...being a demon and hunting Dean down

CarryOnCap’s Masterlist Dean Winchester Masterlist

Summary: When Dean says he knows you better than anybody, you’re surprised to find out that you may have more of a history with the Winchesters than you can remember...

Warnings: very slight Season 15 *SPOILERS* for like a paragraph; mentions of “need to kill”; slight angst and open-ish ending, but implied TFW 2.0 win

A/N: Written for @wayward-mikaelson‘s #Daily Imagine Prompt and (unintentionally) for @winchester-reload‘s #Suptober20 day 4 prompt “Brand” (even though I’m working on my actual entry sketches!) Idk where this came from and it took a weird route. Also, there’s an unintentional...nod? paraphrasing maybe? of dialogue from CA: The Winter Soldier, so credit to the MCU writers for permanently snaking their way into my subconscious because my love for Steve and Bucky apparently knows no bounds.

“If it isn’t the notorious Dean Winchester,” you sneered. “As fun as this little game of cat and mouse has been, you Winchesters are really starting to piss me off.”

They’d been tailing you all across the country and you’d had enough. Sure, you were a demon, but it wasn’t like you set out to hurt anyone. As long as everyone else could mind their own business, you liked to think you were pretty easygoing.

…aside from a few bloody slip ups here and there but, hey, who was counting?

At least you weren’t one of those crossroad douches in the soul collecting business. You preferred to spend your time topside, having fun and wreaking a little havoc now and again. It had been going just fine until those plaid-wearing pests became obsessed with you. Eventually you’d decided to hunt them down for a change so you could finally get a little peace.

You hadn’t spotted the tall, sasquatch Hunter yet, but you’d caught the green eyed one by surprise and knocked him to his knees. Glaring down at him with a smirk, you kept a firm hold on the pressure point of his shoulder to make sure he stayed right where you wanted him.

“Did the cat catch your tongue? Because, with all of our showdowns lately, I was expecting a little more of that quick wit you always seem to have stowed away.”

If you were being honest, he was a pretty fine piece of ass and you wouldn’t mind going a round or two with him under different circumstances. Even with the dopey look of intensity on his face, laced with...something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Distress? Of course it would make sense for him to feel that way--you were a demon after all. Was there a hint of longing in the way he was staring at you? Maybe he couldn’t help thinking you were attractive despite what you were.

Who cares? You practically growled at yourself, chasing away something nagging in the back of your mind that told you there was more to his reaction. Pretending you didn’t actually care because you were incapable of such feelings anymore.

“D’you remember me?” he asked, eyes darting back and forth between yours.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. And it was really hard not to get caught up in his eyes. Why did that piss you off so much?

“Of course I do. You two meatheads have been on my ass everywhere across this godforsaken world,” you spat. “I know we’ve had a grand ol’ time and all, but listen up because I’m only going to say this once-- Leave. Me. Alone. If I catch you two on my tail again, I won’t be such a ray of fucking sunshine.”

He studied you for a long moment, seemingly unfazed by your threat.

“What do you remember about becoming a demon?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at his question. “What does that have to do with anything? And why the hell would it matter to you?”

“Because it does. Now I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you don’t remember a whole lot about what happened to you. That there’s some gaps you just can’t seem to fill in.”

“And let me guess--you just happen to have all the answers to that because you know me so well?”

“I do. I know you better than anybody.”

You weren’t sure what game he was trying to play or how he could possibly know how disconcerting it was that you couldn’t recall a damn thing before the last month or two. Your life as a human, your time in hell-- you didn’t have the slightest idea who you were or what had happened to you.

But there was no way you were going to listen to some Winchester--even if your gut told you he was telling the truth.

“I highly doubt that,” you retorted, seething with defiance.

“You know me--”

“No I don’t,” you snarled, unsure why his words were making you feel so unsettled.

“Your name is Y/N L/N. You’ve known me and Sammy your whole life. You--ngh--”

He flinched and groaned in pain when you tightened your grip, digging your thumb into the hollow area just below the crook of his neck and above his collarbone. With your other hand, you withdrew a large blade from the side holster you’d crafted yourself.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve had enough of the foreplay.”

Dean threw a sidelong glance at the weapon. His nostrils flared as he clenched his jaw and fixed his olive eyes on you again.

“I know you’ve been bouncing around looking for answers on that blade. Just like I know that underneath that jacket of yours you’ve got a mark on your arm. And I know from the small trail of bodies you’ve been leaving behind that you’re trying to fight that hunger you have to kill anything and everything around you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice quivered between your gritted teeth.

“It’s called the Mark of Cain. And that right there is the First Blade.” He nodded toward the weapon without a trace of deceit on his face. “I know the calm you feel when you’ve got the blade in your hand. And that power flowing through you? It scares the hell out of you.”

You grimaced, placing the antique blade against his throat as your chest began to heave from the growing rage pulsing through your veins. What gave him the right to pretend he knew a damn thing about you?

Maybe he was right. Maybe you could admit the power did scare you sometimes. You didn’t exactly give a shit about right and wrong, but the overwhelming urge to kill left you feeling out of control. It was why you were trying to uncover answers about the brand on your arm. Why you were fighting a losing battle with the trembling hand gripping the blade now-- you wanted answers and you needed him to keep talking.

“How do you know all of this?” you demanded.

He swallowed uncomfortably and the blade bobbed against his Adam’s apple. “It was Chuck--uh, God. You’re a Hunter, Y/N. You, me, Sam, Cas, Jack--we’re family. Chuck’s trying to end the world and we were working to stop him. On our last run-in with him...we thought he killed you. But it turns out he sent you to some other universe he’d created. In this world I had the Mark and, when I died, I became a demon. In the other world he tossed you into, we think that’s what happened to you. ‘Bout a month or two ago, somehow you found your way back to this world and we’ve been trying to track you down ever since.”

Furrowing your brow, your eyes fell away from him as glimpses of the events he’d described flashed through your mind. You squeezed your eyes closed, trying to latch onto fragments of the hazy memories emerging from the depths of your subconscious...

Dean screaming your name, face contorted with horror. A small man with graying hair and a wicked grin snapping his fingers. Your hand gripping someone’s forearm, just as his strong hand grasped yours. The deep red energy that flowed from his arm to yours, searing through your veins until the Mark bubbled to the surface of your skin--the scar that was always itching to let the darkest parts of you reign free.

“We can help, Y/N. Me and Sam can fix this.” Dean’s gruff voice was resolute as he briefly glanced away and begged you to consider his offer. “Just come with us and we can cure you.”

His words stirred something in your chest, making you realize he had triggered the faint prick of some long forgotten emotion. A small part of you longed to go with him, but it was miniscule and insignificant when you considered that “fixing this” might mean getting rid of the Mark.

Despite the fear and lack of control it brought you, you were unwilling to give up the power or the blade. It was an addiction you had no intention of overcoming.

“Maybe I don’t want to be cured. The way I see it? There’s nothing to fix. Time to say goodnight, Dean-O.”

You raised the blade but, before you could strike, something cinched around your wrist. When the power coursing through you became dull, you turned in surprise to see that Sam had secured your wrist in one end of the cuffs he held. He reached for the blade with his free hand and swiftly dodged you when you lunged at him after releasing your hold on Dean.

Snarling in rage, you again swung at Sam while he tried to wrestle the blade from your grasp. Dean suddenly collided with your back, circling his arms around you as he pinned your limbs to your sides. You thrashed your head and screamed as you tried to escape, but his cheek was pressed between your shoulder blades, tucked safely away from your efforts of fracturing his nose with the back of your skull.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he grunted, arms tense as he squeezed you tighter. “We’re gonna fix this. You’re okay, sweetheart.”

“Dean, I still...can’t...she’s too strong,” Sam grumbled.

You continued struggling while you gripped the blade with every bit of strength you had. As you fought the boys, you spotted a young man in a tan jacket walking toward you who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. He looked vaguely familiar and you surged toward him out of instinct, knowing he was a greater threat than the men holding you.

His hair was side swept, with a few of the sandy colored strands grazing his forehead. His eyebrows were drawn together over soft eyes, brimming with an array of emotions. The boy raised his hand in greeting, smiling in relief as if he’d managed to find a long lost family member.

“Hello, Y/N... We’re going to help you. I promise. Sam and Dean will find a way to fix this.”

“Do it, Jack!”

“Any time now, kid.”

The boys shouted in unison and you paused for a fraction of a second as another series of memories flooded you. Before you could make sense of them, Jack reached out and pressed two fingers to your forehead.

Your knees buckled and your eyes fluttered closed as you slipped into unconsciousness.

CarryOnCap Crew (Forevers):

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scones-and-texting-and-murder · 4 years

Text

Take It (Over) Easy

Based on this ridiculous r/relationships post

For my beloved @deanismypatronass

“Not again, Dean.” It was too early for this nonsense and Sam tried to reason with him from the passenger seat. “There are a million places we could go for breakfast.”

Dean didn’t even take his eyes off the road. “Nope.”

Sam slumped against the seat. “Why? Why do we keep doing this?”

“You know why.”

Sam knew exactly why. The question was, did Dean?

For weeks now, Dean had been involved in a...Sam wasn’t even sure there was a word for it. Conflict? Standoff? Definitely not a battle of wits since Dean seemed to be using exactly zero of his. Whatever was happening between Dean and the cook at the diner, there was no doubt it was escalating.

It had never been a problem before. Cas was a great guy and an awesome cook and they’d frequented the place to the point of being regulars. That meant sometimes Cas would bring out their plates himself, stopping to chat for a few minutes when he did. Sam knew his brother better than he knew himself, and he’d watch Dean’s breakfast begin to cool while he talked with Cas, using his long lashes to every advantage as Cas stared with those intense blue eyes.

Sam was pretty sure there was more to it as well, even though he had no proof.

But then one day Dean had ordered his usual: two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. The server had brought out their food--nothing unusual there, the place was jammed--and Dean had glared at his plate.

“These are overcooked,” he announced. Sam looked up. The server started to reach for the plate again.

“I can take them back and have them redone,” she offered.

“No, it’s fine,” Dean said. “Just let the cook know.”

When she walked away, Sam looked at his brother. “Busy today.”

“Guess so.” Dean crammed a fork full of potatoes into his mouth, steadfastly ignoring his eggs.

Sam blinked at him. “I’m sure they can be remade.”

“Nope,” Dean said, aggressively biting a strip of bacon.

It had been over a month since that day and still Dean insisted they come back. Every time he ordered the same breakfast: two eggs over easy, bacon, hash browns, and rye toast. Every time his plate would come out exactly as he requested. Except for the eggs. Week one they were scrambled. Week two was an omelette. Week three the server nervously came out trying to keep two hard boiled eggs from rolling off the plate.

The entire diner seemed to hold its collective breath each time Dean entered, the bell on the door merrily chiming in direct opposition to the tension that filled the space. Cas stared impassively from the kitchen as Dean walked to their table, chin up in defiance. He ordered and then the wait began. Each week Dean glared at his plate, but refused to send it back, nothing changing until two weeks ago when he’d scrawled a note on the back of the bill as he paid it.

Then, last week, Cas had come out to deliver the plate himself.

“Your breakfast, sir,” he said with more sarcasm per syllable than Sam had ever heard.

Dean’s plate was dominated by six fried eggs, each cooked to varying stages of doneness. They were layered on top of the toast and potatoes and bacon. He set the plate down with a clatter. Dean took a deep breath and Sam knew he was counting to ten. He maybe got to six before turning to Cas. “You got something you want to say to me?”

Cas smiled. “Need some hot sauce?”

Dean tensed all over and made like he was going to get up, but Sam called his name and he stayed put. Cas calmly walked away.

Sam glanced over the menu without reading it, waiting to see what today would bring, idly wondering how hard it would be for Cas to acquire an ostrich egg. Through gritted teeth, Dean gave his usual order, and Sam could barely swallow his coffee as he waited. Dean sat like a statue, forearms leaning on the table as the minutes ticked away. When his plate arrived, it had all the components. Two eggs, four strips of bacon, hash browns and rye toast. The food was arranged on the perimeter of the plate, the bacon forming a diamond, inside of which Cas had cracked two raw eggs. The server set down the plate and nearly ran back to the safety of the counter.

“That’s it,” Dean said, with frightening stillness.

“Dean,” Sam said, but it was no use. He was on his feet striding toward the kitchen. Cas stormed out to meet him. The diner fell silent, all eyes on them. The two of them stood poised, every muscle tensed. Dean reached for Cas, who shoved his arm away, then shoved him with both hands. Dean staggered backwards, quickly regaining his balance and lunging toward Cas.

Becky, the tiny blonde manager, stepped between them. “Take it outside.”

Sam hurried to open the door, keeping his distance but making sure he could keep an eye on things. He watched as they argued, gesturing wildly at each other. He watched as Cas grabbed Dean by the shirt and pushed him up against the wall. Sam watched as Dean reached for Cas, both hands on his face as he pulled him in and kissed him.

Smiling, Sam went back to the table to finish his breakfast.

#deancas #destiel #My writing #idiots in love

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quillquiver · 4 years

Text

DeanCas Coda 15x07: Last Call

Cas is back.

When Dean first saw him blowing through the bunker he was half-convinced he was out of his goddamn mind. Like killing his—Leo—was making him hallucinate about the only other guy he’s ever had serious feelings for. Hell, after driving for however many hours hungover and grieving and sick with worry, it’s a miracle he didn’t crash the fucking car. So when Dean called out, he was prepared to be ignored.

He pretty much felt his heart record scratch when Cas turned around.

That was three hours ago.

Dean is now showered, fed, and very deliberately giving Sam and Eileen space while he chews on the idea that his brother has a super fun horcrux-adjacent connection to the Almighty Christian God. He’s also standing outside Castiel’s closed bedroom door for reasons totally unknown to him, wanting to knock.

He’s going to knock.

He is.

But then Cas opens the damn thing and almost bowls him over, and Dean has to step back and he doesn’t know what to say or do but this really isn’t his fault because the whole Cas-coming-out-first thing has just totally thrown him off and he’s woefully unprepared and Cas’s eyes are big and wide and he’s clearly shocked and—

“Uh, hey.” Dean blurts out, giving a weak smile. “Hi.”

Good. Simple, to the point.

Cas’s gaze flicks down to his shoes. The dude seems more than a little rattled, looking around like he can’t stand to meet Dean’s eyes, shifting like he can’t stay still. Dean’s losing him before the conversation’s even started and he doesn’t know what the hell to say to make it better.

Fuck. Why is this so hard?

He says ‘hi’ again because it feels like that’s the only word his mouth can make, his own eyes widening when Cas takes a deep, shaking breath in response and then tries to shoulder right fucking past him.

“Cas, wait—”

Cas rolls his eyes and dodges between his shoulder and the doorjamb.

Fuckfuckfuck.

“Cas stop—”

It’s a stupid, desperate bid to fix things between them that has Dean’s hand shooting out to grab him, but the second his fingers wrap around Castiel’s bony wrist he wrenches himself from Dean’s grip. “Do not touch me,” he hisses, whirling around. Their eyes meet for a terrifying few seconds before Cas’s glare slides to settle permanently at Dean’s shoulder, his jaw clenched, hands in white fists at his sides. Dean can see his shoulders creep up to his ears, and his back is ramrod straight in some kind of fucked up echo of what he was before Apocalypse #1. It’s wrong. It’s all fucking wrong and Dean just made it worse.

“Cas,” he says, trying to keep still. Trying to ignore the way his voice is fraying and his heart is beating and how he’s sweating. He’s exhausted and aching and going to come undone right here on this floor. He… he found out his brother was in danger then saved then attached to an all-powerful deity in the same breath. He killed someone he knew a lifetime ago. Someone he fuckin’—to this day, Leo’s the only boy Dean’s ever had in Baby’s backseat. He’d been half in love with him.

How the hell is Dean supposed to live without Cas, too?

“Cas,” he begs. “C’mon just—”

But when Dean steps forward, Castiel takes a neat step back.

“Would you look at me, at least?”

Cas’s face is hard with defiance when he does it; his brow ever-so-slightly furrowed like he’s thinking about smiting something but ain’t quite sure about it yet. “Happy?” he spits.

No. Dean just needs to say it. Once he says it everything’ll be okay. Once Cas knows he wants to talk, once he knows he’s sorry, they can fix this. “Look,” he says, desperate now. “We need to talk—”

But it all goes catastrophically wrong.

“Really?” Cas demands.

Dean frowns. “Yeah man—”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no,” Cas says more strongly. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. I don’t know if I ever want to talk to you again.”

The blind panic that grips him is something Dean hasn’t felt in years. This is not attached to duty or family. This is not attached to death. This is… a choice. This is Cas’s choice. He chooses to walk away without even trying to reconcile. He chooses to leave again. Though Dean knows—he knows—this choice is justified, it really fucking grates. Dean’s reaching out, isn’t he? He’s trying. Where’s the goddamn reciprocation?

“You’re part of this family—” Dean starts, only to be cut off by Cas’s humourless, ugly laugh. It’s forced in a way that makes his skin crawl; punched out of him and plenty poignant. Cas starts walking, and Dean follows like some sort of lovesick, desperate idiot.

He tries again. “Look, I’m sorry okay—”

“Sorry,” Castiel says dangerously, rounding on him until they’re practically nose-to-nose. He looks ready to fight, now, and Dean’s glad; maybe if Cas throws a punch, they’ll kick the shit out of each other and be square by the end of it. “Sorry,” he repeats. “You’re sorry. What are you sorry for, Dean? Do you even know? Or is this another empty apology—”

“Hey, I never—”

“Really?” Castiel challenges. “What are you apologizing for?”

Dean’s heart is caught in his throat. Too much too much too much. “I… I was a dick okay? I said things I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Cas interrupts. “I’m sorry.” He bites his lip then, mouth twisting up in a kind of incredulous smile, looking up like that’ll help his glassy eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is rough: “I’m sorry I didn’t understand what this was from the very beginning; that I fell from the highest of heights without a thought of protecting myself, too blinded by you to put myself first. I’m sorry that I made mistakes because I didn’t know any better. I’m sorry that you’ve blamed me for the things I did and didn’t do. I’m sorry I was ever so naïve as to consider us kin because—because while your family might not end in blood, it surely only comprises people like you and not things like me.”

“Cas—”

“I’m sorry,” Cas continues. “That you don’t understand what you need to apologize for. Because I feel like all I ever do is apologize to you.”

There’s no waiting, after that; there’s no last chance; Cas walks away like the whole world isn’t wrapped up in that trenchcoat of his and for one insane second, Dean wants to run after him and kiss him. Hold him. Open up his own chest and hand him his miserable goddamn heart still beating. He doesn’t. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’d say.

Maybe, I did this.

Maybe, I broke us.

Maybe, Forgive me.

But Cas doesn’t look back, so Dean doesn’t dwell on maybes. He stands in the hallway and frowns at his toes and tries to stop the weird hitching in his chest. He thinks he might be having a heart attack. He thinks the thing’s finally giving out.

Good.

#destiel coda #deancas coda #destiel fic #deancas fic #15x07 coda #15x07 #spn spoilers #s15 #bi!dean #oof this conversation is angsty guys #sorry #but in preparation for next week #i feel like it would be really good to make it clear that cas isn't ready to talk yet #adventures in fanfic

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caranfindel · 3 years

Text

Recap/review 15.18: “Despair”

THEN: The key to Billie's library. Billie wants to become God. Cas made a deal with The Empty. Chuck absorbed Amara. Jack absorbed Adam's rib. Dean pointed a gun at Sam (DEAN POINTED A GUN AT SAM.) Chuck is pissed. Jack is going to explode.

NOW: We begin right where we left off last week, with Jack about to explode with God-killing power. Sam half-carries him into the map table room, Cas tells him to take deep breaths and focus, and Dean gets all panicky and is no help at all. Jack wants the guys to just leave him outside in order to minimize the damage when he goes kaboom. {Sidebar... how far away would he have to be, considering that his explosive power could kill God? Discuss.} Dean yells at Sam to find one of Rowena's spells (and oh, Sam as Rowena's apprentice; there's a plot that was sadly wasted, wasn't it?) but he's interrupted by Billie and her scythe, which she's carrying in a very obvious way. She's furious, and tells them the plan to destroy Chuck was doomed "because of you." Billie can't stop Jack's earth-shattering kaboom, "but there is something I can do." She sends him to the Empty. Empty!Meg cheerfully points out that he doesn't look so hot, but then he looks explosively hot. Ah, there's our earth-shattering kaboom!

Bunker. Billie explains that The Empty was the only option to absorb the impact of Jack the Bomb. And that he's not necessarily dead, because taking out Chuck and Amara was the part that was fatal, not actually being the bomb. Hmm. So Jack's point of no return wasn't actually a point of no return after all. It's kinda retconny, but not really? I've decided it's logical and I approve.

However, if the Empty survives, "it's gonna be pissed." Particularly at Billie. And it's very strong. Billie and Sam remind us that the Empty can only come to Earth if it's summoned. They do not get into the details of what constitutes a summoning, but I'm sure that isn't important. And Billie might be willing to bring Jack back, assuming he survived, but not until Sam returns what he took from her. Chuck's death book.

Sam immediately goes on the attack. He points out that she was planning to betray them from the start, leading to the deaths of all the AU refugees and everyone who was brought back from death, including him and Dean. "Even if I give you the book," he says, "what's to stop you from stabbing us in the back? Killing us all?"

"Nothing," Billie says. She gets up in Sam's face and tells him Jack won't last long. Either give her the book now, or lose him forever. (Can I just point out that Sam is still a little bloody from Dean punching him in the face? After he pointed a gun at him?)

Meanwhile, in the Empty, we discover that Jack is still alive (yay) and that this episode was directed by Richard Speight (yay). He is surrounded by particles that gradually form back into Empty!Meg. And, as predicted, she's pissed.

In the bunker, Sam brings the book to Billie, but ignores her outstretched hand and slams it onto the table instead. It's a pointless little burst of defiance and I love it.

Billie flips to the end to read the new ending of God's book, "since you ruined the last one." She seems to like what she reads. Sam says "Wait, the ends of your books change? So me killing Rowena was presented as unavoidable fate but it really wasn't necessary at all?" No, he actually doesn't. But I do, on his behalf. It's a pointless little burst of defiance. Over in the Empty, Empty!Meg grabs Jack's head and says "you made it loud!" and this is a conversation I've had with my dogs in the wee dark hours of the morning more times than I can count because we just want to SLEEP, GUYS but before she can actually crush his head, Billie zaps him back to the bunker.

Billie tells the guys that Jack is hers because he's still useful. Dean responds by grabbing her scythe and swinging at her. She flings him away, but she's wounded and bleeding light. Oh, and she dropped the book. Sam and Cas ignore Dean crumpled over against the wall - Cas runs to comfort Jack, and Sam runs to pick up the book. Unfortunately, he can't open it. Dean says "hey, thanks for not helping me, guys" and Sam says "oh, I'm sorry, I guess I'm still a little rattled from you punching me in the face after you pointed a gun at me." No, he doesn't. But I do, on his behalf.

Several people have pointed out how skinny Jared looks in these last few episodes, but this is the first time I've noticed it. It will be interesting to see how he looks in the two that were filmed after their Covid shutdown.

Time jump. Dean is sitting in the library, drinking whiskey. And I've said it a million times but I'll say it again - I could watch an entire episode that was just Dean drinking. And then it gets even better when Sam walks in wearing only a v-neck t-shirt. Single layer Sam alert, guys! How long has it been? Dean slides the bottle over to him and we get a little bonus hand porn and then this happens:

Sam, I'm sorry about... everything.

Dean, you don't have to -

I pulled a gun on you. It's like I just couldn't stop. You know, we were so close to beating him. Like, I could smell Chuck's blood in the water, and I - nothing else mattered. It was everything. And I just couldn't snap out of it.

Well, you did. You've snapped me out of worse.

Hmmm. Am I missing a time when Dean snapped Sam out of something? I mean, I know in Stull, Sam was able to overcome Lucifer because of Dean. But that was Sam snapping himself out of it. And Dean convinced Sam to give up the trials, but that wasn't Sam under anything that he needed to be "snapped out of." I think if you're going to give Dean credit for snapping himself out of it when confronted by his teary eyed, bloodied little brother, you have to give Sam credit for snapping himself out of his own situations.

It doesn't matter. All that matters is these two sitting quietly in the dark, drinking whiskey together.

Dean's feeling some despair (nice) because Billie wants them dead, Jack is powerless (oh, wait, when did that happen?), and Michael isn't answering his prayers. No one is on their side. "Well, we regroup, somehow," says Sam. They drink a sad little toast to "somehow," and I die a thousand deaths.

Billie's library. Billie stalks angrily through the stacks. A reaper informs her he put up warding to keep the Empty out, and asks if the plan has changed. Yes, it has.

Elsewhere, a woman we don't know is cooking some seriously dry scrambled eggs. She thinks she knows what she's doing, because she's explaining to someone else in the room how to cook eggs so they're "not too runny, not too dry" but seriously. Gordon Ramsay would be appalled. {Sidebar: Gordon's eggs actually look a bit too runny for my taste, and my family would refuse to eat them, but this lady's dry crumbly eggs are still an abomination.} She turns around and we see AU Charlie sitting at the kitchen table. Oh, Charlie has a girlfriend! Sweet. And she must be in love, because she tells this girlfriend that they're the best eggs she's ever had. And also, she's still hunting. Guess she didn't retire to a mountaintop after all. Probably because she couldn't get wifi. Anyway. Her girlfriend's plate crashes to the floor because her girlfriend abruptly disappeared. (Aw, her name was Stevie. Stevie and Charlie. How cute is that?)

Time jump. Charlie's apartment building is called Kim Manor. Nice.

As Sam runs the EMF meter (and there's a nice wordless conversation where Sam lets Dean know he didn't find anything), Charlie talks about how they met (thanks to AU Bobby) and how she experienced nothing when Stevie disappeared. No sulphur smell, no cold, nothing. Dean and Sam have another wordless conversation about what they think happened.

Dean and Sam explain that Billie wants to send all the AU people back to their now non-existent worlds. So Stevie was from AU World too? I guess that explains how AU Bobby knew her. Coincidentally, Sam's phone rings, and it's AU Bobby. They have an extremely short conversation in which Sam learns that another AU hunter simply vanished. And there's no explanation on Sam's end, just "yeah, I understand." So have they already talked to AU Bobby about the Billie situation? Or was Sam and Bobby's conversation literally "hey, a hunter vanished into thin air, how weird is that" and "yeah, I understand" with no further discussion? Anyway. Dean says it's open season on anyone from another world (aw, sorry, Winchesters in Brazil), anyone who came back from the dead, and Sam gets a horrified look on his face and says "Eileen." Oh shit!

Meanwhile, out by the Impala, in broad daylight, Jack tells Cas that he feels strange because the plan failed and his destiny was averted. "I was ready to die, and I wanted to - for Sam, for Dean, for the world - I wanted to make things right. And now I don't know why I'm even here." OF COURSE HE LISTED SAM FIRST. Cas tells him he didn't need absolution from anyone, and that they care about him not because of his usefulness, but just because he's him. Somewhere Dean says "um, wait." Jack is scared because he's powerless and can't protect anyone. Cas is too. So, did Jack lose his powers after the earth shattering kaboom? Or earlier, and I just wasn't paying attention?

Nighttime. Dean speeds down the road as Sam texts Eileen. I don't know where Eileen is, but she must be pretty far away from Kim Manor. Sam told her to get out of her house, go somewhere public, and wait by her car. Now, I cover the guest star credits, so I don't know if Shoshanna is in this episode. But even unspoiled, I'm pretty sure she's not going to be there when they arrive. She starts to type a response, as evidenced by the bubbles, but then stops responding. Yep, just as I thought, no one is standing by her car. Sam finds her phone on the ground, cracked as if it were dropped (like, say, by someone who disappeared while holding it) and LOOK AT HER LOCKSCREEN. LOOK AT IT.

Some will say this is just the photo that pops up when Sam texts her but they are WRONG. This is her FREAKING LOCK SCREEN, PEOPLE.

Anyway. He sees the unfinished message she was writing, which says she's by her car. Aw, Sam. Dean tries to talk to him and he says "I can't - if I let myself go there, I'll lose my mind, I can't right now."

Aw, SAM!

Sam compartmentalizes his grief and jumps into take-care-of-everyone mode. He says they need to gather everyone together, and they need to find a location central to everyone. Well, I mean, there is one place I know of that is literally the central most point in the United States, maybe you could go there? It's supposed to be secure from all things supernatural, too. Dean says that while Sam is going that, he is going to go end what he started. OH, GOOD. I WAS HOPING THEY WOULD SPLIT UP. "We couldn't make Chuck pay, but Billie? She left her blade. Her I can kill." Hey, wouldn't be the first time. Sam agrees, Cas says he'll go with Dean, and we get a brother hug. Once again, Dean does the two things I love when he hugs Sam: 1. he puts his arms on top, as if he were still the taller brother, and b. he looks away and packs up his emotions before he lets Sam see his face after the hug. "Let's go, Cas," he says. "Let's go reap a reaper." Cas turns and follows without saying anything at all to Sam or Jack, but I'm sure that won't be an issue.

Time jump - it's daytime. Sam's on the phone with Donna, who is standing outside her truck (but didn't she used to have a big black SUV?) at that bridge we've seen so many times. She's sending him to "the old Harmon property," which should be just what he's looking for because it has an abandoned silo. I mean, I wouldn't jump immediately to abandoned silo, but maybe there weren't any abandoned warehouses around. She says it's in Hastings, just south of her, and if you think I didn't confirm that the town of Hastings is in fact about 30 minutes south of Stillwater, Minnesota then you just don't know me at all.

Sam is at a gas station and oh, he's driving Eileen's car! That's not heartbreaking at all. I guess she didn't have her keys in her pocket when she disappeared. (Hah, like Sam Winchester needs keys.) Donna and AU Bobby are rounding up everyone they can think of. She asks what the plan is, and Sam bends down creepily to look at Jack in the passenger seat and says "I'm still working on that." I mean, I know they keep telling us Jack lost his powers, but the way Sam looks at him right here certainly suggests Jack is part of the plan, and maybe not in a good way. (Spoiler alert: seriously, why do I even bother.)

Sam comes around to Jack's window and tells him he needs him to drive, because Sam needs to work on archives and spells and stuff. And is that true, or is this just "I don't expect you to live through this part so I want to let you have some time behind the wheel of Eileen's 1970 Plymouth Valiant?" (At least that's what The Husband thinks it is.)

Bunker. Enter Dean and Cas. Dean declares that if Billie isn't in her library, they'll just trash the place to "smoke her out." It's an interesting choice of words.

Foreshadowing Dean as the new Death? (Remember, I'm completely unspoiled. I know nothing.)

Silo. Let's stick to this location for now. Sam and Jack pull up and are greeted by Donna. Jack goes inside to set up the warding, and Donna gives Sam a nice hug.

I want to be there.

She tells him she's sorry about Eileen and gets one of his sad little nods that I love so much. Bobby is already here, and she name-drops Garth and Jody and the girls, saying they're on "high alert." Sam tells her they're not on Billie's list, so they should be safe. And so should Donna. Well, that's good to know. Sam's surprised to see Charlie pull up. She tells him "I just don't want this to happen to anyone else." I don't know what you think you're going to be able to do, Charlie, but okay.

Turns out the silo is actually a Tardis, so I guess maybe it was a good choice. It's huge on the inside, and is also more finished than any silo I've ever been in (which is, okay, one silo, but still.) The interior is already heavily warded. Several people are milling about. {Sidebar: How many hunters were away from the bunker when Michael attacked, and why have none of them returned?} Bobby tells Sam that as soon as the hunters heard he wanted them there, they came running. "Whether you like it or not, you're the big man here." Hey, I wonder if the guy who called him Chief is here. Bobby, being a man after my own heart, is mostly concerned about the bathroom situation. Sam hopes they won't be there long enough for it to be an issue. He has a spell from Rowena (!) that should boost the strength of the wards, but that's all he has. Bobby doesn't look very reassured, and glances in a foreshadowy way at a family with kids. Sam looks around at all of these people he feels responsible for and takes a deep breath and oh, my heart.

Donna and Jack are painting more wards. Jack bends down to look at a plant, and Donna comes up to him and says "I'm no expert on this hoodoo stuff, but best we patch that up, yeah?" and I don't know what the hell she's talking about. What is this plant disturbing? Jack reaches out to touch the plant and it withers away as his hand gets close. Friends, I'm pretty sure this is a bad sign. Jack is too. He stares at his hand, and if he'd been watching a few seasons ago, he would have noticed that plants did the same thing when Amara touched them. Coincidence???

Later we see everyone watch as Sam recites the spell. (Yes, it's hot. Do you even have to ask?) The sigils glow red briefly and then fade, and the music turns ominous and I think this means his boost failed. But I guess not, because Sam says now they wait. But they don't have to wait long, because suddenly one of the children dissolves into smoke. One by one, all of the AU people dissolve like they've been snapped by Thanos. Charlie runs up to Sam and says "Sam, what do we do" just like Maggie did, and just like Maggie she's taken out immediately. Sam watches in horror as AU Bobby smokes out. He turns to Donna, who says "Mr. Stark, I don't feel so good," and then Donna is gone! Crap! Jack and Sam are left staring at the empty-except-for-them silo.

One more serving of despair, coming right up.

On to the other side.

Dean enters Billie's library, brandishing the scythe. Cas follows, bearing only a hangdog expression. Dean motions for him to go one direction and Dean goes the other, soon finding Billie. He thinks he's sneaking up behind her, but she says "So, I guess this is the part where I say hello boys. Hello, boys." Oh, I was wrong; Cas has his angel blade. Billie snarks about Dean's bad aim, and he says he wasn't trying to kill her then (which seems like a lie), but he is now, because of what she's doing to his people. Billie slams him against the wall again. She chokes Cas Darth Vader-style from a distance, and then the old fashioned way. "Remember when you stabbed me in the back?" she says. "Because I do." Oh, that's funny, because earlier Sam said she was going to stab them in the back. She should have said "like you stabbed me?"

Dean comes to the rescue by poking her with the blunt end of the scythe rather than the pointy end, so maybe she was right about his bad aim. Then he gets the blade against her throat (but still not the sharp end, just the back) and demands that she stop killing his friends. She says she didn't - it was Chuck. And Dean's wasting time.

I'm considering it time well spent, because it looks so nice.

Billie tells Dean the injury he gave her earlier is something she can't recover from - she's going to die. She pulls away her coat to show him a nasty festering wound, and I wonder why something so physical would kill her, but. Eh. She tells him she doesn't care about his friends or family. "But seeing you here has reminded me of something. There is one thing I'd like. One wish before I go. I'd like to see you dead." She grabs her scythe back, flings the boys around, and slowly stalks toward them. Dean and Cas rush through the door back into the bunker.

Dean is panicky again, trying to figure out what to do next. He's suddenly struck down by chest pain, and I expect to see someone sticking a knife (or a scythe) in his back, but it's actually Billie doing it Darth Vader-style again. Cas drags him away as Billie monologues. "It's you, Dean; it's always been you. Death-defying. Rule-breaking. You are everything I lived to set right. To put down. To tame. You are human disorder incarnate." Yeah, we know, Dean's awesome. We get this speech every season.

Cas and Dean end up in the dungeon storeroom. Cas gets Dean's knife out of his pocket and cuts his own hand to paint a sigil on the door. It looks like an angel banishing sigil, but apparently it block's Billie's power. Not permanently, though, because it fades as she pounds on the door. Cas says that since the wound is killing her, they just have to wait her out.

Yeah, and if we can't?

Then we fight.

We'll lose. I just led us into another trap. All because I couldn't hurt Chuck. Because I was angry, and because I just needed something to kill, and because that's all I know how to do.

Dean.

It was Chuck all along. We never should have left Sam and Jack. We should be there with them now.

Yes you should, Dean, you really really should. Dean is practically drowning in despair, which, you know. Is a good thing. 10/10 would recommend. "She's gonna get through that door," he tells Cas. "And she's gonna kill you, and then she's gonna kill me. I'm sorry."

"Wait, there is one thing she's afraid of," Cas says. "There's one thing strong enough to stop her." He tells Dean about the deal he made to save Jack in the Empty.

Friends, I'm going to do you a favor. If you haven't seen the episode, and aren't planning to watch the episode, I want you to read this paragraph and then skip down until you see the pretty picture of Dean. And start reading after that picture. Trust me. So, Cas summons the Empty just as Billie breaks down the door. The Empty kills Billie, but she also takes Cas. Dean is saved but Cas is gone.

{Sigh. Can I skip this part? No, I owe it to you.}

Cas explains that the Empty was going to come snatch him away as soon as he experienced a moment of true happiness. But happiness isn't having, happiness is knowing. And Dean is wonderful and "Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love." You just threatened to shoot your little brother for love, for example. Cas is teary eyed and Dean looks confused as hell and I pause the TV and turn to The Husband and we have this conversation:

I don't think I can watch this.

Why, because it's so sappy?

No, because I think they're going to kiss.

What? Why would they kiss? Is there something I'm missing?

Because part of the fandom WANTS them to kiss, and there's this group of fans that are super obnoxious about it, and they harass the actors and the writers and I think now the show thinks EVERYBODY wants them to kiss. Even though the guy who plays Dean* says it would never happen. Because I know he wasn't happy about the way the show ended, and I'm afraid this is why he wasn't happy.

...

I don't think they're gonna kiss.

If they do, I'm done.

*The Husband is not on a first name basis with Jensen.

So, let me point out that The Husband, who watches this show the way a normal human being watches a show (i.e., doesn't interact with the fandom at all), had absolutely NO expectation that they would kiss. Anyway, with some trepidation, I push play again. And Cas is still going. Dean is the most caring, selfless, loving human being on earth (OH GOD MAKE IT STOP) and knowing him has changed Cas.

Why does this sound like a goodbye?

Because it is. I love you.

Don't do this, Cas.

We see a black blob materialize behind Dean, because even though the Empty can only come to Earth if it's summoned, there it is. And I could argue about whether Cas being happy actually summoned the damn thing but I've already lost the will to live, so instead I'm going to describe to you how I watched in horror, with my finger hovering over the pause button, as Cas reached out to Dean and put his hand on his shoulder. But he just pushed him out of the way. Thank you baby Jesus. Billie breaks the door down as the Empty slurps into the dungeon. It surrounds Cas and Billie and sucks them into its depths. Dean is left alone. Oh, and he has a bloody palm print on his jacket from Cas grabbing his shoulder. I guess someone did watch a little bit of older seasons after all. Hard to tell sometimes.

I mean, at least he looked good, right?

Back at the silo. I've decided it must be mostly underground and isn't a grain silo like I thought. So what kind of silo do Yankees have that's mostly underground? Anyway. Jack and Sam emerge, having failed catastrophically at their mission. Sam is trying to call Dean, who isn't answering. He looks mildly panicky. "Sam?" Jack says, a little shaky. "Was it just them?"

OH CRAP. I didn't even think of that possibility.

"I don't know," Sam says, also shaky. And as we see an empty gas station and playground, it really looks like it wasn't just them at all. Sam and Jack look at each other, alone and terrified. And back in the bunker's dungeon, Dean's phone rings. It's Sam. He doesn't answer.

Despair!

So. You know how sometimes something really good will happen in an episode? And I'll say, no matter how bad this episode is, this 90 seconds makes it worth it? Well, sometimes the opposite happens. Sometimes you get a two or three minute scene - a horribly written, badly acted scene - and it's so awful that it ruins an episode. A season. A show. I'm angry that the showrunners pandered to a small, noisy minority of fans to throw something into the show that most fans didn't want and didn't help the story at all. I'm annoyed that, once again, Dean is put up on an embarrassingly overwrought pedestal. I'm kind of amused that they did this in the worst way possible. Cas's love was unrequited (unless they screw that up in the next episode), Misha's acting caused so much secondhand embarrassment that I had a hard time watching again, and from what I see on Tumblr, half of the Destihellers are furious because "Dean is a homophobe." Which is bullshit. Not returning someone's romantic affection isn't homophobia. It's consent. (I know... on this show? Ha ha.)

{Sidebar: If "Destiel" means the characters have mutual feelings for each other, doesn't this mean Destiel is not, in fact, canon? I mean, it was already so badly written that one could argue Cas wasn't proclaiming romantic love, but just a life-changing experience thanks to one human. Discuss.}

But I need to stop thinking about it. I can't - if I let myself go there, I'll lose my mind, I can't right now.

And this wasn't even the Buckleming episode, friends. There is probably a Buckleming episode left.

I got so distracted by this nonsense that I almost forgot to talk about the Jack situation. So here's how I feel about that. I love Jack as a character. I love him as someone the Winchesters could lose (Basically, someone to stuff in the fridge? Why not.) But I don't want him to be one of them. I don't want Jack's story to be treated as if it were as important as the Winchester's story. Just like I didn't want Cas to have his own plots. I want it always, always to come down to Sam and Dean.

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more to say. But for right now, all I'm saying is this: I pledge to stick with this show, to stick with fanworks, no matter how badly they fuck up the landing. But guys, you don't have to try so hard to fuck it up.

Two to go. As always, help me stay unspoiled, including casting info and episode titles.

#spn #15.18 #spoilers #recap #tv recaps

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verobatto-messy-art · 4 years

Text

SPN Stay At Home

Monday 3: Thief

Hostages @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen @helianthus21

Destiel Fic

Post 15x09 canon divergent

How to steal a kiss. A guide by Dean Winchester.

Link to AO3

Okay, it had to be easy… not that complicated, right?

He was ready, really, really ready.

Dean almost said I love you in Purgatory, damn! He would, if Cas wouldn't cut him off like that.

The answer to the question Why Cas did that? Was a clear and undoubted because there wasn't time for that. Period.

Dean knew Cas loved him… just like him. He hadn't the confirmation, but… he just knew it.

So… time was now. He needed to do something. Something huge. Something blatant. And it had to be this night.

Sam and Jack were out on a hunt. And Cas and him were alone in the bunker… time for some strategy…

Dean watched his reflection on the mirror in his room. His gaze determined, his heart pounding like crazy.

"Okay, Dean Winchester, thief strategy!" He whispered at himself.

He found Castiel in the kitchen, reading some book. The hunter stopped dead in his tracks and swallowed nervously. Then he coughed to caught Cas' attention, and when he had the angel's squinted eyes on him, he grimaced a painful face, "Oh… Damn… I feel so exhausted, I think I have fever or something…" he put a hand on his forehead, spying by the corner of his eye, as Castiel approached him worried.

The hunter tried to repel the dummy smile that wanted to show up in his lips.

"Let me…" requested the angel, pressing a finger on his forehead.

That was the sign!

The hunter tried to close the gap between them with closed eyes, preparing his lips to steal a kiss but Castiel turned around ignoring the movement, he was so concentrated on his diagnosis that never noticed Dean's intentions.

"You're just fine, but your pulsations are high," said the angel walking towards the stove, "Maybe if I prepare some herbal tea to…" Castiel swinger around and found his friend with his lips pursed into an invisible kiss that never happened, with eyes wide open. The angel cocked his head, "Is something wrong with your mouth? Does it hurt?"

Dean realized his lips were still waiting, so he pressed them into a distressful line, and coughed awkwardly, "No, no, ahmmm herbal tea is just… fine…" the hunter avoided Cas' puzzled gaze and sat at the table, with disappointed expression in his face.

"Okay… time to be more aggressive Dean Winchester! If you want to steal that kiss! Just go for it damnit!" the hunter whispered at himself in the mirror. He nodded, and left his room. "Thief strategy, round two!" He raised his finger and closed the door.

"Cas… can you help me here?, I found this enochian script…" said Dean, trying to sound casual, the angel frowned, he left his book on the table and walked towards the hunter with narrowed eyes. When he was near enough, Dean approached the scripts to himself, slightly, so the angel had to get closer, eyes focused on that paper.

"I don't… see… any inscription…" scowled the seraph, his body almost touching Dean's because the paper was almost glued to the hunter's chest.

Dean swallowed and inhaled as if he was about to start a race. He crumpled the paper, and approached the angel earnestly. Their heads colliding with the unsynchronized impulse.

Both men gave a step back with one hand on their heads, and watched each other in awe. Dean flushed.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened… are you okay?" Asked the angel, really concerned.

"Yes, Cas I'm fine," murmured Dean dropping his eyes to the floor, he was mad at himself.

"Do you want me to check the script again…?"

"No, no, is fine, is just… fine…" Dean kneeled and took the paper, leaving without adding a word.

Cas watched him go, he bowed his face and smirked amused.

Dean sighed heavily, as his defeated head hung between his shoulders. Then he stared at his own eyes in the mirror with defiance.

"Are you a dumbass? Now, you not only don't have a kiss but a bump on your head," he averted his eyes to the brushes on his skin. He buffed exhausted, "Okay… thief strategy, round three," he encouraged himself, and left his room.

The angel was in the library again. Searching for something in the middle of the many encyclopedias the Men of Letter accumulated over the years.

The hunter gave a deep breath and approached Cas.

"Hey buddy, can you check? I think I have something in my eye…" Dean commented sheepishly. Castiel tilted his head and walked towards him concerned.

"Mmh… let me see…" muttered the angel, frowning and fixing his devastating blue eyes on Dean.

The hunter cleared his throat and helped himself with one hand opening his eyelid and looked at the ceiling.

When Cas was close enough, Dean pressed his lips against the angel's with such a clumsy rush, their heads almost bumped again. But this time, it was a quick, accurate kiss. He pulled apart, almost jumping away just a few steps from the angel.

Cas watched him with bewilderment in his eyes. Dean gulped and panicked.

"What… what was that?" Asked the angel, confused.

Dean couldn't believe this… he was dying of shame, but he talked anyway, "I… I stole a kiss from you…" the flustered hunter stuttered.

"You… stole a kiss from me?" Cas pointed at Dean then to himself with one finger, and raising his eyebrows, Dean nodded silently, his cheeks were red. Eyes like two fried eggs, "Interesting… why?" Asked Cas narrowing his eyes. This was definitely not the way Dean had imagined it would happen.

"Because I… love you, Cas," the hunter was able to say, but he couldn't continue. Castiel was pushing him against his body, and kissing him with such a passion, Dean started to tremble. He gasped and then moaned, and then grabbed him hard. That kiss was the hottest kiss Dean had never received.

Cas pulled apart slowly, then smirked. The hunter was hypnotized with those blues, "I think that's what I call… stealing a kiss." the angel said, Dean showed him his gummy, dummy smile, and they kissed again, and again, and again.

//////////////

Tagging my friends @rauko-is-a-free-elf @all-or-nothing-baby @emblue-sparks @magnificent-winged-beast @agusvedder @mrsaquaman187 @michyribeiro @legendary-destiel @shippsblog @spnsmile @missjenniferb @ashleyzander @justmeand-myinsight

#destiel #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel one shot #spnstayathome

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katsidhe · 3 years

Text

Fic: vladimir and estragon are dead [15.19 coda]

AO3

Summary: what plea, what surrender, will a bored God possibly accept at this late hour?

The world is empty.

They drive across a landscape that is only a little more desolate than it always has been. This is their end and their beginning, this is where their roads always lead: to highways with no cars for miles, empty backwaters and ghost towns. This time it’s only slightly more literal. The fulcrum of the universe shifts and tilts with them; the center of mass of the earth moves devastatingly, tenderly.

Sam waits for the gutting claustrophobia to kick in, and finds that he can’t make the feeling truly latch on. Maybe it’s because it’s always been here, curled up in his heart like a parasite. It’s not that Sam isn’t used to the idea of a prison larger than a planet, creation as a dark and empty pit, company laughably limited. He finds his mind instead attempting to flit over more practical concerns. When will the electrical grid fail? How many fires have already started, set by unattended stoves, how many cities are burning? How long until every light winks out, until darkness and silence returns to swallow the trappings of civilization?

Cas is dead, and he has died so many times, they’re all dead, they’ve all died so many times, but the pain still squeezes his heart, catches him under the collarbone like a knife. It hurts moving, breathing. But the losses Sam carries mean nothing compared to the weight of what he has personally managed to erase. His stubborn spite, his fetid desire to carve out a life for himself and his tiny family, his rebelliousness managed to get the fucking multiverse killed. Sam has never been to Asia, but now four billion people who lived there are gone. It is absurd to mourn. It is absurd to exist.

Sam won’t allow himself to feel the grief but he will permit the guilt to cripple him. What does it matter if he’s crippled? What does any of it matter? His defiance led to this: a blank page. An empty canvas.

When they reach the Bunker, the stars are bright above. It is the impossible, cold glory of a vast aquarium, viewed from the inside.

They drink together in the quiet. More accurately, they attempt to. Dean gamely downs pull after pull of whiskey. Sam tries. The first shot has him retching, spitting like it’s battery acid. He vomits on the library floor.

Dean laughs meanly, says, “I can drink for both of us.”

Sam looks up and meets his eyes and feels his face twist into a rictus laugh too. He finishes being sick and he doesn’t clean up, doesn’t bother. Cleaning, like many things, is not a concept.

It doesn’t feel like the world has ended down here, even though Sam knows it has. Could be any other day, miles and miles from civilization, insulated underground behind wards that keep out anything short of a god (or anything without the keys). This hole in the ground doesn’t feel vaster or emptier than it normally does. The wider world has never existed in this space; this is the center of the entire universe, just the two of them.

Dean passes out at some point, and Sam lays his head down too. He strips down to one layer, tosses his overshirts at a chair, kicks off his shoes, then his socks. He runs his fingers over the smooth grain of the table, over and over and over. He feels the worst kind of drunk, dizzy and lightheaded with a pounding headache. He should drink some water. He should eat some food. He won’t, though. Who’s depending on him now? For what purpose should his body be fueled? What power, fair or foul, mundane or magical, ought to keep his bones from collapsing in on themselves, into bloody withered dust?

“How do you summon God?” Dean asks muzzily, when he blinks awake again under the golden fluorescent light.

”Maybe the amulet,“ Sam offers. He’s been picturing it mutely all night, turning it over and over in his head, with the weight of heavy responsibility.

It’s dragged out of hiding. The brass is not just warm to the touch, it’s searingly hot. It burns Sam’s fingers when he tries to take it out of the box: even the barest brush of the cord makes him flinch away. Dean wraps his shirt around his hands and tries, and swears. The heat is not diminished one degree. Eventually Sam just takes the entire memory box, upends it messily on the library counter, uses a broken pencil to fish out the amulet and dump it in the metal bowl, among the herbs and the roots and the bones of a small furred creature.

By silent agreement they take everything outside, blinking in the bright dawn chill, leaving Jack to his miserable sleep. Sam is still barefoot. The sharp gravel opens tiny wounds. Shoes seem a pointless inconvenience, some petty barrier between himself and the world, and for what? What can reach him now?

It’s the strongest summoning spell Sam knows. Enochian and Sumerian, to call like to like, to invoke heavenly power. A sigil Rowena taught him, that inscribes itself in purple flame.

He chants quietly in the stillness. The amulet flares in blinding white light, but as the brilliance dampens Sam can make it out when it melts, when it dwindles into pointless black sludge. Dean touches the bowl briefly. Sam feels nothing.

Not that it matters. He knows Chuck can hear them. He prays, too, with belief and desperation he hasn’t felt in years. He gets on his knees, and after a moment, Dean joins him. It makes Sam’s heart twist.

They pray to a God who is not absent. The spot in his shoulder where Sam shot God and himself aches sharply. God wants him to suffer, he knows. He understands where they live now, in a wasteland with something that hates them. This is familiar territory. They are Chuck’s entertainment, his bulwark against a devastating darkness.

Nothing and nobody shows. Sam shifts from his knees into a full-body prostration, doesn’t look to see if Dean does the same. Instead, he buries his face in the dirt. Tears still won’t come. It’s not that he’s numb. He’s just had too much practice, that’s all. Please, he prays, please, he is so sorry, he will bear any humiliation, any torment, he will bear any trial, please, for mercy—

A thought, a message, or a memory. Will you, Sam? Will you? What will you do for me? Will you cut out your heart for me, hold it in your hand, will you eat it?

And Sam knows this isn’t enough. Of course not, their mere surrender is never what Chuck wanted. Sam knows what Chuck wants, right? He’s lived it long enough. Chuck wants to watch.

“Dean,” Sam says. He sits up and brushes dirt from his face. Dean is already standing. Staring up at the risen sun. He’s holding his knife. He’s figured it out too.

“I know,” Dean says.

Still on his knees, Sam looks at the knife. “We have to make it good,” he says. “Not too fast, right?”

Dean stares down at him in horrific fury. There are tears in his eyes. “This is fucked.”

Sam smiles like a flinch, just at the corners of his mouth. “Not like we haven’t been here before,” he says. “It’s okay.”

Dean comes a step closer. Close enough. Hit me, Dean, Sam thinks, Sam urges. He wants it with his whole being, invites it. The whole universe sings with the cosmic rightness of it. The new sun wants this to happen, the sky the Kansas fields the deep blue sea God in his Heaven and the Devil in his Hell, every molecule, every uncounted star and every grain of sand wants this. Sam wants this, with sublime intensity.

Sam wants to say the words to summon Dean’s wrath, but in this moment he can’t remember them. Maybe just being is enough. It should be. Maybe just kneeling here in the dew-damp grass will be enough, to fan the sense-memories. It is for Sam. He can feel the tears coming, for the first time since the world ended.

Dean’s face forces itself into something like a snarl. It’s ugly. “I’m not torturing you, asshole,” he says.

Sam shrugs, with one shoulder. His other hurts with an abominable, shooting pain. “Gut wound?” he suggests. This time he does smile.

Dean scoffs. “You do me first,” he says. He takes Sam’s arm and drags him upright. He paws at his belt, brings out his gun, and presses it into Sam’s hands.

Sam doesn’t fumble on the slide, on the grip. His fingers check the weapon and click off the safely with automatic efficiency. He nods loosely. He understands. This too is the sacrifice demanded, and neither of them may shirk their parts.

“At the same time, then,” Sam says.

Dean scrubs his hand over his face. He nods.

“Chuck!” Dean screams. “Chuck, this is for you! You’d better fucking FIX THIS! Bring them back, bring them all back. Here’s your goddamn ending.”

He looks at Sam, and Sam looks at him. Sam puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, to keep them both upright. Dean grips his arm with painful intensity. When the knife slides into Sam’s abdomen, and twists in a burst of breathless star-bright agony, some puzzle piece of the universe slots into alignment. When Sam’s fingers bury the muzzle between their bodies and pull the trigger, crimson relief overtakes him in a flood.

Their breath releases in a gasp. For long, impossible moments they remain upright, swaying, foreheads pressed together. Sam wants to clutch instinctively at the fatal wound, but that would mean releasing the gun or releasing his grip on Dean’s shoulder, both absurd impossibilities. Dean’s hand is cold on his arm but so warm in the mess of his stomach.

An eternity later they stagger apart. Sam watches fascinated as his breath mists in the dawn air. He gasps again as the knife slides out and drops, as the gun drops next to it. Now finally his fingers are permitted to explore the bloody gape of his torso. His searching eyes meet Dean’s, similarly poleaxed. Now his brother’s face has relaxed into half a grin, high on gory oblivion.

“Together,” Dean breathes, on a trickle of blood. “Hah.”

Sam nods. They’re both sinking inwards, gravity dragging them down. Where will they go, he wonders, with Death’s death, God’s spite, the world’s emptiness. Somewhere either better or worse than here, he decides, and it doesn’t matter which.

“Picturesque enough?” Dean spits at the sky. His smile is broadening. His eyes are red. He’s hungover, or actually, still drunk, Sam thinks. Blurry with misery. Sam is only drunk on guilt.

The sun climbs higher. Sam breathes in bloody panting gasps and watches red mud form around them. He and Dean aren’t touching anymore, and somehow that too feels right. He can listen and watch Dean curled into himself and dying out of the corner of his half-slitted eye. The heat of the new day builds, skimming over them like the brush of a giant hand. The pain in his shoulder splits him through, worse than the pain in his gut. When he coughs, the world itself shudders.

The blood pools in grass and dirt, forming little eddies and ponds. Like an ecosystem, Sam thinks. He tries to imagine a new world springing up from where he and Dean are soaking into the soil—fresh life, a microcosm of new biota. It’s all he wants. But the only image he can picture is the slick of black oil sheen at dusty gas stations, the unnatural rainbow opalescence of toxic reflections, a poison where nothing at all can grow. He doesn’t pray for meaning, but he wishes he were allowed to. Like in the Cage, it carries the sick certainty that the only God that can hear him is one that certainly means him ill.

Between one blink and the next, Chuck is standing on the grass, loafers brushing the pooled blood. “Hey, guys,” he says. He’s smiling, only very faintly.

“Bring them back,” rasps Dean. He’s nearly gone. They’re both nearly gone. “We did what you wanted.”

Chuck doesn’t respond. Doesn’t do anything like pull up a lawn chair, either, like Sam might have expected—just stands and stares with perfect inhuman attention.

Sam doesn’t feel it when Dean dies, but he knows it happened. When Sam dies, God is still watching over him.

Chuck is smiling when Sam gasps back to life, when he hears Dean gagging a few feet away. Sam recognizes the expression, because he’s seen it before, in a dim and bloody tunnel, in a different universe.

#spn spoilers #my fic #15.19 #sam and dean #sam and death #sam and grief #sam and chuck #absurdism #suicide #pictured: me desperately struggling not to keep quoting beckett #Where's the scene of sam cutting off his belt to hang himself and then his pants fall down #that's the vibe of 15.19

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norahastuff · 5 years

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What about all of this is real?: 4x22 and 15x02

So at some point over the summer, someone asked me why “Free Will’s an Illusion” was the title of my blog, and whether I believed it. Here’s the link to my full answer if you’re interested, but the short version is that Cas and I pretty much have the same point of view on this topic.

I’m not in the least bit surprised at Cas’ attitude towards Chuck and free will. The grand plans, divine orders and celestial machinations, they’ve never caused anything but immense suffering for Cas. Anytime he’s tried to play big in order to try save the world: think opening purgatory or trying to close the gates of heaven with Metatron, things have always gone catastrophically bad for him.

It absolutely makes sense that the more personal choices matter more to him than overall grand plan. Let’s not forget, for the majority of his existence, Cas belonged to an organisation that sought to strip away any hint of free will from him at every opportunity. Remember Cas’ harrowing words when he discovered how his repeated defiance of orders had been punished

“How— how many times have you torn into my head and washed it clean?”

Cas would always resist and heaven would always force him to bend to their will nonetheless. Nothing he did mattered. Until one day it did. One day he resisted, was sent back to “bible camp” as Dean calls it and yet still chose to fight back again anyway. He still allowed himself to listen to Dean, to understand what was truly right and to choose. And he chose to fall.

Cas is so adamant that their choices are their own because of he has fought so hard for that particular right. I don’t think Cas sees his choice to fall (in 4x22) as anything other than a decision made completely of his own volition. He was making it up as he went along, and I don’t think it’s any coincidence that Dean and Cas are once again having a heated discussion about the concept of free will and the inevitability of fate. It’s just that their positions are a little different now.

4x22

First we have Cas acknowledging how he and Dean “have been through much together” and how he’s sorry it ended like this. Dean’s angry. Yes at Cas somewhat, but mostly about the horrible situation they’ve been forced into. He dismisses Cas’ apology “you’re going to need a bigger word than sorry” and tries to punch him, but ultimately that’s not the point of this conversation. The point is to try to get Cas to see he’s been manipulated by his higher ups. The point is to try to get Cas to think and decide for himself what’s right or wrong.

Dean: Destiny? Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?

Cas: What is so worth saving? I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you. I see your guilt, your anger, confusion

Now compare that to 15x02

We start with Cas trying to apologise to Dean for any mistakes he may have made with Jack and Mary’s death. Once again, Dean dismisses his apology, and once again we learn that Cas is not the main reason for his anger. It’s mostly the horrible situation they’ve been forced into.

And yet this time it’s Dean who’s feeling completely nihilistic. He doesn’t believe there’s any hope or free will left to fight for.

Dean: I'll tell you what we do know. Nothing about our lives is real. So maybe you can stick your head back in the sand, maybe you can pretend that we actually had a choice. I can't. Cas: Dean. You asked, "What about all of this is real?" We are. It’s a powerful statement from Cas, because Dean’s the one who taught him the answer to that question. God’s plan? Destiny? That’s not real. But they are. And in the end isn’t that what truly matters?

#spn #supernatural #castiel #spn meta #dean and cas #15x02 #my spn thoughts #free will's an illusion #4x22 #parallels

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

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15x09 Bullet Point Rambles

Chuck gloats to Sam about his role in bringing Eileen back to life so he could use her as bait. We’re ready to watch this villain go

Boris: I miss hoard-toilet-paper Chuck

Cas makes borax bullets while Dean frets because Sam isn’t answering his phone. Cas is ON A MISSION

We see some moderately shirtless Sammy while Chuck puts a scalpel to Sam’s shoulder! Eek!

Chuck hesitates with the scalpel, though. He’s squeamish. Sam laughs at him which is walking a RAZOR EDGE DUDE. Eileen joins the mock-Chuck train and he puppets her over to slice up Sam for him (Boris: THE WRITERS REALLY HATE US)

Dean and Cas head to Purgatory. “Maybe we’ll run into Benny.” Dean also suggests splitting up. Cas calls him out for being a dumbass, RIGHTLY SO

Between screaming bouts, Sam comforts Eileen (who’s cutting into him) while Chuck plays his fucking guitar. DUDE. Boris and I are just curled up in balls right now

Chuck’s enraged by Sam’s defiance. “It’s not my first time on the rack.” Sam BBY

Chuck’s conclusion is that Sam’s hope is keeping him from caving to Chuck. Sam thinks he’s the hero of the story. (Boris: Well, he DOES have top billing)

Meanwhile, Dean and Cas corner a leviathan and ask him for help. There’s a blossom that blooms where a leviathan dies. The monster’ll take them

Dean asks after Benny and their leviathan friend tells him that Benny’s dead. HARSH. Also, Dean Bean

Chuck takes Sam on an exciting tour de future. Everything’s a little lens flare heavy in the future. It’s a happy world in the bunker! And then Jody calls. Claire died in a vampire raid. f-r-o-w-n-y f-a-c-e

“Sorry about Benny,” Cas says and then tailspins down in the patented Winchester-Castiel guilt spiral over leviathans

Dean accuses Cas of “up and leaving” and Cas stands up for himself. “I left, but you didn’t stop me.” BRB WEEPING AT THESE BOYS USING THEIR WORDS

It’s 2021 and Sam’s riding shotgun with the ghost of Christmas Future. Dean and Sam rehash a bad hunt. Cas isn’t there anymore. CAS ISN’T THERE

In Purgatory we arrive in a field to find they’re caught in an angel trap. A monster whacks Dean over the head and he falls next to a leviathan blossom in full bloom

Dean wakes up and Cas is gone. Boris is pleased to see that they left Dean his gun. Thanks, monsters!

Sam watches future Sam and Dean prepare for a hunt. Or, rather, watches Sam prepare. Dean’s given up. He wants to quit hunting. (Boris: Cas is dead. He doesn’t care about anything)

The Mark made Cas go crazy and Dean had to bury him in the ma’lak box WHAT THE FUUUUUCK (Boris: This is the worst case scenario and a bibros dream.) In summary, they’ve lost everything and everyone. “We lost, brother,” Dean says. (Boris, for Dean: “Now I’m gonna go undig Cas from the ma’lak box.”)

Chuck pops up in Sam’s vision. He’s just the “messenger” sharing his omnipotence with Sam. Chuck plz

Dean stalks Purgatory looking for Cas. He’s got a half hour left since he was passed out most of the rest of the time. He stops. He prays. The air holds its breath. I HOLD MY BREATH

“I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend but I just let you go. ‘Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong.” He falls to his knees. His anger’s always been there and comes out when the world goes wrong. “I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. I’m sorry it took me so long.” DEAN goddamnit. This is more than a single man tear and we are feeling EMOTIONS

It’s three minutes left. Dean stalks through Purgatory and finds Cas behind a tree. They HUG! There’s FORGIVENESS IN THE AIR!

In the future, it’s time for Butch and Sundance to go out swinging. Sam watches Chuck’s watch anxiously while hunters swarm the building. At SOME point in the future, Sam and Dean get turned into vamps. Wherps. Dean rips a hole in Jody’s throat and Sam gets his head hacked off by Bobby. Well.

Back at the casino, Chuck frets over the crappy ending they both just watched. Ugh, writer problems amirite?

Back in the bunker, Dean and Cas do their spell with the leviathan blossom. Cas resolves to take ON THE MARK noooooooo

Chuck tells Sam that the monsters start to take over the world without Chuck

In the Casino, Dean and Cas free Sam. Eileen continues to be puppeted by Chuck

Sam gets the spell sphere to trap Chuck and he thinks and thinks about smashing it. He slumps down, the sphere rolls away, and something flashes in Chuck’s shoulder.

Sam lost hope and it freed Chuck and healed both of them. Oh DAMN (Sam made the HEART choice and not the HARD choice…although it was surely fueled by fear and uncertainty as well)

Chuck destroys the little spell sphere and calmly tells them that their destruction is inevitable (Mustache twirl, I guess)

At the bunker, Eileen leaves because she is tailspinning about what’s real and what isn’t. We GET A REAL KISS yaaaaassss. “I know that was real,” Sam says. She still leaves so I’m gonna have to go look a girl up and talk some sense into her. We’ll kill some monsters, drink some mimosas, and talk about boys!

Dean and Cas decompress in the kitchen when Sam walks in. He tells them that he thinks Chuck was showing him the real future. Dean accepts it easily and without anger...and Sam experiences emotions

“We find another way.”

Cut to….Jack “Another Way” Kline, who’s swirling around in the Empty. Billie appears! “It’s time.” Both Boris and I SCREECH in excitement

#spn 15x09 #the trap #supernatural season 15 #spn thoughts

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nickelkeep · 4 years

Text

Plunge

Pairing: pre-Dean/Cas

Rating: Gen.

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: John Winchester’s A+ Parenting

Written For: AMOKRA2020, for @anangelamuse-castiel-spnfam from @notfunnydean

On Ao3

Castiel had never felt so misunderstood. He knew he’d forever be the outcast of his family, especially when his father pointed out how much of a failure he was.

While strong and athletic, he was the weakest of his brothers.

While smart and cunning, he didn’t have the heart for war.

While talented and beautiful, he was a male.

He didn’t fit in. Period. He hit his breaking point when his father said that he was no better than marriage fodder. Castiel swam out of the Royal Chambers, not stopping until he was sure none of his siblings came after him. He found reprieve in a cluster of coral, a place he had long considered a sanctuary. None of the castle staff, let alone his siblings, would be able to find him.

Castiel laid on his back and stared up to where the water met the sky. The way the light hit the waves drew intricate patterns across the seafloor, but seeing the waves move in actual tandem was all the more impressive to the merman. Castiel curled his tail up to his body and started smoothing out and preening the scales, knowing he had been a bit rough on himself as he bolted from the castle.

As he worked over his tail, a massive shadow blocked the light, startling Castiel, and drawing his attention. He pushed himself off of his back and cautiously swam to the surface. While he knew that making contact with the surface world was forbidden, Castiel ignored the anchor of fear, trying to keep him tethered in a place that refused to understand him. As he got closer, he realized that the shadow in question was a ship or boat, not that he could tell the difference. Castiel fell a wave of nervousness wash over him. He didn’t know how those on the ship would react to seeing him - recalling horror stories from other Merfolk - but he refused to let it stop him.

Castiel broke through a crest of a wave, jumping from the water and diving back in as he mimicked the dolphins he noticed swimming alongside the boat. The feeling of the fresh air above him, then the cold water beneath him kept Castiel moving, kept him feeling, kept him distracted. Distracted enough that he didn’t see the crew gather at the side of the boat, and even more distracted that he didn’t see the net that came down over the edge on top of him.

Despite Castiel’s thrashings, trying to escape the net and crash back into the sea, the crew swiftly pulled him up into the boat. After he was dropped - unceremoniously - he came face to face with an older man in a long black coat. “About time we found one.”

Castiel tilted his head, unable to string words together in the male’s language. Oddly, he understood the man and noted that he needed to figure out why, when - if - he got home.

“Do you know who I am?”

Castiel shook his head no and shrunk back, looking around the group of men.

“I’m King John of Winchester, and by the looks of it,” John leaned and tapped the necklace around Castiel’s neck, “you’re one of the royals of Atlantis.”

Castiel nodded slowly, wondering what his birthright had to do with anything.

“Good.” He looked to a brunet man with bright green eyes standing at his side. “Throw him in the tank in the brig. Hopefully, capturing him will make the King of Atlantis show his ugly mug. If not, I’ll use this fish to get my revenge.”

“Dad. No.” The green-eyed man shook his head. “This isn’t what Mom would want. This isn’t even revenge. You’re talking about murdering an innocent.”

King John lunged forward and grabbed his son by the front of his shirt. Castiel whipped his head around, watching in horror as the so-called-king pushed his son back over the ship’s railing. “You done questioning me, Dean?”

“No.” Castiel stared in awe at the man’s defiance. “You gonna kill your heir?”

Castiel surprised himself by growling at the man who called himself King. The men holding the net dropped it in shock, and Castiel took the opportunity to slip away from his capturers. As he got to the edge of the boat and climbed up on the railing, Castiel watched in horror as the King reared back, hand balled in a fist, and started to swing forward at his son’s face.

Before jumping, Castiel reached over and grabbed the man by the wrist and pulled him overboard with him, diving into the ocean. The human in his arms clung to him, tapping on his side, and Castiel swam back up to the surface quickly. They were a reasonable distance away from the boat, but Castiel could still see the chaos he had caused by running off with the man. He froze for a moment, remembering what the King had said…

Had Castiel just start a war by kidnapping a prince?

He looked over at the human who was still holding him tightly, almost afraid to let go. “Look, I appreciate you saving me from my Dad’s mean right hook, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but is there land nearby you can take me to?”

Castiel nodded and started to adjust, so the man’s arms were around his neck, when the man spoke up again. “Dad said you can understand us?” When Castiel nodded, the man smiled. “My name’s Dean. And thank you, really.” Dean pressed his chest against Castiel’s back, and the merman nearly melted. He closed his eyes, enjoying the way that the human melded against his body. He started swimming, remembering vaguely where the closest human port was and took care to make a large swarth around the boat.

“He’s going to be so pissed.” Dean rested his cheek between Castiel’s shoulder blades and let out a small sigh. “Do you have a name?” Castiel nodded, wondering how he’d be able to share it. After a few moments, the silence must have clicked in Dean’s mind. “You can understand me, but you can’t speak, can you?” Castiel nodded once more and frowned to himself.

They continued the journey in silence, either because Dean didn’t want to talk to himself, or because he pitied Castiel. Not that there was anything to pity. The trip took a couple of hours, and as Castiel got near, Dean tapped him on the shoulder. “I can’t risk you being captured again. There’s a private beach a little past the port that you can take me to.”

Castiel followed Dean’s instructions and found the cove that Dean had mentioned. Castiel instantly felt cold, the water chilling the spot where Dean had once been laying against, as Dean slid off his back and swam towards the shore. Castiel continued to follow, not ready to be apart from the Prince nor trusting his safety. If his father was so willing to harm him, who was to say, he wouldn’t be injured upon his return.

As Dean made his way up the beach, he stopped and turned around to look at Castiel. “Dude, thank you.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You saved me, in a lot of ways today, and I don’t know how to repay you.” He stopped in the shallows and squatted down to be eye level with Castiel. “I only wish I knew your name.

Heat rose in Castiel’s cheeks as his eyes met Dean’s, and he lost himself in fleckings of gold in the gorgeous green. He reluctantly looked away, dragged his hand across the sea packed sand. Castiel tapped Dean’s leg and started writing out his name.

“That’s not any language we use here on land, handsome.” Dean shook his head as he stared at it. A soft smile settled on Dean’s lips, and it took all of Castiel’s power to keep his hands to himself. “Please come back?”

The surprise must have shown on Castiel’s face, as Dean started to stumble and retract his words. “I mean, it’s probably not safe. And you’ve got a family… And what am I thinking, you’re royalty! You don–”

Castiel grabbed Dean’s hand, instantly quieting the man. He smiled and nodded, and Dean’s mouth twisted into the most breathtaking smile Castiel had ever seen. Castiel pointed at himself, then pointed at Dean before pointing at the beach.

“So you will come back?” Dean quietly asked.

Castiel squeezed Dean’s hand and nodded before heading back out to deeper water. He stopped and turned around, looking at the Prince standing on the beach. Dean waved, which Castiel returned before diving back down into the water. He had never looked forward to the future more than that moment.

#profoundnet #spncreatorsdaily #spn fic #deancas fanfic #destiel #amokra20 #rating: general #pre-ship #nickel writes

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years

Text

Siren Song

endverse!destiel

~1.3k words

Dean doesn’t bother knocking. It’s Thursday night, Cas is always waiting for him on Thursday nights.

And sometimes other nights. The thought comes, unbidden. Unwanted. He pushes it aside.

“Cas?” he says, but he’s not expecting an answer. The cabin is clearly empty.

At war within himself--go? stay? go?--he closes the door to keep the mosquitoes out and ends up on the inside. He decides that decides it for him--he’ll stay and wait. Not that he has to. He doesn’t need these nights with Cas.

Right, says the voice in his head. Dean ignores it.

Wandering aimlessly around the single-room space, Dean lets his eyes slide across the wooden walls, the plain, worn furniture. Cas lost the last of his grace over a year ago, but he still decorates his place like an angel. Stark, sterile. Dean is here often, but he’s never really got eyes for the decor. Maybe he should find Cas something colorful to brighten the place up. Blue, maybe. He could probably scrounge up some curtains…

The small kitchen table is cluttered with papers, some stacked neatly, others wrinkled and battered and tossed about. Dean sits in one of the two chairs. There’s a lantern on the table too; Dean is careful to keep it away from the papers when he lights it, mindful of possible sparks.

His breath catches in his throat. He’d seen Cas drawing, but he’d never seen any of his work before now. It’s...well, it’s breathtaking.

All the people who matter, he sees them staring back at him. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Chuck. He picks up a drawing of Sam laughing, not with Lucifer’s cruel eyes but his own true happy light shining from every line.

There are others. Angels. Those have a certain quality to them--not sharp, not blurry, but different. Like Cas was trying to capture their angelic bodies while drawing their human vessels. They’re all done in charcoal and ordinary pencil, but somehow they shine with hints of grace.

And everywhere, everywhere, is Dean. For every drawing of another there are five of Dean, maybe more. His hands begin to shake. Cas has been under him, over him, inside him, but these drawings make him feel more known than he’s ever been. He stands quickly, the chair clattering to the floor. He’s pacing in front of the table, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, thoughts racing.

He’d always thought...no. It’s time for honesty, right? Because these drawings are nothing if not honest. He tries again.

Back before the world went mad, he and Cas had a connection. From the very beginning there’d been...something. Cas always called it “a more profound bond.” Nothing ever happened, aside from lots of lingering glances and quite a few late-night fantasies--on Dean’s part, at least. But once Cas had begun the trek toward humanity, once Dean had lost his brother, once nearly every moment had become devoted to survival...it hadn’t taken long for them to take solace in one another.

For him it had always been more than solace. He acts like it’s just physical, but he craves the times Cas lets him stay all night, lets him be close. He never lets himself ask, he’s so afraid he’ll frighten Cas away and he’ll be left with nothing.

But these drawings. Dean stops pacing and picks up a drawing of himself, sprawled on his stomach on Cas’s bed, naked and asleep. There are constellations of freckles across his back, and three jagged knife scars that hadn’t been stitched well, and a puckered gunshot scar on his right shoulder. The detail is sharp, but Dean looks so soft, almost at peace. And Dean knows if he had been sleeping anywhere but in Cas’s bed he would have had tension in every line of his body instead.

And another--Dean in the barn, gripping Ruby’s knife in his fist. Defiance in his eyes. He looks fearless. Funny, part of him had been paralyzed with fear. He must have kept it well hidden.

The door rattles and there’s Cas, staring at him, eyes narrow and puzzled. Dean feels like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Except he hasn’t had a cookie in years.

“Dean. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Mouth dry, Dean says, “Uh, it’s Thursday.”

Cas tilts his head, and looks more like the angel he was than he has in months. “It’s Wednesday, Dean.”

“No, it’s n--” Dean starts to say, but then he stops and thinks about it. Could it actually be Wednesday? The names of days matter less and less, running one into another.

“I’m sorry,” he says, confused and embarrassed. “I’ll go.”

He’s past Cas and in the doorway when Cas says, “Wait,”

Dean stops, helpless. Cas is a siren, Dean a parched and starving sailor. He turns but doesn’t look at Cas; he won’t do that unless Cas asks. Because now he knows Cas can see into him, and if Cas looks into his eyes right now he’ll know that all this is more than just sex to Dean. More than just scratching an itch. And if Cas sends him away for good Dean will truly go mad in this world of madness.

“Stay,” Cas says, and Dean realizes Cas isn’t looking at him either. Dean glances up to see that he’s at the table, fingers trailing over the scattered drawings, his back to Dean.

“I never meant for you to see these,” Cas says, his voice low and soft. Almost raw. His shoulders slump under worn flannel and Dean can’t help but remember the powerful wings that once sprouted from those shoulder blades.

“I didn’t mean to look.” It’s mostly true.

Silence ticks between them, then Cas starts to gather up the drawings, says, “Just give me a minute to put these away.”

“Don’t.” The word is out of Dean’s mouth before he can think, and he immediately wants to take it back.

Cas freezes.

“I mean…” Dean looks for the words. Finally he just says, “Show me?”

Cas turns and looks at Dean, and even though he’s fully clothed Dean has never felt so naked. So seen.

Their eyes are locked, and Dean couldn’t look away now even if he wanted to. Heart trying to beat its way out of his chest he says, “I’ll stay even if you don’t want to show me your work, Cas. I’ll stay every night if you’ll let me. Hell Cas, I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just so long as it’s yours.” Cas’s eyes widen at this; just a fraction, but Dean’s looking close enough to see. He takes a step closer, reaches out but doesn’t touch. “But I want more than midnight rendezvous. Who knows how much time we even have left anymore--I want to kiss you in the sunlight.”

Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink, and Dean’s heart sinks. All he can hear is his own uneven breath and his pounding heart, and the longer Cas stands staring at him the more Dean is sure Cas is going to send him away.

He can’t take that. He’ll make it easier.

“I’ll go,” he mumbles, turning away before Cas can see the hurt in his eyes.

And then Dean is spun around and slammed against the wall. One of Cas’s hands is gripping the front of his shirt and the other rather posessively pressed against his shoulder, right where his handprint once shone. Cas’s face is mere inches from his own.

“I’ve loved you since I raised you from perdition, Dean Winchester. I’ve belonged to you ever since--even when I told you I didn’t. Please.” He takes a breath, then another, then presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips, never breaking eye contact. “Please stay.”

“And after?” Dean says carefully.

“Stay after,” says Cas. He loosens his grip on Dean’s shirt, runs his hand over his chest instead. Dean’s breath is ragged. Cas looks up at him, eyes warm but true. “Stay always.”

. + . + . + . + . + .

destiel tag list:

@all-or-nothing-baby @bend-me-shape-me @contemplativepancakes @keplarrrr @ladywaywarddsc @may-darling @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @tippy06 @pray4jensen

if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list please let me know!

#lirael writes #endverse!destiel #destiel fic #angst #but a happy ending #this turned out not at all like i'd planned #but it makes me happy #so...#*shrug*

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