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mystic-writings · 6 months

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would’ve, could’ve, should’ve been | dean winchester

PAIRING — dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — you seem to have the perfect life with dean, but nothing good ever happens to you, so why should this?

WARNINGS — fluff, angst, anxiety, derealization, pregnancy, miscarriage mentions, blood & self-harm/suicide depictions, injury

WORD COUNT — 3,764

NOTES — this is all i’ve been thinking about for like a week. also TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY THIS IS AN EMOTIONALLY HEAVY FIC | btw most of this takes place in season 2 or 3, and season 6 or so at the end

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This bed is too comfortable. Too warm. But you didn’t care, because it was the best sleep you’d gotten in years. You forced yourself to keep your eyes closed, to soak in the comfort that hardly ever came with your lifestyle.

Warm lips pressed against your temple, the pressure of someone else in the bed shifting your body ever-so-slightly. That was what forced you to peel your eyes open.

You stretched your arms, taking a deep breath in and locking eyes with… Dean. Your comfort quickly turned to shock and confusion, and judging by the look that formed on his features, your face showed how you felt.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” He said, and the smile you fell in love with melted onto his lips.

“Morning,” you sighed. Something about all of this felt off, but you couldn’t place it. Everything else about your reality felt entirely normal, so you felt the only thing to do was brush it off entirely. “What time is it?”

Dean, who was leaning over you with one arm on either side of your head, craned his neck to the side. “Almost 9. I’ve got some grub ready for you downstairs, if you can handle it this morning.” He smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Let me guess, is it a pile of bacon and some eggs?”

“With toast,” Dean defended, and moved back as you pushed yourself into a sitting position.

As your feet touched the floor, Dean headed toward the bedroom door. “I’ll be down in a few, okay?”

Once Dean was out of sight, things began to feel odd again. You still couldn’t place the feeling, but it churned your stomach. Still, you did your best to push the feeling aside and headed to the bathroom. It was in there, as you brushed your teeth, that you saw the glint in the mirror — a ring, placed delicately on your left ring finger. The band was thin, the jewels were small, but it looked absolutely stunning.

Were you and Dean engaged?

The second the thought came to mind, you nearly laughed. Of course, you were engaged, why else would you be wearing a ring? And besides, it’s not as though it should be a surprise, you’d been engaged for almost two years now, and together for much longer.

After you were done in the bathroom, you browsed both the closet and dresser for something to wear, but none of your clothes felt right. There was little flannel — or jeans for that matter — and all the comfortable t-shirts belonged to Dean. You ended up choosing one of his old, plain shirts and a pair of jeans that felt a little too tight around the waist.

You followed the nearly-overwhelming scent of bacon downstairs and into the kitchen, where you found Dean plating everything up for the both of you at the table.

“Come get it while it’s hot, babe,” he smirked, setting the plates in their spots across from one another.

Breakfast was pretty silent, but you were starving. Pretty much the only thing you could think about was eating what was in front of you — including the bowl of poorly cut up fruit next to your plate. Just as you were finishing up whatever bacon you had, Dean let out a low whistle. You paused, mid-chew, and looked up at him. “What?”

“Well, I’ve just never seen you eat like that before,” Dean commented. “Guess I should expect things to start changing or whatever, but yesterday you damn near threw up at the smell of bacon, sweetheart.”

Why would that have made you nauseous in the first place? “What can I say, I’m a hungry woman,” you shrugged, and a thought came to mind. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean seemed caught off guard by your question. “Sam? He’s… in California, Y/n. He won’t be here until later tonight. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You took a sip from the cup of orange juice in front of you. God, you could use a coffee.

“Nothing, I just- I know the doctor said brain fog would be normal, but I didn’t expect it to be this early.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stood, heading to the coffee pot to pour yourself some. You don’t know why Dean didn’t, especially considering he knew how much you loved it. “I’m fine, Dean, don’t worry. Just a little tired, is all.”

By the time you poured yourself a cup and it was halfway to your lips, Dean was at your side, pulling it from your hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Dean, seriously, what the hell are you up to? I’m just having a cup of coffee, jesus.”

“Were we not at the same doctor’s appointment last week?” Dean asked, dumping the cup down the sink. “She said no caffeine, period. Better to not take risks with the baby, all things considered.”

Baby? What baby?

Your mind reeled at Dean’s words for a few moments, confusion filling you to the brim. You weren’t pregnant. Right? You didn’t look or feel pregnant. Did you? Then, in an instant, your mind felt crammed with memories. Taking the test, sharing it with Dean, the doctor’s appointment. It rushed you all at once, but it felt… fake.

Sharp pain shot through your temples, and you pressed the heel of your palm to your forehead, catching your fiance’s attention. “Are you feeling okay, babe?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just a headache. I’ll be okay.” You assured him, removing your hand from your head and placing it on his shoulder. “I’m gonna go get some rest, okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay. I’ll call mom, let her know tonight’s off.”

“No, no. I should be fine for tonight, don’t worry about it. I think I just need to rest.” After you got Dean to agree, you wracked your brain for what possibly could be going on tonight. Then, suddenly, you remembered. Dean’s birthday dinner. Of course. You and Mary had been planning it for weeks now. It was less fancy than the birthdays you recalled Mary having, with just a nice, home cooked meal and a cake and pie from Dean’s favourite place in town.

In fact, you were supposed to go help her with that today. However, you decided that maybe a small nap would be fine, since you didn’t need to go anywhere until after 12 o’clock.

If it weren’t for Dean waking you up again, there was a high chance you would’ve slept through the whole day. Both of you had things to do outside the house, so you got ready and left in tandem, a blissful, domestic peace settling over your house.

That is, until you saw the vehicles in the driveway. The old, black, Toyota Tacoma made sense, since it was yours, but the sedan — Dean’s sedan — didn’t.

“Where’s the Impala?” You asked, heading down the porch steps.

Dean glanced back at you, that all-too familiar face of confusion looking at you. “I got rid of it when we got the house, remember? You and mom said it was too loud to be in a quiet neighbourhood, so I traded it in.”

You hummed with a nod, your chest feeling a little heavy. You loved that car; Dean loved that car. The sedan was nice, but the Impala, she was a beauty. Dismissing it, you hopped into your truck and backed out of the driveway, the route to the bakery coming to you like riding a bike as you sang along to the cd mix you left in the console last week.

Once both the cake and pie were paid for and secured in the passenger seat, you headed back to the house to get ready for the dinner. Dean was still out, grocery shopping you presumed, due to the lack of ingredients in the fridge.

It took you nearly an hour, between your makeup and trying to find a dress that looked good on you and still fit. It still felt weird to you; the fact that you were pregnant. It’s not something you ever recalled truly wanting, not to mention something you ever really discussed with Dean. You still felt like your normal self. No nausea or mood swings, and definitely no cravings or aversions. You didn’t even feel bloated, even if your clothes said otherwise. It was like there was no pregnancy to begin with.

Still, you found a suitable outfit and made your way over to Mary’s, where she was already starting on the dinner you were helping her cook. Aside from her oddly watchful eye, you were grateful for the time you got to spend with just her. Time with Mary passed like nothing, and before you knew it, Dean was bringing Sam and Jess into the house, and dinner was practically done.

You greeted everyone happily, still wearing the apron Mary wrapped you in to keep your clothes protected. Sam and Jess looked happy, and for a moment, as you took Jess’ hand, you were flashed with images of Sam, sobbing at her grave. It overtook you, overwhelmed you, and shook you to your core. So much so that when you came back to the present, everyone was looking at you.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to put a smile on and untying your apron. “I’m just not feeling too well, I’ll be back in a second,”

You barely managed to toss the apron over the bannister as you headed for the upstairs bathroom. The door flung open and shut, and your back was pressed against it, the lock clicking, sealing you in to calm down. You tried to keep your eyes closed, but they kept flashing with those images. Jess’ grave, Sam’s tears. Jess, poor, lovely Jess, pinned to the ceiling with blood soaking her nightdress. Sam’s fear, the flames, you and Dean pulling him away.

What’s gotten into you?

After taking a few deep breaths, you finally got rid of those haunting images, and joined everyone in the dining room. Dean was sitting at the head of the table, with Sam and Jess on one side, and an empty seat on the other. You took that one, which was next to Mary.

“Are you okay, honey?” She asked, plating up mashed potatoes for everyone. “You were up there a while,”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You nodded, taking Dean’s hand. “I just… I think I’m coming down with something. Just needed a second, is all.”

Dinner passed smoothly, with comfortable chatter and laughter, reminiscing and recalling memories. You were bringing up things you didn’t even remember, but everything felt so natural and peaceful that you barely thought twice about it.

Just before cake and pie, the conversation quieted down, and Dean cleared his throat. He gave you a look, and you knew what he was going to do.

“I know it’s my birthday, but while we’re all here, Y/n and I have something we want to tell you,” Dean started, an uncontrollable smile on his face. It made you fall in love with him all over again.

Sam, Jess, and Mary’s voices overlapped as they berated you all with questions, their enthusiasm making you giggle.

“Okay, okay, we might as well just say it, right?” You asked your fiance, and he nodded. “We’re pregnant!”

The table erupted with cheers. Everyone stood up, and the next few minutes were a flurry of hugs and congratulations. Questions were asked and answered, and the joy was overwhelmingly felt.

When everything calmed, Dean mentioned, “I’m honestly surprised we got through dinner before announcing it. Between our excitement and Y/n’s nausea, I figured it would’ve slipped before we were halfway done.”

Your stomach churned at his comment, and you realised that he was right. You’d prepared and eaten all this food, and not once did you have any aversions or nausea, despite recalling the fact that you threw up at the smell of steak only a few days ago.

“Yeah, well, I guess I developed an iron stomach just for you, babe.” You smiled, just as Mary brought out the desserts.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch. After desserts, you found yourself sitting with everyone in the living room, talking endlessly about how exciting everything was. Jess and Sam’s wedding, the baby, all of it. Mary even shared some of the stories she recalled from when the boys were little.

Dean stuck to your side the whole night, an arm around your shoulders. The whole scene, every moment, brought you comfort and peace, one you feel like you haven’t had in years, even if this was just what your life was like.

You drove home after Sam and Jess turned in, and it didn’t take long after you got home for the two of you to fall into bed, into a warm and safe cocoon made up of Dean and the duvet. You were utterly at peace.

But the peace didn’t follow you into your dreams.

Your subconscious became filled with the most sickening sights. Weapons, fights, death and destruction. And blood. Covering every inch of your skin, splattering and dripping and staining. And none of it was yours. The image of Jess returned, and so did Dean. More gruff, hardened, and scarier than you’ve ever seen him. Sam, tortured and fighting himself. Motels and bars and Baby, and then nothing. Emptiness, loneliness, hunt after hunt by yourself. No Dean, no Sam, no family. Then the warehouse. People strung up to die. The glow of blue magic, then nothing.

Waking up felt like being pulled out from underwater. Dean was nowhere to be found, but you were met with the sun-filled room you fell asleep in. An unsettling feeling settled in your chest, like something was wrong. This time, you couldn’t shake it.

You assumed, after getting ready and pacing around the house so much that you burned off your breakfast and made a second one, that the feeling must be from being alone. After all, you only felt this way yesterday when no one else was in your presence.

Since Dean had taken Sam and Jess house hunting for the day, something they planned weeks ago, you figured going to Mary would be best. After all, you didn’t know a thing about pregnancy, and she’d been through two. Maybe she could help. Maybe what you were feeling was just sudden anxiety about the baby now that people knew (even if you feel like you didn’t know until yesterday, even if you feel like you’re not even pregnant).

When you arrived, she was making herself some lunch, which she graciously offered to you and you accepted. The house was quiet now, and you wondered how she dealt with the silence all the time.

As you were finishing your sandwiches, Mary cleared her throat.

“Not that I don’t love your company, darling, but is there a reason you stopped by?”

You stopped chewing for a moment. Placing the remnants of your sandwich back on the plate, you swiped your hands on your jeans and took a swig of water. “Yes, actually, there is.” You took a breath, and forced the words. “I feel… off. I don’t know what it is, if it’s because of the baby, or,” you almost couldn’t say the word. It was like you were in a permanent state of denial. “I just… don’t feel okay. It’s like something’s wrong, but I can’t place it. But I only feel it when I’m alone.”

Mary seemed to think on her words for a while, before reaching over and placing a hand over yours. “Considering what you’ve been through, it’s totally normal to feel how you do. I mean, you and Dean went through a lot. Between the miscarriage and the break up, feeling like something’s wrong is probably just anxiety from last time. I’m sure if you talk to Dean about it he can help. He was such a wreck for so long.”

You pulled your hand away from Mary’s, as though her touch burned. You had no idea what she was talking about. Miscarriage? Breakup? You’d never been pregnant before. You didn’t even feel pregnant now.

You tried to think back, to reach into the back of your mind to try and pull forward these supposed memories, but all it did was give you a headache. Your temples throbbed as you pushed yourself. Then, like the breaking of a dam, everything flooded into your head.

The hunts, the lifestyle, the memories. You were right, you’d never been pregnant. This was not your life. This was a mockery of what was, a possibility of what could’ve been if the world hadn’t been so cruel, if fate and stubbornness hadn’t driven you to be alone.

The djinn was smart. It was skilled, its magic refined. You knew going after it alone was a mistake, but there was no one else you could go to. All your hunting friends were busy, and the Winchesters had become nothing but a painful mark on your soul; a memory too painful to relive, and too fond to forget. It took over you, subdued you, strung you up to die.

You knew the way out. Die here, and live there, or live here and die there. It was a no-brainer. If it weren’t for the fact that you had Dean. If it weren’t for the fact that Jess was alive, that Sam was happy. That Mary got to see her sons grow up. If it weren’t for the fact that things are normal.

Somehow, you managed to excuse yourself from Mary, thank her for the food and advice, and drive yourself home. You spent what felt like hours staring at yourself in the mirror that hung above the sink, splashing water in your face and thinking. If you didn’t do something, you’d die out there, in the real world. But the real world sucked. You were alone. Every day was a struggle, especially with the things you’ve seen, the things you’ve done. The real you had regrets, big ones. The real you didn’t know how she kept getting out of those cheap motel beds every day.

This version of you is happy. This you had regrets, but none as big, as ugly, as the real you. This you had a job, a house, a life, and a family. This you had Dean, and he alone almost made it worth it.

But it wasn’t enough. You knew it wasn’t enough.

So, you walked through the bedroom, down the stairs, and through your house, soaked in the setting sunlight. It felt like a death march. It was a death march; and its destination was the kitchen.

You stood at the counter with limbs filled with lead, with a looming fear. There was nothing to be scared of, really. It would just be the pain, and then you’d wake up. Everything would be fine.

But your hand still shook as you reached for the biggest knife in the block.

And it shook as the tip pressed into your stomach.

And then the door opened, and Dean called out to you, lovingly. He rambled on as he approached, talking about how he thought Sam and Jess found the perfect house - just a few streets away, he claimed, so close to you both, where you could build lives together.

You turned, knife still touching your skin, shaking and at the brink of tears, when he walked into the kitchen. You watched the joy within him turn to fear, and your heart broke.

“Y/n what are you doing-” he said, stepping closer.

“Don’t!” You shouted. He froze in place. Your shaking became uncontrollable. “Don’t come any closer.”

“What’s going on, Y/n?” He asked, and all you could hear was fear in his voice. “Just- just put the knife down, we can talk about this.”

You shook your head, and tears filled your vision. “No, we can’t. This isn’t real. None of it’s real, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it is. This is real, I’m real, okay?”

“No, you aren’t!” You screamed. “You’re Dean, I know that, but you’re not the Dean I love. You’re the Dean I wish I could’ve been with. This life, it’s perfect, and I wish it was mine, but it’s not. It’s just a stupid dream, and if I stay here I’ll die.”

“You’re not making any sense, babe. Just put down the knife, and I swear, I can help you.”

You sniffed, letting the tears fall. “God, I wish you could. I wish I could stay with you, Dean. You’re perfect, and I love you so much. I’m sorry.”

And within seconds, hot pain flooded your stomach as you buried the knife in your abdomen. Dean rushed to you as you pulled it back out, tears flowing down both your cheeks. He caught you as you stumbled, and guided you to the ground, into his lap.

The only thing you could retain was his hand on your wound, his cries for help, and grabbing his hand one last time, comforted by his skin touching yours as everything slipped away.

This position was far too uncomfortable. You tried to move, to stretch out, but something was stopping you. The air was cold around you, and your muscles were aching and tired. Something reached up to you, brushed the hair from your face.

You groaned as your arms dropped and something — someone — caught you. Through the muck you felt like your mind was swimming in, you remembered what happened. The djinn strung you up. But who was cutting you down?

Again, your hair was gently brushed from your face, and suddenly at the back of your neck and knees there was a pressure. You could hear voices around you, low and rumbling. They sounded panicked. Familiar. Safe.

A million thoughts ran through your head all at once, all of them rushing to the same conclusion. Open your eyes.

Emerald green, pale and comforting and worried, stared back at you, flooded with relief that you were alive. They were a stark contrast to what you had seen moments ago; the same eyes, though a little younger, filled with grief and pain and tears.

“Dean,” you rasped, and you could’ve sworn he smiled at you.

“Hey, princess,” you haven’t heard him call you that in years, “we’ve got you. Don’t worry. Me and Sammy, we- we killed the djinn. You’ll be okay.”

And, somehow, you believed him. You didn’t know how, or when, but you’d be okay.

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seraphic-elysian · 3 months

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@foolondahill17 have my attempt at the prompt you put about Dean sprinting to Cas. It's not perfect and I ended it without a resolution as I wanna write this as a whole ass fic but I really wanted to share this with you since your idea inspired the hell out of me. ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~ It happens in a moment. A heartbeat trapped between the milliseconds of time. Dean turns in the loose grip of his brother’s hands, green eyes trained on the golden crack of light that splits their world open to another, waiting for the sign of his angel. His heart is racing within his chest, adrenaline keeping him sharp and steady, as he waits with bated breath for his angel to emerge through the light. The image of Castiel stalking toward Lucifer as Sam pulls him to the portal is burned into his eyelids. He knows that it is almost a sickening parallel of the way that he had pulled Sam from his burning apartment all of those years ago but he can only pray that Castiel will not be killed. That he will not have to suffer the same agonizing heartbreak that Sam did when Jessica died. He refuses to entertain the thought of something happening to the angel, of him dying or being hurt while in the other world. That will not happen.

It cannot.

Dean steps close enough to the portal that he can hear the rushing of the wind and smell the heavy scent of gunpowder on the breeze. It pulls at his clothing in a tantalizing lure, a promise of taking him to where his angel is, but he refuses. He will not step back through the portal and waste the safety that Castiel had given him.

Sam’s voice is nothing but a gurgle of noises behind him but he does not need to hear him to understand what he is saying. Dean knows that he is too close to the portal for his brother to feel confident that he will not go through it to find Castiel. He knows that he becomes irrational and impulsive when his angel is in danger. That he has, in the past, openly let others be hurt and killed if it meant that those he cares about will be safe. Dean also knows that he has a history of suicidal tendencies, of throwing himself in front of others to take a hit or killing himself to trade someone else's life for his own, and that Sam has been witness to him doing that several times. And while he is aware that he would not hesitate to end his life if it meant that the angel would return safe and alive, he does not feel the need to do so. Not right now.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean! Cas is capable!” Sam nearly screams the words to him, voice only barely heard over the rushing noise in Dean’s ears.

And of course he is. Dean knows better than anyone what Castiel is capable of and how strong and intelligent the angel is. But even having the knowledge of that will not stop him from worrying about him. It will not stop him from desperately trying to keep the angel by his side where Dean is able to keep him safe.

After all, how can anyone act normal and as though the world is not on the verge of ending when the living personification of their heart is facing off against an archangel?

The portal flares a brilliant gold that burns his eyes and Dean’s breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as Castiel appears in front of him. There is blood stained along his trench coat, his black curls are covered in dust, and his face is streaked with dirt but Dean has never seen anything more beautiful. Exhausted blue eyes meet his own and something that Castiel sees on his face makes the angel’s brows furrow and him to step closer to Dean. They are close enough that he can feel heat radiating off of the angel and the exhalation of his breath ghosting across his face and, for the first time, Dean does not step back or snap at the angel. No, he only sways forward as he is captured by Castiel’s orbit. He surrenders to the feelings that he has in his chest, this desire to put himself out there and show the other how he feels.

“D-”

Castiel cuts himself off as an angel blade pierces through the bottom of his chest with a sickening squelch. The shining metal is clean as it slides through the angel’s body without resistance before it is yanked out violently. Crimson stains his white dress shirt and Castiel’s grace flares brightly through the gaping wound. Dean is moving before he can think, arms gathering the angel against his chest as he sags, and pressing his hand against the bleeding wound on his back. He does not see where Lucifer goes as the angel saunters off but he knows that Sam will watch his back. Something heavy and soft curls over his arms and back, engulfing him in the scent of honeysuckles and wildflowers, but when he looks there is nothing there. The smell of Castiel’s grace slowly begins to turn acrid as his grace begins to burn and Dean collapses to his knees.

“Get away,” Castiel whines, weak hands pushing against Dean’s chest, “I can’t hold it back anymore. Get away!”

Dean shakes his head and tightens his grip on the angel, “No!”

A whine escapes Castiel’s throat as the light flares up brighter and hotter, escaping from his mouth and eyes. The invisible objects that he feels against him heat up rapidly, searing his skin even through his clothing, and the heat and light reaches its apex in a wave of agony before it shatters. A pained howl leaves his lips as fire scorches him, consuming him in a decimating blaze that he cannot escape. His eyes burn even through his closed lids and he turns his face away from the sharp explosion of light. It seems as though it takes forever before it clears, taking the scorching heat with it, and Dean weakly lays Castiel’s body down. He presses his forehead down against the soft cotton of his dress shirt as he processes the hell that he just went through.

Castiel is dead. There is no denying that, not after what he just experienced. The angel is gone in a shattering of holy light and the smell of scorched feathers. His shaking fingers come up and tangle in the rough wool of the trench coat as he raises his face, desperate to see confirmation that Lucifer has murdered Castiel. He needs to memorize the pattern of his beautiful wings that will be burned into the dirt of this little home. Sliding his eyes open slowly, he sees…nothing. An unending wall of bright white light fills his vision and does not leave no matter how much he blinks or shakes his head. He panics, sucking in a startled breath, body freezing in fear at the implications of what this means.

Turning his head toward where he remembers his brother standing, he asks, “Sam?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean!” Sam’s voice is rough with anger as he stomps up to where Dean is kneeling, “You know what happens when an angel dies. You’ve fucking seen that happen so many times! So, what the hell were you thinking being right at the center of that? Didn’t you think for a second about what that would do to you?”

“It’s Cas, Sammy,” his excuse sounds broken as it falls through his lips. He is in agony, arms and back still burning from the blaze that had licked across his skin, “I couldn’t just-”

“How many times has he died before and you’ve stayed back from it? How many times has he been killed like this and you’ve not put yourself at the center of his grace exploding?” Sam is yelling now, anger making him sound almost terrifyingly like John, and Dean feels far too vulnerable here on the ground, “I don’t even know how we’re going to heal that. Or if we even can. Fuck, Dean, we didn’t need this on top of everything else!”

He takes Sam’s anger without question or complaint. He knows that he messed up and that he injured himself right when they are about to be dealing with Lucifer. He knows that his vision being gone, however temporary this is, will make him a vulnerability and a liability. It is now completely up to Sam to be able to defend not only himself but Dean as well.

“I should be able to see again in a few days,” he responds once Sam pauses to take a breath, “We just have to lay low inside of the Bunker until then. I know I messed up, Sammy, okay?”

“You can’t see?” Sam is suddenly in his space, calloused hand gripping his chin tightly, and Dean stifles a flinch. His head is tilted back and forth and he feels his brother messing with his eyelids. It is incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to see what Sam is doing but he knows that he is in safe hands, “Is it just blurry or is it fully gone?”

“I can’t see anything,” he admits as Sam wipes something off of his cheek, “it’s nothing but white.”

Sam sucks in a startled breath, hands stilling against his face, before he moves and cleans off his other cheek. “Okay, I…I didn’t realize that you were blind.”

“Then what were you talking about?”

Sam does not answer right away and Dean huffs in frustration. He hates not being able to see his brother’s face and be able to read him. He has always relied on the fact that Sam is an open book to him, that he rarely hides what he is thinking and feeling, and now having that taken away from him makes him feel as though he is lost at sea without a life raft.

The trench coat is warm within the grasp of his fingers but he forces himself to release it, to smooth it back into place despite the shake in his hands. His palm presses against the flat expanse of Castiel’s chest and something inside of him burns at the fact that he cannot feel his heart beating or the rise and fall of his chest. That he can feel the heat dissipating from his body, leaving it cold and empty. There is something within the cavern of his chest that feels just as hollow as the body in front of him, something along his soul that screams at the idea of Castiel being gone, but he can do nothing about that. There is no cure or bandage that can heal a broken heart.

A hand lands on his shoulder and he flinches away from it violently, “What the fuck, Sam?”

“You know how angel wings are burned into the ground when they die?” Sam asks gently, continuing when Dean nods in confusion, “Dean…Cas’s wings aren’t…they…they’re burned into your skin, dude. From the back of your hands, up your arms, and across your back to either side of your spine.”

“But I’m wearing clothes,” Dean argues weakly, “How could they have burned through that?”

His brother exhales shakily, “Couldn’t his wings phase through things like that?”

The fingers of his right hand skirt over to his left, drifting across the back of it, and a pained noise leaves his lips as his skin flares up in red hot pain at the touch. He shakes his head, refusing to accept what Sam is telling him. There is no way that he is carrying the shadow-burn of his angel’s wings on his body. He is not holy enough, not good enough, to carry the image of that burned onto his skin.

Castiel deserves to have something more than Dean Winchester acting as a living tombstone.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up," Sam's hands grip his elbows and pulls him to his feet, "Once we do that, we can get Cas and Kelly ready to be put to rest."

Dean grabs onto his brother tightly, resisting the guiding hand that is pulling him toward the house. He does not want to leave Castiel lying here, alone, on the dirt. There will need to be a pyre and Castiel's body will need to be prepped for that but he does not think he has the strength to leave him. Not anymore.

"I can't," His voice catches in his throat, "Sam, I can't leave him."

He can see the furrow of Sam's brow in his mind as his brother responds, "Why not?"

"I love him," it falls from his lips like water, easy and free-flowing, "I love him so much I don't know how the hell I'm able to breathe. I can't just..."

"Okay, yeah, I get it," Sam answers, "How long have you...?"

Dean tries to smile but it pulls at his face wrong, lips twisting into more of a grimace. He turns his face toward the ground and welcomes the white void that consumes his vision. It is much easier to be able to be this open with his brother when he is unable to see his facial expressions.

"Years," he exhales heavily, the word nothing more than a whisper on the breeze.

Sam does not answer him but he does help Dean back onto the ground by his angel's body. His hands are warm as they squeeze his elbows once before removing them.

"Let me go get the stuff to prepare his body, okay? You can do it here and I'll handle Kelly."

"What about Jack?"

Sam huffs, "I have no idea what we're going to do."

"We raise him. We give him the childhood we didn't have. He chose Cas as his father and I'm not going to abandon his child just because his sperm donor is Satan himself." Dean tells him, "We educate him, we tell him about the spooky shit and about the stuff that lurks in the dark. We make sure that he's able to handle himself if he ever winds up on a hunt."

"And we tell him about Cas."

He nods, hand reaching out until it lands on Castiel's arm, "Yeah, we tell him about Cas."

Sam leaves him then, footsteps trailing off toward the house. Dean is left in the dirt, surrounded by the sound of waves lapping at the shore of the lake and insects buzzing around him. It feels wrong, to experience this peaceful moment while he kneels at the side of his fallen person. Castiel should be here. He should be the one that teaches Jack about humanity and the world around them. He should be the one to choose what, if any, of the hunting world that Jack learns. He should teach him about bees and flowers and the names of the constellations in the sky.

He should be here, raising the child that he loves, instead of it falling to Dean.

But he is not. He is dead, killed because he ensured that everyone got to safety. And now it is up to Dean to raise Jack.

He spends the next hour gently cleaning Castiel's body with the warm water and cloths that Sam brought him. The dirt and blood is washed from his skin as best that Dean can while his vision is gone before Sam helps him wrap and secure his body in a soft fabric.

Together, they lift his body between them and Sam guides him to the pyre, leaving him to lay Castiel down inside of it alone. The angel is heavy in his arms and makes his wounds radiate agony as they are agitated but he does not care. There will be time for him to heal, for his wounds to be cleaned and bandaged. But not right now. Not when he is resting the love of his life inside of a tomb made of wood, waiting for him to be set ablaze.

The fire is hot on his face as he stares unseeingly in the direction of it. Jack and Sam are on the other side of the pyre, talking quietly to each other, and Dean wishes that he had the strength to go join them. To find comfort in knowing that they are mourning for the angel together. He could go to them, he knows that, but if he moves from this spot he is not sure that he will be able to keep himself from shattering. The reality of Castiel being gone has not fully hit yet and he knows that the moment the fire burns down, the moment that the only thing left of Castiel is the feathers burned into Dean's skin and the ashes on the wind, that he will he consumed by grief. That the only thing he will be able to feel is the hollow void in his chest that signifies that his angel is gone.

"Can I stay here with you?"

Dean flinches at the soft voice that speaks, turning his head in Jack's direction. He does not respond to him, too afraid that he will say something he does not mean or begin to cry if he does, so he nods his agreement. The kid steps closer to him and his hand slips into Dean's. He takes in a deep breath and squeezes that hand gently, leaving them clasped at his side.

"He loved you," Dean tells him hours later when the fire has died down to almost nothing. Sam had stepped away to handle something some time ago so it is only the two of them left by the angel's side, "You should have your parents here to raise you. You shouldn't have to grow up without them."

Jack is silent for a moment before he speaks, "I have you."

"Yeah, kid, you do."

"He loved you, too," Jack tells him, as though those words do not sends spiderweb cracks along the wall holding his emotions back.

He stays quiet, unable to respond even if he desired to, and they stand there together until Jack tells him that the fire is gone.

Today he will kneel in the ashes of his lover's pyre, gathering the remains of him with clumsy hands, as their child holds the glass jar steady for him to put the ashes in. He will seal up that jar and cling to it for the several hour long drive it will take for them to reach the Bunker.

And, when he is led to his room by his brother, letting him sit the jar down upon his nightstand, Dean will finally allow himself to break.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #fanfic #spn #ficlet #sam winchester #jack kline #angst #major character death #major character injury #tw blood #Castiel's Wings #shitty writing #I really need more than three hours of sleep #I wrote this after having an urge to go fist fight god #though I'm ready to fist fight tumblr too since it keeps messing with my posts

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